Our lives are filled with light — a thousand points of light, to borrow the line. Each point represents something good and positive that’s unique to us: family members, friends, pets, special occurrences, traditions, treasured memories. The lights that shine upon us define us. They nourish our souls as the sun to a leaf and dispel the darkness that occasionally clouds our hearts and minds.

No individual light lasts forever, though. Friendships bloom and they fade. Loved ones are born; they live; they die. Memories we savor dim with time. Familiar faces and places change in ways that sometimes prove jarring or unexpected. No light, no matter how much we cherish it, burns unflickering for eternity.

As different lights begin to falter, other and newer lights burn the brighter. We don’t often know or understand the why and how of it. We change because our world changes around us: the world we see, illuminated by the lights that surround us. To be human — fully and authentically human — is to bask in the light during the good times and to strike a match when the light is dim for ourselves or for those we love.

St. Dorothy the Matriarch, RIP

On August 14, my grandmother passed away. She was 91 and suffered advanced dementia. She had, earlier in the summer, fallen and broken a hip. She spent her last few weeks in hospice, but she had been in decline for quite some time.

My maternal grandparents were deeply embedded in my childhood. We lived next door to them for darn near 20 years. They were practically second parents to my brother and me. I am blessed with many fond memories of them from my childhood: helping in the vegetable and rose gardens, burning leaves, swimming in the pool, enjoying elaborate holiday celebrations, experiencing their hobby farm, mailing the township tax bills, learning to golf and play chess — the list is gloriously long.

My grandma was a very bright light in my life for a very long time. She took me on my first big trip, to see relatives in Oregon. She picked me up from the bus stop every day when I was a freshman and sophomore in high school; she’d make me a snack and then we’d talk about school or whatever we wanted. She made me feel loved even when I didn’t always feel it as an adolescent.

Her decline was, like many things, gradual then sudden. She was mostly fine until a few years ago. First, she lost her ability to drive. That was a huge deal to her. Then, last year, she entered an assisted living facility.

The last time I saw her was Christmas 2022. My mom and brother and sister-in-law and nephew visited her for a bit. She looked old and tired; she wasn’t the woman I remembered from just six months prior, when I had been visiting her periodically for coffee in the mornings. When we left, she made a point of giving me a long, hard hug. It felt like goodbye.

And so it was.

My mother gave me an opportunity to see her in hospice, but I understood enough about her condition that I knew she wouldn’t recognize me. I didn’t want to spoil my memory of her. Frank and Dorothy were major lights in my life. Though dimmed and now past the mortal plane, they still shine in my heart. They still shape me as a person and give me hope that I’ll be reunited with them one day. Their example still shines a path of righteousness to guide my own journey.

Relationships, Reconsidered

My grandmother’s death has, of course, prompted reflection about the other points of light that surround me — friends and family, both near and far.

Dorothy’s funeral brought the family together again. Almost all of us were there, even my cousin Callie from Colorado (although her husband and children didn’t make the trip). It left me to wonder when, or if, I’d see any them again, or all of us together. A cousin is getting married this year; that’s something. But all the big family events were driven by my grandparents. With them both gone now, what binds us?

I recently “returned” to Facebook. Most of my feed is either horses or personal stuff from my friend feed. I’ve noticed that some friends have been under the weather — Duane, Roseann — and that others seem to thrive even as they change. My high-school friends have kids graduating high school, for cryin’ out loud. That’s … something.

It’s occurred to me that maybe, instead of lamenting the loss or dimming of various lights, that I could take the initiative to tend to their flames. I’m tinkering with that — of assessing which relationships I wish to keep, or cut, or rekindle. Maybe I could be the person who brings people together?

I’ve struggled, I think, with certain relationships because I have a deep-seated aversion to conflict. Almost every relationship of mine that’s soured has done so because, in some way, it felt like a line had been crossed (even when, in retrospect, it hadn’t) and I couldn’t conceive of a graceful path to recovery. It’s worse when the other person makes demands or employs guilt trips. I also know that historically, I haven’t been the one to do the hard work of maintaining long-distance friendships.

When I moved into The Chateaux last winter, I framed dozens of photos then placed them on the walls. I had never really bothered before, but it seemed important at the time. Prints from various moments in my life grace the walls. In the dining room, for example, I have an animal wall (all pets!), a family wall, and a friend wall. Sometimes I just walk around slowly and look at all the pictures.

Sometimes, we can’t control when some of our lights fade to darkness. But we can remember the light’s former glory, through pictures and messages and sundry other artifacts.

Home Again — ?

Another thing about the funeral: it made me think about “home” in a religious sense, too. I had planned, as I mentioned in my previous post, to be a three-parish Catholic: Sacred Heart, with its beautiful liturgy and church building; St. Anthony of Padua, which was the church of my childhood and much of my adulthood; and St. Isidore, which is pretty and offers a Sunday evening Mass. But Sacred Heart has never felt like home, and I’m too new to St. Isidore for it to feel like a home. St. Anthony has always felt like home, even though it was hard attending Mass at a parish with liturgy still stuck in 1972.

My grandmother belonged to a small rural Catholic parish. When we met with the priest and deacon to plan her funeral, it turned out that I knew Deacon Tom — his family is from St. Anthony. And this little parish suffered a short-term lack of musicians, given vacations. So who could I ping on Messenger and get a commitment within five minutes, despite her being on vacation herself? Vonnie, of course, the long-time music director at St. Anthony. And the funeral home staff — almost all were friends (Steve, Lucas, Tim) from St. Anthony. Even though I had been away from that parish for more than a decade, it was my St. A’s peeps who swarmed us in our grief. So I re-enrolled there the following week. It felt like going home.

Home is a funny thing, though. Its light changes over time, too. Sometimes in a major way. St. Anthony isn’t the parish I left; there’s a new pastor, and a new addition to the nave. But that’s small potatoes compared to my alma mater.

A few weeks ago, Cade and I attended the Kalamazoo Reptile Expo. We were running early, so I drove him through the Western Michigan University main campus. And holy Moses, has it changed. I drove by the collapsed rubble of the being-torn-down Bernhard Center. New apartments occupy spaces that used to be parking lots. The Valley dorms have a “dining center” now. Roads are different, with more roundabouts and traffic lights. Old retail standbys have long since been razed and replaced.

