ADHD

I was inserviced about ADHD. I recognized the behavior in my family and students. It was always male students. I was told that was because it was nearly always the boys who had ADHD and were often on meds. I’d seen it in my life among those I love. My husband might wake at 2am, drink a cup of coffee or two, and be able to get back to sleep. Think about that. He drank coffee to manage his overactive head—the stimulant allowed him to focus. That’s what Ritalin does—it seems a sort of backwards response to find that a stimulant allows the mind to slow down. [The way that the appearance of being laid back by smoking dope is countered by the reality that blood pressure rises with use. Yes, really.]

This flying goose is one of four we first saw a little over a week ago. Two pairs, we thought, smaller than the Canada geese. Then just two. Those two fed in our neighbor’s garden—no one was home. Then we found the remains of what we think was one of them, and geese mate for life. Since then, the other seems to fly north and south along the shore. Back and forth several times a day.
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BIRDS and MEN

As I began writing this on Wednesday, I was reading Helen Whybrow’s memoir, The Salt Stones, which focuses on her family, her ninety-some Icelandic sheep, and how as a pastoralist she lives within the rhythm of her animals, the trees and grasses, blueberries and shrubs, the soil microbes and those in our gut, and all that lives in and on, over and above that soil and makes of her two hundred acres a thriving ecosystem. Her husband is kind, her step-daughter has gone off to live her life, and soon her daughter will follow. Her mother has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t always know her daughter, but is the same kindly person for all that. I read the final chapter yesterday. I felt grateful for the beauty she shares.

On our beach walk, we found bits of litter on the sand and tangled in the rocks, enough to half fill our trash bag. Mostly this was bits of plastic and plastic foam smaller than my thumbnail, but also a comb, a sturdy mesh bait bag, several lengths of reusable plastic twine. We admired the local bald eagles scavenging onshore. This photo taken at a distance—the bird flew as a wave washed in.
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WHAT we think WE KNOW

The conversation turned to Kurt Cobain, and someone claimed Cobain’s wife killed him like a “typical woman” does. He said it at least twice. Beside me, my husband says he thought, uh-oh.

UNITED NATIONS (AP) — The deadliest place for women is at home and 140 women and girls on average were killed by an intimate partner or family member per day last year, two U.N. agencies reported Monday.

Globally, an intimate partner or family member was responsible for the deaths of approximately 51,100 women and girls during 2023, an increase from an estimated 48,800 victims in 2022, UN Women and the U.N. Office of Drugs and Crime said. …

By contrast, the vast majority of male homicides take place outside homes and families, it said.

But set aside murder for a moment and consider that the comment by my friend suggests that women’s typical behavior is murderous when angry, that unlike men, this cruelty(?) or destructive tendency(?) is uniquely or particularly female. That it’s typical. Well.

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