At work one morning last week, I had left my office to walk to another part of the campus and so was making my way through the main hospital, but I had to stop in the hallway to take a call. A lady was talking to some nurses and was holding a baby. A toddler, presumably with them as well, waddled over to me and stuck his little hands up in the air to be picked up. I didn’t quite know what to do as I’ve been told it’s not cool to pick up random babies.
I ignored him for a few second, but he wasn’t going away. He inched closer, his little arms fully extended and fingers wiggling. It didn’t seem right to nudge him away with my shoe, like a kitten, so I sort of did a half-turn to give off that leave me alone vibe. He apparently is not very self-aware as he followed me around, now smiling, like we were playing a game. I turned back to see if his mother had a view on this standoff, but she didn’t seem inclined to get involved. Meanwhile, the kid now had one arm wrapped around my knee and the other still reaching upwards in the universal ‘pick me up’ sign. He was cute as hell, and I was tempted, but I really don’t fully understand the social politics of these situations. I definitely did not want to get escorted out of the building by security just after starting a new gig.
My call ended and so I took the little tyke by the hand and we walked over and I passed him on to mama. She smiled and said ‘thanks, he loves meeting new people’. I went off for my day, but immediately missed the little guy. I wish I had asked his name.
I feel like I am carrying too much weight again. I felt this way in 2004, before I met Belinda and she helped me shed a lot of it. I am not talking about day-day. I have always taken on too much at any given time and so I am pretty used to being busy. As I get older, it feels a bit more challenging but I am managing.
I am talking about the weight of the sadness that surrounds us. It’s heavy, relentless, and omnipresent. The heartbreaking images and descriptions, the negativity and anguish hanging over the world like a dense dark fog. The daily barrage of news of the wealthy and powerful and politically connected doing terrible things to other humans. Starvation. Preventable diseases. The reality of the outcomes from RFK’s, Noem’s, Rubio’s, Hegseth’s and DOGE’s actions. Terrible people wielding enormous power, unchecked, while our Congress watches and does nothing.
This weight can topple a person. Earlier this year, when talking to a counselor, I was informed this is now very common. People getting overwhelmed by the negativity and the paradox of trying to live a reasonably contented life while so many suffer. How is this living, to know that so many others are suffering and dying and being torn from their families for the crime of trying to provide for their children.
Outbreaks of mumps and measles after decades of dormancy because of the stupidity of a few men. Nearly a million deaths now, directly attributed to the abolition of US Aid. The daily scenes of masked ICE agents wrestling people to the ground and zip tying their hands and hauling them off — many US citizens who are disappeared for days before being released. Many are immigrants, legal and illegal, but the treatment by the cowardly agents is monstrous. Callous. Indifferent. They hide their shame behind their masks and project a fake masculinity. I dream that when democrats get back in charge we go through the pay records and prosecute these people for their illegal actions.
The rich and powerful run all aspects of our lives now. I find this intriguing because none of these people seem even remotely happy. Mostly, they seem miserable. What is their motivation if their constant pursuit of money and power does not bring happiness?
The elusive Larry Ellison has been in the news lately since he is trying to buy CBS/paramount. He looks angry and constipated every time I see him. He’s a real son of a bitch. Does Elon seem happy? Trump? Any of the Trump’s? They all seem angry all the time, at least the boys. Ivanka just seems entitled and indifferent to anything except her image. Bill Gates has never smiled in his life. Bezos seems like a guy who desperately wants to be much cooler than he is — and to be taken seriously.
Kristi Noem the puppy killer, Steven Miller, Bannon, Rubio, Vance, Linda McMahon — has anyone ever seen any of them smile even once.
I’ve not seen one of them pictured with a dog (In Noem’s case we know why). How can you be happy without a dog or two in your life?
I honestly believe my life, messy as it is, gives me more day-2-day pleasure than any of the wealthy class or these geeks playing politician. I think it must take a certain amount of grace to have so much money and still recognize what actually brings real joy. And that seems elusive. Even the relatively wealthy people I know personally do not seem particularly happy. Mostly they worry about losing what they have rather than spending it to have fun or help someone else (a great joy in its own right).
