Browsed by
Tag: curtchristiansen

Parkinson’s Awareness

Parkinson’s Awareness

Comments 8 comments

I fell in the creek.

I had just finished running my best run on the trail near my neighborhood that crosses the Sugarland Run and I hit the stepping stones a little too fast and a little too confident maybe.

I felt myself moving in a bad direction and rather than fight it and risk an awkward fall and a possible injury, I went with it and stepped into the creek and waded across the stream to the other side.

I was close to home so finishing out in my wet running shoes was not an issue.  However, feeling a little silly was and thankfully no one was around to see my misstep.

In the twenty years I have lived by this creek and this trail I had fallen in only one other time before.

And there may have been a beer or two involved in that incident.

And Kim will tell you I have been known to fall off my bike a time or two.

But there may have been Margaritas involved in those incidents, as well as a little loose beach sand.

All of those situations involved a lot of laughter too.

 

Today is World Parkinson’s Awareness Day which kicks off Parkinson’s Awareness Week (April 11 to April 17) which is part of Parkinson’s Awareness Month (April).

Parkinson’s is Parkinson’s Disease.

It was estimated that by 2020 there would be a million people living in the U.S with Parkinson’s and more than ten million worldwide.

In my life, at least two people who I have been close to were diagnosed with Parkinson’s.

My friend Frank, who I wrote about last spring after he contracted Covid and passed away as a result of the virus, had Parkinson’s.  He once told me he realized something was wrong with him when he started having problems landing his airplane.

The other person, whose disease progression I have experienced a little more closely, is my dad.

My dad has Parkinson’s Disease too.

Like my friend Frank, my dad realized something was changing with him when he started having problems doing things that were relatively routine to him.  In my dad’s case, it was riding his bike.  He started falling frequently.

In his case though, there were no Margaritas to blame.

 

According to the Mayo Clinic:

Parkinson’s disease is a progressive nervous system disorder that affects movement.

The Parkinson’s Foundation says not all people are affected the same but these symptoms are common:

  • Tremor
  • Bradykinesia (Slow movement)
  • Limb rigidity
  • Gait and balance problems

 

Though the cause is unknown, and there isn’t a cure, there are some medications that may help.

 

However, in addition to the “motor” impairment, some Parkinson’s symptoms may be unrelated to movement (“non-motor”). People with PD are often more impacted by their non-motor symptoms which can be more troublesome and disabling than motor symptoms. Examples of non-motor symptoms include: apathy, depression, sleep behavior disorders, loss of sense of smell, cognitive impairment, and hallucinations and delusions.

 

 

Many people have become familiar with Parkinson’s Disease because of the actor Michael J. Fox who was diagnosed with young-onset Parkinson’s in 1991 at the age of 29 and became an advocate for Parkinson’s research.

My father’s disease includes less of the tremors commonly associated with Parkinson’s and more of the limb rigidity, gait and balance problems, and slowness in movement.

As a result, he falls a lot.

It’s hard for my dad, who was used to wind sailing, skiing, snowboarding, climbing ladders, was comfortable working and standing on the edge of a roof, and unlike me could skip across stepping stones in a stream.

I didn’t get those genes.

I learned early on that balancing on a surfboard, a skateboard, or a pair of skis were not to be part of my life’s enjoyment.

And now as my dad’s disease progresses, he experiences more of the non-motor symptoms including cognitive impairment and hallucinations.

Though I am not concerned about my recent inability to navigate the rocks across the stream,  I have lost my sense of smell, and that is one of the early non-motor symptoms of PD.

Therefore I am hoping I didn’t get those genes either.

The organization EndingPD.org  has a Facebook page titled Ending Parkinson’s Disease and is currently running a campaign called #Give a Dime, a take-off of the 1930’s March of Dimes program that helped to fund polio research.  In conjunction, they are organizing a “Red Card” campaign that will flood the White House with cards telling the President why you give a dime.

I thought flooding the White House with cards sounded like fun so I sent away for my cards to then send to the President.

 

And I sent another card this week.

It was to my dad.

You see today is not only World Parkinson’s Awareness Day, but coincidentally it’s my dad’s birthday too.

Today my dad turned ninety-two.

So Happy Birthday Pop!

Thanks for helping to make the world a better place all these years and for helping to make the world more aware of Parkinson’s Disease.

 

 

Postscript:

 

If you want more info about Parkinson’s Disease the Parkinson’s Foundation is a great place to start.

I learned about EndingPD.org and the #Give a Dime and the Red Card campaign when a co-worker of mine sent me a video of a young lady named Charlotte who was supporting the cause because her grandfather suffered from the disease.

And should you happen to make a donation or send the President a card, I thank you.

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

Comments 2 comments

Wake Up

 

“Wake up, wake up…we’ve got to move, patrols will be out soon, we’ve got to get back on the Trail.”

