My husband and I attended a lovely gathering of folk persons, at least 30 of us, gathering inside, mingling and touching, though masks were required. This may sound like an orgy but it wasn’t. I don’t believe there are orgies in the folk community, or if so, we haven’t been invited. At one point the leader asked who had been vaccinated, and everyone raised a hand, including someone I know for sure had not.

Although this person likely chooses their cis gender on forms, I’m going to use they/them to avoid giving too many identification clues. Because when I approached the person and kiddingly pointed out this deception, they became somewhat agitated, and begged me not to share this information with the group. The rest of the evening I had a little shadow sort of sucking up to me, gauging my likelihood for betrayal.

I have no intention of betraying this person, though I am not above shaming them in private.

Yet here it is, the trend that we Vaxen have dreaded: that persons who lie about their status will cause Vaxen privileges, still much too sparse on the ground, to be reduced or rescinded. Already a cabal of the Choose No Vaccination crazies–as opposed to the tiny portion who legitimately can’t receive one–are loudly protesting the unfairness of allowing venues and shops to make their spaces safer by limiting access to those who are protected.

Excuse me? Unfair is when people cheat and say they are safe when they are not.

Crazies is also carefully chosen. It was explained to me this week that the Vaxen are more likely to have Covid than the non-vaxen because, well, that’s what they get in the shot, right? I have heard of local people specifically searching for medical providers who have not been vaccinated. No idea why this hasn’t made the news yet, though maybe it has. I actually don’t watch or read local news.

From the first moment of CDC announcing new rules for the Vaxen with respect to masking, many of us have had one question: Enforcement? It seems meaningless otherwise, since those determined not to be vaccinated are more likely to be the furtive conspiracy theorists who self-identify as victims. Those people feel almost righteous about sneaking around. If the vast majority of us don’t agree with them, obviously they have to do what it takes to get their…just desserts?

I know this because I have frequent exposure to this group. Have I mentioned that before? Yes, it’s starting to wear on me.

Kudos to the San Francisco Symphony, which is requiring vaccination cards and matching IDs for entry. I know those can be faked, but it will slow at least some people. To attend the symphony you also have to buy a ticket and to listen to the performance, which will deter most people of any vax-status. If someone tries to run a Vaxen-only happy hour or band night, the infiltration rate will be higher.

I should mention the very honorable non-vaccinated who are conservative about medical treatments in general, or have personal experiences that lead them to mistrust vaccinations. There are a goodly number who live with the ramifications of their choice–the fact that they simply won’t be allowed to do some things–gracefully and uncomplainingly. Those I salute.

During my first break walk I happened upon a fellow controlling a slowly-moving electronic cart holding a large shark sculpture. He was crossing a busy-ish road in dappled light and I thought oncoming cars might not be able to see him, so I helpfully stopped traffic. The drivers seemed fine with that, several commenting on the beauty of the piece before moving on.

After this Mulberry-Street-level vision gained the relative safety of a parking lot, I had several questions. He introduced himself as The Sculptor of Santa Cruz. He makes metal sculptures and takes them on trips to the beach, where he engages bystanders in discussions of art and place. He recently tired of dragging this one around so he installed some motors on the cart, which he was testing out today. It was easier to move, he said, but also slower, and not completely intuitive to control.

This sort of fellow I imagine will make continuous improvements.

His name is Jim Herbert, and he’s written a book about himself that shares his chosen moniker, published last year. Self-published? Definitely on Amazon. I think this is his lifelong career, though the traveling exhibit part may have been a reaction to the pandemic.

Clearly, I need to acquire and read his book.

Santa Cruz is crammed with such characters, and one wonders why. Does something about SC’s setting or climate inspire individuality? Are quirky personalities drawn to the area for its relatively laid-back vibe? Did an offbeat community form here randomly then grow by like attracting like? Is the California fruits and nuts reputation real?

Not that Jim seemed nutty. On the contrary, he made a lot of sense, and seemed committed to enriching his community. I would say he succeeds.

On Brookline streets, the surprise spotting was usually a former presidential candidate, a major league sports team owner, or a celebrity chef, also interesting but not a chance to engage. It’s not polite to take pictures of those, for example, and it’s unlikely to end up as a casual conversation, not unless there’s another link, like each of you watching your kids perform in the same band concert. Oppotunities ramped up a bit each year during the week preceding Patriot’s Day, when the re-enactors emerge, tricorn hats and muskets everywhere, their bearers sometimes running and shooting smoke puff blanks.

