“Why do you do that?”

I did a quick mental inventory to try and identfy what my classmate was talking about. Oh, the hand flapping. I supposed that probably stood out. I didn’t see anyone else doing that. I should stop. And so I stopped flapping my hands, but several other strange physical movement patterns remained, particularly twisting my fingers on both hands together. That one prompted questions from classmates for years.

I know everyone, particularly every young woman, feels like she doesn’t fit in during adolescence, but having spent many of my elementary school recesses walking back and forth on the rocks that separated the playground from the blacktop and telling myself stories, I believe I’m somewhat more justified believing I stood out as the odd duck of my elementary/middle school class of forty-something students. 

My academic problems didn’t help the situation at all: I could read anything I could get my hands on, but my handwriting was barely legible. A moderate number of math problems felt like an hours-long uphill slog. My standardized testing scores were great. Multi-step, art-based projects (I seemed to have an unusual number in fourth and fifth grades) such as making a brochure on an assigned species of owl were a nightmare. Trying to keep my handwriting neat and legible, going over lines with sharpie as we had been instructed to do, coloring–it was all so far beyond my skills. 

 I couldn’t focus on school when my classmates were talking. I realized I had good ears when one of the boys told me that I shouldn’t be able to hear them, they were whispering.  My desk was always a disorganized jumble. 

At home, I turned somersaults and jumped on the couch until my grandparents intervened and bought me a trampoline. This and a swing got constant use. 

During middle school, anxiety drove my sensitivity even higher. I wore clothes turned inside out as much as I could, so I couldn’t feel the seams against my skin. I fell into a “Brown study” and stared off into the middle distance frequently enough that my classmates began waving their hands in front of my face when I did so. My intense interests began to stand out. 

At some point, reading my mom’s Instruction of Special Students textbook for a continuing education class she was taking, I came across the “ADHD in girls” checklist and recognized myself, but somehow I didn’t think it was significant. I never told anyone I had ADHD. After all, not being able to focus was only one small piece of what made me feel so different. Lots of my classmates couldn’t focus well and got distracted, which was part of why I was so distractable: My fellow distractable classmates kept chatting with each other!

And then I went to high school. Now one of nearly three hundred students in my class, I went from the odd duck of the class to a somewhat quirky and scatterbrained good student. Occasionally a teacher’s style and my own wouldn’t line up–my Algebra I teacher checked binders for completeness, and once warned me ahead of time even though it was meant to be unannounced, since the binder checks could very well mean the difference between a C+ and B- in that class. 

But more often, I found things that really worked for me: Anytime a math teacher gave completion grades for homework, I could get an A in that class, no problem. I did poorly on homework and well on tests, so completion grades weren’t a cop-out, they just gave me the time I needed to move through my excessively long learning curve. Nobody asked me for a brochure on anything, or if they did, they allowed for these to be created on the computer. I had learned to type during middle school, and my handwriting rarely held me back, although I did have an English teacher who was subjected to enough of my awful cursive that he dubbed it “Dill-ese”. 

I went to community college, got a part time job, and enjoyed this life of being normal, or at least semi-normal, that contrasted so starkly from my elementary years. Then, I moved to college. My sister and I shared a little apartment right on the bus line.

The bus line was delightful. There was a new style of bus they were using on our line. These were bus numbers 15 and 16. (They didn’t post the numbers on the bus, but the buses had free wi-fi for some reason, so you could tell which bus you were riding because it was the name of the wi-fi. Also, eventually you could start telling each bus apart if you paid attention, except numbers 8-10, which were identical.) 

Anyway, I was completing my undergrad by majoring in Communication Sciences and Disorders, which is essentially a pre-speech-langugage pathology major. I hoped to attend graduate school and become a speech language pathologist once I graduated.

Sometimes while I studied I would pull up the bus tracker in another tab and watch the buses travel their loops. 

