 Josh Duff and the 1500 bikers who escorted him to his prom. Photo: SWNS It’s never easy being different, especially in high school. Just ask the much-bullied Josh Duff, a neurodivergent free-thinker who was dreading his upcoming prom, which he planned to attend alone, in an outfit sewn by his mom. Then his dad reached out to some pals he rode motorcycles with, and the response was astonishing. On prom night, 1500 bikers showed up to escort young Josh to the dance; it was the social highlight of the year, possibly the century, in the town of Swindon, UK. “It’s insane, I’m still in shock,” a grinning Josh told reporters. “I used to say I felt alone, but I don’t feel that way anymore.” Thanks to his new friends and his moment in the spotlight, Josh isn’t too worried now about being mistreated by teen bullies.  This 1983 poster was enormously popular back in the day, especially with people who were tired of being picked on. It was cooperation that enabled our relatively small, weak, inadequately clawed and fanged species to survive for the last 300,000 years and eventually dominate the planet. Communal effort is in our DNA. Look at Amish barn raisings. Dunkirk. The Baltic States’ 1989 Singing Revolution. Not familiar with that one? It started with singing forbidden national songs and led to two million people — one quarter of the populations of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania — joining hands in a 420-mile human chain of protest spanning all three countries. What did it accomplish? It helped topple the USSR. Now, during equally tumultuous times in our own nation, people keep asking me what we can do to keep hope alive and stand up against bullying and brutality. Until somebody organizes a 3000-mile coast-to-coast human chain of protest — and if that happens I will be the first to sign up! — we can start by looking at more modest opportunities closer to home. Think the little stuff doesn’t matter? It turns out that moral activism — small, unglamorous, everyday good deeds — lays the necessary groundwork for widespread cooperation that leads to massive change. Luckily, opportunities for doing good deeds are lurking all around us, just waiting for us to notice and embrace them. I’ve been writing about them for months, from helping immigrant families to training guide dogs for the blind to finding words of comfort on the darkest days. And national sites such as Volunteer Match can put us in touch with thousands more, from school cafeterias to disaster relief centers.  For me, it often starts with whatever headline is making me craziest at the moment. Right now I’m reeling from the announcement that the federal government has cut a billion dollars in funding for school lunches, meals in childcare centers, and food banks that supplement the diets of the working poor, seniors on fixed incomes, and the destitute. With all the other federal funding that’s drying up, it’s unlikely states will be able to make up the shortfall. Feeling that I needed to offset that disturbing news with a feel-good moment among everyday heroes, on Thursday I went to Marin Community Clinics, the free medical center in nearby Novato, during their weekly grocery giveaway.  Volunteers organize bulk food into family-sized boxes and bags at Marin Community Clinic in Novato, CA. A long line of tables was set up under tents outside the clinic doors. Volunteers were rushing about, re-organizing bulk food into family-sized boxes and bags, making sure each one contained fruit, vegetables, protein (such as fresh eggs or canned tuna), a bag of popcorn for fun, and recipes developed by clinic nutritionists for combining that week’s ingredients into wholesome meals. After an hour of furious activity, the boxes and bags were lined up, ready to distribute, and the walk-up and drive-through lines opened. “Each family gets about $100 to $150 worth of food,” explained Biby, who organizes three weekly food distributions at the free clinics in Novato and San Rafael. “Hold on just a minute—” And she was gone, sorting out some urgent paperwork. Moments later she was back, bringing with her a kind-eyed, mustachioed gentleman. “Let me introduce you to Misael, one of the three staff members including me. Volunteers? We have about 30 here in Novato. The families? There are about 300 each week. They don’t have work, or they are working but it’s not enough, and they need food.”  Misael and Biby, staff members who organize the volunteers and oversee the food distribution As I wandered around, trying not to impede the rapid deployment of carrots and potatoes, I bumped into Lisa, a volunteer I’d worked with at the San Rafael food distribution center. “Biby and Misael are wonderful,” she told me. “And it feels great to be part of this community. I’ve made a wonderful group of friends here. We get different people that come in here for community service work, that come and go, but we have our stable group of people. They can count on us, each week, rain or shine; we’ve been out here when the tents are tipping over. You feel like you’re giving back. And that makes me personally feel good.”  Lisa distributes celery to each family's grocery bag. A lot of people call this kind of giving back “paying it forward,” spreading good karma around, helping create the kind of world that we can count on to step up for us if we’re ever the ones in need. Because let’s face it, between government cuts, rising prices, robots eyeballing all our jobs, and the chaotic global economy, who isn’t a pink slip away from needing free groceries or some other assistance from the Universe? “The most important thing I can add from my own observations is this,” wrote Catherine Ryan Hyde, author of Pay It Forward, the novel in which a young boy’s Pay It Forward school project became a life-changing movement. “Knowing it started from unremarkable circumstances should be a comfort to us all. Because it proves that you don’t need much to change the entire world for the better. You can start with the most ordinary ingredients. You can start with the world you’ve got.”  Each of those 1500 bikers did a single, small favor for one teenage boy and changed his entire world. Josh has now successfully finished his exams and wants to become a pediatric therapist, so he can help other neurodivergent kids navigate their future more successfully. Perhaps in doing so he’ll help more neurotypicals appreciate how much we need people around who don’t think precisely the way we do. “What would happen if the autism gene was eliminated from the gene pool?” asked scientist and autism spokesperson Dr. Temple Grandin. “You would have a bunch of people standing around in a cave, chatting and socializing and not getting anything done.” I’m not sure I agree 100% — I suspect sooner or later somebody would have experimented with fire’s interesting possibilities, invented the wheel, and launched the whole mad enterprise of human civilization. But she has a point. Survival has always been a communal endeavor, requiring all of us to pitch in with whatever ideas we’ve got, however oddball they may seem. “Celebrate weirdness and innovation,” said Anthony Bourdain. “Oddballs should be cherished.” And not just on prom night, but every single day of the year.  Cue music: Born to be Wild FINDING HOPE This story is part of my series of blog posts exploring ways we help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Tell me more in the comments section below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase a signed paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.
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 Words of resilience in Santa Rosa, CA following the devastating 2017 Tubbs Fire. “One day when Troy was four and Scott was two,” my friend Ginnie said during a Sunday picnic, “Scott came running in, tears pouring out of his little eyes, with a big red bite mark on his cheek. ‘What happened?’ I asked. Troy came in after him and said, ‘Scott bit himself!’ I said, ‘Oh, really? How did he do that? It would be kind of tough to reach that spot on his own face.’ And Troy said, ‘He stood on a chair.’” As a great gust of laughter rose from the picnic table, Ginnie added, “And yes, Troy grew up to become a lawyer.” The stories we tell give shape and meaning to our lives, which is why we take such pleasure in offering them to the world. As Groucho Marx put it, “If you’ve heard this story before, don’t stop me, because I’d like to hear it again.”  Right now, I need to hear stories confirming that, as Sam says in Lord of the Rings, “There’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.” That’s why, a few Fridays ago, Rich and I took the train north to Santa Rosa, booked a room in our favorite haunted hotel, and went to hear one of America’s most warm-hearted poets, James Crews. The (allegedly) haunted Hotel La Rose hasn’t changed much since 1907. Or my last visit. As usual, I didn’t sense the ghost boy in the elevator, see the white lady walk through walls, or hear the shrieks of the family who met a grisly end in Room 42. One weird thing: every time I straightened the old portrait on my bedroom wall I’d find it askew again. Supernatural forces or wonky hanging wire? You be the judge. The poetry reading was every bit as comforting as I’d hoped. “Even if no one ever touched you with the tenderness you needed,” James read from his poem The World Loves You Back, “believe that the world has been holding you in its arms since the day you were born.” James and his husband, farmer-poet Brad Peacock, had just published an anthology called Love Is for All of Us. They hadn’t met all of the 100+ contributors face to face and seemed delighted when one showed up unexpectedly at the reading, saying, ‘Hi, I’m page 33!” It didn’t take much to persuade page 33 (aka MJ Arcangelini) to do an impromptu reading.  