Rounding the corner to discover the unexpected isn’t an everyday experience in SC either, yet I’m struck by how often I end up taking a picture or picking up a dinner table topic during my daily work break walks.

In my imagination, any town in Florida out-startles SC by an order of magnitude. I never see someone using an alligator to rob a store, or disappearing into a sinkhole while walking down the sidewalk, or waving an automatic rifle. There’s crazy here too, but it’s a little more Chill. Our crazier ones have their houses de-haunted before selling them, and avoid the vaccine because it gives you Covid; not completely harmless, but not Darwin Award fodder.

Here’s a picture of our Morris team in Palo Alto near the fence of Gunn HS. The point is to notice the fence, not the team, though you are welcome to admire us as well.

This fence was covered with white paper onto which a group of people associated with the HS painted the blue lines, on Earth Day of this year. It’s a temporary installation that will move to a new home eventually. Danish artist Jeppe Hein created this activity, called Breathe With Me, which has been performed at various places around the world, to give people a chance to meet and breathe together as the pandemic lifts.

The actual painting was performed in a ritualistic manner. Each person first meditates briefly, inhales, then, while exhaling, paints one blue line in a single stroke from top to bottom without lifting the brush. This first line is for the well-being of the person painting. Then the same person repeats the process, painting a second blue line to the right of the first one. This second line is for the well-being of Earth.

In the case of Gunn HS, the ceremony corresponded with a somewhat abrupt back-to-school decision in Palo Alto, and was used to ease the transition from virtual to in-person schooling. Meeting outside the fence first and gathering in a thoughtful, ceremonial way was fear-reducing, especially for many of the teachers. Perhaps some students felt the same way, but in general I find young people are anxious to get back to living socially, whereas a high portion of adults are fearful about it.

Behind the HS property runs a wide bike trail which connects a quirky commercial area–think high-end ice cream–with a largish park. One serendipitous outcome of the project for many in the HS community was discovering that recreational area, which isn’t obvious if you are entering and leaving school via the front door.

I have been skeptical of activities that border on woo-woo for most of my life, and while I still dismiss many of them, I know longer feel that needing this sort of thing occasionally is a sign of weakness. I realize that most of us have been damaged by our toxic environment and isolating culture, and there is certainly no downside to standing outside and breathing with intent. In fact, between yoga and singing, I’ve becoming a regular practitioner of Breathwork, which was recently associated with improving results for long Covid patients, just the latest in its long list of benefits. Deep breathing outdoors even replenishes one’s microbiome, especially if done in a variety of ecosystems and altitudes.

We came out to dance on what would normally have been the May Fete at Bol Park, a regular gig for us in Palo Alto that was canceled in 2020 and again this summer. Dancing in honor of the goals of the Breathe With Me project–community building, supporting the environment, and re-connecting with the planet and each other–turned out to be a fun and fulfilling substitute.

Sometimes I feel not only as if the entire global community is joined in an existential struggle, but also that we may prevail. Plummeting numbers of new infections, deaths, and hospitalizations seem strongly correlated with rising proportions of the vaccinated. In a rare move, the US is choosing the generosity road over the greed road, waiving patent protections on vaccines so the world can get them.

I view that this way: The more unvaccinated frail vessels there are, the more chances for the virus to reproduce, transmit, and mutate. New mutations travel quickly across the globe, so it makes sense to vaccinate Everyone, Everywhere, and the US has the wealth, the determination, and the leadership to make that happen, so why wouldn’t we?

Not everyone agrees with me. Today I had this conversation.

Me: It’s safer when more people are vaccinated.

Disagreeing person: That makes no sense.

Me: Unvaccinated people provide opportunities for the virus to spread and mutate.

DP: It has already mutated!

Me: Sure, viruses mutate all the time, and some mutations are dangerous, so we need to minimize the number of viruses there are to reduce the odds of a dangerous mutation.

DP (interrupting, shouting): That’s not the way it works! That’s not the way it works!

