Personal

A “Merry Christmas” Reflection

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Today is the day that enchants the minds of children and provokes a curious admixture of joy, sorrow, angst and consumerism for adults. Yes, today is Christmas. May yours be merry.

Some thoughts:

  • When I was a kid, Christmas was a time of magic. Part of the magic was a two-fold sense of expectancy — the secular acts of gift-giving, feasting and school vacations, on one hand, and the progression of Advent on the other. Now, I look forward to my annual two-week vacation, but the religious aspect feels disconnected. Partly, I think, because of my church-hopping over the last several years, and partly because most of the expressions I see of authentically Catholic Advent/Christmas observance feel increasingly trite. The depth is missing. The sense of spiritual challenge is gone. Many years ago, my friend Mitch observed that one of our priests only really had five homilies, the contents of which changed like a paint-by-numbers game. Advent/Christmas feels a lot like that, now: Pick a generic theme as your base color and paint over last year’s season. We’re depriving ourselves of something important, I think, and it doesn’t feel like it’s a one-priest or one-parish thing.
  • With temperatures fluctuating between the mid-50s and mid-60s over the last few days, it hardly feels like Christmas. Apparently this is West Michigan’s 12th “green” Christmas since 1905; usually, we have at least an inch or two of snow cover. So the fact that I could sit outside on the front porch on the 23rd or 26th, in shorts and a T-shirt, to enjoy a cigar — well, that situation is a wee bit out of the ordinary. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
  • Gift-giving, for me, is a stressor. There’s the embarrassment of forgetting, the awkwardness of one-way exchanges, the frustration of thinking of just the right gift, etc. But it is what it is, I suppose.
  • Recent holiday events have been pleasant. We did Christmas Eve with my mom. Among other things, I got cat toys, and Murphy even played with one at some length: A bird that, when batted, makes a chirping sound. I heard chips all night. #YayFun. And last Saturday, we visited my grandmother for the maternal-family party. Got to meet baby Emma for the first time.
  • Speaking of my mom’s party, three things of note transpired. First, Katie showed up, which was nice. Second, there was a serious discussion about a family trip four years from now — a three-week summer trek by rented RV to Alaska. And third, my brother trumped in the annual game of “rearrange mom’s ‘Merry Christmas’ blocks” … xmas
  • I welcomed Tony back last Sunday for a podcasting session. That was nice. And in the last few weeks, I’ve had dinner with Abbi — she just got back from three weeks in northern India and brought me back a lovely hand-woven cashmere scarf — and cigars with my old college friends Matt and John. I haven’t seen John in many years, so it was an especially joyful experience to re-connect with him.
  • I’m in the middle of a two-week vacation. Lots of stuff to accomplish, but progress is already solid. I’m remembering, however, the biggest reason I wanted an office for Caffeinated Press: Cats. Specifically, that Murphy either wants to sleep on me, or walk around the house yelling loudly to get my attention. I’ve never seen a cat as quite as co-dependent as he is. Fiona, his sister, hasn’t moved from her pillow in the sun over the last four hours. Murphy, however, has been a very loud, very fuzzy shadow all day long. Makes it hard to work in peace.
  • I’m keeping friends who’ve had relationship damage over the last year in my thoughts as they experience the holidays in a less happy light.

Merry Christmas and happy Hannukah, and may you have a safe/happy/healthy/profitable new year.

Personal

A "Merry Christmas" Reflection

No Comments

Today is the day that enchants the minds of children and provokes a curious admixture of joy, sorrow, angst and consumerism for adults. Yes, today is Christmas. May yours be merry.
Some thoughts:

  • When I was a kid, Christmas was a time of magic. Part of the magic was a two-fold sense of expectancy — the secular acts of gift-giving, feasting and school vacations, on one hand, and the progression of Advent on the other. Now, I look forward to my annual two-week vacation, but the religious aspect feels disconnected. Partly, I think, because of my church-hopping over the last several years, and partly because most of the expressions I see of authentically Catholic Advent/Christmas observance feel increasingly trite. The depth is missing. The sense of spiritual challenge is gone. Many years ago, my friend Mitch observed that one of our priests only really had five homilies, the contents of which changed like a paint-by-numbers game. Advent/Christmas feels a lot like that, now: Pick a generic theme as your base color and paint over last year’s season. We’re depriving ourselves of something important, I think, and it doesn’t feel like it’s a one-priest or one-parish thing.
  • With temperatures fluctuating between the mid-50s and mid-60s over the last few days, it hardly feels like Christmas. Apparently this is West Michigan’s 12th “green” Christmas since 1905; usually, we have at least an inch or two of snow cover. So the fact that I could sit outside on the front porch on the 23rd or 26th, in shorts and a T-shirt, to enjoy a cigar — well, that situation is a wee bit out of the ordinary. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
  • Gift-giving, for me, is a stressor. There’s the embarrassment of forgetting, the awkwardness of one-way exchanges, the frustration of thinking of just the right gift, etc. But it is what it is, I suppose.
  • Recent holiday events have been pleasant. We did Christmas Eve with my mom. Among other things, I got cat toys, and Murphy even played with one at some length: A bird that, when batted, makes a chirping sound. I heard chips all night. #YayFun. And last Saturday, we visited my grandmother for the maternal-family party. Got to meet baby Emma for the first time.
  • Speaking of my mom’s party, three things of note transpired. First, Katie showed up, which was nice. Second, there was a serious discussion about a family trip four years from now — a three-week summer trek by rented RV to Alaska. And third, my brother trumped in the annual game of “rearrange mom’s ‘Merry Christmas’ blocks” … xmas
  • I welcomed Tony back last Sunday for a podcasting session. That was nice. And in the last few weeks, I’ve had dinner with Abbi — she just got back from three weeks in northern India and brought me back a lovely hand-woven cashmere scarf — and cigars with my old college friends Matt and John. I haven’t seen John in many years, so it was an especially joyful experience to re-connect with him.
  • I’m in the middle of a two-week vacation. Lots of stuff to accomplish, but progress is already solid. I’m remembering, however, the biggest reason I wanted an office for Caffeinated Press: Cats. Specifically, that Murphy either wants to sleep on me, or walk around the house yelling loudly to get my attention. I’ve never seen a cat as quite as co-dependent as he is. Fiona, his sister, hasn’t moved from her pillow in the sun over the last four hours. Murphy, however, has been a very loud, very fuzzy shadow all day long. Makes it hard to work in peace.
  • I’m keeping friends who’ve had relationship damage over the last year in my thoughts as they experience the holidays in a less happy light.

Merry Christmas and happy Hannukah, and may you have a safe/happy/healthy/profitable new year.

Personal

It’s the Ho-Ho-Holidays. Allegedly.

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Two years ago, we had a super-snowy winter that landed on the record books. Last year, we had a super-cold winter that landed on the record books. This year, we have a super-warm winter that’s pretty much the inverse of the prior two seasons. With no snow, temps between 40 and 60 and frequent bright sunshine, the last six weeks have been a definitive counterpoint to winters’ past.

As such, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. More like Easter. Which isn’t bad — the cats like sitting in my open bedroom window — but still.

I am looking forward, however, to my annual two-week vacation. For 16 full days — from the afternoon of Dec. 18 until the morning of Jan. 4 — I’m away from the hustle and bustle of the day job. I’ll probably spend the bulk of the vacation catching up on domestic chores, binge-watching Netflix whilst peddling away on my exercise bike, and opening the Caffeinated Press office to prepare for 2016.

It’ll be a good time to read, to write and to catch up. Speaking of which: This week, I’ve progressed from having roughly 1,500 emails (combined, all inboxes) to — as of today — less than 20 messages left to address. Let me tell you, it feels like an accomplishment, especially given that since mid-year, I’ve been on a roughly 10-day lag on responding to people given how much I was drowning in e-correspondence.

Anyway. Maybe I’ll put on some Christmas music and turn on the air conditioner, to start to generate the “feelin’ of the season.”

Personal

It's the Ho-Ho-Holidays. Allegedly.

No Comments

Two years ago, we had a super-snowy winter that landed on the record books. Last year, we had a super-cold winter that landed on the record books. This year, we have a super-warm winter that’s pretty much the inverse of the prior two seasons. With no snow, temps between 40 and 60 and frequent bright sunshine, the last six weeks have been a definitive counterpoint to winters’ past.
As such, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. More like Easter. Which isn’t bad — the cats like sitting in my open bedroom window — but still.
I am looking forward, however, to my annual two-week vacation. For 16 full days — from the afternoon of Dec. 18 until the morning of Jan. 4 — I’m away from the hustle and bustle of the day job. I’ll probably spend the bulk of the vacation catching up on domestic chores, binge-watching Netflix whilst peddling away on my exercise bike, and opening the Caffeinated Press office to prepare for 2016.
It’ll be a good time to read, to write and to catch up. Speaking of which: This week, I’ve progressed from having roughly 1,500 emails (combined, all inboxes) to — as of today — less than 20 messages left to address. Let me tell you, it feels like an accomplishment, especially given that since mid-year, I’ve been on a roughly 10-day lag on responding to people given how much I was drowning in e-correspondence.
Anyway. Maybe I’ll put on some Christmas music and turn on the air conditioner, to start to generate the “feelin’ of the season.”

