Browsed by
Author: Anne Cassidy

Artificial Intelligence

Artificial Intelligence

Comments 0 Comment

I’m thinking about artificial intelligence this morning, about what it knows and how it knows it, about its regulation, about the world we’re creating with it. 

Because I’ve built a career on words, and bots can now string words together so well that most of us would be hard-pressed to tell the difference, I want to think there’s a level of creativity, a depth of soul that human-generated content has locked in. But because bots use creative, soulful work to build their models, that’s not necessarily the case.

Some writers work with AI to perfect their prose style. Others rail against it with sentences not as felicitously crafted as those they critique. Who will win this battle? That’s a question we can’t answer now — and won’t be able to answer for a long time. 

(These books are filled with human-produced content. Will future books be able to say the same?)

Two Minutes

Two Minutes

Comments 0 Comment

The tea has two more minutes to steep. I have things to do. Can I write a two-minute post? Yes, I can, though it will not be one of the best ones I’ve ever written. It may not even be mediocre. But it will be completed.

This is not the way I typically commune with the page, but I’m deadline-driven enough that when necessary I can put on some speed.

There’s only one thing about a two-minute post — or at least this two-minute post. It’s only about writing a two-minute post. Nothing else.

Sharing Epiphany

Sharing Epiphany

Comments 0 Comment

Today is Epiphany, celebrated as Christmas by some and as a day of wonder and awe by others. I’m one of the latter. For me, this is a day to celebrate the aha moments of life.

Which brings me to an op-ed I read in yesterday’s Washington Post. In it, James Naples, a surgeon and medical residency program director, shares how he conquered the yips, an unexplained loss of skill that affects high-performing athletes, performers and, apparently, surgical residents. 

Early in his training, Naples explained, he began to struggle through even basic procedures. “My head had gotten in the way of my hands.” Then he met a new senior surgeon, Dr. E., who in the three minutes it took the two of them to scrub for an operation, totally changed the younger surgeon’s trajectory. The older doctor was warm and open and approachable. There was only one thing to avoid doing in the upcoming procedure, he said. “Everything else is fixable.” 

The effect on Naples was profound. The younger surgeon realized it was okay to make mistakes, that it was part of the learning process. Now he’s mentoring new doctors, encouraging them to share their fears and doubts. ‘

I’m not a surgical resident, but the lesson that “all mistakes are fixable” resonates with me, too. “What thing worth doing — in our jobs, families or communities — is not susceptible to the folly of perfectionism?” Naples asks. “With honesty and empathy, we all can help others find peace with fallibility.” I’m grateful that Naples had his epiphany and shared it with the rest of us.

(A photo not of surgery but of an Epiphany surprise.)

Slow Snow Going

Slow Snow Going

Comments 0 Comment

It’s not that I want a blizzard, nothing as extreme as that. But a few inches on the grass, enough for the neighbor kids to build a snowman — that would be nice. 

There was a flurry of snow talk earlier in the week, safely couched in disclaimers: It could be rain, or snow, or sleet … 

But the latest forecast for tomorrow sounds more definitive: It will start as snow and turn to rain. If we lived an hour west in the mountains it would be a different story. But here, in the suburbs, we won’t have the white stuff for long. 

It’s early in the season, though. There’s still time.

(The woods in snow five years ago.)

In Person

In Person

Comments 0 Comment

It’s been four years since a virus from China began to enter our consciousness, slowly at first (it was so far away!) but eventually spreading around the world and taking over our lives.

Last night I hosted book group at my house, the first in-person meeting here since 2019. It felt good to sit in each other’s presence, to laugh and talk and drink tea, to plan for the future. The four years we spent on Zoom were good in their own way, but I’m glad we’re back in person. 

Four years have brought other changes. In the past, I would rush home from work to vacuum, dust and bake, barely finishing the prep before the first guest knocked on the door.  Tonight’s do was different. I had time to wash out the delicate Belleek sugar bowl and cream pitcher, to arrange squares of dark chocolate on a plate in honor of the book we discussed — Bittersweet.  I even had a chance to look over the notes I’d taken on the book. 

Sometimes I miss the hectic life I used to lead. And sometimes (less often) I miss Zoom. But I didn’t miss either of them last night.

(In person in a bookstore — with a friend, of course.)

