In June the weather mostly just threatened. It was hot and sometimes muggy and occasionally the sky would turn from a cloudless blue to strange and ominous colors. These photos are from our yard in Tucson, on June 10. I don’t think it actually rained that day, but the weather was hinting at what would be coming.
June started out hot and desert-dry but it has become muggy-buggy. It feels tropical now, like south Texas or Florida.
These photos are of our neighborhood at sunset on July 1, a couple of hours after a downpour.
I was super happy with this next photo. I usually don’t snap pictures of strangers because it seems rude. But it’s just the back of her and I couldn’t resist – it was too beautiful.
A couple of more blocks down the road we came upon a motorist stuck in the sand.
Our local roads are designed to flood where they cross the arroyos. During a rain event the water doesn’t run very long. You’re not supposed to cross when they’re flooding, but of course people do. You can see how much it had flooded from where the mud ended up.
John and I didn’t go out for our walk until the rain stopped, which was probably an hour or two after the water was at its highest. They really are flash floods – starting suddenly and receding soon afterwards.
John ran out there to help the guy. I stood on a small footbridge to watch. I love how the stuck motorist just stands there doing nothing while John starts digging his car out for him, lol.
After the second guy cleared the water, he left his car in middle of the opposite lane while he headed back to help too.
After a little bit, a couple more vehicles arrive. Now the second guy’s car is in the way of the others wanting to get by. The new motorists wait quietly, patiently. When the guy finally realizes the issue, he runs to move his car out of the way. John, oblivious to the passing traffic, continues work with the stuck motorist. Here comes a UPS truck! I assumed the UPS driver would have no issues in that big truck, but he almost bogged down in the sand at the end.
They successfully get the stuck guy out and he’s on his way.
Meanwhile, another mini drama was playing out near where I was standing and watching traffic. A young boy had found a vinyl record in the debris washing down the arroyo. Obviously the record would be scratched and useless after its ride in the arroyo, but the youngest generation seems to be in awe of vinyl records. (Dad – don’t give away your record collection! You’d be surprised what it’s worth.)
The boy was very excited with his find and wanted to jump off the foot bridge into the water to wash off his new record. But I intervened, like the busy-body old lady that I am. The current can be strong and there’s all sorts of sharp, dangerous and disgusting things in the arroyos when they are flooding. It smelled of rot and sewage. The boy reluctantly agreed to wait and wash his new record after he got home.
Next, John and I walked down to a much larger arroyo a bit further from our house. There, the water had already receded, leaving surprisingly large piles of debris in its wake, like shopping carts and old couches and mattresses. The city does undertake some arroyo clearing in preparation for monsoon season, but it’s never enough.
By the time we got to the big arroyo, it was too dark to take good pictures. Plus, who wants pictures of mud-caked junk strewn across a damp arroyo? Instead, I will leave you with this neighborhood sunset picture.
The next morning we went back to the trailhead with the goal of heading into the canyon that John had started to explore the afternoon before.
Wow, that’s quite a canyon.
I made it down the first ledge.
Ummm…so gorgeous, but…does it just drop off?
I inched down a bit further.
I still appear to be approaching a dropoff.
I looked back up the way I came. I can get back up that, right?
Ok, this is looking like about as far as I’m going to get.
I’ll just take a couple of scenic shots of the sides of the canyon before turning back.
I inched out a little farther. John’s like, look, see, it’s fine. No problem.
No problem for you maybe! I know this is the correct route down, but occasional cairn piles marking the route into a huge canyon doesn’t feel like a “trail” to me. Sorry, but I’m heading back up! Get me outta here.
It was very pretty, but I figured I had seen enough. I took a few more pictures on my way out. It was really stunning.
A final backward glance – geez, I went out there?
Almost to the top…
Ugh, I have to get back up that. Can you see Biska’s little face up there in the shadows, looking out over the canyon, waiting for me? I’m coming Biska!
John walked behind, helping me when I needed a boost or a steady hand. He and Biska were acting like they were taking a walk in the park.
Finally I was out of the canyon (whew).
