And So This Is Christmas

I find it amazing that it has been almost a month since my last post. (Time flies, and at an increasing rate. I once heard a theory that this phenomenon is related the the apparent length of a year compared to ones total years, an increasingly smaller percentage as one ages.) It is now December 25th, Christmas Day. I got some gifts, and gave some gifts. I ate too much and spent too little time (21 hours of the last 24) with family and friends. All in all, a good holiday in a low key way.


Gone are the days of hectic hours spent at the mall and Toys R Us, thanks to the internet and that my children are grown. No more Christmas Eves spent, until the wee hours of Christmas Day itself, wrapping presents after they went to bed. I sleep as late as I want, unawakened by others' desire to see "if Santa had come." Golly, I miss it.


Yes I'm serious. This, and more, was and is still part of the magic that is Christmas for me. Surely, we can rant about the commercialization, the crowds, the crass materialism that comes with the season. But I refuse to let these things ruin it. There is a truer spirit of Christmas that runs deeper in many of us, even if we don't admit it, even to ourselves.




One of my favorite Christmas movies is "Scrooged" (1988) starring Bill Murray. He plays a quintesstially cynical TV executive that, true to the original story by Dickens, has an epihany enabled by several ghosts. At the end of the movie, he expresses his rediscovered feelings for Christmas: "It's Christmas Eve. It's the one night of the year when we all act a little nicer, we smile a little easier, we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of the whole year we are the people that we always hoped we would be."

And yes, Virginia, those people do exist. Last week a local newspaper columnist reported the effort to raise funds so that the members of a local National Guard unit could be home for Christmas. It seems they had leave, but no transportation back here from their pre-deployment training site in the deep south. 2 buses were procured at a substantial discount and more than enough money was donated. Standard human interest holiday fare, you say?


No, not by a long shot. For he published the message that came with one donation. It read: "Your story hit me like a ton of bricks. I am an unemployed medical receptionist. I have been out of work for a year. I have gone on a lot of interviews, but no one wants someone in their 40s in their front office apparently. I have earned a paycheck since I was 14. I attended LCC and have kept up with the medical clerical field while looking for employment....This has been a real self confidence killer. My son, a former scout in the U S Army, was nearly killed in Afghanistan seven years ago. The American Red Cross military services helped us tremendously. My unemployment extension barely covers rent and utilities, but I am going to send $50 to help a soldier come home - a drop in the bucket compared to what some are giving."


I personally feel humbled. This, if nothing else, is proof that the spirit of Christmas is alive and well.

'Tis the Season

Well here we are at the top of the first hill of the roller coaster that is the "holiday season." (I love metaphors, similies not so much, go figure.) Anyway, Halloween is but a distant memory and Thanksgiving is over but for the few leftovers, already forgotten in the back of the refrigerator, awaiting their appointment with the disposal. I have not forgotten, however, those things for which I am personally thankful.

First would be my family and friends, especially those who are like family to me (you know who you are). Next would be a comfortable life, made possible by continuing employment and a fairly simple lifestyle. I have been relatively healthy (see previous "simple lifestyle") and have no major concerns in that area. The last "big" thanks would be for my freedom to do, say and believe what I wish (within the bounds of personal ethics and the law) and to come and go as I please (within the bounds of actually being employed). There are many more things on my "thanks" list, but I will not enumerate them, just a quick "shout out" for: A Bell's Oberon with a medium rare steak; a summer day with no schedule except an appointment with a fishing rod and a small mouth bass; and a cup of coffee with a friend.

But as my thoughts turn to these things I cannot help but think of those who lack these very same pleasures. Those who are hungry, the homeless, those who, through chance or circumstance, have lost hope. And their numbers, in these turbulent economic times, are growing. The N.Y. Times just reported that 1 in 8 Americans ( and 1 in 4 children) are using food stamps to help feed themselves.

I do not presume to tell other people (at least unsolicited) what to do. But as for myself, I have decided that I have more than enough "stuff" (see earlier blog entry). Starting last year, I have asked my friends with whom I exchange presents to give me nothing, save a small "stocking stuffer" for Christmas. I would rather that they make a contribution to their local food bank or hunger program. It is a small contribution ( I have no wealthy friends) but I think it can make a difference in somebody's life. I know it has in mine.

