Solstice 2013

Solstice 2013

Dear Ones:

The occasion of the sun reaching the southernmost extent of its yearly pendulum-arc always leaves me hopeful.  And that is the very definition of irrationality—continued adherence to a belief despite all evidence being to the contrary.  I like to imagine myself a rational beast, but again, my belief flies in the face of the evidence.  Still, I gaze about my battered old world and try to make sense of it, as best my limited faculties will allow, and once again reach out to friends old and new. 

The year past has been one of frustration in so many ways.  We have watched a dysfunctional government melt down, held hostage to ideology, and the perpetrators protected by the combination of time before the next election and the electorate’s short memory, such that they will mostly not pay the price for their abuse of process.  We continue to prove that our government is exactly what we deserve, since we elect them, and fail to un-elect them when the time comes.  Who but us could invent Ted Cruz, a Canadian-born Cuban American religious fundamentalist poster boy for white male supremacy? And then put him in high office?  Our collective attention span is like a hummingbird’s—we flit from one flower to the next, unconcerned about past or future, and really, not even grounded in the present. (Stop checking your Facebook and pay attention.)  We have ample attention to watch the spectacle of Miley Cyrus turning herself into a cold, calculating sex gargoyle, devote much print space to the thickening and thinning of Kardashian thighs, and can be found between them lately.  We discuss as a serious matter whatever obliviots like Kanye West have to say about anything. Headline News: Woman in England Gives Birth to a Baby!  We publish entire special editions of Time devoted to this. But meanwhile, serious things happen out of sight and mind, which is exactly where we seem to want them. We continue to attract homicidal Islamists, time travelers from the most medieval society on the planet, who despoil peaceful gatherings such as the Boston Marathon, responding to our droning above their hovels and delivering modern technology by laser guidance.  We each imagine that bombing the other somehow makes anything better. There are indeed bad guys over there who want to do us harm, and they hide themselves among women and children, to use our own soft-heartedness against us, but have no compunction about killing OUR children. But what is the end-game of that exchange?  Can’t kill them all. And we aren’t going back to the Bronze Age.  The mind boggles… I guess that is why we don’t want to think about it.

On the brighter side, we have seen the tide turn against medievalism here, with the rapid progress against discrimination against gays, led by Courts and the Constitution, and taken up by Citizen Legislatures in the States, bypassing a fossilized Federal Congress.  We have been amazed to see the Catholic Church turned on its mitre-crowned head by Pope Francis, though he is not so radical as to allow women to be ordained, or use birth control, heaven forefend. If the above seems to contain only an abbreviated bright side, it seems that way to me, too. I look in the mirror and see Grumpy Cat.

As for us, Catherine has worked very hard to regain her license to practice as a nurse-midwife, but has yet to find a job.  She spent four months at Fort Defiance, AZ, in the heart of the Navajo reservation, and had a marvelous experience connecting with that culture, and reconnecting with midwifery.  I had a two-week visit, and we had to cram four months of fighting and sex into those two action-packed weeks. (here the Gen-Xers go “EWWWwwwww! Old People sex!  I need a retinal brillo pad!!”) We traveled and photographed a fair bit of the Four Corners area, all of it new to me, and we enjoyed that part of the world very much indeed. But four months of long-distance marriage was quite enough.  I am putting my foot down on her traveling for locums work. She remains active on the Board of Quilts of Valor Foundation, which has distributed more than 100,000 quilts to service veterans touched by war. Tax-deductible donations are still needed and gratefully accepted, @ www.QOVF.org

Michele, our elder thirty-something, is still in Columbus with husband Eric the jet pilot and desk pilot, and now also Chairman of the Board of Quilts of Valor Foundation. Grandkiddies Jack (7) and Lily (6) are sprouting into lovely and loving little kids, on the cusp of becoming big kids. Michele has become part owner of a Yoga Studio, Yoga on High, www.yogaonhigh.com and is stretching into the necessary mix of teaching and business skills.

Nat, our other thirty-something, is finishing his second degree in Graphic Arts, doing an internship, and learning what the working world of Graphic Arts is really all about. He does have a marvelous hand and eye, and seems to be enjoying it. He made a nice logo for Hannah’s blog, which you can view at www.runsealegsrun.blogspot.com

Hannah, now 27, expects to get out of the Navy this year sometime, and is concentrating on competing in more 100-mile races.  She just delivered a TEDx Talk in Honolulu entitled “The Runner’s Low: Surviving Depression and the Badwater Ultramarathon”. It was very well received, and the video should be posted shortly on TEDx Honolulu. She remains uncertain as to the future, but may be coming back to the mainland again soon.