It’s Sunday.

This morning we attended church with a small group of Patriots. Services are different now, they are held quietly and secretly in basements by candlelight since all church buildings were destroyed by the early anarchists bent on eliminating Christian-Judaic traditions.

But that was before the Socialists gained power, ushered in by the failure of leaders to control their left after years of isolation, a pandemic, and the collapse of the economy.

Chaos ensued, opportunity knocked, and the North Korean missiles rained down.  Smoke and ash still linger in the air of the cities.  But in the mountains, the trail once known as the Appalachia Trail, now serves Patriots who want to travel north and south, staying away from the cities controlled by the Communists and their socialist natives in servitude.

The once majestic skyline of our Capital lies broken, its white stones darkened by fire and ash. Yet, the  statue of Saunders, the hero of the Socialist uprising, ironically still stands intact on the Mall covered in graffiti in a language once foreign to our country, a reminder of what can happen when a country loses its values.

But in the mountains and the rural areas, there is safety.  The new Government chooses not to worry about those who are too hard to control.  Besides, there are plenty of “comrades” falling in line in the cities, no need to care about folks like us.

We are traveling to Western Pennsylvania.  We have people there and it’s far from the metropolitan areas controlled by the invaders.  There we will have food and shelter.  We will follow the trail north through West Virginia and Maryland and into Pennsylvania, then travel at night on the rural highways west to the Laurel Highlands and safety, and some home cooking since the once-bustling free enterprises of “Eat More…” and “Have it Your…” have been converted into distribution kitchens serving those who serve our captors.  The food, mostly rice brought in from the homeland and provided by the Government since the fields within fifty miles no longer support crops or pasturing of livestock.

It’s a different world now. Once worried about the burning of fossil fuels, instead now we choke in the carbon monoxide tainted air left by missiles, fires, and barren tracks of land that one day were green, taking in the carbon dioxide and providing us oxygen.

I am sad. Sad for myself, sad for my family, sad for those who didn’t see it coming.

For now, though, I must concentrate on putting one foot after the other as I walk the ridges of protruding rocks. We have many more miles to travel.

 

“Wake up honey, wake up, you are going to be late for class!”

“I’m up, I’m up…wow Mom…I was dreaming, I mean I had this really weird dream.

“It was scary.”

“But it’s okay…

I am awake now.”

 

 

According to Masterclass.com:

Flash fiction is a favored genre … for its ability to convey deep truths and universal human emotions in just a few short paragraphs.

Flash fiction is a genre of fiction, defined as a very short story. While there is no set word count that separates flash fiction from more traditional short stories, flash fiction stories can be as short as a few words (while short stories typically run for several pages).

 

I don’t like to write fiction, but it was fun to try for a contest.

But I don’t expect I have conveyed deep truths and human emotions as described above.

 

I would prefer to do that with non-fiction.

 

 

 

It’s Palm Sunday.

The day Jesus entered Jerusalem.

I heard an awesome prayer this morning that moved me.

“You come among us in unexpected ways, whoever heard of a king on a donkey, a savior on a cross.  How do we know it is you?  How should we recognize your presence? Will we see you when you stand among us? Will we hear your voice and understand your message?

 Will we wave palms of enthusiasm today, but drop our arms in confusion tomorrow?”

 

The crowd mentality ensued that day.

Hosanna…” save us” they cried.

But that was quickly forgotten and replaced.

“Crucify Him.”

The prayer I heard this morning went on to question our ability to stand on our own beliefs and not to succumb to what may be the popular opinion.

The opinion of the crowd.

 

I guess it’s not so popular to believe in this story anymore.

This story of Jesus riding on the back of a donkey.

It’s certainly not so popular to yell “Hosanna.”

And it’s not so popular to believe Jesus died to save us.

 

But I believe.

And it’s okay.

I am awake now.

 

 

Post Script:

The photo above popped up on my Google memories or Facebook this week.  It’s from a year when we were still able to welcome the community and particularly the children to our church at Easter. We pray that will change again soon.

That’s me under the bunny head.  I get to play many roles in my job.  Even representing the fictional aspects of this season.

Happy Easter!

 

Silly Hair and Silly Socks

Silly Hair and Silly Socks

Comments 0 Comment

Today, in case you didn’t know it or couldn’t guess, was “Silly Hair Day” at my grandson Christian’s school in Hollywood, Florida.

Wednesday was “Silly Sock Day” at my grandson Cameron’s school in Leesburg, Virginia.

Like Cameron and I making fart noises into our walkie-talkies while sitting on my deck a few years ago, and me wishing I hadn’t missed so much with my kids, I wanted to participate too.

Cameron’s silly socks had tacos on them.  Mine had mugs of beer running (Beer Runs) and gorillas playing golf.

Alexa thought my silly hair looked a little like Cindy-Lou Who.

