Christmas 2022

Before you start reading, know that I tried very hard to write a normal Christmas letter, but I failed. My failure is probably due to a number of things, but the first two that come to mind are (a) I'm not normal (no surprise to anyone who knows me) and (b) this hasn't been a normal year.  So onward with the abnormal prose and recollection.

Let's start with how I finally got over procrastinating and put words to paper (fingers to keys... whatever).   On the eve of Christmas eve, I was outside in the backyard getting irrationally and unduly frustrated by the fact that I cannot manage to keep the plant coverings on the plants. I'm an engineer.  How can it possibly be so difficult to persuade a bunch of sheets and various other swaths of fabric to stay put over all the plants in my yard that are shivering in their roots tonight? Yes, you heard me correctly. Shivering in their tropical roots... as the coldest Christmas in over a decade looms over the Sunshine State. The Arctic winds that have somehow made it this far south seem on a mission to undo any protection I might provide to my poor colorful friends.   

It's my fault.  Who plants a tropical plant in a subtropical zone?  Worse, who plants dozens of tropical plants in a climate that roller coasters all winter long? The answer to that question is very easy... lots of Floridians (including me). Hence why Home Depot and Lowes are entirely out of plant coverings and all of our bed sheets are out in the yard for the time being.  The prospect of freezing palms, crotons, schefflera, and the like dying or looking pathetic for the months ahead is motivating my battle with the bed sheets, but I am well aware that Floridians are getting off easy this Christmas season.  And, that is what triggered me to stop procrastinating and write. 

The temperatures hovering above freezing along the Gulf Coast of Florida are absolutely nothing compared to what is going on in the rest of the country.  My sister Heidi, who lives in a cozy rural home near Knoxville TN, has woken up to single digit temperatures multiple days in a row with a wind chill that has a negative sign in front of it.  In lieu of tinsel, she has solid ice on the inside of several of her windows.  While I could Pollyanna my way through the deep freeze and wax poetic about the wonderful opportunity that it gives to enjoy a warm, cozy day indoors, all the charm of a cold winter's day evaporates when rolling blackouts and power outages show up at the door as is the case with Heidi, my brother-in-law, and their canine family.   Even Star is protesting the cold by camping out on the kitchen table right underneath the heating unit:

As the cold days continue, I have been repeatedly reminded that I have little to complain about as the frustration of the renegade plant covers is nothing compared to the brutal cold that so many are facing over this Christmas season. Not to mention all the people stuck at airports around the country, with holiday plans at best delayed, and at worst, entirely submarined. SeaTac had one runway open for a few days. Prolonged freezing temperatures along with the rain that Seattle is so famous for have turned the airport into one big skating rink interrupted only by barely enough de-icing equipment to keep open a single runway.  Much public transportation is shut down.  Yet, Seattle is well known for residents who insist on driving in such icy conditions, which leads to those familiar videos on the evening news of bumper cars on surface streets:

Freezing in Florida on Christmas is a fitting end to the climate upheaval this year.  Fires, drought, category 1 equivalent windstorms in Western Washington, erupting volcanoes, Hurricane Ian, Floods, Tornadoes, Earthquakes, and the list goes on.  The world has gone crazy and the climate has gone with it. Early in the Fall of this year, while I was still simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief that Hurricane Ian missed Tampa Bay at the eleventh hour and mourning the destruction and death just south in the Ft. Myers area, drought followed by intense rains followed by equally intense windstorms (that would have been named had they happened anywhere but the Pacific Northwest) arrived on Whidbey Island.  This led to fallen tree buffet at our home and property.  One beautiful oak, one white alder, one maple, one fir, and one red alder were lost during the storm (and I haven't plucked up the courage yet to see what fell deeper into the woods).  

All thoughts of "just leave it until spring" dissipated when two of those lovely trees blocked the driveway.  Thanks to the help of wonderful friends and neighbors, most were delimbed, cleared, and otherwise "left until spring" but the marathon of manual labor left me feeling like I was 110 years old and wondering if I'd be able to get out of bed the next day.   

I returned to Florida from the clean-up adventure on Whidbey genuinely believing that I could rest, relax, and recover.  Haha.   A late season tropical storm/category 1 hurricane left us wondering (yet again) how a postage stamp size yard can produce soooo much yard waste; an unexpected intense and prolonged thunderstorm gave us water flooding into our garage/office faster than we could bail the water out, and to top it all off, I slipped on our porch steps and cracked my head on the corner of a metal lawn chair (hint -- visualize lots of spurting blood).  What a smashing way to finish off the year (OK... not very punny).   