You can’t study speech-language pathology and enjoy public bus routes as much as I did without some kind of realiziation. 

Wait, was I autistic? 

To my great dismay, my family had known for a long time that I was autistic and just hadn’t told me for whatever reason. I had grown up before the internet had made everyone armchair psychologists who understood what mild autism in girls looked like. The pre-2013 term would likely have been “Asperger’s syndrome”. (The DSM criteria and labeling for such things is a kettle of fish far beyond this essay). 

 Or was I autistic? Things had been very different for the last seven years. I had gone from an odd-duck to a human squirrel–always working busily, chattering fast, anxiously fidgeting, carrying snacks. These were essentially just ADHD symptoms, ones I shared with my dad and grandmother. Besides a fondness for routes and borders and boundaries, I didn’t have standout autism symptoms anymore. I like to think I appear normal to most people, although occasionally somebody gets a glimpse of something, usually either just how anxious I am, or the fact that I have inexplicably memorized several school district attendance boundaries. But I now had executive function. Frontal lobe development was good to me.

It’s an odd time to be “self-diagnosed” (really, more like family-diagnosed) with autism and ADHD. The left has decided to adopt these labels into the world of victim culture, while the right searches for some kind of a scapegoat to blame for the existence of these conditions. 

So I want to stick my neck out a bit and say that yes, ADHD is very real. ADHD and mild autism are probably totally normal variations of human personality, and I would even wager a guess that they are even more common than is currently diagnosed now. All those wildly energetic people you know, all those really shy people you know, that young woman who is an absolute squirrel of a person–they’re probably neurodivergent.

But being common doesn’t mean that being neurodivergent is easy.  Especially for kids in school. So, Matt Walsh, I have great sympathy for parents choosing to medicate their children. It’s not because the kid can’t focus, it’s because the kid is having a really, really hard time, not just academically, but probably also socially. I don’t think medicating is a magic bullet, and needs to be considered very carefully. For the first time in human history, we actually have a solution for the odd ducks, the smart kids who just can’t swing it in school, so maybe we feel like it’s a cure-all and start prescribing it too much. 

My suggestion? Reform the curriculum to exclude owl brochures. 

It’s available at last. I’ve worked on this book more than any two other books in the past 12 years.  I started narrating it in July. It took six months, because the author reviewed every bit of it. But the story is worth the trouble. 

Did you ever listen to someone telling of their experiences, and say, “Someone should write a book about you!” This is that book. 

Bogdan Mieczkowski grew up in Poland and fought in the Warsaw Uprising. Seiko Kawakami was a child in Otarua, the northern island in Japan. 

Bogdan’s family abandoned its home in Bydgoszcz, Poland, and fled to Warsaw, where Bogdan fought for the Polish Home Army in the 1944 Warsaw Uprising. Bogdan sustained severe injuries, and after the Germans crushed the Uprising, he endured seven POW camps.

On the other side of the globe, in Hokkaido, Japan, Seiko’s country went to war against the U.S. With school suspended, Seiko worked in a wartime factory. Her older sister died during the war, while her older brother trained as a kamikaze pilot.

Once the war ended, both Bogdan and Seiko immigrated to the U.S. Bogdan, a PhD economist, was working in banking. Seiko was pursuing her Masters in history at Columbia. They met thanks to the slow elevator in their apartment building.

One of their sons, Yanek, is a historian and author, and I narrated his Eisenhower’s Sputnik Moment a few years ago. We connected because Seiko had taught Japanese at my alma mater, Eisenhower College. When I learned about this book, I had to narrate it. Yanek is a fine writer and storyteller, and the book is splendid in balance and pacing, as well as being full of the kinds of stories I love to tell. 

Please PM me for a free review copy. I’m anxious for you all to hear this remarkable book. 