I guess that was appropriate since we recently recognized the birthday of Dr. Seuss on March 2nd and some of his books were in the news for other reasons.

 

These first couple weeks of March seemed to generate a lot of memories.

Of course, it was March 13, 2020, when our lives shut down with the fear of Covid-19, and the first “Would You Like a Lime With That?” was posted.  It’s funny to read that now since, at the time, the scientists felt that masks weren’t necessary.

That’s changed of course.

On March 3rd in 2018, we celebrated the life of my good friend Joe in New Jersey.  That was the last time I saw many of my good friends from home on the Jersey shore.

 

We have grown used to not seeing the people we love.

Used to it maybe,  but we haven’t grown to like it, it has become an unavoidable way of life.

 

On March 2nd I got one of those memories that pop up on Facebook.  It was a photo of my buddy Jim (Jochems) and me running the Reston Ten Miler in 2014.  That year, after putting on a few pounds during the holidays leading up to the New Year, I vowed to change my lifestyle, elevate my activities and wrote about it in a weekly Happier, Healthier Me blog. 

Jim was kind enough to motivate me to run that race when I didn’t feel I was ready and kept me distracted with ten miles of old Marine stories.

At the time when the photo was posted another friend from New Jersey, Donny Brocklebank thought it funny to compare the image of us in our running tights by posting a link to Youtube Robin Hood: Men in Tights dancing video.

It was funny.

It’s even funnier looking now Donny B, seven years later, because I hate to tell you buddy, I started running again and this almost 65 year old body in tights looks way more gruesome.

Yup, after this Covid winter and having the same kind of experience that led to my 2014 need to increase my activities, I started to run again this week.  I actually had a guy on a bike pass me on the W & OD bike trail on Tuesday who said, “Hey I see you got the Covid hair thing going.”

I don’t know who this guy was or whether he knew me or not but I just laughed and said “yeah, it’s my Covid haircut.”

But it was my Covid belly that was really motivating me.

That, and a documentary I watched called The Courage to Run.

It told the story of Chip Gaines, from the cable show Fixer Upper and his quest to run a marathon.

But that wasn’t the real story.  The real story was about his coach, a young lady named Gabriele Grunewald, a professional runner continued to compete over a ten year period while battling and beating a variety of cancers.

But in the end, the rare cancer that she was diagnosed with in 2009, won the race.  She couldn’t beat that one, and on June 11, 2019, she succumbed to her disease. Through it all, she was very brave.

That hit home to me.

I knew someone too who was very brave and lost his race.

And so, I couldn’t wait to start running again.

 

This week I have run 18 miles and I am feeling really good about it.

My wife even told me I seem less depressed and she is happy to hear my sarcasm has returned.

That’s a big deal because Kim doesn’t like my New Jersey sarcasm normally.

And, I even lost a couple of pounds already.

 

And just like making fart noised into walkie-talkies, it’s okay when you are 5 and 64 and 10 and 64 to share silly hair and silly socks.

Because we don’t care.

 

And now if I could just get my vaccine so I can begin the process of growing unused to seeing those I love.

Then I wouldn’t have to share silly hair and silly socks over video calls.

We could just be silly together.

 

 

Postscript:

If you need some TV time, check out The Courage to Run on the Discovery Plus channel. It’s an amazing story.  And also the Brave Like Gabe Foundation website.

Jim and me, March 2, 2014, the Reston Ten Miler
the finish line and my very slow time
HUMP DAY

HUMP DAY

Comments 0 Comment

THE  WEEKEND.

 

We’ve all had them right?

 

“Hey man, how was your weekend?”

 

“Oh man, it was THE WEEKEND!”

 

“Really? What did you do?”

 

“Man, I don’t even remember, but it was THE WEEKEND!   I tell you what, I can’t take too many more weekends like that!”

 

Ain’t that the truth.

 

After last year’s half time show caused some of us to squirm in the presence of our wives and moms, including me, and had us reaching for the bag of Doritos (“Pass the Doritos Please”), this year’s just created great opportunities to head for the sink and clean up the air fryer after the chicken wings.

Last year, one young writer accused those that felt uncomfortable with the dancing of Shakira and Jennifer Lopez, of being racists.  We were racists for feeling that way.  It had absolutely nothing to do with being a sixteen-year-old boy watching the show with your mom or an old guy like me watching with my wife.

Of course not.

 

This year, however, I will probably be accused of being xenophobic.

 

For this year’s Super Bowl LV halftime show we had The Weeknd (not to be confused with those infamous week-ends discussed earlier.)

And I think it was fitting that the NFL chose “The Weeknd.”

Because in the NFL we have had “The Fridge.”

And in the NFL we have had “The Bus.”

So why not “The Weeknd?”

 

I have to admit I had never heard of the guy.

