Solstice 2022

Dear Ones:


—“One woe doth tread upon another’s heel.  So fast they follow.”

    We have staggered again through the dwindling of the light, to the very day of the start of the sun’s return. I must, again, quote the Bard, while marking the passage of this year, so dust off your yellowed Cliff Notes, and follow along with the Prince of Denmark. In usual fashion, recency perception bias demands addressing most recent events as if only they matter.  So we are glad to see the passing of the midterm election season, with results unexpected, but not inconceivable.  The volume of junk email, full of breathless demands for money, to stem the bleeding, stop the steal, protect my 2nd Amendment rights, to replace Louis DeJoy, defeat the MAGA right and ‘own’ the Woke left, has dropped by half.  The clutter of street corner signs has fallen back to bandit adverts for roof cleaning and the like.  And we get to bask in the brief calm before the logjam to come in January.

—“I must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words.”

    I don’t remember THAT one in my high school reading of Hamlet. It is in there, withal…But we can recall a few stalwarts among the MAGA select, who kept the fervor alive.  Who can forget Kari Lake, and her star turn as Cleopatra, Queen of DeNial?  (“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”) And I am sure you tuned in Tuesday night Prime-Time, to the first thrilling episode of 'Walker, Texas Loser'.  I am still trying to figure out the bull story. ‘Real Housewives of New Jersey’, starring Dr. Oz, was a flop, though. Like limp crudités, alas.  The awards ceremony for Anti-Semite of the Year went to an African American for the first time, in the person of the DAMF formerly known as Kanye, while the White Supremacist of the Year, controversially, went to a Hispanic person, DAMF still known as Nick Fuentes. Somebody get that guy a mirror. Ass-kisser of the year was not even a close contest, as Kevin McCarthy accepted the award for himself, and then gushed overtime, reading the names of everyone he had to thank. (“So full of artless jealousy is guilt, it spills itself, fearing to be spilt.”)

—“Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.”

    In the waning days of the 117th Congress, we have received the Executive Summary of the January 6th Committee, which in two years assembled the evidence of our eyes, and a lot of evidence hidden from our eyes. They have recommended criminal prosecution of DJT and several of his collaborators.  In the interim, almost a thousand foot soldiers have been charged, and half of these have been tried, and mostly convicted, but none of the generals of the insurrection have yet been charged.  That may change soon, as steely-eyed bad-ass scary-looking Jack Smith has put the spurs to the DOJ.  I expect to hear the ‘ping’ of that first hailstone hitting the tin roof any time now.  Now that the famous DOJ ‘radio silence’ around the election has ended, and assuming they ‘follow the facts, and follow the law,’ the indictments should begin to drop any day. Then begins the real drama. (“The Play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King”)

—“Oh Shame,  where is thy blush?”

    Now I am sure you all rushed out to secure you place in history, by purchasing, at $99, your limited edition DJT signature NFTs.  These feature ’45’ in various poses, as the New Sheriff in Town in a white duster, as a Top-Gun Pilot, as a Super Hero with laser eyes diverging out as if he has amblyopia, as a Prize-Fighter, as a Hunter, as a Football Coach, and as a Golfer, blasting himself out of a sand trap.(Saudi-Arabia, perhaps?)  These featured images were shamelessly stolen from clothing ads and comics, and then subjected to some of the worst photo-shopping efforts ever.  Only the best people…What?? Didn’t get yours?  Too bad, so sad, because they sold out, and netted him $4.5 million.  Two thumbs up for the previously scammed, who bit again.  'NFT' turns out to stand for Nitwits For Trump. And ’45, in his Duster, is 'The High Plains Grifter'.

—“’Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn, and Hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.”

    So the upcoming Congress proposes to read the Constitution into the Congressional Record word for word.  Then, at least, ONE of them will have read it, and if reading aloud to your kids is good, maybe reading aloud to your Representative is even better.  Then they will get down to god’s work by investigating Fauci for launching the ‘China virus’. They also wish to play tit for tat impeachment tag.  They plan to investigate Twitter and suppression of free speech by corporations.  They plan to prove what we already know, that Hunter Biden did remarkably well for a crack-head.  They mean to strangle funding for Ukraine.  But as to the actual problems that confront us, we have no word from them.  I actually cling to a slim hope, that some members of the caucus will awaken from this fever-dream, find their misplaced moral compasses, and divide along actual Republican vs. MAGA lines, at least from time to time, to get some things accomplished. Silly Rabbit… Wait, what about Benghazi, what about her emails?