Brad, James, and MJ at Copperfield's Books in Santa Rosa In Goodbye Kiss, MJ writes, his lover Planted a kiss on my mouth He didn’t care who saw us He was acting in the world He wants to be living in Not the world where that Might have been a Dangerous thing to do… Two old men in love Saying goodbye in A small airport lobby As if there were No one else around.  As the Bard says, "Parting is such sweet sorrow." Brad talked about how proud he’d been to serve as a soldier like the grandfather he’d idolized. And how shattered and shamed he felt when the Air Force learned he was gay and kicked him out for what they labeled an “antisocial personality disorder.” It took him decades to rebuild his life around love and purpose. Now he is once again being defined as an enemy of the state. “At a time when books are being banned simply for their content, without any regard for context,” James wrote in the book’s introduction, “when LGBTQIA+ people are being attacked and ridiculed, with laws placed on our bodies and our right to exist out in the open, we see this book as an antidoted to prejudice. We believe these poems are the exact medicine we need to help us love each other, ourselves, and the world more fully, remembering that no matter who we are, and no matter our situation, we deserve the everyday wonders life offers us.”  Poet Kai Coggin called the book “a declaration of unwavering truth. Within these pages we are safe. We are held. We are loved.” And that is the wonder of words; even when the world isn’t safe or sane, our narratives can create comfort, inspire us to act in hope, and provide a refuge from the firestorm raging around us. In that Santa Rosa bookstore, I realized I was sitting among many who had literally survived a firestorm: the Tubbs Fire of 2017. Sparked by a faulty electrical system on rural Tubbs Lane, sped by winds up to 60 miles an hour, fed by drought-parched land and 5643 buildings, it killed 22 people and ate up 36,807 acres in a three-week rampage. Officials could have sent out an emergency alert to every cellphone in the area but they feared (with good reason) that the entire population would jump in their cars and flee, hampering emergency response efforts. Instead they sent out targeted alerts. Not everyone got the message. “We had no idea how close the fire was,” one resident told Rich. “In the middle of the night my dog’s growling woke me. I got up, looked out the window, and saw my garage was on fire. I woke my wife, grabbed the kids, and we ran outside. Ten minutes later the entire house was gone.” And speaking of first-responder canines, I have written before about the heroic Odin. Like Groucho, I can't resist telling such a good story again.  The Great Pyrenees Odin, who wouldn't leave his goats “Despite the sounds of exploding propane tanks, twisting metal, and the hot swirling winds, Odin refused to leave our family of eight bottle-fed rescue goats,” said Roland Hendel. “He was determined to stay with the goats and I had to let him do it ... I was sure I had sentenced them to a horrific and agonizing death.” Incredibly, all the animals survived. Oden emerged with a singed coat, melted whiskers, and a limp, but he’d remained steadfast, protecting the goats and a few terrified baby deer who joined the little flock. As you can imagine, the community's recovery was long, expensive, and filled with plenty of free and frank discussion about who was at fault and how rebuilding should proceed. Everyone was shell-shocked, especially the children. Teacher Tracy Henry saw a sharp spike in misbehavior among her third-grade students, half of whom had lost their homes to the fire. Her solution? Put them to work writing poetry.  Thanks to the non-profit California Poets in the Schools, poet Margo Perin taught Tracy's third-graders how to get started. “From now on,” wrote eight-year-old Delia Stone, “never give up and never be mean. But when some things are tough, be kind and enjoy the sunlight.” Right now the world feels as preposterous as Troy’s childhood excuses. Men who look like Bond villains insist they have the right to tell us who we may love. To punish us for believing the Constitution’s promise that we could live forever in the country of our birth. To mock us for biting our own cheeks by standing on a chair. But Delia’s right; when things are tough, be kind and enjoy the sunlight. “Life is much wilder, more complex, heartbreaking, weirder, richer, more insane, awful, beautiful and profound than we were prepared for as children,” wrote author Anne Lamott. “The paradox is that in the face of this, we discover that in the smallest moments of taking in beauty, in actively being people of goodness and mercy, we are saved.”  Can one person make a difference? Ask 76-year-old Peter Lang, who grabbed a garden hose and spent all night, alone, fighting the Tubbs Fire as it approached his Safari West Wildlife Preserve. Not one of his 1000 creatures perished. FINDING HOPE This story is part of my series of blog posts exploring ways we help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Tell me more in the comments section below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.  Four kids playing on a California beach. What could possibly go wrong? It seemed like such a no-brainer. Two harassed parents, four of us kids under the age of ten, a long drive, a hot day, and a glimpse of an empty white sand beach on the California coast. “Let’s stop for a swim!” my mom said. We pulled over, tugged on our bathing suits, and dashed into the surf. Everyone was having a grand time splashing about in the waves when we noticed a man running towards us across the sand, waving his arms and shouting. At first we couldn’t make out the words. And then we could. “Get out of the water! Get out now! Sharks! Sharks! SHARKS!”  Cue the theme from Jaws. My parents hauled us out of the sea and onto the beach in under a nanosecond. When he got his breath back, the Good Samaritan explained someone had spotted a shark in the shallows off that very beach a few hours earlier. Nowadays you’d expect warning signs all over the place, but at the time, we just thanked our lucky stars — and the Good Samaritan — that we’d been alerted in time to get out of the water without a disaster. That day I learned an important lesson about California: you never know when it’s going to turn really exciting. Back when I was a kid, the danger talk was all about earthquakes, and the adults in my life cultivated an attitude of insouciance. “You call that an earthquake? It barely hit 3.5 on the Richter scale. Didn’t even rattle the dishes. More wine?” But California has really upped its game with wildfires, floods, droughts, heat waves, tsunamis, rising sea levels, tornadoes, hurricanes, landslides, and torrential downpours known as atmospheric rivers. These days it’s hard to tell the weather channel from a horror movie. Officials urge us to be prepared with go-kits, evacuation plans, and two weeks’ worth of food on hand at all times. Planning for so many kinds of disasters all at once is dizzying. Rain boots by the door for flooding, heavy clothing to protect us from burning embers, head lamps for digging through rubble. I’ve read crossbows are the best defense against zombies, should it come to that; I’m not shopping yet, just making a note. “We need to re-stock the Apocalypse Chow Food Locker,” I told Rich on Thursday. “In case we find ourselves under martial law.” Because on top of everything else, we now have marines deployed in our state, and as countless action movies have demonstrated, this is unlikely to end well. Clearly I’ll need a shedload of emotional-support chocolate to get through this summer.  "The Army is a broadsword, not a scalpel," says Bruce Willis's character, General Devereaux, in The Siege. "Trust me, senator, you do not want the Army in an American city." Spoiler alert: he was so right. As my regular readers know, the Apocalypse Chow Food Locker is the shed Rich built during the pandemic to store the extra supplies that won’t fit into our cottage’s skimpy cupboards. And no, we are not filling it with those grisly emergency rations that last for 20 or 30 years. Have you seen what’s in that stuff? The MayDay Emergency Rations that came with our store-bought go-kit are made of enriched flour, vegetable shortening, sugar, corn syrup, soy flour, cornstarch, potassium sorbate, vitamins, and artificial flavor. If I’m going to subsist on a diet of sugar and starch, why not just eat Oreos? Other emergency rations are no better; just look at the chemicals and artificial ingredients Augason Farms calls “corn chowder.”  Yes, there are trace amounts of corn halfway down that list, but mostly it’s stuff like dipotassium phosphate, tocopherols, and sodium hexmetaphosphate. Call me crazy, but I prefer food I can pronounce, taste, and know contains actual sustenance. Honestly, if the end were near, would you want your last meal to be spam and non-nutritive food additives? Rich and I treat our food locker as an outdoor pantry, and this week I brought older jars and cans into the house and restocked the locker with beans, tuna, rice, and other foods we use all the time. More temperature-sensitive ingredients, such as spices, honey, and chocolate, are kept in our kitchen cupboards.  