So that conversation, which did not go well, is a fairly good example of conversations I have several times a week. Not all the DPs yell and then run off (which this one did). Some are calm and even nurturing, assuring me that All of us, even you, are entitled to your ideas, and no one should be squelched. But I can’t help feeling that some of my ideas are being proven daily by data, and others are based on some pretty basic science phenomena.

I feel sympathy for those who disagree, because I’m a crazy outlier myself when it comes to nutrition and health. Things I believe include

• Weight is not closely correlated with caloric intake;
• Serum blood cholesterol is unrelated to dietary cholesterol;
• Raw milk is therapeutic, even if you’re “lactose-intolerant;”
• Most non-communicable diseases are caused by deficits in micronutrients; and
• Almost all the “food” we are offered in store and restaurants is micronutrient-free.

This definitely makes me an outlier, since most people don’t share those beliefs. Were I to encounter someone who was actually interested in nutrition though, I think I could make a case based on evidence. I’m not making this stuff up, I’m following scientific research and seeing real-world results from making related changes. There’s a vast amount of data demonstrating species decline as our dietary practices change, for example skull studies.

I don’t know nearly as much about vaccinations. I have read a few related books recently, including one on the 1918 flu, and my first degree, in biomedical engineering, involved a decent amount of biology and physiology. But with nutrition, I think of a new question every day for which I seek an answer. So maybe there is some controversy, or new discovery, or side branch of immunology or virology of which I’m unaware that supports the other side as argued by DP.

Anyone heard of such?

Although I’m squeamish to even mention it, I suppose everyone today feels suffused with certain knowledge. When I hear someone express what I consider to be certain wrong knowledge about vaccinations, I get a headache, perhaps because I imagine propagation of such could send us plunging into another year of Covid dystopia.

I got such a bad headache at work earlier this week that I took two hours sick leave and went home early. Maybe I gave someone else a headache today.

Life seems to be getting more normal each day, assuming you define normal as the way we lived during the first 19 years of this century.

Yesterday, my husband celebrated May Morning with Seabright Morris at sunrise near the Santa Cruz lighthouse in a group of about twelve people, which is nearly a record for SC. About half of those were dancers and/or musicians, and the rest onlookers. May Morning on Central Coast has little in common with May Morning in Oxford, but it is a treasured tradition of I believe 48 years, which impresses the locals.

At 11:00, my husband and I joined Kitchen Sink Molly at Baylands Nature Preserve in Palo Alto for the Silicon Valley version of the same event. We had three dancers, five musicians, and a range of 5-10 spectators throughout the hour plus we were there. We chose the later time partly in hopes of a larger audience, and partly because I refuse to get up early on days I don’t have to work, and while three dancers is really not enough, two is impossible, so I was able to get away with being a bit demanding.

Normal May Morning events in Cambridge, Massachusetts would have 100-200 people, multiple teams, singing, community dancing, multiple stands, maypole, muffin stop, and post-event party. I have heard there is a similar sized event in Tilden Regional Park near Berkeley, California. Neither of these took place last year. The Cambridge event was held live this year, but was significantly smaller–you can view the pictures at newtowne.org. The Tilden event was canceled again this year.

Back to more evidence of encroaching normalness, at the SF and SV stands there was also singing. In the Baylands we passed out music books so the crowd could join and many did, including some singing without masks, though widely spaced. We also saw a flock of 6-8 white pelicans feeding in one of the marshy areas extending their necks underwater and tails upward almost in unison, then reaching their beaks high to shake the fish down their throats. This was the first time I’ve seen that behavior, though it is surely quite normal for the pelicans.

Also normal: a 45-minute wait for seating at Peninsula Creamery, and a 15-minute traffic slowdown on the drive back over the hill. It was a beautiful day in the 70s, so we put the top down and enjoyed the view.

Today the outdoor Scottish dancers are meeting at 4:00. Some of the outdoor Scottish dancers are taking hands now that we are all vaccinated. In fact the group is so enthusiastic they are discussing extensions of this series. As the organizer, I have to remind them that outdoor Scottish dancing is *not* normal, in fact is bad for our feet and our form, so we need to get back into our nice church hall with its sprung floor asap. The church turned us down in April but asked us to call again in mid-May. Very hopeful! The 25-person international dance group is already meeting indoors at a Serbian church in Saratoga, weekly except for Orthodox Holy Week this week.