My time at WMU, I shall always treasure. So many people and places there shined upon my life in ways too numerous for me to count. But the campus that had been so familiar to me is now barely recognizable. My Bronco home lives now in my heart and not upon a plot of land in Kalamazoo County.

The Menagerie, Reconfigured

Over the last few months, Cade’s menagerie has seen some plusses and minuses. One of his ribbon snakes, Piper, escaped and could not be found. An aquatic frog made an impossible leap to her death, and his super-judgmental American Toad — Good Queen Pudge — passed away. Regina the scorpion succumbed to old age. But a few new additions grace his little zoo: One of the ribbons had babies; he acquired three quail hens; he purchased a baby Palmetto corn snake; he adopted a bearded dragon named Cheese.

Several beautiful lights extinguished; several more have begun to glow. This is the circle of life.

Chloe, First of Her Name, Queen of the Arfs — RIP

But on September 8, Cade suffered a very deep loss. His beloved chihuahua, Chloe, died. She was a few months shy of her 17th birthday.

One of my nicknames for Chloe is The Iron Maiden. She should have passed a long time ago; a combination of heart trouble and kidney failure, not to mention a broken back and arthritis and a touch of dementia, would have knocked any pup out of the fight.

But not Chloe. Until a few days ago, she was her usual happy self despite daily subcutaneous fluids and a drug cocktail that would impress any pharmacist. But she’s been afflicted by seizures, which had recently gotten worse. The emergency vet thought she had a brain tumor, because other causes (low blood sugar, low calcium, bad kidneys) had been ruled out. Cade had a difficult choice to make, and I think he made the right call. But it was damned hard.

I’ve never had my own dog. Cats? Yup. Parakeet? Sure. Dog? No. My mom loved dogs; our family was blessed by those whom I’ll never forget — Brutus the Great Dane, Shiloh and Kate and Gunner the German Shepherds, Molly the English Springer Spaniel — but for myself, I never had that kind of loving two-way relationship with a dog. Friends of mine did, though. I know how hard it was for Tony and Jen to lose Cooper. My friends Duane and Regina lost Cody this summer.

I was fortunate that Chloe liked me and welcomed me as a member of her pack. She often accompanied Cade to the bookstore; she patrolled the book carts and sometimes barked at customers. She frequently peed on the carpet, a fact I found amusing but which sometimes distressed Cade. She tolerated it gracefully when I had to administer her fluids and Cerenia on the weekends and holidays. She gave me kisses and managed to steal my heart.

I was with her when she died. And I’m heartbroken. I cried more yesterday than I have in the last 10 years combined. Her little light shone brighter than a thousand stars; now that she’s gone, the world is visibly more dim to me.

But I only knew her for a year. Cade loved her since she was a puppy. Cade and Chloe were inseparable best friends for more than half his life. When Cade was sad, she cheered him up. When he went through rough patches in life, she licked his face. When he was sick and miserable with chemo, she curled up next to him. He’s lost a part of his soul. Worst, he had to consent to her final mercy.

Chloe was Cade’s best friend. They were beautiful together; they each indelibly stamped themselves upon the other in ways too numerous and profound to mention. The world is a much less bright without her in it, but the mark she made on Cade — and me — will arf throughout our lifetimes.

See you on the other side of the rainbow bridge, Squish.

My Spectacular Seven

Although I never had a dog, I now have a horse. There really is something about the bond between a man and his horse that aligns with the old cowboy slogans. Horses are one-ton prey animals with a strong flight instinct. When they trust you, it’s beautiful and complete. And humbling.

Tyr trusts me. He comes to me in the pasture. He leads perfectly. A few weeks ago, I was standing in the pasture giving him treats. No lead rope. I had to take off running to fetch a different gelding who snuck into the barn — and for more than 300 feet, Tyr ran with me, unprompted, in perfect formation. Like we’d been practicing this for years, but I’ve only had him for two months. When we’re in the pasture and he’s nervous about other horses, he hides behind me and I shoo them away. When something new or scary happens and he shows signs of distress, I tell him it’s OK and stroke his neck and he immediately calms down because I myself am calm.

On Saturday, Cade and I had to pull 10,000 burrs from his forelock and mane. He didn’t enjoy it, but he stood for it. (Treats helped.)

I love my cats, but they’re cats. They view me as a mostly hairless two-legged butler who generates warmth for snuggling. I love my snakes, but they view me as a friendly tree branch that sometimes provides rats for dinner. Tyr is different. This partnership is different. It fills me in a different way. He’s well on his way to being my heart horse.

On the feline front, everyone seems to be doing well. Theon and Kali — Team Grey, at the office — have settled into a comfortable mutual toleration. Theon is sweet and vocal. Kali is getting braver; she lets others touch her now, sometimes. And she’s growing evermore Reubenesque. Murphy and Fiona — Team Orange, at home — just passed a senior-cat vet check with flying colors. They’ll be 16 in a few months.

The snakes noodle on. Apollo is back to being hungry before brumation. Athena is becoming even more of a chonk. She’s almost two thick feet of ball python excellence, who’s gentle to handle but eats like a kingsnake.

Murphy, Fiona, Theon, Kali, Apollo, Athena, and Tyr — they’re seven very large lights who bring me joy and help make me a better human. Long may they thrive.

Election 2024: Attack of This Double-Hater

I’m one of those “double-haters” the political commentators talk about — for the 2024 election, I hated that my choices were Joe Biden, whose cognitive decline cannot be ignored, or Donald Trump, whose moral decline cannot be ignored.

But lo! Nancy Pelosi shivs CornPop, and suddenly we have JOY Kamala Harris at the top of the Democratic ticket. Problem solved, right?

Not so fast. I don’t like Harris, either. She is a fundamentally un-serious candidate who didn’t even make it to her first primary in 2020, and has proven to be an unpopular and lackluster vice president. She is where she is because the Democrats are good at machine politics. Not because she’s the best possible candidate for the Democrats to field.

So — I’m still a double-hater. When I vote in November, I’m leaving the POTUS box blank, and then will vote for any down-ballot Republican who isn’t batshit crazy. Fortunately for my specific precinct, all of my choices are solid, but that’s not necessarily true in all parts of the state.