The Apocalypse Chow Food Locker While we were at it, Rich and I hauled out our emergency go-kit for its annual review, tweaking the contents and replacing outdated energy bars and medicines. We keep the contents in three prioritized parts: 1) a back pack with essentials such as high visibility vests, compass, and maps, 2) a tote bag with the first aid kit and a few clothes, and 3) a box of handy gear like headlamps, rope, and duct tape. (See complete emergency kit contents here.) It was a busy couple of days, and it was only late on Friday, when I was tossing out the last of the outdated first aid supplies, that I realized the implications of what I was doing: getting my affairs in order before No Kings Day. A lot of wild talk had been going around, and while I knew I had the moral and constitutional right to assemble peacefully and speak freely, I couldn’t help but wonder just how exciting things might get in California. On Saturday I attended the protest in the nearest city, San Rafael (population 60,000). In the tradition learned from Spanish friends, I met up beforehand with a dozen amigos at a café near the action. Fortified by espresso and convivial chat, our little rag-tag band then strolled down the street to join the crowd of (I'm guessing) 1500 protesters. The signs were feisty, the mood festive, the orderly expression of solidarity inspiring. Nothing terribly exciting happened. Whew! The summer is just getting started, and there’s no telling what surprises California has up its sleeve. Last year we weathered record-setting natural disasters, and this morning I thought I’d check with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration to see how many of them had cost California taxpayers seriously big bucks. Instead of the promised statistics, I found this notice: “In alignment with evolving priorities, statutory mandates, and staffing changes, NOAA’s National Centers for Environmental Information (NCEI) will no longer be updating the Billion Dollar Weather and Climate Disasters product.” Good thinking! Who needs those pesky old numbers anyway? Just kidding, I was utterly aghast. Wasn’t that notice akin to saying, “Why should that Good Samaritan race along the beach to warn us about dangers we can’t see?” When did weather become a state secret?  California has more natural disasters than any other state in America; they cost us around $16.3 billion a year. (Those are slightly outdated numbers, and apparently we won’t be seeing any new ones). So far, Rich and I have been lucky. Oh sure, occasionally we’ve been bounced out of bed by earthquakes, forced to flee through rising floodwaters, and suffered unexplained power outages. But we’re still standing and so are the house and the Apocalypse Chow Food Locker. Whatever catastrophes this summer brings, I know there will also be friends, family, community, meaningful work, fellowship, laughter, and fun. As a fourth generation Californian, I have learned that, to quote LA author Christopher Paolini, “The trick is to find happiness in the brief gaps between disasters.”  There is always so much more to learn about emergency preparedness... I WON'T POST FOR A FEW WEEKS The days ahead are full of family gatherings, a nephew's wedding, and time with old friends I rarely see. I'll be back in mid-July! FINDING HOPE "Find happiness in the brief gaps between disasters” is part of my series of blog posts exploring ways people help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Tell me more in the comments section below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.  A rookie guide dog wonders when he's getting that ice cream everyone keeps talking about. Rich has always had a firm grasp on life’s essentials. When I mentioned the Puppy Ice Cream Social, he said, “You had me at ice cream.” For me, the irresistible draw was the chance to play with puppies. In these challenging times, there seems to be greater truth than ever to Charles de Gaulle’s famous line, “The more I get to know men, the more I find myself loving dogs.” Humans and dogs have hung out together for 35,000 years, and it’s worked out pretty well for both of us. We give them food, lodging, medical care, treats, toys, and massages, and they pretend to think we are gods. Fair exchange! Ann Landers used to warn, “Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful.” Naturally, humans never took her words seriously. Of course, worship is only one of a dog’s responsibilities.  Back in the day, they chased off wolves and disposed of our food scraps. Since then they've branched out into herding sheep, finding truffles, and rescuing little Timmy whenever he falls into the river on an episode of Lassie. In the 13th century St. Francis of Assisi remarked he’d seen “a blind man who in a path was led by a little she-dog.” The Soviets sent them into space. Canines have always had a gift for making the most of new career opportunities. “Why is someone throwing an ice cream social for dogs?” Rich asked. “I thought dogs weren’t supposed to eat ice cream.” True; all dogs, once they are weaned, become lactose intolerant to one degree or another. Our last dog didn't care; she was a total chow hound who loved to steal bites of ice cream. I guess that’s what we got for calling her Eskimo Pie. (For short she was Pie, Pi, or 3.14159.) She never seemed to suffer any ill effects, unless you count her expanding girth. She was not a slender reed. “They give the puppies that fake ice cream made for dogs,” I said. “As for the occasion, it's a graduation party for the latest class of guide dogs for the blind.” As it happens, our county is home to America’s biggest training center for what used to be called “seeing-eye dogs.” Guide Dogs for the Blind (GDB) began in 1942 and was soon helping servicemen who had sacrificed their eyesight on WW II battlefields.  (Left) GDB's first graduating class: humans Lemoyne Cox and Marjorie Cosgrove, dogs Lady and Vicki. (Right) Sgt. Leonard Foulk, age 26, blinded by sniper fire at Battle of Attu, with Blondie. In nearby San Rafael, I often see puppies in training harnesses, learning to navigate crosswalks and to resist the tempting French fries that fall to the ground in sidewalk cafes. Over the past 83 years, 16,000 dog-human teams have graduated from GDB; about 2000 are active right now. When I heard the latest class was celebrating with a party and inviting the community, I was all in. It was a surprisingly sedate affair. When I think of puppies, I think of boisterous play; I have dozens of stories about young Pie stealing hamburgers at picnics, chasing squirrels and raccoons, and jumping through hula hoops to entertain kids. But these young dogs were chosen for their responsible personalities, and a year of training had taught them to pay respectful attention to their human handlers. Frankly, I was in awe and asked one of the trainers how she managed this miracle.  She raises puppies, fosters dogs needing temporary respite, and works for a company that supplies medical alert canines. Ironically, her name is Kat. “I started puppy raising in my sophomore year of high school,” Kat told me. “A friend of mine mentioned to me that her mom puppy-raised. An industry like service animals, where you’re helping people but also hanging out with cool dogs all day, was perfect for me. It was magical to go through high school with a dog.” With GDB’s detailed guidelines, curriculum, and active support, Kat has trained six puppies so far. She also fosters dogs who need a temporary home, for instance while recovering from surgery or a stressful kennel visit. Aside from those volunteer jobs, she holds a paying gig as an administrator in a company that provides diabetic alert dogs, which raise the alarm when their human’s blood sugar begins to get out of whack. “Between my last two dogs, had a little bit of a break, and it was weird,” Kat recalled. “I'd go to the grocery store and I'd be like, 'I'm missing something.' Because I'm used to having a leash in my hand and a dog with the vest on, and it felt so weird; it felt like going naked.” I asked if it was hard to let go of a puppy after the training year. “It’s such a beautiful journey. Every graduation that I have a dog go through, I cry. The whole time. And it's not because I'm missing my dog. It's because this is what the magic in the world is.”  "We’ve had lots of adventures," says Kim. "Before Jango I could barely step outside the front door alone and now we’re crossing oceans. Planes and ferries are no problem to us." Kim and Jango found each other through a guide dog program in Ireland. Puppies and humans are carefully paired on the basis of personality and temperament, taking into account the person's lifestyle, activity level, family, other pets, and living arrangements. Most guide dogs work for six to eight years, and while some continue to live with their handlers during retirement, others become beautifully trained pets in a new family. GDB is entirely funded through private donations and a small online shop. This being Pride Month, LGBTQ+ merchandise is front and center.  One of the t-shirts sold on the GDB website. Looking at the “Guide with Pride” t-shirt, I began to wonder what it might be suggesting about the guide dogs' original romantic inclinations, before they were spayed or neutered. Are there gay dogs? A glance at the Wikipedia page Homosexual behavior in animals revealed that same-sex sexual behavior is astonishingly widespread and has been documented among 1500 different species. Yes, including dogs and cats. Who knew? Actually, scientists have known about such goings-on forever — or at least for the last 2300 years, since Aristotle first recorded lively same-sex hanky panky among pigeons, partridges, and quails.  