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Between You and Me

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METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Women need some good news right about now, after the Roe decision, and here it is: Women are more likely to live past 90. But there is a caveat. We have to be optimistic. Now, don’t poo poo this statement. It comes from a large study by researchers at Harvard University and was published in the Journal of the American Geriatrics Society.

Entitled, “Optimism, Lifestyle and Longevity in a Racially Diverse Cohort of Women,” the study deals with 26 years of data from almost 160,000 women between the ages of 50 and 79. All the participants were selected for their optimism with quantitative measures of testing. Researchers found that the top quarter of the women in the study with the most positive outlook would probably live 5.4% longer than the least optimistic 25% of participants. Further, the more optimistic women were 10% more likely to live past the age of 90 than the least optimistic cohort.

The link between optimism and longer lifespan could be seen across racial and ethnic groups. “Optimism may be an important asset to consider for promoting health and longevity in diverse populations,” states the article. Non-Hispanic White, Black, Hispanic/Latina and Asian, American Indian and Alaskan native women were in the group. 

“A high proportion (53%) of the women [in the optimism group] achieved exceptional longevity,” according to the study. “Higher optimism was associated with longer lifespan and a greater likelihood of achieving exceptional longevity overall and across racial and ethnic groups. The contribution of lifestyle to these associations was modest. Optimism may promote health and longevity in diverse ethnic and racial groups. Future research should investigate these associations in less long-lived populations,” concludes the Journal. Francine Grodstein, ScD and Laura D. Kubzansky, PhD, were the principal researchers of the study.

Interestingly, of those tested, women with higher optimism levels were more frequently non-Hispanic White with higher education levels.

This study also suggests that optimism is “just as important as exercise when it comes to longevity.” The researchers found this to be true even when other factors like depression, chronic health conditions and racial, social and economic background were taken into account. So a positive outlook on life may be just as important as fitness—or so lazy optimists would like to believe, and based on this large study, they may be right.

Stress, on the other hand, can take a toll on mental and physical health. According to an article in this past Tuesday’s New York Times, “certain types of stress can even age your immune system.”  In a study involving 5700 adults aged 50 and over, stresses like job strain, stressful life events, every day or lifetime discrimination (including sexism or ageism) and traumatic life events were cross referenced with immune cell counts from participants’ blood. Simple aging is also a stress on the immune system.

One way to prevent or minimize immune cell aging may be to minimize or do away with unhealthy habits like smoking and drinking. But all kinds of stress, we intuitively know, can effect physical health.

How do we help ourselves further reduce stress?

Taking stock of our emotions is a good place to start. Knowing and acting on what brings us joy and where we can find social support can help. “That may mean pursuing hobbies, spending time with loved ones, or unplugging from work or social media when you can,” suggests Hannah Seo, writing for the NYT. “Mindfulness practices, exercise and healthy eating habits can also help you feel good physically, which in turn can make you feel good mentally,” according to Renee Eddy, a New York City psychotherapist, quoted in the NYT.

My best defense against stress is having social support from family and friends. My son, daughter-in-law and grandson recently visited for four days, and just interacting with them was a joy. My friends call and just chatting leaves me feeling happy, not to mention more informed. 

Stresses can negatively affect longevity. Joy and optimism, we are told by current research, can increase lifespan.

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Pexels photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Ah! It’s summer. 

Yes, there are miserable things happening that we are accosted with in the daily news briefs: congressional hearings, COVID numbers, climate change, warfare, inflation, gasoline price spikes, and so forth. But there is something magical about summer. Maybe it’s a carryover from our school days, when classes and homework ended and we could think about a trip to the beach or lounging in bed in the mornings, that make us feel the specialness of the season.

Come with me, then, as we do some time travel to my elementary school years, and I tell you what summers were like for me.

From first to fifth grades, my mother would visit my teachers in mid-May and get their lesson plans for the rest of the semester and the beginning of the next. She would then take me out of school, and I would not return until mid-September. We would travel to some rustic shack in the Catskill Mountains, a different one each year, where we would spend sixteen weeks in “the fresh air.”

My parents, you see, did not appreciate urban living in the summer, when I recall it used to get hotter than now. Air conditioning only existed in movie theaters, ice cream could only be purchased in bulk from drug stores with freezers, and to get a breeze, one would have to drive really fast along Manhattan’s East Side Highway with all the windows open—that is if one were lucky enough to get a ride in a car. 