Old Soldiers

"Old soldiers .....just fade away," is a phrase made famous in Gen. Douglas MacArthur's farewell address to Congress. There is a kernel of truth in this old aphorism. They "fade away" from our collective consciousness, except every November 11th. Once a year they don their uniforms, at least the parts that still fit, and remind us of who they are and what they did. The other days of the year they blend in with everyone else, "fading away" in plain sight.

As mentioned in an earlier entry, I never had the opportunity to serve in the military. This was not due to a lack of desire or ability. A minor, but chronic, medical condition precluded any chance of that happening. Had that not been the case, I most probably would have served during the tail end of the Viet Nam War, and may or may not have been sent there. No matter, it didn't happen, so what is my point?

My point is that while I did not serve, many others did, and still do. They made it possible for me to live my life of relative ease by their service. For this I am both thankful and envious. There was always something in the military life that appealed to me, even as a boy. I'm sure that in my early years it was mostly visions of honor and glory, waving flags and blaring bugles. Those juvenile fantasies were later supplanted with those ideals best expressed by the famous motto of West Point: Duty, Honor, Country. But those fantasies and dreams did not come to pass.

As a result, the best that I can do is to express my gratitude to those who lived my dream which, for some, was more akin to a nightmare. Whether it was upon the frozen fields of Bastogne or the Chosin Resevoir, the steaming jungles of Guadalcanal or the A Shau Valley, the burning sands of Iraq or Tunisia, or the desolate isolation of Greenland or the DEW line, in both peace and war they made sacrifices that I can not even begin to comprehend. I give to them, no matter how or where they served, a heartfelt thank you as I raise my hand to salute and wish them Godspeed in their journey through life.

America's Best Idea

Last week I viewed the PBS mini-series on the US National Parks and enjoyed it thoroughly. The photography was stunning, the commentary insightful and the history fascinating. It never occurred to me that there was no such concept as a "national park" anywhere in the world until Yellowstone was established by Congress and approved by President Grant in 1872. There are many sources that tell the history of the parks and the park service and it is not my intent to relate that story.

What struck me, however, was that, in many cases, the establishment of individual parks, or the philosophy of the park system in general, was the result of the efforts of one or two individuals. If not for the efforts of John Muir, for example, there would be no Yosemite National Park. His vision for this "Cathedral of Nature" became his personal crusade and he did not rest until the valley and its environs were protected.

Similarly, the Great Smoky Mountain National Park was the result of the efforts of people such as Horace Kephart and George Masa. Their vision, and a public appeal for the funds to do so, led to the preservation of some of the last old growth forest in the Appalachian Mountains. What a loss it would have been to the nation if these peaks were clear cut as so many were in the past.

What would the parks be like if Stephen Mather had not spent untold amounts of his own money to protect and enlarge the system, and even to pay the salary of Horace Albright as his "right hand" man?

There were others, of course, that came to share the vision of these trailblazers. they were sometimes rich, like John D. Rockefeller, or powerful, like Theodore Roosevelt. But they had to be convinced, by a Muir or a Mather or an Albright. So I guess my point is, when you are asked the question," What can one person do?", point at Half Dome, or Mount Kephart, or any of the natural wonders contained in our National Parks and say,"That!"

What a Weekend

Normally, like many others, I lead a rather munduane life. I go to work, return home, eat, sleep etc. in a pretty regular pattern. For relaxation I might read (both from this LCD screen and the printed page), watch a little TV (not more than 10 hrs / week) , listen to music or pursue one of my hobbies. The days glide by (the weekends faster than the weekdays - go figure) and life is generally good. This past weekend was different, but in a good way.

First there was ( and is continuing) a 4+ day visit from my older daughter. Since she lives in Texas and I only get to see her about twice a year, this is a big deal. She arrived early Friday evening and her mother and I shared a pizza with her for dinner. Her BFF (Best Friend Forever for the unenlightened) came over and visited for a while, then the two of them went off to do other things. I watched the last installment of the PBS series on our National Parks (about which I intend to write another entry).

