I don’t know if anyone is really surprised that boxes of what should be public presidential records were secreted out of the White House to Donald Trump’s own property. He has a very long history of attempting to keep his actions secret. Instead of being surprised that he did so—again—we should be asking “What is he hiding?” What, for instance, is lurking in his tax returns that he has worked so hard to keep secret? Who does he owe money to? Who did he owe money to while he was president, and how much of those debts were reduced by means other than simple repayment? How much money did he receive from which foreign countries during his administration?
The ostensible purpose of the current investigations are to see how much he was the impetus for the attack on the Capitol building in January 2021, but I think we should also be asking just how much of an independent actor he was during his presidency, and how much he was indebted to—and acting on behalf of—others.
This Washington Post article is what prompted me today.
I just finished giving my talk on Isaac Asimov for Eastern Oklahoma Mensa. Had a great time! I think nearly ten percent of the group’s membership was there (they said it was the best turn-out they’ve had in a long time). And they were a responsive crowd, despite the limitations of Zoom (I really, really miss doing my talks in person, where I can properly interact with people).
Friday was 
After the party, I walked to the subway with a new friend, past the Alliance-Bernstein Building, which has this cool globe in front. And here’s a close-up of it.
Got home late, and then got up early to ride the subway back into Manhattan. Got off at Canal Street and walked through the Lower East Side, seeing things I rarely see, such as this view of the Woolworth Building, and the Jewish Daily Forward Building (of which I didn’t take any pictures, but see this link: 
I was walking through the LES to meet up with Michele, Mary, and Erin for the 
After the show, of course, there’s the gift shop and the pose-in-it frame (with poor lighting), so I did.
Then Chris joined us for a nice brunch, and then Erin left us, and the new quartet went up to 14th Street for the 
And after that exhibit, we walked up town to Penn Station to get Michele to the train. Then we walked around Macys to see the windows, as the mist turned into a light rain, and Chris peeled off to catch his train. Then Mary and I walked up town, through the winter village in Bryant Park, through the mobs in Times Square, and out past the tree in Rockefeller Center, and to Saks, where we caught the lights-and-music show. Then we turned around, made better time walking south on Fifth Avenue (past the Library, with Patience and Fortitude wreathed for the season), and got Mary back to Penn Station minutes before her train left.
Today’s mail tells me I’m a fiction author again! Contributor’s copies of the January/February 2022 issue of 
As I note in the bio attached to the story, this is my <gasp> 30th year of publishing fiction in Analog (my first, “Fermat’s Legacy,” was in the September 1992 issue).
I’ve just learned of the death of Jessica Young, on November 23. I knew it was coming for a long time, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Last February, she emailed to tell me she had inoperable pancreatic cancer (the same thing that killed my grandmother two decades ago), and that she’d just been through a year of chemotherapy and high intensity radiation treatment. So I spent the last year sending her chatty emails every month or so, just to let her know I was thinking of her, and because I really was thinking of her.
I first met her at the Mensa Annual Gathering in St. Louis in 1995, where she took me to the Gateway Arch. We ran into each other again a few years later, at the AG in Philadelphia in 2000, which cemented our friendship. After that, we saw each other intermittently, at Annual Gatherings. With the coming of smart phones, we communicated more often, sharing fireworks photos when we weren’t at Independence Day celebrations together. We saw each other only rarely, but every time, it was just picking up where we’d left off the last time, one long friendship.
Only once did we see each other outside of Mensa: In February 2016, her chorus sang at Carnegie Hall, and she was in New York for nearly a week. I got to see her most of the days she was in town, showing her around my home town, enjoying her concert, seeing a Broadway show, just hanging out, as good friends do.
Ian Randal Strock 