Since many are reporting their COVID status this year, I am happy to report that Barry and I are still COVID virgins, but we have no illusions about staying COVID-free forever.  That doesn't mean there hasn't been illness in the house.  I've been painfully sick three times this year... Thanks go to Moderna (twice) and to my tetanus shot (thank you lawn chair).   My immune system is tired out from fighting battles with vaccines this year.   And, as an introvert, I am quite happy to crawl under my rock during the Christmas cold snap, coming out only occasionally to cook cold weather comfort food and spend time with Barry.  

The University of Washington continues to be a never-ending source of work that rarely skips a beat.  With my colleague and still-friend (Yay!) Jennifer, I published a book on Sex, Gender, and Engineering in 2022 to address that pesky, persistent issue of harassment that continues pretty much unabated in many engineering work and learning spaces.  I took on an (additional) administrator role as associate chair of diversity, equity, and inclusion this year which promptly reminded me of why I have no interest in being more of an administrator and less of a professor (hint -- I appear to be allergic to meetings).  I have three wonderful PhD students and much to be thankful for at work (despite the workload which can still be soul crushing).  I am happy to not be a "star" in academia as it helps to keep me humble and gives me more time to be thoughtful about what I am doing in both research and teaching. While I often have a heart for service, I have also learned how to say NO in at least a hundred different ways.   

It is not a happy Christmas this year because there is so much wrong in the world this holiday season ... COVID in China, the cruel and ugly war in Ukraine, the lingering Artic cold across most of the U.S.... the general lack of kindness and patience I see on the roads, in the stores, and other places when out and about.  But I am very grateful for the love and comforts that I have and the freedom to express myself, even though I write outside of the normal Christmas letter genre.   

My wish for Christmas this year is that gratitude spread across the U.S., filling hearts and minds to the best extent possible... with peace and hope this holiday season.  

Merry Christmas!  

Oh... and Lazer asks that you please send your holiday leftovers to Clearwater, FL and he will take care of them for you.     

Hurricane Ian: A brief debrief on grief

It all started with a calm, uneventful hurricane season. As August turned into September and the end of September approached, I thought that finally, we would have a season free from the worry and anxiety that marks tracking a tropical system to its final destination on land or in the ocean. When Ian first formed, it took Paul Dellegatto to make me pay attention to the obvious -- once a tropical system gets into the Gulf of Mexico, there is no option but to make landfall.  I went through almost all the stages of grief, in the wrong order, and threw some more stages of turmoil in for added drama.

Denial went like this -- "Oh, it's been such a quiet hurricane season (Fiona still hadn't sunk in), that it will be all right. God is giving us a break this year."

Denial quickly gave way to...

Bargaining -- "OK, God -- what can I trade you to make Ian just go away? My new car (oops I don't have one... supply chain problems)? My great attitude (don't have that either)? My strong faith (hmm... don't have that either)? 

bargaining moved onward to...

Anger -- "OK, God -- what is the deal? Why do you allow this stuff to just keep on coming? Why can't you reach us some other way -- other than through one horror after another?

as anger faded,  a combination of begging and praying took its place...

• Breathe In -- "Push it west"
• Breathe Out -- "Weaken it"
• Breathe, Pray, Breathe

desperate prayer gave way to...

Depression and dread when prayer felt like it was going nowhere except in and out of my lungs.  The inevitable Ian just keep churning onward to smother Florida with a dead hit on Tampa Bay, one of the most if not the most vulnerable areas to storm surge in the world.  

When Ian changed his mind and headed east at the eleventh hour, depression and dread morphed into a nauseating combination of relief, confusion, and renewed dread as Ian did not weaken in the Gulf before landfall but instead barreled into southwest Florida just a hair shy of Category 5. And as he began to march across the state as if he owned it, all of my emotions surrounding Ian came together into a surreal numbness as the wind and rain moved through at a "walking pace".  Staying indoors and trying to remain distracted from the rain pounding on the windows and the wind howling past in a very foul mood, I knew what I was hearing and seeing was nothing compared to what was going on in southwest Florida.  