And hey, I apologize “ ’Nd” because after looking you up, you’ve done alright with big hits and even a being a Grammy Award winner.

But I don’t watch the Grammys and unless you made a cameo appearance on “Maine Cabin Masters” I probably wouldn’t know who you are.

 

But that’s irrelevant because the NFL knew who he was.

Though he is Canadian, he was definitely politically in the right lane, having canceled an appearance on Jimmy Kimmel Live in May of 2016 because a certain guy was present, and he is a large donor to the Black Lives Matter movement as well as Colin Kaepernick’s organization.  And maybe it was a good bone to throw to Justin Trudeau for killing the pipeline.

 

So really, I think he was the best non-American the NFL could find to represent Americans in the now “Reunited States of America.”

He, and Bruce Springsteen in his Jeep of course, representing “The Middle.”

America’s Middle.

No more red, no more blue, only purple in the middle.

(And Bruce, put the top up man, you’re going to catch cold!)

 

Ah, but it’s just a game, with expensive commercials, with a big production in the middle.

It was all in fun and we needed that.

We laughed, we cheered, we ate, we drank maybe, and we cleaned the air fryers.

And when the clock finally ran out, age, wisdom, and experience prevailed and we had “The Winner.”

 

And now thank goodness, it’s Hump Day!

The Middle of the Work Week.

And I don’t know about you but I can’t wait for The Weeknd…I mean the Week-End.

Weekend.

Well, you know what I mean.

 

Have a good weekend.

Blizzard Blend

Blizzard Blend

Comments 1 comment

Today’s little snowstorm brought back some memories of snow events from the past and particularly one from eleven years ago.

 

My 2008 Christmas letter started off with this opening:

 A little while back Hayley told us about a conversation she had with another new, young teacher at her work.  This young lady was telling Hayley about her roommates:

 “You know the kind of roommates I am talking about? Do you have those too?”

 (Hayley) “You mean the kind that are older and married?  Yes, I have those kind of roommates too.”

This year Kim and I got roommates…two of them to be exact. You know the kind that I am talking about as well…..the ones that when they are not working, sleep most of the time, watch TV, leave the lights on all night, make sure their dirty dishes stop at the sink instead of going all the way to the dishwasher; the kind that expect dinner on the table and then don’t come home; want their laundry done…that is if ever makes its way off their bedroom floor.

 Sounds strangely a lot like our kids doesn’t it?  Maybe I should ask for some ID.

 Yeah just kidding…Savannah and Hayley have moved in.  But they are now working adults…well… they are working anyway.

 

 

That year, in another of life’s twists and turns, Kim and I, after a shorter than expected time of being empty nesters, got roommates again.

 

I used to joke back then, that I could no longer make my coffee in the nude, an image that even I find vile and revolting today.

 

President Barack Obama dubbed the blizzard of February 5th and 6th 2010 “Snowmaggedon.”  The official snow total for Dulles Airport was the greatest ever recorded, 32.4 inches.

 

As luck would have it, Kim and I still had our roommates that snowy weekend.

 

We had been given a winemaking kit sometime before that and it just so happened that the batch of wine we had made in our little plastic container was ready for bottling on that weekend.  And since we were all nicely trapped together in the house, it was fun to have something we could all do together.

 

In the end, we blended our homemade merlot with a little cabernet sauvignon we had in the house, officially christened our new family winery the “Little Chickens Winery” even though we were short one little chicken, and called our new wine the “Blizzard Blend” in honor of the “Snowmaggedon.”

 

I don’t think we would have won any awards with our “Blizzard Blend” but it was drinkable.

There are still a couple of bottles in circulation, (like the one pictured above) but I think I would rather just look at it than drink it after eleven years.

 

Since we haven’t had much snow around here the last couple of years, any call for snow gets the “Snowmaggedon” treatment by the media. It’s been a nice little snow event, with not much stress, and required just a little shoveling.  Kim and I went for a 4.5-mile walk down along the trails and it was really pretty to walk through.

 

And for just a brief moment this morning as I reflected on the snow and the memory of bottling our wine that snowy February weekend in 2010, I even missed having our roommates just a little.

 

For just a very brief moment.

And just a little.

 

A Void

A Void

Comments 0 Comment

I hadn’t planned on writing anything today.

In fact, I was hoping to avoid it.

Of course the first thing that pops up in the morning, not that I needed it, was the reminder from Facebook.

Then the nice back and forth texts from the siblings “Thinking of all of you today” and the phone calls, “how are you doing today?”

 

Kim still describes her grief after Donny as like having a bowling ball shot through the chest.

There’s  a hole there now, a big one.

The size of bowling ball.

A void.

 

But life doesn’t stop does it?

And that may seem cruel sometimes.

There is no  “Hey, wait a minute, I’m grieving here!  Before you just move on and forget, let’s think about how I am feeling!”