It’s a shame that our best and brightest lights aren’t the ones seeking high elective office, and that their self-serving shenanigans cast a shadow over our Republic.

Writing, Reinvigorated

In my last post I mentioned that I had migrated my personal knowledge management from Logseq to Bear to Obsidian. I find Obsidian to be “sticky.” That application syncs perfectly and its logic model maps fairly well onto the way I’ve taken notes on paper over the years. I therefore took another tech plunge, and consolidated all of my writing into the Ulysses app. Now that I’m an all-Apple person, I don’t need to worry about cross-platform or online-only jankiness.

I moved stuff from random Word files, Scrivener backups (and Holy Moses, Scrivener lost a shit-ton of info from very old projects because the updating process frequently borked), and even OneNote notebooks. All into Ulysses.

And it turns out, I had way more “stuff” than I really remembered. I discovered several polished flash pieces and even one entire novel that I had utterly forgotten about. Plus a few workshopped poems. So I’m feeling pretty good about that. And the Ulysses UI is bare enough that it does what I want without burdening me with what I don’t. Between Ulysses for drafting and Vellum for production, I think I have a very solid process flow going now — one with substantially less technical debt that I incurred when I drafted LaTeX in Visual Studio Code with frequent git commits.

I haven’t done a ton of writing lately but this coalescing and refreshing of my body of work proved inspirational. Writing generates a bit of light — for myself and, I hope, for others.

Business Updates

Business has been — well, business. Most of my consulting stuff is “on track, as planned.” The Lakeshore Literary Foundation has been slowly crystalizing; I don’t want to do too much, too fast, or take on work that requires huge short-term time lifts. So I’m just slow-building the infrastructure and handling programs one at a time.

The bookstore is growing. Every month, I sell books and buy books. We’re a break-even business right now, which is fine, but I’m accumulating several repeat customers. Which is nice! I’m past 4,000 used books right now, so it’s a right-proper bookstore. In time, I intend to add local small-press and self-published authors to the mix. We’re closing every Friday in September for various-and-sundry reasons (including me visiting other local indie booksellers to network in person). But so far, so good.

Work is a way to generate margin for mission. But the joy of seeing familiar faces cross into the bookstore adds another few lights into my constellation.

Miscellany

A few other twinkles of note:

• A few weeks ago, I sat on the testing board for the black-belt test at our dojo. This was the first time I’ve sat on a board, given that I was a student for the previous two tests (and will be testing for sandan at next year’s test). In the last few weeks, I’ve welcomed some new students in my morning classes. I find that teaching has been invaluable in my journey as a martial artist. Helping people figure out the basics helps me to remember the basics and how to role-model them effectively.
• I began the second year of my two-year stint as treasurer of the Midwest Independent Publisher’s Association. MiPA is undergoing some considerable changes thanks to staffing and board transitions. It’s interesting to be part of a small non-profit that’s trying to articulate its relevance to people who don’t know how much they need it.
• Two weeks ago, a study circulated that suggests that adults experience two major bimolecular aging shifts that average at around age 44 and age 60. I’ve spent the last few years wondering why, over 2021 and into mid-2022, I felt as if I didn’t truly recover from a nasty bout of the O.G. Covid. I never thought I had “long Covid” and anyway, I didn’t have symptoms of it. Yet I still don’t feel as if I’m the same person, in terms of energy, that I was before the pandemic. But it’s likely that instead of some weird coronavirus thingamajig, I’m just getting older. On the bright side, over the last year I haven’t been feeling any worse. I suppose I’m just settling into a body that’s rapidly approaching the half-century mark; no need to medicalize it any further.
• For years, I’ve been participating in the First Friday Adoration at Sacred Heart of Jesus Parish. I’ve taken the midnight-to-2-a.m. shift, which is quiet and peaceful. From the beginning, I’ve been reading The Didache Bible (the RSV-2CE), exclusively during that Adoration period. I started in the summer of 2019. This past Friday, I finished the Old Testament.
• National Novel Writing Month is dead to the world. As I mentioned in a previous post, we’ve taken our region and set it as a program of Lakeshore Literary Foundation. The West Michigan Author Alliance will counter-program NaNoWriMo this coming November. So authorial shenanigans will continue but without being shackled by the stench of HQ.

Parting Reflection: September to September

Given that my birthday is this coming Sunday, I figure a reflection is in order. The last 12 months have been quite full — of happiness, of joy, of sorrow, of adversity, of relaxation. It’s been, on balance, a good year. My sky burns bright with light and for that I’m deeply grateful. But the points above don’t perfectly match the points of last September. This is normal, and expected. And, I think, for the best.

Where to begin? I moved and swapped vehicles. The journey from Prospect to Paris has granted additional space but also a chance to rethink “things.” What do I need? What do I want? What can be tossed? I moved several boxes that hadn’t been unpacked since I left Marne in 2003. Do I need what lies within? And does having additional space (e.g., a spot in the basement to practice karate) mean I’ll use that space as intended? I think, so far, I’ve been on the right track. The move was a lever that lets me do more, and more efficiently, and the move from the Cruze to the Silverado has made horse ownership more practical.

Of which, Tyr. He’s the newest light in my life. Working with him brings me joy. Feeling the growing bond of trust and familiarity makes me confident that in a couple of years — when he’s a bit older and heavier, and I’m a bit lighter — we will have a lot of fun on the trail. But for now, we’re working on the basics. It’s been a stark reminder of how much I miss the hobby-farm life I was accustomed to, with my grandparents.

The last year with Cade has been a roller-coaster. We’re approaching a full year of dating. In that time, he’s kicked cancer’s ass, and bought a second horse, and lost Chloe, and gained a corvette. He’s grown so much — more confident, more happy, more willing to be his silly self. We’re 50 weeks in but yet to have a single argument. Primarily because we talk about things and don’t get angry. We will never become “the fudge couple.” (Inside joke.)

The bookstore has taken off while my publishing work has subsided. I see a much more fulfilling future in avoiding book publishing and focusing more on retail, non-profit advocacy, and running the occasional anthology. My consulting business has been stable.

I’ve grown, too. I had a blood-pressure scare a few months ago that reminded me that one cannot abuse one’s body forever. I’ve become more patient and more diplomatic, I think. I’ve become a better martial artist thanks to being a more engaged teacher.

