Category Archives: opinion

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THEY WERE SOLDIERS ONCE, AND YOUNG (2026)

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

This annual Memorial Day post is written in remembrance of the soldiers from my high school who died in the Vietnam war.  I first published this in 2014, and each year since then I hear from people who relate similar stories about the losses suffered in their hometowns or, worse, their families. This Memorial Day please take a moment to remember all of the brave young men and women we’ve lost in conflict. 

Five boys from my high school were killed in the Vietnam War. For a small town like Novato, that was an enormous number. We were such a close-knit community that even if we didn’t know one of them personally, we knew a sibling or friend. So when I planned my trip to Washington D.C. last month, I scheduled time to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial to see their names on “The Wall”.

To refresh my memory, I pulled out my high school yearbooks and found them all – smiling for a formal portrait or posing for a team picture. Each image reflected a boy, fresh-faced and full of hope, his life stretching out before him. I looked at those young faces and found it hard to believe that their lives ended so soon after the bucolic days captured in the photos. None of them reached the age of 22, their dreams extinguished on the battlefield. While we, their classmates, lived long enough to enjoy the internet, smart phones and streaming movies, most of them didn’t live long enough to see color television.

I reflected on the stories I’ve read of WWII vets who speak so reverently of the “boys who didn’t come home”. As I perused the yearbooks, I finally understood their sentiment. It is only when looking back through a 50-year lens that one can appreciate just how young these soldiers were and how many of life’s milestones they missed. So, on this Memorial Day, I’d like to pay tribute to “The Boys from Novato.”

Robert Johnson
Bob Johnson joined the Army in the fall of 1965, in what would have been his Senior year in high school. I remember him as a very nice, quiet guy. Before he enlisted, he asked his high school sweetheart to marry him – they wanted something to hang on to while he was gone. His entry into the service occurred just as the war was escalating. He was sent to Vietnam in March of 1966 and three weeks later he was killed by enemy gunfire during “Operation Abilene” in Phuoc Tuy Province. As his former classmates excitedly anticipated their Senior prom and graduation, Robert had already made the ultimate sacrifice. In the 1966 yearbook, where his senior portrait would have been, his mother placed this photo of him in uniform along with a tribute. He was the first Vietnam casualty from Novato.

Mike Tandy

Mike Tandy graduated from NHS in 1965. His sisters, Sue and Sarah also attended NHS. Mike was a good student, who participated in the first swim team our high school fielded. He was an Eagle Scout and according to his friend Neil Cuzner, “he was highly intelligent, a great guy and an excellent scout. He was in the Senior Patrol and a young leader of our troop. He led by example.” After graduation Mike joined the Marine reserves and was called up in January 1966. He was sent to Vietnam shortly after that. On September 8th he was on patrol in Quang Nam with another soldier when his footfall detonated a landmine. He was killed instantly. He had celebrated his 19th birthday just five days prior. His classmates had moved on – either to college or working – but the Tandy family was left to grieve the loss of their son and brother. In 2005 Sarah posted to the virtual Vietnam Wall: “Thanks to all of you who come here and remember Mike. All of our lives were changed, and I thank you for not forgetting.”

Allan Nelson

Allan Nelson played football at College of Marin with my brother, Bob. Allan’s sister, Joanne, was in Bob’s class in high school and his brother, Steve, was in mine. So we were well aware when Allan was drafted into the Army and sent to Vietnam in July 1966 at the age of 20. Five months later, on December 1, we were devastated to learn he had been killed by gunfire during a battle in Binh Dinh Province. I still remember the day Steve came back to school after Allan’s death; red-faced with tears streaming down his cheeks. He had always been such a happy guy but was now changed in ways that were hard for his 16-year-old friends to understand. As I look back now, I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to go home from school each day, to face parents who were shattered by grief. Joanne posted the following on a memorial page and perhaps sums it up the best: “Allan was my brother, not just a brother, he was my best friend. All I know is December 1, 1966, was the saddest time for me and my family. My family loved each other so much, but when Al was killed the joy died in my family. Allan had his whole life planned. He had just turned 21 on Oct. 20th. When we were young, he couldn’t wait to be 21. I am so sorry for all the families that lost a son and a brother. It will be 33 years in Dec. The everyday sad feelings of loss are gone but on special days it still hurts.”