In the calm evening on the day after, still sitting in Orlando and waiting to head to Clearwater, I was nowhere near the acceptance stage of grief. My contention with God on these Natural Disasters (aka horrific suffering and pain) remains. I haven't even taken the smallest of baby steps toward acceptance.  While it doesn't change my faith and conviction that God exists, I have an ever lengthening list of questions to ask Him if I ever get the chance. 

• For God:  Why? Why Gigantic Hurricanes? Why Massive Fires?  Why? Why? Why?  (no platitudes or generalities please)
• for people:  what I want to ask and say...could fill a book.

Prayers ping ponging inside my head like F-16's flying around in the same hangar tonight for all those who are suffering tonight because of Ian.  

Remnants of Canada

I have a terrible habit of starting out strong with sharing highlights of road trips and then tapering off at the end to the extent that no-one knows (including me as memories fade) what happened on the last few days of vacation.  Herein lies my experiment in better diligence on the matter.  

After a smoky day in Kamloops that came with the most awesome macaroni and cheese I have ever had on an outdoor patio at a downtown brewery, we headed out of Kamloops and back into the mountains. At first, it seemed like the color coding on the map was wrong; it had led us to believe that the quality of the road would be several tiers below "free and easy" highway driving.  But, the map did not mislead; it just took awhile to reach the twisty turns, stretches of gravel, and plethora of bumps and scrapes that disrupted the spectacular scenery around us.  

But, despite the smoke, the scenery near Lilloet on the Fraser River was spectacular:

If the conditions look dry, they were and as expected, the scenery hinted at vineyards to come. The kind of grapes that turn into good wine love rocky, troubled soil and this area of British Columbia was home to another niche of the expanding wine industry in Canada:

Lazer was more interested in the buck and doe that had just travelled past at high rates of speed than the grape vines that stretched as far as the eye could see, but we all enjoyed getting out of the car for a bit to sample the regional wines.   

As we continued to travel west, the landscape evolved from sparse, desert-like vegetation to the more familiar temperate forests that we were accustomed to in Western Washington. 

While the requisite day pass and stern park ranger turned us off to a longer hike to middle and upper Joffre Lakes, the lower lake (above) was still beautiful and worth a peek before escaping the crowds to sights at lower elevation.  My favorite part of an otherwise long day of driving was a hike to Nairn Falls just outside Pemberton, in the (aptly named) Green River:

Nairn Falls turned out to be my favorite waterfall on a waterfall-laden road trip.  Nairn "fell" in multiple stages and unlike the straight and dramatic drops of the falls at Wells Gray Provincial Park, Nairn Falls did its thing through multiple dramatic curves carved into the  rock canyon.  The fact that we could spend some time alone with this beautiful piece of Canada only made the experience more memorable:

If I were a freshwater mermaid (rather than the mermaid of the sea that I longed to be when I was a kid), I would choose this waterfall.  I would spend the heat of the day cooling off in the falls themselves:

.. but the cool of the early morning and early evening would lure me into relaxing by the green pools of serenity that lay at periodic intervals along the length of the falls:

And at night, I would nestle close to the river shore, under the trees and moon and dream of what it would be like to be able to walk on land ... but that's a cliche from a movie of the 80's, isn't it?

After our waterfall binge in the previous week in BC, the third largest waterfall (Shannon Falls in Squamish) in Canada wasn't nearly as spectacular:

Clearly, I had become jaded after the Nairn Falls experience along the Green River.

(pun intended) 

In the last days of our 2022 trip to Canada, we would spend a couple of nights in a cabin in Squamish alongside yet another beautiful river, before engaging in the daunting task of many hours of traffic near and in Vancouver before we entered back into the United Staes.  Four hours to travel 40 miles. Re-entry into civilization.  Ugh!

See you next year Canada, eh?

Smoke Break

At the start of the second half (of our Canada vacation), the score was Positives 14, Negatives 2.  But, as we drove into Kamloops on Sunday evening, the mountains started to slip from view, despite the fact that we were edging closer to those very mountains with every passing kilometer.  How could this be?  

Not surprisingly but still sadly, the calamity of west coast summers had caught up with us again, and the smoke rolled into the dry Thompson valley from all sides.  By the time we woke up in Kamloops on Monday morning, the mountains had all but disappeared from the horizon.  The eerie white sky reminded me of my time in Shanghai, China, when I began to wonder if blue sky were even possible and the persistent white skies were interrupted only by the darkness of night.   