Nah, there’s none of that.

Because life needs to go on, right?

There are others that need to experience their sadness, and maybe I need to experience more.

There are others that need to experience their joys, and maybe I need to realize some of my joys too.

But life doesn’t wait for us to say “okay, I’m ready now, you can proceed, let’s get on with it, I got this.”

 

So I guess the reality is, as much as I might try to…

I can’t avoid the void.

 

But in my sadness and still disbelief, and in spite of the void, I can’t forget what is really important.  I can’t forget all those happy times, the words of encouragement, the support, and maybe most important thing, his example.

I can’t complain, nope I can’t dwell on the negative.

Because as I have said before,  he wouldn’t want that.

 

 

So Happy Birthday to my “Cancer Brother.”

Happy Birthday, Carl.

And like your shirt says, you were very brave.

Brave and so, so much more.

And that is why today, instead of trying to avoid it, I need to celebrate.

So, you would be very proud to know, that for us to celebrate,  I spent more than five bucks on the bottle of wine I plan to open later.

And, I may even drink mine out of a jelly glass.

 

Postscript:

Void, a noun*

  • An opening, a gap, and empty space
  • A feeling of want or hollowness
  • The quality of being without something

 

Or maybe…someone.

 

*Merriam-Webster.com

Tohubohu

Tohubohu

Comments 3 comments

The whole point of protesting is to make ppl uncomfortable.

Activists take that discomfort w/ the status quo & advocate for concrete policy changes.  Popular support often starts small & grows.

To folks who complain protest demands make others uncomfortable …that is the point.

(Tweeted December 2, 2020)

 

 

I have decided it’s time.

I am coming out.

I am old enough to face the reality.

And besides, Kim’s okay with it.

I am not sure my kids will approve but they will have to live with it.

It’s time.

 

My word of the day emailed to me today was tohubohu.

(pronounced toh-hoo-BOH-hoo)

A noun of Hebrew origin that means a state of chaos, utter confusion.

 

In 1967 Abbie Hoffman along with Jerry Rubin and a few others established the Youth International Party. Its members were referred to as Yippies, not to be confused with Hippies, who were often leveraged for the cause. Hoffman and Rubin and others assisted with the organization and implementation of the 1967 anti-Vietnam War protest that breached the Pentagon and resulted in many injuries and arrests.  Their organized activities at the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago resulted in violent protests with many injured and arrested.  Their trial that resulted became infamous as the Chicago Eight.

As I became a teenager I identified more with the liberal causes of the day.  At the time I was reading Eldridge Cleaver’s Soul on Ice and Jerry Rubin’s DO IT: Scenarios of the Revolution.   In 1971 Abbie Hoffman released his book titled Steal This Book, which was basically a “how to” instruction guide on fighting the establishment, living freely off of society, and surviving on the street.  It even gave explicit instructions on how to organize protests and make Molotov Cocktails and pipe bombs.

I turned 15 in 1971.

Not surprising, however, the extent of my radicalization was brief because when it came right down to it, for me just having fun, girls, the beach, and music seemed so much more important than “the Revolution.”

I remember around this time, I think it was the May Day protest against the Vietnam War in May of 1971,  one of our friends came over to our house to get my brother Carl to begin their trip to Washington, D.C. to participate in the protest. The only problem was my mother got wind of what was going on and literally chased the kid out of our yard and partway down the street yelling at him all the way, calling him a communist, and basically telling him he was not going to involve her son in any communist activities.

I thought the sight of that was funny then, and maybe more funny now as I think back.

But I guess it just reinforced the fact that having fun, girls, the beach, and music was a way more productive way to spend my teenage years.  And besides, my mother was not having any communists at the dinner table.

According to the Washington Post the May Day: Demonstrators — hailing from a wide variety of social justice causes — armed themselves with anything they could find: trash, tree limbs, bottles, bricks, tires. They used the materials to form barricades across heavily trafficked sites in the District, stared into the faces of waiting police officers and prepared for a day of conflict

Seven thousand people were arrested that day, the largest mass arrest in US history.

The Weather Underground Organization (WUO), commonly known as the Weather Underground, or the Weathermen was a radical left militant organization active in the late 1960s and 1970s. The WUO organized in 1969 as a faction of Students for a Democratic Society.  In the 1970s the WUO conducted a bombing campaign that included the Capitol, the Pentagon, and the US State Department building.

I guess my point is as we ended 2020 and begin 2021, both as a tohubohu, what we witnessed last summer and last week were no doubt organized and perpetrated by homegrown terror organizations just like it has been for the last fifty or so years.  And sure, some regular folk got caught up in the moment and as a result, are guilty as charged but that is what these organizers target and expect.

And I agree, some, probably some of those regular folk, were motivated by the words of our leaders on the ground as well.