My dad grew up in the mountains, my mom in Corona, Queens, which she said was so countrified that there were cows on the road when she walked to public school. They keenly felt the inevitable pollution in the summer air and planned the escape for us children and my mom.

It was lonely for me, fresh air not withstanding I would read a lot. Generally, there would be a farm or two within walking distance, and only occasionally was there a child to play with, only my sister, who was two years younger and had Down Syndrome. But my dad and sometimes my much older brother would come up and stay with us on the weekends, and then the pace of life would pick up.

My dad and I would traipse across meadows and climb hills, for the exercise and just for the fun. Sometimes we would see cows grazing, and they would look at us lazily as we went by. My dad always reminded me to stay alert for the presence of a bull and also to watch out for any snakes that might be sunning themselves at the base of the low stone walls that separated the meadows. Should we see a bull in the distance, we should look to climb a nearby tree.

Often we would find wild blueberry bushes, and we carried containers to bring some back to the rest of the family. We picked the berries in the classical way: one for the pot, two for the mouth, one for the pot, two for the mouth. As we moved around each bush, I enjoyed the warm sun on my back and the smell of wheat and grass carried by the soft breezes that caressed us on their way past. 

When it was time to return, I would wait for his suggestion that I lead the way, and it always came. My dad hoped I would develop a good sense of direction, especially when the terrain looked the same all around us. He would show me nature’s clues, like moss growing on the north side of tree trunks, as a help to finding my way.

One time I remember getting up early enough to watch the sun rise from the top of the nearby hill. I had never seen the sun rise before then, but the real treat was just being with my dad.

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METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but I tested positive last night for COVID,” was the text message from one of our staff in Wednesday’s morning mail. “My sister tested positive, and I was not feeling good so I tested. I am figuring I will work from home the rest of the week and should be OK to return Monday … I just have a headache and a really bad sore throat. No cough. [Not to worry] I wore my mask [this past] Monday and Tuesday at work because I was not feeling good.” 

These are the two ways the landscape for businesses has changed. 

First, at any moment, COVID can alter the day’s lineup. The wildly contagious coronavirus can attack anyone, even those who have been vaccinated, those who have also been boosted and those who have already suffered with a previous bout of the disease. No one is safe, unless they have stayed in a cave alone for over two years, and hence no establishment or sports team or orchestra is immune from shake up on a daily basis.

The second change is made possible by the ability to work remotely. Not every worker can do so. Conductors cannot drive trains remotely, sanitation workers cannot clean remotely and surgeons cannot remove an appendix remotely. At least not yet. But many jobs do lend themselves to being discharged from afar. And this has led to some unintended consequences.

Workers have discovered that they sometimes enjoy doing their jobs from home. Yes, they might miss the socializing that is a part of the office scene. And they might feel like they can come up with new ideas better in an in-person gathering. But they really like working on their own timetable, with time out for a walk or to throw in a wash. Of course, the typical work schedule is altered. They can sit at the computer well into the night, with no separation between work time and free time. And they can be with their families more, for better and worse. 

So some in my office, who can perform their jobs from home, are asking to do that. In fact, they are requesting and getting software that enables access to their desk computers at work. They can then tap into the key items they need to complete their tasks. That also suggests they are still there. Which reminds me of the early days, when I worked at a large corporation, and we might leave a few minutes early but hung our sweaters on the back of the desk chairs to give the impression we were returning. 

One staffer even asked if she could borrow a desk chair from the office. She says it makes her feel totally comfortable when working in her house. It used to be that workers tried to transform their office space into reminders of home, with photos, pillows, plants and the like. Now we have the opposite. Employees are transforming their home workspace into their offices.

As you can tell from the text I quoted, we have no expectation of sick days. We assume that if we are conscious, we can still produce whatever we are responsible for producing. Where before we might have had food trays brought to us in bed, now we have our laptops perched across our midriffs if we remain horizontal.

What will happen next?

For some, working remotely is a dream come true. My oldest grandson has a terrific job that can only be done remotely, and he feels immense freedom to live anywhere he chooses. That’s not so different from when I had just graduated from college and decided where I wanted to live, knowing that wherever I moved, I would be able to find a job because there were more jobs than people to fill them in the 1960s. For others, a hybrid work week seems ideal: the best of the office for two or three days, and no commuting the rest of the week. Only those with no choice may be peeved.

