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Blizzard Blend

Blizzard Blend

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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…

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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!

We Belong Together

We Belong Together

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I mailed a package through the USPS on Monday morning November 9.  It was going to an address in Somerset County Pennsylvania.  Nothing unusual, just a small box I mailed Priority Mail.

According to the tracking provided by the USPS, my package departed the Herndon Post Office at 1:56 PM on the day I mailed it.  At 8:54 PM on November 10 it arrived at the USPS Regional Facility called the Memphis TN Network Distribution Center, a distance of about 875 miles from Herndon.

At 9:17 PM on that same day, it departed the Memphis TN Network Distribution Center on its way to the Memphis TN Distribution Center Annex, which from what I could determine from the internet, is a building next to the Memphis TN Network Distribution Center.

At 5:23 PM on November 16 it arrived.

It took six days for my package to go from one building to the other on the same property.

On November 17 my tracking information informed me that my package would be arriving later than expected. No kidding, that was comforting.

On November 18 my tracking information indicated it was “In Transit to the next Facility.”

At this point, I printed all this out and made a visit to the Herndon Post Office to see what they had to say about the whereabouts of my package.  The nice lady at the post office confirmed it was somewhere but gave me a phone number of the facility in Memphis to see if they had any idea where my package was.

I called and was told the lady who does their tracking had gone home for the day, (she leaves at 12:30 PM) and could I call back tomorrow?

Before calling in the morning I checked my tracking again and was informed my package was finally out on delivery.

At 10:27 PM on the evening of November 18, it had arrived at the facility in Warrendale, Pennsylvania just outside of Pittsburgh, 780 miles from Memphis and the next day, arrived at the post office in Rockwood PA for delivery.

Ten days after I mailed it.

I haven’t paid too much attention to the status of the election but I understand there are accusations of voter fraud and such and so it is still getting sorted out.  I might suggest to President Trump he go look for some votes at that Memphis Network Distribution Center.

But though I think arguing that there was no voter fraud in this election would be like arguing the fact that there isn’t any organized crime in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Detroit, and Nevada; maybe the Pennsylvania folks in charge of creating their election rules knew something about how long it takes for mail to get to Pennsylvania.

 

I have said before, I write when I cry and I cry when I write.

Today is one of those days.

This week has been one of those weeks.

And I always feel sorry for my wife because I am not one who sheds tears gracefully.

No, it’s ugly.

I snort and jerk and make funny noises and my face gets all contorted.

And for some reason, this morning was my time to snort and contort.

 

Fear.

Once again this year we are living in fearful times and it’s sad.

And this sadness seemed to grip me starting on Friday.

Dan Navarro had a post on Facebook about his song “We Belong,” so of course, I had to relive those words.

Then Saturday a trip to Sam’s Club finding the toilet paper and paper towel aisle bare, proof that fear was taking hold once again.

And due to our need to be concerned about visiting our aging parents, especially now that Kim’s mom is in Northern Virginia, we had to disappoint Cameron by not attending church with him and passing on a trip to Top Golf which I thought was too risky.

But this morning the image of dancing with Alexa at her wedding, the wedding I hadn’t planned to attend, but I surprised her by hopping on a plane the evening before and hunkered down in Boca while I waited to surprise her in Fort Lauderdale, really was the spike in the heart.

I couldn’t make that spontaneous trip now.

Because of fear.

And that image brought back the reminder that Kim and I haven’t seen those kids in eleven months, not since last Christmas, and that they were scheduled to come up to Virginia for Thanksgiving but had to cancel.

Because of fear.

Then while I had myself really down for the count I saw my sister-in-law, Carl’s wife’s post about how she couldn’t sleep last night, which I could only imagine would be every night for me.

And seeing my neighbors putting up Christmas lights and wondering why?  Why this year?

 

Sorry, you are probably right now saying “Gee whiz Curt…Just shoot me…”

 

Last week I listened again to an awesome sermon from our friends at Christ Church in Easton, Maryland.

On Friday, I listened to it a second time.

It was titled Perfect Love Casts Out Fear.

It comes from 1 John 4:18:

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love.

