Wordle. Phenomenon or fad?

I'm a fairly late arrival to the daily word puzzle that has captured the imaginations of lexophiles everywhere. But now, Wordle is as much a part of my morning routine as brushing my teeth.

First released in October 2021, Wordle's popularity skyrocketed after the New York Times acquired the game in January of 2022. In November of that same year, Tracy Bennett became the puzzle's first editor. She whittled the dictionary's 5-letter possibilities (13,000 in total) to roughly 2,000 prospects each year. And from that group, 365 answers are chosen.

Bennett initially selected her answers with an eye toward the date they were to appear. As an example, on November 11th the Wordle answer was "MEDAL," an homage to Veterans Day. This practice created some pushback from puzzle purists who felt the tactic was too schmaltzy for a highbrowed brainteaser. 

Not to me. I'll take all the help I can get!

"I just wanted a game that was just three minutes of your time a day, and that's it. That's all it wanted from you." - Josh Wardle, inventor of Wordle

The room where it happened.

In this case, that would be the main hall of the Riverside Convention Center, where after two days of deliberation and multiple ballots, the eighth bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles was chosen.

In my nearly twenty years as an ordained minister, this was the first time I participated in electing a bishop. In some ways it is a byzantine process, shaped by multiple layers of rules and procedures. But interwoven with the systematic nuts and bolts was a palpable sense of the sacred.

Before and after each vote there were periods of silence, prayer, reflection, and the occasional hymn. There was no posturing. There was no combative debate. And when the selection was finally announced, the room was filled with a solemn silence. 

On that day the episcopate, certainly a position of power and privilege, became more lamb than lion, a reminder that to be chosen bishop is to be recognized as the lead pastor.

"Leadership is not about being in charge. Leadership is about taking care of those in your charge." - Simon Sinek

Chlorophyll. Sometimes less is more.

As you might remember from your elementary school science curriculum, chlorophyll is the magic sauce responsible for keeping green leaves green. But as cooler temperatures and shorter days prevail, this pigment begins to break down, changing foliage into shades of red, orange, and yellow.

The vibrant leaves of autumn bring flocks of tourists to my native New England. I too recently returned for a visit and experienced this colorful medley for myself. The kaleidoscope never gets old. 

Boston is known for many things ... Dunkin Donuts, crazed drivers, our gruff demeanor and, at times, an undecipherable dialect. But let's give credit where credit is due. When you're hunkered down with a bowl of clam chowder on a crisp November day, those gorgeous leaves still bring a smile.

Chlorophyll, see you in April.

"Autumn leaves don't fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar." - Delia Owens, author and zoologist

Kidnapped! 

That was the headline splashed across every newspaper on February 4, 1974. Patricia Hearst, heiress to the vast Hearst fortune, had been abducted by three members of the Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA). It was all anyone could talk about. 

Her capture, crimes, imprisonment, and eventual pardon would provide endless fodder for celebrity gossip hounds. Patty, now 71 years old and the most famous of William Randolph Hearst's ten grandchildren, lives a quiet life in the sleepy town of Wilton Connecticut, far from the public's prying eyes.

Our "paths" recently crossed during my not long ago visit to Hearst Castle, the family compound for the first half of the twentieth century. Its opulence is undeniable, boasting 58 bedrooms, 60 bathrooms, 41 fireplaces, and a functioning wine cellar despite the then strictures of Prohibition. But of all the facts I learned that day, perhaps the most endearing was this. As I stood at the edge of the mansion's famous Neptune Pool, the guide told me Patty had just been there, lounging by the water during her earlier vacation. 

That's right. Despite the property's current ownership by the California State Park system, the family reserves the right to utilize the mansion as they wish. 

Patty and I, separated by just a week, both hovered poolside, looking out at 345,000 gallons of memories...

"San Simeon --- a sandcastle, an implausibility, a place swimming in warm golden light and theatrical mists, a pleasure dome decreed by a man who insisted, out of the one dark fear we all know about, that all the surfaces be gay and brilliant and playful." - Joan Didion

I count it among the greatest of blessings to have met Jane Goodall. 

Nearly ten years ago now, she and I sat quietly in my office prior to a speaking event, swapping stories and drinking tea. When she eventually stepped onto the stage, she exuded both an air of serenity and gravitas. Dressed in black, a scarf tied loosely around her shoulders and hair pulled back in a ponytail, there was nothing showy about her. In fact, as those gathered rose to their feet with applause, she seemed slightly bemused, as if she didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

Over the next 90 minutes, Goodall spoke without notes, a sip of water or even a shifting of weight. At first, her utter stillness didn't quite register, but as the minutes clicked by, I was struck by her placid demeanor. Perhaps it was a remnant of all those years spent in the jungle, where for long stretches of time she sat motionless and silent. 