Saturday morning arrived wet and gloomy, but did not dissuade us from our planned trip to the cider mill (http://www.ujcidermill.com/). My younger daughter came over from where she lives on the west side of the state and the five of us (Mom, daughters, BFF and I) drove up to St. Johns, MI. We were met there by my goddaughter (who grew up, as much as a 4' 11 1/2" person can grow up, with my kids) and her boyfriend. We had a good time, drank cider, ate donuts, browsed the gift shop (which had, among other kitsch and tchotchkes, an anatomically correct gummi heart!) , did some wine tasting / purchasing and bought some baked goods. We left monetarily poorer, but enriched in spirit. The rain held off and the sun even peeked out once or twice. Hopefully the others enjoyed themselves as much as I did, even if it meant that I missed the first half of The Game.

"Which game is this?", you might ask, but only if you do not live in Michigan. It was the big one, the annual slugfest of a football game between Michigan State University (hereafter known as MSU or, alternatively, the good guys) and the University of Michigan (aka the Wolverines, a disgusting carrion eating (well, they are omnivorous) relative of the badger, referred to from now on as the evil enemy). This is the rivalry game for both teams, even if those other guys try to downplay it by saying "Our real rivalry game is with OSU" ( which is someplace way south of here - I've been close to there "once or twice"). I will grant that they hold the edge in the series, but that goes back to when U of M was a national powerhouse and MSU (then known as MAC - Michigan Agricultural College) was a dinky little land grant school populated with future farmers and, yes, cows.

In recent years the series has been pretty even, with them holding a slight edge. Most games are decided by a touchdown or less and not until the final moments of the game. This year was no exception. MSU ground out a 20 - 6 lead going into the final quarter, but that lead evaporated as they roared back to tie the game with 2 seconds left on the clock. (Aside to Rich Rodriguez, U of M Head Coach - Is your middle name Ara?*) Needless to say, this turn of events left me on the downhill side of an emotional rollercoaster. Real coasters I love, emotional ones not so much! The good guys, however, prevailed in the overtime as MSU turned them back with an improbable interception in the end zone, and then scored a touchdown on a running play that was called to merely get the ball in a better position to kick a winning field goal. Pandemonium ensued, both on the field and in front of my TV. You do not want to be in the house with me for this game, as the levels of "verbal encouragement" and "mocking derision" follow the ebb and flow of the contest and the volume of same becomes proportional to the closeness of the score.
(*semi obscure reference to 1966 MSU - Notre Dame "Game of the Century")

The emotional exhaustion from this ordeal led to my doing little of note that evening, other than comisserating with a friend, over dinner and later, about blown calls by the refs and missed opportunities by MSU to stretch their lead sufficiently. I dragged my weary but satisfied self to bed and slept well.

Sunday I awoke and gleaned the news from the 2 papers we receive while drinking coffee and enjoying a fresh cider mill donut. I've always been an avid newspaper reader, even as a child. There is nothing better (well, almost nothing) than a morning spent in a comfy chair with a paper in my hands and a fresh cup of coffee by my side. I mourn the decline of the newspaper industry in the USA. And no, reading it on my monitor is just not the same, nor as satisfying.

Most of Sunday afternoon was consumed by my going to a friend's place to watch NASCAR (that's "stock car" racing for those of you living under rocks) on a big HD (high definition - ditto the rocks etc.) TV. After the race my visiting daughter and I went out for a "Dad & daughter only" dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, which I understand is an extremely popular place with certain younger people I know that live near Toledo. Steaks were consumed and conversation flowed easily. We returned home and talked some more until her aforementioned BFF arrived and they went out.

I read for a while, then went to bed. I was tired but satisfied, physically, emotionally and, in the broadest sense, spiritually. For when I am with my children, and the friends that they have chosen, I see the adults that they have become. And I am happy.

Mini Mania

I've had my new Mini Cooper S for 2 weeks now and I love it. We are still in "break in" mode so I have not yet exercised its true potential as far as the "speed and quickness" part of the performance equation, but the handling is fantastic! It is easily the most agile and responsive car that I have ever driven, including my 2 Triumphs and my Sprite. Driving has become fun again, rather than a chore to be endured. I could go on and on with cliches containing the words "go kart" and "on rails" but I won't. And let's not forget the "creature comforts" that were (or are) lacking in the aforementioned sports cars. AC that works, power mirrors, sound deadening, cruise control etc. make for a more pleasant driving environment, especially on a long trip. Yeah, I admit it, I've "gone soft" (and not just around the middle) but at this point spartan (unless you're talking about MSU) is not superior. What is superior is the amount of fun I have behind the wheel of this little rocket. So as the Mini motto says, Let's Motor!