Personal

Thanksgiving Blessings

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The last time Tony and I recorded a podcast episode, he tried to wish me a happy Thanksgiving but stumbled his way toward telling me “Thanksgiving blessings.” Which, then, degenerated into a series of giggles at the odd turn of phrase. But Thanksgiving does, indeed, provide a window for at least reflecting on the blessings we do enjoy. I’m grateful for:

  1. Living in the United States, which — despite the bitter partisan nature of contemporary electoral politics — remains a beacon of hope for so many poor and oppressed souls around the world.
  2. Enjoying a nice home with modern utilities and antique charm, courtesy of a landlord who’s also a friend.
  3. Having a family with whom I may happily break bread tomorrow, or at least talk to by email.
  4. The opportunity to write this blog post with two sweet feline overlords within arms’ reach, who are sleeping peacefully upon their pillows.
  5. The chance to make my world-famous spicy sausage jambalaya tonight, which I’ll enjoy by a wood fire with a book, a glass or two of delicious Spanish wine and Bach playing in the background.
  6. The drive to “win” NaNoWriMo this year and, next month, polish a draft of a real, honest-to-goodness novel.
  7. A meaningful job that brings ample opportunity to explore and implement ways to improve public health.
  8. My friends in West Michigan, especially the motley crew of writers with whom I associate.
  9. A reliable four-wheel-drive SUV that can plow through the snow accumulating outside my window.
  10. Our podcast and the friends across the world we’ve made because of it.
  11. Knowing that if I had an emergency and had to place a dreaded 3 a.m. call, that people would answer.
  12. Experiencing the joy of being the inaugural house guest of PPQ and The Good Doctor this week.
  13. Having a life plan and making progress toward achieving Big Things.
  14. Cigar and cocktail evenings and the relationships built from them.
  15. Having finally made that Isle Royale trip earlier this year.

We can always find things to complain about, or discern opportunities to make things better. Thus shall it always be. Harder is the task, though, of reflecting upon what is and finding joy in it — joy without caveat.
Today, be grateful. Without reservation or evasion. Be content with what is, and let tomorrow worry about what will be.
Thanksgiving blessings to you all.

Personal

I’m Dreaming of a Sterile Christmas

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I struggled a bit with figuring out what single adjective best encapsulates this year’s holiday season. I settled on sterile.

Here’s why:

  • Until yesterday, this winter has been unseasonably warm. Like temperatures in the 40s/50s, with total seasonal snow accumulation of less than an eighth of an inch. Dry Christmases are as lame as dry wedding receptions.
  • I didn’t put up decorations or send cards, and I haven’t really listened to much Christmas music. Shopping for gifts has brought no joy.
  • Things are a bit morose at work — no one seems to be in a holiday mood given transitions within the hospital. No potlucks, no decorations, no white-elephant gifts.
  • Family gatherings seem contrived, even superficial. Pleasant, to be sure, but … transactional.
  • I have been extremely inactive in church events this season.

So this year, Christmas is just another day on the calendar. Just like Thanksgiving was. Just like New Years’ Day will be.

It didn’t used to be like this. Once upon a time, the holiday season was magic. In fact, the entire fourth quarter marked my favorite time of the year. Kickoff coincided with my birthday in mid-September, continued with helping my grandparents reap their harvest and burn their leaves in October, and hit an autumnal high point with Halloween and its associated trick-or-treating (as a kid) or costume parties (as an adult). Then — as the cold set in — we prepared for Thanksgiving. Until my early 20s, we assembled for a lavish feast at my grandparents’ house; this long-awaited afternoon of food and football opened the door to the Christmas season.

With the arrival of Advent, the spiritual side received nourishment with the various preparations for the Christmas season. When Christmas itself came, the feast arrived with cold, snow, gifts, parties, choirs and Masses; the entire family convened at my grandparents’ house on Christmas Eve, then we went to Midnight Mass, then my parents and brother and I did our own thing on Christmas morning. The period between Christmas and New Years’ Eve allowed for a bit of quiet recovery before an evening of revelry on the 31st.

Then, after a drying-out brunch on the morning of Jan. 1, it was all over but the fond memories.

So what went wrong? Probably a few things. First among them, I no longer welcome birthdays. Followed by substantial changes over the last few years to my circle of friends that has put Halloween parties off the table. Then the lack of a seasonal harvest. Oh, and don’t forget the fracturing of Thanksgiving into small, casual affairs. And something similar with Christmas. And over the last few years, I’ve been less attentive to my religious duties than I should be.

All of this is potentially correctible, of course. But do I give a damn? Not so much. The magic of the holiday season, this year and last, wasn’t the holidays — it was the extended vacation I scheduled to take care of things around the house and otherwise unwind and plan for the coming year.

Theologians talk of acedia — a sense of spiritual and emotional deadness marked by burnout bordering on apathy. I think the term fits. Since Medieval Christendom, acedia has been viewed as a sin, mostly because those poor souls afflicted by it suffer the double whammy of torpor and a profound lack of motivation to do anything about it.