Jim Gribbin

Jim Gribbin graduated from NHS in 1966. He was on the football team, very active in school clubs and was well-liked by everyone he met. He joined the Army Reserves and when called up, became part of the Special Forces, where he rose to the rank of Captain. He served two tours of duty in an elite MIKE unit. In March 1970 his unit was on a night defensive mission in Kontum Province when they were ambushed by enemy troops. Jim sacrificed his own safety by running into open territory – twice – to aid and retrieve wounded soldiers under his command. He was shot both times and taken to a rear medical facility where he died from his wounds. Ironically, for this affable Irishman, he succumbed on St. Patrick’s Day. He was awarded the Silver Star and the Bronze Star for Valor. Jim’s dad was a veteran of WWII and when he died in 2011, he requested that he be buried in Jim’s grave, with his name and vitals carved on the back of Jim’s headstone. One can only imagine the grief that he carried all those years. Hopefully he is at peace now that they are forever reunited.

In 2018 I was contacted by a woman in New York who signed up for a grueling physical event that honors Vietnam veterans.  She chose to represent Jim. She had found my Memorial Day tribute and wanted to know more about him. You can read my post about her and the event here: https://fromabirdseyeview.com/?p=7111

Wayne Bethards

Wayne “Ed” Bethards was in my graduating class, but I didn’t know him well. His family moved to Novato just before the start of our senior year. His mother, Betty Bethards, was the author of the international best-seller, “The Dream Book”. Again, Neil Cuzner has provided a bit more insight: “Wayne was a good person. He had a great love of baseball and had actually started a small league while over in ‘Nam. He was sharing his love of baseball with the Vietnamese children.” Cuzner went on to say that Wayne was a religious person and did not want to kill anyone; he struggled greatly with his deployment. He was drafted into the Army and was sent to Vietnam in October of 1970. In January 1971, he was killed while on patrol by the accidental detonation of a mechanical device in Quang Tin Province. He was the last boy from Novato High School to die in the war.

Jerry Sims

In April 2017, I heard from a former schoolmate, Dennis Welsh, about Jerry Sims. When he died in Vietnam the Army listed his hometown as Novato. I found in my research that sometimes the Novato “hometown” designation was for those who had lived at Hamilton Air Force Base, not necessarily a graduate of Novato High School. Since I couldn’t find any records of Jerry from NHS, I assumed he lived at the base, but that was not the case. Dennis told me that Jerry moved to Novato from Texas in the Spring of 1966 to live with his sister. He tried out for the football team during spring training and made the squad. But despite that automatic inclusion into a social group, he was unhappy living in California and being the “new kid” going into his Senior year. Dennis told me he never saw Jerry again after football tryouts and didn’t learn of his fate until he spotted Jerry’s name on “The Wall”. I learned that after Jerry left Novato in June 1966, he joined the Army and was sent to Vietnam in November. On February 6, 1968, he and several others in his unit were killed by small arms fire in Gia Dinh province. Jerry was 19 years old. His former platoon leader wrote this on his memorial page: “I was Jerry’s platoon leader on the day he died. He didn’t have to be there, since he had a job elsewhere in Vietnam, but requested a transfer to our unit. He had already spent a year with the Wolfhounds, but for reasons all his own, he wanted to come back to this unit. He died doing his job as a squad leader in my platoon.” It would seem Jerry finally found his home – and some peace – with his Army brethren.

Jim Wright

Update May 2022: Each year this annual tribute receives a lot of viewings around Memorial Day.  This year I was fortunate to hear from Bill Sauber, a 1966 graduate of NHS, who told me of another NHS connection: Jim Wright.

Jim celebrated his 18th birthday in January 1966 and was drafted into the Army shortly thereafter. I suspect that he had dropped out of school, as he was in his sophomore year in the spring of 1966, so would not otherwise be eligible for the draft.  After basic training he was sent to Vietnam in May as part of the 27th Infantry, known as the Wolfhounds. On November 5, 1966, he was killed by enemy gunfire in Darlac province. He posthumously received a Silver Star. His official records indicate that by the time Jim died, his father was not living in Novato, his mother could not be located, and he had married a woman named Linda.  It is hard to imagine that in the space of one year Jim celebrated his 18th birthday, was drafted, married, and ultimately, killed.  As with Bob Johnson and Jim Gribbin, he lies at rest in Golden Gate National Cemetery. I am hopeful that someone reading this post knew him and can provide more insight into his time at Novato High School.