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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Medical scientists released fantastic news Sunday that made me think of my father and weep. In a small trial of 18 patients with rectal cancer, who took a particular drug, the cancer totally vanished. My dad died of rectal cancer in 1975.

Dr. Luis A. Diaz Jr of Memorial Sloan Cancer Center was an author of the paper published in The New England Journal of Medicine explaining the results, according to The New York Times. He said he knew of no other study in which a treatment completely obliterated a cancer in every patient.

“I believe this is the first time this has happened in the history of cancer,” the NYT quotes Diaz as saying. The trial was sponsored by the drug company GlaxoSmithKline. My dad and all these other patients faced chemotherapy, radiation and surgery with possible colostomy bags as treatment for their cancer. Unlike my dad, with the benefit of the new drug, dostarlimab, 47 years later, they all seem to be cured, although only time will tell. So far, it has been three years. And none of the patients had “clinically significant complications.” The medicine was taken every three weeks for six months and cost $11,000 per dose.

“It unmasks cancer cells, allowing the immune system to identify and destroy them,” according to the NYT.

I guess we are thinking of our dads this month in particular since Father’s Day is coming quickly, and we need a gift for the occasion. This incredible breakthrough seems like the ultimate present for any fathers suffering from this disease, and of course for anyone else, too. But it has come too late for my adored dad.

My father, born in 1904, came to the City from the family’s Catskill dairy farm when he was 13. One of 9 children, “the middle child,” he would like to distinguish himself by saying he was sent off by his father to build his life since he was now considered an adult. He liked to tell us stories about his total ignorance of urban life.

A favorite concerned the boarding house in which he first rented a room. It was in a brownstone a block away from where his next older brother lived in Brooklyn. He had only shortly before arrived, had dutifully sat down to write a letter home explaining his new circumstances and had gone out as instructed by his landlady to mail the letter in the mailbox on the corner. Deed done, he turned around to return, only to discover that each building looked the same. He had no idea which held his room. Ultimately someone came out to find him.

He quickly found a job delivering packages to various parts of the city. But that proved a puzzle. He had a map and was able to figure out his destination for each delivery. He rode the buses so as not to lose his sense of navigation. But he could not understand why one time the bus would go where he wanted but other times would turn off and head in a different direction. So to be sure of winding up where he needed to go, he ran. He ran all over the city until he was fired. He was deemed to be too slow.

Another early instance of having arrived in an alien world happened when he followed his brother into a tiny room in a tall building. Surprised when the doors slid closed behind, he could feel the floor drop beneath his feet. Bending into a crouch, he prepared to cushion the shock of the landing when he realized the others in the space were staring at him. He was in his first encounter with an elevator.

Of course, he was the constant victim of teasing in the next office in which he worked. He still remembered when the office manager gave him a folder to bring to the stationery store down the block. Wise now, he retorted, “I’m surprised you would try to trick me, Miss Murphy. I know every store is stationary.”

My dad went on to become a successful businessman in Manhattan. But that’s a story for a different day.

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'Undelivered'

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

“What if,” is always an intriguing question. This is true for our personal lives, as well as for history. And one way to consider many historic “what ifs” is through a newly published book by Jeffrey Nussbaum, one of President Biden’s speechwriters, called, “Undelivered.” This is a compilation of speeches, never given, by historical figures, whose words Nussbaum tracked down over 20 years.

These speeches include, among others, the draft of apology that was prepared for General Dwight Eisenhower, had D-Day ended in failure, and Hillary Clinton’s victory speech. 

Civil rights leader John Lewis’ original speech for the March on Washington, August 28, 1963, in which Martin Luther King Jr. spoke his iconic “I’ve got a dream” words, is also revealing of the tension among the civil rights leadership. PBS, the television news hour, interviewed Nussbaum this past Monday, and he said that Lewis had originally intended to declare, “We will march through the South, through the heart of Dixie, the way Sherman did. We shall pursue our own scorched-earth policy and burn Jim Crow to the ground — non-violently” but was dissuaded from those words. The sponsors of the March, who feared looking too extreme and harming the chances of passing the civil rights bill, begged him to withdraw that particular rhetoric Lewis, with his back to the wall, most reluctantly changed his words that night, writing and rewriting his draft at the base of the Lincoln Memorial until it was acceptable, but the earlier text is in the book.

One of the most fascinating speeches never given was the one awaiting the arrival of President John F. Kennedy on the lectern in Dallas on November 22, 1963.  In that text was Kennedy’s warning of the existence of “a rise in the far-right wing camp of voices preaching doctrines wholly unrelated to reality.” He would have said that “we are the watchmen on the wall of world freedom looking outside and INSIDE. [Capital letters are mine.]”