I have a lot left to do. In particular, I continue to be haunted by relationships I’ve allowed to sour or grow dormant. I’m also acutely aware of the need to drop some pounds — not just for my health, but also for a future of riding Tyr.

I’ve been blessed with a lot of light. I’ll miss my grandmother, and Chloe. But I am more aware of the light than I’ve been in the past. And more aware that to some degree, I have some control over the stars twinkling above me.

Merry Christmas! Apparently I owe you distinguished readers an update covering the last six months. A lot has happened, so pray thee cinch thy pantaloons and let’s get jiggy with it, or something.

We’ll proceed in chronological order.

Summer of, Uh, Stuff

Holy Moses, the summer of ’23 was something else. As spring gave way to summer, I expected a relatively sedate mid-year that didn’t pick up again until mid-October. Hoo-boy, was I ever wrong. Instead, the summer was filled with ALL THE THINGS — mostly stuff I didn’t see coming, for better or for worse. My schedule was incredibly volatile; some days, I started with a lengthy to-do list and I thought, “wow, it’ll be quiet today and I’ll get a lot done” and then by the end of the day circumstances had derailed that plan entirely.

Case in point: I was scheduled to attend the Vegas Vacation but work obligations intruded.

Case in point: I was supposed to do a weekend backpacking trip but I couldn’t clear my plate to justify the extended absence.

Case in point: I had blocked time to work on my writing but I couldn’t keep that time block open consistently — it kept filling with meetings.

Case in point: I wanted to reserve Sundays for an offline reading day, but I literally haven’t had one since last winter.

About the only fun, planned thing this past summer was a beach day with the office gang, at Olive Shores park along Lake Michigan, in Ottawa County.

MiPA

In July I started a term as board secretary of the Midwest Independent Publisher’s Association. MiPA is a regional affiliate of the Independent Book Publishers Association. It’s been a fun group so far, and I’ve learned quite a bit about the real state of small-press publishing and how pretty much everyone’s struggling in this business climate.

Apollo d’Snek

In June, Allison and I welcomed a zero-legged critter into the office. We connected with a local exotic reptile rescue to bring in Apollo — or more formally, Apollo d’Snek Jones PhD.

Apollo was billed as a Texas rat snake but we think he is a Grey rat snake, instead. He’s a bit over five feet long. When he’s out of his enclosure, he’s remarkably relaxed — he’s never been aggressive and he’s never struck at anyone. If anything, he’s very curious, and he’s been interesting insofar as he watches me and has come to recognize me, specifically.

His enclosure is in the conference room. As a colubrid (a type of snake), he likes to spend a lot of time either burrowed in his substrate or curled up in one of his two hides. He’s been super-easy to care for and his herp vet gave him a clear bill of health. We had to bulk him up a bit, given that he came to us a bit under-nourished, but after a series of quick sheds he’s settled into a quiet, comfortable life with us.

Nidan!

In my last post I suggested I was slated for black-belt testing again. True enough, I tested again, and was awarded the rank of nidan (second-degree black belt). I continue to teach my morning classes, although the Monday classes have become a bit more formal now that we have a new student there.

I’m presently working on fine-tuning konchin kata and what we call “new 10 point.” My ability to get to evening classes was a bit constrained given my recent schedule, but I’m looking forward to getting back into the evening mix with the new year.

Of general interest: I think “we” (the team is TBD, I think) will be collaborating on a new book about our style, Uechi-ryu karate. And our master instructor, shihan Don Joyner, who issued my testing certificates, is scheduled to test for 9th-degree black belt in 2024. That’s exciting stuff; in our style, which is very much still led by the Okinawans, it’s rare for non-Japanese to rank that high. When Don tests, it’ll clear the way for our on-site lead instructor, Chris, to test for 7th degree.

Hot Wheels

Every year, on Independence Day and Christmas Day, I set aside an hour or so to review my personal Roadmap document. This one-page document has been around since 2009. And in July, it dawned on me that I really, really, really needed to replace my car. So I tentatively planned to start perhaps maybe possibly thinking about doing so in 2024.

You see, in 2016, I purchased a blue 2013 Chevy Cruze LT. The car was in excellent condition when I got it and until 2022 I barely put a dime into it beyond regular oil changes and new tires. But those small sedans have a shelf life, and 10 years is about it. In 2022 I put a few thousand into repairs but the shop said it was just a matter of time until the turbocharger went (a known problem with that model of Cruze), and over the late summer, all the hallmarks of a cracked turbo manifested. Plus I needed new tires. Plus I had an intermittent coolant leak.

In early September, whilst sitting on a conference call, I got an email from Carvana telling me I was approved for an absurd amount of money for an auto loan. So I was like, “Oh rly? Hold my beer.”

Long story short: I traded the Cruze for a mint-condition 2018 Chevy Silverado 1500, double cab. It’s white, with some interesting aftermarket stuff (like a different trailer brake controller and a really nice LED light strip below the tailgate). I installed my own running boards, and this week my brother and I are installing a mobile ham radio. My brother has literally the same make, model, year, and color of truck — just the trim is different — so I benefitted from the gift of his hard, foldable bed cover.

Carvana was a really good experience. Everything was straightforward and low-drama, and all the steps in the process were clearly communicated.

Rotation 47

Mid-September marked my 47th turn on this big blue marble. It was a good year. Celebrations were nice and low-key. Mostly some lunches with friends and family.

Introducing Cade

Another one of those really-big-deal things from the last few months: Cade.

He started working at the bookstore in the early summer, doing one or two half-days each week, helping me with inventory and with the sorting and labeling of used books for resale.

He’s a fascinating person — custodian of more than 50 animals, including more than two dozen snakes plus a horse, a dog, two cats, a chicken, a quail, fish, some pet mice, two pet rats, a frog, a gecko, a scorpion, a bunch of isopods. I’m sure I’m forgetting something. Maybe a tarantula? Moral of the story: he loves animals, and it’s been his expert hand that brought Apollo into the office.

He’s smart, a bit shy, deeply empathetic, humble, and utterly without guile. He’s exceptionally artistic and a natural caregiver. And in late summer, we became a couple, and it’s become serious.

