Solstice 2000

Solstice, 2000


Dear Ones:
What a whirl, what a whirl this year has been. First of all, none of you was fooled, I am sure, into thinking that 1-1-00 was the start of the new Millennium. In that we don’t begin to number things with zero, the true millennial change will of course be this January 1st. All the computers of the world know this, and are waiting till this year to screw up. Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the keyboard…(soundtrack of Jaws rises…dahhh dunt. Dahhhdunt-dunt.) I hope all those army surplus MREs and flashlight batteries you have stashed in the basement are still good. The ammo will be fine for years, as long as you keep it dry.
Anyway, as I write this, we still have no official result of our presidential election. Amazing. It was great fun to see the networks get it wrong, and then wrong again. But still the talking heads kept talking, long after there was nothing left to say. That validated completely my decision last year to cut the cable TV off. If you missed Dan Rather being pompous, then wrong, then more pompous, then wrong again, and even then turning it up yet another notch, you missed a virtuoso at work. What a hose-head. Now is anybody really surprised that they can’t count in Florida? I was born there, and as a result, have terrific math anxiety to this day, so I can feel their pain. And what about this poor bastard Chad? The way they are tearing him apart in the press, he will never be able to show his face in Palm Beach again. But I am certain they will duke it out one way or another, and we will have one or another minor variation on the bottom-feeding creature Prevaricator slimissimus, the common bald-faced politician. Which will it be, the wooden head or the wooden personality? Does it matter all that much? Probably not. To keep it amusing, we elected a dead Democrat over a live Republican, (good call, Missouri) and a scorned woman in NY State. (Heck hath no fury…) Now, let the Games begin.
As for us, the year has been, uh, interesting. We did complete the deal on the beach house, (New address: 2829 rue d’Awakening, Broadkill Beach.) We spent the next many weeks stripping off totally twee wallpaper, and repainting. Those cathedral ceilings are a bitch, I can tell you. I would have to be an alcoholic to be a painter…unbelievably boring work. Then we had a porch built over the second storey deck. It all began innocently enough, with a query to a designer/builder about replacing some rotted wood railings. Well replacing them would only be a waste, if we ultimately decided to do a screen porch later, so better do it now. And screens fare poorly in the wind and salt, so why not put in real walls and glass patio sliders instead? And why not tile the floor, since the crews are here, and what the heck, wire it up, put some insulation and a heater, and we now have a three-season room. And that is how 2,000 bucks turns into 27,000 in a heartbeat. The architect didn’t look strong enough to hold me upside down by one ankle and shake out that last nickel, but never judge a book by its cover, I now say. The porch is bee-you-tee-full, after all’s said and done. We are doing well renting it out, though it is not self-supporting. So we be livin’ in subsidized housing, yo. And thanks for your taxpayer support. Lemme know if you want to rent…Catherine had a hard time after we had just repainted and furnished the place with letting go and renting. She became known as the “Cleaning Nazi”, though I am sure that was meant in the best possible sense. She has since seen the error in her ways, (she was only following orders) but I am afraid a couple of the early tenants may be making other plans this year, rather than a repeat of having to scrub the entire house out on their hands and knees with a toothbrush, or face summary confiscation of their damage deposit, and the hourly execution of one of their loved ones.
Catherine has been learning web design, playing at being a home network administrator, and buying mo’ better computers for fun. I am writing you on a very nice hand-me-down, in fact. She approached me a few months back with an article from “Modern Maturity”, about a couple strangely like ourselves. They began the article as dumpy middle aged yuppies, and through an exercise plan, finished up as hardbodied middle aged yuppies, with all kinds of energy for work and sex. So far, so good. I had literally just finished reading the article, when a delivery van pulled up, and a couple of buffed hotties in their 20s hopped out and began unloading a mountain of exercise equipment. Apparently some non-committal grunt on my part, quite possibly associated with the simple passage of gas, was taken as the go-ahead, and my enthusiastic wife and reason-for-living went full speed ahead, as usual. She is now in week 8 of 12 in Bill Phillips’ “Body for Life” program, along with Michele, pumping iron 6 days a week, and they are really sticking to it. And Bill really appreciates their contributions to his retirement fund, with their book purchase, and daily consumption of 3 of his personally endorsed protein shakes. I never did sign on, so I am serving as the control rat in the experiment. They are doing great, growing muscles and losing weight. I am still doing some running 2-3 times a week, so I am not a complete slug, but I am not building a hard body or losing weight. Only height. If I have anything to say about it, my biography will not be titled The Waistband, by T.S.Eliot. More like Sled Dog, by Preston MacKenzie, RCMP.