In the midst of all the manufactured gloom, I  found this appealing. I would like to hear opinions. 

https://pjmedia.com/jamie-wilson/2025/12/29/we-live-in-an-age-of-miracles-five-real-advances-and-one-mental-shift-that-will-change-everything-n4947640

A few weeks ago, I took up the challenge of reading this memoir by former Vice President Kamala Harris, which was certainly written by her and certainly not by the writers mentioned in her acknowledgements, either writer Adam Frankel “who with great skill, care, and grace helped me express my thoughts” or Geraldine Brooks whose “ferocious and brilliant insights were indispensable.” I’m sure KH herself put in the due diligence to get the book out so very quickly.

I’m afraid a book of this depth can’t be summarized in just one post, so I’ve decided to divide my analysis into three parts. I will do a post on “Praise for Kamala” which will highlight the adoration given to KH by herself and others. And a post about some things left out of the book. But first, this post about a very important topic; celebrity endorsements. The book is very helpful in letting us know about quite a number of our betters who supported Kamala Harris while the majority of this country’s little people voted for Trump.

For instance, did you know that Quavo himself performed at an Atlanta rally for Kamala Harris? I know I don’t have to tell you about Quavo, the famous rapper. Not only was he the frontman for the now defunct hip-hop band, Migos, he also was a witness to the murder of the rapper Takeoff. Harris thought it important that we knew she had his support.

Who else performed at Harris rallies? Megan Thee Stallion (“Hot Girl Summer”), Fat Joe (“Flow Joe”), Katy Perry (“I Kissed a Girl”), James Taylor (“Steamroller”), Yo Yo Ma (Beethoven’s “Cello and Piano Sonata No. 4 in C”) and Lady Gaga (“Poker Face”). Sure, they may have received cash as well, but mainly they were just there to help stupid Americans know who deserved their ballots. (And it should be noted that Beyonce at a rally made it clear at a rally that she wasn’t there to perform, but instead to “speak from her heart.”) And, of course, Oprah Winfrey was one of her convention speakers.

But Harris didn’t just rely on celebrities to bring more eyeballs to her message, Harris learned a lot from celebrities. Bono (“Sunday Bloody Sunday”) told her about poverty in Africa.  Usher (“U Remind Me” and “U Got It Bad”) taught her about Minority Business Owners. Charlemagne the God taught her about Message Discipline. And Taraji P. Hensen (Hidden Figures) schooled her about abortion.

Writer/director/actress/assaulter of Narnia Greta Gerwig helped Harris with preparation for her big speech at the convention.

Perhaps the most important celebrity that contributed to the Harris campaign is Charlie XCX whose album “Brat” sold very well and was named the best album of 2024 by Rolling Stone Magazine. And when Charlie XCX said, “Kamala Harris is Brat”, well, Brat Summer was born. To the delight of the Media, who knew a winning slogan when they saw one.

Now singers and actors weren’t the only stars in the world of the Harris campaign. She innovated by promoting celebrity CEOs. She learned so much from these business moguls:

Hamdi Ulukaya of Chobani

Alison Whritenour of Seventh Generation

Jenna Johnson of Patagonia

Josh Silverman of Etsy

Not only had they been advocates for Build It Better legislation, they were also advocates for Parental Leave and Company Child Care. Harris also got business advice from Mark Cuban. While Donald Trump had to settle for Elon Musk.

We also are reminded of the Famous Journalists who Harris encountered. Like the crew of 60 Minutes who edited her story as they edit every story for time and clarity and that’s why CBS paid millions of dollars in damages. Dana Bash did the first formal interview of the campaign in the hard-hitting style she usually reserves for liberal Democrats.

Before appearing on Stephen Colbert’s show, he said to her, “Let’s go out and have some fun.”

She says of Howard Stern, he was “a great interlocutor”. That’s what was always said of Stern back in the day when he was interviewing strippers and talking about the size of his private parts.

She recounts the time Anderson Cooper asked her, “Is Donald Trump a fascist?” and she answered “Yes”. She knows now  she should have said, “Some people who worked for Donald Trump now call him a Fascist.”