Sitting on the bench in front of The Royal Hotel in Amsterdam, on a sunny summer day, smoking a cigar and sipping a cold beer along with a few friends. Well that’s pretty fine. Watching rugby in Missoula, with the knowing of the years and games of my youth behind me — also nice. Hiking up a tall mountain and getting that feeling of exhaustion and excitement from cresting over the top. Slow cooking a great meal with my babe and family and friends, with dogs running around. Sitting with the kids at MYO in our outdoor pavilion, hearing their stories, seeing their broad smiles while they eat their lunch. Having a drink on the deck at BDR, watching the Greenbrier roll by. Reading a good book about wolves, with a dram of whisky and a cigar at the lounge by Buckeye Lake — coincidentally, exactly what I am doing at this moment. Also pretty nice.
Anyone who tells me I have a less fulfilling life than any of those rich fuckers and I will call them a damn liar.
Money can relieve certain anxieties like food security and healthcare. But happiness. Totally different matter.
Like The Boss says ‘nobody wins unless everybody wins‘.
It is now highly feasible to take care of everybody on Earth at a ‘higher standard of living than any have ever known.’ It no longer has to be you or me. Selfishness is unnecessary and henceforth unrationalizable as mandated by survival
R. Buckminster Fuller
I’ve had to order some things for Black Dog Ridge due to the new construction. I ordered from Wayfair a coat rack and a small, cheap, sleeper-sofa just in case we need an extra bed. The coat rack was a week or so before the sofa.
FedEx delivered the coat rack to my neighbors house. So I called and complained to Wayfair because I get deliveries all the time and they know how to get to my house — I think the guy is just lazy and doesn’t want to drive all the way up the hill.
Wayfair sent a second coat rack, which was also delivered to my neighbors. I collected both coat racks and then called American Express and canceled the payment.
The sofa was then also delivered to the same neighbors house. I called Wayfair and complained and so they sent a 2nd sofa to my home in Ohio. Free of charge. I also cancelled the American Express payment.
So I now have two sleeper-sofa’s and two coat racks for the exceptional black Friday price of $0.00.
Perhaps I am a little heavy-handed in my response here. But we have become so conditioned to accept bad customer service from these companies, that I am pushing back where I am able. And the fact that their immediate first reaction is to simply send me another product at no cost rather than call FedEdx and get them to do their job, I feel justifies my position. It also demonstrates the ridiculous profit margins.
Their move.
Sue came to visit from Namibia and we had a nice catch up. After the craziness of two fundraisers in two days, we had some quiet time on Sunday morning. Eric, Sue and I sat and had coffee in the lovely sitting area at Pigfoot inn. Sue’s husband, Nico, worked for the South African government in the diplomatic corps. He was posted to Swaziland, which was a kingdom. One of the gifts the King received was a horse and he named the horse Little King. The King did not ride, so the horse was put in the royal stables. Since Sue was into horses and knew about them, she was able to ride Little King. She said the loved that horse. Little King, the royal horse of Swaziland. Sue is full of fascinating stories. She has led a robust and interesting life. Her children are amazing. She now lives in a tiny little room of around 12’ x 14’ in a retirement village. Nico died earlier this year after a difficult time with dementia.
We had two fundraisers. It was exhausting and both were abject failures for many reasons. Some of our own making. We did not plan as well as we might have. Too many parallel activities. I feel nearly out of control most of the time, but am hoping January brings some relative quiet.
We didn’t have a choice in the dates for the fundraisers because this was the weekend Sue was to be here. But it also turned out to be the day of the Christmas Parade and also the Ohio State vs Indiana match up for the Big Ten Championship. In Ohio, you don’t compete with the Buckeyes or Santa for people’s time. So we ate our own food and drank our own wine and chit-chatted with Sue and made the most of it.
It wasn’t a total bust, I think Sue collected close to $2,000 for Silver Linings. Unfortunately I spent more than that on the venue and accommodations and food. But that’s the way it goes. Next time we’ll do better.
After cooking for two events, we had a massive mess in the kitchen at the venue. I am, as always, a mass of contradictions. I sorta like to do the clean up alone because too many people who don’t work together often wind up just tripping over each other. Or I have to tell them everything to do and when to do it and so might as well do it myself. Working alone also affords me the opportunity to be a martyr. I can then later complain to Brittany that no one helped while I sweated away in the kitchen. She of course knowing people offered but I chased them off.