When I visited “The Wall” I found the boys from Novato, each name etched on that long expanse of granite. I thought about their families and the sorrow they endured. It was overwhelming to realize that sorrow had been replicated 58,286 times. Each of the names on that black, shiny surface represent a family forever destroyed. As I walked along the pathway, I looked at all of the mementos that were left as tributes to the fallen – notes, flowers and flags mostly. But then I spotted something different – a tribute from Jim Dart to his brother, Larry. It was a Kingston Trio album, along with a note about the good times they shared learning the guitar and singing songs together. I was overcome with emotion reading Jim’s note. My brother, Bob, owned that same album. He and his best friend, Don, often entertained our family playing their guitars and singing songs from that record. Bob was a Naval officer in Japan during the Vietnam war and was safely returned to us. I wept as I stood looking at the album, realizing that but for the grace of God – and military orders – how easily it could have been Bob’s name on that wall and me leaving a Kingston Trio album in his memory. I can’t imagine our family without his presence all of these years. I ached for Sue and Sarah and Joanne and Steve and all the other siblings who never got to see gray hair on their brothers’ heads; their family gatherings forever marred by a gaping hole where their brother should have been. When I stooped down to take the photo, I noticed that several other visitors had stopped to look at it too. As I glanced at those who were of a certain age, I could see my own feelings reflected in their eyes. We know how much of life these boys missed. We mourn their loss – and ours.

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NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

It’s tough to escape the news these days. It is seemingly everywhere and with today’s 24-hour news cycle, it feels like notable events are happening every second. With the death of Ted Turner, arguably the inventor of 24-hour news, there were several articles published about his impact on news. One article noted that it would be a welcome respite if, for just one day, we didn’t have ANY news, as happened on April 18, 1930, when the BBC announced that nothing newsworthy had occurred that day. At the start of its regular news broadcast at 8:45 p.m., the BBC announced, “Good evening. Today is Good Friday. There is no news.” The BBC had a reputation to uphold – it had traditionally decried sensationalist news reporting. They shied away from covering local automobile accidents and fires in favor of big-picture affairs that had global repercussions. So, when they assumed there was no news, they kept the bar high, axed the nightly news, and played piano music in its place.  

As it turned out, the news department made an ill-informed, or rather, non-informed, mistake. In reality, that day was a very notable news day, as nationalist rebels conducted a raid on British commonwealth forces in India. But communication lines were cut during the attack, making it impossible for the BBC to be aware of the news. Under the impression there were no major headlines that day, the network felt no need to lower its broadcast standards solely to fill time.

Huntley and Brinkley back in the day

Imagine that – a news network deeming to not lower its standards just to fill airtime. According to the latest Pew research, most nightly newscasts devote a surprisingly small share, often only 5–25%, to what most people would consider “important” or high‑impact news. The rest is typically softer material: human‑interest stories, consumer tips, health trends, weather, and promotional segments. And of course, many of the cable channels are rife with opinion and low on accurate information.

While exact percentages vary by network and by day, long-term content analyses show the following patterns for local newscasts:

  • Hard news (politics, world events, economics): 5–25%
    • Hard news has steadily declined over decades as networks chase broader audiences and advertiser‑friendly demographics.
  • Soft news (health, lifestyle, human interest): 30–50%
    • These segments are cheaper to produce and more reliably “pleasant” for viewers.
  • Weather: 10–15%
    • Weather is one of the most-watched parts of any broadcast.
  • Crime stories: 10–20%
    • Crime is often overrepresented relative to actual crime rates.
  • Network promotion (teasers for upcoming shows, cross‑promotion): 5–10%

However, the times, they are a changin’. Only around 20% of adults under 30 regularly watch TV news. Gone are the days when the family gathered around a TV to watch anything, much less news. Younger people prefer to get their news digitally. Most read news on their phones. If they are watching anything it is online (You Tube or Tik Tok), or they listen to news on podcasts. God help the person getting news from Facebook and Instagram, the home of bots and third-grade name calling. Bottom line: young adults overwhelmingly get news from social media, more than any other age group.

All of this is happening at a time when AI is changing the landscape of just about everything. I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to assume that soon an AI program will determine what goes into a newsfeed. And for that matter, have an AI robot deliver the news. All I can hope is that whoever is programming the AI looks to the BBC on April 18, 1930, to establish its standards. I know, wishful thinking.

Posted in opinion • travel

All Roads Lead to Rome

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By Bob Sparrow       

I’m not sure if all roads lead to Rome, but ours did last Tuesday, prior to getting on our cruise on Thursday. We had decided that because we had been to Rome on several previous occasions that we would only spend about a day there before boarding our cruise.  In retrospect, probably a mistake, as Rome is such an amazing city, it deserves as much time as you can give it. 

Our driver picked us (the Budds & Sagers) from the airport and drove us to our hotel, Sina Bernini Bristol, which was conveniently located withing walking distance of several of Rome’s main attractions. But first, as we waited for our room to be ready, we had lunch at Arte e Sfizio, not sure of the spelling but it was fantastic. We were welcomed by the owner, Johnny like we were old, long-lost friends (well, we were old!). He brought us out an appetizer tray that was killer! It was a wonderful way to be welcomed to Italy – great hospitality, great food.