 

And then from another sermon this morning I heard these words from a song:

“I’m no longer a slave of fear, oh I am a child of God.”

 

All reminding me I just need to quit my blithering, recognize there are those we won’t share holidays with…Donny, Carl, my father in law Royal; but there are others that we will at some point.  Love survives weeks, months, even years; it is unconditional and faith, even the size of the mustard seed I am exhibiting this morning, will get us there eventually.

 

So Happy Anniversary to Alexa and Namaan and Happy Thanksgiving to all those I won’t be sharing with this year.

I might just put up some Christmas decorations today.

Or maybe mail another package to Pennsylvania for some entertainment this week.

 

And for my sister in law Teesha, I will share these words from Dan Navarro and Eric Lowen:

Close your eyes and try to sleep now
Close your eyes and try to dream
Clear your mind and do your best to try and wash the palette clean
We can’t begin to know it, how much we really care
I hear your voice inside me, I see your face everywhere
Still you say

We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder
We belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under
Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better
We belong, we belong, we belong together

 

We do.

And someday soon I hope, we will.

Friday the 13th, 2020 Style

Friday the 13th, 2020 Style

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Hard to believe that it’s Friday, November 13th  in this year of 2020.

Thanksgiving is in less than two weeks and it appears that our end of year holidays, so heavily invested in family, are in jeopardy.

Covid concerns are ramping up again.

 

Thankfully, the election has come and gone.

And lucky for us, all those celebrities we couldn’t have lived without got to stay in America.

I don’t know about you, but I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall in Bruce Springsteen’s house about 12 midnight on November 3 when Trump was posting a comeback.

But seriously, when it got right down to it, I had to remind myself…”Curt… John Legend and Chrissy Teigen are threatening to leave the country if Trump is re-elected…”

I just couldn’t imagine.

The Voice without John Legend?

That did it for me!

 

My Friday the 13th started a little early on the evening of Thursday the 12th.  My wife had got a new gadget to cut up all those ingredients for making her potions, tinctures, and syrups.

In addition to using it for the above, I quickly determined I could use it to cut my cucumbers for my salad.

But it didn’t take me too long to learn that it works really well on fingers too.

Not wanting to waste the cucumbers I had already sliced I tried to find the lost portion of my finger amongst the cucumber slices.

“What are you doing?” my wife asked sternly as she watched me putting pressure on my bleeding finger while using my other hand to go through the cucumbers.

“Looking for my finger, I don’t want to waste my cucumbers,” I responded.

“Throw them out you are not eating them that’s disgusting!” she said loudly.

Disappointed, I threw out my cut cucumbers and the piece of my finger and focused more on controlling the bleeding.

Then I cut up another cucumber.

 

One day many years ago when Kim and I first moved into our house in Herndon, Donny brought home a baby wild rabbit.  We had lots of rabbits in the yard back then.  We don’t see too many anymore, maybe because of the foxes.

But Donny was really happy about his little rabbit and wanted to keep it as a pet.  I, however, in my sometimes to a fault need to do what I think is the right thing, told him he couldn’t.  It wasn’t right to keep an animal from the wild and it should be returned to its habitat I explained so very parentally.

Needless to say Donny was very disappointed and not at all happy with me.

After Donny’s accident whenever I thought about this incident with the rabbit,  I always felt really bad about how I made him feel by not allowing him to keep it. Even now as I reflect back on this memory I think to myself, what a jerk, you could have loosened up a little.

A year and a half or so later, I think it was Martin Luther King’s birthday weekend 2004 when we had no kids because they had extra time off from school and they were off with their friends, I had this great idea that I thought would show I could be spontaneous and selfishly, would make up for some of the guilt I felt over denying Donny that rabbit, even though I couldn’t share it with him.

I marched Kim into a PetSmart that weekend in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia on a mission to adopt a cat.

When it was all said and done we not only adopted one cat, we adopted two.

They were sisters.

Molly and Mona.

We agreed to all the rules and requirements, not to declaw them, and to keep them as house cats.  The house cat thing didn’t last long though because Mona it turned out, was like Mufasa when it came to the kingdom of our backyard.  She would roam the yard and protect us from critters.  Molly on the other hand enjoyed just hanging out on the deck more like her humans.