The simple joys of the past, of family and security and that happiness that comes from being secure in one’s person and station, have taken flight. In their place are a sense of self-reliance and mission related to big goals that take big effort to execute. Yet the risk of walking your own path instead of conforming to the path set by family, friends and co-workers is that your only corrective comes from within. With acedia, there’s no corrective from within. Cue the vicious infinite regress.

Part of it, too, might be the lack of seasonality in the annual calendar. When I was a kid, we had the subtext of micro-farming to break up the year. Whether it derived from the different ways we took care of the horses in summer versus winter, or the cycle of planting, nurturing and harvesting from a large garden and from fruit trees, we had no choice but to respect that different times of the year had a different focus and therefore different associated joys and laments. Without that connection to the earth, and with the Catholic liturgical year subdued the further from the Church you fall, the calendar really is just one damn thing after another with no need to plan ahead or to enjoy the immediacy of now.

Maybe next year will be better. More meaningful. More seasonal. Less sterile.

Personal

I'm Dreaming of a Sterile Christmas

No Comments

I struggled a bit with figuring out what single adjective best encapsulates this year’s holiday season. I settled on sterile.
Here’s why:

  • Until yesterday, this winter has been unseasonably warm. Like temperatures in the 40s/50s, with total seasonal snow accumulation of less than an eighth of an inch. Dry Christmases are as lame as dry wedding receptions.
  • I didn’t put up decorations or send cards, and I haven’t really listened to much Christmas music. Shopping for gifts has brought no joy.
  • Things are a bit morose at work — no one seems to be in a holiday mood given transitions within the hospital. No potlucks, no decorations, no white-elephant gifts.
  • Family gatherings seem contrived, even superficial. Pleasant, to be sure, but … transactional.
  • I have been extremely inactive in church events this season.

So this year, Christmas is just another day on the calendar. Just like Thanksgiving was. Just like New Years’ Day will be.
It didn’t used to be like this. Once upon a time, the holiday season was magic. In fact, the entire fourth quarter marked my favorite time of the year. Kickoff coincided with my birthday in mid-September, continued with helping my grandparents reap their harvest and burn their leaves in October, and hit an autumnal high point with Halloween and its associated trick-or-treating (as a kid) or costume parties (as an adult). Then — as the cold set in — we prepared for Thanksgiving. Until my early 20s, we assembled for a lavish feast at my grandparents’ house; this long-awaited afternoon of food and football opened the door to the Christmas season.
With the arrival of Advent, the spiritual side received nourishment with the various preparations for the Christmas season. When Christmas itself came, the feast arrived with cold, snow, gifts, parties, choirs and Masses; the entire family convened at my grandparents’ house on Christmas Eve, then we went to Midnight Mass, then my parents and brother and I did our own thing on Christmas morning. The period between Christmas and New Years’ Eve allowed for a bit of quiet recovery before an evening of revelry on the 31st.
Then, after a drying-out brunch on the morning of Jan. 1, it was all over but the fond memories.
So what went wrong? Probably a few things. First among them, I no longer welcome birthdays. Followed by substantial changes over the last few years to my circle of friends that has put Halloween parties off the table. Then the lack of a seasonal harvest. Oh, and don’t forget the fracturing of Thanksgiving into small, casual affairs. And something similar with Christmas. And over the last few years, I’ve been less attentive to my religious duties than I should be.
All of this is potentially correctible, of course. But do I give a damn? Not so much. The magic of the holiday season, this year and last, wasn’t the holidays — it was the extended vacation I scheduled to take care of things around the house and otherwise unwind and plan for the coming year.
Theologians talk of acedia — a sense of spiritual and emotional deadness marked by burnout bordering on apathy. I think the term fits. Since Medieval Christendom, acedia has been viewed as a sin, mostly because those poor souls afflicted by it suffer the double whammy of torpor and a profound lack of motivation to do anything about it.
The simple joys of the past, of family and security and that happiness that comes from being secure in one’s person and station, have taken flight. In their place are a sense of self-reliance and mission related to big goals that take big effort to execute. Yet the risk of walking your own path instead of conforming to the path set by family, friends and co-workers is that your only corrective comes from within. With acedia, there’s no corrective from within. Cue the vicious infinite regress.
Part of it, too, might be the lack of seasonality in the annual calendar. When I was a kid, we had the subtext of micro-farming to break up the year. Whether it derived from the different ways we took care of the horses in summer versus winter, or the cycle of planting, nurturing and harvesting from a large garden and from fruit trees, we had no choice but to respect that different times of the year had a different focus and therefore different associated joys and laments. Without that connection to the earth, and with the Catholic liturgical year subdued the further from the Church you fall, the calendar really is just one damn thing after another with no need to plan ahead or to enjoy the immediacy of now.
Maybe next year will be better. More meaningful. More seasonal. Less sterile.