In a culture where hundreds of stimuli vie for our attention every minute of every day, Jane Goodall was certainly an anomaly. She didn't rely on technological wizardry to keep our attention. She didn't reduce her remarks to pithy sound bites to keep us engaged. She just stood there, looked us in the eye, and told the truth.

"Change happens by listening and then starting a dialogue with the people who are doing something you don't believe is right." - Jane Goodall

Mr. Stanley. My favorite pet of all time.

Named for a former Harvard University faculty member, Mr. Stanley came to me when his original owners moved abroad. It was a match made in heaven.

He was quirky, more dog than cat. He ran to the door when I would come home at night, howling until I reached down to scratch his ears. Forsaking traditional feline aloofness, he followed me everywhere, happiest when I finally settled down in the crook of the couch, his preferred napping spot. 

Mr. Stanley was NOT a fan of personal space.

His eccentricities didn't end there. He preferred his water straight from the faucet. Naturally I indulged this inclination. Because that's what we do for the creatures we love...

“A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.” - Ernest Hemingway

Witness Trees. The name alone portends a certain gravitas, even reverence.

Defined as trees "present during a period of historical or cultural significance," these surviving timbers serve as a living reminder of days gone by.

Last week, during a visit to Valley Forge, I discovered such a tree. It was a sycamore, rooted to the bank of a creek, just a mile or so from the headquarters used by George Washington during the famed winter encampment of 1777. 

As I grew near, I gently placed my hand of its distinctive patchwork bark. The trunk was enormous, so large in fact that when I stretched my arms around the bole not even half the tree was in my grasp. The gnarled branches spun out in every direction, like the spokes of a bicycle wheel, topped by a canopy of leaves rustling their quiet greeting.

Stoic observers, these trees are guardians of our past. They have seen what we can only imagine. 

"Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth." - Herman Hesse

Let's chat water aerobics, shall we?

First made popular in the 1950's by television personality and fitness guru Jack LaLanne, water aerobics has long been relegated to the "that's not for me" category. But a sore knee and an unbearably hot summer eventually lured me to the pool. And who did I find there but Hannah.

Hannah has been attending the daily water aerobics class at the North Hollywood YMCA for years. But that's not her most impressive example of longevity. Hannah is 100 years old. 

She doesn't carry a cane or use a walker. No, Hannah is all about the kickboards, and the (buoyant) barbells, and the endless tangle of pool noodles. 

Which just goes to show you. You're never too old, or too young, to try something new, even if it means jumping into the deep end of the pool. 

"The water doesn't know how old you are." - Dara Torres, Olympic swimmer and Westlake School for Girls Alumna, Class of 1985

In 1939, then President Franklin Delano Roosevelt designated August 19th as National Aviation Day, the birthdate of Orville Wright.

The inaugural flight (December 17, 1903) of the pioneering Wright Brothers lasted just twelve seconds. Nearly 70 years later I too would take my maiden aeronautical voyage, a two-hour jaunt from Boston to Bermuda. My mother, tired of spending every Thanksgiving in an apron, decided she would like to travel for the holiday. My attachment to her legendary apple pie recipe immediately evaporated at the thought of being on an airplane. My love affair with travel has never ceased.

I am not alone in this zeal. Approximately 45,000 flights take off and land each day in the United States, close to 150,000 worldwide. Some of these are utilitarian in nature, cargo planes as an example. But most of these departures are part of an adventure, even if their origins are more dutiful than dazzling.

The impulse to travel is something I've felt in my bones before I even knew what to call it.

Up, up, and away......

"Them: What one book changed your life? Me: My passport."

In 1982, the name Katrina ranked 87^th in popularity, its high-water mark as it were.

Now, twenty years removed from the devastation of Hurricane Katrina (having made landfall in Louisiana on August 29, 2005), the moniker Katrina barely registers a blip, likely never to regain its cultural prominence.

Hurricane Katrina, a Category 5 hurricane at its apex, submerged eighty percent of New Orleans back in 2005. The protective levees were breached in fifty three locations during the height of the storm. It remains the costliest ($200+ billion) natural disaster in U.S. history, predicted to be surpassed only by the expense of the recent California wildfires.

My love affair with New Orleans evolved post-Katrina. I’d been to "The Big Easy" on numerous occasions prior to the storm, always for work, always tucked away inside some hotel conference room. But Katrina broke open my heart, and over the years, I made my way to New Orleans many times as part of the rebuilding process. 

The aftermath of that disaster revealed a different version of the city's spirit, something the beads, and the king cake, and the bourbon had previously masked.

While the consequences of Katrina still linger, so too does the exuberant vitality of its inhabitants. 

Laissez les bon temps rouler, mes amis. Tu n'es pas oublié.

It seems only right, as summer comes to a close, to kickstart this new year of "Bytes" with a hot weather nemesis of mine: the dreaded "Mosquito Byte/Bite."