There were these little snafus in the campaign. For instance, when she was on The View. In the book, this is how the cast of that show is described, “All the hosts of the show are thoughtful women of different political stripes”. Whoopi Goldberg introduced her on the show as “the next President of the United States”. It was on this show Harris was asked, “Would you have done anything different from President Biden?” 

She couldn’t at that taping think of one darn thing she would have done differently than Joe. Sadly, in preparations prior to the show she had the most swell answer which was, “I’d have appointed a Republican to my cabinet.” If only she had answered that way, surely, she would have won the election. 

She talks about her interview on Fox News with Bret Baier who was just mean to her, with the hard questions and the interrupting. 

Now, there many other pop stars that appear in the book; Spike Lee, D. L. Hughley, Jon Bon Jovi, the list goes on and on, but I’d like to mention just one more.

There are a number of religious celebrities mentioned in the book. One of them is the Dr. Rev. Jamal Bryant, pastor of the mega church The New Birth Missionary Baptist Church. He said to his congregation, “It takes a real man to support a woman” and gave the pulpit to Vice President Kamala Harris on a Sunday morning. I don’t recall any “separation of church and state” advocates saying a work about this. (I do just want to note that I would be quite angry if anyone running for office was allowed time in a worship service of a church I was attending. Even if it was a candidate I supported. I might stop attending that church AND supporting that candidate.)

You may wonder why I’m taking so much time talking about relatively insignificant pop culture figures. It’s because this book, 107 Days, gives so much space to these people. It seems as if to Harris, these are the people who matter.)

Here’s my list of the best and worst things Trump accomplished in 2025. I’m thinking of long-term impact, not his outrage of the day.

Best:

1. Restoration of the unitary executive by taking control of independent agencies, firing Deep State moles, and much more. The Dems have always had a unitary executive because the Deep State agreed with them, but Republicans have had to fight their owns subordinates and thus were able to accomplish little.
2. Midnight Hammer – Nuclear ayatollahs would have been unimaginably horrible, but this operations also puts every other nation on notice that we can destroy their leadership bunkers.
3. Seriously damaging the DEI and antisemitic policies of universities and corporations.
4. Closing the border.

Worst:

1. Feckless Ukraine policy vis-a-vis Russia
2. Tariffs
3. Confused response to the affordability attack – If he doesn’t respond more effectively, the Dems will win this issue and retake the House, and we’ll be stuck with two years of impeachments and investigations.

What is on your list?

Three big commemorations:

On this date in 1851, first YMCA founded in Boston, MA.

On this date in 1862, first bowling ball invented (out of wood).

On this date in in 1891, Thomas Edison patented an electrical signaling system. Radio was on its way.

The Brown-Eyed Beauty, aka the Boatwife, just found the most beautiful piece of Christmas music I’ve heard this year.

I don’t know how to give you the link, but I truly hope some of you can find it by searching on YouTube for Blake Morgan, Andrea Haines, and In the Bleak Midwinter.

I would really love to hear from everyone who has a comment. About the experience of listening to it, or about anything related to it.

For us two it was more than just a beautiful arrangement of a beloved carol.  2025 is ending at the same time as Andrea Haines’s long tenure with Voces8.  And we just discovered that Blake Morgan can play guitar. And arrange music for voice and guitar.  To be honest, we had never heard Blake do a solo til a few weeks ago.  We didn’t know just exactly how well he could sing.

I watched a complete football game yesterday for the first time in decades.

I was a devoted fan of the Georgia Tech Yellowjackets when I was a student there in 1956-1959, and before and after those years. After that I was in the Washington DC area until 2005 so I was a big fan of the Redskins. Two years, 1981-1983, I was in Kansas City so I, and my son, became Chiefs fans, and that has been a reconnect in these recent years since the Redskins are no more.  I have a daughter and a granddaughter who were graduated from BYU and another granddaughter attending now. The granddaughter graduate is married to a son of the BYU Athletics medical director who trains and cares for the football players. So BYU’s QB, Bear Bachmeier, has been under his care for an ankle injury.

