Category: People

It’s on all of us

We can ride the wave of “renewal”, “rebirth”, and “fresh starts” that the New Year brings for as long as it feels good, but 2024 looks to be more of the same. I know I’m a buzzkill but someone needs to say it and doing so on January 2nd is fair. The hangovers are gone, the celebrations have subsided, many resolutions have already fallen by the roadside and, with the possible exception of writing the wrong year on a few checks, nothing has changed by opening a fresh new calendar. 

Change does not just happen, it is only possible through analysis, facing hard truths, and creating an action plan. It requires sacrifice and work, from all of us.

Here is my master list of resolutions that I wish for all Americans in the coming year. If we do these things, we can make 2024 the year that we turn things around in this country. If we do not, the chaos, uncertainty and needless descent into third world status is virtually inevitable.

Question everything. Ask questions. Take the time to learn for yourself. We all have in our pocket, most likely our hand, access to all of the information ever recorded. That cell phone does more than surf social media, text and take selfies. Anyone can educate themselves, and if nothing else never espouse an opinion or sound bite unless you have asked yourself the critical question, “Is it true?”

Understand that our elected officials are not our leaders. They are our chosen representatives. They may act as if they were coronated and can impose their will over you, but they aren’t. Ask yourself if that person represents you and what you stand for. If they do not, vote them out. Don’t just accept the treachery and betrayal that Washington has routinely subjected you to for decades.

Understand that we are unnecessarily divided. When people come together, the will of the people will prevail. A government that does not have your best interest at heart wants us divided. Recognize that we are being subjected to Propaganda, the role of which is to make one group of people seem less than human. Decency and empathy should tell us that we need to look at what we have in common, not what makes us different. Fire ants and black ants can be in the same jar and coexist. Until someone shakes the jar, then they fight. We’re the ants, ask yourself who is shaking the jar.

Stop thinking that it is someone else’s responsibility to get involved and fix things. It is on all of us to make a change. Think about elections. If you have determined that your candidate cannot win and you decide to not go out and vote, think about how many others (millions?) feel the same way. If all of you turned out to vote, your guy may win. It is up to all of us to cause change. Not just in politics, you can also say hi to a random stranger. You might make their day, or even restore their faith in humanity on the worst day of their lives. A pebble causes a ripple effect, kindness does as well.

Take back our children. We need to stop allowing Social media and television to raise our kids. This also applies to schools. It is not the job of the teacher to raise our children, it is their job to teach them. Insist that schools create and follow age-appropriate curriculums, void of political agendas, and focus on how to think critically, not just how to take a standardized test.

Our society is at a critical point and we have all of the power to save ourselves. I hope that we find that power within us and exercise it with enthusiasm. The United States is a unique experiment that has faith in the people to govern themselves and determine our own future. As citizens of this great experiment, we have lost sight of this. There is no guarantee that it will last forever, it needs to be maintained, even fought for. It is on all of us to do so.

Let’s start acting like everything is on the line. Because it is.

What does it matter,I still learned it

Before I got married I was at a cocktail party rubbing elbows with my fiance’s family. I was talking to a distinguished and clearly educated gent and the subject of the Korean Conflict somehow came up. Now, I did have a fair amount of knowledge on that because, like I said, I later educated myself. But there I stood, a pizza cook on the threshold of a potential conversational Armageddon. But I held in. Fortuitously, he came to an impasse in the discussion and was stuck on the parallel that the US military failed to cross, the one that would have been an act of war. I chimed in,
“That would be the 38th Parallel.” I was then complimented as being a smart young man. What he didn’t know is that I got that from the Rodney Dangerfield comedy Back to School.
I was reminded of that today as I was reading an excerpt from one of my favorite books, A Prayer for Owen Meaney. There is no shortage of reasons why I love the book, I have always been a sucker for a coming-of-age story and it’s a great one. The excerpt that caught my eye was dedicated to the birth of the all-time opiate of the masses, the Television (my apologies to Karl Marx), in which the narrator observes the progression of the power that the television eventually held in his home. He told of how his Grandmother, who was always staunchly opposed to TV finally caved, and how the grandson reluctantly fell under its spell as well. Our hero Owen Meaney, ever the virtuous one, chastised the Grandson for watching TV. At which time the Grandson defended it by offering how many ways that it was educational. Owen promptly dismissed this, his unsolicited opinion was that TV was a slovenly way to educate oneself.