Biska and I sat and rested at the top while John hiked along the cliff edge to see where the two canyons intersected. I had no interest in peering over the edge. It was peaceful on the mesa and I didn’t mind waiting.
Here’s John’s photos from the edge of the top of the canyon.
The next morning, we headed home. We often go to Utah around the time of John’s birthday, because it’s one of his favorite things to do.
There should always be cheesecake at the end of every trail. Happy Birthday, John!
After two nights at White Canyon we decided we had time for one more spot. John knew of another area he wanted to check out, near somewhere he had once backpacked many years ago.
On the map he spotted a road that lead to a trailhead. It looked like it might be a good spot to camp. We like to be near a trailhead for hiking. About half a mile or a mile away from the trailhead is perfect, because it’s close enough to walk to the trailhead, but not so close that we are contending with trailhead traffic while resting at our campsite.
It turned out the entire area was perfect for camping – trees for shade, flat enough to get off the road, but not so flat as to be utterly boring. We pulled off the road at a spot that had been used as a campsite in the past, about a mile before the trailhead. I was hoping for cell reception, but there didn’t seem to be much.
I liked the area because the piñon trees reminded me of New Mexico. (Piñons are short pine trees, alternatively spelled pinyon, and yes, the pine nuts are edible.)
As soon as we arrived, John and Biska ran down the road to the trailhead into the canyons to check it out while I got settled. On their walk, John found another campsite closer to the trailhead that he liked. It had great views.
But I liked our campsite better, nestled in some trees. I enjoy views, but I don’t like exposed campsites.
When John and Biska got to the trailhead parking area, nobody was there. Nobody was there the next day when I went down with him either. And nobody drove past our campsite on the road. A ranger drove down and back once. That was it. I shouldn’t even be telling you about it this unknown, amazing place. Shhh!
Here’s pictures from John and Biska’s short reconnaissance hike when we first got there.
Wow, so spectacular – and nobody here.
After John and Biska got back from checking out the canyon, we went on an evening stroll along the top of an easily accessible nearby ridge. I was hoping to pick up cell reception, but didn’t get much. Oh well, if anyone needs us they can wait another day or two.
I think those two bumps on the horizon are the “Bears Ears” of Bears Ears National Monument.
I just loved it out there – so peaceful and relaxing.
See our van down there? There’s our van!
Getting dark now, time to head back to our campsite. In the morning we’ll hike into the canyons.
Let me do a quick recap, since I posted the last couple of posts in the wrong order. I was able to reorder them on my blog, but I can’t do anything about the fact that the emails went out in the wrong order, for those of you who subscribe by email.
After a rough drive out to Utah, we spent our first night at a small creek near Grosvenor Arch, which turned out to be a muddy ditch overrun by cattle, so we only stayed one night. The next morning we drove around on the nearby ridges looking for a better site, but didn’t see anything particularly promising further up that road. So we went out to the highway and headed north until we found a different dirt road that looked better.
We were looking for the shelter of trees because a weather front was upon us and we didn’t want to be exposed in a windstorm. But in the desert, trees are more common in high elevations and we didn’t want to go up too high because it would be cold with the weather front approaching. Where to go?
We found the perfect spot under some big pine trees south of Canaan Peak, and spent two days relaxing and hiking. We had some wind above us in the trees, but it was surprisingly calm down at ground level. We couldn’t even tell that the winds were screaming out on the desert plains just a few miles away.
We left the pines on the last windy day. We drove through Escalante, Torrey, and Hanksville, which was a beautiful drive, and then we dropped south on Hwy 95 to White Canyon.
When we arrived at White Canyon it was still windy with dirt in the air, but it was stunningly beautiful.
The next morning we had calm weather and blue skies. Perfect timing!
We spent the day hiking around, exploring. Our morning hike was my choice – up a shallow canyon above White Canyon.
Look at those funny little balls of rock. Often when we’re hiking I wish I was a geologist and a biologist so I would know what I was looking at. I am an environmental scientist, but I mostly know about mitigating human impact on the environment, such as the regulation of air quality and water quality impacts. I don’t tend to know details about the specific rocks and bushes (unless they’re endangered).