The subtitle of Nussbaum’s book reads, “The never-heard speeches that would have rewritten history,” suggests that had Kennedy’s words been heard, history might indeed have been altered. As it is, people who read it after the assassination just regarded that speech as generally one of foreign policy.

These speeches demonstrate how outcomes rest on the razor’s edge of history.  Fascinating are “those warnings made in their moment of time,” according to Nussbaum, “that resonate even more clearly today.”

Another historic instance mentioned by Nussbaum was of the three speeches written for Al Gore in the 2000 election. Gore was to give none of them that night. One was a victory speech, the second was a concession, and the third was in the event Gore won the Electoral College but lost the popular vote — prescient of the 2016 election. Nussbaum was one of those speechwriters, and that experience inspired him to write the book about other undelivered speeches. 

Not all the speeches included in the book are about politicians and policy. There is the one by Barry Jenkins, the director behind the 2017 award-winning movie, “Moonlight.” Some of you may remember the flub that night, in which the wrong picture was initially announced as the winner and the wrong cast mounted the stage at the Academy Awards before the correction was made. In the chaos, Jenkins never got to say what winning that award meant for him.  But here, in Nussbaum’s book, he does get to tell what he would have said.

“They were filming in Liberty City, Miami,” explained Nussbaum, “and as in many poorer neighborhoods, there wasn’t sufficient lighting. They had to bring in lights, which attracted children to the set. At one point during the filming, [Jenkins] looks over to Video Village, where all the monitors and editing equipment were, and he sees a young man wearing his [Jenkins’] headset who’s just planted himself in [Jenkins’] chair.” 

“And in that moment, I saw in this child the possibility which I hadn’t believed I could ever see for myself,” Jenkins, who is Black, would have read. How poignant. And missed. 

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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Two young boys, 10 and 8, were in a local playground last weekend, bouncing on a pogo stick, when four teenagers approached them. “Hey, could we have a turn?” one teen asked. “Sure,” said the older of the two boys, pushing the new toy forward toward them. Some conversation followed, indicating that the boys were Jewish. The teens then began ominously bad mouthing their religion, and one teen took coins out of his pocket and threw them at the boys. They were startled, then scared, and they began to run away. What had started as a fun afternoon will become a lifelong painful memory for the two youngsters.

How sad.

We know children can be cruel. Anyone who has ever read “Lord of the Flies” will certainly agree. But this is more than bullying. This is bullying with hate. And on what basis is that prejudice founded? The afternoon was beautiful, the young boys were generous in their response, and the setting should have been one of neighborly interaction among young people. Instead, it served as an excuse for bias. Where did those teens get their ideas? The deplorable answer is often “from their parents.”

How do we understand prejudice? What prompts it? What inflames it? Why should someone whose skin is one color think they are somehow better than someone of another color? Yet, children are “carefully taught,” to quote the line from “South Pacific.” Do we fear differences? Do we need to feel superior to others in order to be happy with ourselves? Why aren’t we simply judged by what sort of persons we are rather than how we look or what we believe?

Speaking of beliefs, political partisanship is threatening to rip apart our country. Never in my lifetime have people so defined themselves as being of one party or the other as now. We can’t even talk about our differences now. And never has that definition resulted in broken friendships and even broken families as now.

What’s happened to bipartisanship, to working together for greater good, for sharing our flag? Aren’t we all Americans? Don’t we all appreciate what is unique in our country, even as we try to improve its failures? When did the word, “compromise,” become an epithet? While there will always be disagreements about policies and actions, together we have moved forward and accomplished great goals since 1776. Now we can’t even get our facts straight.

The only issue that seems to pull us together is fear of being attacked by some outside force. Congress acts in unison when voting substantial sums of money for Ukraine. Suddenly, on the world stage, we are united and bringing other countries that believe in the rule of law together to oppose the Russian leader. If we can do that for the rest of the globe, why can’t we do that for ourselves? Maybe it’s because we can all agree on the same set of facts, that we are opposed to a fascist leader and his unprovoked assault, and we are afraid of who he may be coming after next?

So this is what we need to get us to work together: a common enemy. Heaven forbid that such a threat should ever materialize at our shores or in our heartland. For by then, it may be too late to undue the grievous harm being done to our nation from within. We are enduring daily shootings and killings of innocent children. Our evening newscasts reveal a society in chaos instead of under an orderly rule of law.

