Category Archives: Family

21 July 2026

Finally, An Adult Conversation

By Rick Ladd

I’ve waited nearly 24 years for the conversation I had with my oldest daughter last night. She was close to 14 months old when we adopted her in the PRC, but I was 55 years old. My father had died two months shy of his 60th birthday and I’d been told all my life, “You’re exactly like your father”. I had good reason to believe I was rapidly approaching my “Use By” date, yet it deter me from becoming a first-time, adoptive father.

Part of the reason is my partner at the time (now my wife) is seven years younger than me and her family has a history of longevity. I nevertheless had some reservations about adopting, just not enough to stop the process. To, perhaps, add insult to injury I did it again at 59. Now my daughters are 25 and 22. My 25-year-old has been incredibly reluctant to spend any time with me or my wife at all for at least the last close to ten years. It’s been seriously frustrating.

At any rate, last night I was able to spend well over an hour with my oldest, talking about life, the universe, and everything (oblique Douglas Adams reference). From day one, a primary goal of mine was to ensure my girls had a good understanding of who I am and why I lived the somewhat unconventional life I lived, which included why I adopted so late in life. I didn’t have a reasonable expectation of being able to accomplish that, especially given my oldest’s reticence to converse.

Last night put all my fears to rest. We had a good, adult to adult conversation. She asked me pertinent questions and I was able to fill her in on some of the blanks in her life, such as I know them. They are few and far between, since she was abandoned at two days old. I can now look forward to at least a few more conversations before I shed this mortal coil, and leave her more than just my life insurance and the equity in our house. I am content.

One lucky guy here. PS – I’m well aware of the irony our family represents, i.e. if my girls were equally lucky, they would likely still be with their birth parents. My wife and I are just the next best thing given their circumstances.

PPS – I was best man and they were flower girls at the retaking of vows of close friends … a while back. The other pic is of us going out from Long Beach to scatter the ashes of a cousin who was taken from us far too early. 

Best Man & Flower Girls

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12 July 2026

It Hasta be Pasta!

By Rick Ladd

I haven’t written much about my growing old and the illnesses I’ve encountered in the past couple of years. Suffice it to say it’s been challenging, as well as revealing. Facing one’s mortality head on is both fascinating and, at times, frightening. Not that I’m afraid of death, just a little apprehensive about the process of dying. Truth to tell, I have lots of reasons to stay alive, not the least of which is my desire to see my girls (who are currently 25 and 22) grow into the confident women I have long hoped I was helping them become.

A couple of months ago I was reasonably certain my time was running out and I was facing the end – sooner than I had hoped for. My stage 4 CKD-caused anemia, my COPD, the onset of Afib, and the possibility I had had (or soon would have) a stroke was making the future look fairly grim. About a month ago, my cardiologist and my nephrologist agreed that giving me a blood transfusion of two units would be safe and would also be likely to help me feel stronger and more comfortable. They were right and ever since I received those two units of O+ I have felt much better than I have for well over a year.

As a result, I’ve been challenging myself physically in an effort to gain back some of the strength, as well as the muscle tone I’ve lost over the past couple of years. I used to enjoy shopping for groceries and cooking for the family. Also, I’ve been going out for dinner for years on Fridays with two of my former colleagues from Rocketdyne, as well as my younger daughter and the son of one of those friends. Occasionally, I would have them over and I would cook something for our dinner. I hadn’t cooked for them in quite some time.

So, last week I got a bug up my butt and decided to cook a special meal for us. Actually, it was precipitated by my wife anticipating my love of a good spaghetti sauce and asking me if I had a favorite recipe. Not having anything I could point to, I asked ChatGPT to find me a recipe for a bold, rustic meat sauce. It provided several and I picked on, after which Linda made a shopping list. Fortunately, Smart & Final was having a promotion offering free delivery with a minimum purchase of $35.00. I was able to order just about everything I needed and had it delivered. I then asked ChatGPT for a recipe for garlic bread. We had some Texas Toast in the freezer, but I wanted something a little more authentic.