From left: Reddy’s, Budds, Helmles, Sagers and Sparrows

After lunch, our rooms were ready, so we checked in and went to the rooftop bar to enjoy some great Italian wine and a spectacular view of the city. Like the tourists that we were, we decided to walk to two iconic Italian sites that were close by, Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps. Both just a short walking distance from our hotel and both were very crowded but were still enjoyable to see. We were stuffed from lunch, but by dinner time, we decided to head up to the rooftop restaurant and enjoy some ‘little Italian bites’ which happened to be more like little Japanese bites and some more wine. We finished the evening with a short walk from the hotel to an amazing Gelato place. There is nothing like Italian gelato! A great way to end our first and only day in Rome.

The next morning, we had about an hour and a half drive from our hotel to the ship, but it seemed like just minutes as our driver was a singer and he sang some great Italian and American songs all the way. We of course joined in, making the ride seem like only a few minutes.

The suite!

The ship was magnificent. It is Oceana’s newest ship, Alura, which just turned a year old this month. It has a rather small capacity of 1,200 passengers. One couple in our group, the Helmles, got a room on the ship like I’ve never seen before. It was at the aft of the ship and the room, which was 2400 square feet, went from one side of the ship to the other – simply unbelievable!!!  We became regular guests there!

First stop, the Amalfi Coast. We had arranged for two vans to pick up the ten of us for the picturesque and often life-threatening ride up the mountain. It is truly one of the most picturesque coastlines in the world. It just so happened that our driver was also an opera singer, so we were serenaded with both Italian and American classics through the entire trip. We were dropped in the middle of Amalfi and did some shopping and had lunch (amazing spaghetti bolognese) before returning to the ship.

     Travel tip: If you’ve never been to the Amalfi Coast, shame on you – go!! And try to find a driver that sings Italian operas!

     Our last stop in Italy is on the island of Sicily in the port city of Catania, where the still active volcano, Mt. Etna is an iconic landmark. We did a food/walking tour of this home of many of Italy’s famous artists and writers. We had two guides take us through a huge fish market and throughout town stopping for . . . I don’t know what we ate, but it was all good. We finished the day back on board at the Asian specialty restaurant for a delicious dinner.

Next stop: Greek islands on Thursdays post.   

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I CAN SEE! SORT OF

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Twenty-seven years ago I underwent LASIK surgery to correct my vision. At the time, I couldn’t read the big E on the eye chart with my left eye. I had worn glasses or contacts since I was 10 years old. Not Coke-bottle thickness, but I was headed in that direction. LASIK was a miracle for me. Afterwards I had 20/20 vision that lasted for many years. But as with other body parts, Father Time eventually caught up, and I learned that LASIK was not intended to last forever. At first, I wore “cheaters” from the drug store but eventually my distance vision deteriorated to the point I couldn’t read road signs. This made for some lively discussions on the road trips that my husband and I used to take, where he relied on me for navigation. I finally gave in and started wearing progressive glasses, which give all the satisfaction of a warm shower. My head had to be tilted in just the right way to see or read. And frankly, my vision wasn’t crisp at any angle. That came in handy when I looked in the mirror, but was exceedingly annoying when reading or watching TV.

Luckily, one of the few advantages of getting older is that I started to develop cataracts. My ophthalmologist and I have been discussing surgery for a few years. Because of my LASIK surgery he couldn’t guarantee that traditional lenses would give me perfect vision. In 2021 he told me about light-adjustable lenses (LAL’s) that were being used in Europe for people that previously had LASIK. Unlike traditional lenses that are permanently fixed in their refractive power, he told me LAL’s can be adjusted postoperatively using specialized light treatments.

That seemed a little daunting to me. I wondered exactly what kind of torture they put you through for the adjustments. Turns out that the LAL’s are made of specialized photosensitive material that contain light-reactive molecules. After the lens is implanted, the surgeon uses a light delivery device to expose the lens to specific patterns of UV light. That exposure gradually alters the lens’s shape and optical power, allowing for adjustments over several weeks. Okay – that’s the scientific stuff. But I needed to know how it worked in practice. So I talked with a few friends that had the procedure and they raved about it. Colors were brighter, vision was clear, and they could read a menu without a floodlight streaming down on it.

So, earlier this month I had the LAL’s implanted in both eyes. I did them on consecutive days, which caused some people to question my sanity (not a new phenomenon), but I wanted this process to be done ASAP. The surgeon said it takes 2-4 months for the light treatments and then the final “lock-in” and until that time, one must live as a vampire. Sunlight is a killer for these lenses so even when I take Dooley out to the dog run, I have to don a very “attractive” pair of UV-blocking sunglasses. They also provide a clear pair to wear inside, that fortunately have “cheaters” built in. For the first week I was to stay off of electronic devices. Luckily The Masters was on TV so I was entertained.