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting most of his family (his grandparents even gave me Christmas gifts!) and received the ultimate seal of approval in that his very aged dog, Chloe, seems to love me, as does his horse, Oliver. In fact, we went to see Oliver on Christmas afternoon, to give him presents and candy canes.

Family Wedding

In late September one of my cousins got married at a beautiful Catholic church in northern Indiana. My mother and I drove down for the ceremony and reception. It was nice to see that branch of the family; I hadn’t seen much of them since the pandemic.

Bookstore Gets Real

Chalk one up to the “well, I didn’t see that coming” file — Jason’s Books & Coffee has become popular enough to have a regular stable of repeat customers.

I started the bookstore as a hobby business. It’s grown into a full-time retail outlet with roughly 2,500 books (mostly used) in stock, which puts us out of the “tiny store” category and into the smaller side of a “normal store” classification.

In October I changed the hours. We opened at 7 a.m. because a coffee shop should be open in either the morning or the evening, right? Turns out, I only had one customer in three months show up before 9:30 a.m. We’re closed the week of Christmas, to re-open on January 3, and when we do, I’m adjusting the hours yet again. We’ll open at 10 a.m. weekdays and close at 4 p.m. except on Wednesday, when we’ll close at 8 p.m. Wednesdays will start a weekly literary salon.

I’m heartened to see the community reaction to this store, despite that I’ve literally never advertised it. I’m finding that people are quietly pleased to have recourse to a bookstore-slash-coffeeshop that welcomes literally everyone and not just placard-carrying members of the #Resistance.

Athena d’Snek

In early October, Cade and Allison and I went to the massive reptile expo at Tinley Park, Illinois. Cade was super interested in a rare palmetto corn snake, and while he was contemplating, I noticed that a female juvenile ball python kept staring at me. So I asked to hold her. And then I brought her home with me.

She has already grown a ton and shed last week. Her enclosure is in my office, atop the filing cabinet, so I make a point of interacting with her daily. For a juvenile, she’s rather chill; she’s only bit me once, and it was kinda my fault for not noticing her feeding response to my fingers in her space, especially given that my fingers look a lot like the pinky rats she’s been eating lately. But also, snake bites aren’t scary. She’s not venomous, and I barely felt it. If I hadn’t seen her do it, I might not have even realized she struck.

As a female ball, she’ll get big — maybe 5 feet long or a bit bigger, but unlike Apollo she will be much thicker around. She’s such a sweetie, with a clear personality and an obvious sense of her environment and the humans around her.

I Moved to Paris!

Paris Avenue, I mean. In Grand Rapids. Not that Paris. What, do I look as if I were made of baguettes?

In December 2010 I moved into the main-floor apartment in an old Victorian mansion in the South Hill neighborhood, on Prospect Avenue. I didn’t intend to stay long, but I liked the place and the landlord and the cats loved their home.

In December 2018 the original landlord sold the place. The new guy was a definite downgrade; he obsessed about money and half-assed repairs and avoided maintenance altogether. The place was falling apart, and I had decided a couple of years ago that it was time to move on. But intertia is a powerful thing.

In late July I received notice from the new, shitty landlord that he was terminating my month-to-month lease because he needed to make repairs so substantial the unit couldn’t be occupied while he did it. So moving was no longer optional — it was mandatory. So move I did, into a lovely townhouse six blocks away, near the intersection of Paris and Wealthy and a short walk to Wealthy Street Bakery and the businesses along that corridor.

The new house is, well, newer, having been built in 1910 and always as a townhome. The oh-so-rectangular main floor consists of a small foyer, a large living room, a large dining room, a pantry, a spacious kitchen with a half-bath and utility room next to it, and a mud room in the back. The basement is unfinished but clean, with signs it had been formerly used as a workshop. The second floor has three bedrooms; one is a bedroom, one is an “adventure room” for my hobbies and exercise equipment, and one is the office-slash-library. The upstairs full bath has a wall of built-in shelving and a “back door” that opens into a bonus three-season porch.

The downstairs is either hardwood or, in the kitchen, linoleum. The upstairs is carpeted. Carpet is new to the cats. I have a very large, private front porch, an actual front door, and off-street parking. I recently added a smart lock to the front door, a smart thermostat, surveillance cameras, and a video doorbell. The neighborhood is very much gentrified; every five minutes you see someone walking a dog, and 80 percent of houses are festooned with Pride flags.

Huge increase in price, but also a huge increase in satisfaction. And the plus side — not only did I get a lot of de-junking done with the move, but I finally found the time to frame nearly 60 pictures and hang them on the walls around the joint. I’ve been meaning to do something like that for ages.

Kali d’Cat

When I left Prospect for Paris, my biggest conundrum was Kali, the back-porch cat. Kali has been coming around for three years and became pretty much dependent on me for food and water, as well as a heated house in the winter.

I was not going to leave her behind, but with Murphy and Fiona being old and the property having a two-cat max, the new house wasn’t an option, so I successfully appealed to Allison to let me bring her into the office.

So I did! And she is doing quite well. For a feral who’s never been inside before (she has the telltale CSNIP ear), she took to the indoors like a champ and has no desire to go outside again. She has demonstrated perfect litterbox etiquette and gets along with Theon d’Cat just fine — although he is a bit more skeptical of her than vice-versa.

She’s still terrified of humans who aren’t me, but if you’re careful (and both Brittany and Allison have had some success with her), you can pet her a little bit.

G. R. Comic-Con

In early November I registered a booth at Grand Rapids Comic-Con. I only had a 10-foot-by-10-foot booth, which wasn’t nearly large enough, but I achieved fairly brisk sales. One interesting thing is that I didn’t bring coffee because I figured, “This is DeVos Place; coffee will be omnipresent.” But nope. I had a bunch of people come to my booth asking for coffee. So lesson learned for next year.

The booth ran from Friday to Sunday. Mostly Cade and I staffed it, with a big assist from Allison. We were able to network with friends like Bob and John and prestigious author Jean Davis dropped by with Kay-Kay the chicken.

Cade and I, on Saturday, cosplayed as Loki and Mobius. Funny thing was, I didn’t have Loki horns, and not a single vendor sold them. So I ultimately made horns out of rolled-up paper, colored them yellow with a highlighter, and used scotch tape to tape them to my head. Worked really well, actually, despite looking ridiculous. But as we walked around, we were apparently a featured couple on the convention’s Facebook site. So that was cute. He and I talked about other potential cosplaying combinations, so stay tuned for next year.