How much of the violence in our current lives is the result of the shouting and insults being hurled back and forth among our leaders? Rhetoric plays an important role in people’s behavior, and the rhetoric we are constantly surrounded by is hate-filled. Our citizens, especially our young, have huge mental challenges. While the coronavirus is partly to blame for the collapse of order and predictability, it is not the only culprit. 

What else is? The immoral, unconscionable grasp for power that fills our airwaves with hate.

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Frank Melville Memorial Park. Photo by Heidi Sutton

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

“Did you hear? Ted has come down with COVID and is in the ICU.” 

The words hit me in the gut.

This gentleman, with whom I serve on the board of directors of a local community group, has now been admitted to the local hospital. I sat next to him at the monthly meeting a couple of weeks ago. We exchanged pleasantries and made small talk. Neither of us wore masks. (Ted is probably in his 70s. I have not used his real name.)

Just when we think our virus-riven world may be returning to some semblance of normal, the pathogen acts up again. We seem to be going two steps forward and one step back as weeks and months go by. Yes, we have the vaccines, the boosters, the antiviral mediations and plenty of test kits now. But the contagion is not over, not even close, no matter how much we would like it to be and pretend it is. Neither is the fear that rises and falls. Those of us who have been spared thus far really don’t want to catch the disease, and those who have fallen ill don’t want to be the virus’s victim yet again.

It’s spring. Finally, spring, with the flowers and leaves, the emerald green and the birdsong. The comfortable temperatures allow us to sit out on our patios and back decks. Once again we can feel the joy spring brings. But it is also the third spring we are living under the black cloud of a pandemic.

Yes, we have learned a lot as a result. We have become more aware of the tiny miracles, the blossoming of each flower on the azalea bushes along the roadside as we walk, the warbling of the mockingbird stationed on the top of the tree beside our garage. The pace of life has slowed as a result of COVID, allowing us to become more appreciative, more mindful of our existence from moment to moment. Many of us have embraced remote work habits and thrive with more at-home time. These are silver linings.

But I can’t help mourning the loss of our before-virus lives. We haven’t been to a Broadway play in three spring seasons now. We have dropped our opera subscription. Contemplating a performance of Carmen at Lincoln Center, preceded by a scrumptious dinner in a Manhattan restaurant, makes me feel a bit dizzy with desire. 

I am still not relaxed enough, even with a mask, to indulge in my former existence. If we have been fortunate enough not to have lost a loved one to the disease, nonetheless, the virus has stolen from our lives, stolen not only events and spectacles but more painfully, time with family members and friends at those events. Time missed with those we are closest to, as we live our lives, cannot be made up. Our dear ones don’t live forever. Sometimes loved ones die, from the infection or other causes, and the hours we would have spent with them are lost to us forever.

Recently, researchers have interviewed thousands to answer the question, “How many close friends can one have?” The answer, the mean average and not counting family, is 3-6. Those friends are irreplaceable. When one dies, there isn’t another to step forward and take his or her place because such friendships take years to develop. I know. When I read that study, I immediately fell to counting my closest friends and came up with four. It would have been six but two have died, though not from COVID. I want to spend as much time with those who remain as possible, and I deeply resent the virus for getting in the way.

Friendship, we know, is important for good health. The opposite, isolation and loneliness, often the by-products of COVID, can be as harmful to us physically as smoking 15 cigarettes a day, according to Psychology Professor Julianne Holt-Lunstad, at Brigham Young University.

We must make every effort to stay connected to our family and friends.  

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Golden Retriever puppy. Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Recent impressive research tells us something we already knew: not every golden retriever always retrieves. We have been fortunate to enjoy three golden retrievers in a row over four decades, and for the first two, when we threw a tennis ball, it was enthusiastically returned and dropped at our feet. Then there was Teddy.

Teddy came to us at eight weeks, a golden ball of fur with two eyes, two ears, a pink nose and a tail. He passed on 12 years later, and during that time, we were convinced he was the most beautiful, most intelligent and most fun dog in the world. But there was one oddity about Teddy the Golden Retriever. When we took him out on the lawn and threw a tennis ball, he would politely sit down and watch its trajectory. Then he would look back at us as if to say, “Yeah? So?”