I am certainly not condoning or excusing, but our government buildings have been attacked and breached before, this is not unprecedented.

They stole the book.

I expect it will be attempted again, because like the tweet above says about protest, making people uncomfortable is the point.

But sadly, violence is too often the result.

 

Okay, it’s time.

It’s time for me to say it.

It’s time for me to admit that I have changed over the years.

It’s time for me to admit, that…

I…

Am a Republican.

A conservative Republican.

There I said it.

It’s out in the open now.

I don’t have to hide it.

 

And just for clarification…

I am not a racist.

I am not deplorable (at least I don’t think so, somebody correct me on that one if necessary).

I believe in the First Amendment and that it is for everyone.

I am a practicing Christian and believe in the right to worship whatever your faith.

I believe in the right for citizens to possess firearms.

I don’t believe in abortion, and I don’t understand how anyone who has held their infant child or grandchild can muster a good argument to defend it.

Yup, that’s it, I am a Republican.

 

So, I’m out.

 

Recently I was in an area of the church that I work in, an area that in normal times is occupied by the pre-school we have at the church, Kids Under Construction.  That part of the church is literally frozen in time with the handmade calendars on the wall with St. Patrick’s Day themes for the month of March, 2020,  the last time I saw kids in the church.  On a shelf on the wall, in between two 3-year-old classrooms, were these signs.  Signs for the kids that were pre-pandemic but so appropriate for our current situation:

And then above the two signs, there were these taped to the cinder block wall.

“In this classroom.”

“We create.”

“We celebrate each other’s success.”

“We are a team.”

“We respect each other.”

“We try our best.”

“We learn from our mistakes.”

I think if three-year-olds can learn that, I’ll bet those of us over the age of three can learn that too.

I’m in….

 

Postscript:

The tweet above was one tweeted by @AOC on December 2, 2020.

The photo above is of my communist hating mother and me, taken on Saturday, January 9th (which by the way would have been Donny’s 34th birthday) as we (my mother, my father, and me) quietly celebrated her 87th birthday!  Her actual birthday was yesterday.

And trust me, she will still chase you down the street.

Lift Me Up

Lift Me Up

Comments 3 comments

If you lift me up,

Just get me through this night

I know I’ll rest tomorrow,

And I’ll be strong enough to try…

(From Lift Me Up by Christina Aguilera)

 

 

Have you ever looked at your kids and had this conversation with yourself:

“yeah look at them over there laughing and having fun…I’m glad they’re all happy…that’s my boat or cabin in the mountains standing over there all happy with themselves…when’s it going to be my turn?…

 

Oh, you say you never had that kind of conversation with yourself?

 

Yeah of course not, I mean I never have either, I was just saying…

 

You know…kidding around.

 

Say…how about those Nats?

 

 

One of my kids gave me a tee shirt this past year, I think Savannah, that says on the front “You Can’t Scare Me, I Have Three Daughters.”

Actually, I was wearing that shirt in a photo from a previous post.

 

Three daughters.

That pretty much makes me qualified to face just about anything life can throw at me.

 

And life sure threw a lot at us this year.

It’s been a tough year.

But like the song says if we can just get through this night, the year that was will be behind us.

And a new year will be upon us.

A Happy New Year I hope.

We’ll have a day to rest, then we will try it all again.

 

Although I was having a little fun picking on my kids, I once wrote in a post titled My Three Little Chickens:

The truth is my daughters have taken their share of lumps in life but they continue to rise up.

They have had some life experiences probably shared by many daughters.

And then they have had some I hope no child ever has to go through…

Yet they are resilient.

 

They are resilient.

 

A lot has happened in the world this past year.

A lot has happened in the lives of my family and Kim’s family.

A lot has happened in the lives of my friends and their families.

And I am sure in your lives as well.

 

But for me, there is something that is good, something that brings me some peace.

My girls.

Because for the first time since I can remember, I will close my eyes on this New Year’s Eve knowing that all my girls are in a good place.

And that makes me happy.

 

But now I am getting tired.

The champagne is starting to kick in.

I fear I will usher in the New Year in my dreams.

 

Lord, get through this night.

And when I wake up I pray that everything will be all right .

 

And when those times come in the new year when I realize that it’s not.

That it is as it will be.

I am counting on You.

To lift me up.

 

After all that we’ve been through lately

We can be the same again

Lord lift me up, lord lift me up

(from another song titled Lift Me Up by Joe Scarborough and the Independent Counsel of Funk)

 

Postscript:

The photo above is from some years ago, but one of my favorite photos with my daughters.

I hope you find your New Year happy and healthy!

And thanks for letting me share.