Non-Profit Recognition

In October, after a 14-month delay, the Internal Revenue Service finally officially recognized the non-profit status of the Lakeshore Literary Foundation. So now we’re officially a 501c3 and can do more about fundraising and launching relevant programs.

NaNoWriMo Implosion

For the third consecutive year, I co-led a region of National Novel Writing Month. With my friend Mel, we were co-municipal liaisons for the Grand Rapids region, which is basically Kent County plus some or all of 12 surrounding counties. On a local level, this year was really good; we witnessed new participants and a level of energy that we hadn’t seen since 2018.

On the international scale, though, NaNoWriMo as an organization is in utter meltdown. They ended up shutting their community forums in the first week of November owing to a scandal related to allegations that a high-profile moderator was “grooming” (their words, not mine) teens to participate in a story-driven website about the “adult baby diaper lover” fetish. But lots of stuff collapsed because the organization itself was astonishingly frail. The board of directors swooped in, screwed things up worse, and now they’ve hired consultants to fix the mess even as the forums remain on semi-permanent lockdown.

For an entertaining takedown of the primary drama, check out this podcast episode from Blocked & Reported.

To me, it’s an open question whether NaNoWriMo will endure, and if it does, whether I’ll continue to be associated with it. That said, our region is strong and can exist apart from HQ. So, huh. The future could be interesting, indeed.

And oh! Yes, I did participate as well, and got a ton of important scaffolding work done for A Confluence of Trinkets, the second installment of my Jordan Sanders mystery series.

A Bittersweet Sunset

My grandmother, St. Dorothy the Matriarch, has been on a fairly steady decline from dementia. She turned 90 in May. When we visited her last Christmas, she seemed a bit more frail but also “with it” mentally. According to my mother, at this point she mostly doesn’t recognize people and forgets very basic things. In early November, she was placed in an assisted-living facility, which she seems to like.

This is a sad twilight for my grandmother. She meant the world to me when I was younger. She won’t be long for this world, but I hope she finds peace and reunification with my late grandfather in the next.

Attack of the Phantom Boob

Early in December, Cade was diagnosed with breast cancer. We’ve known something was wonky for a while but it took a failed course of antibiotics to prompt the diagnostic imaging that led to more tests and an eventual diagnosis. I’ve been doing my best to support him over multiple appointments and the care he’s receiving from the multidisciplinary clinic at Corewell Health has been phenomenal. So far, all indications suggest that he’s on a “treat to cure” pathway, with a surgery in January and some radiation in the late winter that should fully resolve the cancer. I’ve been very much impressed by his determination to “kick cancer in the nuts” and by the emotional level-headedness he’s demonstrated throughout this process. I’m so very proud of him!

What’s odd is that Cade, as a transman, already had a double mastectomy a few years ago. There’s a lot about trans health care that’s still being worked out. Although Cade is not an activist — he doesn’t shove flags in your face or scream about pronouns; he just wants to live in peace — his clinical situation has definitely raised my interest as a healthcare quality professional.

We were joking after one of his appointments that it’d make an interesting body-horror story to posit that the ghost of the “murdered” GirlCade is trying to get revenge by using phantom female body parts to kill the real Cade. I just might add that concept to my short-story tickler list.

For the record: Cade’s been public about his diagnosis and I received his consent to share this info after sending him a screenshot of the draft post.

A Technical Regression

Remember in that last post where I said I migrated to Proton Mail and to Logseq?

Yeah, this month, I migrated away from them. Proton Mail was fine; Proton Calendar was awful — it wouldn’t sync with anything but itself, so scheduling became a nightmare. And Logseq is brilliant in principle but it’s not yet robust enough so its sync occasionally doesn’t work correctly. Several times I’ve experienced regression loops where version collisions between files open on two different devices led to as many as 7,000 duplicate versions of the same file filling the tree. I’ve also had files vanish or text literally disappear from the screen after I typed it. Not yet ready for prime time, alas.

So I returned whence I came. I moved my email back to fully self-hosted but with Postmark for SMTP delivery, and the calendars follow standard protocols thanks to SoGo groupware. I moved Logseq back to Bear App; Bear allows for backlinks that are good enough for what I use, and smart folders based on tags let me replicate a familiar hierarchy of notes. My to-dos are back in Todoist, which has seen some nice enhancements around scheduling and duration of tasks that then overlay nicely on my calendar.

One upside? I now use Cal.com for coordinated scheduling. I loaded all of my calendars there, and then when anyone wants to book time with me in one context (e.g., consulting or publishing or non-profit stuff) the Cal.com tool only shows specific working hours with appointments on other calendars blocking scheduling on the target calendar. Very slick.

Texts and Social

I subscribed to Texts, the service now owned by Auttomatic (the company behind WordPress). It’s basically a unified inbox for messaging services, including iMessage if you’re on a Mac. So my iMessage, Discord DMs, LinkedIn DMs, Instagram DMs, Signal, Telegram, Messenger, and multiple Twitter DMs are all in one application. Very slick. It’s the reason I’m actually getting more active on social media again; I don’t have to worry about checking 873 different inboxes for messages anymore. Just one.

Thoughts for the New Year

Whew. Long post. What are the TL;DRs?

First, that a lot of change has happened quickly for me. It’s mostly been good! So yay, that. But so much change, coupled with the fact that I care very deeply for someone with a new cancer diagnosis, has really affected my thinking about what’s important. I find myself pondering more and more the tee-up for my own twilight years. I care more about my retirement plan, and my housing situation, and the status of my bank account, than I ever have before.

Second, that despite my incessant technical tweaking, I still haven’t grokked efficiency. In the context of an Eisenhower Matrix, a lot of my stuff falls into the Urgent-Not Important box. It’s urgent because someone’s screaming, or a customer walked in the door, but it’s not important because whatever it is, isn’t materially related to a core strategic aim. In other words, a lot of fire drills. Some of these are a function of my approach to comms: I compartmentalize what I do, so if someone is (for example) waiting for an email on a project not currently front-burnered, they get mad and assume I’m ignoring them instead of recognizing that other priorities have bubbled up. But some of this is also a function of how I structure my week.