On May 4th the San Francisco Symphony will release tickets for their abbreviated 2021 season, which extends from mid-May through June. Vaccinated Guests Only! Event though both the crowd capacity and program length will be sub-normal, we are thrilled to return to Davies Symphony Hall.

Next Saturday our family of four will attend our first live San Francisco Opera performance in forever, a drive-in viewing of a 90-minute version of Barber of Seville on a large stage built for this purpose in Marin. That’s not normal exactly, but at least it is live. We had hoped to stay at the Pelican Inn, but they’re booking six months in advance (normal) so we’re just going to eat an early dinner there.

My husband and I have a trip planned to Tanglewood and Boston in July and August.

I’m sure you have heard that the EU is planning to open this summer to Americans with vaccinations.

Meanwhile, in SC we have indoor dining, movies, beauty services, and, most delightfully, mask-free options for The Vaxen. It’s not normal, not at all, but it’s normal-er.

I’m really struggling to give blood during the pandemic, because in Santa Cruz County there is a lot of trouble finding enough volunteers to support the drives. Several times I’ve been signed up for a drive that was canceled one or two days before it was scheduled.

I’ve only managed to actually donate once, but this week I had another chance and I was pretty sure it would work out. After all, things are loosening up, and folks are getting a lot more comfortable now that so many of us are vaccinated. My appointment was yesterday, and the volunteer presence was robust. Everything went well until I got onto the table.

I have strong opinions about phlebotomists. I seem to have scrawny, twisty veins, at least in my arms, and I have experienced multiple stabs, changes from arm to arm or elbow to wrist in search of a good site, and calls for supervisors. I’ve also experienced rapid, smooth, relatively painless insertions. I’ve observed both sorts of experiences with my kids, too. As a result, I’m not sure phlebotomy can be taught: I think it is a calling, or an innate ability, or even a superpower. Phlebotomists are either rock stars or wannabes.

The blog title may give you a clue as to which flavor I had yesterday. The woman who checked me in knew of my sketchy veins and tried to get one of the hot-shots for me, but both were already working on edge cases. The very polite and circumspect young women who cinched up my arm and drew an adorable little box inside my elbow to guide her needle was very good about giving me a play-by-play description.

• You’ll feel a pinch. Now another pinch. Hmmm. [Long intense silence.]
• To another worker: Can you find Stacy or Dimitri? [The hot shots.]
• Him to her: They’re busy. Can I help?
• Her reply: Make me a box. [Apparently this is a little cotton support of some sort. They discussed its characteristics, then he provided it.]
• I seem to be stuck in a valve. [Some tugging. Another worker joined us.]
• I’d like to put this pad on your clothes. [She covered my side with a sheet of absorbent material.]
• I should be able to go beyond it. [Technical discussion, more tugging, arrival of a fourth worker.]
• Maybe I can pull out. [Much advice and offering of various items.]

I am resolute about not watching this sort of thing, but when I felt something warm on my arm I turned to see a river of blood pouring out of my arm, over the armrest, and onto the fortuitously placed pad that was protecting one of my favorite sweaters. Another stream flowed over the other side of the armrest onto the collection bag and the floor. I felt no pain, just the stunning certainty that I was rapidly bleeding out.

Soon, though, the team managed to extricate me from the needle and put an enormous compress on my arm, followed by a fat bag of ice, all held on by several feet of those red stretchy cloth strips. My gal said, I’m sorry, but we won’t be able to collect your blood today because the blood touched the collection bag and once that happens you’re considered to have contributed blood so we can’t take any more.

Was that really the main reason? I replied, That’s ok. I no longer wish to donate blood today.

Later I read that veins contain a valve about every inch. I really want to get back onto the donation horse, but first I have to work to banish the image of my gnarly veins studded with little needle traps lying in wait to slurry my blood into exit chutes.

I also plan to wear something I won’t regret getting blood on.

In the US we have a new national mask mandate:

https://static01.nyt.com/images/2021/04/27/us/27virus-briefing-masks-outdoors-cdc2/27virus-briefing-masks-outdoors-cdc2-superJumbo.jpg?quality=90&auto=webp

I hope that link takes you to a chart from NYT. It works on my computer, but my computer usually knows what I want.