Nothing like homemade spaghetti sauce

As a result, I had to do something I was a bit loathe to do; get into the car and head over to Trader Joe’s to purchase a Ciabatta baguette and, since I had also asked for a vegetable suggestion that would go well with the meal, I also picked up some fresh asparagus. The reason this was a big jump for me is that my walking is somewhat off-balance and halting. I have to be more aware of where I am and what I’m doing in order to avoid a misstep or a fall. I’ve had a couple of them in the past year or so. As of that Friday I had gathered all the ingredients I would need for the dinner, including a second baguette because my oldest’s cat, Lacy, had managed to break into the one I’d purchased and ate some of it.

When Friday had rolled around, I’d already put a couple of hours into the meal, what with planning, reading, and shopping. Now came the real test, not merely of the recipes I was using, but also of my stamina and ability to get done what needed to be done. I was, after all, making everything essentially from scratch. I didn’t bake the bread, nor did I grow the tomatoes of butcher the meat and make the sausage. However, I didn’t use a pre-made sauce or garlic bread. I had to finely dice a couple of carrots, an large onion, a couple stalks of celery, and about 14 cloves of garlic. I also had to slice up 8 ounces of mushrooms and finely chop up fresh Italian parsley and fresh basil. I had to measure out several herbs/spices, including oregano, thyme, basil, and fennel seeds. Normally, none of this would have been taxing, but with my weakness and instability, it was a bit of a chore. Imagine finely dicing carrots without cutting yourself when you have essential tremors. I was proud of that accomplishment.

So, Friday evening came around, my friends showed up (including my daughter and Steve’s son mentioned earlier) and the meal commenced. ChatGPT had even provided me with a timeline to follow, which was helpful, even though I have a long history of project planning and Gantt charting. Everything came out on time and I was pleased to be able to serve everyone, eventually including myself. Now I need to share the results with ChatGPT, since it’s asked for my feedback.

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21 December 2025

ChatGPT & My Health

By Rick Ladd

I posted recently about how I’m using AI to help me manage my understanding of the medical information I receive from my doctor visits and from my Apple watch. I have been sharing the sleep graphic my watch and the Health app provide me each morning. This morning, there seemed to be a bit of a disconnect between the awake time the graph showed and the analysis that ChatGPT provided me.

So I decided to add screenshots of both my sleeping heart rate and respiratory rate graphs as additional information for AI to analyze. What I got was a more thorough analysis and an explanation of what my Apple watch actually measures in determining my sleep pattern. I learned that it’s quite possible for the watch to assume I’m awake after I arise at, say, 0230, to urinate (a condition referred to as nocturia) and that I could actually be going in and out of light core sleep. This aligned well with how I felt during that period. As a result, I am now going to share all three graphs each morning.

For anyone who doesn’t follow this blog, it’s probably useful for me to point out that I am living (struggling might be a better word) with numerous comorbidities, the progress of which I’m keenly paying attention to. In no particular order of importance, these are: Bradycardia, for which I had a pacemaker implanted not quite three years ago; Atherosclerosis and Essential Hypertension, for which I take several daily medications; COPD, for which I have a daily inhaler and a rescue inhaler; Stage 4 Chronic Kidney Disease, for which I have quit drinking alcohol entirely and watch my diet, and; Type II Diabetes with Proteinuria, which has been well controlled with diet.

I had been carrying the Hepatitis C virus for somewhere between 30 and 35 years with no symptoms until a couple of years ago when everything went haywire. I recently completed and 12 week regimen of Epclusa and currently am considered cured.

All to say, as I reach the culmination of my life I’m careful to do things that help me put off the inevitable for as long as possible. I still have 22 year-old and a 24 year-old daughters living with me and my wife, and I’d like to be around for at least a little while after their prefrontal cortices mature. At the same time, I’m constantly balancing the virtues of quantity of life against those of quality of life. I tend to think I’d rather enjoy the time I have left than miss out on some things because I’m worried it will shorten my already substantial length of time on this planet.