Opening the bookstore at 7 a.m. seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. I could jumpstart the day, get some stuff done before people showed up, pack up early, and reserve the evening for my big-rock priorities. But in practice, I have spent the last three months so bloody exhausted that my normal, natural “prime time hours” of 7p to 1a turned into an incoherent mush.

Third, I’ve been thinking more and more about my faith life and my relationship web. On the faith side, it’s really a question about diligent attention to the inner forum through more regular, structured prayer and spiritual reading. On the relationship side, it’s about growing new connections while nurturing old ones — of making the effort to initiate emails or phone calls or dinner invitations. Of sending cards or being supportive on social media. I haven’t been good about that. But I’m working on it.

Anyway, as ya’ll can see, it’s been a busy six months. Thanks for reading this far; I commend your rubbernecking and award you zero points.

But I do very much wish you all the best for a happy, healthy, and fulfilling new year.

I enjoy listening to podcasts. Some of the shows on my roster only get a listen when the topic seems especially intriguing — and one such feed is The Megyn Kelly Show. Episode 286 featured physician Dr. Peter Attia, an expert on longevity research. Kelly’s questions were good and his responses were better; even when the two of them could have “gone there” on politicizing the topic of health research, they didn’t. Attia evinced a lot of humility about what he did and didn’t know and about the state of solid science versus interesting research that has yet to be fully vetted. It’s a 97-minute show, and worth the listen, because it really got me thinking.

Attia made several claims that I already understood to be true and some that were new to me. Throughout the episode, he wove each strand of his argument into an intriguing tapestry and did a much better job than most health experts in emphasizing the “why should you care about this” angle. 

I think my biggest take-away was this: An outsized contributor to whether you’ll experience significant cognitive and physical decline in your “terminal decade” (the last 10 years of your life, whenever they happen to be) is your VO₂ Max score. This metric quantifies your cardiopulmonary efficiency, i.e., how well you burn oxygen and fuel to produce the energy to do physically demanding things. The higher it is, the lower in general your all-cause mortality risk becomes. Most biometrics fall within a range (e.g., blood pressure should be neither too high nor too low) but VO₂ Max is one of the few that’s unbounded — the higher the better with no upper limit.

We all think we know what constitute the building blocks of good health, but we rarely parse them into a deliberate “what kind of health do I want to be in when I’m in my terminal decade” action plan and then reverse-engineer those goals to determine where we need to be today. Everyone’s objectives are different; each can take a different pathway toward achieving his or her specific target. After reflecting on the podcast conversation and thinking about my own desires for my terminal decade, I’ve come to six conclusions.

• Fitness: Attia says we should be solid in four areas — aerobic fitness, anerobic capacity, strength, and flexibility. All four, to some degree! Aerobic and anerobic exercise contribute to improving VO₂ Max. Strength gives you bigger muscular “wells” for storing glucose as well as improves bone density. Flexibility decreases your risk of injury when you fall and your risk of falling in general. (You do not want to be an 85-year-old with a hip fracture. Hip fractures in the elderly are very often the beginning of the end.)
• Diet: There’s no perfect diet, but the science is clear that calorie restriction is probably beneficial as long as it doesn’t lead to malnutrition, and intermittent fasting appears to be an effective mechanism for achieving this restriction. If you want a defined approach, the Mediterranean Diet is supported by the strongest clinical evidence. But the overriding rules are to limit calorie consumption, enjoy a good spread of macronutrients, and avoid excess sugar, salt, alcohol, and the “bad” fats. 
• Sleep: The rule that everyone needs a good eight hours isn’t quite true. It’s better to say that we each need to consistently get quality sleep in an amount that matches what our individual bodies are calibrated to require. I, personally, do best in the 7.5 hour to 8.0 hour range. Good sleep gets you through your REM cycles and is correlated to better health outcomes; it’s best done in a place that’s cool, quiet, and dark. Avoid brain stimuli before sleep, like screens.
• Hydration: Water is good; soda and especially alcohol are not. The verdict’s out on whether one standard drink per day is better than zero, but the science is abundantly clear that two or more standard drinks per day bring significant adverse health consequences. And in the short term, it screws up your sleep schedule, too. Limiting yourself to one standard serving, three or four times per week, is probably safest if you can’t give up the hootch altogether.
• Stress Management: The stress hormone cortisol is not our friend when we’re continuously awash in it. Stress management is essential to improving the quality of sleep, reducing the temptation to over-indulge, and potentially reducing systemic inflammation. Plus, cortisol damages our brains in large doses. Yikes!
• Relationships: It wasn’t mentioned on the podcast, but having a network of people you love surround you in your twilight years is critical to your mental and emotional health. Loneliness is a real killer.

It’s tempting to create independent goals for each of these categories, but the truth is, all of this stuff is so intertwined that looking at a longevity component in isolation is rather counterproductive. Rather, I’ve concluded that I need to think differently about how I’ve approached health and wellness at a high level.

I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t really want to “retire” but instead keep doing lots of interesting things for as long as I can. If we assume that for most people, the tipping point is around age 85, then the 80s can usefully be construed as most people’s terminal decade. It’s entirely possible to be that 80-year-old who looks and acts like a 65-year-old, though. I aspire to be that guy. 

In fact, my vision statement, which I developed in 2009, reads as follows: “I will be a contented and healthy man who, on his 70th birthday, can look himself in the mirror without feeling the sting of regret.” At that point, I may have roughly 15 more years to go, Deo volente. Because I don’t want to retire, I figure I’ll transition over time — from maximizing revenue to writing, teaching, volunteering, and mentoring. 