I was amused and a little embarrassed when confronted with this. While I consider myself adequately educated, I have attained a fair amount of passable knowledge, some decent Trivial Pursuit-ish information as well as some solid nuggets of pop culture as well as high society through TV and movies.
Now, of course, TV was not educational in 1958, the time period in discussion. You watched what was available and a lot of it was garbage. It’s not a fair comparison to today’s Cable and streaming options that offer many educational options. Which I take advantage of. Despite even that… some of my greatest stories that deal with gaining “knowledge” through unlikely and slovenly sources occurred many years ago.

Most of my knowledge of Opera, Classical Music, American society during the Great Depression, Prohibition, wartime, etc., comes exclusively from Bugs Bunny cartoons. That’s right. “Kill the Wabbit” taught me about Opera.
In addition, most of my understanding of politics I can directly attribute to Berkeley Breathed and Gary Trudeau, of Bloom County and Doonesbury fame, respectively. As a skirt-chasing teenager (and young adult and well, forever) dedicated to doing the bare minimum, it was Bloom County and Doonesbury that piqued my interest in the news of the day as they lampooned politics and known as well as not-so-well-known cultural figures. It was through Bloom County and Doonesbury that I learned of the colorful figures and their stories that dominated the era such as Anita Bryant and her Anti-gay activism, the anti-feminist Phyllis Schlafly, the disappearance of known American atheist Madalyn Murray-O’Hair, the Televangelist scandals, the Contras and Sandanistas, the Star Wars antics of the Reagan era, I could go on but I won’t. Suffice it to say that otherwise boring (to me) subject matter and events were portrayed comically way or ironically and consequently raised my interest. An interest in being current and informed on the matters of the world, and in being able to take a humorous, even absurdist interpretation. In the case of Bloom County, the political landscape was portrayed often through Children and anthropomorphized naive but politically charged meadow animals. Think of a Hedgehog, a rabbit, and a Penguin having a caucus to nominate a dead cat for President.
That shit was funny!
And it had the right effect on me, it got me interested. Which fortunately led to a lot of self-education of the shit that I should have learned in High School.

Snob appeal, slob appeal. Whatever. Learning can come from many sources, highbrow and otherwise. What matters is that I learned something, and I received the added bonus of getting a good laugh in the process.

“Slovenly” Perhaps. Effective? Absolutely.

Negative? Not me

Every once in a while someone will say something about you that you will ponder, and once adequately pondered, say out loud “That is so NOT me!”

I’ve been collaborating on a podcast with my good friend and roommate Steve. It is in the early stages of development; in order to have a successful podcast you need to be known, and the only way to get known is to create buzz for yourself by advertising, promoting, and telling anyone and everyone that you are doing a podcast and would you listen? This works to a degree, but in order to get the more sophisticated podcast listener you must have a body of work. For the sake of this conversation, let’s say that 50 episodes is a good body of work. Still, there are many success stories out there that made thousands before they made it.

The idea for our podcast came from the many spirited conversations that Steve and I used to have in which we either agreed or were on opposite sides of an issue or an idea. We embraced our differences and it wasn’t long before the idea of a podcast was offered up. So we started it. And, due modesty aside, I think we have an interesting, stimulating, accessible and intelligent podcast. Upon reaching 50 episodes, we agreed that we were onto something good and were ready to promote it. We had a good format, good ideas, and limited but positive feedback. We interviewed Steve’s childhood friend and published author Mark Michalisin with the agreement that we would promote that particular episode as our coming out and we would all share it to all of our social media. As hoped, it generated interest, and while it wasn’t enough to get us established, our friends and family gave us solid reviews and favorable input. Not everyone loved it, but respected it. We are frequently very candid on controversial subjects, we lean politically to the right but are very fair and balanced and always open to an opposing voice and we had a few. Of the 2 of us, I got the only negative review. One of Steve’s friends said that I was very negative and didn’t seem like a nice person. In particular, I indulged in some name-calling. I thought they were clever mockeries of truly despicable people, but her assessment of the name-calling was fair and I rolled with it.

To speak in a public forum one must be prepared to receive criticism, differing viewpoints, and in some cases harsh rebukes. We will never please everybody, nor do we want to. So I didn’t mind the feedback. I knew that she didn’t watch the entire episode, only a clip that we generated. Had she watched the whole thing, she probably would not have felt that way. But again, I took it in stride.

The experience was good for me. I believe deep down that we all have a perception of ourselves with respect to how we present to other people. I am hyper-aware that many, (most?) people think they project differently than they actually do. Me? I know exactly how I present. And to my critic’s point, I can come off very contrary to my true self. I get carried away and I am passionate. My emotions are strong and I feel things intensely. I can be harsh. I can be relentless. I often take a stand. I can even be a bit self-righteous if I truly believe in something. My fatal flaw is that I will go to great lengths to make a joke. But I am not negative. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I am known among a very large circle of family, friends, and acquaintances to be an eternal optimist.

I was sick for a very long time. I struggled with Kidney disease for most of my adult life. Although the disease didn’t significantly affect my ability to function normally until my late 40’s, at which time I became unable to hide, and this is important to understand, the severity of my illness from friends and family anymore. I didn’t want to bother anyone or make them worry. I just rolled along. I have never understood why people found that so inspirational but they did. I am of the belief that we really only have 2 choices, as Andy Dufresne famously stated in Shawshank, “you either get busy living or get busy dying”. Before I saw that movie, I felt that way. What am I supposed to do? Curl up in a ball and die? By the sheer virtue of not dying I survived. Not to inspire anyone, not to look like a hero, but to do what we all do…get through each day and the new challenges they bring. I suppose I did it in such a way that people deemed me an optimist, but what else is there to do? We all have a lot in life and we need to make the most of it.

Beyond my optimism, I would point to my sense of Gratitude that serves me the best. I recognize that I have been given blessings, more than I deserve that I need to be grateful for. I can honestly say that a Higher Power may be the reason I am here to tell this story because I have been too close to death too many times to be a coincidence. It causes me to look at life in a different light than most people, an attitude of gratitude creates a domino effect of kindness, generosity and genuine appreciation. THAT is inspirational because people need that nowadays.

And it is in no way NEGATIVE.

On Service

In 1985 I joined ROTC in college. It was an impulsive decision and to this day I can’t list my reasons for doing so in proper order. The world was relatively peaceful in Reagan’s America and we weren’t in a particularly Nationalistic phase. I think I was inspired by a good friend that I had seen positive changes in due to ROTC and wanted them as well. I had seen him acquire a purpose in his step, a determination in his gaze, and a confidence I had never seen in him. I think I wanted that. So in August 1985 I was off to Fort Knox, Kentucky.

I liked it and I didn’t. I enjoyed the physical aspect of it and cruised through that aspect of the training. I didn’t like the prospect of being an Officer. I was uncomfortable with my ability to lead and make decisions that may cost lives of my fellow soldiers. I was also a free thinker and rejected the simplicity of calling every target “Ivan”. 8 weeks later, I stepped off the plane at Logan Airport 25 pounds lighter, with a more purposeful step and 2 weeks to make the decision to continue. I would choose not to and I will always regret it.

I am the son and grandson of Veterans. My grandfather served as a SeaBee in the Navy in WWII and exemplified in every way the Greatest Generation. He returned home, made no conversation or complaints about the war, and began to rebuild a life. My father was called to Vietnam but when I was born he was restationed stateside. I beam with pride when I think of either of them. In addition, I have many friends who served, and some are still on active duty. I met some of them while living in an apartment complex 10 years ago. There was a group of 5 soldiers and their families, and I became close to them, despite being much older. I heard their stories, from the ones that were comfortable talking about it, and I shared more than one moment of tears and frustrations over drinks as they recalled experiences they endured as part of their jobs. I heard some things that I will never forget, nor will I minimize the importance of being trusted to hear them.

When the US entered WWII men and women flocked to the recruiting station to enlist. Young men lied about their age to fight for a righteous cause they believed in. Those at home all pitched in. People bought war bonds and curbed their own lifestyle to preserve resources for the war effort. Rosie the Riveter went to work in the factories. When the soldiers returned home, they were greeted as heroes. This country will never have a generation like that ever again.

In Vietnam, the cause was less righteous and appealing to people, and, while there were still many civic-minded young people, not enough volunteered, and a “draft” was created. The draft deeply divided this country and a generational culture war divided society. In stark contrast to the WWII generation, the unpopularity of the war extended to a terrible and unjust treatment of the soldiers returning home. After fighting with valor and a deep love of country, instead of being called heroes, they were spit upon and called “baby killers”. This in no way eased the return to society for a generation of soldiers who had seen a new, horrific side of warfare. It was a shameful time for this country.

Veterans of recent conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan are facing the most critical lack of support ever. This is not to say that the good citizens of the USA don’t overtly support them proudly in spirit. The lack of support lies in benefits and resources both medically and in mental health. The Iraq/Afghanistan era veteran engaged in warfare unlike any other generation. There was no clear and defined enemy. Once Saddam’s Revolutionary Guard was defeated the war became borderless and the enemy unclear. In Afghanistan, brutal terrain and tribal loyalties and betrayals further complicated warfare. Traditional warfare, already out the window after Vietnam, was taken to an entirely new level as our soldiers were forced to deal with roadside bombs, mothers sacrificing babies to kill soldiers, vague and restrictive rules of engagement, a lack of equipment and recruits, and extended tours. These brave men and women have been subjected to evils that most reasonable people would have difficulty believing even exist only to return to society and be expected to be able to put everything they have seen aside and just function. Very few of us, perhaps only one who has been in that situation. I only know what I hear.

I hear of a hatred for the people that they were fighting and for those that they were supposed to be protected. A hatred that never subsides and will never go away.
I hear of resentment of officers who put soldiers in danger to advance their careers.
I hear of rules of engagement that are vague, ineffective and subject to constant change.
I hear of seeing comrades mutilated or decimated in a “red mist” right in front of them.
I hear of sleepless nights, drug and alcohol abuse and decimated families due to inability to compartmentalize and handle haunting memories.
I hear of a convoluted, overwhelmed and inefficient VA.

Veterans deal with all of this with as much dignity as they are able to muster every day. They don’t expect us to understand but they would appreciate our appreciation and respect. They still love their country and believe in something that a dwindling number of Americans subscribe to, the concept of Service.

I didn’t have that sense of service when I joined. I want to regret that but there’s nothing I can do about it. I now have a respect, dedication and commitment to service as I serve any way I can. In my Masonic endeavors, by volunteering, by helping strangers, and by always thanking a Veteran. To them, military service is not a career. It is a calling, a duty, a responsibility with a job description. They write a blank check to their country that may include up to their very life and they do it with pride.

Don’t pretend that you understand what they’ve seen and done in the name of service. Just appreciate that they were willing to do it. Remember that regardless of whether you agree with the assignment, the American soldier doesn’t question the orders, they do what they were trained for and do what they can to get themselves and their comrades home.

I cannot begin to say how much I appreciate that.

Another repressed memory

What started out as a Charitable fundraiser quickly turned into a blast from the past.
Last Saturday I was going to my Masonic Lodge’s annual Open House. It is a day selected by the Grand Lodge of Masons in MA for us to open our building to the public for any man interested in Masonry. For three years, our lodge has taken the additional step of having a “Pumpkin Fest” for the community to enjoy. Local vendors donate pumpkins that we offer for donations as well as gift cards that we raffle off. The highlight of the event is always the kids painting their pumpkins. I always make sure there are plenty of paints, yarn, glue, googly eyes, and Sharpies for the kids to have at it. As I drove, the anticipation warmed me.
My phone rang as I was 10 minutes out. A brother had called to tell me that someone, a woman in possession of attractive qualities, had stopped by to see me. Her name was Sandy. I asked to speak to her and was told that she left.
When I got there I asked what she wanted. He relayed an odd message to me, she had come to tell me something that she and I had already discussed recently. Sandy and I went to High School together. And for context, she and I dated after High School. I shot her a text asking her to come back if she had time.

Fast forward an hour and a half. The event was in full swing when I saw her walking up the driveway. While we were in occasional contact by text, the last time I had seen her was 5 years ago at the last HS reunion.
She looked great.
I invited her in and we got to talking. I asked her why she had left a redundant message for me. She said that it wasn’t why she came by. We moved past it. We caught up as much as the situation allowed. It was crowded and busy and we were interrupted often. Somehow the conversation got serious and we began to talk about when we dated. As we spoke it became obvious that there was a time in which we really enjoyed each other’s company. Sadly,I had forgotten (repressed?)a lot of it. I asked her why we broke up, or in our case just stopped seeing each other. She couldn’t tell me why and I had nothing to offer. I was troubled by that.
We talked for another 15-20 minutes and she then had to leave. We hugged and said goodbye. I joked with her that if she became unhappy with her husband I would gladly take her off his hands. She laughed and said, “Will do”.
I wonder if she knew that I was serious.

I should have been satisfied with the exchange. My brothers were all picking on me (my romantic exploits were common fodder for conversation) and I played along. But I was anything but jubilant. I was confused and full of regrets. As if regrets weren’t bad enough, I didn’t even remember what it was that I regretted; other than the nagging feeling that I may have, 30 years ago, messed up things with a woman I could have been happy with.

Sandy and I go way back. We were pals in High School. In Marching Band, she had reminded me of the time I had wrapped her in a blanket on a cold night far from home at a competition. She had thought I was kind. Enough so that she remembered it for all of these years. I had my own word for it.
Stupid.
I was stupid then. Stupid to not have asked her out then. Stupid to let her go when I finally had her. Stupid now as I get hit yet again with the consequences of being such a misguided, lost idiot for so many years.

I have so many regrets in life that I am grappling with. It just makes it worse that new ones continue to show up.

Growing pains

It’s been a busy few weeks as I have been winding down my detail business up North and making my move to my new digs in Southern NH. It has been difficult on both fronts. My customers continue to offer me business despite my stated completion date for the season of 10/31. I’m torn between shutting it down and taking the opportunity to make money. I kike money and I think anyone in my position would do the same. As for how my living situation fits into this, I have yet to spend more than a couple of weekends at my new place because I need to drive back up for jobs during the week. It’s not a big deal other than not being able to settle into my new residence. I’m just anxious to start a new chapter.

I suppose that my work commitments aren’t the only obstacle to my moving. I am becoming bittersweet about moving away from Mom. She has been making comments lately, despite initially being supportive of my move, that suggest that she is unhappy about my leaving. This is problematic, I based my decision heavily on her opinion. I will miss her as well, I have told her this repeatedly. I love her with all my heart and she is my best friend. But I have been living with her for 6 years. Ever since I fell ill in 2017. Now that I am well again, I want to rejoin the ranks of the adult, which includes having your own place. Or in my case, sharing an apartment with a roommate. Anything but living with your mother. I was hoping for a smoother, happier transition.

As for the rest of the transition, I like my new space. It is sparsely but tastefully decorated to my taste. My roommate, who is one of my dearest friends, gives me plenty of space. We hang out quite a bit but also have plenty of our own space. Another very important aspect of the move is that I am so much closer to family and friends. I have already taken advantage of the close proximity to both and I feel really good about it. This morning I went to a function with friends at the lodge and then had lunch with my daughter and I only did an hour of driving, not 4!

Growing pains are necessary and tend to wear off sooner than later.

the get together…conclusion

from previous post:
The days of hanging with the boys were the happiest times of my life. Hands down. Of course, I wanted to experience it again.
Also, I wanted to see where I fit into things, being the one who has probably experienced the most change (only everything in my life).
Lastly, I would be lying if I didn’t make note that I have had yet another glimpse into the abyss and I needed to create another memory.

It was good to walk into the bar area and see Scott and Mark. While the years take a toll on us all, they both look exactly the same. We had a drink at the bar and moved to a table when Neil got there. I don’t know Neil as well as the others but he has been part of the group for a long time and he’s a really good guy. I like him a lot.

The evening immediately took on a familiar note as we naturally eased into conversation. There wasn’t a whole lot of catching up to do, through FB and occasional text exchanges we knew what each other was up to for the most part. It felt like the old days. So, as I did in the old days, despite my sincere desire to not do so, I devolved into behaviors. Inappropriate behavior and over-sharing.
When I look back at the old days, the old me if you will, I deeply regret my behavior at times. I was very immature and insecure. I had no direction or foresight. I lived for the day and put everything else off. As the other guys were making good decisions, embarking on their careers and setting up for their futures I was content to drink, make inappropriate jokes and sexual banter. For some reason, I chose to make those “my thing”. The class clown if you will. It would be many years before I would realize that I wasn’t funny. I was just a moderately likeable knucklehead.
I didn’t want to be like that anymore.
But when it came time to talk about what I’ve been up to I offered up some tidbits about my health, my love life, and work. I shared the good news about my health and minimized my latest bad news. I boasted about the many wild sexual experiences, in unfortunate detail in hindsight, and left out the fact that I had been left heartbroken and sad very recently. I spoke of my side gig, all the while knowing that everyone at that table had more in their checking accounts than I had to my name. There’s the insecurity again.

As anyone with generalized anxiety knows, things often seem worse to us than would appear to others. And I know that, as I overthought the evening, I probably didn’t come off as badly as I thought. In reviewing the antics that I am embarrassed by, I came to the conclusion that I just wanted to fit in. Perhaps part of me wanted to show them that I have changed. But they probably don’t care, they’ve all changed also. But despite all the changes in their lives, I still look up to them all because they did things right and are living the lifestyle that I wish for but don’t deserve. As they are buying second homes and preparing for retirement, I am living with my mother and have no prospects for financial security and all that it brings. I don’t begrudge them anything.
I’m happy for them.

As for the behaviors that I am not proud of, there is one simple takeaway. I need to grow the fuck up.

The get together

from previous post:

One friend from that group has been a consistent friend and very supportive of me as I have dealt with the many challenges I have faced. I am thankful for him. I regret a lot of the opportunities I missed out on regarding him but still feel connected. As for the others, I just feel like a bad friend.

I’d been thinking about initiating a get-together for a while but I decided to follow through on it after I reached out to another of the 3 pillars of my group of friends. It was harmless enough. My friend is a very successful automotive mechanic who enjoys restoring and flipping cars online in his retirement. When I found myself with 2 cars, one of which I felt had some value, I reached out to him and asked him if he had any interest in listing it for me with his internet reach. The conversation was amiable enough, but when I thought about it later I realized that I hadn’t seen him in 3 years. Sure, we interacted on FB a bit, but that was simply too long. And when I did reach out to him, it was to ask him a favor. I don’t think he cared. But I did. It was at that moment that I initiated a reunion.

It would be 4 of us. Normally, it would have been 6 but 2 of our founding members were no longer with us. One is in prison because he turned out to be a fucking Pedo (that took a bit to process), and the other passed away a few years ago. That one was tough. He died of Liver Cancer, succumbing to it the second time around. This bad friend never even knew that he had been diagnosed the first time. That is how far out of the loop I was. He was such an awesome man. Kind, humorous, humble as can be with a quick, sardonic wit that never failed to deliver wry and side-splitting observations. I miss him terribly and hate myself for not seeing him all those years.

His memory, and my tremendous guilt over it, are likely the root cause of my desire to get together. To turn a sad memory into a positive and to do my little part to avoid being blindsided by another loss (God forbid of course)and be forced to deal with the sadness, second-guessing and the guilt again.

But I suppose there are others. For starters, the days of hanging with the boys were the happiest times of my life. Hands down. Of course I wanted to experience it again.
Also, I wanted to see where I fit into things, being the one who has probably experienced the most change (only everything in my life).
Lastly, I would be lying if I didn’t make note that I have had yet another glimpse into the abyss and I needed to create another memory.

To be continued…

The boys

In my ongoing quest to reconcile my past, accelerated by some upsetting recent medical news, I chose to address a particularly thought-consuming relationship. I reached out to a very important group of friends with whom I have lost touch.
Some backstory.
There is a group of friends that I was glued to the hip with since high school. The friendship was formed at a supermarket where we had all worked. Work banter evolved into hanging out and we eventually became a standing reservation in which weekend parties, football games, and a weekly gathering at a local watering hole for drinks and wings were the norm. They became my circle, “the boys”, and remained so for many years. It wasn’t until we all got involved in relationships and had family that we drifted apart.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. They continued to get together, I was the one who dropped off the face of the earth.
It wasn’t all my fault, I worked crazy hours including nights and weekends and it was hard. They accommodated my schedule when possible and made a real effort to include me but eventually, we lost touch.
In hindsight, I think I lost touch. They continued to be active friends. Marriage and family happened and they adapted. I wasn’t part of that phase. I don’t think any of them have ever met my children, nor I theirs. If not for social media I wouldn’t know what they looked like.
Per usual, I blamed myself for it. Some of it perhaps fairly, most of it maybe not.

This is not to say that we didn’t speak. One friend from that group has been a consistent friend and very supportive of me as I have dealt with the many challenges I have faced. I am thankful for him. I regret a lot of the opportunities I missed out on regarding him but still feel connected. As for the others, I just feel like a bad friend.

More later…

Fellowship

I really love being a Mason. It is so good for my soul. Choosing to join the fraternity is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Few things in my life leave me feeling as spiritually fulfilled. I wish I could bottle the sensation that a night of fellowship with friends old and new gives me. Unfortunately, few things satiate me in such a way.

It is an exciting time in my little corner of the Masonic world. My lodge has emerged from difficult times and now stands strong and healthy in both membership and finances. In a day and age where Masonry is going in the same direction as many fraternal organizations, downwards, my lodge is, at least for now, keeping the wolves at bay with a slight but encouraging uptick in membership.

Masonry will never return to its heyday. Post WW2, Korea and Vietnam, men flocked to Masonry because it provided a fraternal, male organization that resembled many aspects of military life. Unfortunately, in those times many men worked one job, and wives stayed home as many men did what they pleased at night. Life is simply not like that anymore, most families have both adults working at least one job, demands on time are greater, gender roles have evolved, and membership has consequently dwindled. In addition, it is a faith-based organization in an increasingly non-religious world.

But challenging times often return people to their core values of seeking truth, certainty, and comfort and Masonry continues to offer those. Our fraternity heavily stresses friendship, bonding, and support and men need that today. This is evident in the recent uptick in membership.

Now, we have to give them an experience to keep them. That’s where I think I come in. As a former Master, my duties are to enjoy basking in the feeling of having met one of the greatest expectations of a Mason, that of leading a lodge. I can do what I choose to do. Last night, I recognized the need for organization, mentoring, and development of our newer members. I think I will gladly take this on.

I think it is what I am meant to do at this moment in my life. I have been looking for some purpose and, as these things tend to do, this one revealed itself to me when I least expected it.

Just how I like it.