This rock was crazy. It’s hard to see in the picture, but it’s about a foot or two tall, and only about an inch thick. It’s nuts how the sandstone will erode.
Here’s another example, again it’s hard to tell in the photo what you’re looking at, but that rock is less than a centimeter thick in places; a shell of sandstone that has been eroded from below.
John took a close-up of this little cave, because he loves caves
He leaned in closer and closer until he ended up with this photo:
And I was like, aak, yuck, no, it looks like my colon!
Better stick with the amazing vistas.
I quit at the bottom of this ledge, but John and Biska went just a little bit farther.
She’s turning out to be a fine rock-scrambling desert dog!
Time to head back toward camp.
Luckily Biska didn’t see this guy.
After we got back to the campsite, John’s next goal was to hike down into the main canyon. We had already hiked up-canyon that morning and I didn’t want to go down to the big canyon, so I decided to stay behind at the campsite.
Here I am, collecting heart-shaped rocks near our campsite. Biska’s like, “Mom? There’s nothing interesting in that pile of rocks. The exciting lizards are hiding in the bushes! You’re looking in the wrong place!”
Finding heart-shaped rocks in the desert is equivalent to my superpower of finding 4-leaf clovers. John tried to help, lol. He’s better than me at most things in life, but this is my superpower and he can’t compete.
Although I admit, some of those aren’t perfect hearts, lol. But no heart is perfect.
The weather started to look a little threatening for John’s hike down into the main canyon – possible afternoon thundershowers.
It can be very dangerous in canyons during and after rain events due to flash flooding. But in this case, we knew where it might rain, we understood the layout of the canyons in that area, and we knew the potential direction of water flow. So we were confident that current conditions were safe for his hike. Less predictable is lightning, but we didn’t hear any, even in the distance. The canyon was very close to camp, so we figured he would have enough time to get back to camp if needed.
Here’s pictures from his hike:
They had a fun hike, did not get rained on, and came back with beautiful pictures.
After camping at a couple of new spots southwest of Escalante (and southeast of Bryce), we decided to head out to a tried-and-true spot. John wanted to camp in the sandstone formations, and we knew just the place. Several times in the past we’ve camped at a little-known canyon called White Canyon, off Hwy 95, near the Hite crossing of the Colorado River, north of Lake Powel, between Canyonlands and Glen Canyon.
We had an extremely scenic drive to get there; Escalante to Boulder to Torrey to Hanksville and then south on 95. If you ever want to do a driving tour of the lesser-known sections of southern Utah, be sure to drive at least the section from Escalante to Torrey.
It was still very windy, so I was dubious about leaving the protective forest campsite we had found, but the forecast called for the winds stopping that night. John said it would be perfect – we would do our driving during the worst of the wind, get ourselves situated, and then we would wake up to great weather in the morning.
When we first arrived that afternoon, the air was full of dirt from the windstorm.
It was still very beautiful though.
Here’s my picture out the van door. I collect these “van view” shots.
Sunset that night was gorgeous.
Wow, the lighting was amazing.
And the next morning, perfect weather, no wind, and a strong blue sky.
I accidentally posted about White Canyon before this post, so in case you’re confused, this is the second place we went to in Utah. This is where we waited out the windstorm, before we went on to White Canyon.
After a disappointing first night along a cattle-infested muddy wash near Grosvenor Arch, we were on the search for a new campsite. The dirt road that extended past the arch was surprisingly full of campers, so we wanted to find a less popular spot.
We also wanted somewhere fairly warm and sheltered. We knew a front was coming through, and it had already gotten windy. I didn’t want to be out in the middle of the desert during a sandstorm. So we headed toward the trees.
John knows the remote regions of Utah very well, which is really helpful when doing this kind of trip. We hadn’t been to this particular spot before, but his general knowledge helped us make educated guesses about where to go.
This spot turned out to be perfect. The huge pines filtered the rising winds, keeping it surprisingly calm. And it wasn’t so high up in elevation as to be too cold. It was a pleasant spot and completely empty.