So my thinking has evolved today. I think a lifestyle tweak is in order that blends a lot of different behaviors. For example, I need to really focus on aerobic and anerobic fitness first, then when my weight is lower, begin strength training. Karate has been excellent for my coordination and balance, so I’ll keep doing that. In fact, I want to teach karate eventually, and that’s something I can do to keep active and socially engaged well into my senior years — along with being a dive master and a certified flight instructor. But I also realize that exercise alone doesn’t lose weight — I need to be more disciplined about eating and about choosing distilled water over martinis in the evening. It just so happens I really enjoy the Mediterranean Diet, and limiting intake to the noon-to-6p window might be a good calorie-restriction strategery. Similarly, I’ve been a bit less careful about sleeping well, so enforced bed times plus less before-bed computer and cocktail time will help, as might a deliberate end-of-day ritual that could include next-day planning or the thoughtful recitation of Compline in my printed copy of the Liturgy of the Hours. I’m naturally a low-stress kind of guy, but it never hurts to re-focus some discipline on journaling so I can better track my mental and emotional well-being. Plus, I should commit to more “Sabbath Sundays” than I currently do. Those weekly occurrences feature me doing nothing except (a) going to Mass and (b) reading [paper] books. No computers, no TV, no phone, no tablet. Just books. And I can (and should!) do a better job of maintaining old connections and nurturing new ones.

Longevity planning is a lot like investing for retirement: If you want to have “plenty” at the right time, it’s easier to start young and build gradually than to scramble like a hyena starting at age 55.

To the folks I love, I say this: If I do my part, will you do yours?

Eight all-purpose updates to round out this post:

1. Gillikin & Associates: Work has been progressing well. I’m still in a space where I can provide myself a salary and benefits — including, as of last month, a 401k plan. I’ve had the opportunity to do some really interesting stuff related to statistical modeling and IT strategy lately, and this coming week I’ll be hoofin’ it to central Alabama for some on-site support.
2. Lakeshore Literary: What a whirlwind! We’re in the last few days of the reading window for the inaugural issue of The Lakeshore Review, with plenty of submissions through both our internal submission tool as well as Submittable. Garrett and I have already issued a bunch of acceptances and rejections, with many more to review, and both Lisa and Allison have been thoughtfully engaged in their reading work. Yay! And yesterday, I oriented a new intern for academic credit — Faith, from Ferris State University. She’ll be in the office every Tuesday for the next few months, in addition to remote work within the slush piles. Our invite-only anthology, Surface Reflections, has a bunch of interest from the Grand River Writing Tribe. Beyond the editorial work, I’ve re-joined the Community of Literary Magazines and Small Presses, got a new lit journal to distribute through us, and finalized the retail and coffee/snack area for The L&G Center. Lots of progress!
3. Karate: Things are still on track for me to test for first-degree black belt this summer. In the last few months I’ve learned Seichin (blue belt) and Seisan (purple belt) katas and Dan kumite, and I’m working on Seisan bunkai and Okikukai kumite. Apart from remembering WTF I’m doing for Okikukai 7 and 9, and that [insert expletive here] ankle-sweep takedown for Dan 6, I think I’m making progress. That’s what six to eight classes per week get you. That, and a better sense of one’s cardiopulmonary function.
4. Writing: I wrapped up the second chapter of The Bear of Rosebriar Creek today. My planning document for this novel ran nearly 4500 words, with some character sketching, plot/conflict arcing, and a chapter-by-chapter synopsis that enjoyed a thorough treatment by both the OG Tribe and Group V teams within the GRWT. I’m excited for this project. At a high level, it explores the interplay of trauma and identity by means of trauma-driven archetype changes for four primary POV characters. Each undergoes a Kübler-Ross progression from a shadow Jungian archetype to a positive archetype (one each of the king, magician, warrior, and lover), all stemming from an opening death scene.
   Although the king/warrior/magician/lover construct is generally oriented toward masculine archetypes, nothing requires this framework to be male-only, and two of my POV characters are female (the warrior and the lover). 

5. Auto Woes: Over the last month, I burned out the motor on my driver-side front window, developed a leaky coolant line, and needed an oil change. I took my car into a local repair facility last week and was quoted nearly $6,000 (yes, with an additional zero) for everything they said needed to be done. Which included $3,200 for a new turbocharging system and oil cooler, $1,200 for rear rotors, $600 for the window, $700 for a new oil pan, and $100 for an overall inspection. I paid for the inspection and window. They couldn’t do the oil change because “the bolt was cross-threaded” and they didn’t want to damage it, so they recommended a whole new pan. And instead of fixing the hose where I know the leak is, they said “98 percent of the time, those turbos need to be replaced.” And I just had the rotors done a year ago. Long story short, I got the window fixed and the rest, I’ll take elsewhere for a second opinion.
6. Cats: And all of a sudden, Kali d’Cat has decided that she really loves to be picked up and snuggled, and even tries to climb on my lap when I lean down to pet her. She’s come a long way from a skittish stray on my back porch more than two years ago — a stray that, at first, wouldn’t get within a dozen feet of me.
7. Star Trek: I’m a huge Trek fan and I’m loving the new crop of shows. One thing I’m noticing, though, is more ham-fistedness in the identity politics realm courtesy of the writers’ room. Not on race — e.g., the Capt. Burnham character is a black woman who earned The Chair the hard way, and her sex and race never were thrust in the viewers’ faces — but more on sexuality. The “I’m a they/them” and “you will truly be seen, trans person” stuff in S3/S4 of Discovery felt too on-the-nose, and now we’ve gone Full Woke in this second season of Picard. Complete with screeds against corporate greed overlaid with homeless people and evil government agents torturing, even murdering, innocent people. Star Trek is at its best when it advances its causes with subtlety. In the 1960s, for example, no one made a big deal about a black woman, Lt. Uhura, on the bridge, nor did they shy away from having both a Japanese and a Russian character on the bridge when the Cold War was underway and there was still lingering anti-Japanese sentiment from the end of WW2. Those were big deals back in the day, but they were done without calling attention to it. Modern Trek nailed it with Michael Burnham (and, I suppose, Carol Freeman) as well as the Paul Stamets/Hugh Culber marriage, but the writers missed an opportunity with the Adira and Grey characters and the unconcealed pointedness of Picard’s season-two plot.
8. Computing: In a bit of news sure to delight Roux, I may replace my “normal” computer with a Mac — specifically, one of those spiffy new Mac Studios. They’re a bit pricey, but when I examine what I run on Windows, it occurs to me that nothing I use isn’t, by this point, fully cross-platform. Given how seamless the iPhone/iPad/Mac/AirPod ecosystem is, I’m left scratching my head for reasons to not go whole hog, especially given that my still very-high-powered Windows desktop is one arbitrary processor generation behind the ability to upgrade to Windows 11.

All for now.