I Remember

I remember when we all thought we lived in the greatest, strongest country in the world, a colossus astride the globe, second to none. I remember watching the news or reading the paper and thinking how lucky I was to be here, and not where the facade of civilized society had been torn yet again by senseless violence. I remember when many of us thought that firefighters had a pretty cushy job with all that time off in exchange for spraying water on burning buildings. I remember when my biggest worry when flying was if there would be room in the overhead bin. I remember a Manhattan skyline, viewed from across the Hudson River, that ended with an improbable double exclamation point. I remember a morning with an azure blue sky...

Music, Music, Music

Anybody that knows me is aware that I am a musical onmivore. There is only one genre ("rap") to which I steadfastly refuse to listen and one that I need be be in exactly the right mood (opera) to do so. Everything else is fair game. Being a baby boomer, I grew up with a variety of songs on the "soundtrack to my life." Rock and roll, for sure, but also "50s pop" (think Pat Boone, Doris Day etc.). There were Broadway show tunes as well as classical muisic. There were TV and movie "theme" songs and advertising jingles. Let's not forget folk and protest music too. But rock and roll dominated.

First it was the seemingly bland commercial rock of the late 50s and early 60s. Then The Beatles changed everything. People besides teenagers started paying attention. The music morphed from "I Want to Hold Your Hand" to "She's Leaving Home." Instead of telling us what we should be feeling, it told others what we were feeling. The Viet Nam war had a lot to do with that. So did drugs. But no matter what your views on either, there was still the music.

To this day, I will hear an "oldie" (meaning a song contemporary to my lifetime) and I will be transported back to a time and place that are inextricably linked to that song. "MacArthur Park?" It is spring 1968 and I'm in my friend's 62 Chevy on our way to high school. "American Pie?" 1971, driving in my Triumph from Ohio to Michigan. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band?" I'm listening to the first Beatles album I ever purchased in my bedroom in N.J. "Que Sera, Sera?" It's at my cousin"s house in Canada and I'm 6 or 7. I'm sure you get the picture, and I'll bet it happens to you too.

Don't get me started about concerts. I've been to a few. Any music from any of those groups that I've seen is hard wired into my memory of those events. Rock, jazz, pop or classical, it does not matter. Some were great, some were just OK, but they are all there.

These days I listen to a lot of vocal jazz, especially The Manhattan Tranfer (my all time favorite, thanks to Thom Cannell way back when) and the "great American songbook" (vocal "standards" of the last century). But I still love Rock and Roll. Especially if it's got a good beat and you can dance to it.

And That's The Way It Was

We have lost yet another American icon. Notice I said icon, not movie star, entertainer or pop culture hero. Walter Cronkite, once accurately described as "the most trusted man in America," passed away today at the age of 92. He was the genial "Uncle Walter" who we let into our home to tell us what was happening in the world around us. I grew up watching him as he reported on the day's events. And what events they were : "Here is a bulletin from CBS News. In Dallas, Texas three shots were fired...."; "Man on the moon! Whew, boy...; "we shall try tonight to pull together the threads of this amazing story."

If the news was bad, his manner and the gravity of his voice were reassuring, as if to say, we will get through this together. If the news was good, his eyes would twinkle and the hint of a smile would emerge below his moustache. In any event, we believed him. And he believed in us, in the American spirit and that the truth, however ugly and painful, needed to be told. He reported what he saw, not what he was shown.

He will be remembered as an ardent proponent of the manned space program, which he reported upon from its onset. His enthusiasm and emotion were never more evident as he watched and reported when Neil Armstrong's boots touched lunar soil that first time. One could almost believe that it was Cronkite up there taking that "small step."

Walter Cronkite did not invent broadcast journalism, but came to be its public face. He did not lead public opinion, but reflected it. His voice was not strident or inflammatory, but was heeded. And when he stated" That's the way it is," you knew that you had heard the truth.

Stuff

Why do we (and by "we" I mean "I") collect, accumulate, acquire and store"stuff?" By way of definition, "stuff" are those items and possessions that have no immediate bearing on our health, safety, welfare, sanity or nutrition. For example, a refrigerator is not "stuff," but a never used wok is. A television is not, but a 4 year old magazine is. A hammer is not, but a container of 4 1/2 million (approx.) twisty ties is. A winter coat is not, a pair of elephant leg windowpane plaid polyester pants most definitely is. I think you get the picture.