Eric and Sue did help quite a lot to get the car loaded and unloaded 3 times. We ate some more of the food for Sunday brunch, then dad and I took the rest down to the old folks home in New Lex. On the way back, he directed me along some backroads — telling me stories along the way. A favorite girlfriend lived there. He played basketball in the driveway of this house with some friends. The shortcuts he used to take and his childhood home plot which I had never seen. The house has since been torn down. He was reflective and nostalgic. Almost teary. His dementia is really bad now and getting worse by the day. He remembers some things with absolutely clarity but forgets so many other things.
For a while he was combative, but the past few weeks he has quieted and seems resigned to what is the inevitable conclusion for us all.
Sunday morning, I sat at the kitchen bar counter with Brittany, Terri, & Sue and we knocked out the Sunday NY Times crossword. No easy feat. It was nice. Sitting in the kitchen having coffee going through the hints and everyone chiming in. We got er’ done.
At Starbucks, they get my name wrong all the time. When they ask, I tell them my name is ‘The Captain’. But time again I hear them call ‘Captain’ and I think it’s someone else. I’m ‘The Captain’. I don’t know who those other losers are.
I spent a good part of my youth in farm country. Central Ohio. Now Trump country — somewhere this group of good hearted midwesterners went from blue to red. From the party of working folks to the party of the mean.
As a child, I never really felt like I belonged here. My family came here and so I came along. I worshipped my uncle, a farmer and laborer, but I never considered living here. My sisters both moved here pretty much right out of high school. I went the other direction. I only bought a house here because I need to be close to mom and dad now that they need so much support.
In these small communities, there is a sort of arrogance. A way of projecting that they know about the outside world and find it too distasteful for them. They talk of the sins of the big cities, how people there are not as nice as country folk. They talk of crime and drugs even though opioid addiction is rampant in rural areas of Appalachia and Deep South. What they project as confidence wilts under scrutiny and becomes something more akin to fear or resentment. I know a lot of nice people here, but I don’t like the judgmental attitude that many of them have.
I’m reading a book called ‘The Shepherd’s Life: Modern Dispatches from an Ancient Landscape‘ and I pulled out the below quote — which is relative to this conversation.
I’ve lived in the country for a lot of my life but I’ve never felt that I belonged…….It is strange…..I have never experienced such an atmosphere….as exists here…… I have to talk about it simply because it is so curious. It is the power which the children have to resist everyone and everything outside the village…..The village children….. Are convinced that they have something which none of the newcomers can ever have, some kind of mysterious life which is so perfect that it is a waste of time to search for anything else.
Daphne Ellington, quoted in Ronald Blythe’s ‘Akenfield: Portrait of an English Village (1969)
For years I’ve slowly marched up the glucose scale until now, my doctor tells me I am officially type 2 diabetic. I don’t have 3, which is apparently the worst. Did I have type 1 before? I don’t know if there is a type 1, but if there is a 2 and 3 it would seem so.
It runs in the family, although seems to pick and choose its victims. My brother does not have it, but he is going bald — so I guess I should not complain.
The VA sent me a hateful little toolkit where I can stab myself in the finger to draw forth a little blood which I then smear on a small stick and jam into an electronic box that tells me how fucked I am. I am told I can get a continuous glucose monitoring device but I don’t need that sort of pressure. With my mini-sword system, I can choose to test when I want to. Hours and hours after I’ve gorged on pasta and red wine and carrot cake. If I had one of those little patches, it would probably start to melt right on my arm after one of my gluttonous meals.
Anyway….it’s life and slowly becoming death. The cookie crumbling.
Brittany is insanely healthy and is slowly convincing me to get along with the program. That will help. We are cooking more of our meals at home and sharing meals when we go out.
In hotels, I sometimes watch a little regular TV to go to sleep. Cable I guess is the better description. In a thousand years, when the extra terrestrials are sifting through the ruins of our failed civilization, they will watch the TV commercials and immediately understand where it all went wrong for humans. We became dumber over time, rather than smarter. TV commercials will be the obvious and damning evidence. They brilliantly illustrate our ignorance and gullibility.
We flew close to the sun, but our brains were made of wax and we crashed and burned.
Humbly Submitted
Robert Myres – Portneuf Valley Rugby Football Club, Flanker (ret.)
The Martini Tales 