A quarter of all black swan pairings are same sex. Sometimes a pair of males will form a threesome with a female to get eggs so they can raise family. In 1911 a British Antarctic explorer documented homosexual behavior among penguins, but his report was considered too shocking for public release and was suppressed. Secret copies were circulated among scientists, written in a sort of code mixing English text and Greek letters to make it inaccessible to most readers. The report was finally published openly in 2012. In these more permissive times, Wikipedia isn't shy about sharing racy photos of same-sex frolicking by creatures ranging from lions to fruit flies. The steamy video of a pair of male Bonin flying fox bats cavorting on a tree branch gives new meaning to the the term party animals.  A Bonin flying fox bat, shown here posing for his Tinder photo I don’t pretend to understand all the whys and wherefores of love — human, animal, or otherwise. But I do know love makes the world more beautiful, the hard times more bearable, and the best of times so joyful I wish I had a tail to wag. “Our dogs help us find independence, confidence and self-worth,” said Emily, a musician and writer who lives in Florida with her guide dog, York. “They teach us that our lives have value. They help us reclaim our dignity and self-determination… And his love overwhelms me. It is as powerful as a symphony, as beautiful as a night full of stars. It’s a love I can never hope to measure or comprehend. But it’s a love I will spend my whole life trying to return.”  I'm sure this puppy didn't love me just because I had ice cream in my hand. I'M FEATURED IN SHAWN FETTIG'S SECOND PODCAST Leaving America E2: The Easy Escapes in Europe Deep Dive with Shawn This one covers the nuts and bolts of making your move: visas, rents, living expenses, and more. Shawn points out it doesn't require exceptional wealth or connections — just planning, patience, and paperwork. deepdivepodcast.buzzsprout.com (Don't have time for the whole podcast? My quote is about 23 minutes in. Enjoy!) FINDING HOPE The Puppy Ice Cream Social is part of a series of blog posts exploring ways people help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Tell me more in the comments section below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.  Remember when you were little and would do anything to avoid eating vegetables? I vividly recall being eight years old and watching in awe as a toddler of my acquaintance had the bright idea of getting rid of unwanted mashed potatoes by spooning them into their diaper. (Not surprisingly, this ploy did not escape adult notice for long.) Kids haven't lost any of that rebel spirit, as you can see from the excuses I recently found on Reddit. “This tastes … unlucky to me.” “Can we donate this meal to charity?” “These blueberries tickle my brain.” “This tastes like Delaware.” To which another reader commented, “At least it didn’t taste like New Jersey.” “This sends my mouth into outer space. (That’s bad.)” Huh? I looked that one up, and discovered that contrary to all probability, astronomers actually have figured out what outer space tastes like: raspberries.  Raspberries. Photo: NASA That’s right, I said space tastes like raspberries. Raspberries get their flavor from a chemical called ethyl formate, which has been found in large quantities in a giant dust ball at the center of the Milky Way. The truly astonishing thing is that back here on Earth, the manufacturers of Milky Way bars haven’t capitalized on that fun fact by making raspberry-flavored candy. Maybe they think it sounds too healthy to attract consumers. Getting anyone to eat wholesome food is an uphill battle these days. Studies show that only 12% of Americans eat the recommended amounts of fruits and vegetables. Shockingly, 25% say they’ve never eaten a vegetable in their lives. This may explain why, in a survey, only about a third of US adults could correctly identify everyday fruits and veggies. Wondering how you’d do in the survey? Here’s the first question. Take your time.  If you rushed to judgement with cabbage, I’m sorry to inform you the answer is: baby iceberg lettuce. If you thought it was cauliflower or artichoke, we need to talk. Is society ready to throw fresh produce on the compost heap of history? That question is causing concern among physicians, nutritionists, and anyone who cares about the future of the human race. If you are what you eat, it’s worrying that more folks are familiar with the menu at McDonald’s than with the vegetable aisle at the supermarket. To give kids a heads-up that nature does not shrink-wrap broccoli or deliver carrots trimmed to uniform size in a plastic bag, roughly 20% of US grammar and high schools maintain a food garden. Does watching lunch grow change kids’ perspectives? To find out, this week I visited the Mill Valley Children’s Garden, a 22,000 square-foot garden that’s been part of the curriculum at Edna Maguire Elementary School for 35 years.  And there are chickens! Here volunteer Anita introduces me to a Buff Orpington called Peaches. David, the garden manager, took me around and introduced me to his favorites: splendid artichokes, robust cabbages, leafy greens rejoicing in the unusual name of speckled trout lettuce, the kid-sized dwarf fruit trees in the food forest, the greenhouse seedlings just getting their start. “It’s all organic,” he said, automatically picking up a hose and dousing his darlings with a fine mist. “We use no pesticides at all. If insects take a bite, we just trim the leaf off.”  David waters plants in the greenhouse of the Mill Valley Children's Garden. He explained that each of the grammar school’s nearly 400 children spends time in the garden on a regular basis, learning about planting and patience and the joy of seeing your seedlings grow up and produce mouthwatering tomatoes. Intertwined with those experiences are lessons in science, art, math, writing, and history. “For example, in the third grade we talk a lot about local indigenous cultures in the county,” explained volunteer Anita, president of the Friends of Mill Valley Children’s Garden. “So our Garden Educator will bring in subjects like what would the Miwoks have eaten here. Talking about climate change, it’s about how much water you need to get yourself a beet versus a pound of beef.” The most lasting lessons these young gardeners learn are about themselves. “There are kids who find this is where they shine, this is where they come alive,” said Anita. “They can engage and be calm, be present. They learn independence and confidence. There’s a lot of pride when they show their parents what they’ve grown.” The kids eat plenty of the produce, either on the spot or from harvest boxes sold to their parents as a fundraiser to support the garden. After that, David explained, “We either give it to the teachers or donate to a community kitchen, usually Community Action Marin, where they cook meals for low-income school children.” For me, that was the most feel-good moment of the whole conversation. Because if anyone should be receiving a share of the garden’s bounty, it’s neighbors in need. Marin is a prosperous county, yet one in five residents — 48,000 people, including 11,753 kids — are worrying right now about where their next meal is coming from. In America, 50 million people experience hunger; worldwide, 733 million suffer from malnutrition. And I don’t have to explain how funding cutbacks are now making the situation much, much worse. Thirty years ago, worries about food insecurity inspired Alaskan garden columnist Jeff Lowenfels to propose an ingenious solution.  His Plant a Row for the Hungry campaign invited home gardeners to expand their production just a bit, creating extras that could go to those who were struggling. The Garden Writers of America picked up on the idea, inspiring folks across the country to pitch in and help out. “Since then, more than 20 million pounds of produce, providing more than 80 million meals, have been donated through the campaign by home gardeners,” wrote the AP’s Jessica Damaino.“‘All of this has been achieved without government subsidy or bureaucratic red tape — just people helping people,’ according to organizers on the campaign’s website. And there’s no big advertising campaign, either — just garden columnists and their readers spreading the word.” And now I’m spreading the word to you. If you have a backyard garden, consider planting an extra row of whatever crops you’ve got going, then find a local food bank, a community fridge, or another collection point that will distribute the fruits of your labors to neighbors who are going without.  WW II Victory Garden poster. Photo: Etsy We’ve done this successfully in the past. Victory Gardens were introduced in WW I, and by 1944 there were 20 million of them in backyards, community plots, and pots on balconies and windowsills. That year we, the people produced 10 billion pounds of food — 40% of our nation’s vegetable supply. Rich’s parents were part of that effort. They had a Victory Garden when Rich was born (on June 6, 1944 — yes, D-Day was his B-Day!), and they kept it up for five years after the war. As a toddler, Rich learned to loathe the beets and rhubarb growing in abundance behind his house. But he developed a lifelong love of digging in dirt; he agrees with the Chinese saying, “Those who plant a garden plant happiness.” And when we have the good fortune to share that happiness with our neighbors, we are twice blessed. RESOURCES "Name That Produce" Quiz How to Start a Victory Garden (Farmer's Almanac) Find a Local Food Bank What's a Community Fridge?  