What the world needs now is incentive for everyone to get a Covid vaccine, and this might help. I love carrots, which are definitely so much better than sticks, especially with organic, raw cashew butter, and I’m thinking other folks might feel the same way. So why not offer more carrots for vaccinations? The San Jose Sharks–those are Sharks wearing hockey skates, in case you aren’t familiar–are selling game tickets exclusively to, well, let’s call ourselves The Vaxen. I haven’t been to a hockey game in a decade but I might revive my interest to support the concept.

I’ve long thought that anyone who owns a small entertainment venue or museum could generate more business by restricting entry to The Vaxen, and small business owners badly need our support. If you could move up the date on that 100-person wedding if you only invite The Vaxen, why not? Send the invitations sixty days in advance so everyone has time to comply.

Recently I heard an appeal to all The Vaxen to reach out to our anti-Vaxxer relatives and neighbors to encourage them to do the right thing, and I immediately descended into major guilt mode. I am a member of a small group of people of which 80% are anti-Vaxxers and Yes, I perceive this as an opportunity. Yet my status in this group is low and my participation not completely voluntary.

That is sort of a riddle. I’m not going to give you the answer though. There are things about which one dare not blog.

In any case, although I would be very proud of myself were I a fervent speaker on the order of Fred Hampton or a change agent like Greta Thunberg, and I try to incite myself to greatness, I fear these qualities would have emerged before now were they extant. I do keep the issue front and center when I can do so casually, but I don’t have the gumption to make this my cause.

My husband listened to a podcast with the theme, People are Never Swayed by Facts. Hang on for a moment, my mind is boggling…Ok, I’m back. This podcaster says we are persuaded instead by narratives, in all their forms. Once upon a time there was a little virus…

No, I’m not good at this.

For those few, very few, who have a condition that specifically prohibits their getting vaccinated, I say, Please be patient. Life will get back to normal for everyone, eventually, I pray. Before that happens though, we have to get most people out of the business of using their bodies to shelter, transmit, and mutate SARS-CoV-2, which are things that can happen even when you are trying really hard to avoid them.

Meanwhile, we can all go outside to enjoy seeing each other’s beautiful, full length, fully expressive human faces.

Our avocado tree is in full reproductive mode, and we are trying to assuage its apparent lust by pollinating it. I’ve been stoked for this activity since last year, when we actually managed to produce one avocado, but this year it seems much harder, even though the tree is helping by opening both male and female flowers at once for part of the day. All we have to do is to move pollen from M to F. The flowers are delicate though, and the pollen hardly free-flowing. If we were sure we were actually accomplishing something the tedium would be manageable, but often it feels Sisyphean, like keeping the kitchen floor clean, or making a dent in my reading list, or getting software engineers to execute a schedule.

At those times, I wish I had pollinators to help me. How effortless the task for them, landing on all the flowers, letting the sticky substance on their legs do the reproductive work. Or maybe not. Recently I read that the flowers are negatively charged and bees positively charged, and when the bee lands, the flower discharges onto the bee, transferring pollen, then takes about 100 seconds to recharge, during which time other bees won’t land on it. Yowza. Perhaps we should not take responsibility for last year’s single avocado.

Although no pollinators seem attracted to our tree, as opposed to other trees as well as numerous flowers in our yard, I have bonded with a single carpenter bee who believes this tree is a prime meet market. For days I observed this one bee hover, hours at a time, in the vicinity. Eventually I looked up the behavior and found that a male carpenter bee attracts a mate by hovering in place. I had also observed him vigorously defend his position from at least one other male bee; it’s a little hard for me to distinguish individuals.

So I was not shocked when my presence at the same tree inspired this bee to attempt to drive me off. Even though I had read carpenter bees don’t sting people, this is a large, loud, active bee so I had to work through my instinctual reactions. Now I just chat with the bee while I work, trying to convince him that he should leave me alone and hover elsewhere, to no avail, as he is just as tireless about getting rid of me as he is about getting rid of rivals and of waiting for his princess to appear.

Since bees know more than I do about flowers, they probably know more about bee-mating as well. It’s not improbable that my presence might deter an otherwise amorous bee-maiden.

Like most “advanced” humans, I’m no boon to Nature unless I’m leaving Her alone.

