To celebrate Nora’s birthday we went to the “Garden in the Woods,” a “naturalistic plant collection that showcases New England native plants with complementary specimens from across the country.”
I loved this small hut with a green roof.
In 1985, Hurricane Elena filled in the Dunedin Pass, separating Clearwater Beach from Caladesi Island, though it is a bit of a (lovely) hike.
You know you’re near the boundary, when you see the shell trees.
And you know you should hurry back, when the tide starts coming in.
Something that tickles me, as a New Englander, is an aquatic sunset.
I’ve been skeptical of student debt forgiveness for the typical reasons: my own sense of frugality (e.g., going to a state school and paying off debt ASAP), concerns about moral hazard (i.e., increasing credential inflation and education costs), and even the ever increasing federal debt (i.e., a ponzi scheme that will one day fall).
That said, I know the world has changed since I was an undergrad. I also appreciate the U.S. has a stark wealth gap along racial lines that needs to be remedied. (And I recognize most conservatives seem to care about national debt only when social programs are being discussed, but lose that concern when considering military spending and industrial subsidies.) This discussion between Tressie McMillan Cottom and Louise Seamster in favor of student debt forgiveness gave me much to think about. This includes the policy issue of debt relief and the ethical issue of equity.
If equality is about ensuring equal opportunities, equity recognizes that neutral-seeming policies aren’t enough to counter historic and systemic biases: “The only remedy to past discrimination is present discrimination. The only remedy to present discrimination is future discrimination” (Kendi 2019, 19). I strongly support equality and removing that which perpetuates historic and systemic bias. But I dither on equity. I wish I could find a taxonomy of remedies, like those sketched below, with which to think about the ethics and pragmatics of remedying injustices.
I am a strong advocate of systemic reform: ethically necessary and practically achievable though distressingly difficult to achieve. On affirmative action, I am ambivalently moderate: cautiously supportive of the balance struck in Grutter v. Bollinger, though it is usually bureaucratically incoherent—often requiring doublethink—in practice. I am sympathetic to the obligation of reparations to those directly harmed (e.g., the internment of Japanese Americans), but the passing of time limits its utility in longstanding systemic bias. I dislike Kendi’s authoritarianism for many reasons.
I wonder if there is there a comprehensive treatment on this topic that attends to the ethics and pragmatics of these and other options?
References
This labor day weekend, we got a car and explored the coast around Boston.
On Saturday, we explored the North Shore and happened across Gerry Island, for which there is a path when the tide is out.
Monday, we explored the South Shore, and enjoyed the rocky beach of Webb Memorial Park.
Summer time is a time of cold salads. For lunch I’m finishing yesterday’s improvised sesame soba with tofu, watermelon, and mint!
As a young goth or punk, you learn to give yourself and friends haircuts. This past year takes me back: Nora, working from home, has been opting for edgier styles, and I’ve been implementing them with scissors and trimmers in hand.
Amidst the slushy doldrums of February I find myself thinking of a return to old dog hill.
The new extension of the old Cambridge library straddles a small hill. The rain sluices off, making for a comfortable and dry position from which to survey the park and its denizens.
When Casper was younger, we’d pass the hill on the way to the corner of the park where the dogs chase and wrestle. Casper had balls to snatch from the air and dogs to best in tug. We never gave the hill any thought until a middle-aged man and his old retriever became evening fixtures. He sat beside his Golden, idly petting her as she held a tennis ball in her whitened muzzle in remembrance of more active days. That’s when we took to calling it old dog hill.
After a few years, the man and his dog relinquished the hill. Shortly thereafter, we claimed the spot as our own.
Casper’s mid-air collisions and tug battles have left him with a bad back. Weather permitting, we sit on the hill, speaking to passersby, idly petting Casper, and tossing a ball every few minutes for him to leisurely fetch in remembrance of more active days.
We sometimes still see the man walking to the library, alone. And as he passes I wonder if he thinks as we once did, “there they are, on old dog hill.”
✽
How tug-crazy was Casper? Witness.
Rebecca Schuman’s Schadenfreude, A Love Story reminds me of my favorite zines from the naughts, and I’m enjoying her stories of high-school angst and collegiate travel from that era.
Last night I laughed with recognition when she learned, as a vegetarian in Germany, that the little cubes of ham on her broccoli and cheese was not meat but ham (“Das ist doch kein Fleisch – das ist Schinken.”)
I’ve had similar experiences traveling the world as a vegetarian:
Winter pizza night
The rosemary is still green
Under the snow