Turqoise Trail

Turqoise Trail

Comments 0 Comment

A new year, a new direction. Yesterday I walked a familiar trail, but instead of heading straight at an intersection, I turned left and kept going around in a big circle along a route known as the Turquoise Trail.

I’m not sure why the path is named after this particular shade of blue, but I like the alliteration — and I liked the trail, too. It was 30 minutes around, a perfect length for a blustery January afternoon. 

There were a few dog walkers and some hearty hikers decked out in hats and scarves and gloves. Winter is here, whether we like it or not. Walking through it (almost always) makes it easier to take. 

For Charlie

For Charlie

Comments 0 Comment

Today I note the passing of Charlie Clark, journalist extraordinaire. I met Charlie our first month in Northern Virginia. His wife is a former colleague and dear friend of one of my best buddies. Charlie and I had writing in common, too, so when we bumped into each other, we traded tales. 

Charlie was an energetic reporter, a storyteller, a lover of words and community. He brought the two together in his “Our Man in Arlington” column for the Falls Church News Press, which he wrote for years. In his last few weeks he interviewed philanthropist David Rubenstein and covered a court hearing on the “missing middle” debate in Arlington. 

In addition to his day job and his column, Charlie wrote a novel, several books on local history, and a biography of George Washington’s step-grandson. When I planned to leave the world of paid employment, I asked Charlie for advice. He encouraged me to take the plunge — and was a model of productivity right up to the end.  

Today I’m mourning Charlie and thinking of the verses he always included in his holiday card, funny couplets like “have more fun in 2021.” He left us wanting more in 2024. 

Rest in peace, Charlie. 

In with the New

In with the New

Comments 0 Comment

The first day of a new year, this one with 366 days. A bonus day for a bonus year. The bonus day is because we have a Leap Year, but the bonus year? 

The idea is this: If I think of it as a bonus, I’ll appreciate it more. I’m not ancient, but I’m old enough that this idea resonates. Even if I wasn’t, the bonus concept makes sense. 

I’m just finishing The Book of Joy, a compilation of interviews between the Dalai Lama and the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu. One of the recommended “joy practices” is to make time each morning to set an intention for the day. 

Today’s intention is to appreciate this new year as it’s dawning, and to live this new year as if it is a gift. Because it is.  

Out with the Old

Out with the Old

Comments 0 Comment

Like many folks during these waning days of 2023, I’ve spent a few hours getting rid of stuff I’ve accumulated this year and many other years (emphasis on the latter). In particular, I zeroed in on an area of the basement where I’ve stored — dumped might be a better word — the girls’ dolls and toys. The girls who are grown up and raising children of their own. 

Obviously, this is a task I’ve postponed for years. And no wonder. It’s a bittersweet duty indeed. Here were favorite toys I’d long since forgotten — stuffed rabbits, a dancing mouse, an acrobatic lamb on a stick, a jack-in-the-box. Here too were boxes of school work, mostly middle school and high school, so not that precious early stuff, but still a potential minefield. 

I’ll admit the tears flowed as I sorted through these treasures. They were good tears, necessary tears. I was mourning a time of my life that is no more. Like any other loss, it’s better to acknowledge it, to kiss it and let it go. As I write these words, I can hear the garbage truck stopping in front of the house. Now all of those relics … are truly gone. 

(An old photo of a messy garage that I trot out when I need evidence of Too Much Stuff.)

Sunrise, Sunset

Sunrise, Sunset

Comments 0 Comment

It was unseasonably warm yesterday, although the last couple of winters have been mild enough that the term “unseasonably warm” may soon require some tinkering. I took two walks, one as the sun was rising and the other as it was setting. 

I only realized this morning the symmetry of these strolls. The first one I timed with sunrise. The classical station I listen to announces sunrise every day with a little fanfare and a specially chosen piece of music. Yesterday’s was a recorder rendition of “The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba” from Handel’s “Solomon.” 

The later ramble was not planned for sunset. But the sun sets so early these days that it’s easy to postpone a stroll until the day is almost done. Based on the number of people we saw on the trail, I’d have to say I wasn’t the only one to whom that happens.

Sunrise, sunset. Much like yesterday’s Arrivals and Departures. It’s yin and yang at the closing of the year.