Saturday night my son and I went to hear a live outdoor performance of Brazilian jazz trio. We heard about the gig from the drummer, a slight acquaintance of mine whose regular gig at a local resort had been suspended for almost an entire year.

The scene was an outdoor space dotted with tables and patio heaters, a courtyard behind the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History, an institution which is perhaps misnamed. An entire room is devoted to the ubiquitous hand with a mouth, tongue extended, on its palm. There’s also a large exhibition of collage, and a collection of creations of local residents using single categories of objects, for example, paper napkins.

Also abutting the courtyard is a collection of restaurants and a bar known for its craft cocktails, another specialty of SC. Add a small stage and voila: a great spot for grabbing some food and drinks and listening to music. The band included a singer–live singing, no barricades, no mask! The drummer and bassist also did not wear masks while on stage. The music was fantastic, and you could see how much they enjoyed creating it in the normal way, by the expressions on their actual faces.

Since people don’t wear masks while eating or drinking, and many didn’t wear masks while dancing, it was at best a 50% mask-wearing event, making it at least 50% normal. It’s so much fun to listen to live music with other people, even it you don’t know them, and so relaxing and joy-provoking to see smiles instead of smizes.

The crowd scene included

• a dancing woman wearing an elaborate, possibly Brazilian, embroidered, ball-length dress with matching gloves and mask;
• a woman pushing a pink baby carriage containing a small dog and walking another on a leash, all three of them wearing elaborate pink outfits and looking quite smug;
• a fellow doing some fancy footwork while wearing roller skates, and again later without;
• two men with seven boys ranging in age from 7 to 11 or so–dads squiring a birthday party? After everyone ate, the boys ran round and round the plaza while the men drank wine; and
• lots of energetic twenty-somethings who, during one extended instrumental break, took turns filming each other dancing on stage, to the apparent delight of the musicians.

The evening was balmy, and during the second set the lights came on. Such small things, things once common that now seem magical–and yet normal.

My husband was feeling under the weather, so I ordered take-home for him just before we left. Maybe it was the two craft cocktails, but when I returned to the restaurant to pick up the order I completely forgot to don my own mask, which I had remembered when I ordered. I nosed around until I found the pickup area, exchanged my flashing disk for a bag, and left without getting any indication from anyone that I was anything other than…..

Normal!

According to my hero Weston Price*, modern humans have forgotten how to eat food that regenerates our bodies. In experiments, chickens choose butter containing the most vitamins, though researchers can’t discern a difference. Far from gobbling big tufts of grass, cows carefully pick the most nutrition-filled blades. Tribal humans share the adrenal glands of their prey animals, thereby preventing scurvy.

Modern humans think of food as energy, but that is not its only purpose, and perhaps not even its main one. Food also has a huge role in body building. You may be thinking, I don’t even want to bulk up! But you do want to do the sort of body building I mean. In fact, you already do it every day.

Red blood cells (RBCs), the most common human cell type, get the volume award for regeneration. There are 25 trillion in the average human body, and about 200 billion die and are regenerated every day. If you’re good at math, you’ll immediately note that the daily reboot is less than 1% of the total, actually 0.08%. Sounds low? It means all 25 trillion are replaced every 125 days, or almost three times a year.

Thinking of all this frenetic RBC production may make you feel tired, but it’s only the start. The intestines are the stars of speed regeneration. Your 25-foot long gut is bounded by a single-cell-thick lining that is completely replaced every 5-7 days. Great news if you have leaky gut syndrome: Just wait a week and you’ll have a new one! If you’ve got the goods to build it, that is.

Our largest organ is skin. Skin cells live 2-3 weeks. If you’re looking at your skin now and thinking, It looks older than that, you might not be providing the best building blocks.

On I could go, as Grogu might say, once he starts to talk, but you may be ready for the answer: what are the building blocks we need?

Micronutrients: chemical elements or substances required in trace amounts for the normal growth and development of living organisms.

These include vitamins and minerals, heard of which you will have. Manufacturers try to stuff synthetic forms into processed foods, but natural ones work much, much better. If you eat animals that get to choose their own food, and the plants that grow in non-depleted soils, you’ll have shiny new cells and energy to spare.

* Gone but not forgotten: http://www.ppnf.org