The New and the Not so New

It's been forever and a day since I last communicated with you, dear ones: since May 14 2025 in fact. This has been a time of hibernation and integration. We lost Lisa's dad, after many years of elder care, complicated by the passing of her sister from colon cancer, in December of 2023; and shortly thereafter, my dad on January 18 of 2024. I've been thinking of him every day. Ways I'm like him, ways I'm not. What kind of man he was, and perhaps most compellingly whether any of those stories matter. 

Hopefully, we ruminate on other people's death and on our own mortality. I say hopefully, because it strikes me as a good idea, if you're going to have a genuine, deeply felt sense of what makes you come alive, or what matters: your kids, your job, your couple, your health, whatever else. I've heard many reports from you about being by someone's side as they declined and died. Moments of boredom, worry, patience, madness, and sometimes forgiveness and even love. And a sense of meaningful connection. 

The more I listen to you, the greater my insight into the vastness of my ignorance about this very strange experience of being alive. I can boil down the things that are helpful to me as I wander through that vastness: trying to be kinder, especially when I don't feel like it; swimming, especially when I don't feel like it; pausing often to take in the many blessings in our household; sitting with my frequent bouts of worry or anxiety with curiosity and patience; asking myself why I'm talking, preferably before I talk, or why am I writing, before I write. Turns out my belief that I have a lot to say is incorrect. 

And now the news that's fit to print. 

Lisa's health is in a steady state thanks to modern medicine. After a brutal chemotherapy regimen based on Interferon, her Multiple Sclerosis has gone dormant. No lesion progression, no motor or cognitive issue. Even the blindness in her eye has receded and she has recovered 95% of her vision. Her health discipline involves watching her diet and level of energy expenditure, but she's back in the gym and in her studio making abstract art. She's also taken her Buddhist vows with a local Tibetan Rinpoche, Anam Thubten, and has returned from a seven-day silent retreat at Drala Mountain, engaging in a Tibetan Buddhist practice known as "Chod" (there's an umlaut on the o, but I can't be bothered) . In Chod, you feed your demons big and small: your shopaholic tendencies, your procrastination, your need for control, your partaking a little too much of the good life, whatever they are. You recognize the ways in which they help you and also the ways in which they always want more of you, and you feed them virtually until they are sated. Then you can tell them to return to their lair. Or take a long hike. 

Fun! 

Lisa always had a gentle, glowing presence, but now she positively shines. What can I say, I love her more than ever. 

The kids (and grown kids!) in our family are doing quite well. My nice Julia is a superstar in the documentary world; my nephew Gabo, a sustainable farmer on the East Coast; my nephew Ryan is going into a chemistry Ph.D. after a very successful run at Cal Poly; my nephew Allen has turned into a 270-pound Dwayne Johnson and instills justified terror in his wrestling opponents (who never stand a chance). My niece Bridget has a job selling high-end knives on Vancouver Island - that woman will never cease to astonish me. Heather is a well-respected librarian in Fremont, and Colin a sought-after microchip production expert. Dariana has two kids and is the best mom you could hope to have. There's a lot of nonsense published every year about this and that generation. The next generation, and the one after it, seem just fine to me. Now if we oldsters could find it in our orange selves to get out of their way. (See what I did there? Politics without the politics?) 

Speaking of oldsters, my mom is doing better than ever, with some help from Zoloft and very little else. In fact she has no other prescription, at nearly ... 95! She's a bit repetitive. She's a bit repetitive. Oh wait: so am I. I will be seeing her on January 15 and spending a couple of weeks with her. My friend John is tagging along, and will be braving the dreary weather in Versailles and Paris with equanimity... I hope. We will be checking in with Sylvie, my mom's extraordinary helper, a woman from the Ivory Coast who had to leave her family behind to make ends meet elsewhere in the world. I am so grateful to her, even if my mom isn't. Sylvie recently sent me a picture of her daughter in her best finery, and I commented that her daughter had inherited her sense of style. Sylvie said: "That's not possible because I left when she was two years old and she doesn't really know me." 

This woman's misfortune is our fortune. What a strange, strange world. 

As for me, well. I'm 62. How did I get here? I see the white hair, the sagging ... everything, but I still have trouble catching up to who this guy in the mirror is. He seems all right, despite the bundle of hangups. He remains vital, active, opinionated (although less so)  and ... looks more and more like his dad. 

I've been on an AI kick, and have had enough adventures, good and bad, in AI creativity to write a book. Right now I'm doing a feature-length AI film based on one of my stories, and spend vast chunks of time on sound, image generation, video clips, voice engineering. It would take an army of people to ensure character consistency (wardrobe, facial expression and so on), and I'm bumping up against my limitations, but it's a fun romp. 

I'm beyond grateful for the stories you continue to share with me. Some of you are kind enough to send newsletters. Others share the intimate details of their lives: your struggles and joy in coupledom or solo living; the challenges of parenting; getting a parting gift of love from someone on their death bed; traveling to exotic destinations and finding beauty; staying local and finding beauty; exploring spiritual paths. Community wisdom makes us smarter and kinder, I'm sure of it. Thank you, and may 2026 not detract us from our focus on peace and love, the two greatest values cherished by our species. 

I will leave you with Lisa's latest: