Category: current events

The Evolving Role of a Dad at Christmas

It’s Christmas Eve and I am very excited about spending time with my family tonight. With my children now grown adults, the dynamic of the Holiday has transformed greatly. Permanently etched in my mind are the Christmases of old. It was always a huge ordeal at my house when I was a kid. My parents loved Christmas and were very generous. My Dad was so dedicated to my mother that he truly could not stop getting her gifts. Sadly, I think it was insecurity masked by generosity but it was certainly based on his love for her. The exchange of gifts was borderline excessive. But I was always provided for and I enjoyed the Christmas holiday.
I enjoyed it less and less as I got older. I began to see it for the rampant and crass commercialism that it was. When the kids were young, I enjoyed it through them. As they got older, I smiled and acted happy. Holidays would become a major stressor for my wife, and consequently on me and I soured on most all of them. But I suppose that is a story for another day.

I did enjoy Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve was always a great night at my house as a kid and remains a fond memory. The house was full of family and friends imbibing in drinks and snacking on holiday treats. It was a zero pressure evening, the gifts were already wrapped, the toys were assembled, there was nothing to do but enjoy the calm before the storm.

Christmas now consists of a party on Christmas Eve, and everyone goes their separate ways on Christmas Day. I love this transition. It reminds me of the old days. But it is much to my ex’s chagrin that hosting duties have been passed on to the kids. She wants to still do it. I think she misses the Holidays when the kids were young. I suppose it’s a natural reaction to aging.

My oldest daughter has hosted for the last few years. It is such a great time. I look ahead to it all year. The kids, their spouses, and significant others gather. A smattering of family friends and new in-laws join for drinks, a nice meal, and then games.
I missed it last year. I had COVID. I was miserably sick and depressed about missing it.
This year, my oldest boy and his Fiance welcomed us all to their nice new apartment. Just reading his texts and emails are warming to my heart, they are so excited to host us all.

This is a small chapter in the “How to be a parent to adult kids” manual. My role of the father has evolved. While my children would disagree with this, I would argue that my children don’t “need” me anymore. It’s not that I don’t have a role, it’s that I’m not depended on by them anymore. This is troublesome for me because that is something that I miss in both my personal and professional life. I was always an integral part of things. Now, I have a support role.
To put a positive spin on this, it is a victory of sorts to be in this situation. During the days of family turmoil, there was a lot of arguing and resentment. I often worried that my children would resent us. I feared they would not have need for us once they were on their own. I now believe that we made the repairs in time. By acknowledging that fear and being proactive about repairing those fractured relationships.
My role now is to be there when they need me, otherwise to sit back and beam with sheer pride at how magnificent they all really are. It’s not about taking credit, it’s just gratitude that it all worked out.

I am so excited about tonight. Still, I harbor a fair amount of sadness. My youngest daughter and my ex are still not speaking. As a result, my daughter will miss yet another family event. This I hate, so many magical moments have happened recently; a wedding, engagement, the birth of a beautiful little baby…she’s missed them all. I can’t say if she is bothered by it but I sure am.

It’s difficult to enjoy a holiday while missing someone. I miss having her around. I need harmony in my life. I guess you can’t always get what you want.

Supermarket Stress

I used to poke fun at my late Grandmother for going shopping on a Saturday morning. My grandmother never worked and had her days to herself. While she kept a nice house for her husband, she had ample time during the week to shop for food. Yet, there she was every Saturday morning. She fought the “stop/start walkers”. She also faced the “I’m not paying any attention to who’s around me” people, and the long register lines. I never understood how she wouldn’t go during off hours, as well as question how she was so calm.

I would later learn that she liked being around all of the people. Despite her Yankee Blue-Blood mannerisms, she was quite sociable and found the supermarket to be stimulating. I also like to be around people. However, my going to the market today was a mistake. I forgot it was a Saturday. Before Christmas. My God, what was I thinking?

I am in the accountability phase of my life, which I imposed on myself. I think a segment of my blog will be about what I did right and wrong each day. I believe this exercise will help me. I often struggle to reconcile my desired behavior with my actual behavior. I want to walk the walk, as it were. In this vein, let me say that I could have done better today.

I like to food shop. I always have a carefully prepared list, often in order based on the setup of the store. I put my ear buds in, find a good playlist and do my thing. With the music drowning it all out I do my thing. I’m usually patient with the unaware aisle blockers. I always wait patiently and graciously accept the inevitable apologies for holding things up. I make sure that I am not in the way. I also look out for the short person who can’t reach something on the top shelf. It’s a great opportunity to do something nice, and it is much in need. And above all, I’m always pleasant.

Today, while I don’t think I was rude or offensive to anyone, I could have done better. As a well-established sufferer of General Anxiety, I have mastered preventative measures. One of them is to recognize situations as potentially anxiety-inducing and either brace for it or avoid it entirely. Pulling into the parking lot today was a more than adequate warning. The lot was packed. People were scampering back and forth. The impatience of people waiting for a parking spot was evident. That served as fair warning. I contemplated not going in. I did need food but only a couple of items were needed to get through today. I decided that I would only grab a few items. Which would have been a good plan had I stuck to it.

I would pay for that error in judgment. I set myself up to get aggravated. Normally, I can handle a little aggravation. But I wasn’t prepared for the sudden stops. The aisles were blocked. People were completely unaware and perusing labels. Carts were stacked up like planes on a snowy runway. Add to this stress soup my very favorite occurrence. Every item I searched for had at least one person standing right in front of it.
That is where I could have done better.
With every aisle that I attempted to navigate, I was trying to make sure that I wasn’t in anyone’s way. A courtesy I was clearly alone in extending. It got to the point that everything I was trying to get was blocked by someone. I became overwhelmed, and while I didn’t actually say anything my face surely spoke volumes. I’m know for that, unfortunately.

I do not believe that I hurt any feelings. But, in my anxiety-fueled quest to get out of the congestion and chaos, I am sure that I looked annoyed. I might have even looked angry. And for that, I wish I could have done better. I consider myself a tolerant, patient and social person. I try to not be in a hurry, and I always take a deep breath and remind myself that I share this planet with other people. It bothers me that I failed to exhibit that today. I was simply overwhelmed.

This is a victimless crime. I’m sure nobody is thinking about the rude guy in the black hoodie. Because I wasn’t rude and it wasn’t that big of a deal. To them. To me, whenever I fail to act as the person I want to be I make a big deal out of it. It is part of my quest to be a better, more virtuous person.

Which brings me to the heart of the issue. I am not perfect, and I don’t understand why I am so hard on myself for merely being human. I think it’s fair to say that most mere mortals don’t hold themselves to such a standard. My only consolation is that I know it comes from a good place. I’m just trying to be accountable.

The challenges of surviving

I had a difficult time transitioning back into life on my own. I can’t help but wonder if I actually thought that I would recover from my illness. I had lost everything; my home, my career, my family, and most of what I owned. I spent years dealing with the immediacy of my condition and it took all I had to just get through each day. People describe me as optimistic, but I wasn’t. I merely summoned the strength to get through. In addition, I lied about how I was feeling and put a brave face on so that the people that love me wouldn’t worry about me. Inside, I was depressed at times, very weary of acting strong, and was ready to give up more than once. I actually considered suicide.

I had dreams of what the other side of illness would look like, but they were just that. It’s a tough revelation but I stand by it, I didn’t think it would happen for me and I had resigned myself that I was probably going to die. It really fucked up my plans when I lived.

Well shit, what was I going to do now? Suddenly, I had to come up with a plan for after my recovery. All the things that I wanted to do but thought I never would were now within the realm of possibility.
I could get my own place.
I could go back to work.
I could date again.
I could move back closer to my family, friends, and groups that I belonged to.
I could do anything I wanted without carrying the extension cord to the dialysis machine.

So far I have tackled all of these things. They are all a work in progress and they all proved to be challenging, even daunting. Much madness, joy and sadness ensued, as well as some really great stories. If nothing else, they are great inspirations for blog posts.

A voyeur of my own life

I’m not depressed. Really I’m not. Maybe if I say it enough times then I’ll believe it.
Who am I kidding? If it is or isn’t, this is just what I do.
I isolate. It’s better for me if I acknowledge that I don’t have the stamina that I used to. I’m disabled, maybe I should admit it. When you’re disabled you have to remind yourself that you only have so much in you each day and when you’re tired, then go with it. Lately I’ve been embracing that notion, to perhaps an unhealthy level.

But people are worrying about me. They don’t understand what I’m trying to do. I’m doing a reset. Truth is, I like being alone.
I do my best thinking. I save money. By avoiding people I avoid piquing my anxiety, which is running roughshod over my weak ass lately. I’m safe in my little space. Not safe like a little Gen Z snowflake afraid to get his feelings hurt, just safe from encountering extra stimuli that is going to serve as the proverbial straw that broke the Camel’s back. That’s why I isolate. There is nothing that says that I have to be out there doing stuff all the time. It’s ok to spend time alone.
Did I mention that I was never like that before this year?
It’s true. This is very new. I used to be the guy that needed to be around people all of the time. I suppose that’s before people in my life started letting me down, or just the day that I noticed a lack of equity in my relationships. Equity is a nice way of saying that I’m tired of giving more than I’m capable of and getting the minimum monthly payment back. Disclaimer, I do have some very good friends. But there are a couple that hurt me recently and I’m not going to lie, it stings. It’s causing me to reevaluate how much I give of myself to those that don’t deserve it. While I’ll never pull it off, I’m tempted to dump my trademark “be kind” and not be so fucking nice all of the time. You can be a good person without being a punching bag. Fuck the high road, and fuck anyone that did me dirty.

I have thought a lot about my isolation recently. I have been forcing myself to go out and do something each day, no matter how small. Last night I decided to take the bike out. It was a hot day but by 7 it cooled enough and it was perfect riding weather. I could have called several friends, any one of who would have joined me but I went alone. I drove to a lake and sat at the edge looking at nothing and everything like a first year Philosophy student. Other than some serenity, I didn’t feel much of anything.

Therein lies the problem. I don’t feel anything anymore. Until very recently I was basking in that post-transplant glow. Full of promise, a new lease, the ability to do things that once appeared to be unavailable. Now, I’m joyless. I don’t feel things like I should. I spend my TV time watching Documentaries on subjects that irritate me, made by people I don’t like or respect. I watch indie dramedies in search of that amazing love story that rips my fucking heart out, because I don’t have that but I want to FEEL IT! I’m challenging my entire paradigm to figure out why I am a voyeur in my own goddamn life.

How can I be a spectator of my own life?

My room the sanctuary

I don’t know if I’m on a quest for substance or just profoundly depressed. While on paper there would appear to be no possible similarities between the two, with me they can easily be mistaken for each other.

I get depressed. But I don’t get sad. Yes, I know it’s a false equivalency; Depression isn’t always characterized by sadness. It’s detachment, apathy, lack of interest, isolating. There are times that I experience all of that. It’s a problem that I need to deal with at some point.
When I am on a quest for substance, it means that I am unsatisfied with something in my life. One would think it would be an easy fix, identify the issue and work on it, right?
Not always. Things are never that easy with me. If that is what is happening; I don’t know what it is that is bothering me, what I feel I am lacking, or even in what direction to look.
Having taken a deep dive on all of it, the best I can come up with is that it is a combination of both.

I am definitely depressed. And again, not sad. I just don’t give a fuck about things that I usually care greatly about. I love my family and friends but I don’t answer the phone when they call me. I may text some of them back. They want to know where I’ve been, why I missed meetings that I am always at (with joy I might add). They want to know if I’m ok. I tell them I’m fine, they know I’m lying and I’m making them feel bad for me. And I hate that. It would probably help me to talk about it, what little I understand of my behavior, but I refuse to pull them in.
I’ve been lying to everyone about how I am for years, why stop now?

There’s something to be said for the quest for substance also. Yes, I have been in my loft, with the exception of the rare times that I have to go out, and I have been watching a LOT of television. But here’s the caveat, I’m not watching reruns or just anything, but instead I am combing the streaming channels with a purpose. I am looking for that great movie that I’ve always wanted to watch, selecting titles and topics that I know will challenge my paradigm , even documentaries on controversial subjects created by controversial people. I watched Moscow on the Hudson because I knew that it was a beautiful take on Immigration and the American dream. I streamed Bowling for Columbine because I needed to see the other side (not my 2A stance) on the Gun Violence debate.
All in the interest of challenging myself. I actually like what I’m doing, just now how I’m doing it. But underneath it all, I know that I’m trying to improve myself and that cannot be a bad thing in my book.

Still, it needs to stop. I have a great life and there is no reason to be down. I have a great family, tons of friends, groups and activities that I enjoy, there are people that actually are counting on me. I like that as well as need it. It gives my life value. So what’s my problem?

I’m going out tomorrow. No matter what. I’m going somewhere and doing something with someone. If I can’t do that then I need to Google some therapists. Don’t think I haven’t thought about that as well.

something has got to give

Right now I should be at an event at the Shriners. I had every intention of going but I didn’t.
Last night I had every intention of going to another event. In fact, I was dressed and ready to go. Then I couldn’t find my keys. I had a complete meltdown as I frantically searched high and low for them. I exaggerate not one bit when I tell you that I tore my loft and most of the kitchen, the place I had last seen them (and where they were eventually recovered) apart in a complete panic.
My roommate’s girl found them for me, but by then it was too late for me to go to my thing.
I realized today that I am actually glad that I didn’t go, I would even go so far as to venture a guess that I may have mentally sabotaged myself. I didn’t want to go. In fact, I don’t want to do fucking anything lately.

I thought I was just being lazy. I have those moments. To listen to my doctors, friends and family tell it, I am busy enough most of the time that I should allow myself those days, as they remind me that I am after all disabled and can cut myself some slack. But I haven’t left my room, except for the food shopping I did yesterday that led to my lost keys. Other than that I have been isolating.

Isolation is not entirely new to me. I do it once in a while. I have been doing it more lately, I must admit. But it’s getting more intense; one new development this week has been my ignoring almost all phone calls, family excluded. In addition to not wanting to do anything, I don’t want to talk to anyone either. And some of those people are starting to notice and are concerned about me. But I won’t discuss it with them because I don’t want them to worry about me. I want to talk to someone about it but that, for sure, would make people worry about me.

I don’t like this. If for no other reason, it doesn’t make sense. I have a good life. I am in good health. I have been to fucking HELL and BACK and I came out on top. I thumbed my nose at my mortality and I am doing everything that I once thought was lost to me. I even have a female companion. That is an area of my life that caused me great anxiety, worry and heartbreak.

I also have to ask, why did I have the overwhelming urge to end my life last week? Out of nowhere, while with family of all things, I suddenly didn’t care if I lived or died. I didn’t make any plans, or pick a means or a place, and I didn’t write a note, but I couldn’t have given less of a fuck if an asteroid hit the house I was in at that moment.

And then, just like that it went away. I am not in a good mood, but I scoff at the thoughts that racked my head last week. That depressive episode has morphed, deescalated perhaps, into a shameful state of apathy. I am a lot of things but apathetic is not one of them. Yet, here I sit, marveling at the effort it required just to write this blog.

Something has got to give. And soon.

A childhood playing in the dirt

I was recently asked what games or toys I enjoyed as a child.

I was never a big “game” person. I think my reluctance to play group games as a kid, looking back now, was the first manifestation of my now very well-known anxiety and sense of inadequacy. I haven’t changed much since then with regards to my aversion to games. When faced with playing any game, card games or board games, my first reaction is to be afraid that I won’t understand the rules. I would also be afraid of not being good at it, which is irrational to the Nth degree because you can’t be good at something without doing it a few times. Mostly, I was afraid of embarrassing myself, a fear that manifests itself in almost all aspects of my daily life. I’ve learned to play a few games, Texas Hold ‘Em comes to mind, with some skill and lack of anxiety but I struggle with more complex games and will tend to opt out when it gets complicated. Board games terrify me, with the possible exception of Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit.

When it comes to games, with the exception of sports, I have issues.

Toys, on the other hand, were a big part of my childhood. As a boy, I loved my action figures and Matchbox cars. The 6 Million dollar man, Stretch Armstrong and GI Joe were never far from me. In any weather other than rain or snow, I could be found outside playing under the big Pine tree in my yard. I had tracks and tunnels and paths as well as construction sites going for my various Tonka trucks. I wasn’t a solitary child;I had some neighborhood friends but I wasn’t overly popular, and I found out at a young age that I was very capable of amusing myself. It would reveal itself to be a valuable trait during my mostly friendless, mixed up phase of Middle and High School. 

I loved my matchbox cars. I would play in the dirt for hours with them, my blue plastic storage case open beside me. I would only have out what I needed for the game of the day, the other cars stayed nestled in their individual spot until I needed them. THe muscle cars only came out on dry days. The pick-ups came out on rainy days, and the heavy equipment made their debut when it was muddy. I created elaborate scenarios up to and including massive accidents. After all, my toy First Responder vehicles needed to be used also. I could play for hours outside, when called inside I would set up on my bedroom floor and if the mood was right, I would set up long sections of the famous Orange track and it then became Race Day.

They say that if you are lucky you will get a job doing something that you love as a child. My love of cars and trucks and heavy equipment may not have led me directly to my dream job, but I got there eventually. When I ended up in the auction business, my natural enthusiasm for all wheeled things great and small served me very well.

While I was once a lone child playing in the dirt with fake cars, I evolved into a face in a crowd of hundreds, surrounded by row after row of real cars; of which I knew an absurd about, from model years to chronic mechanical issues. If I was lucky, I would be called to attend a Classic Car Auction, at which I was surrounded by real-life versions of the very Matchbox cars I used to push around in the dirt.

I still love cars and I suspect that I always will.

Old Movies

One of the many things I enjoy about my new Lady friend, and there are many, is her knowledge and passion for older movies. As a movie lover, it is a genre I’ve always wanted to explore but for some reason, I viewed it as a challenge, a project that needed to be approached systematically. I find that odd, as I do many things I do because I don’t approach any other entertainment genre in the same way. Nevertheless, I largely avoided the genre, as if I was waiting for someone to come along and show it to me. Someone to give me the “must-sees”, the highlight reel, the time-saver. Well, I met her and we have begun my journey. I have to say that I have really enjoyed it and am looking for more. Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Gilda and The Quiet Man are in the books. Next on the list remains a mystery, but I have given my list of actors I want to see; Spencer Tracy, Jimmy Stewart, Jimmy Cagney for starters. Definitely more Rita Hayworth and Ingrid Bergman, and looking forward to Liz Taylor, Marlene Dietrich and as Elton said, dearest Marilyn. I am not only looking forward to seeing these movies, I can’t wait to watch them with her.

I don’t know why I waited so long to embark on this journey. Not only am I fan of all cinema, but I am a lover of all things past. It is not a reach to state that I was born in the wrong decade. I have fantasized as well as written about growing up in a different time. I love the notion of the roaring 20’s, dressed to the nines and dancing with rebellious and fine women. I fancy being a young man in the 40’s, when post-war optimism and a sense of triumph ruled the air and men wore suits to Baseball games. I can imagine myself cruising the strip in 50’s America in a Rat Rod, listening to Doo Wop (one of my favorite genres) on the radio, hair slicked and a pack of Lucky’s rolled into my sleeve like John Milner in American Graffiti. I wonder aloud if I would have been a protestor or a staunch member of the status quo in the tumultuous 60’s as cultural change and paradigm shifts dominated the landscape. That’s what movies do for me, they make me think of the “what if’s” in life. It takes understanding who you are and what you stand for to an entirely new level; you ask yourself the hard questions of yourself; Am I a product of the times? Would I have been a different or better/worse person than I am in this universe? Which raises so many other questions.
If I had lived in a time of war, would I have been a hero or a cautionary tale?
If faced with the notion of great sacrifice, would I have done it with dignity and decorum?
Would I have been a face in a crowd or a person that stands out?
Would I have followed the norms of the time or would I be a voice of change?

Of course, all of this is pure fantasy. With my health conditions and the technology of the times in question being what they are/were, I wouldn’t have lived very long. But if we were to suspend reality for a brief moment in time, I have so many fantasies about growing up in different decades. It would be good to ask myself why I suppose. Do I believe that the past were better times or just different times? I ask because looking back at the examples I have given above, I mentioned the good aspects of those eras but they all had a tremendous downside. The 20’s, despite the “roaring”, would end in the Depression, an era that was nothing less than brutal for all Americans. The 40’s would entail a World War in which I may have died. The 50’s were not entirely peaceful as well, we were at war again. The 60’s were dominated by incredibly divisive politics, cultural upheaval, racial violence, and polarization and destruction of the American family, not to mention that I may have gone to Vietnam.

Yet, when we watch old movies the times become glamorous. American History is written by the victor and Hollywood was the storyteller. They took liberties and painted a wonderful picture of a country that is not always that wonderful. And that’s ok, because we don’t go to movies to see how bad things are, that can be seen all around us. Movies are an escape from reality, a dalliance with fantasy, a reminder of bygone eras. In old movies I get to observe so many things that are non-existent today.
Masculine men who projected strength and virility, men who dressed well for all occasions, men that were chivalrous and treated women as ladies. To that point, I love seeing the portrayal of women who were proud to be feminine, women that enjoyed the differences between the genders and embraced the power that comes with it.
On that note, it is also fascinating to see how bad behavior, men striking women or making unwanted advances, or acting badly in general, has gone the way of the Dodo.
Then we have the observations of technological advances; isn’t it interesting to see the old cars, hand-cranked telephones, telegraph machines and typewriters? Who doesn’t come out of It’s a Wonderful Life without marveling at what Banks used to look like?

I am really enjoying this process and look forward to where it takes me. Of course, it is an added advantage that I have someone great to snuggle on the couch and watch with. After all, what are the odds that “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine”

A new challenge

I can see myself laying back on a therapist’s sofa, I can feel the beady Freudian eyes studying me, I can hear the words coming out of my mouth as if I was there, “Dr., help me. I’m dating a liberal.”
“Veeelll”(my best Austrian accent on paper), “how does dat make you feel?”
“I don’t know yet, it’s never happened before. But I think I like it.”
“You do”?, he inquires. “I thought zat you were a conservative, with a, how do you say eh…Podcast”.
“I am”, I paused. “This is uncharted territory for me.:
“Vell then you should embrace it zen”, he instructed.
“I will, as soon as I figure out how.”

Of course, I am not really on a therapist’s couch but I am in the grips of a crisis in my dating life, I am dating a strong and intelligent woman whose politics are very different from my own.
I can tell you that initially, it gave me fits, but now I am perfectly OK with it.

It’s been my history that I have, for unknown reasons, dated women who share my conservative leanings. It has never been a preference that I sought out, it merely worked out that way. In the dating process of getting to know someone, political leanings, or interest level at least, usually come up. I’ve dated some very political women and others who couldn’t care less. I gravitate towards somewhat political women because I believe that it reflects awareness and intelligence to want to know what is happening in the world, and I have little regard or interest in people who don’t care. So it tends to work itself out early on in the process. This one, it took a while before the liberal revealed itself. Not for any particular reason other than one really great one; it didn’t come up because we had so many other things, great things, to talk about as were getting to know each other that it never came up.

When it did come up, it did so in a somewhat comical manner. If memory serves, she may have said, “ok, let’s get this out there” or something similar. She then proceeded to say something that is very contradictory to my beliefs. I laughed it off, we talked about it and we agreed to disagree. I was relieved to realize that I was able to hear opposing viewpoints and make the critical distinction that it isn’t personal, I wasn’t being attacked, and it was up to me how I chose to process it. Except for one comment she made, which showed me that she was a little left of an Independent, a comment that made me question her sanity for a moment, I was surprisingly ok with it. We had a spirited conversation and it ended on a good note.
But after we talked, I had serious reservations about whether I could be with someone with such different ideas. See, I view my convictions as more than just opinions, I believe that it is an extension of our belief system, our character, dare I say our values. My fear was that my new interest was so different in her actual makeup that we wouldn’t get along. I spent the night and most of the next day thinking about it.
I think she did as well. Here’s why. She believes that Conservatives are unfeeling and compassionate, I feel that liberals are misguided and unrealistic. And my fear was that she was the worst type of liberal, the “all about party” person that rejects all opinions that don’t fit their narrative. This could have gone either way. As it would work out, we talked about it the next day. The results were surprising; we agreed to disagree.

I was relieved. It then occurred to me that there was one thing I was overlooking. She was different. Unlike many people, she had educated and informed opinions backed by genuine compassion. I cannot emphasize how much value I place on that. I would like to believe that I espouse my beliefs and convictions similarly. I’m not angry and closed off, instead I truly care. That is the great equalizer. Also, it occurred to me a larger matter; I really liked her and the notion of losing an opportunity to get to know this interesting, intelligent and accomplished woman over politics is unacceptable.

It hasn’t crossed my mind since I came to that realization. I would go so far to say that she is good for me. She is making me put my money where my mouth is. I wanted to be more open-minded, here’s my opportunity. If I lose her, it won’t be over my like or dislike of a candidate or party. I have so many ways at my disposal to ruin this opportunity, I don’t need politics. There is a bigger picture here. One that hopefully includes her.
Relationships should include challenging each other. I welcome it. I hope she does as well.