HOT NEWS! I'M FEATURED IN SHAWN FETTIG'S NEW PODCAST Leaving America E1: Should You Stay or Should You Go? Deep Dive with Shawn What if you could escape the endless news cycle, afford healthcare without a second mortgage, and actually use your vacation days without guilt? Welcome to "Leaving America," the limited series where we're diving into why a record 40% of Americans... deepdivepodcast.buzzsprout.com (Don't have time for the whole podcast? My quote is the very first one; it happens around 3 minutes in. Enjoy!) FINDING HOPE The Children's Victory Garden is part of a series of blog posts exploring ways people help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Tell me more in the comments section below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.  San Quentin, on San Francisco Bay. I wasn't allowed to bring in a camera or phone, so this photo is by Wendy Medina/Bay City News There is something about walking into a prison and hearing the inner gate clang shut behind you that really makes you think about life choices. I had no phone, no money, not even a pen to use as a shiv. I’d been told that if an alarm went off I should freeze. If there was pepper spray, I should move away but never run. If someone was injured I should make no move to help. If I was taken hostage, nobody would try to get me back. Of course, I’d prepared for this day. For a start, I’d spent considerable time updating my prison slang, figuring that phrases like “cheese-it, the screws” might no longer be in vogue. I soon learned that as a first timer, I was a “fish.” My two companions were my “road dogs” (close friends). Luckily, I was not there as a “spider monkey” (someone doing hard time); my “EPRO” (earliest possible release option) was less than four hours away. Then again, maybe not. In prison movies, a riot always breaks out, and if that happened, surely I’d be captured and wind up dead or somebody’s bitch. Any way you look at it, there’s a certain edgy excitement about walking into San Quentin.  A 1946 noir romance involving an ex-con hunting an escaped inmate. California’s oldest prison was once the home of America’s largest death row and creepiest bad guys, including mass murderer Charles Manson. Today death row is closed, old walls are coming down, and the sign out front reads “Rehabilitation Center” instead of “State Prison.” The $239 million Scandinavian-style makeover has begun. Twenty-five years ago, Norway’s prisons were as crowded and violent as ours, with 70% of released inmates becoming repeat offenders (in America it’s 76.6%). By shifting their focus from punishment to rehabilitation and reintegration into society, the Norwegians reduced the recidivism rate to 20%, one of the lowest in the world. It turns out that treating people like human beings with a future encourages better behavior (go figure).  In Norway's Halden Prison, a maximum security facility for hard-core offenders, there are no guard towers, snipers, or strands of barbed wire, just safety glass and surveillance cameras. The reforms are not just about helping bad guys turn over a new leaf; it’s about saving us, the American taxpayers, billions. On average, states spend $64,865 a year per inmate. Arkansas keeps that down to a thrifty $23,000, Massachusetts tops the chart with a whopping $307,468, California is midrange at $128,089. If 50% of San Quentin’s 4000 inmates went straight, that would save the state $256,178,000 a year. Cost of the renovation: covered in the first twelve months. Education and personal development are key to the transformation. And one of the longest-running success stories is Marin Shakespeare Company’s theater program. I first heard about it from my former yoga teacher Suraya Keating, who told me she went into San Quentin regularly to teach drama workshops and direct plays. I’d tried to get tickets before, but they sell out fast. A month ago, I completed the extensive paperwork, passed the security clearance, and obtained a free ticket to the Bard’s Love’s Labour’s Lost.  Suraya Keating and inmates discuss themes of violence and tragedy raised in Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus. Photo: Marin Independent Journal So there I was, listening to the gate clanging shut behind me, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. We passed through several more metal gates, each marked, “Do Not Slam.” Which seemed ironic because — hello, wasn’t this the slammer? We crossed a courtyard to the chapel repurposed as a theater and found the cast milling about in the vestibule. Many wore swashbuckling costumes, the female characters — played by men, as in Shakespeare’s time — sporting gowns and plumed hats. I found myself chatting with an inmate wearing a bright yellow beret and full face tattoos. He said he was doing Tiptoe Through the Tulips. Exactly where was that in Shakespeare's play? I decided not to ask. “And the face tattoos?” I inquired. “Real or part of the costume?” “Very real,” he said. “And somewhat limiting in life.” I could only imagine.  Marin Shakespeare Company’s San Quentin production of The Merchant of Venice. Photo: San Jose Mercury News With or without Tiptoe Through the Tulips, I was a bit hazy on the plot of Love’s Labour’s Lost and had to look it up. A young king and his road dogs swear off women until a princess arrives on a diplomatic mission with her road dogs. Clandestine romances ensue, love letters go astray, the guys dress up as Russians, the ladies dress up as each other, confusion reigns. Some were Broadway level talents, many … were not. It didn’t matter. The actors were clearly having a rip-roaring good time. As Lady Rosaline, the princess’ BFF, Angie Gordon was a standout — smart, funny, saucy, flirtatious, striding around barefoot, emoting like mad. I later learned Angie is a leader in the prison’s transgender community; in April she organized the first ever Transgender Visibility Night Panel Discussion.  "This project," Angie said of the panel discussion, "is about reaching into our community and finding the stories of joy and perseverance and resiliency.” Photo: Vanguard News Group “We were there to share a message of resiliency in the face of setback,” she told reporters. “Trump is a punch in the face, for many out there but especially for the trans community. But punches in the face are going to happen. It’s what you do with those moments, right?” Many of the other actors seemed equally resilient. Despite lives that included extra helpings of questionable choices and tough luck — you don’t go to San Quentin for spitting on the sidewalk — that day the cast members glowed with energy, enthusiasm, joy, and hope. This struck me as the robust kind of hope Rebecca Solnit meant when she wrote, “Hope is not a lottery ticket you can sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky. It is an axe you break down doors with in an emergency. Hope should shove you out the door, because it will take everything you have to steer the future.”  How do you maintain hope and navigate a future when all seems lost? Long ago I asked a nurse caring for dying children how she got through each day when there was no hope. “Oh, there’s always hope,” she said. “You just hope for different things. You start out hoping for a cure, then for temporary remission, then an easing of symptoms, and finally a peaceful death. But you always hope for something.” Hard-won wisdom I’ve carried with me into every crisis of my life. This being Shakespeare, we had a play-within-a-play, a talent show with guys impersonating Michael Jackson, Prince, Elton John, and Elvis; Jailhouse Rock brought down the house. La Bamba had everyone up dancing. And my acquaintance with the facial tattoos did a deconstructed Tiptoe Through the Tulips in the character of a “J-Cat” (madman) so convincing I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck. I gave Love’s Labour’s Lost a standing ovation.  After three years imprisoned by the Nazis, psychotherapist Victor Frankl wrote, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” He believed the way to overcome suffering is to find a purpose, some way to work for the common good and support those we love. If I learned anything during my time in prison, it was that joy can flourish in the most unlikely places, that we are here to look out for all our road dogs, and that there is always hope, no matter what. I couldn't film the version I saw, but this movie moment captures the spirit of Jailhouse Rock as it was performed at San Quentin that day. FINDING HOPE This story is part of a series of blog posts exploring ways people help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Let me know in the comments below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.  Mural in downtown San Anselmo, CA In my California village, just across from the park that has the statues of Yoda and Indiana Jones, there’s a huge mural emblazoned with the words “Choose Kindness.” Whenever I feel overwhelmed by current events, I wander over and gaze at it awhile, reminding myself that despite what we read in the headlines, most people still think kindness is a pretty good idea. The 32 artists who co-created the mural are living proof a diverse group of humans can still get along with one another to do something worthwhile. It’s comforting to know that cooperation and altruism, the survival techniques that have stood us in good stead for two million years, are still alive and well, even among the famously free-spirited non-conformists who make up the art world.  Salvador Dali and his pet ocelot, Babou, at the St. Regis Hotel in New York. Art is all about upending ideas we take for granted. Remember Spanish surrealist Salvador Dali, with his melting clocks? He claimed his mustaches were functioning antennas, ate vast quantities of camembert cheese before bed to give himself exotic dreams, and went everywhere with a pet ocelot. Not to be outdone, Oscar Wilde started going everywhere with a pet lobster on a leash. Frida Kahlo slept beside her pet deer. I couldn’t make this stuff up.  Frida Kahlo reading in bed with her pet fawn and one of her three dogs. She also kept monkeys, turkeys, a parrot, an eagle, and a black cat. Artists and innovators bring fresh perspective to the world because they see things differently. Today, many people we admire — Albert Einstein, Steve Jobs, Greta Thunberg, and Sir Isaac Newton, to name but a handful — are viewed as being neurodiverse. According to Harvard Medical School, neurodiversity “is the idea that people experience and interact with the world around them in many different ways; there is no one ‘right’ way of thinking, learning, and behaving, and differences are not viewed as deficits.” One of the best reasons to love San Anselmo’s kindness mural is that it was spearheaded by Cedars of Marin, which has been a pioneer in nurturing neurodiverse individuality for more than a century. What started in 1919 with classes for four young women today involves 200 adults in residential and day programs in 13 locations, all designed to foster independence, dignity, and self-respect in a community where everyone is valued. “Cedars is a place where people feel safe and are able to thrive,” Executive Director Chuck Greene told the Pacific Sun. “They are actively engaged in our community — from one resident who eats dinner with our local firemen every evening, to another who sings in a local choir. We want to show the world that our participants are an enriching and valuable part of the community as neighbors, artists, volunteers and more.”  The Artist Within — A Cedars Gallery in San Anselmo Many Cedars artists contributed their talents to the kindness mural. Just around the corner from it, Cedars runs a gallery called The Artist Within, which sells their drawings, paintings, sculptures, jewelry, puppets, papier-mâché figures, and textiles. Rich and I often linger at the shop window to admire the latest offerings. A few years ago, Rich surprised me by walking through the door with this painting under his arm, announcing the tiger had come to live with us.  "Tiger Eyes" by Elias Herdocia I know, right? Ya gotta love that grin. The world would be a lesser place without it, that’s for sure. I always figured it had to be fun working with such artists, and last week Daniel Krakauer, who has served as one of Cedars’ art facilitators for ten years, said it certainly was. “I was at a place in my life where I needed to find work,” he told me. “So I started volunteering at Cedars to see if it was a good fit. I instantly felt pulled in by the artists and the creative freedom I saw there. I had been a practicing artist and had taught art a little, but being an art facilitator was new to me.” I had to ask. “What is an ‘art facilitator’?” “There is not a set of techniques or a body of knowledge I am trying to teach. It is about following the artist's inclinations and helping them find and express their unique voices.” “Active creativity is inherently therapeutic,” Daniel said. “There’s a sort of meditative solace. Some of these guys come five days a week. They've been coming for decades. So it's a very deep practice. I'm always amazed; with so many of them, there's no hesitation. It's very pure and free and uncomplicated.” This is what the legendary psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi called “flow,” those golden moments when we feel deep enjoyment, abundant creativity, and a total connection with life. His groundbreaking book Flow: the Psychology of Optimal Experience showed that you don’t have to be painting the Mona Lisa to experience it. Even ordinary tasks, like working in an industrial bakery, can get you there if you approach them openheartedly, with enthusiasm, creativity, and playfulness. Just look at the playfulness in Picasso’s almost cartoonish cubism, Jackson Pollack’s wild splashes of paint, Yayoi Kusama's bold shapes and colors. You can see why people say, "Hey, my kid could paint that!" We’re all wired a bit differently. And that’s a good thing! Just think how boring life — and art — would be if we all thought and acted precisely alike. Yes, cooperation helps us survive, but excessive conformity is fraught with danger. We risk losing our sense of identity, the habit of critical thinking, and the courage of our convictions — all things we need to make good decisions in a complex world. This type of excessive conformity was dubbed “groupthink” by social psychologist Irving Janis in 1972, when he was exploring the question of why groups of highly intelligent individuals often made bad decisions. Janis identified symptoms of groupthink such as unquestioning belief in the group’s decisions, vilifying anyone who disagrees, and the presence of “mindguards,” people who block alternative information from entering the discussion. Thanks heavens we live in more enlightened times now and this kind of stuff no longer happens! (And yes, I am being ironic.) Luckily for us, we still have art. And one of the great gifts art offers us is a way to communicate ideas that bypass our conscious minds and enter directly into our hearts. And stay there forever. “I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way... things I had no words for,” said Georgia O’Keefe. Or as Pablo Picasso put it, “The world today doesn't make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do? ” A recent study confirmed what those words suggest: viewing powerful art lets us experience the world through another’s eyes, inspiring us to feel connection and empathy. From there, it’s easy to find ourselves on the path to helping one another. Let the cynics scoff, I’m standing with the two million years of cooperative evolution that tell me kindness is the smart choice.  FINDING HOPE This story is part of a series of blog posts exploring ways people help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Let me know in the comments below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.  Who wouldn't adopt this cute little guy? Photo: Reuters There’s a famous urban legend about a woman vacationing in Tijuana who adopts a stray chihuahua puppy. She takes it home and discovers — surprise! — it’s actually a sewer rat. (Why she doesn’t notice this until she gets home is never quite explained. Maybe she’d forgotten to pack her eyeglasses.) National Geographic reported an even stranger puppy adoption story from China. Su Yun had always wanted one of those big, fluffy Tibetan mastiffs, and while she was on vacation she met a guy selling a purebred puppy by the side of the road — for a really good price. (Because that’s not suspicious at all.) She took her puppy home and soon noticed he had an enormous appetite, wolfing down a carton of fruit and two buckets of noodles a day. He grew incredibly fast; within two years he weighed a hefty 250 pounds. When he started walking around on his hind legs, Su could no longer ignore the truth: her pet dog was actually an Asian Black Bear.  Can you guess which one is the Asian Black Bear and which is the Tibetan Mastiff? Admitting she was “a little scared of bears,” Su turned him over to a wildlife rescue center. Good call, Su. As countless lurid online videos attest, sewer rats, bears, and other wild animals rarely make safe or comfortable companions. And yet, we humans can’t seem to resist trying to befriend all manner of furred, feathered, and scaled critters. We have a deep-seated need for pets that remind us we’re part of the vast web of life on this planet. Scientists call it biophilia, the profound love of every living thing. It reassures us that we’re not alone.  On days when human society seems to be running particularly amok, I find it soothing to take a little vacation in the animal kingdom. This week I did it via a visit to WildCare, a nearby rescue center, so I could hang out with some of the residents. It's a busy place; life in the great outdoors is hazardous, especially now with climate change upping natural disasters and disrupting habitats. About 30 staff and 200+ volunteers care for ill, injured, and orphaned creatures from 200 species. Every year 3500 clients arrive, and some, unable to survive on their own, make WildCare their forever home. A kindly human volunteer, Dianne, introduced me to this 74-year-old tortoise named Mohave — Mo for short. Mo was found wandering around Mendicino’s wine country, far from his native desert habitat. I like to think he’d just enjoyed a weekend of the kind of riotous excess we saw in movies like Sideways and Hangover, but chances are he was an abandoned pet. He couldn’t be released into the wild because captive tortoises can carry harmful diseases and pathogens into the wild population, which are an endangered species. Mo looks like something from the age of dinosaurs, with enormous foreclaws designed for digging desert burrows. Because cool, dark burrows are prime real estate in the Mojave desert, uninvited roommates are always sneaking in. Tortoises like Mo often find themselves sleeping with rattlesnakes (yikes) as well as woodrats, burrowing owls, and other desert dwellers. To retain moisture in the harsh, hot, arid climate, the Mojave tortoise has a body that’s 40% bladder, with a complicated fluid recycling system; Mo could go a year without peeing. Imagine the convenience!  Huh? I found this on Etsy, with the description: "Give your tortoise a fresh and fruity upgrade with this adorable Crocheted Watermelon Tortoise Cozy!" I feel the poor creature is cringing with embarrassment. As Dianne introduced me to a dozen other creatures, I soon learned that every one of them had a weird and colorful backstory. Take the Virginia opossum, the only marsupial native to North America. They're born the size of a honey bee and immediately climb into their mother’s pouch, where each one latches on to one of 13 teats and stays fixed there for 2 ½ months. They then crawl onto their mother’s back, where they ride around for much of the next month or so before falling off and heading out on their own. These moms should be nominated for sainthood!  