In Memoriam: Van Cliburn

In 1958, at the height of the Cold War, the 23-year old Texan Van Cliburn won the first International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow.  The Russians loved him, Nikita Khrushchev gave him a bear hug, and New Yorkers honored him with a ticker-tape parade.  His signature pieces:






http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/28/arts/music/van-cliburn-pianist-dies-at-78.html?hp 

How to Become a Pope

Father James Martin, S.J., wants your vote:

http://americamagazine.org/content/all-things/why-i-should-be-pope-or-habemus-me

Ash Wednesday

The conclusion of Pope Benedict XVI's final mass in Saint Peter's Basilica.

 

What's in a Name?

Quick Laugh

The Casa Real Library

One of the first things I looked for when I got here was the library.  I found two tall bookshelves and a couple of shopping bags on the floor.  Most of the books (you'll think I'm exaggerating) were what people in the publishing trade refer to as "bodice-rippers."  On the front cover is Mr. Totally Handsome Hunk, barechested; swooning in his arms is a Scarlett O'Hara wannabe.  The word "passion" is generously sprinkled over the front and back covers.

 

These books were in mint condition, which meant nobody was reading them.  Clearly, someone well-meaning but misguided had donated a few boxes of them.

 

There were other books worth reading, by popular authors, but a lot of stuff would interest no one.  And NONE of the books were in LARGE PRINT.  As for a copy of the Bible, not a one.

 

So I've created a library wish list for anyone who'd like to contribute.  And you're welcome to send along suitable books lying about your home, since not everyone here needs large print.

"My kingdom for a horse!"

Bones Under Parking Lot Belonged to Richard III

LEICESTER, England — In one of Britain’s most dramatic modern archaeological finds, researchers here announced on Monday that skeletal remains found under a parking lot in this English Midlands city were those of King Richard III, for centuries the most widely reviled of English monarchs, paving the way for a possible reassessment of his brief but violent reign.

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/05/world/europe/richard-the-third-bones.html?hp

Generations

I became a great-granduncle for the first time a few months ago.  My great-grandniece, Scarlett, is a lively and happy baby.

 

 

 

And I just got the first photo I've ever seen of my great-grandmother Theresa Brown Ward.

 

 

Theresa gave birth to Lucy, who gave birth to Eleanor, who gave birth to William, who begot JoAnn, who gave birth to Caitlin (Kate), who gave birth to Scarlett.

 

 

The Quintessential New Yorker

Edward I. Koch, the master showman of City Hall, who parlayed shrewd political instincts and plenty of chutzpah into three tumultuous terms as New York’s mayor with all the tenacity, zest and combativeness that personified his city of golden dreams, died Friday. He was 88.       

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/02/nyregion/edward-i-koch-ex-mayor-of-new-york-dies.html?hp

"Healthy"

"You're healthy," my not-a-doctor doctor told me the other day.  (He's a P.A., or physician's assistant, and he looks like Anderson Cooper.)  He was referring to my overall condition: I'm not undernourished, anemic, and weak, as I was when I got here, thanks to three unstoppable nosebleeds (which came out of nowhere) within two weeks.  The P.A. was ignoring the nastier problems that keep me here for the long term, but it was still good to hear him say I'm healthy.

The chief nasty is emphysema, which ties me to my oxygen tank and prevents any form of exertion. I  walk slowly, avoid heavy lifting, etc., etc.  So routine housekeeping is beyond me, and that's why I'm staying here at Casa Real.  (The term "nursing home" is now politically incorrect: Casa Real is a "healthcare facility," sans hyphen.)

My heart plays a nasty trick on me now and then -- palpitation -- which creates a good deal of drama.  An ambulance arrives; five handsome firemen or EMTs arrive and inject me with adenosine; my heart stops dead in its tracks for about 30 seconds while my chest feels as if an elephant herd is stampeding across it; and before I can fathom how anything could be so horrific, the elephants fly away and my heart resets to normal.  Then off we go to the hospital (just across the road) for about five hours, for EKG, chest X ray, and blood work.  Finally I return home.

I write all this because a number of people have asked about my medical condition.  For my part, I'm more content than I've been in years.