Chris in the morning

Perhaps I am easy to excite and easier to please, but I so enjoy it when I see a movie or show that I once loved show up on a streaming service. Given the amount and quality of memories something from the past can provide, I look forward each month to seeing what shows up on streaming. Last month I was nothing less than thrilled to see that one of my favorite shows ever, Northern Exposure, arrived on Prime Video.
Set in the tiny and fictional town of Cicely, Alaska (filmed in Virginia) the mostly Drama with a dash of comedy took a common theme, life in a small town, to an entirely new level. The show centers on a New York Doctor who agrees to enter into a contract with the State of Alaska in exchange for payment of his medical school debt.
He got less than he bargained for, the town of Cicely was as underdeveloped as it was underpopulated. Initially, Dr. Joel Fleischman, played by Rob Morrow, acted as you would expect an uptight Northerner would. He initially scoffed at the town and its people, considering the town podunk and its people simpletons. The true charm of the show is how the narrative is flipped on its head. The characters are all fascinating in their own way. Simple, yes. But simple in a non-pretentious and unassuming way.
You have Maggie the pilot, played by the always lovely Janine Turner. I had forgotten most of the show but I never forgot my crush on Maggie. Strong, fiery, and independent Maggie also possessed vulnerability and grace.
Then there is Hollings and Shelly, owners of the only restaurant in town. Hollings is in his 60’s and Shelly wasn’t old enough to drink when they married. But their chemistry and individual characters lent great depth to the show.
Then there’s Ed, one of the many prominent Native American characters, Native American people and their cultures are prominently featured on the show. Ed is a young cinephile and his love of movies appears frequently in story lines.
Maurice Minnefield is a wealthy, legacy-obsessed former Astronaut who is dedicated to making Cicely a real town. He is a very prominent character as he is always interacting, influencing, buying and otherwise trying to impose his will. One of his local possessions is a small radio station, where the host can be seen doing his show through a big storefront window on Main Street.
Enter my favorite character, Chris Stevens (a young John Corbett of My Big fat Greek Wedding fame), host of the only show in town, the Chris in the morning show. Chris is a highly intelligent ex-con who eked out a living in Cicely, giving the impression that Cicely was one more stop on a still undefined journey and he could pack up his trailer at any time and move on. I can’t say enough how much I enjoy his character.
Quirky, enigmatic, brilliant, educated, empathetic, passive and passionate at the same time, contemplative and capable of going off on a rant at any moment, Chris is a breath of fresh air. In the course of his show, he reads local news and discusses local gossip, and reads heavy material from obscure books and classics alike. He plays music, takes calls, and at other times he simply leans back in his chair and offers a personal diatribe on whatever is on his mind. He speaks of the frailties of man, discusses metaphysics, waxes poetic and bares his soul to the small town. And they hang on his every word. Outside of the radio show, he lives a meager (by choice) existence as he indulges in whatever whim appeals to him. Be it Art, reading, romping with his woman dujour (he is quite the lothario), or getting out into the nature of Alaska to get in touch with it. He seems, except when he is in the throes of an occasional existential crisis, to be unencumbered by the anchors that hold the rest of the world back. We learn a new tidbit about him every episode and with every revelation, I realize more and more that if I could be anyone in the world, I would be Chris Stevens.

What I wouldn’t give to be unchained, present, grateful, and at peace with the world around me. How I desire to be free from my own mind and not experience worry and angst. To be able to reconcile my past and not only make peace with it but also recognize and value what the experience taught. I would love to be the person who reacts to a hostile person with a “hey, it’s your journey, man” type attitude. Oh, to be a free spirit that isn’t fazed by anything.

I’ve been binging Northern Exposure and it has been nothing but a positive experience. One unexpected benefit is that I have a fresh desire to think like I;m from a small town. Because I am, and I have lost some of the benefits that come with it. Small-town people believe in honesty, if for no other reason that it’s costly to get caught lying in a small town. People from small towns believe in integrity, because even though doing the right thing doesn’t require an audience everyone is still watching. Small-town people believe in community in general and caring for your neighbor in particular. I love small towns and that’s probably why I love this show.