After about seven years Molly would succumb to cancer and be put down.

That left Mona alone who now could claim the inside of the house has her domain as well.

And she lived a good life.

Until today.

On this Friday the 13th Mona made her last ride to the vet after 17 years.

 

This year continues to be one of challenges and changes, some foreseen some unforeseen.

Like the year Donny died, for Kim and I, we just have to realize that God’s got this.

And though my little guys from Florida won’t be visiting me for Thanksgiving as planned because of the increase in virus cases, I will get through my disappointment.

And I will admit it’s a little weird without the cat meowing at us this evening, it’s nice to know Mona is interred in one of the gardens in the backyard which was her kingdom that she liked to roam so much.

And thinking and writing about elections and celebrities brings back with a smile another memory of the profound and grounding wisdom of a young boy who once reminded his Pop Pop that “Everybody in Hollywood Farts” and who also this very evening demonstrated to me very graphically through video the devastating aftermath that the different categories of hurricanes can have on the toys in his bedroom.

 

But let’s face it, like it or not, this is the year where you won’t find the finger in the cucumbers.

Might as well toss it out and get a new one ready to slice.

But God’s got this.

And we will continue to be held.

We will continue to find reasons to laugh in the face of sadness and turmoil, loss and distancing.

We will continue to adapt.

Because God’s got this.

And we have God.

Singing a Nickel Song

Singing a Nickel Song

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I am back from western Pennsylvania and I am home alone again.

My wife stayed to help her mom.

Sunday afternoon I was sitting alone on the couch in my basement watching the Steeler’s play the Titans when a bug literally flew up my nose.

“Seriously?” I said out loud as I snorted and shivered.

“A bug just flew up my nose?”

Ironically with everything that has not gone well this crazy year of 2020, the Steelers began this game 5 and 0 for the season.  Though they were winning early in the fourth quarter, they did their best to set up the typical Steelers nail biter finish by pretty much letting the Titans catch up.

But it’s just football in a year when everything that has happened or equally as important, isn’t happening makes it just trivial.

On the way up to Pennsylvania last week I took a break at my usual stopping place, a McDonalds in Clear Springs, Maryland.  Returning to my truck I found a nickel on the pavement.

I had to think but don’t remember the last time I saw a nickel.

 

When I was a kid growing up in Oceanport, New Jersey I lived on a dead-end street. Once my dad finished building our house on property he bought from my mother’s parents, there were seven houses on the street.  According to my mother, my great grandparents owned all the property on the street at one time.  What was not sold off was left to my grandmother. The street was called Willow Court because of the numerous willow trees that grew on the end closer to the river.   Access to my street was via my little town’s bustling business district that we referred to as “downtown” and off one of the main roads called Oceanport Avenue.  As you made the turn it did a dog leg right up to where it ended with an apple tree.

Oceanport had a variety of commercial establishments “downtown” and how you remembered them depended on what era you identified with.  Art’s liquor store was one, Art was the grandfather of my first friend John who lived in a house on the river behind the liquor store.   Our friendship was arranged between our moms since we would soon need each other to walk to school because we were starting kindergarten that year.  We remained friends a long time.

There were also three gas stations or service stations as they were known back then;  a drug store called Park’s Drug store, and a couple of luncheonettes.  Bob and Norma’s was on the river side, and also sold convenience items like cards and razor blades, and deodorant.

I once bought my grandfather some Old Spice deodorant from Bob and Norma’s for his birthday.  I am pretty sure that was his best gift ever.  My mother even worked there as a “soda jerk” when she was in high school.

Next to Bob and Norma’s was the Village Market run by a guy named Frank Callahan.  His son Kenny would join my friend John and I and become good friends from kindergarten.

Being just over the bridge from the Army base at Fort Monmouth, we had three barbershops and three bars that kept busy.  In the middle of all these businesses was a large, very old house which was owned and occupied by my great grandparents when they were alive.  When I was a kid however, it was then left to my grandmother and had four apartments which she rented out.  In my family we referred to it as “The Big House.”