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23 November 2025

US Navy Armed Guard

By Rick Ladd

I have long known my father served in the U.S. Navy during WWII. He told me of his time as a Radioman 3rd class aboard the USS William H. Webb when it made the Murmansk Run to bring supplies to the Soviets. In fact, I have previously shared a photo of the certificate he was awarded when they crossed the Arctic Circle on that run. I only recently discovered he was part of a specialized detachment called the Armed Guard, something he never mentioned. A few days ago I asked Perplexity the following question. The response follows.

“What can you tell me about the U.S. Navy Armed Guard, especially wrt their service during WWII and on the Murmansk Runs?”

===============

The U.S. Navy Armed Guard was a specialized military detachment created during World War II to protect U.S. and Allied merchant ships from enemy threats, including submarines, aircraft, and surface warships. Composed mostly of gunners, signalmen, radio operators, and other support rates, these Navy personnel were assigned to civilian merchant vessels that otherwise lacked sufficient defenses—a response to the inability to provide enough dedicated naval escorts for all convoys.

​WWII Service Overview

The Armed Guard served worldwide, especially where Allied shipping faced grave danger, such as the North Atlantic and Mediterranean. Gun crews ranged in size and were often led by junior officers, sometimes even senior petty officers when commissioned officers weren’t available. In total, over 6,200 ships were armed with such Navy detachments by the end of the war. Their hazardous role involved operating defensive armaments, standing watches, and sometimes training the civilian crews on weapons use.

​The Murmansk Runs

On the notorious Murmansk Run, which entailed providing vital Lend-Lease aid by convoy to the Soviet Union, the U.S. Navy Armed Guard experienced some of the war’s most extreme and hazardous conditions. Sailors on these convoys braved long, perilous voyages through icy northern waters where they faced continuous threats from German U-boats, aircraft, and surface raiders, in addition to severe weather and extended periods of daylight or darkness.

​The North Russia convoys—termed “Murmansk Runs”—were known for their high loss rates early in the war, with Armed Guard crews playing a crucial role in improving the defenses of these voyages. The Navy prioritized these routes by placing highly experienced gun crews and as much weaponry as could be spared aboard. As a result of their growing expertise and the improved ship defenses, losses were significantly reduced as the war went on—only 10 ships were lost out of more than 200 after the Allies refined their tactics and armament for these runs.

Role and Legacy

Service in the Armed Guard was considered both perilous and often overlooked—the “stepchildren” of the Navy, as many later described them, shouldering the defense of unheralded merchant convoys critical to Allied supply lines. Their contributions, especially on dangerous missions like the Murmansk Run, were essential to both Allied success and the survival of merchant mariners throughout WWII.

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4 August 2025

My Brief Naval Career

By Rick Ladd

Fun fact about me. I was born with congenital talipes equinovarus, or club feet. I had my first cast put on my left foot (the worst one) when I was two days old. Since infants are growing at a somewhat accelerated pace, they generally have to put the casts on reasonably loose and they need to be changed frequently.

My First Cast

At some point in my early infancy I managed to kick this one off. My parents saved it and I still have it, I think in the garage. I believe the one inscription you can read from this photo says, “Don’t let this stop you, Ricky. Keep kicking,” from a couple who have disappeared into the mists of time.

I ultimately had surgery on my left foot—my right foot straightened out with casts and corrective shoes—when I was five. When I enlisted in the US Navy in the Spring of 1966, it was the scars from the surgery that caused me to fail my physical. However, I argued that marching was something they did in the Army, not the Navy, and I was inducted.

Later, I found out marching was actually a very large part of Naval boot camp (it’s one way they build unit cohesiveness) and there also was a position our company commander would put us in called five and dive that put a great deal of strain on my ankle and shortened Achilles tendon.