But in my cushy Island County life, poor air quality was still a rarity and to see the air quality meter resting in the middle of the scale (which was oddly labelled "unhealthy" beneath the upper two tiers of "very unhealthy" and "hazardous") was unsettling. Walking Lazer for a few kilometers, I didn't notice any difficulty breathing but by afternoon, a steady headache started knocking on the door and didn't offer much chance of backing away.

And so, while most would take a smoke break outside a building, we took a smoke break inside our hotel building, hiding most of the day from the particulates that lurked outside -- eager for a chance to coat the air sacs in our lungs.   A break from a break. Vacation Interrupted.   

Not the end of the world and certainly no reason to complain.   

There is rain in the forecast this evening. Wonderful, beautiful rain.  I'll be eagerly standing at the window this evening waiting for the first drops to fall, the particulates to be washed out of the sky, and my headache to retreat.  

And, perhaps tomorrow, the smoke break will be over!

An Irrelevant Question

Which waterfall was the best?

Was it the widest one in Wells Gray Provincial Park?  Dawson Falls...

Dawson Falls is 350 feet wide... complete with three tiers of lava flows for a massive volume of water to hop, skip, and jump down the river.  

Or was it the mere 70 meter tall Spahats Falls, seemingly more humble because it was...

eclipsed by the canyon through which it flows?

Or was it the jewel of Wells Gray -- the fourth tallest waterfall in Canada... Helmcken Falls at 141 meters?

Spewing an average of 3,800 cubic feet of water into the pool below, every second.  

In my mind,  the question of which waterfall was best is totally irrelevant... all three of the falls were unique and stunning, leaving me tired and happy, with only one remaining question.

Did all that water get tired from falling such a great distance and then rumbling down the river below,  or was it just an ordinary days' work for all that H20?

Arthur Wellesley Gray was a Canadian politician (1876-1944) who had a lot to do with creating many provincial parks in Canada... those parks which now host a very large gaggle of tourists every year from Canada, U.S., and other countries around the world.  

Thank you Mr. Gray.

Eye-Boggling Scenery at Jasper National Park

Edith Cavell was a British nurse who saved a lot of lives during WWI and helped Allied soldiers escape from German-occupied Belgium. For her heroics, she was arrested and executed in 1915. In 1916, Mt. Fizthugh in Jasper National Park was renamed Mt. Edith Cavell.  

Mt. Edith Cavell is the most prominent peak in the Alberta province.   

The long and windy road up to the trailhead is well worth the effort as the peak stands in the background of a beautiful glacial lake:

Complete with floating ice:

And a glacier melting faster than it is supposed to:

And, sediment-induced artistry:

All in all, Mt. E-C gave us one of several eye-boggling experiences in Jasper National Park.  It's the kind of scenery that makes me really glad that digital cameras have taken the place of analog ones... so that I can snap away without driving myself into bankruptcy (does anyone remember how much film cost?)

Lac Beauvert

On September 6, unbeknownst to us, Canada Parks issued an update on the Chetamon Wildfire near Jasper National Park:  "Now is not the time to visit Jasper National Park." Since that time, rain, cooler weather, and strategic firefighting have managed to get the fire under control, but I feel like a bit of a stupid American having ventured to the park on Sept. 10, seemingly ignoring Canada's warning to visitors.  

A few days prior, all the power in the town of Jasper had gone out... leaving the town to run on whatever individual generator power was available.  All of the campgrounds and many hotels closed and most of the tourists headed elsewhere.   Lulled into complacency by the crystal clear skies and clean air north in Mt. Robson where we had set up base camp, we headed south to Jasper anyway.   

After a bit of hiking at the summit of a nearby mountain, we dropped down in elevation to a modest lake called Lac Beauvert.  My two French names and I (Denise and Michelle) dropped Cucumber the kayak into the "Lake Beautiful Green", and headed out for a paddle.  I would have switched Cucumber over to her French counterpart name (concombre) to make the whole experience French, but her name had a better ring in English.  C'est la vie.   

Because of the tourist exodus from Jasper, I was the only soul on the lake.  The water was so clear that I could see straight to the bottom.  In some places, this meant an expanse of glacial sediment, interrupted only by the occasional log. In shallower places, this meant one rounded rock after another, and in other places, it meant a scattering of golf balls wrought by errant swings of a golf club from the world-renowned course that sat right on the border of the lake. 

