7/31/2026

Friday, July 31, 2026

1917 World War I: The Battle of Passchendaele (Third Battle of Ypres) began and caused approximately 500,000 casualties.

1961 Israel welcomed its one millionth immigrant.

1972 Senator Thomas Eagleton withdrew as Democratic vice presidential candidate at George McGovern's request after news that Eagleton had sought treatment for depression.

2025 Donald Trump announces revised tariff rates set to start on August 1, including a new 35% tariff on Canada.

In bed at 9:15. up at 5:15; 0535 203.6 114/67/58 112; 65/77/64, cloudy, rain later.  Beach hazards warning: waves tomorrow 4 to 7 ft., dangerous currents.

Morning meds at 8:30 a.m.  Trulicity injection at 11 a.m.      

Man in the Holocene by Max Frisch.  I'm slowly working my way through this Swiss novella.  It's about a 74-year-old widower, Geiser, living alone in a Swiss village in the Alps, coping as well as he can with cognitive decline.  His memory is poor and getting worse with age.  He engages in a lot of reading non-fiction stuff - his encyclopedia, the Bible, etc. - because he is still intellectually curious, but he remembers very little, so he cuts out sections from his books and tacks them to his paneled walls.  During the narrative, his village is experiencing nonstop rainfall, which has already led to roadways being blocked by landslides and threatens to bury the entire village.  It's a meditation on aging, loss of faculties, and the relative insignificance of human life 'in the grand scheme of things."  He reads about developments in the various geological ages - Triassic, Jurassic, and the current Holocene - and also about quantum physics, subatomic particles and their interaction.  We human lifeforms are seen as infinitesimal compared to Nature's development over eons and even compared to the temporary but mighty atmospheric river that threatens to destroy him, his lifetime of accumulated possessions, and the entire community.  The story is a somber reflection on our puniness and for some reason, puts me in mind of Baruch Spinoza's theory that "God" is simply Nature and its immutable laws.  In his Ethics, he wrote: “God or Nature is one and the same substance”, emphasizing that everything—trees, animals, stars, and human thoughts—is a mode or expression of this single divine substance and answers to its inexorable laws. The book is not an easy read, but I'll finish it before I move on to something a bit more palatable.   Geiser at 74 reminds me too much of myself at 84. . . . 

I finished reading it before dinner this evening.  It's not an enjoyable reading experience and I won't be tempted to read it again.  I said that the protagonist Geiser reminded me too much of myself and he does.  He cuts out entries from his Bible and from his encyclopedia, tacks or tapes them to the walls of his house as a protection against memory loss.  I do the same with this journal/blog.  I've written about it often on these pages: why I keep writing a journal intended only for my own eyes.  It's a protest against my failing memory and, I suppose, against my own mortality, the realization that I have relatively few tomorrows ahead of me.  It could be ten years (God forbid!) or ten days or ten minutes, but it's a short time compared to all my yesterdays.  Geiser's keeping little pieces of paper all over to prevent his unpreventable forgetting reminds me of my brother-in-law Jimmy A., who used to have little pieces of paper in his various pockets or scattered about his apartment, to prevent his deep memory loss.  Pathetic.  Jimmy did it with little pieces of paper; I do it with notes on my iPhone or on my laptop.  But it's hopeless.

Differences.  Geri came in from doing some gardening this morning, telling me that she "is becoming a North Shore Nancy," a disparaging term about well-off ladies living in the affluent North Shore suburbs.  I asked her why, and she said, "I'm having lunch today with Shirley and Barb, having lunch on Monday with Caela, on Tuesday with Helen Hamson, and on Thursday with Cheri."  I told her I envied her and that she should be pleased that she has so many friends who want to spend time with her.  I am indeed pleased that she has so many friends, but it's no surprise to me since she is so often on the telephone schmoozing with them, not just the Milwaukee area buddies, but long-term friends in Pittsburgh, Connecticut, and Topeka, KS, as well as her cousin Sue in North Carolina and occasionally her college buddy Tuz, who calls from Dublin, Ireland.  Her wide circle of friends reminds me of how isolated I have become in old age and makes me wonder what it says about me.  Alas.  I'm reminded of how lonely my Dad got, in his 80s, down in Florida after his second wife died, and then his friends, one by one, died off or moved away to be closer to their children, prompting him finally to agree to move north and live with Geri and me during the warmer months, and with Kitty and Jim during the winter months.  His move was a great blessing for all of us, but it was occasioned only by his loneliness and (I suspect) his increasing sense of vulnerability in his mid-80s.  I'm sure it was because of his increased sense of security after he made the move that let him so readily to give up driving long before he died at age 86, surrounded by his family.

Grace.  I drove up to Walmart in Saukville while Geri was lunching with Shirley and Barb.  I wanted to augment my supply of seedcakes and safflower seeds.  I pulled into a "Handicapped" parking space, grabbed my cane, and slowly started to get out of the Volvo.  A pretty young woman (when was it that I consider any woman under 70 as 'young', and almost all young women as 'pretty'?) asked me if she could bring me a cart.  She wasn't pushing a cart herself, but rather offered to go get one and bring it to me so I could use it as a walker, which I normally do.  I declined her offer but thanked her for her kindness.  I thought to myself that it is occurrences like this that remind me of all the unrecognized, uncelebrated kindness there is in the world.  It's heartening, uplifting.