Everett is finishing grad school in Management and Chinese Language at the Monterey Institute of International Studies, and is looking for internships, jobs, anything for a next stage.  What form that takes remains to be seen, but it may involve more travel to China, with any luck. He has, meanwhile, blossomed into a well-developed young man, burning off his frustrations at the local gym, and no longer looking like a skinny little kid. But his clothes budget is straining as much as his old clothes themselves.

As for me, I have had a long year of work, a few travel, SCUBA and ski adventures, four months as a monk, and nothing much else comes to mind. I have been working a few shifts a month at Gray’s Harbor, WA, which was aptly named, never mind Captain Gray. It is a smaller hospital, with less specialty backup, and has experienced the same decline in numbers of patients as my main job, so revenue is down, and the answer is only to work more shifts. Why is that always the answer?  The people who do come are more or less the same.  A 14 year-old girl came in with her dad and a couple of sibs with a twisted knee.  I asked, “What happened?” and she replied, “I was Twerking and I slipped.”  Now I had no idea what that meant, so I asked, “What is Twerking, pray tell?”  She said, as would any teener of today, “You can look it up on the internet.”  So I did.  I Googled it, YouTubed it, and came back to the room aghast. It turns out to be pumping your pelvis up and down as if having sex cowboy style, but without a ‘pardner’. I asked her father if he knew what it was, and he allowed that he did.  I asked, “Then why is she not over your knee getting a paddling right this minute?”  He just continued his mouth-breathing, unmoved, and the exam continued. A knee brace and a prescription for contraceptives and she will be right as rain… And I, meanwhile, practice my professional affect control and therapeutic mindful breathing.  Of course our druggies still flock to us, wanting anesthesia for their lives.  Heroin has come back in a big way, and along with it, abscesses from dirty injections into veins and muscles. Almost to a person, they demand that a surgeon and the Operating Room be called for general anesthesia to allow drainage of these abscesses, no matter the hour. “Uh, sorry, that’s not how we do these things.” I sedate them, of course, since they are uncontrollable toddlers trapped in trashed out 30-year old bodies, but I am not calling the OR. Alas, I am not receiving those coveted “5” ratings from that crowd, I am afraid, but I am not as likely to be murdered by a Surgeon, either.  I do have a ‘save’ every now and again, just to remind me why I do this job.  They are few and far between, unlike the TV versions of my life, but they do happen.  As long as saves outnumber kills, I am good to go.

I pause, as always, to note the passing of friends and notables.  Dear friend John Goode, about my same age and stage, died suddenly, leaving Maureen and two kids.  Which should serve to remind us all to live for the present, and cherish each day and each other.  My Aunt Gerry (Sister Geraldine Warthling, OSF), beloved teacher and mentor to many in Buffalo, Columbus, and at St. Leo’s College in Florida, also died unexpectedly, but peaceably, at Stella Niagara. Nelson Mandela was a monument to persistence and non-violence, and Maggie Thatcher at least to persistence. Good riddance to Sylvia Brown, charlatan and swindler, who should have seen it coming. Ageing rockers are dropping like flies—Lou Reed, and Richie Havens among many. I will miss James Gandolfini and Dennis Farina’s tough-guy acts, so long and thanks for all the laughs to Jonathan Winters and Jeanne Stapleton, hasta la vista to Peter O’Toole, Karen Black, Eileen Brennan, and to Annette Funicello, who filled a Mickey Mouse Club sweatshirt like no one before or since. A sad goodbye to the innocents at Sandy Hook, and to the 109 sons and daughters lost so far this year in Afghanistan.

And so we turn from the darkness, lit by the cold glow of our LCD displays, and search for meaning and solace in a world of our making, but not of our control.  I wish you a year of peace and security, though we know the first to be fragile, and the second an illusion. A comforting illusion, but an illusion nevertheless. Seek truth, even when it is painful, shun liars and their seductive appeals to take the easy way out. Make space in your lives for the people who matter, and let them know that they do matter.  Make space also for people who don’t seem to matter, but ought to.  Don’t let fear and anger become the emotions that rule you.  You are better, and we together are better than that.

                  Cheers, best, love and all that.