While Barry and Lazer hiked around part of the lake and explored the golf course, I paddled, being careful to slap the water as little as possible with each swing of the paddle.  Peace like what surrounded me on Lac Beauvert was so perfect and so complete that I wanted to savor each moment.  Actually, I wanted to bottle it up and take it with me every time I headed into Seattle, every time I woke up too early in the morning with a plate too full, every time life rattled me with another unknown, every time another tragedy broke onto the headlines.... 

But, the only bottle I had in hand while on the lake was my own memory. So it will just have to do for recalling peace and time to contemplate on days when either or both seem impossible.  

50, 70, 90, 100, 110, 50, 90

Sound like a winning lottery ticket?  I thought it did, but because I never buy lottery tickets, I really had no clue.   Looking it up, I found that, apparently, lottery ticket numbers only go from 1 to 45 or 1 to 50, depending on the game.  The truth, then, is obviously that I did not buy a lottery ticket in British Columbia.

Instead on Friday, September 9, we founder ourselves caught up with the "twinning" of the TransMountain oil pipeline. The original pipeline was constructed in 1953 and has safely transported oil from near Edmonton in Alberta primarily to the U.S. midwest to feed the zealous American appetite for oil. Now, for a mere 21.4 billion dollars (CAD), the duplicate pipeline (the "twin") will increase the pipeline capacity from 300,000 to 890,000 barrels a day to enable Canadians to benefit more from the pipeline.  The new pipeline will move enough oil to replace at least 1,400 tanker truckloads or 441 tanker rail cars every day.   

Fascinating?  Well, maybe, but ... why is this relevant to two Americans on vacation in Canada?   Because twinning a 1,150 kilometer pipeline (about 715 miles) involves a huge amount of construction, much of it along Highway 5a from Kamloops to Valemount in BC, a stretch of road that made up most of our drive on Friday.  Every few kilometers, we went from a 100 km/hr or 110 km/hr speed limit to 70 km/hr then 50km/hr for a couple km, then a friendly "Thank you, Resume Speed" sign sent us back to 100+ km/hr only to throttle us back in another few kilometers.  This speed up, slow down, speed up cycle was interrupted only by the occasional "Prepare to stop" sign that sent our speed to 0 km/hr at all too regular intervals during the higher frequency fast, slow, slower, fast cycles along Highway 5a.  It was enough to drive the brakes, the driver, and the passenger crazy (and make poor Lazer carsick).   

Thank goodness for the plethora of provincial parks in Canada.  We stopped north of Clearwater (BC, not Florida) in the North Thompson River provincial park to have lunch and stroll up to a viewpoint that gave us a much needed break and a beautiful view of the confluence of the Clearwater and North Thompson rivers.

And the view at the end of All That Construction... of Mt. Robson, the tallest mountain in the Canadian Rockies, took the edge off of all the frustration of driving miles and miles and miles (km and km and km) of nonstop construction.

Whew... glad I didn't have to spend the whole day grouchy!

Water, Water ... and Grapes, Grapes... Everywhere

On the second day of our long awaited post-COVID (not) vacation, we are in Kelowna, British Columbia, where I am sure the grapes outnumber the residents and tourists by several orders of magnitude. 

While the orange moon still reminds us that there are forest fires raging to the south, the air in Kelowna is dry and clean, producing a sunrise that is worthy of waking up early (says the night owl).

Because over 85% of wines made in British Columbia are consumed in British Columbia, it is rare for us to enjoy Canadian wines, but today is a day to rectify this deficiency in our lives.  Our first wine tasting stop is at Canada's largest organic winery (Summerhill Pyramid Winery) which hosts a fabulous view:

A rather large bottle of wine:

And of all things, a pyramid -- built to store wine so that it can achieve clarity that is presumably impossible with ordinary storage techniques.  

No day along a lake would be complete without getting into the lake -- which is where Cucumber comes in ... that nice, durable, inflatable kayak that conveniently fits in the back seat along with our suitcases and cooler.  

The only question I have to consider when my head sinks into my pillow tonight is:  Which views were better?  From high above at the winery?  Or at ground level?

Or at water level? 

This is the kind of tough call that I expect on vacation.