When I went to sick bay to see if they could help me deal with the pain I was enduring, an x-ray discovered arthritis. I was offered a discharge, which I originally refused. However, the pain made it extremely difficult to keep up with my company and, to a man, my fellow recruits and several officers convinced me to take the discharge.

Two days later I accepted the offer and within a week I was on my way home. My DD214 says I was in the Navy for 1 month and 23 days and that I was awarded the National Defense Service Medal. Although I believe I could have made a ruckus and gotten at least some veteran’s benefits, I chose not to, believing there were others who needed it far more than I did. Because I was in for so short a period of time, I hardly refer to myself a veteran. I’ve never regretted my decision, though my foot has hindered me my entire life.

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20 February 2025

Memories and the Fight Against Injustice

By Rick Ladd

I am a secular Jew. My paternal grandparents fled the pogroms in what was then called “The Ukraine,” which was part of Russia or, later, the Soviet Union. On my mother’s side, my great-grandparents escaped Eastern Europe a generation earlier.

I was born in Los Angeles, about two years after the end of World War II. While I encountered some antisemitism during my childhood, I grew up primarily in the San Fernando Valley, then a burgeoning bedroom community of L.A. For the most part, my upbringing was almost idyllic—aside from the occasional fight when a classmate called me a “kike” and threatened me. As an Ashkenazi Jew, I was Caucasian and didn’t “look” Jewish by stereotypical standards. My family belonged to a temple—a schul—where I attended Sabbath services and spent four years in Hebrew school, three days a week after public school. In 1960, I became bar mitzvah—a “man of the commandments.”

Many members of our temple had escaped persecution in Eastern Europe, including Holocaust survivors. My father worked at the Grand Central Market in downtown L.A., and I often accompanied my mother there to shop and greet him. At the market, there was a French dip shop owned by two men, Sam and Dave, who bore tattoos on their forearms—haunting reminders of their time in Nazi concentration camps. I can still see those tattoos vividly. At the same time, I can almost taste the incredible lamb sandwiches I enjoyed at their shop—a bittersweet memory, tied to both resilience and survival.

I mention this because, even now, at nearly 78 years old, a part of me is always (metaphorically) looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop—for antisemitism to once again take center stage and threaten what has, so far, been a fulfilling life. I suspect this unease is part of our collective cultural memory—the nagging sense that our lives could be disrupted at any moment. With the current state of affairs in the U.S., as well as in Eastern Europe and the Middle East, that feeling is far more prevalent than ever before.

It’s already happening to immigrants from Mexico and Central and South America. The twisted logic of those in power—especially at DHS and ICE—suggests they’ll soon extend their oppressive policies to African Americans and others. They’re already questioning the citizenship rights of Indigenous people, who have been here for eons, likely because they don’t want them to vote. I also fear for both of my daughters, who we adopted from the People’s Republic of China. 

We cannot afford to sit idly by as the threads of decency and democracy are unraveled before our eyes. My life, shaped by the resilience of those who came before me and shadowed by the ever-present specter of hatred, is a testament to the fragility of freedom—and to the strength required to protect it. The scars of history are not just reminders; they are warnings. If we fail to act, if we fail to resist, we risk condemning future generations to relive the very horrors we swore never to forget. It is our duty—not just as Jews, immigrants, people of color, or any marginalized group, but as human beings—to stand together and demand a better, more just world. The fight for equity and compassion is not optional; it is essential. And it begins with each of us refusing to let fear or apathy win.

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23 September 2024

A Family Reflection

By Rick Ladd

Twenty-two years ago Linda and I set off on a journey that would change our lives forever. That’s when, after nearly two years of paperwork, social worker visits, FBI and local police investigations, etc., we traveled to the People’s Republic of China to adopt our oldest daughter, Aimee.

If memory serves, we traveled with 31 other families, adopting 32 children (one set of twins). For about a decade after that journey, many of us would get together for an adoption group reunion. These two pics are probably from around 2010 in Pismo Beach, where we frequently stayed at the SeaCrest OceanFront Hotel.