The Kiddos are great. Hannah lobbied for a change to a bigger high school, (well, carried on an Intifada, to be honest) and so she is at Sussex Tech, learning environmental science and auto mechanics. They have a basketball and a softball team, and she is happy and doing well. She is now 14, sheathed in braces, denim hip-huggers and Oxy 10, and in her rebellious phase. (at least I hope this is her rebellious phase) But at least she still likes Dad so far.
Everett volunteered for baseball this year, and looked very “fly” in his Braves blue and gray. I worked hard with him in all my spare time on his hitting, and got his mechanics pretty well tuned up. He began the season as a walk or an easy out, but ended up a surprise hitter, surprising mostly himself. A big, imposing pitcher from their nemesis opposing team sneered at Evie as he stepped into the box. Perhaps Evie’s confidence was excessively Ruthian as he indicated the left field fence with his bat and stepped in. But he ripped the first pitch into left field, in what became known locally as “the shot heard round the world.” The Cheshire Cat never grinned so large. He remains at Salisbury School, preferring the small classes and personal attention to adolescent anonymity and anomie. Which is fine with me. He was already elected the class Valetudinarian, which, according to the Oxford Dictionary, means hypochondriac. Unfortunately, I looked it up too late to prevent the little press release I sent, announcing the fact of his election, from going into the local paper. Is my face red or what?
Michele, aka Miso Wong, is now home again, working out of Salisbury for USAir Express. She has a hate-hate thing going with her work as a “Skywaitress”, (aka Cabin Safety Specialist, or Sky-Muffin) as she calls it, but she does fly all over in her free time, and knows all kinds of cool stuff like how to identify planes at a glance, and all the three letter codes for airports. Her co-workers tell us she really was cut out to be the pilot, since she pretty much tells everyone what to do, and when to do it. She would prefer the leap to CEO, without that petty intermediate stuff. She’s really doing great, gathering herself for school and long term plans. She and her mom are working out all kinds of past misunderstandings at the top of their lungs, so great progress is being made. If volume equals progress, we are nearly at world peace.
Nat is finishing up a two-year degree, and starting a T-shirt business, doing remarkably well selling his own designs, based on graffiti. His artistic talent is finally coming to the fore. In the old days, his art, applied to local walls in the dark of night, under technically very challenging conditions, was never appreciated for the finely focused expression of adolescent fin-de-grand-siecle angst that it truly was. Well all that is about to change. He has really benefited from electronic banking, also, because he could never sign such a small thing as a check with spray paint. He is still in RI, and makes a stealth visit from time to time. I am proud of him going back to school on his own initiative, and hanging in there.
The Big Dog, Darwin, has a new friend, Tory, the Jack Russell Terrier. (Terrorist) We got her at a discount, since she was an accidental consanguineous mating, originally named “Oops”. But she fits in around here just fine. The local bias is that being inbred is a plus, actually. She is very personable, well behaved, but loves to chew things up. Many, many things. I lobbied for the name “Jihad”, but was overruled. Both dogs went to obedience school with “Sergeant Jeannette”, and now Darwin will heel, sit, lie down, and miracle of miracles, come when called. All we have to do is imitate the Sergeant, and he begins to quiver and quake. It is damn fine being the alpha wolf again.
