By Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
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Just after I posted Happy New Year on Facebook last night, I discovered that Irene Ginsberg Steinberg -- an acquaintance from high school and a Facebook friend of many years, though I hadn't seen her in a long time -- died along with her husband and three sons in a horrible plane crash in Costa Rica during the last hours of 2017. So my New Year's Day has been spent in a kind of surreal fog. I watched the Rose Parade and Outback Bowl with Paul and Daniel without paying much attention because I was talking online with mutual friends, catching up with people and wishing I'd talked to Irene more when I had the chance. She was always a genuinely nice, generous person and it sounds as though her entire community is devastated.
We went to my parents' in the late afternoon to watch the Rose Bowl and have dinner (pizza, salad, and appetizers that can be eaten while following a football game), though it went on so long that my mother and I had dug a bunch of treasures out of basement closets and we'd packed things up and come home before the second overtime ended. Then we watched Live Free or Die Hard (since Daniel had never seen it, which is what set us off on the Die Hard post-Christmas marathon in the first place), which was pretty enjoyable despite the Bechdel Test fail). As I type this, the Sugar Bowl is still going but it looks like Alabama is going to defeat Clemson, unfortunately. A few wintry photos of the ruins at Gathland:
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