I’ve long enjoyed the juxtaposition of all the girls lining up for a photo, and all the parents lined up to take pictures of them. I also love that the lifeguards joined in the pic.

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4 October 2023

A Memory Of The Takeis

By Rick Ladd

Five years ago many of the women on my wife Linda’s side (they’re a large majority) gathered at the studio of famous photographer Toyo Miyatake, now run by his grandson, for some group photos. While wandering around playing the role of 8th wheel as her immediate family posed for pics, I came across a photo montage Mr. Miyatake had taken at George Takei’s wedding to Brad Altman. I took a photo of it as its rarity was obvious and I had my Apple tricorder, er, iPhone with me.

A year and a half later we went to the Ricardo Montalbán theater* in Hollywood to see (and hear) “Uncle George” discuss his new book “They Called Us Enemy” about life in the Japanese internment camps during WWII. Linda’s parents and older sister were imprisoned for two years in Colorado (Amache).

As we were in line, slowly climbing the stairs to purchase the book and have it autographed, Brad came up behind us and introduced himself. He graciously – nay, enthusiastically – agreed to pose for us. I didn’t get to meet Brad’s husband, but Linda did … and I got this photo of them.

*I didn’t get the Khanection with the theater at the time. I was focused on the connection between his experience and that of Linda’s family.

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28 September 2023

50s Kitchen Chic

By Rick Ladd

This photo and its caption were posted by a friend on FB. I both commented on it and shared it with my FB friends, saying: “This is a Mom kitchen to me. I never knew my paternal grandparents and my maternal grandparents lived with us. Our kitchen wasn’t precisely like this, but it was similar. We had a ‘breakfast nook’ that was partially built-in and, if memory serves, it was turquoise and pink, which was all the rage in the 50s. My strongest memory is of eating breakfast and listening to my mother’s favorite radio show, Don McNeill’s Breakfast Club, which originated in Chicago, where both my parents were born and raised.”

I actually grew up in three different places. Panorama City from a year and a half old until I was seven. Then Palms (West L.A.) for a year, then North Hollywood on the border of Sun Valley until I left home. Although I frequently noted my disappointment my family issues couldn’t be resolved in a half hour like Donna Reed’s did, I really had a great childhood, all things considered. I consider myself luck; some may say privileged … and they’d get no argument from me. Hardly wealthy, yet reasonably comfortable.

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24 August 2023

For My Epitaph

By Rick Ladd

I came across this poem a couple of years ago and shared it on Facebook. It just came back as one of my “memories” and I was a bit stunned to realize I had completely forgotten about it. I’ve thought about (and written about on occasion) death, though it was always kind of philosophical; musings on mortality if you will.

However, given the health issues I’ve experienced in the past nearly nine months, I’ve begun thinking seriously about the inevitable. The other day I made my oldest daughter my legacy contact for everything Apple and I have a lot more to get done in the next few months. I also told my wife I thought this poem would be nice to read if there’s any kind of memorial service conducted after my death. I’m also including the introductory comments from the person who originally shared it.

Since it is an optional reading in the Reform Jewish liturgy recited before the Mourner’s Kaddish, and I was raised as a Conservative Jew, I’d never encountered it. I find it breathtaking. Hope it resonates.

”Every once in a while, a poem or song is so well constructed, so clearly conveys the authors meaning and is so precisely expressive that it becomes something of an anthem. The poem below, Epitaph, was written by Merrit Malloy and as one of those poems, has become a staple of funeral and memorial services…for good reason.”

Epitaph – By Merrit Malloy

When I die
Give what’s left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.

And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give to me.

I want to leave you something,
Something better
Than words
Or sounds.

Look for me
In the people I’ve known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on in your eyes
And not your mind.

You can love me most
By letting
Hands touch hands,
By letting bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of children
That need to be free.

Love doesn’t die,
People do.
So, when all that’s left of me
Is love,
Give me away.
I’ll see you at home
In the earth.

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