My year has been a blur of work and sleep, unfortunately. I lost a full timer, and have sucked up most of those shifts, just to keep things going at all. I worked 35 consecutive 12 hour night shifts in July-August-September, a record I hope no one ever even attempts again. When a whole month goes by where the high point of each day is a dump and a shower, you are doing something wrong. The light is at the end of the tunnel, I think. Despite all that, I did pass my board exam in Emergency Medicine this year. The Oral Exam felt more like a Newfoundland seal-clubbing party, with me as the baby seal, but somehow I wriggled through a hole in the ice, and survived. I was also elected to Fellowship in the American College of Physicians, so I get to use more letters after my name. I am trying a new strategy of doing one thing at a time before tackling another, and it seems to be working. Next is the Great American Novel, and then my Pilot’s license, for a reward. And after that, Catherine promises to resume marital relations.
I did get a very-used motorcycle this summer, for cheap thrills. Cheaper than a divorce, for sure. The model name is a “Virago”, which in the Oxford Dictionary, is defined as “a fierce or abusive woman.” But don’t tell Catherine. I have really enjoyed riding again, weaving along to miss the woolly bears crawling like mad across the road, and feeling the wind and smelling the smells. (Was that chicken shit, or sun-broiled road kill?) On a still fall morning, riding through the shadows across the road, the tongues of shaded air hit like a cold slap, followed by the warm kiss of sunlit air. It really is a physical world you lose track of in a car. The kids think it is cool to have dad pick them up from the bus on the bike. I mostly dig the black leather jacket with all the zippers and belts. I look pretty tuff until I take the helmet off, and then everybody realizes it is just me.
The patients continue to amuse and provide perspective. I had an old farmer come dragging in at the end of my shift, just when I wanted to get the hell out of Dodge. He hadn’t taken the time to remove his barn boots before running in to see me with his belly pain he had had for 24 hours, and he tracked animal manure all the way to the exam table. He was the sort who would come only when near death, so I knew he was hurting. His problem was quickly tracked down to an incarcerated hernia, requiring a trip to the operating room, and part of my exam necessarily included a rectal exam. He lay on his side with his jeans hiked down, caked in shit from head to toe, and reeking to high heaven. I was mouth breathing for all I am worth, just to keep from being driven from the room. Just as I get my gloved finger up his butt, he looks over his shoulder at me and says, “Doc, I wouldn’t have your job!” I gotta tell you, that meant a lot to me, coming from him. Maybe I could paint houses…I also had a girl come in repeatedly with claims of being pregnant and bleeding. Repetitive exams and tests for pregnancy were negative, but still she persisted in insisting she was pregnant, and returning at each menstrual period for another evaluation, complaining quite dramatically that she was miscarrying. She would push her belly out to look pregnant, and move her abdominal muscles as she was being examined, and exclaim “There, didn’t you feel the baby move?” After the third go-round, I tried gently to bring her to reality, by telling her she was not pregnant, no matter how much she might wish it, and that perhaps she might be in need of some counseling help. There was no possibility of a mistake, I explained; our tests were quite accurate. “They’s something wrong wid yo testes!” was her reply, and she stomped out. I checked myself quickly, and they were both right where I had left them. I swear, it was never me who tried and failed to get her pregnant, but she had me scared there, for a minute.
And so dear friends and confidants, as our weary world spins through another cycle of human stupidity and greed, and we brace ourselves for more of the same, be of good cheer, and of certain knowledge, that we will do better. Never mind the evidence of History. We have to do better. In fact, considering the past, how could we do worse? Any worse, and the cockroaches are standing by to inherit the Earth. May we all find affirmation in the small things that matter, in friendships renewed, in giving and receiving praise for work well done, in forgiveness for the past, and in commitment to better times ahead. May our portfolios at least remain flat during the coming “reset”, and our teeth not grind excessively enduring the slings and arrows of outrageous “customers”. May our aluminum levels remain low, our chondroitin levels high, and our endorphins remain ever ready to ease our pain. (Naturally) May Mad Cow Disease stay away from our shores, and a cure be found for Mad Conservative Disease. And may we come to know, finally, who let the dogs out? Stay well; wear seat belts and sunscreen; and condoms, if you find yourself back into the free market economy. Do all things in moderation except being immoderately happy at being what you are, where you are. And write me back, goddammit.

Excellent Xmas, Merry Millennium, Cheery Chanukah, Kwazy Kwanzaa, Salubrious Solstice, Rip-Roaring Ramadan, Cheers, Warm Regards, All the Best, Love, Peace, or Whatever.