Dianne Feinstein (nee Goldman) in the 1950s at Stanford — a Stanford Magazine Photo

I was surprised at the tears that came unbidden when my morning edition of the New York Times announced that Dianne Feinstein had died.  I can’t say that I really knew her, though we went back a long time, Dianne and I.

We were at Stanford together back in ancient times — the fifties.  She, two-and-a-half years my senior, was in the class of ’55; I, in the class of ’57.  Her last name was Goldman; mine was Little.  And, though our paths may have crossed more than once in the two years we shared at Stanford, I only remember her (and vaguely, at that) as on the Women’s Senate at Branner Hall, one of two dorms for Freshmen women — which meant that she was a sort of a dorm assistant there.

However, I was at Roble Hall, the other (and much larger) dorm for Freshmen women (and where Dianne, herself had been as a Freshman.)  I don’t know how I would have come in contact with Dianne Goldman unless some of our dorm meetings were combined…  And, even so, that would have been “quite a many” young women as my mother would have said.  So I probably only remember Diane in retrospect — perhaps teaching us the appropriate Freshman behavior at our first pep rally at Lake Lagunita.

Entrance to the History Corner of the Stanford Quad

I suppose it’s possible that I ran across her going to a Western Civ class in the History Department (for I believe she was a history major) but it was years before I really had a chance to speak to her and now I don’t remember what we said.  She was living around the corner from a good friend of mine — a fellow-teacher in Hayward who happened to  live in San Francisco.  It was during the early 70s and though Dianne was not yet running for mayor, she was surely a mover and shaker in the City by the Golden Gate.

In 1979 Mayor Feinstein leads 15,ooo marchers in a 1st anniversary commemoration of the Mayor Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk assassination.

I say this only because the entire block around her house (actually, a mansion in my eyes) was cordoned off.  Always.  No parking.  And parking in that part of the city was at a premium — only on-street parking even for most of the residents whose old-fashioned apartment buildings didn’t have garages.  I remember going around and around and around the blocks looking for a place to snuggle in my VW bug.  It never occurred to me to go up to Dianne’s door and plead, “For old time’s sake…”  Especially when we didn’t really share any of those old times!  But once, as I walked by her house, having parked three blocks from my destination, we did come face-to-face and exchanged a few words.  I wonder what they were.

Nevertheless, I was definitely a Dianne fan and her death saddened me in many ways.  Mostly, it was yet another wake-up call that my generation is fast disappearing and Dianne Feinstein was one of the best of us.   We are all impoverished by her passing.

NOW they tell me!  Doncha just hate it when you go through life thinking you understand something and then you find that you don’t.  Not even a little bit.

I thought I understood that tomorrow, September 23 is going to be the fall (or autumnal) equinox  And I thought I understood that the word “equinox” comes from two Latin words meaning equal and night.  And, therefore, on the fall (and spring) equinoxes there are 12 hours of day and 12 hours of night.  That is, of course, if we are dividing the seasons astronomically — that is based on Earth’s position as it rotates around the sun.

But apparently, there’s another way to divide the seasons and that is meteorologically, based on annual temperature cycles. If we are reckoning that way, fall arrived September 1st!  Go figure.

My advice:  Put on a sweater.  And a hat if it’s raining.  Because any way you slice it, fall is upon us and winter won’t be far behind!

It was mighty dark when I woke up this morning.  Imagine my surprise when I looked at the clock and it was getting on toward seven o’clock.  It seems such a short time ago that it was full light by 5:30 in the morning.  I guess Fall is truly on its way.

Ten days from now on September 23 and we’ll be officially into autumn. I, of course, am still saying that we really didn’t have much summer weather, though my friends say I’m crazy.  But, it didn’t seem like there were all that many days when we could sit outside in comfort — with sunshine and no wind.  Truly, all those windy afternoons don’t say “summer” to me.

Or, maybe we’ll have a few weeks of “Indian Summer” — egads!  That’s probably not politically correct to say anymore either.  (I looked it up and found:  “An Indian summer is a period of unseasonably warm, dry weather that sometimes occurs in autumn in temperate regions of the northern hemisphere.”  Then I looked to see if it is PC to say so and learned: “The AMS says using the phrase is discouraged and claims that it is disrespectful of Native American people. In its place, the AMS chose Second summer – another phrase used to express an unseasonably warm and dry period in autumn in mainly temperate climates of North America.”

Then I had to look up AMS.  Oh my.  I found all sorts of meanings but nothing that related it to being the arbitrator for Politically Correct.  “Altered mental status (AMS) is a general term referring to a change to your average mental function” was one example. Another informed me that “The Agricultural Marketing Service (AMS) administers programs that create domestic and international marketing opportunities for U.S. producers of food, fiber, and specialty crops.”

And the beat went on.  Not worth the aggravation.  I take it all back.  I don’t really care what kind of weather we have going forward — politically correct or not.  It’s just too damned difficult for this old broad to keep up!