Worm Sex

By: | July 9, 2025

Summer walks have me thinking about worm sex. I witnessed it in Brooklyn, but never in Wisconsin, where I now reside. Enjoy this post from 2012. It’s timeless because, well, worm sex is timeless.

My husband and I often take nighttime walks. On one such walk, I noticed something strange on the ground. It looked like a shiny stick. I leaned in for a closer look and realized I was looking at a long, fat worm. “Is this a worm?” I asked my husband. (I like to ask questions for which I already have an answer.) As he made his way over, I spotted more worms. The scruffy patch of dirt between the sidewalk and the curb was laced with them. “Oh God!” I yelped. “They’re everywhere. Look at them all!” I was shouting now. “Where did they come from!?”  

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Snapshot: Fate and the Follow-Up

By: | July 7, 2025

A few weeks ago, I was out on my morning trot when I saw a small piece of paper stapled to a wooden bollard at an intersection. It was one of those Lost Cat signs that go up in the neighborhood every so often. This particular sign brought me up short, though, because I recognized the cat who was lost: Earl.

Readers may remember my earlier run-in with Earl. In the couple of years since, we had more or less made our peace; or it might be more accurate to say I had made my peace with him, since I don’t think he ever really cared how I felt about anything. But our interactions were cordial enough. When I saw him, I’d stop and give him some pets, he would twine around my ankles, and then, before I continued on, I’d clap and holler and in general make what I hoped was enough ruckus to frighten off whatever small creature he might have had his eye on. In this way, we had our own little ritual.

I looked at the sign and considered its implications. Given that Earl had not been home for a few days, I was pretty sure he had met his end in the maw of one of the coyotes known to inhabit the trail where I run. Someone had also seen a large bobcat moving through the area in recent weeks. Earl was not the top predator of these woods, in other words.

“Aww, Earl, I’m sorry,” I said aloud. Around me, the birds chirped and called.

It’s been a month now and the signs for Earl are still up. Hope is always the last thing to die, I guess.

Happy Fourth of July?

By: | July 4, 2025

This day, the Fourth of July, is my favorite holiday. I love it for a few reasons. I love the summer, and the warm nights that allow me to stay outside under the stars without hunching over from chill. I love that there are at least two more months of hot weather here in the mountains, which means morning hikes and afternoon pool time. I love that the Fourth is a good reason to spend extra time with friends and family, and eat stone fruit, and make ice cream, and wear swimsuits. 

But I mostly love Independence Day because I love the ideas that power this country. And America *is* an idea. I was proud, growing up, to understand that here, every person is created equal; that we are endowed by the creator (or universe, what have you) with certain undeniable and everlasting gifts; that those are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that government is not meant to be a punchable, physical entity but a notion, which arises from the consent of us, the people; and so on. 

These are good ideas. They are still revolutionary ideas. The pursuit of happiness as something to which we are entitled — this is a wildly audacious thought, even still. That phrase in particular has always stuck out to me as profoundly American. 

You might be able to guess where this is going. 

This year the Fourth is a little different.

I am hiding out this year in the mountains, with friends and family like I usually want to do, but only with a select few. I did not hang flag bunting on my house like usual. I didn’t buy my kids matching red, white, and blue outfits. I am not really going to participate as usual, I guess is what I mean. I am too exhausted by sadness. It is hard to lose a parent and a country in the same 12-month period. 

But part of me still can’t let go. I want to honor the idea that the United States of America is, and to celebrate the things that *should* be, the things that still could be if we hold on. The ideas our people had 250 years ago are still good ideas. We can still work to meet them. 

I guess hope is profoundly American too. 

There is a small flag in my yard, planted by my youngest, who loves every holiday. It is under the tree we planted for my mom, which matches her favorite tree at my family home. The tree and the flag are both small this year. They are mostly in the shade, not big enough to reach full sunlight. Not yet. The tree and the flag both seem a little hesitant. But they are there. They are trying, like I am. Happy 4th, however you need it to be right now.

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Image: Apollo 15 pilot Jim Irwin salutes the flag on the surface of the Moon in August 1971. NASA image via Wikimedia Commons

Summer snapshot

By: | July 2, 2025

We took Will out in an inflatable kayak for the first time today, wearing a tiny wetsuit. He looked so solemn as he inspected the boat, and kept grabbing Pete’s paddle – at least three times the length of his body – once we were in the water. 

I swam alongside the boat. Every time I dipped under and came up for air, blowing bubbles, Will’s face lit up with the same big goofy smile he gives me every time I reappear from behind a curtain or pillow. When Pete paddled him into some gentle standing waves, he giggled and cooed.

I typically enter my summer hibernation when it hits triple digits, sleeping as much as possible and refusing to leave the air conditioning. But even though I am a weakling — tonight I’m contemplating sleeping on the kitchen floor linoleum because our air conditioner is broken – I am actually enjoying this summer. 

It’s hard to reconcile enjoyment with the dread and horror of the news. But both are true. Tonight I made strawberry rhubarb pie using balls of dough I’d been storing in the freezer for at least a year. We drizzled custard over chunks of not particularly flaky crust and spoonfuls of fruit. Now the cat is sitting on my feet, the fan is roaring, and a mild sunburn is still gently heating my shoulders. My hair is still wet, which should help me get to sleep. I’m grateful, as always, for the river that makes this feeling possible on even the hottest days — its constant presence, so welcoming and cool.

Attention & Executive Function: Beware

By: | June 30, 2025

I first wrote this July 2, 2018, a time of high stress nationally and personally – personally because I had to make life-changing decisions that I didn’t have the information to make. And that was even before the pandemic. The pandemic is now putatively, intermittently over but the executive function problem is only marginally better. Like, at the least stress my neurons, one by one, start fritzing out. Like, at 9:00 a.m. the contractor asks how high the hand-held shower should be and I say, “Coffee. I’ll tell you after coffee.” And it’s not like that’s even a hard decision, I mean, it’s obvious, right?

