The Most Beautiful City in America

Pam and I spent yesterday being introduced to the most beautiful city we’ve ever seen, Savannah, Georgia.

I purchased two tickets for the Old Town Trolley Tours, the best $100 I’ve ever spent. We boarded around 10:30 or so. It’s advertised as a 90 minute tour but that’s only if you don’t get off and walk around, which you are free to do because there’s always another trolley waiting to pick you up. Honestly, we could have gotten off at each of the 16 stops on the tour because every one of them was fascinating and beautiful. Instead we only got off the trolley three or four times. Still, it took us almost five hours and we hardly scratched the surface.

We took a bunch of pictures but this was the sort of experience that photography doesn’t really capture. Savannah claims to be the first planned city in all of America, its dimensions laid out in 1734 by its founder, General James Oglethorpe, an Englishman who designed the place with a military man’s eye for detail and utility. The standout feature of the city layout were the 24 “squares” placed throughout the middle of the place, of which 22 survive to this day, un stained by “progress”. Each of them feature gigantic live oak trees strewn with Spanish moss, which create the strange sight of the downtown of a city overrun with 400 year old trees, statues and memorials, all of them a feast for the eyes, all of them shrouding the city in a rich towering canopy of shade and filtered sunlight. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.

Oglethorpe insisted on his new city abiding by his four “rules.” There was to be no slavery, no hard liquor, no lawyers, and no Catholics…no slavery because it was wicked, no hard liquor because it made people lazy, no lawyers because lawyering led to unfair persecution, and no Catholics because of the Spanish army down in Florida and Oglethorpe’s fear that if he allowed Catholics in his city and the Spanish were to attack, his Catholic citizens might side with the Spanish. Our guide pointed out the fact that Georgia has been trying to keep Floridians out ever since!

The primary reason that Savannah is so beautiful after nearly three hundred years of “progress” is due to the indefatigable efforts of six little old ladies who back in the mid 1700’s established the Savannah historical society—essentially the first and most robust home owners association ever formed in America. These hearty women and their predecessors have guarded downtown Savannah’s unique aesthetic with a tenacity that would have made General Oglethorpe proud. As a result, every where you look there is one gorgeous home/building after another. Perhaps the centerpiece of the place is the famous “Jones Street”, the beauty of which is overwhelming to the point of being where we get the expression “keeping up with the Jones’” from.

We stopped for some shopping and a delightful lunch at an Irish Pub. We took a gorgeous walk through Forsyth Park, where we staggered around with our mouths hanging open like a couple of spellbound tourists. We were consistently entertained by a series of Trolley drivers who educated us with history and hilarious stories told with top shelf humor mixed with a Georgia low country drawl.

So, if you ever find your self within a hundred miles of Savannah, Georgia, make the detour into town. Worth. Every. Penny.

Silas Time

 As it turns out, we chose a bad week to spend on Tybee Island. The weather has been cloudy with 35 mile an hour winds, making beach time scarce. Consequently we have spent much of our time watching Silas crawl around the condo leaving giant messes in his wake and looking adorable doing it. We have also taken him to two restaurants, one coffee shop and an ice cream joint called “Sugar Shack.” At each venue he conducted himself with admirable poise, demonstrating world class manners, except on a couple of occasions where he revealed a few unfortunate habits he picked up at day care, no doubt. One of them involves the recent discovery of the sheer power and thrill of hearing his own voice in full primal scream mode. Each blood curdling outburst is proceeded and followed by a mischievous grin, assuring everyone that he is not gravely ill or in serious distress. He just digs the sound of it.

All of the adults at the table for this particular demonstration began attempting behavior modification in the form of a group SSHHHHHH, with our index fingers on our lips. This had a positive effect at first. A less successful strategy was attempted by Lolli when she attempted to explain the concept of inside vs. outside voices, to which Silas replied, GLLAACKKKARGGGGOOO!!!

But, for the most part the little guy has been a delight. He will be heading home today and we will miss him terribly, be are very grateful for having spent this time with him. Last night we sent Kaitlin and Jon out for a date night. Before they left we got Silas into his jammies and read him books on their bed. As I was reading he suddenly laid his little head on my chest and patted me with his hand. At that point he could have asked me for anything in the world and I would have given it to him…or died trying.

33 Days. WAY Too Long

 Pam and I have discovered that there is a limit to how long we can go without seeing our grandson…and we have reached that limit.