I have kept stuff for so long I don't remember why I kept it. I have some stuff so old it could vote (if it had a picture ID.) Some of my stuff was given to me and some I actively sought. And at one time I thought it might come in handy "someday!" Well guess what, boys and girls, "someday" seldom arrives. But I still have my "stuff" just in case it does.

One of the Gas Laws (no, not the one about never eating beans and broccoli in the same meal) states that "A gas expands so as to fill the available space" - or something like that. Well, my "First Law of Stuff" states that "Stuff expands so as to overfill the available space." And lately, my stuff has gotten past that point. So I have been trying to get rid of "stuff." And it is hard, on several levels (and by levels I do NOT mean the unexcavated piles that defy carbon dating.)

First you have to identify exactly what kind of "stuff" it is. This follows a continuum from "Oh, that's where that went!" through "What was I (or whoever gave this to me) thinking" to "What the hell is this anyway?" Next comes the critical act of classification - "keep" or "toss." To those of us with packrats in our family trees (mea culpa) this decision can be agonizing. Many times a declutterization project has been derailed at this juncture. A common yardstick applied to wardrobes is "Have I worn this in the last year?" Some of us, myself included, need to ask "Have I seen this in the last year?"

Once the retention dilemma has been resolved there come more questions. "If I keep this, where do I put it?" is a common one, for, at least if you are me, if you had a place for it it would not be "stuff" but rather a "necessity of life as I know it." This begets a giant game of Tetris, where you try to fit all the pieces together as compactly as possible. Unlike the computer game, however, the "stuff" does not disappear when this is accomplished! Or if the item is classed as "toss," how to dispose of it. ("Sure I could landfill it, but is that the "green" response? Maybe someone else wants it....I'll ask all my friends / coworkers / random people in the street. Better yet, I'll E Bay / Craigslist it! Make some money off it, yeah, that's it! ") Stop yourself right there, Buster (or whatever your name is) because unlike the aphorism, one man's treasure is another's trash.

So slowly I have been identifying, classifying, moving and either keeping or tossing my "stuff."
I am nowhere near done, but I have made progress. Not just physical progress, but mental progress as well. For I have found that freeing myself from my "stuff" has been liberating. I no longer look at it and think "I should do something about this 'stuff'." I have met the enemy and it is "stuff." My two best weapons are my paper shredder and my trashbags. My greatest allies are Goodwill and Freecycle. See you at the landfill!

D Day + 65

June the 6th, 1944 - forever etched into the world's consciousness as D Day, occurred 65 years ago today. It will forever be remembered as a day that marked the "beginning of the end" of World War II in Europe, the first step in the liberation of France and one of the most remarkable events in the history of the world. It is right that it be remembered as such, and more.

But to me it is also a date upon which to reflect upon and honor those men and women of a generation, slowly vanishing, that experienced their "day of days" on that date. They were called, most notably by Tom Brokaw, the "greatest generation." They set aside their hopes and aspirations, and in many cases their lives, in pursuit of a common goal. This, in itself, is remarkable enough, for they set aside what they wanted and took up the challenge of what needed to be done. But to me, the truly extraordinary thing was was their aim, not to conquer or aggrandize or even survive, but to liberate the oppressed.

I fear that never again will we stand united in pursuit of such a lofty vision. We have become polarized and fragmented. The "Me generation" has replaced those who fought and sacrificed.
I often wonder how our country would now respond to a similar challenge. I know, we displayed unity and resolve in the days after 9/11, but what have we sacrificed as a country? Surely the lives of soldiers and sailors and airmen and marines, but not on the same scale. 10,000 Allied casualties were suffered in one battle, on one day. We have to take off our shoes at the airport, in 1944 you couldn't even buy shoes. We complain about the price of gas while then most civilians were limited to 5 gallons a week. We "slave away" at our jobs for 40 hours a week, but many defense plant and shipyard workers put in 12 - 18 hours a day, six or seven days a week, for years.

Now they are passing on at an increasing rate, yet they are mostly invisible to us. We see not the corporal, or the seaman, or the defense worker. We see the greeter at Wal Mart, or the usher at Church, or the older person sitting alone at the cafe. So I raise my hand in a salute to them, the dwindling ranks of the World War II veterans of either the war fronts or the home front. And if you happen to come across an " eighty or ninety something" person, buy them a beer, or an iced tea, or a cup of coffee and ask them, "What did you do in the War?" You might be surprised.