The latest of many, many social media posts by many, many people all saying the same thing:  “Ok, but for serious: is anyone else having trouble writing anything at all because everything is just Too Much right now?”  Or:  “I’ve tried to make coffee 4 times so far & failed. Writing is just Not Going To Happen.”

Google “attention,” “distraction,” and “psychology,” find a nice, scholarly, psychology article:  “That is, do we use up general attentional resources when we attempt to block out unwanted stimulation, thereby leaving less of a limited supply to fuel the main task . . .?”  I take that to mean, attention is a zero-sum game, so if you pay attention to – just blue-skying here – politics, do you have less “fuel” for the “main task”?  Yes.  Jeez.  Sometimes I worry about the questions psychologists ask.

How about the reverse question:  does the main task ever take up so much fuel, you can’t simultaneously blink and speak?  I know the answer and I’ve done the experiment, so I’ll make up the psychology.  I’ll define my “main task” as the directions issued by what psychologists call “executive function,” which is jargon for the brain boss, the project manager, the general contractor that coordinates the separate workers to get the job done.  No, nobody knows whether executive function really exists or where in the brain it might be. Anyway, here’s the experiment.

My executive function last week:  Editor hasn’t edited draft, other editor hasn’t replied to proposal.  HEY LET’S GO BUY A CAR!

Worker:  I never bought a car before.

Executive function:  How hard can it be? Get out there and gather information.

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Find the words about hiking

By: | June 27, 2025

Last weekend my brother and I held an open house style memorial for our mom, who died on June 30 of last year. I’ve been out of work for a few months (anybody need a science writer?) because of the new administration’s slash-and-burn approach to contracts, so I threw myself into making exhibits about my mom’s life and interests. Exhibits, because she loved museums, and because my parents never threw anything out. And because one of my best friends works in museums and was able to help me with questions like “help, how do I get this photo to stand up” and “help, how do I display this Tibetan dress” (answer: with expert museum skills, a borrowed mannequin, and so much time on YouTube).

More on that later maybe, but for now: please enjoy the word search from the activity book my friend and I put together for the exhibit. My mom also loved activity books, although she was more of a crossword person than a word search person – so don’t worry, you can also do the crossword my brother made. My parents met through hiking and continued to walk through their lives, from trekking around Nepal in their Peace Corps days to walking in the ravine near their house in the D.C. suburbs.

Word list for the word search:
Ramblers
YMCA
blister
path
hill
boot
Ridgeway
forest
socks
water bottle
tundra
hike
camp
walk
whistle
map
mountain
pack
trail
chautara
Gem Lake
trek

Word search created with thewordsearch.com and you can actually do a version online at that link, with a different grid every time

Not Every Mind’s Eye Can See

By: | June 25, 2025

When you hear the words “big green apple,” can you picture the fruit in your mind? Or is it represented some other way rather than as a vivid, or perhaps less vivid but still identifiable, visual image?

I think most of us assume we all have the same ability to “see” beyond our eyes, to generate a mental image of an object, a face, a moment in time. But recently, my dear friend Annika said when she thinks about a person, place, or thing, her mind’s eye sees nothing at all. In fact, more than five decades into her life she had no idea other people can truly “see” with their eyes closed, or beyond what’s in front of them with eyes open. She didn’t think “mind’s eye” was literal. She wasn’t happy about this news.

Annika’s dreams are visual experiences, but when she’s awake, she is, if I may, memory blind. At night, lying in the dark, she can’t envision her mom’s face or a sunflower or the words on her to-do list. (I suspect related: Her mind’s ear can’t “hear” a song being played or sung if it’s not actually audible.) “I know things, and I think about what I need to do and problems I have, but I can’t see anything,” she said. She can’t quite explain that “knowing,” but her organizational, artistic, and other abilities have not suffered in the least: The girl is a super computer when it comes to generating ideas and moving them from thought to reality. She happens to have a terrific eye for color and room design, in fact, and mixes and matches beautifully—which impresses me all the more now that I know she doesn’t get a preview of her choices.

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The Body is a Compass

By: | June 23, 2025

The picture is of a bit of soft mountain lion fur plucked off the barb of a sagging barbed wire fence. I’m on day 87 of 100 walking 200 square miles around my house in Colorado, mostly on public lands where wild animals hold sway. Today was a steep, wooded draw choked with boulders and their puzzles of green, crusty lichens. I’ve come down this draw a couple times since last winter when I followed fresh mountain lion tracks into a snowy slope of boulders as big as garbage trucks and the ringing in my head grew loud enough I decided to stop and not follow the cat any farther. I was coming into ambush terrain and though chances of an attack or any negative encounter are astronomically small, I heeded the bell. 

What I’ve learned in 87 days has come slowly and steadily. I started following animal trails a year ago for a book I’m working on in western Colorado almost to the Utah line, transecting this 200-square-mile area back and forth through gullies, canyons, mountains, and mesas. Pretty much every day has significantly upped the learning curve. Today’s recognition was that the map in my head is becoming a map in my body. I don’t mean this on any grand scale, but the draw I walked down I could feel coming for miles. I no longer refer to the map on my phone. I’m going by memory, which is how a mountain lion would perceive geography, knowing this draw like many animals do — the deer, elk, bobcats, bears — as a ladder connecting into a lower, deeper canyon where a crystalline creek babbles day and night. I wouldn’t say I’m no longer capable of being lost as I have been a few times so far, my heart beating faster among columns of ponderosa pines that have started to look all the same. I can still get lost, can still screw up, but my senses tingled with a fresh awareness of how the land lies.

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