So I settled in yesterday to watch the Pop-Tart game. It was a good game to watch with two very interesting quarterback stories, both of whom performed well. BYU made adjustments and achieved a comeback victory in the second half by a score of 25-21, after trailing by 21-10 at halftime. Bachmeier has been a true surprise as a freshman this year for BYU after transferring from Stanford when the coach who signed him there left.

Football is not really my life but my son truly loved the comedy skit.

And successful Chiefs coach Andy Reid is a BYU alumnus for another connection.

In Israel, with the 4th highest life expectancy on the globe, you pay $75 a month for the most expensive health care plan. How can this be? Many reasons are advanced, but who really cares why. If you are Jewish and of retirement age, you might want to consider the Israel option for your golden years.

Old men only live as long as they feel they have something to contribute to the world. I have a relative who survived the Holocaust. He gets up every morning, puts on a suit, and goes to another Middle School in Florida to tell the kids about his experiences. He is uniquely qualified and knows he can make a difference in the world. I have no doubt that he has survived to his current 101 because his life has meaning and an ongoing purpose.

I was thinking about him earlier this week, when a family friend had his 95th birthday party. This is a man who “survived” polio in his youth, has been in a wheelchair for decades, and has buried his wife. On the celebratory birthday Zoom with him were a dozen of his friends.  And do you know what they talked about for 90 minutes? Donald Trump. Donald Trump. Donald Trump. All the evils in the world can be laid at Trump’s feet.

Their lives have meaning because their hatred for Trump knows no bounds. They feel alive when they complain about everything Trump has said, done, or thought. Trump is extending the lives of all these older white liberals because, old as they are, they know they have a higher purpose still to fulfill: do everything in their power to bring Trump down.

This is not just one data point. Another family member is 90 years old, and there is no doubt that Trump, the Fountain of Youth, is keeping him alive and kicking, too.

I really don’t feel Trump gets the credit he deserves.

Nothing puts a damper on the Holiday season like getting diagnosed with cancer.   It’s been a few weeks now since my diagnosis and it still won’t sink in.   I have a newly acquired phalanx of Doctors.    I’ve been to appointment after appointment with surgeons and oncologists … and their words kind of bounce off me.   I keep thinking “Are they talking about ME?”   It’s beyond surreal.    

I’m fortunate that we live very near the NJ satellite location of the world renown Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.   It provides access to most the great services of MSK without having to travel into Manhattan.   MSK provides cutting-edge therapies available virtually nowhere else. And the surgeon assigned to my case is apparently THE go-to guy for exactly what I’ve got.    Best of all, he’s talking “cure” not “management.”    Still, if it actually sinks in it’ll be terrifying.

I start a short course of chemotherapy on Wednesday, the 31st.   It’s not the New Year’s Eve cocktail I’d envisioned.    In preparation, they have installed a “chemo port” … a small device implanted under the skin of my chest, near the right collarbone, that allows for easy access to a vein for administering chemotherapy and drawing blood. Im told it reduces the need for repeated needle sticks and can remain in place for an extended period.  Supposedly it makes treatment more comfortable.  I guess I’ll find out.   But I feel a bit like a weird, mini-Ironman.  And, to make access to this port simple, apparently they sell “chemo shirts” … t-shirts with a flap opening at the collarbone.   Who knew?   One got delivered from Amazon today.    It’s not much of a fashion statement.    But I suppose it’s practical.   Again, I guess I’ll find out.

Anyhow… if any Ricochetti have been through the process and have helpful hints or tips… I’m all ears.    And, if you could spare a moment to say a prayer for me and especially for Mrs E (who is pretty shaken despite her best efforts to hide that) I’d be grateful.