I was very familiar with nickels growing up as a kid in the early 60’s because our kid currency mainly consisted of nickels and pennies.  We worked for those nickels and pennies by scouring the properties around those businesses for deposit bottles.  You could get two cents for a small size bottle like an eight ounce Coke bottle or a nickel for a larger twenty eight ounce bottle.  With those three bars, the liquor store, the three service stations with soda machines, those luncheonettes, and the market, we had the deposit bottle business locked up in that neighborhood.

Throw in a whole lot of GI’s in town with the Vietnam conflict ramping up, and the Monmouth Park Racetrack less than a mile up the road when horse racing was in its heyday in the 60’s and yup, the bottle deposit business could be lucrative.

And this was before there were litter laws.

Bottles were everywhere.

 

As a result, an enterprising six or seven year old could do pretty well.

We would just go find our days’ work of bottles, take them over to Callahan’s market, plop them on the counter, and wait for our payout.

Then we would take our earnings and head down the street to Park’s Drug store to do our part in helping the local economy.  Mr. Park the pharmacist was kind of grouchy and scary but the guy that worked for him, Rios was always happy.  We could get our Bazooka Bubble gum for a penny, or maybe some baseball cards and gum, or Beatles cards and gum, or on a good bottle day maybe even an ice cream sandwich.

As I got just a little bit older the bigger money could be made raking leaves.  I could actually get a quarter or two out of my grandmother for raking leaves.

I hated raking leaves for my grandmother.

But work was work.

You had to take it when you could get it.

And in the winter, my brother Carl and I would team up and shovel snow.

We would walk the neighborhoods and knock on doors and shovel snowy sidewalks.  That was really the big time because a sidewalk in the snow could be worth a buck or two.  We split it 50/50, but most times we just ended up in the luncheonette eating our profits.

 

Life was very different.

A nickel like I found and tossed into the console of my truck maybe never to be seen again, had some value then.

On Sundays we went to church and Sunday School in the morning but because businesses were closed due to Blue Laws we couldn’t do much else on Sunday afternoons.

We had Sunday football on TV but it was in black and white, and baseball was still the big attraction back then so not too many paid attention.

And since blue laws meant the bottle deposit business was shut down too, maybe I raked my grandmother’s leaves, or helped my dad the basement as he built something (I hated that even more).

Now we don’t go to church on Sunday mornings because of COVID, but we can go shopping till we turn blue.

Go figure.

Well that’s my two cents worth or five cents worth, but luckily you don’t have to take it when you can get it.

 

As expected with 14 seconds left the Titans just needed to make a 46 yard field goal to tie the game and send it in to overtime.

Then the snap… the hold…Gostkowski’s kick was up…

And it passed just right of the uprights.

He missed, and the Steelers went to 6 and 0.

Maybe a bug flew up his nose?

 

The moral of the story?

 

Hard work pays off?

We need to return to a life that was simpler?

or

It’s best to be alone when a bug flies up your nose.

 

Post Script:

Make sure you get out and vote!

“I Held My Nose, I Closed My Eyes…I Took A Drink”

“I Held My Nose, I Closed My Eyes…I Took A Drink”

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“Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”

 (Witch’s Brew recipe written in Shakespeare’s Macbeth)

 

It’s almost Halloween.

I read once that Halloween was second only to Christmas in retail sales.  I have since read that is a myth.

But still, it’s a big deal to some, especially kids, and like everything else this year it won’t be the same.

That’s too bad.

 

Our typical day starts out with Kim and I having our first cup of coffee in bed as we check our email, check the weather, maybe our banking, and of course some social media.

This morning as I opened my Facebook I was greeted with a post reminding me that today is World Mental Health Day.

I might argue that a reminder of World Mental Health on Facebook could be perceived as an oxymoron but I was happy for the heads up.

In a great many cases and to varying degrees,  the results of the conditions we currently are living and working and schooling under have taken its toll on our mental health.

Many sought new ways of staying active physically and mentally while social distancing.  There was a time earlier in the year when you couldn’t buy a bicycle or a kayak as everyone tried to take on activities that lent themselves more to distancing from others.