MEMORIAL DAY

Ahh - Memorial Day weekend, the traditional start to summer, is here. 3 whole days of R&R (Rest and Recuperation) to be spent as we please. My plans include working on the yard and house, plus giving the new Honda lawn mower a workout. I spent several hours today (Saturday) doing just that, along with the usual weekend chores and errands. But don't worry, there will also be some serious relaxation time scheduled.

There will also be some time allotted to contemplating the reason for this weekend holiday. There were, and still are, members of our society who cannot enjoy a relaxing weekend. They have sacrificed, in some cases literally, their lives so that we may enjoy ours. Those that serve, or have served, our country, no matter where or when, have my eternal gratitude and envy. I was unable to join them and will always regret that fact. But I give them my salute, as three volleys resound in my head and the mournful notes of "Taps" echo in the valley. Give a thought this weekend, if you will, to that "band of brothers" who have given their all to keep us free.


"This day is called the Feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tiptoe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t'old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian":
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. (IV, iii)"

May God bless them and the country they served, and may their names be remembered, now and for the rest of time, as those of heroes.

STRESSED OUT

It has been a long and stressful 6 weeks since I last posted. Most of the stress revolves around a major remodel at my workplace. If you can imagine trying to talk on the phone, or converse in person, or even think while listening to the din of sawzalls, nail guns, hammers and all the other noise inherent to demolition and construction, you will know what I mean. Now it is mostly done and it is stunning, well worth the inconveniences, which were legion.

In addition, there was (is) the whole H1N1 virus (aka "swine flu") outbreak. Is it bad? Is it trivial? Do we really want to know? What can we do to protect ourselves? (I'm sorry, but the whole surgical mask thing is a little bit too "Chinese" for me.) It did not help that this scare occurred right at Spring allergy season here in Michigan. Excuse me, did you just sneeze due to the pollen, or do you have a potentially fatal communicable disease?

And don't even think about the automotive industry, the lifeblood of this region, not to mention the indirect source of my livelihood. The killer Bs of Bailouts and Bankruptcy have dominated the headlines for months. The news is not good. Now GM and Chrysler have announced that they're dropping 25 - 30% of their dealers. I just hope that none of my customers are among them.

I won't belabor you with news of my 401k and other investments. Many, if not all, of you are in the same situation. Now the government tells us that Social Security and Medicare will become insolvent in the next decade. It makes me wonder, "How many greeters does WalMart need?" as we approach the possibility of quite literally working until we drop.

As I walk through my neighborhood I see many houses either for sale or vacant due to foreclosures. What will happen to them? I do not relish the though of their purchase by speculators who will rent tham out. Our neighborhood has always been one of owner occupied dwellings, and they are mostly well cared for.

But there is an upside too. It is really Spring, after a long miserable Winter (see previous post.) The flowers are blooming and the birds are singing. I still have a job, and some days can even say I enjoy it. I have a comfortable house that is mortgage free. I have a loving family and circle of friends who I see regularly. I am healthy. For these things I am thankful on a daily basis. I am hopeful that, together, all of us will weather the current storms. And it is this hope, and the aforementioned friends and family, that keep me going.

I'M BACK !!!!

Yeah, I know, it has been MONTHS since I made an entry. Well, I've been busy. Life gets in the way of living, if you define living as doing just what you enjoy. I will try to recap the last 7 (!) months in a few paragraphs, which should not be hard given my lack of memory. At least this way the trivial and mundane events have already gone to my brain's recycle bin, never to be recovered. (And anyone who says "It's all trivial or mundane." is hereby awarded a slap to the back of the head, courtesy of Jethro Leroy Gibbs.)

So Sherman, shall we step into the Wayback Machine and travel back to July 2008? (If you don't get the reference, just Google the damn thing already!)

July started off with a boom, and not just from fireworks, as my friend JoAnn and I attended the annual air show / hot air balloon festival in Battle Creek, MI. It was an outstanding show with many different, and in some cases, rare aircraft. The USAF Thunderbirds and Canadian Forces Snowbirds put on their usual excellent exhibitions and there were aerobatic displays by a number of plane / pilot combinations. There were fly-bys by everything from a WWII P-51 Mustang to an F-15 Eagle, including 4 of the few airworthy Lockheed F-104 Starfighters left in the world. Many pictures were taken on my (new) Olympus camera. As is the case more often than not, the balloons did not ascend that day due to the wind.