Thus far, I’m pretty happy. The day after my second surgery I drove myself to the doctor’s office. I could not read anything on the instrument panel of my car, much less street signs. I questioned whether I should have been driving, but after a vision test the doctor said I was legal by Arizona standards. ‘Nuff said. At one week they checked me again and it looks like 20/20 vision will be possible. Eventually. The computer is still blurry – over time this will subside but for now I can only spend 10-15 minutes on it before I have to take a break.

My glasses collection

Overall, I’m glad I did it. The prospect of good vision again is uplifting. My glasses will go to the Lion’s Club donation program so hopefully someone else will enjoy them. A big benefit that I didn’t anticipate? After a week away from electronic devices, my bad habit of constantly checking them is gone. I may not be able to keep up with influencers, but I read more often now, and I think that’s a VERY good trade-off.

Posted in opinion • Sports

TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

There are two camps of people rejoicing this week. No, not because of the upcoming Passover and Easter holidays. I’m referring to baseball fans and those of us who live in Spring Training cities. The month of March is typically known for the “madness” around college basketball. While the NCAA tournament has been exciting so far, it doesn’t rise to the level of watching Spring Training tourists drive. In the past month I have witnessed more sudden lane changes onto exit ramps than I care to think about. All I can say is I’m glad I have a good braking system in my car. March also brings the baseball fans whose indicator light bears no resemblance to the direction the person actually turns, and the ones who fail to move forward when the light turns green because they’re hopelessly lost and consulting Google Maps.

So, I welcome April this week not only because the crowds will thin out and it’s safer to drive, but also because I enjoy the beginning of baseball season. I stress – the beginning – because after April I lose complete interest until the World Series. But at the beginning of the season I enjoy the beautiful green grass, the hopefulness that imbues each team, and the music. Yes, I love baseball music. My dad and his mother were huge Giants fans. Right up until her death, my grandmother would listen to the games on the radio with a team cap perched on her head and a box of See’s Candy on her end table. I don’t have to wonder where I got my sweet tooth. All summer long my dad had his transistor radio tuned to the Giants games. And much to my mother’s chagrin, during one World Series run he hid the radio in his jacket pocket and used a wired earpiece to listen to a game during a church service!

Harry Caray

So unsurprisingly, the song “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” was one of the first songs I learned. Written in 1908 by songwriter Jack Norworth and composer Albert Von Tilzer, the tune was one of many popular baseball songs that made waves at the time. But unlike the others, their composition went on to become a cultural fixture, still played today in many stadiums during the game’s seventh-inning stretch. You would think this legendary tribute to America’s pastime would be written by a diehard baseball fan, but the truth is that neither Norworth nor Von Tilzer had ever seen a baseball game when they penned the song! Norworth wrote the lyrics when he saw a poster for a NY Giants game while riding a NYC subway. Von Tilzer wrote the music, and they registered the copyright for the tune in 1908. Although it was a popular song, it was not played at a professional baseball game until 1934. Even then, it didn’t really gain any traction. But in 1971 Chicago White Sox owner Bill Veeck caught legendary announcer Harry Caray singing the song to the entire stadium. From that point forward it became an essential singalong tradition in almost every ballpark.

Diamond at Fenway

Today, many teams have adopted other anthems to play during games. “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond is played at Redsox games, the Giants play Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin“, and the Pirates’ fans sing along to Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family”. It’s fun to hear these songs played during games and is a lovely way to bring a large, diverse crowd together. God knows we can use more of that. So I say, “Play Ball!”

P.S. Jack Norworth finally attended his first baseball game – in 1940!!

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SIBLINGS, SONGS, AND SAGEWOOD

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Some weeks are better than others. Last week was not only a “better” week, but a great week because brother Bob came for a visit. I know a fair number of people who would roll their eyes at the prospect of their sibling paying a visit. But Bob and I (and our older brother, Jack) are lucky enough to not only be siblings, but friends. Bob lives a six-hour drive away, which means we don’t get to visit as often as we’d like. So, I was excited when his car pulled into my driveway last Tuesday, only to be outdone by Dooley, who sprang from the front door and raced out to greet him. So much for the “wait” command. Luckily, Bob is a dog lover, so the affection was reciprocated with lots of scratches and hugs. And, oh yeah, he gave me a hug too.