I’ll Have a Zoom Christmas, Without You

I’ll Have a Zoom Christmas, Without You

Comments 4 comments

The 2020 Christmas Letter

 

Have yourself a merry Covid Christmas
May your masks be bright…
From now on your smiles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry Covid Christmas

Begin the Yuletide fray
Because now on your family will be miles away

 Just last year in our olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who were dear to us
Gather near to us no more

Come next year we all will be together
If the States allow
Hang my Christmas card it’s all I’ve got for now
So have yourself a merry Covid Christmas

How?

 

How?

You may be asking yourself that same question.

I actually considered skipping this letter again this year.

I had already written so much about this year in the life of my family I thought how much more sad news can you folks take?

How do you be “merry” in 2020?

 

I tried some of the usual things to generate “merry.”

I went out and bought a new Christmas tree.

“And don’t be cheap” was my only instruction.

So I got one with lights already on it and a remote control!

And though it wasn’t cheap, I did get a discount because it was the floor model.

Then I got a “smart plug” and now all I need to do to turn the Christmas tree lights on is say,

“Alexa…turn on the Christmas Tree.”

 

But none of that seemed to do it.

 

So then I thought I would go back and read the last fifteen years’ worth of Christmas letters including the 2018 non letter year blog post, hoping to find some inspiration and “merry” in those.  But I came away from that even more depressed and convinced that every year was a struggle with the hope that the New Year would bring something different, only to repeat the cycle the next year.

 

Then I listened a second time to an online Sermon from the first Sunday in Advent and that was a little more promising so I decided to “Google” Advent to learn more and I found this from a Western Kentucky University website:

While it is difficult to keep in mind in the midst of holiday celebrations, shopping, lights and decorations, and joyful carols, Advent is intended to be a season of fasting, much like Lent, and there are a variety of ways that this time of mourning works itself out in the season. Reflection on the violence and evil in the world causes us to cry out to God to make things right—to put death’s dark shadows to flight. Our exile in the present makes us look forward to our future Exodus. And our own sinfulness and need for grace lead us to pray for the Holy Spirit to renew his work in conforming us into the image of Christ.

Hmmm, I thought…

“Violence and evil?”

“Death’s dark shadow?”

“Our exile in the present?”

That was just what I didn’t need to be reminded of and certainly didn’t evoke any “merry.”

 

So I thought about music.  Music always makes me feel better. So I put on my Lowen and Navarro Christmas CD. That was good.  But then I found my favorite Christmas album of all time, That Christmas Feeling by Glen Campbell released in 1968.  My dad had this album when I was a kid.

Now I was getting warm.

 

Even though the Supreme Court ruled against prayer in public schools in 1962, when I was in “grammar school” growing up in New Jersey we were still allowed to perform a Christmas pageant each year acting out the story from the Bible of the birth of Jesus.  The pageant was narrated by two readers, typically a boy and girl.

In 1969 when I was in the eighth grade I stepped out of my comfort zone and volunteered to be one of the narrators.  To my disappointment however another guy had already asked to be the narrator.

My “shop” teacher was one of the teachers in charge of the pageant and he was my favorite teacher.   After some consideration it was decided that the contrast in our voices (mine was much lower) would work and so I was able to be one of the narrators and read the story of the birth of Jesus.  The story from Luke Chapter 2:

“And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.”

And, in true “Life in the Wobbly Cart” fashion, I caught a bad cold that week and so the narration included me coughing and sniffing into the microphone as I read my part. It wasn’t pretty.

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.”

And even now as sit on my couch writing, I look out my window to see my second Christmas tree, the one I set up outside on my deck in another attempt to find “merry,” bent and broken, the star hanging limply upside down, most of the lights not working but there is one random bulb flickering incessantly; damaged from being blown over by the wind.  Another reminder of just how “normal” my life still is.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

But then it occurred to me.

In this year of everyone’s world being turned upside down due to a virus; a year that started off with the loss of our pastor, Steve; a year that I lost my old friend Frank to the virus; a year when my brother Carl lost his battle with cancer and we lost Kim’s dad; heck we even lost our cat… I was still looking for “merry.”

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

When all along, maybe I should have been looking for “Mary.”

“So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger.”

And…Jesus.

 

“Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”

 

And in recognizing a brighter meaning of Advent, one of expectation and what was and is to come, maybe I had found my “merry.”

I hope you do too.

 

Kim and I hope you and your families have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

 

Kim and Curt

 

Postscript:

Our prayers go out to all those who continue to struggle in health or well-being due to Covid 19, as well as those battling other conditions; and also to those of you, who like us, lost family members and friends.

Kim and I would like to thank everyone for all the thoughts and prayers, and cards, and the general thoughtfulness provided to us and both our families this year.

Finally, from that Lowen and Navarro CD and the Meaning of Christmas:

So open your heart and let us give cheer, and try to remember the meaning of Christmas each day of the year.

