Impermanent Dreams

There comes a time when downsizing becomes more than just a good cleanout.  Some items that we seem to have clung too for a lifetime need new homes.  They are the objects with which we have emotional attachments.  They are the things we never could quite have let go of without an emotional toll.
Yesterday I moved one such piece on to a new life.  It was a painting my father bought when a young man in New York City.  The piece was a signed oil by a rather unknown Austrian artist whose father was a bit more famous and thus more successful.  Nevertheless, because the painting is almost 100 years old, despite its condition issues, there is always a chance that it could accrue in value.
I ended up selling the painting for a store...literally.  Well, not literally because I also got about half the asking price, which was fairly modest, to begin with.  The story is that a man bought the painting for his brother, who is beginning to show an interest in collecting art.

Now, we've all heard those Antiques Roadshow stories where a person pays $25. for a piece at an estate sale and it turns out to be worth $25k.  Not the case here.  However, a little TLC and a good cleaning will definitely be advisable for the new owner.  That will raise the value fivefold and make for a desirable and aesthetically pleasing work of art.
What seems to stick with me every time I sell something with childhood recollections is that I tend to react emotionally.  The aforementioned painting hung over the fireplace in my family home.  It was part and parcel of my folks' conception and portion of postwar promise.  It was more than a work of art, it was home and hearth.  No matter how many times we tell ourselves that nothing lasts forever, and even when we have finally come to believe it for keeps, it still manages to pluck the heartstrings with a final tune.
The answer, my friends, isn't blowing in the wind, but it is doable.  I like to make a new narrative and go with that.  For example, some person, who will no doubt outlive me and my entire family will soon be very pleased with his new acquisition.  He might even give it the care and energy it deserves.  It may even be connected to yet another version of all things possible in the American that we know exists.  New life for an old-timer.  Yeah, that works.

After You Go There

Aside from all the other scandals and tales of corruption and greed, we're currently being exposed to these days, don't forget that this will go down as the year of the college admissions scandal.
Today, the top of the news featured the headline that the 10th person (i.e. parent) was sentenced to jail time today.
There is something particularly conniving and evil about the parents who would cat and buy their way into prestigious schools.  They have the money and the inclination to apply their sense of entitlement and privilege to the fullest.  Their kids will have the best...that's all their is to it.  But no, that is not all there is to it.  In fact,  I'd go further and say that is not all there is.  Getting into what you might consider a "good" school is highly overrated.
Some of the kids whose parents got busted could care less about where they go to school.  In fact, a few were vocal that they didn't even want to go to college.  So what makes a parent go so far as offering hundreds of thousands of dollars to either fix test scores or fake athletic ability and go for elite athlete scholarships?

I submit that they know little of a college education, it's purpose and worth and have fallen victim to flawed conventional wisdom.
I spent over half my life with juniors and seniors anxious about applying to college. I'd make a point of discussing it with their parents too at evey open house and Back to School night. The college admissions process was something we discussed every year.  The best message I could offer to students and their parents is one simple line.  I don't know who deserves the credit for this gem but "It's not where you go, it's what you do after you go there that counts" continues to be genius.
I recall one poor student who told me that his parents made him take the SAT test 7 times.  As if the more times taken would yield better results.  Poor kid would never be good enough.  Good enough for what? As if there were any connection between SAT scores and college success.
I welcome all the schools that are now no longer asking for ACT or SAT scores.  They get it.  It's going to take a huge shift in thinking and a lessening in valuing prestige, but I'm hopeful we'll get there.  That involves opening up college for everyone who welcomes the challenge and ending the vice grip of Educational testing.
Things are headed that way.