When I first moved to California, I was assured this insatiable pest would no longer be part of my life. "Don't worry!" everyone said. The desert climate of Los Angeles will keep this nuisance at bay. And I believed each and every one of you. Led like a lamb to slaughter I went, thrilled to give up my former life of itchy welts.

Sadly, the ferocious appetite of the Culicidae clan (consisting of some 166 species in North America) was not keen on relinquishing their favorite meal ticket. The parade of bytes/bites continues.

A number of reasons have been proffered regarding what makes for a saucy target. Some blame one's blood type. O is the flavor of choice (yes, that's mine). Some blame excessive body heat (another reason to lament my menopausal station). Dark clothing is said to attract mosquitos as well. And the list goes on.  

Whatever I do, it's not enough to repel the cloud of insects that swirl around me. So, I have taken on a new mindset for this upcoming year, highlighted by the quote below. Great accomplishments, apparently, are for the small yet mighty!

"If you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito." - African proverb

Last night I watched Nonnas, the Netflix feel-good movie about a man who recruits a handful of Italian grandmothers to cook at his newly launched restaurant. 

The focus of the film is the owner of this nascent establishment, played deftly by Vince Vaughn. He is grieving the recent deaths of both his mother and grandmother and believes this culinary homage will assuage his sadness. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, as the old adage goes.

The movie is schmaltzy, and playful, and laden with every pasta dish you can imagine. Oh, and there are a good number of verbal retorts flung between characters, all of which are spat out in Italian. Perfezione.

Seasoned actresses Lorraine Bracco, Susan Sarandon, Talia Shire, and Brenda Vaccaro are featured as the ricotta-slinging nonnas. Each revel in making their family's favorite recipes, even thecapuzelle, a dish that requires a stronger stomach than mine.

That said, there is something quite endearing about the brash and exuberant tone of the film's characters. They remind me of my own circle of Italian friends, who have hugged and teased and fed my emotional Irish reticence into submission.

I never had a nonna. But now, I sure wish I did.....

"Mangia!" - uttered by Italian grandmothers everywhere

I went to Dairy Queen the other day and stood in line with ... a pig.

Yup, you read that right. A pig, on a leash mind you, waiting patiently for his (her?) dish of vanilla ice cream and then promptly scarfing it down.

When I got home, I googled the dietary habits of swine and discovered they are omnivores. In their natural habitat they will eat both vegetation and meat, and if farm-raised, consume primarily corn and soybeans. No search I did suggested Dairy Queen as a source of porcine sustenance. 

A bit more research revealed the following ingredients are contained in DQ's famed frozen offering: milk fat, sugar, corn syrup, whey, mono and diglycerides, artificial flavor, guar gum, polysorbate 80, carrageenan, Vitamin A, vanilla flavor, and finally, 40% air. 

Air? The pig and I were eating AIR? Somehow it doesn't seem like either of us should have had to stand in line for that.

"You are what you eat." - Anthelme Brillat-Savarin 

Mother's Day. An observance not without its complications.

Because this holiday always falls on a Sunday, I have often been tasked with crafting a liturgy in recognition of this vocation. Which is just as tricky as it sounds.

A few years ago, I discovered the set of petitions below. This collection of words, at least to me, felt like it captured much of the emotional complexity of this primary and primal role...

"For new mothers, coming to terms with new responsibilities;

For expectant mothers, wondering and waiting;

For those who are tired, stressed or depressed;

For those who struggle to balance the tasks of work and family;

For those who are unable to feed their children due to poverty;

For those whose children have physical, mental or emotional disabilities;

For those who have children they do not want;

For those who raise children on their own;

For those who have lost a child;

For those who care for children of others;

For those whose children have left home;

And for those whose desire to be a mother has not been fulfilled.

We pray for mothers who fear they will run out of love, or time, or patience.

And we pray especially for those who grieve the loss of their mother or those separated from their mothers by war or conflict.

To them, our very existence is owed."

"Papa! Papa!" the Italians screamed. While part of a pulsating scrum in St. Peter's Square, the Pope glided by, just a few feet from me.

Francis is the only Pope I have seen in the flesh. Of the 266 men who have occupied the position, only 6 have served during my lifetime. Taking the helm in 2013, Francis was seen as an unusual choice. Born outside of Europe and a member of the Jesuit order, he was considered an outsider by many pontificate insiders. In the end, their suspicions were confirmed as Francis often ruffled the feathers of the traditionalists of his Church, much to their chagrin.

Rome, with its quaint piazzas, ancient ruins, and delicious cuisine is a preferred destination of many a traveler. And yet despite a dip in religiosity, the allure of the Vatican remains strong. People flock to see the architecture, the frescos, and the statuary. But they were also smitten by Francis, the humble Argentinian who found himself the unexpected choice of the last conclave. 

"Papa," they screamed. A word that speaks volumes about Francis' accessibility and the affection it endeared. 

Requiescat in pace. 

"What is the most important subject to learn in life? To learn to love." - Pope Francis