Happy Holidays, 2015

Sharing the annual Holiday Newsletter (Volume 17!). However you celebrate the season, may it be joyous and fulfill the promise of a bright 2016. (You can open the picture to make it bigger and more legible, if you want.)

Trying to Teach Pigs to Sing

OR Why I Haven’t Been Writing

Regular readers and followers have probably noticed that I’ve been on an extended hiatus from this blog, as well as my others. 

The softball blog will actually pick up as we start to move into that season (really it’s already begun), but that’s a specialized project for a limited audience. I may also revisit my Hancock blog from time to time, but I need to generate more positive feelings for even that to happen.

You might wonder why. Or you might not care, but I’m going to share my reasons anyway. Actually, that’s not completely true. I have started several pieces, all of which sit as drafts, awaiting motivation to polish and publish. Others are percolating in my brain, as it drifts from one dark cloud to the next.

The fact is, that for some time now I have been consistently too depressed about the state of political and world affairs to add my thoughts to the increasing cacophony of certitude pervading social media. Maybe I should just give up Facebook, where people actually cheered the entrance of Donald Trump into the presidential race. That is just one of the thread topics I don’t add on to, because it wouldn’t do any good. I mean, if you take that bombastic buffoon seriously, what could I possibly say that would make you think (differently).

Now we have the posts about Charleston. Apparently there were insufficient victims victims to make some people consider that this tragedy is symptomatic of a problem worth solving, or worth at least discussing solutions. Even worse, many of those same people so resistant to recognizing that there IS a problem and that we need to actively search for a solution have also regularly offered posts suggesting that we have solved the problem of racism in this country, that racism is no more than an excuse for a lack of success.

I refuse to swim in those threads either. What would be the point? People with that mindset truly have set minds. Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their mind cannot change anything. — George Bernard Shaw

I remember a button we peddled back in the day to raise money for political candidates; of course, that was before we had solved sexism and sex discrimination, like we’ve solved racism. The button read: Don’t try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time and annoys the pig.

Sales were brisk, but back in those younger, still idealistic days, I confess that I nevertheless DID keep trying to teach pigs to sing. Today, as I read the proud displays of ignorance on Facebook and elsewhere, I realize that I also did, indeed, waste my time and (probably) annoy the pigs.

For any number of reasons, I have narrowed my focus. The most important reason? I have a granddaughter (thus the Fathers Day hook for this piece) for whom I would throw myself in front of a train. She is my focus now. Because she will need her family and would be negatively impacted by the loss of any of those people who are, and will continue to be, her safety net, I will do whatever I can for them, as well. Not that this represents any sacrifice on my part, because I also love them.

But I’m done trying to teach pigs to sing, so don’t expect a whole lot of new content from this space, at least until I become less disheartened. I don’t know when that will be. I may be sporadically and randomly inspired to throw in a thought or two, but only if it doesn’t take away from the (increasingly limited) energy that I’m saving for one little girl.

Happy Holidays to One and All

You may have to zoom in on the "picture" below to read the words. 

Short Thoughts on Mother's Day

A Somewhat Contrarian View

All the homages to mothers on Mother’s Day on Facebook beg the question (just for me, personally; I doubt it’s an area of concern for anyone else) of why I don’t participate in the nostalgia. 

My mother died almost six and a half years ago. That I don’t post pictures or pen paeans to her memory might lead one to believe she was a terrible mother and I had a nasty childhood. I can assure you that isn’t true. She did the best she could, worked hard at motherhood, given who she was and how she grew up. That, I firmly believe, is the most we can ask of any parent, and, in fact, she did a better job of motherhood than some of the recipients of the lavish praise on this day.

The fact of the matter was, we didn’t really like each other, something we had discussed and acknowledged. That has nothing to do with love, of course. It’s a bonus when those two feelings coincide, just not a bonus we enjoyed.

So I’m not really sentimental about her. I don’t really miss her. I do regret that she died just as she was starting to figure out the meaning, and value, of unconditional love. Carolyn, Nicci (both of whom, more easily than I, accepted her for who she was and thus offered me a model) and, by virtue of her mere existence, Becca deserve the credit there. 

Her defenses dropped. She even gave herself a warm nickname (GG, for Great Grandma). As she held Becca -- and actually asked to babysit -- I saw spontaneous warmth and love, something I wish she had learned earlier, but at least those feelings were honest and present at the end. To expect more than that is probably not realistic.

To My Daughter on Her 40th Birthday

Dear Nicci,

I can’t believe that it was a (chronologically impossible) 40 years ago that you, finally, made your way into this world and changed my life for better and forever. You have made me a better teacher, a better husband, and a better person.

I had absolutely no clue that February morning, after panting through the night with your mother (the toughest woman I know) at the old St. Luke’s Hospital on Delmar, what was coming my way, but every day I loved you more, from Day 1 through, now, Day 14,610. You made that easy, of course, by being, well, you, a incredible woman of intelligence, integrity, and inspiration. Ironically, given that last sentence, you’ve never been about the “I” but about those around you, generous and giving. You define empathy. We still remember, when you were barely two, having to “rescue” the doll you gave to a crying child, a stranger, in the airport.

I posted a piece of whimsy last week about parenting being hard. Not that we didn’t consciously work at being the best possible parents we could, but you made it less challenging. You were a great kid, and it has been, and continues to be, a pleasure to watch you grow into a great adult, and now to observe as you work, and succeed, at being a great mom to Becca, your own piece of you, that gift you and Ben have given Mom and me, and the world.

Before I get deported to Wisconsin, the cheese capital of the country, I love having you as my daughter – and my friend. That is another gift you give us, not only on your birthday but every day. While we did not try to be your friend as you were growing up, it was our goal to raise you so that we could be friends after you reached adulthood. We are so glad that worked. Happy birthday. I love you.

Happy Holidays -- Our Holiday Letter, Volume XV

Becca Predicts the Future

Becca: “You know, when I'm a teen and come to Epcot, I'm going to look at this and say, ‘Look, there's the Big Ball of Boredom.’” The future looks interesting indeed.