PPS:

On December 9 after finishing and publishing this year’s letter I learned of the loss of another old friend, Joe Centanni, resulting from complications of the virus.  I have many happy memories of good times with a guy who, like my brother, would have given you the proverbial shirt.  Our prayers go out to Linda and the kids and the rest of the family.

Dear Mr. Fantasy…

Dear Mr. Fantasy…

Comments 4 comments

Dear Mister Fantasy play us a tune
Something to make us all happy
Do anything take us out of this gloom
Sing a song, play guitar
Make it snappy

This week’s nagging song in my head has been Dear Mr. Fantasy, a song from their 1967 album “Mr. Fantasy” by the band Traffic.

I read that Jim Capaldi, the drummer in the band wrote the lyrics to the song one early morning while he was coming down off of LSD.

It seems appropriate in this year of uncertainty to lean on this season of fantasy, with our Mr. Fantasy being Santa Claus with his reindeer and such, to look for something to make us all happy.

Something, anything to take us out of this gloom.

 

Kim and I spent Thanksgiving with my parents.

I recently found the Word file that was our 2012 Christmas letter.  I remember I called my mother and father from a landline I had in my office and recorded these conversations on my cell phone while I talked to them over the speakerphone.

This was my dad speaking:

We were poor then. Times were hard. My father and I used to pick up coal from the railroad bed near our house; we had a coal stove then.  Sometimes we would go down to the beach in Sea Bright or Monmouth Beach and wait for the pound fisherman to come in to the beach.  The pound fishermen would pull in their nets and fill their boats with fish, then ride the surf in to the beach where a team of horses would pull the boats up.  The fishermen would throw us fish they didn’t want and we would bring them home in buckets.  And in the winter the ice fish, the cod fish, would freeze in the waves and land on the where we would pick them up.

We had a Christmas tree…..dinner would be lutefisk (dried cod fish), fiskebollers (Norwegian fish balls) and pickled herring.  My mother would make pies and root beer, and I would put the caps on. 

We would go down to the church in North Long Branch where my mother and father would go every Sunday. My father helped build that church.  It was mostly Scandinavian fishermen from Monmouth Beach and Sea Bright.  They didn’t have Sunday school and they only spoke Norwegian so as kids we didn’t go much at other times of the year.  But on Christmas, there would be chairs lined up on each side of the room.  They had a coal stove and a Christmas tree was in the center of the room and we would march around the Christmas tree and sing songs, which was the Norwegian tradition.  The whole family would get an orange and a box of hard Christmas candy to take home, that was great……

I remember one Christmas I wanted and got a wagon, the kind of wagon that had sides on it that I could take off like a farmer’s truck.  But I guess I did something bad and my father took it away from me.

A big thing for us on Christmas morning was the fire truck; we would all go outside and wait for the fire truck to come. When I saw it   I would leap the hedge.  We would get a box of hard candy and an apple and see Santa Claus…. this was in the thirties, I was born in 1929. (Carl E. Christiansen)

And this was a paragraph from the letter with a story my mom told:

When my mother was a child, her bed was actually in the dining room of their house separated from the living room only by a curtain.  One of the most important parts of Christmas for my mother has always been the Christmas tree.  You see when my grandparents put her to bed in the dining room every Christmas Eve there was no tree up in the living room.  But when she awoke on Christmas morning there was always a beautiful Christmas tree decorated in the living room, put up while she slept soundly in the next room behind the curtain.  One year when times were tough, my grandfather tried to slip in an Arborvitae tree instead (more like a cypress tree than a Christmas tree) that he had cut down on the property.  When my mother woke up she freaked out.  Now, I have seen my mother freak out a couple of times in my life and I can assure you my grandfather never tried to pull that one again.  When I spoke with my dad the other evening he said my mother had five Christmas trees set up in the house and outside.  I apologized to him because I think my wife gave her three of them.  But it’s nice to know my mom still likes her Christmas trees.

 

This Thanksgiving weekend we revisited some of those stories from Christmases past as we sat around the table.  The memories and the words to describe them don’t come as easy as they did in 2012 which is sad because months after I recorded that conversation, I upgraded my cell phone.  The T-Mobile guy did the transfer of my data to my new phone, looked at me and asked “you want to check it before I delete everything?”

“No, I’m good, I trust you,” I told him.

The day I went back to find that audio file and realized it was gone, I was really sad.

Though my mom still loves her Christmas trees, she is keeping them all in the attic this year, with fewer things for my dad to have to navigate around.

But Kim and I plan to put up our tree today, decorate, and take advantage of a little of the fantasy of season in a year that might seem like Mr. Capaldi’s bad acid trip.

And of course, remember the real meaning of the season.

And I wouldn’t suggest you “prosclaiming the Palmist” to find the prophecy of the coming of Jesus, though you will find references in Psalms, better to look to Isaiah:

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel. (Isaiah 7:14)

 

And now I am off to find a Christmas tree!