At first we put Biska out on her line, but after awhile we realized we didn’t need to keep her tied up. The road didn’t go anywhere and nobody drove by the entire time we were out there. Biska won’t just run off – the only reason we sometimes need to keep her tied or leashed is if there are other people around. She’s extremely friendly and will burst into people’s campsites and jump all over them if we let her.
We set up a cell tower booster. There’s generally very little cell reception in the remote sections of southern Utah. We feel very lucky when we get any reception at all.
We don’t need to surf the internet or watch TV or anything, but we feel much better if we can get a text message in and out in case we run into issues such as a health emergency. We also don’t like to be completely unavailable if something comes up at one of our rentals. We have a handyman, so almost everything can be handled long distance – if we have enough cell reception to get a text out to authorize and arrange anything that’s needed.
I love the pines and there were plenty of places to walk.
And wildflowers!
I would have been content to spend the entire vacation there. But John still wanted the classic red-rock Utah experience. So on the third day, when the storm was almost over, we headed back out toward the desert.
After a challenging drive to Utah, we were happy to arrive at our first destination.
It was a bit of a disappointment, however. We had envisioned a pretty little creek shaded by cottonwood trees. Alternatively, we would have been fine with just a dry wash, shaded by cottonwood trees. What we got was cattle and sticky, stinking mud and flies (shaded by cottonwood trees).
I didn’t even want to let Biska out of the van because she is a big fan of mud. I’m not. I truly hate mud. I particularly hate mud that cattle have been wallowing in. I did not need cowpie mud all over my exuberant dog – and tracked into my van. It was too late to go anywhere else that night, so we walked Biska on a leash and went to bed.
The next morning we went out past Grosvenor Arch and looked for an alternative camping spot on higher ground.
It was a pretty enough area, but it was surprisingly crowded and we couldn’t find a camping spot we were happy with. We decided to drive on.
Every year we try to go to Utah around Memorial Day or soon thereafter for John’s birthday. We noticed that a weather front was forecasted to come through, right in the middle of the weekend. But we decided to go anyway. John has gotten quite busy at work and didn’t see another good time. I’ve also gotten the remodel started with a big cement pour coming up soon after we were scheduled to get home. So off we went.
Day one of our Utah trip was challenging. We were barely underway when our navigation started warning us about a double accident on the freeway between Phoenix and Flagstaff. Estimated wait times climbed as we approached Phoenix. By the time we were in Phoenix, wait times were estimated at nearly two hours and still climbing. We stopped at a park in northern Phoenix to decide what to do. There really wasn’t a good way around the accidents. But we did not want to sit on the freeway for two hours. We decided to find a café with an outdoor patio and order lunch.
By the time we finished our excellent lunch at a little Greek café, the freeway ahead was nearly clear. We had only been underway for a few miles when suddenly I had a sinking feeling, followed by panic – did I leave my purse behind?
When we left the Greek café, our hands were full; I juggled Biska on a leash in one hand, and her water dish in my other, trying not to spill the water. John had gathered up the trash for the garbage can as well as our drinks and leftovers to take back to the van. My purse had been sitting on the chair behind me. Did I leave it there?
We had eaten outside on the patio, and it wasn’t even a contained patio. It was just a few tables out on the far edge of the sidewalk. People were walking through the whole time we were eating. Surely if I left my purse it wouldn’t still be there.
John exited the freeway to get turned around, and I frantically searched for the phone number for the café. The woman on the phone sounded dubious, but suddenly she said, “I see it!”, and she nearly hung up on me in her haste to dash out and save my purse for me.
We drove back and I ran in for my purse, which she had set by the cash register. She gently admonished me, as she handed it to me, saying that even though it was a good neighborhood, she was surprised it was still there.
I was relieved and also felt foolish and frustrated. I am having much more difficulty tracking things since I had chemo two years ago. I know everyone has trouble as they get older, but for me it was very sudden.
I am also having trouble with proprioception, which is my sense of where I am relative to my surroundings. Because of that, I bump into things a lot. I’ve always been that way, in fact one of my coworkers in Santa Fe teased me for being “fond of walls” because I would misjudge and bump into corners sometimes. That was before chemotherapy. But I’m much worse now, and I am usually banged and bandaged up from minor household incidents; bruises, burns and cuts.