That night we had a low-key evening with my friend Marge and her husband, Bob. I cooked chili and didn’t kill anyone, so I consider the night a success. Marge is like a sister to me. In fact, I think the entirety of my family would like to make her an official member of our tribe, so she is included in all family gatherings, large and small. The next day Bob and I set out for a fun and purposeful day. One of the reasons for his visit was for him to tour the continuing care communities I’ve been considering and to confirm that I have zeroed in on the one that is the best fit for me. But first…we needed some fun. I have long wanted to take him to the Musical Instrument Museum (MIM) because he is such a great musician and has an appreciation for all types of music. The MIM is the largest museum of its type in the world, with a collection of over 15,000 musical instruments and associated objects from nearly 200 countries and territories. It is truly fascinating to see how people from continents thousands of miles apart invented similar drums and string instruments at roughly the same time. My fatal mistake was not allowing enough time for our visit. We were there for a bit over two hours and could have spent all day.

We had briefly toured one of my “retirement home” options earlier in the day but spent more time, and ate lunch, at the one I am favoring, Sagewood. I tried not to influence his impression, as I wanted to hear his honest opinion, and luckily, he confirmed that I had made the right choice. I won’t be moving for a while because I want to wait for their new addition, but it’s nice to have that major decision behind me. We finished the day with dinner at my club, once again with Marge and Bob, and my good friend Bonnie, who always makes for a fun evening.

The next day we were able to meet our niece Shelley and her husband, Colin, for lunch down in Casa Grande. CG, as we call it, is not exactly a garden spot, nor is it known for its great restaurants, but it does have the distinction of being exactly half-way between Shelley’s house in Tucson and mine in Scottsdale. And in reality, we could have been eating tuna sandwiches on a park bench and still had a good time. They are delightful to be with, and we always leave feeling we haven’t had enough time together. Of course, being the Boomer that I am, I forgot to take a photo.

That night Marge wanted to see Bob again before his visit ended so she and her Bob had us over for dinner. The dinner was delicious, but the best part was the music. Marge played some beautiful songs on the piano while we sang along, her Bob played the banjo, and then my Bob played the banjo while Marge sang and danced. It was truly one of those magical evenings that you don’t plan but remember forever. The next morning Bob headed for home and both Dooley and I were sad to see him drive off. But what a wonderful visit! Usually we have a lot of people around when we see each other, so it was special to have some one-on-one time. I’m convinced there is nothing better than when your sibling is also your friend. I’m a lucky sister.

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COMFORT AND JOY WITH A TERRORIST

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

His first day home

One year ago today I brought my new puppy home. I named him Dashing Doolin, which was a nod to my former dog, Dash, and Doolin, one of my favorite towns in Ireland. I nicknamed him Dooley, which I thought sounded very playful and cute. Cavalier King Charles Spaniels are known as the “comfort spaniels”, bred to sit quietly and lovingly by their owner. So, I envisioned a similar experience to that which I had with Dash the Wonder Dog – mellow, lots of naps (him), endless amounts of time to live a normal life (me). I was wrong. Very wrong. I swear Dooley is part Jack Rusell Terrier. Right from the jump he required lots of activity and almost all of my attention. My idea of keeping him occupied was to throw a ball. His was to nip my arms, toes and ear lobes. Or chew on the throw pillows. Or scratch the front window, begging to go chase birds, bunnies and every errant leaf that blew by. Although he had some of the same lineage as Dash, it soon became apparent that Dooley is a very different dog.

The “convict”

I’d like to say that the last year has been one of happiness and fun. But I’d be lying. What was I thinking getting a puppy in my mid-70’s? I have been frustrated, tearful and ready to give up more times that I can count. I jokingly referred to him as “the terrorist” because my life was dictated by him. In truth, it wasn’t such a joke. At least once a week I gave serious consideration as to whether he might be better placed with a young family with a very large backyard. For six months I enrolled him in training classes, in which he excelled. He was the perfect student and his instructors remarked about how quickly he caught on to commands. But turns out I had a little Eddie Haskell on my hands – a kiss-up around other adults and a complete menace at home. For Halloween last year I dressed him up as a convict for our community’s pet costume contest and several people mentioned how appropriate his outfit was. In other words, he had a “rep”. His saving grace was that he loves to “smoosh”, an activity where he jumps up and practically smothers me while laying his head on my head. It’s his version of a hug and although he doesn’t know it, that gesture kept him in my good graces.

Finally, when I was truly at my wit’s end, my friend Joan referred me to her trainer, Tammy Verhas. I took him for lessons twice and at the end of the second session she said, “You know, I think he might benefit from boot camp.” I think when a professional tells you your dog needs to go to military school it’s best to listen. So, the first week of November he went to “camp” for three weeks. I was able to get him home a couple of days before Thanksgiving and at first, I thought she’d switched out dogs on me. The dog she brought me was a perfectly behaved, obedient dog. Surely this couldn’t be Dooley?! Tammy and I had a long talk about his behavior. Turns out I was leading with affection, versus establishing some element of respect. I guess I had a “rep” too. In my defense, she told me he was the most intelligent and high-energy Cavalier she’d ever trained.