With the exception of the six weeks we spent in Maine last July/August, we are currently in the longest stretch of going Silas-less. 33 days. This is an outrage which we intend to remedy next week when we spend a week on Tybee Island, where we will introduce the little guy to the ocean, swimming pools and the city of Savannah, Georgia.

In preparation, Pam has been busy spending our kid’s inheritance on any and everything that catches her eye at Carter’s. For those of you who haven’t been introduced to Carter’s, think a cross between a Baby Walmart and a Las Vegas casino for grandparents—places where we go to hemorrhage money.

I don’t care about the money part, all I care about is ending this interminable grandson drought. 33 days is way too dang long and neither of us intend on letting it happen again!

When Were The Good Old Days?

 I suppose it’s only natural for human beings to look back on the past with fondness and longing. All of us, no matter what trauma may have afflicted us in life, have at least a few comforting memories from the past. There is a common phrase we give for this nostalgic impulse—The Good Old Days. While I may have gotten annoyed when my parents talked about the past so glowingly, I find myself just as guilty now that I’m older. It’s in the water, part of the air we breathe. But there’s something about this nostalgia business that frustrates me.

I grew up in the 1960’s. Everything about that experience helped shape me, the political upheaval, black and white television, the fashion, sports, music, the food, everything. To this day I prefer the early 1970’s version of baseball with its base stealing, bunting, and starting pitchers that pitched complete games. I believe that nothing that has come on the music scene since The Beatles compares. I think that the way I grew up is better than the way we are raising kids today. Spending endless hours outside is so superior to the cloistered existence of video gaming, it’s laughable. However, these preferences of mine are not hard and fast absolutes, and even if they were, they don’t tell the whole story. There was plenty about the 1960’s that was terrible, the political violence, Vietnam, the horrific pollution.

So I guess the problem I have with The Good Old days is the obvious question—when were The Good Old Days?

There can never be a consensus on this issue, since every generation will offer a different answer. But let me try to offer my answer which has two parts. The first part of the answer is: We are living in them! The second part of my answer is: The Good Old Days are the days yet to come.

I can practically hear some of you yelling into your computer screens at my assertion that we are living in the good old days right now. “Have you seen that moron in the White House?? We are one hiccup away from nuclear war!! AI will kill us all!!” Ok. In the 1960’s 50,000 American soldiers were in the process of being slaughtered in Southeast Asia, our major cities were burning and Presidents and Presidential candidates were being shot and my elementary school was doing duck and cover nuclear attack drills. And yet, I look back on those days with warmth and longing. Guess what. Someday, the 2020’s will be someone else’s good old days.

We all suffer from recency bias, the things we experience in the moment seem the worst or best of “all time.” But by practically every measurable standard of human life quality we are indeed living in the very best of times. The fact is that the middle class in America live better than any king during the Middle Ages. A mere 100 years ago, no human being had ever enjoyed the simple pleasure of a…hot shower. My father grew up without indoor plumbing. Air conditioning was a pipe dream. The leading cause of death in America was…the flu.

But what really excites me are the good old days that are to come. This requires an imagination and an attitude informed by history that acknowledges the irrefutable fact that every generation generally has it better than the ones before. This is not true in every conceivable measurement, of course. Sometimes, civilization regresses. But the verdict of history is clear that over the vast majority of human existence, life has stubbornly gotten better with the passage of time. 

Confidence is a fragile thing. Our 24/7 news cycle conspires against it. The human spirit is easily crushed. But that spirit always endures. Those who chose to look for the best in people, those who don’t fear the future, those who eagerly await innovations will indeed look back on the heady days of the 2040’s with pride.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that when many people look at younger generations and despair, I look at those same people and become optimistic. For one thing, my kids are part of these new generations, along with their friends. I watch how they live their lives and come to the conclusion that in many ways they are better humans than I was at their age. They are smart, tech savvy, and hard working, and not nearly as consumer-obsessed as my generation was. I would be willing to trade every single United States Senator and Representative over the age of 70 with any fifty random kids working two jobs paying back their college loans and trying to raise a family.

So, my Good Old Days are today, right now…and the wonderful days to come.

Hard to Believe

 Next week is the week of my birthday. I will turn 68. Time is flying.

This past summer when I was in Maine I wrote about how time has no real meaning at the lake. It loses its power as a reliable measure. The names we give to the days of the week no longer matter at the lake. All of this is true. But when I come back to Short Pump time speeds up. I am completely baffled at the prospect of being 68 years old. I have a hard time believing that it’s true.