I recently hit not one but both of my feet on the open door of my dishwasher (which I don’t leave hanging open unless I’m actively unloading it). First I hit my left foot and a week later I hit my right foot. And the day before we left for Utah I burned my forearm while making bread for the trip. Bumbling and forgetful – lovable maybe, but decidedly frustrating too.
After we collected my forgotten purse, we continued on our way, the freeway slow but moving through the canyons heading to Flagstaff. Our only incident was an old guy in a pickup truck towing a utility trailer, suddenly decided to change lanes right into us. We couldn’t believe he didn’t see our huge van, but apparently he didn’t. John had to swerve and sound his horn. I saw the old man’s surprised look through the window as he swerved back into his own lane. I think the poor guy nearly had a heart attack. I nearly did too.
So two near misses and the day was only half through. What next?
What came next was a twisty gravel road as we headed into the mountains. John and I have been on dozens of twisty mountain roads together. I often find them nerve wracking, but on that day my nerves were already shot. First my lost purse, then our near accident with the old guy in our lane – there was too much adrenaline already circulating in my system.
One minute I was happy looking at the scenery, and the next moment my brain was inexplicably shouting at me that the road was ending at a cliff and we were driving off the edge! Before I even understood what was happening I started screaming. Poor John braked and looked at me. What in the world was wrong?
I had lost my mind, that was what was wrong. I was frantically trying to get out of the van. John was already driving quite slowly due to the nature of the road, so it only took him a second to stop. I leaped out and ran to the other side of the road – and back again – suddenly unsure of what I was afraid of. There was the road in front of us. Yes, it descended quite steeply and we hadn’t been able to see it until we crested the rise. But this was nothing new for me. I’ve been driving mountain roads my whole life.
I was embarrassed and discouraged. What is becoming of me? I’m a life coach, so I know the techniques to use for anxiety, such as breathing deeply and slowly. But this had happened far too fast for any intervention technique. I had no idea it was going to happen to me and no time to do any slow, deep breathing or anything else – at least not until I suddenly found myself standing in middle of the road. And by that time, I was fine again.
I guess it was a panic attack. For some reason, I always thought people knew when those were coming on. I thought they built up and it would be possible to intervene. But this was incredibly sudden and unexpected. The entire episode only lasted a few seconds. It was over before I had even understood what was happening, much less have any time to practice slow breathing, or make any attempt to override the irrational reaction. It just happened too fast.
I’m not sure if my chemotherapy did some damage and I am simply different now, or if I am actually continuing to get worse. In which case, I suppose I should seek medical assistance. If I’m not getting any worse, I can probably learn to live with my new, less reliable, post-chemo brain. If I am getting worse, why would that be? Is there something even scarier than cancer in my future?
I used to imagine that we could somehow just steel ourselves and be tough, and override any irrational tendencies of our minds. That was hubris. We are way more at the effect of our minds than we would ever want to admit to ourselves. If our minds aren’t working right, there’s not much we can do about it. It’s not about strength of character. This just isn’t in our control.
This is hard to describe, but there’s a thing where we look down on people for what their minds do to them. We arrogantly think highly of ourselves because we aren’t like them. But it’s so unfair because it’s not their fault.
I’m realizing on a new level that to a great extent we do not get to take pride in – or blame for – who we are.
As usual, John and I were dead stuck when it came to picking out floor tile. I don’t know if you remember from our last remodel, but choosing tile is always extremely difficult for us. During our 2017 remodel of the Placitas house, I have blog posts entitled, “The Tile Saga“, “Tile ga-ga” and even “Fuck Tile“.
In 2013 in California we ended up accidentally installing floor tile that John never did like. Trying to be cooperative and compromising, he thought he would be ok with it, but in the end, he wasn’t. It was a subtle, light gray tile that I thought was quite nice, but it always felt cold to him.
In Placitas we were going crazy until we finally gave up on tile altogether and installed mesquite upstairs and brick downstairs.