It’s been almost perfect since then. He is definitely smarter than me and knows when I’m in a weakened state and not up to being as strict as I should. That’s when he decides to pull on the leash or jump up on visitors. But generally, he is now a really good boy. And I have to say that at night, when he is snuggled up next to my pillow or curled up next to my stomach, there isn’t a better feeling in the world. Now, I don’t know what I’d do without him to keep me company. As Tammy told me, sometimes we get the dog we need, not the dog we want. As I’ve found out, it’s even better when we get both.

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THE HEART OF COMPROMISE

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

I fixed their logo

As you read this post you may think that I’m trying to eke out one more story about football, but really, I consider this a public service announcement. When the hoopla of the Super Bowl died down last week, sports journalists who were not covering the Olympics began to focus on next year’s Super Bowl. While they speculated about next year’s favorites (the Rams, Seahawks, Bills and Eagles) they skipped the most salient fact: next year the Super Bowl will be played on Valentine’s Day. If you think that is unusual, you’re right. The Super Bowl has never been on Valentine’s Day. The closest the game has ever come to wrecking relationships around the world was in 2022, when Super Bowl LVI was played on Feb. 13. But next year, due to the expanded schedule, the season has been extended one week, which is going to cause a lot of problems in households where one member is a fanatic, and one only watches the broadcast to see the commercials.

After all, Valentine’s Day is considered to be one of the most romantic days of the year. It is the busiest day of the year for florists, while candy and card sales go through the roof. Many a spouse has been given the cold shoulder if the day is not commemorated. To illustrate just how romantic the day is viewed, in the United States alone an average of 220,000 people get engaged every year on Valentine’s Day. It is thought to be the perfect day on which to propose, and many young people go to great lengths to tie the Valentine’s theme into popping the question. Somehow, I think next year’s proposals may lose some of the romance usually associated with “popping the question”. It will have to occur between downs but not interfere with a commercial, while trying not to drop the ring in the guacamole dip. I’m not sure any young woman grows up thinking that she will be competing with a Budweiser commercial for the most heartfelt moment of her special day.

To further complicate the situation, there are approximately 15-20,000 weddings that take place each year on Valentine’s Day. Forget about the fact that forevermore those couples will have to fight for dinner reservations and will be subject to overpriced fixed-prix menus on their anniversaries. The specific problem next year lies not with the bride and groom, who let’s face it, would not have scheduled their wedding on Super Bowl Sunday if they were fans. The problem is the cascading one faced by the invitees, especially if their favorite team is playing. People will be scrambling for excuses as to why they can’t attend, or perhaps there will be a lot of married people who attend alone while their spouse is at home watching the game, hands clutching a beer, perplexed as to why anyone would schedule a wedding on such an important day. I foresee a lot of arguments about “priorities” in the offing.

The only silver lining in the Super Bowl being pushed back a week is that next year it also coincides with President’s Day weekend. The day after the Super Bowl has long been one of the least productive days in the workforce so the good news is that next year everyone will officially be able to take off work on Super Bowl Monday. Perhaps that will give them time to look up the name of a good marriage counselor. I have a feeling a lot of people are going to need one. Just don’t say I didn’t give you plenty of warning.

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WE CAN PUT A MAN ON THE MOON…

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

…but we can’t find a cure for the common cold? How long have we been saying that? Probably since July 20,1969, when the Lunar Module Eagle first touched down on the Sea of Tranquility. After that monumental achievement every other goal seemed like it should be easily solved. Thus, the phrase, “we can put a man on the moon, but we can’t (fill in the blank)” began to be used for every frustrating problem we seemed incapable of conquering. You don’t hear that phrase so much anymore, most likely because we’ve conquered many of those problems. Or maybe we feel confident, or scared, that AI will soon do it for us. But this past week I harkened back to the “common cold” lament because, like so many others, I was brought down by the latest virus going around.

I haven’t felt like doing much and felt sick as a dog. Ironically, I was also dealing with a sick dog, which required me to dress up in something akin to a hazmat suit and take him to the vet. All the while, I wondered that with all the medical miracles that seem to happen on a daily basis, I’m laid low by the same malady that has plagued humankind for hundreds of years. I think there must be a lot of people down with the cold virus right now because last week The Washington Post published an article pondering the same question. Turns out, I guess not surprisingly, that finding a cure is just not that simple. There are more than 200 different viruses that can lead to cold symptoms, with rhinoviruses being the most common. That diversity makes it hard to develop a single vaccine or treatment that would effectively cover all strains.