August was noteworthy in more than one way. I scored front row tickets

to a Manhattan Transfer concert at Meadowbrook, near Detroit. This multi Grammy Award winning vocal group has been my favorite for 30 years, and I can (and will, if prompted) go on and on about their artistry and innovative vocal talents. This was the 7th concert of theirs that I have had the pleasure to attend, and the first that I've been so close to the stage. So, Cheryl, Janis, Alan and Tim: Thank you for a most memorable and enjoyable concert. I hope to be lucky enough to see you again, but this one will always be the best.

August was also memorable in that I attended my first full blown NASCAR

race at Michigan International Speedway. The tickets, courtesy of a local radio station drawing, were in turn 4, with a decent view of most of the track. I've been to many car races, including 2 at MIS, but this was my first hand introduction to "NASCAR Nation", having previously seen their races only on TV. What a rush it is to see 43 cars thunder around the track for 200 laps. The sun was hot, the sky was azure blue and the

racing was close. I guess it doesn't get much better if you are a fan. And the fans were there, although there were empty seats to be seen, attributable to Michigan's economy and (at that time) $4.00 / gal gas prices.

September is my birthday month and my celebration included a reprise of what used to be an annual visit to Cedar Point amusement park in Sandusky, Ohio. This year's trip was a present from my Goddaughter, Kat and her boyfriend, Nick. Roller coasters (my passion) were ridden and tasty food and drink were consumed. A fun time was had - thanks again, you two.

The rest of September, October and November are a blur, punctuated by a better than expected MSU football season. Some arch rivals (Michigan) were defeated and some (Ohio State, Penn State) defeated us, but we went to a New Year's Day bowl for the first time in years and acquitted ourselves well, if not victoriously. Somewhere in there was a (too) short visit from my older daughter, who lives and works in Ft. Worth, TX. The obligatory cider mill visit was made. It seems that real apple cider is unknown in Texas. November ended with a Thanksgiving visit from the Honeck Family of Iowa City, IA, the (shameless plug) proprietors of the beautiful and elegant Alexis Park Inn and Suites in that same metropolis.

December brought the 2 things you can count on every year - Winter and Christmas. Christmas was, as in recent years, a low key affair, having no children living at home. I did receive an attractive MSU jacket from my kids and their boyfriends, just in time for..............January (and basketball season.) A basketball season that is, as of this time, not yet over for MSU (and 3 other teams.) This makes 5 final fours in 11 years - a record unmatched over that time span. This team has the best shot since the 2000 National Champs to make the finals. Winning the final? We shall see.

January brought what has become my annual visit to the North American International Auto Show in Detroit's Cobo Hall. Many beautiful models were on display and, oh yeah, there were some cars here and there too ;-) . The crowds were smaller than the previous year, and some manufacturers had opted out. There were fewer concept cars and the emphasis was on "green" and "fuel economy". The Chinese makers were out in force, and on the main floor this year, probably due to the "no shows" and the more austere displays, unlike last year when they were literally in the basement. It looks like the electric, hybrid and alternative fuel technologies are going to be increasingly empasized, and "high performance" internal combustion vehicles a fading concept. I still had a good time.

The aforementioned winter consumed January, February and most of March like a college student offered free pizza , relentlessly and without remorse. It wasn't the cold, although it did get damn cold at times. It was the snow, accumulating bit by bit, inch by inch, on an almost daily basis, punctuated by exclamation points of heavy snow. Those I could remove with the snowblower. It was the 1" to 3" storms that required shovel work that were the most disheartening. To get up early on mornings snow had been predicted, shovel as necessary, come home from work, possibly shovel again, and repeat on an almost daily basis was mind and body numbing. We had an above average accumulation of snow for the season, and yet less than West and North of here. I'm just glad I don't live there.

Which brings us to the present, the cusp of April, the onset of Spring, the 1" of overnight snow. (At least it required no human intervention, melting as the day warmed.) The trees are budding, the flowers are up (but not blooming) and my work day begins and ends while it is still light - it must be Spring. But as T.S.Eliot wrote, "April is the cruelest month." I will not put away my snow shovels quite yet.