Ownership

I recommend doing this.  Take a minute and search on Google maps or a similar website the home address of a residence where you once lived.  The older you are the better.  That way you can look back at how a neighborhood or specific street has changed over the years.
It's been 50 years since I left the home I grew up in.  My folks were California transplants shortly after the end of World War II.  That makes me the classic Baby Boomer.
Since they were older when they first had kids, their version of the American Dream didn't begin until they were in their late 30s and early 40s.
The little home they purchased was finally paid for after both were gone.  What sold for about $15,000 then would probably go for $515,000, today.  That's a conservative estimate.
Something sent me back to that old neighborhood yesterday and through the magic of the internet, I was able to walk up and down my old neighborhood streets.
Back then, in the early 1950s, there were many young families on my street.  Lots of kids to play with, and even though it was mostly white, there was a certain diversity with Latino, Asian, and many religious beliefs represented.  African American and southeast Asians would come later as well as many migrants from Central and Latin America.
I knew all the houses by their appearance.  The Pit family and the Wise family had 5 and 6 kids respectively.  Their front lawns were always in flux and littered with toys and bikes.  The Weinert's and the Paul's were older couples whose children were grown and on their own.  Their front porches and lawns were immaculate.  Erich High was an older German man whose wife was about 20 years younger.  He was a gardener who drove an old blue truck with tools and hoses neatly hung in the back.   His lawn was like a golf course with an enormous elm tree dead center.  It was one of the coolest places to be on a Southern California afternoon in August.

When I punched in my old address 7727...the picture that emerged was of a house that barely resembled the one I knew.  The front lawn was now concrete. Gone was the big Silver Maple tree that shed leaves for months. All those trips with the push lawn mower my dad made...all the time spent edging the lawn just right.  Nothing green now to trim.  No leaves falling anywhere. The home was painted a deep tan with no sign of the redwood panels on the front of the house.  The front porch was now gone and the area looked like the living room had been extended.  I couldn't find the driveway, but when I saw the chimney, I smiled, because it looked familiar.
I'm sure the inside of the house now would be just as unrecognizable.  I don't need to go there.
I have no interest in knowing who lives there now, though I must admit, were I to ever walk that street in person and see someone there, I'd definitely stop.
I feel no deep sadness, even though it's the place where both my parents died, and where I felt most secure.  The home I knew will always exist in my memory.  After all, those recollections are really the only things we ever own.

Speed, Stamina, or Both?

I found an old Peanuts cartoon panel I'd saved the other day.  Lucy is sitting on a rocking horse wearing a football helmet.  Charlie Brown says, "Football is the number one spectator sport in the country, horse racing is number two."  Lucy responds, "I can go either way."
There was a time when horse racing was number one.  The old film clips show the grandstands jammed with thousands.  They once huddled around their radios to listen to the big races.  Telephones used to be banned from all racetracks.  Things have changed.
As the sport struggles to right the sinking ship, there are a number of things that can be done and a number of things that already have been done.

The track surface seems to be the narrative of the recent deaths at Santa Anita.  It's only one variable, and the abnormal amount of absorbed rain in Southern California last year is often cited.  Possibly.  But the strength and stamina of the breed factors in here.  In this country, the emphasis is on speed.  In Europe, it is on stamina.  Given the anatomy and bone structure of a thoroughbred's legs, it makes sense to emphasize endurance over speed.  Just imagine 12-1400 pounds being supported by a leg the size of your wrist.
In Europe and other areas like South Africa, and Asia, the emphasis is on turf racing.  Grass.  Green grass is kinder on the legs.
Because of opportunities that offer inflated purses, in America, we race 2-year-olds.  That needs to change.  Some say they are too young and it weakens the legs.  Others say the older a horse, the less sound the horse.  Let's eliminate 2-year-old racing and see what happens.
And then there is the whip.  This reform is already being instituted.  Jockeys use the whip in many ways.  "As a reminder" some would say, but there are many horses who simply won't run on when being hit by a whip.  A new design has emerged, sort of a "Nerf-whip" if you will, this allows for encouragement without the sting.
Stand by the rail on the turn for home at any racetrack and listen.  Down the stretch is when jockeys produce and use the whip.  Just listen to the sound from a distance of about 20 yards and then decide.
On November 1st, all eyes will be on the Breeder's Cup Championship races at Santa Anita.  If any horse goes down on that two-day event, you'll hear the collective gasp in surround sound.
One horse racing fan I know has pointed out a very interesting little point of information.  While politicians and animal rights activists are railing against deaths of 36 horses, the Bureau of Land Management has recently voted to destroy thousands of wild horses that still roam what's left of the western range.  Where is the outrage there?