According to the Post, last week the Yale School of Medicine published the results of a study in the journal Cell Press Blue (you subscribe, right?) about their research into the common cold. They cultivated miniature models of nasal airways to try to understand how upper respiratory viruses unfold, why they can be so variable, and how to make them less miserable. I’m all for that! The details of the study are a little gross, so I’ll forego that in case you’re eating breakfast. The upshot is that after examining thousands of individual cells, the researchers found that it’s not the virus, but the intricacies of the response in thousands of nasal airway cells, that determines whether a cold is quickly quelled or explodes into something more serious. The study showed that the quick production of a protein called interferon by the infected cells kept the rhinovirus in check, allowing it to infect fewer than 2 percent of the cells. When they suppressed interferon, about a third of cells became infected and the rhinovirus proliferated. A different immune sensor kicked in, and molecules related to inflammation increased, mucus production went into overdrive, and the nasal cilia slowed their pulsing. There’s a lot more technical stuff, but that’s the basic gist.

They concluded that there’s a reason that the cold is such a challenge to solve: disentangling immune responses to know which ones are beneficial, which ones help control an infection, and which ones contribute to severity of symptoms, is not straightforward. The lead researcher commented that if the common cold was an easy problem to solve, it would have been solved a long time ago. No kidding. Generations of people have been waiting. Maybe AI will finally be the key to the finding an answer. Clearly, it’s beyond the ken of we mere mortals. As skeptical as I am of AI, I will gladly hail its presence if it can keep me out of the Cold and Cough aisle at Walgreens. In the meantime, I’m going to fix more tea and get drunk on Nyquil.

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SWEDISH DEATH CLEANING MAY KILL ME

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Procrastination is a wonderful thing. Living in suspended reality allows you to blissfully go about your daily life in joyful ignorance. But eventually that “long arm of the law”, reality, catches up. For me, reality hit home last week. I have been giving some thought to moving within the next two to three years. My house and yard have become more burdensome, the people moving into my community are young enough to be my children, and frankly, I know I need some new horizons. But first, my current horizon needs some clearing out. Mind you, I am the furthest thing from a hoarder you could find. I like clear countertops and alphabetized spice racks. My filing cabinet is color-coded and sorted by subject . Some might call me obsessive/compulsive. I prefer to think of myself as extremely organized. But still, I’ve lived in this house for almost 26 years and things do accumulate. So, my New Year’s resolution was to pretend I’m moving next month and then go through all of my belongings and discard accordingly. Sounded easy. It’s not.

Gosh, we were young!

To gain some inspiration I re-read The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, by Margareta Magnusson. In essence, she encourages people to clean out their crap before their kids have to after they die. She extols the virtues of embracing minimalism and doing it with humor along the way. Okay, I can get on board with the minimalism, but I found the process to be anything but humorous. Except for the photos of my brothers and me from over 50 years ago. That brought a good chuckle. Especially my outfit which, in retrospect, resembles a cheap shag rug. Anyway, I started in my craft closet, which may sound like a weak place to start but I assure you it was the most over-crowded, full-of-junk, space in the house. I was motivated to start there because it hadn’t been painted in 26 years. Through five major remodels I always managed to avoid clearing out that closet because it was too daunting. It is a rather large walk-in space where I threw things in with abandon. I used to work in a yarn store where I got yarn at wholesale prices. I took advantage of that. Maybe too much advantage. Although the yarn and notions were all in bins that were sorted and labeled, it was still overwhelming. Add to that I had a huge table for my sewing machine, stacks of fabric, and a long shelf of crafting books. I kept a big box of photos and other memorabilia in there, including my second runner-up trophy from the 1968 Junior Miss Contest. And, oh yeah, it also contained all of the exercise equipment that I was certain I would use every day. Somehow that never worked out. And neither did I. In any event, I finally scheduled painters to come this week to spruce it up.

But last Friday morning my contractor called and said the painters had a cancellation and would be coming to my house in two hours. I know better than to turn down a contractor when they’re available, so I rushed into my craft closet and began to work. I harkened back on my lessons from Swedish Death Cleaning. I had to get very realistic about what I would keep and what I would donate. After all, when I do move it will be into a much smaller space, so I resolved to start downsizing now. I put more than half of my crafting materials into the “donate” pile. I did not let myself get stuck in sentiment – yarn that I bought on my magical trip to Ireland eight years ago will now be magical in someone else’s stash. My trophy from 1968 is finally where it belongs – in the trash pile. I took pictures of pictures and then discarded the originals. With steely resolve, I got it all cleared out and sorted before the painters arrived.

It’s amazing what you can get done with a figurative gun at your head. I think Margareta exaggerated the “joyful” part of this, but I will say it feels good to have this major task behind me. I’m thinking that I need to schedule some sort of work to be done in my office and the kitchen. But first I have to recuperate – this death cleaning may be the death of me…or my back.