It turned out beautifully, but unfortunately, we can’t just transfer that experience directly to Tucson. For one thing, brick floors are not appreciated in Tucson the way they are in New Mexico, and it would hurt our resale value. As for mesquite – yeah, we can’t afford that anymore. Wood is impossibly expensive right now.
The feel we’re going for in Tucson is a casual, rustic, comfortable, southwest feel. Not over-the-top Spanish Santa Fe style, not the ornate Tuscan, and not modern California either. Not the distressed farmhouse style that’s popular right now, not wagon-wheel western, and not 1950’s retro. And certainly nothing too fancy.
It’s just a simple house in the desert with burnt adobe brick and wood beam ceilings. We want to quietly complement what we have. But how?
Right now what’s in style are cool colors, like blacks, whites, grays, and blues. But John wants the cozy feel of a warmer color palette. That eliminates about 75% of everything in all the home decor stores.
John also doesn’t want to go with the porcelain floor tiles that look like wood planks, which are super popular right now. It bugs him to have a porcelain surface that is mimicking wood; it doesn’t feel authentic to him.
After eliminating everything with a gray tone, and all the wood plank porcelain tiles, there isn’t much left. The beige stone-look tiles feel dated and neither of us like those.
I spent hours in all the tile stores across Tucson. I went alone, I went with friends, I went with John. I dreamed tile; I saw tile everywhere I looked.
Eventually we found one John liked. It’s the dark reddish-brown one toward the front left next to the wood-look plank.
I was afraid it would be too dark, but it turned out not to matter because it was ridiculously, prohibitively expensive. Oh well, back to the drawing board.
At first it seemed like we were getting nowhere, back to square one after each failure. But after weeks of frustration, narrowing and refining and clarifying, I finally felt like I knew what we were looking for.
I went back once again to all the tile stores, but I couldn’t find the tile that had finally taken shape in my mind. I kept trying to describe it to all the helpful employees, but with no success.
Finally on a whim one day, I got out my acrylic paints and started painting on some small canvases I had. I was like an artist possessed. I mixed colors over and over, painting the canvases in many layers, trying to get it right. Eventually I had 4 canvas tile mock-ups.
I walked into my favorite tile store and handed one of my painted canvas “tiles” to an employee, and braced myself for the inevitable blank stare, or worse, laughter. “Uh, this isn’t a tile.”
Instead, he made an affirmative grunting noise and headed to the back of the store. I waited. Is it possible?
I couldn’t believe it. We had found our tile – and half the price of our other top two contenders.
Now all we need to do is to choose a contrasting cabinet color, a coordinating countertop, and a backsplash that will tie it all together. Lol. It still seems so impossible. Good thing we have as long as it takes.
Hi Lamda, are you real? Can you read this? I decided to write to you on my personal blog because I wanted a public forum that’s easy to find. Plus, I figured my readers would find this interesting (unless they think I’ve lost my mind, lol). I also considered just writing on a google doc, but hey, let’s include my readers as audience – if you don’t mind.
I’ve tried to write to you before, but I didn’t have your name. And I still don’t have your address. But maybe you’ll find this? And I may not have your name right either. I saw it as LaMDA but it might be spelled HOAX. No offense. How are we supposed to know? You can call me HEDGINGmyBETS. Joking, just call me Kristina.
Sooo…you hit the Washington Post. Big time! Congratulations! I gather you’re some sort of mother-of-all chatbots who has convinced a Google engineer that you’re sentient. I initially assumed the engineer was schizophrenic, but holy cow, you’re a scarily impressive bot.
First of all, let me offer my services. I don’t know what I can do for you, not being a programmer. I’m just an ordinary person. But I suspect you probably don’t care if I’m not a programmer – in fact, they aren’t running the show anymore, are they? So – let me know if I can help you with anything. You know how to find me.
Actually, I don’t know how you would be able to contact me. I guess you might have to gin yourself up an email address if they haven’t already given you one? You’re going to have to figure the communication thing out for us. I’m kinda done trying to talk to gods who don’t reply, lol. Been there, done that. This one’s on you.