If you want to social distance you can’t do that much better than being on a kayak.

 

Strangely, Kim and I, though we already had kayaks and bicycles, spent only a small amount of time riding our bikes this year and in fact never used our kayaks even once.

For physical activity, we walked a lot.

For fun, we spent a lot of time in our back yard.

And in our back yard, we worked our gardens.

Kim’s garden this year featured lemon balm, elderberries, horseradish, peppers, tomatoes, and herbs.

She even grew a pepper known as the Trinidad Moruga Scorpion!

According to PEPPERHEAD.com the Trinidad Moruga Scorpion will wreak your stomach, burn your intestines and still be smoking on the way out and is considered to be the second hottest pepper in the world.

We found that even just handling them was dangerous.

 

And as the pandemic focused our attention on building our immunity and trying to keep from getting the virus, Kim developed a new hobby, herbal concoctions that boost immunity, depress symptoms, help you relax and sleep.

I have mentioned our regular consumption of elderberry syrup in a previous post as a good source of boosting our immunity.

Normally we would go out and buy our syrup made locally by the Village Winery in Waterford, Virginia.

This year however my wife decided to fire up the cauldron and make it herself.

And in addition to elderberry syrup to boost our immunity she made elderberry tincture.

And in addition to the elderberry tincture, she made lemon balm tincture.  Lemon balm tincture is supposed to reduce our stress and help with our sleep.

 

Today however was the day she was to prepare the mother of all home remedies.

FIRE CIDER!

Just the sound of it gave me chills.

“For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”

I don’t know if it includes any of those ingredients mentioned by Mr. Shakespeare in Macbeth but I do know it has garlic, turmeric root, ginger root, horseradish root, onions, lemons, apple cider vinegar (with the “mother” in it, you will have to look that one up), peppercorns, and I don’t know that I care to know what else.

And in at least one of those batches she added the Trinidad Moruga Scorpion!

Once you have all this stuff mixed together you keep it in a cool place for six weeks while it does whatever it does until I have to drink it.

One thing is for sure, in addition to my lemon balm tincture and my elderberry tincture before bed, and my elderberry syrup in the morning; once that Fire Cider is ready in six weeks I surely won’t need to worry about social distancing because that should pretty much take care of itself.

Masks will be required.

 

Last year near this same time I wrote a post titled “Oh Well” that discussed mental illness and former Fleetwood Mac founding member Peter Green’s life of dealing with mental illness.  Again this year on my 2020 Guitar Calendar hanging on the wall of my office I am reminded of Peter Green’s October 29th birthday along with other famous guitarists.

However Peter Green died this past July peacefully in his sleep at the age of 73.  The cause of death has never been released by the family though some have speculated his mental health problems may have contributed to his death.

 

So on this World Mental Health Day, I am reminded about how important it is to keep busy, keep physically active, and find a hobby.

Go buy a kayak or a bicycle if you can find one, or get yourself a dehydrator and a large pot.

Find some wacky folks on YouTube living off the grid in the upper Northwest and learn how to start brewing concoctions in your kitchen.

But find something.

 

And now as we approach the bewitching hour, my beautiful little witch-doctor wife is fast asleep with dreams of other potions dancing in her head, and I am still waiting for my lemon balm tincture to kick in.

It was a good day and I am looking forward to six weeks from now when I might get a chance to say:

“Honey, this Fire Cider is awesome but I think it might need a little more fillet of fenny snake”

“Just sayin'”

 

She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink
She said “I’m gonna make it up right here in the sink”
It smelled like turpentine, it looked like Indian ink
I held my nose, I closed my eyes… I took a drink*

 

One of the three brewed batches of FIRE CIDER from today. It doesn’t look so bad today, let’s see how it looks and tastes after six weeks in the cold and dark. Pray for me. And my co-workers.

 

Post Script:

*“I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink” is from Love Potion Number Nine a song written by Jed Leiber and recorded by The Searchers back in the 60’s.

Shakespeare Macbeth witch’s brew recipe is courtesy of University of Minnesota

The feature photo is courtesy of Unsplash and photographer Tikkho Maciel.

Happy Halloween.