A mother Virginia opossum carrying her litter. How does she do it? Almost as soon as she'd gained her independence, the opossum Didi got mauled by a cat. While treating her wounds, vets discovered the young opossum has hip dysplasia, poorly fitted joints that would slow her down fatally in the wild. Like Mo, she’s now a permanent resident of WildCare.  Didi is nocturnal, so she was happiest napping during our encounter. Didi, Mo, and all the other residents owe their lives to the kindness of strangers who found them and brought them in for treatment. However it’s not always easy to tell if a baby animal truly needs to be rescued. I once accidentally kidnapped a puppy I found wandering through our Ohio neighborhood. After I took him home with me and phoned the number on the collar, I learned it had just been adopted by my neighbor three doors down, and I’d “rescued” the puppy from its own front yard! Oops. Every spring, well-meaning people “kidnap” healthy young fawns, jackrabbits, baby birds and others, taking them to rescue centers. WildCare’s 5 Cs checklist offers guidelines for determining if help is required. 1. Is he Crying? 2. Is he Cold? 3. Is he Coming toward you (approaching people)? 4. Is he Covered in fluff (for baby birds) or Crawling with blood or insects? 5. Has he been Caught by a cat or a dog? Reptiles, especially snakes, are harder to evaluate; when in doubt, leave them alone. But I don’t need to tell you that; humans are hardwired to avoid serpents. Rich once bought an inflatable snake that was supposed to be the humane way to frighten vermin away from our garden. I alerted various visitors and workmen in advance, but for the next two days everyone arrived at my door white-faced and trembling with fright. We soon deflated that snake and banished it to a back shelf in the garage. Humans have always struggled to figure out how to live in harmony with nature. Right now, with the US government poised to rescind nearly all environmental protections, it’s clear the responsibility for that effort is falling upon the citizens. Luckily, compassion cannot be eliminated with the stroke of a legislator’s pen. There will always be Good Samaritans who stop by the roadside to assist a lost tortoise, a wounded opossum, or something that might be a puppy, a bear, or even a rat. Fortunately, too, there are volunteers and professionals around the country, ready to treat the critters’ illnesses, bandage their wounds, and find them a safe haven where they can heal.  WildCare med staff give this orphaned grey fox cub dextrose syrup to perk him up. He spent time in care and when he was old enough, he was successfully released back into the wild. Photo: Alison Hermance We all need that kind of healing at times, and according to the Japanese, one of the best remedies is forest bathing (shinrin-yoku). After soaking up the atmosphere of the natural world, we find ourselves shaking off our headline worries and tech-boom burnout, restored in body and soul, our eyes once again open to the beauty around us. Or as this ancient Hebrew wisdom puts it: “You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.” Kind of like this: Got a story about encounters with the wild kingdom? Please share it in the comments below. Please note I am now going to publish my posts on Wednesdays instead of Tuesdays. FINDING HOPE This story is part of a series of blog posts exploring ways people help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Let me know in the comments below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it. A teenager taking a selfie with a squirrel in the woods. What could possibly go wrong? "I approached it making a clicking noise with my tongue, phone drawn," Brian Genest, 17, told Buzzfeed. "When I got close enough, the squirrel actually tried grabbing my phone. I shook it off, then snapped this photo."  The squirrel was not amused. Photo: Brian Genest It was the flash that drove the beast completely bonkers. "Next thing I knew, the squirrel was on my shoulder, then under my shirt, and then hanging off my back," Brian recalled. "This photo is courtesy of my mom, who collapsed laughing shortly after."  "I think he got a little lesson," said Brian's mom, Paula Wright. It's pretty clear who emerged the victor in that encounter! Being bested by a squirrel is just one of the many indignities involved in being a teenager. Others include your parents turning into embarrassingly clueless numbskulls, teachers becoming sadistic fiends, and the refrigerator never holding anything worth eating, even after your mom comes home with bags and bags of groceries. It’s a tough life. The high school years are challenging for everyone, and few of us get through them unscathed. No, I’m not sharing stories of my misspent youth right now; even the highlight reel would take way too much time. Suffice to say that against all odds I managed to survive coming of age in the sixties, and I figure the current crop of teens will likely prove equally foolish and equally resilient now that it’s their turn.  I don't have many photos of myself from the sixties; "leave no evidence" was my motto. Here photographer Nacio Brown captured the attitude, hair, and glasses we all adopted at the time. “Adolescents are not monsters,” insists “the Mother of Family Therapy,” Virginia Satir. “They are just people trying to learn how to make it among the adults in the world, who are probably not so sure themselves.” Lots of teens make it a point of pride to avoid conversing with adults, while wily parents dream up ever more elaborate strategies for getting them to interact with the human race. Here’s how one mom succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. “On a lovely June day in 2006,” Cathryn Couch recalls, ”my cell phone rang. Sue Curry, my riding instructor, wondered if I could give her daughter a job over the summer and perhaps teach her to cook at the same time.” Impossible! Cathryn couldn’t babysit a teenager at her job as a chef at a Sonoma County retreat center. “But Sue was persistent and I have always been more inclined to say ‘yes’ than ‘no’ when the universe comes calling.”  Cathryn Couch. Photo: CNN Then Cathryn heard about friends of friends who were too ill to cook for themselves. “Sue offered to pay for the food, I donated my time, and Megan and I began meeting one afternoon a week to prepare meals for two single people and a family of four.” When the father of that family stopped by to collect the food on his way home from work, the relief on his face made it clear this was a bright spot in a very dark time. “I witnessed Megan’s pride in the contribution she was making in their life, “ Cathryn recalled. “And his deep gratitude for the simple gift of the meals. Something about that moment took hold in me.” The idea kept growing until it became the Ceres Community Project, which now operates two kitchens and two organic gardens in Sonoma and Marin Counties, just north of San Francisco. Each year, 300 teenage volunteers create organic, medically tailored meals for those who are ill and need extra help putting nutritious food on the table. Yes, of course there’s adult supervision. Nobody is going to just hand kids knives and turn them loose in a kitchen!  Meal plans and custom recipes are created by professional chefs and dietitians. At the start of each shift, the cook labels plastic containers with the type and volume of produce, how it needs to be prepped, and where it’s heading next. The volunteers are responsible for following precise instructions and soon learn the difference between chopping, dicing, slicing, and mincing. “The kids are learning good food habits,” explained my friend Rayne, a longtime adult volunteer at Ceres. “They learn about nutrition, they learn about responsibility, they learn about commitment.”  Rayne stands beside prepped veggies at Ceres' Novato kitchen. The kids also learn the joy of doing something useful that earns the sincere gratitude of strangers. “A couple of times a year we bring in clients to talk with the teens,” says Deborah Ramelli, Director of Development and Community Affairs. “The client will look at the teens and say, ‘You've saved my life. I couldn't do this without you.’” That sort of comment is thrilling for anyone to hear, and doubly so for teens, who tend to view all conversations with adults as the human equivalent of this classic Gary Larson cartoon.  “My hours in the community kitchen,” commented teen volunteer Alexis Weiss, “have taught me to make healthy homegrown meals, package them with care, and send them off with love… Volunteering at Ceres helped me realize how important community is and that we all need to be cared for sometimes.” Ceres has helped affiliates launch in cities across America and in Denmark; next month the staff is training a group from New Zealand. Funding comes from donors, corporate partners, government grants, and contracts for studies measuring the impact of wholesome food on medical outcomes. “We’ve built a body of evidence that shows healthcare outcomes improve, healthcare spending goes down, quality of life goes up,” says Deborah.  