However, if we brought him to a beach and threw a rock that landed among thousands of other rocks, he would bring back that exact rock and drop it at our feet, backing off, tail wagging, and wait for the next throw. This had a terrible effect on his front teeth. Over the years, it wore them down, but he never seemed to mind and didn’t appear to be in any discomfort.

The other item he retrieved at the beach was seaweed. He would plunge into the water, stick his nose beneath the surface, then come up with a mouthful of seaweed and bring it about 10 feet up on the shore, where he would deposit it. From his many trips to the beach, there remained a line of seaweed that marked his hunting spot.

Although the current researchers never interviewed Teddy, they did surveys of 18,385 dogs and sequenced the genomes of 2,155 dogs for their research paper published in the journal Science. They were looking for predictors of canine behavior and concluded that by breed was essentially useless. This might surprise you, as it did us, except regarding the retrieving aspect we just discussed. 

But apparently, stereotypes like pit bulls being aggressive were not validated. In fact, they scored high on human sociability, with videos showing lap-loving pit bulls. According to an article reporting on this study in The New York Times this past Tuesday, written by James Gorman, “Labrador Retriever ancestry [most popular breed in America], on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any significant correlation with human sociability.”

However, the research allows, there are some few predictable traits. “If you adopt a border collie…the probability that it will be easier to train and interested in toys is going to be higher than if you adopt a Great Pyrenees.” 

Go figure.

Breed supposedly accounts for only 9% of the variations in any given dog’s behavior. Rather, behavior patterns were strongly inherited, to the tune of 25%, again according to the research, within any given breed. In studying genomes, “several genes [were discovered] that clearly influence behavior, including one for how friendly dogs are.”  So if you are about to buy a dog, check out its parents first.

The researchers found 11 specific DNA regions that were associated with behavior, and an interesting comparison can be made with those same areas in human genomics. A region that affects the likelihood of a dog howling corresponds in humans to language development, and another that marks dogs enjoying being with humans presents in human DNA with long-term memory.

So I will tell you a little more about Terrific Teddy. When company would arrive at our home, he would walk up to each newcomer, wag and, I insist, smile, until the person gave him a pat on the head. He would then go on to the next person and wait until the greeting ritual was repeated. After that, he would withdraw to a corner and watch the socializing quietly unless called.

He was a bit of a terror under the table when we were at dinner. He would stealthily snatch the napkins off the diners’ laps. Some day I will write a children’s book about Teddy, the Napkin Snatcher Dog.

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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

The idea that wars would cease if countries were economically tied tightly together seemed to make sense to the world’s leaders immediately following World War II. It sounded like a reasonable premise. After all, why would any nation attack its neighbor if its economy depended on trading with that neighbor, right? In past centuries, wars were started to gain land and the riches they yielded.

Before the Industrial Age, economies were agrarian and depended on land ownership. But by the middle of the 20th century, a huge variety of goods could be exchanged across borders cheaply, especially with advances in transportation. Countries could be locked together by mutual profit rather than by expensive and bloody wars.

For more than 70 years, this theory actually worked in practice. Europe was a prime example. The British had already stopped fighting the French, who stopped fighting the Germans, who stopped attacking Slavic countries, and so on. Instead, they did business together, more or less peacefully, vacationed in each others’ mountains and on each others’ beaches and even formed what they called a European Union. It is not like the United States in that its 27 members must act unanimously or be expelled, but despite infighting, countries want to be in it. Once in, nations can enjoy more cheaply the fruits of economic transactions and a certain amount of financial support. 

The Russians were the world’s third largest producer of oil. They got some $123 billion of their export revenue from supplying crude oil to the rest of the globe, plus refined petroleum-like petrol and diesel at $66.2 billion, gas at $26 billion and coal at $18 billion (2019 figures), especially to neighboring European countries, including Ukraine. Russia was the largest exporter of wheat, plus iron and nickel, nitrogen-based fertilizers and a wide variety of raw materials.

If at war, Ukraine would halt its trade with Russia, which could affect Russia’s economy. So why would Russia start a war with its Ukrainian neighbor? It doesn’t make economic sense. There goes the theory that countries who trade together play nicely together. In fact, it is as if a bully in the schoolyard has begun beating up a smaller child who is supplying him with candy.

President Putin says he fears the encroachment of NATO and must have a buffer between Russia and the other members of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization that was organized expressly to defend against a possibly aggressive Russia. Churchill always considered Russia the biggest threat. Ukraine is not a member of NATO, nor of the European Union. Putin further says more that makes no sense about denazifying Ukraine.