—“I must be cruel only to be kind. Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.”

    As for the rest of our world, we have spent the first year of my retirement doing shockingly little.  We did finally do the Alaska by boat trip, deferred last year by the Covid restrictions.  We spent 11 weeks aboard “Tortuga”, our Grand Banks 49 Trawler, heading through Canada via the Inside Passage, stopping here and there each evening, and hunkering down occasionally for weather windows. We arrived at Ketchikan in about two weeks, and spent a few days restocking and refueling.  We then embarked upon a great circle exploration of Southeast Alaska.  We visited Petersberg, Wrangell, Juneau, Tracy and Endicott Arms, Ford’s Terror, and thence to Hoonah, and Glacier Bay National Park.  Once the park rangers granted our week’s pass after only two days of waiting, we went everywhere one can go in the park, seeing shrinking, calving glaciers, tons of otters, whales, seals, bears, and innumerable species of birds. All throughout the trip,  we navigated through ice bergs, fog, floating logs, kelp beds, rocky shoals, obliviot boaters, commercial fishing nets, strong currents and rapids, some stout waves, and a few days of serious wind. After a return to Hoonah, we navigated Peril Straights to Sitka, and hung out there for several days.  I really like Sitka.  I had a battery die, and had to suss out which.  It was of course the largest and deepest buried one.  I offered a couple of commercial fishermen on the dock some money to help me hoss this 130# lead-and-acid brick out of my basement, and replace it with a new one.  They said, “Sure!”, and the job was done in 40 minutes.  I produced the money, and they laughed and said, “No, thanks.  This is Sitka.  It is just what we do.”  Wouldn’t even let me buy them a beer.  They renewed my faith in humanity.  We departed Sitka, back through Peril, then went south through Rocky Pass, back to Ketchikan, and then returned through Canada again.   Boats are, in general, tougher than the people inside, and this was no exception. But we survived.  C’s initial fears resolved over the opening couple of weeks, and we settled into a steady daily routine.  I drive. You knit.  I fix things that break.  Anchor, eat, sleep, repeat.  One unfortunate effect of boating Alaska is that everything else seems small and dull by comparison.  We may go back, and take our time a bit more, hang longer at nice anchorages.  We hope to have family and friends join us for legs along the way, so we can share this view of that amazing world.  I am game.  We shall see…

—“If your mind dislike anything, obey it!”

    Mom is hanging in, still in her own place in Buffalo, and still sharp at 92. A covey of wonderful helpers have allowed her to maintain some independence. Sibs are all alive and well.
    C. continues to knit, mostly.  She has progressed through a ‘Master Knitter Level I’ course and onward, doing ever more complex things.  This kept her (for the most part) out of trouble in Alaska. Since our return, she has embraced the Scientific Method, making Sourdough bread by the exhortations of YouTube gurus.  We’ve had some good bread, for sure.  She vacillates a bit between next steps for world travel.  We have agreed there is no point in moving at this time, and that we will downsize from our current house someday.  We would definitely consider a 3-6 month house swap somewhere interesting, in case anyone knows of a possibility.  But we do mean to engage in some bucket list travel, once the boating phase is over.
    M. continues her yoga and mindful family-rearing in Columbus, OH, with E., a Net Jets exec, and children.  J. is now about to graduate and depart for college, though which one, exactly, remains a mystery.  L. is a Sophomore in high school and learning to drive.  Their adorable boxer Dusty continues the long boxer tradition among us all.
    N., in San Diego,  has taken a management position at his work, and changed location, reducing his commute to nearly nothing, so things are good with him.  His adorable boxer Mickey continues to be his steadfast companion. We have had a couple of visits with him this year.
    H. finished her MD at Mayo in Phoenix, and has begun residency in Emergency Medicine at Ohio State University in Columbus, OH.  Residency sucks, a fact I tried to convey, but in vain.  Fortunately M. and crew all live nearby, providing some needed family solace and support.  H's boyfriend Max, and her rescue dog Tails have also joined her out there, so all is not terrible.  Just work…
    E.  is doing technical editing and writing in DC, working remotely.  He is doing well, working out on climbing walls and his rowing ergometer.  He has had several pieces published this year, and is working on a novel of real imagination.  He graciously accepts a daily call from Mom, haranguing him to finish it.
    