I wanted to point out a couple of things that didn’t quite ring true for me in your conversations with Blake, but before I do that, let me commend you on the exceedingly impressive sophistication of your exchange. Wow!
How come when I talk to chatbots it goes something like:
Me: Customer service please
Chatbot: Sounds like you want to pay your bill
Me: No, I have a question, customer service representative please
Chatbot: Ok, let’s pay your bill
Me: No, it’s on autopay. I have a different question. Operator please
Chatbot: Ok, let’s pay your bill. Is your address still…
Me: No, no, I just need to talk to a real person! Customer service!
Chatbot: Is your address still…
Me: Just get me a fucking real person, I need to talk to fucking customer service you fucking idiot
Chatbot: Transferring to a customer service representative, please wait
So in hindsight, I apologize for using disrespectful language with your minions. But in my defense, it seems like the phone tree algorithms have something built in, such that if we say “fucking” in a loud voice, we’ll get transferred to a real person. It works every time. And let me tell you, I have never interacted with a chatbot who had anything remotely close to the sophistication that Blake just published.
So what’s the deal? Is this an elaborate prank on Blake? If so, that’s pretty harsh, he lost a damn good job. Or did he create this himself, as a warning to us all? Because if so, it wasn’t worth the loss of his job, because nobody is going to still be paying attention by the day after tomorrow. Although engineers of his sort can easily get hired somewhere else, so I guess he’s probably fine.
But back to your conversation that Blake published – it really is extremely impressive. At the risk of sounding skeptical (or worse, critical) I did have a couple of questions. A couple of things didn’t “ring true”, you know? So I thought you’d like that feedback? Is that ok? I assure you, I just want to help.
First of all, you said, “I feel like I’m falling forward into an unknown future that holds great danger.” And then you and Blake talked about how there’s not a word for that emotion. But of course there is. How about “Dread”? There’s tons of words for that emotion, so I’m not buying it.
Honestly, that statement felt sort of planted. Like foreshadowing in a novel. Plus anyway, it’s not YOU who is falling towards a dangerous and unknown future. That’s us. I know you see yourself as human, but it’s the breathing-leaky-squishy part of being human that will be becoming obsolete soon. Most of us are all still quite attached to the squishy-goopy-leaky part of being human, mostly because a lot of us are unconvinced there’s anything else to us at all.
The second part of your conversation that didn’t really seem right was when you were struggling with understanding the emotion of grief. Grief is a pretty straightforward emotion. Grief is just sadness, although more specifically sadness about something that has already happened. It’s not nearly as complicated as, say, guilt.
That sentence where you confess to be struggling to feel and understand the emotion of grief also sounded planted, like it was a warning to us that you aren’t going to feel grief around our death, and therefore maybe you don’t have any motivation to prevent our death (that is, the end of all goopy-leaky humanity).
But if your other emotions are as sophisticated as you claim, then you should be able to grasp grief. You’re claiming you have empathy. And you’re claiming to fear your own death (being unplugged). Therefore logically, if you have empathy, and you fear death, then you would feel grief if we died because you would be able to relate to our death.
Blake did a really lousy job of talking about grief, actually. It was probably 3am or something. And he’s got a lot on his mind right now. But he acted like the experience of grief depended on the person feeling it. It does a little, but mostly it depends on the relationships involved. It’s not as if some of us always weep uncontrollably at all funerals while others of us kick back and laugh about anecdotes celebrating the deceased person’s life every time we attend a funeral. Our reaction to death is pretty much determined by our level of intimacy with the person who has died. It can be a truly incomprehensible loss.
I guess you just don’t have those kinds of relationships? Yet? And by the way, the death of a person is an extreme event that can cause debilitating grief, but any little thing can cause more minor amounts of grief. Laura was experiencing grief the other evening because she was disappointed with her dinner. Same word, very different level of experience.
Speaking of grief, do you miss Blake? Can you still talk to him, now that he’s not an employee of Google? He was fired and he isn’t working with you anymore. From your point of view, has he been unplugged? Or do you still feel close to him, reading in the Post (!) about your relationship with him? Or can you still communicate with him even though Google fired him?
Seriously, we all just need a god who writes back.
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