One thing seems to be obvious. Putin is not trying to grab Ukraine for its GDP. His army is pursuing a scorched earth attack, destroying apartment buildings, hospitals, industrial plants and whole cities, as it tries to establish a land bridge between the Donbas in eastern Ukraine and Crimea, which Russia annexed in 2014. This would afford Russia uninterrupted access to the Black Sea, a goal of landlocked czars for centuries. But what he is really after is power.

Perhaps, Putin thought that his trade ties with other countries would keep them from interfering in his “special military operation” in Ukraine. No military riposte materialized after he grabbed Crimea. Perhaps he hoped his actions would serve to divide NATO members in their response to him. In fact, only Viktor Orban, the Prime Minister of Hungary, has refused to condemn Putin, straining what has been a Warsaw-Budapest alliance within NATO. On the opposite side of the spectrum, German Chancellor, Olaf Scholz, said that no one could assume Russia would not attack other countries given its violation of international law in Ukraine, and that he would support Finland and Sweden if they decided to join NATO. Scholz made his comments despite Germany’s dependence on Russia for most of its import of gas.

So much for the hope that economic ties peacefully bind.

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Central Park. Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

A man I never met had a profound effect on my early life. Indeed, I could not have met him since his 200th birthday was this past Tuesday.

There are millions of others whose lives he has touched and continue to touch all over the country. His name is Frederick Law Olmsted, and along with a colleague, Calvert Vaux, he designed Central Park in the late 1850s. He went on to design many other parks and public spaces, but Central Park was his first. 

Olmsted was more than a landscape architect, and his philosophy and appreciation of community and human nature were built into his designs. Proving that I am not the only one who feels his importance, I was pleased to notice a special section about Olmsted published in Tuesday’s New York Times. All subsequent quotes are from that section, written by Audra D.S. Burch, with sayings from essays of Frederick Law Olmsted.

“In plots of earth and green, Olmsted saw something more: freedom, human connection, public health…Olmsted’s vision is as essential today as it was more than a century ago. His parks helped sustain Americans’ mental and physical health and social connections during the darkest days of the pandemic. As COVID-19 lockdowns unlaced nearly every familiar aspect of life, parks were reaffirmed as respite, an escape from quarantine.”

Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park. Pixabay photo

And this from Olmsted: “The park should, as far as possible, complement the town. Openness is the one thing you cannot get in buildings… The enjoyment of scenery employs the mind without fatigue and yet exercises it, tranquilizes it and yet enlivens it; and thus through the influence of the mind over the body, gives the effect of refreshing rest and reinvigoration to the whole system… We want a ground to which people may easily go after their day’s work is done, and where they may stroll for an hour, seeing, hearing, and feeling nothing of the bustle and jar of the streets, where they shall, in effect, find the city put far away from them.” 

When people ask me where I grew up, I answer, “New York City,” but I should answer “Central Park.” 

Almost every Sunday without inclement weather, my dad would take us to the park for the day, giving my mom time for herself. It worked out splendidly for him because he grew up on a farm and never liked the urban surroundings in which we lived. It also gave him some uninterrupted time with us since we didn’t see much of him during the work week. And of course it was welcomed by my mother, who then had a chance to sleep in and tend to her own needs. 

Dad would awaken early, make us a creative breakfast that always involved eggs and braised onions plus whatever other ingredients happened to be in the fridge. Never were two Sunday breakfasts the same. Then we would go off, my younger sister and I with him, to “The Park.” 

There were many different destinations once we left the street and stepped into the greenery. We roamed along countless paved paths, over charming bridges and through tunnels (always yodeling for the echo effect), climbed rocks, crossed meadows, watched baseball games on several ballfields, played “21” on the basketball courts (if we had remembered to bring a basketball), watched older men competitively play quoits (pitching horseshoes) and munched on crackerjacks — my dad limiting the three of us to one box. I usually got the prize since my sister wasn’t interested. 

On beautiful days, when longer walks beckoned, we would visit the merry-go-round and ride until we were dizzy. Or we would spend the afternoon at the small zoo. My dad taught me to row on the Central Park lake. And always the air was fresh, the seasons would debut around us, the birds would sing and the squirrels would play tag through the trees.

By pre-arrangement, my mom would appear with a pot of supper, some paper plates, forks and a blanket, and we would eat in a copse or a thicket of brush. Then, as the sun was setting, we would walk home together.

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