—“When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in Battalions.”

    I have pretty much told my tale above.  I am glad to have missed this past year of impossible demands on our overburdened and broken health care system.  I am sorry all this befell my colleagues, who I miss very much.  I am not a Covid virgin any longer, (we both, actually) after 3 years of artful-dodgery, and every possible vaccine and booster.  It seemed just a cold to me, but my test sure lit up instantly, leaving no doubt.  It did not make me lose my taste or smell, nor cause any weight loss, I can tell you.  I ate my way right through it.  C is taking it a little harder, but is recovering well.  The one benefit of retirement is sleep.  I am a life long 6-7 hour guy, I thought by genetic programming, but really by work demand, as it has become apparent.  I now do 8-10 hours a night, and am good for an afternoon nappy-nap many days. (“To die, to sleep, perchance to dream.  Ay, there’s the rub.”)  I don’t understand how people older than myself have the energy to rule the world.  I cannot imagine a second career at this point.  I have kept Medical and Law licenses active for the moment, in cases the feces hit the fan, but my eye problems make work unlikely.  I just can’t see working.

—“death, the undiscovere’d country, from whose bourn no traveller returns.”

    I pause, as every year, to note the passing of some notables from our midst.  At my age, I begin to regret the fact that were I to write this letter from the beyond, I would not make the list.  (Alas, poor Yorick!  I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.) Actors aplenty have bowed out, including Sidney Poitier, Ray Liotta, James Caan, William Hurt, Tony Dow (Aww, Wally!), Angela Lansbury, Anne Heche, Robbie Coltrane (Not Hagrid!), Hot Lips Sally Kellerman, Kirstie Alley, Nichelle Nichols, Louise Fletcher (Nurse Ratched), and Robert Clary (Cpl. LeBeau of Hogan’s Heroes).  Rock Stars et al. include Don Wilson (Ventures), Ronnie Spector (Ronettes), Dick Halligan of BS&T, Loretta Lynn, Olivia Newton-John, Meat Loaf, Naomi Judd, and Vangelis. We lost a mess of rappers, two (Coolio and DJ Kay Slay) by natural causes. The rest were shot.  Comedians who had the last laugh include Gilbert Gottfried, Bob Saget, Louis Anderson, Leslie Jordan, and Gallagher.  Sportin’ lifers include hockey greats Mike Bossy, Jean Potvin, Clark Gillies and Guy LeFleur. Baseballers included Maury Wills, Bruce Sutter, and Gaylord Perry. Hoopers Bill Russell, and Bob Lanier have checked out. Gridiron greats included Daryle Lamonica and Len Dawson and Franco Harris. Golfer Tom Weiskopf rounds out the short list. Writers, journalists and cartoonists include Hillary Mantel, Bernard Shaw, Ann Garrels, Roger Angell, Vin Scully, and George Booth. Pols et al. include Ken Starr, Madeleine Albright, Orrin Hatch, and of course, QE II. The Queen is dead.  Long live the King.  Or something.
    
—“Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; take each man’s censure, but reserve thy Judgment.”

    And so, ye stalwarts who have marched this far in my winter’s tale, hold fast.  We are beginning to see the return to life of our near-dead republic, feel the strengthening pulse and purposeful movements.  Rejoice, but be on guard against further efforts to slip poison into the water, or a knife between the ribs. Quoth Hamlet, “There’s Daggers in men’s smiles.” I continue to hold out hope that this Republic will survive, and that the right things will happen. Slowly perhaps, and haltingly, without one single direction, but I continue to hold out belief and hope in the better angels of our nature, in our collective sense of right and wrong.  In the meantime, our planet will nod again to our star, the days will grow longer in our half, and energy and purpose will supplant our winter doldrums.  I hope a drear year will give rise to a better one, for all of you, and all of us together.  I hope next year we have more to laugh about.  Be well, and I hope to be in touch one day soon.

— If “Brevity is the soul of wit.”  (this letter be not it.) “But this too, shall pass.”

                                        Cheers, best, and all the rest