Owen Moynihan (left) and Ezra Thaler package meals in a Ceres kitchen. Quality of life goes up for the teen volunteers, too. They develop skills that will prove considerably more useful than taking selfies with squirrels. While learning to cook, they discover the value of community and resilience and interdependence — qualities essential for any era, and more vital than ever in light of the uncertain and deeply worrying future unfolding before our eyes. Most of all, these youngsters are learning that life is all about taking care of one another. As American guru Ram Das put it: Whether this is the first day of the Apocalypse, or the first day of the Golden Age, the work remains the same: to love each other and ease as much suffering as possible  “We're all just walking each other home.” — Ram Dass Got a story about teens you know — or your own teenage years? Please share it in the comments below. FINDING HOPE This story is part of a series of blog posts exploring ways people help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Let me know in the comments below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA Already read this book? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.  Jan retired to a shack on a Portuguese beach and wore nothing but a swimsuit all day. We met while I was taking a portrait painting class, and he kindly agreed to sit for me. My grandmother Nini was a flapper and silent film star; at 90 she could still charm the socks off anyone. “If she was around when a date of mine showed up,” my sister Melissa recalls of our long-ago teenage years, “my date would be mesmerized. I’d be like, ‘Come on, let’s get going,’ and he’d say, ‘What’s the rush?’ Then he'd keep hanging on her every word.” My older relatives didn’t tell us kids much about Nini’s past, but I suspect she was pretty frisky in heir youth — and possibly during her widowhood, too. “I remember her flying up to visit us once,” Melissa says. “And when I asked how her journey was, Nini said, ‘Terrible. Not one single man tried to pick me up all day.’ She was seventy at the time.”  Ramona Langley, 1893 - 1983, giving her trademark innocent look In my family, we tend to ignore aging as something that happens to other people. But I agree with Fred Astaire, who said, “Old age is like everything else. To make a success of it, you’ve got to start young.” It’s only practical to take an early interest in how you’re going to stay comfortable, safe, and happily engaged in the world when you reach what the Spanish call “the Third Age.” I live in a county where a quarter of the population are Third Agers attracted by the great weather, laid-back lifestyle, and access to city, beach, and mountains. The area abounds with senior services, most of which I fervently hope I never have to use. But this week I learned about one I’m ready to embrace right now: the Villages, an informal network of neighbors helping neighbors with daily life, so we can all keep on aging gracefully at home.  You have been warned. Photo: Etsy “It started in Boston, in Beacon Hill,” I was told by Sara, 75, a long-time volunteer with the Villages in nearby Mill Valley. “The story I heard was about an older couple in winter who had some kind of blockage in the roof, probably an ice dam. And they found themselves at night, one of them belaying the other off the roof with a rope tied around this chimney, trying to chip away the ice dam. After they got down safe they said, ‘You know, maybe we shouldn't be doing this. We want to stay in our house, but let's see if there's something we can do about that.’ So they started organizing.”  "So the whole idea," says Sara, "was to help older people stay in their homes for as long as possible by doing neighborly things for them. This is not Meals on Wheels. This is not medical help. This is the kind of stuff that in the old days, the neighbor would do for you." “When we initially started Beacon Hill Village,” co-founder Susan McWhinney-Morse told PBS in 2013, “there were 11 of us who got together one cold November day with this abstract determination that we’re not going anywhere. But we wanted to be responsible by not going anywhere. We didn’t want to have to depend upon our children who might live in the next community, or might live across the country. And so after two years we formed this organization that seemed to fit our needs. And it was at that point we began to understand that maybe we had tapped into a whole movement.”  Never disrespect a warrior queen. Photo: Etsy Since 2001, the community-based, nonprofit, grassroots Village Movement has grown to include hundreds of American towns, where volunteers help members with everything from errands to gardening to cozy chats. Many volunteers later become members; lots of people are both at the same time. The Village to Village Network provides tools, advice, and encouragement to communities wanting to create their own Village, so more of their Third Agers can continue living in their homes, giving and getting support with daily life, avoiding isolation and boredom. As a side benefit, relatives become less inclined to freak out and pressure older folks about trading their independence for a sedentary half-life in a facility. “How did I not know about this?” I said to Rich. “It’s been happening in our town for fifteen years, and nobody mentioned it? Let’s find somebody who can fill us in.”  I got the inside scoop from Suellen, who has lived in my town for more than half a century and is a long-time Villages volunteer. Suellen, an 82-year-old volunteer who serves on the steering committee for San Anselmo Village, met us at a nearby coffee house. “Mostly people hear about us by word of mouth,” she told us. “In addition to driving people to doctor’s visits and grocery shopping, we do companionship visits, phone calls, pet walking, tech help. There are people with low vision who want information read to them…” The list goes on and on. I wanted to dig into the numbers, so Suellen told me San Anselmo Village has 69 volunteers. There are about the same number of paying members whose fees cover the cost of a small support staff to organize member activities, such as book clubs and hiking groups, and arrange service visits from volunteers. “What happens if a member can’t afford the fees after a while?” I asked. “We have scholarships; that’s handled quietly. We get grants and donations. Occasionally people will buy a membership for their parent because they live far away.”  Maggie Kuhn, who founded the Gray Panthers in 1970, said, "We who are old have nothing to lose! We have everything to gain by living dangerously! We can initiate change without jeopardizing jobs or family. We can be the risk-takers." I asked about Suellen's own experiences as a volunteer. “So my first time I'm going out, I'm meeting this woman who's blind, and I'm taking her for a walk.” She pantomimed panic. “Oh, my God, she lives upstairs. And she uses a walker, which is way down there. I ask, ‘How do we get there?’ And she tells me, ‘I usually put my arm on the person's shoulder. Okay, you walk in front of me. And I'm gonna hold on to the handrail.’ And so we go walking around her neighborhood. That was a nice day.”  The League of Women Voters has been fighting for the rights of all eligible voters since 1920, the year my grandmother voted for the first time. As my brother Mike always says, “Old age is not for wimps.” Sooner or later you will need every shred of physical courage, moral resilience, and capacity for kindness and self-compassion that you possess. Our bodies will surprise us in ways we never thought possible. Our minds will struggle with … wait, what was I saying? Frankly, it can be pretty annoying. And depressing. But it can also be exhilarating. The Buddhists speak of this phase of life as the culmination of all the years of hard work we have put into learning what it means to be human. Now is the time to ask myself whether I turned out to be the kind of person my childhood self hoped I’d become. Am I a good friend, reliable neighbor, responsible citizen? Along with losses (I can’t stay up all night dancing any more or eat jalapeños) what have I gained? A little wisdom? Some perspective? The transcendent joy of feeling connected with the vast web of life in the universe?  In honor of the Dalai Lama's 90th birthday, his people have declared 2025 "The Year of Peace." Let's hope the Universe makes that happen. Photo: Ven Tenzin Jamphel My grandmother stopped going to Sunday mass at 65, claiming the priest gave her permission. “If you haven’t stored up enough merit in heaven by now,” he allegedly said, “you never will.” But Rich and I were told you can’t have too many good deeds to show St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, so we’ve decided to sign up as volunteers with our town’s Village project. We’re joining the thousands of neighbors living the words of St. Basil: “A good deed is never lost. Those who sow courtesy reap friendship, and those who plant kindness gather love.” Amen to that!  "Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional.” Attributed to Walt Disney, Charles Theodore “Chili” Davis, and Robin Williams, among others. Got a story about aging gracefully? Please share it in the comments below. FINDING HOPE This story is part of a series of blog posts exploring ways people help each other find hope in this worrying world. Know someone you think should be featured? Let me know in the comments below. See all the posts in this series. DON'T MISS OUT! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. Internet security is in a frenzy these days. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My new book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. You can purchase the paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore, 1611 4th St, San Rafael, CA 94901 Already read it? I invite you to leave a review HERE. GOING SOMEWHERE? 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