I battle daily against the greatest risk of growing old which is a retreat into rigid thinking, of becoming the angry guy yelling for the kids to get off his lawn. I also battle against the natural deterioration of the body which comes with age. I still relentlessly exercise five days a week. I refuse to go down without a fight.

But, there’s something else to this aging business. Yes, I want to stay open to new ideas, new experiences. Yes, I want to stay in shape. But I have no interest in trying to be younger. My hair is starting to be flecked with gray. My face has new wrinkles, but you know what? I’ve earned every one of them! I’ve got lots of scars because I’ve endured some battles. Those battles have made me who I am.

In many ways I feel just like I did when I was 30. Too often I forget that my body isn’t able to do the things it could do when I was 30 and I pay the price for forgetting. But I don’t want to be 30 again. I don’t wish I was 50 either. I was dumber then. I was in the middle of a valley of stress then. No…I’m fine with 68. It’s just hard to believe, that’s all.

Grandparenting Love

 There is a very popular meme on social media platforms that starts with the premise that Grandparents love their grandchildren much more than they ever loved their own kids. There are varying versions of this theme, many of them hysterically funny. There’s the scenes where grandparents arrive at the kid’s house and nearly run them over on their way inside to see the grandbaby. I get it. Then there’s the often heard complaint by adult children that their parents let the grandchildren get away with everything that would have brought down their fury back in the day. It’s all true.

But it’s not what you think. There’s much more to a grandparent’s love than meets the eye. I’m certain that I am not the first grandparent to stumble upon this idea, so bear with me.

We do not love our grandchildren more than we loved our own children. Nothing could be further from the truth. Its like this…

When we hold little Silas in our arms we experience all of the feels. There’s an almost indescribable love. There’s joy, wonder, amazement, pride and an inexhaustible gratitude. In other words, the exact same things we felt when we held Kaitlin and Patrick. 

But when Kaitlin and Patrick came into this world there was much more in the mix. There was fear, inadequacy, anxiety about how in the world I was going to provide for them, protect them, care for them. Would I make bad decisions where their care was concerned? What if I didn’t have what it took to be a proper parent? What in the hell were we thinking…that we could care for a brand new life?

But when we hold Silas there’s none of that.

So what happens is we feel all the wonderful thrill of new life without any of the pressures and responsibilities. In other words God has given us the opportunity to remember what it was like to love our children. We get to love our children all over again through this beautiful little child.

It is the greatest gift we have ever received.

United States v. Dominican Republic

 There’s a baseball game tonight which very well may have the most talented players ever assembled on a baseball diamond. Of course, since I’m talking about baseball, that’s up for debate. But even if you aren’t a fan of the game, if you want to be I would suggest you watch this game tonight. It will be like nothing else you’ve ever seen. I’m talking about the semi-final match up between the United States and the Dominican Republic in the World Baseball Classic. Two great lineups. Two completely different approaches to the game.

Baseball is an American game. The best players in the world play in the major leagues. The giants of the game’s long and storied history are mostly American. But our country is huge and our sporting interests are diverse. Right now baseball is probably the third or fourth most popular sport. In the Dominican Republic baseball is the only game.

Over the past thirty or forty years many of the best players in the world have come from the DR. Their brand of baseball includes aggressive base running and flamboyant displays of bravado. They play the game with their emotions on their sleeves—like all of us used to play the game when we were kids.

There has been pushback from many American baseball fans of a certain age—guys like me—to the excessive bat flipping and over the top self congratulating chest-pounding going on in the big leagues in recent years. I must confess to being frequently annoyed by it at times. On the other hand, sometimes American players seem like corporate robots, more interested in their portfolios than the game. It’s hard to warm up to guys making 30 million dollars a year, I suppose. But many of these Dominican players make tons of money too…and you would never know it watching the way they play. There’s something about them that is glaringly absent in today’s game. Joy.

A friend of mine pointed out another difference he’s noticed. The Italian team that is currently undefeated in this tournament is known mostly as the guys who drink espresso shots in the dugout after home runs. The Dominicans are known for the crazy ways they find to hype each other up. Our guys listened to an ex Navy Seal talk about the mission to kill Osama Bin Laden to get hyped before playing against…Canada.

Still, tonight I will be rooting for the USA. They are my guys. Many of them are terrific human beings, and I always feel pride watching my fellow Americans doing excellent things against the very best competition. But if I’m being honest I’ll have to admit to a bit of jealousy. I envy the DR their love of the game and each other. I envy them their joy.