My Annual Christmas Letter

 Several years ago I wrote a blog about how annoying I found that lively perennial the Family Christmas Letter. You know the one I’m talking about because by now you’ve probably already gotten a half dozen of them thru the mail and you’re planning on writing yours any day now. Well, ever since then, as a protest to this lowest form of written communication, I’ve been writing my own Christmas letter, only mine doesn’t seek to paint a Pinterest/Hallmark picture of the previous year but an honest one. It includes noteworthy events from each month of 2025, the good, the bad, and the ugly. My year went something like this:

January: My first month of retirement was uneventful. The weather was lousy. I continued my 12 year boycott of the Inauguration show. I wrote a short story that maybe 175 people read. I established a new weekday morning routine of going to the Hope Cafe for coffee and a bagel.

February: I wrote a couple more short stories that even fewer people read. I was briefly scandalized when some scumbag murdered two Va. Beach police officers during a routine traffic stop. But that was ten months ago and it hasn’t crossed my mind since. My hunch is you’ve forgotten about it too.

March: Wrote two more short stories…The Reaping and Terrible Swift Sword which several hundred of you read. Started killing my daily walking/exercising commitment for 2025–not that I had neglected it for the first two months, but with the warmer weather I really amped it up.

April: This month was consumed with a complete overhaul of our kitchen. Thousands of dollars fled the safety and comfort of my checking account to give Pam the kitchen of her dreams and me a massive source of frustration. Wrote a fourth short story called High Tide. Visited my son and his wife in Nashville. 

May: Started getting geeked up about the impending summer trip to Maine. Set all time record of being pissed off at contractors for 46 consecutive days. Started work on a new story that kept growing more complex every time I started writing. Spoiler alert: It ends up being novel #6 and I don't finish it until December 9th.

June: Pam retired from 18 years of being vastly underpaid as a reading specialist at River’s Edge Elementary School joining her husband in a new life of joblessness. Then we drove down to Columbia, South Carolina to be there for the birth of our first grandchild, who turned out to be a boy. Everything that happened in 2025 prior to his birth is hardly even worth mentioning. We are in love with him and so unspeakably proud of his parents.

July: Went to Maine. The weather was sensational, probably the best six weeks of weather we have ever had in our summers there. Lucy once again was in her happy place.

August: We returned from Maine and literally two days later packed up and went to be with Silas for a week. Got to briefly walk through our new kitchen for about fifteen minutes before we left.

September: By September 1st I had really hit my stride with this retirement thing. I discovered that I LOVED it and still do. Then some kid shot and killed Charlie Kirk. Actually got to see it in stunning HD. I felt kinda sick for the rest of the month.

October: Started getting up leaves. At my house this is a two month ordeal. During one day devoted to bagging the first load up into 42 gallon trashbags I threw out my back for the 28th time or so, but who’s counting? This was after I had gotten Sciatica. Not a great month for the old guy.

November: Thanksgiving was great except for the fact that Silas and his parents got sick and couldn’t make the trip up. So of course Pam and I just had to pack up and spend a week taking care of them after Thanksgiving was over.

Since December is only a third of the way through at this point I’m just gonna assume that nothing terribly noteworthy will happen over the next three weeks. All in all, 2025 has been outstanding. Health has been acceptable. Loving retirement. Loving volunteering at my church. Really love being a grandparent. Once again (and I think this is three years in a row now) 2025 was vomit-free. I curated probably somewhere between 500 and a thousand dad jokes, largely because Sherri Matthews just can’t get enough of them. I finished that novel I told you about earlier which was great fun. So yeah, a good year.

Cottonwood

 Back on May the first of this year I started writing a story about a man who is found naked and unconscious in a ditch near Waynesboro, Virginia on August 14th 1939. He is taken to a hospital in Charlottesville where he remains unconscious for two weeks, finally waking up on September 1st, the day that German tanks are pouring into Poland marking the beginning of WWII. When he wakes up he has no memory of who he is, what year it is or where he is.

At the time I had no idea what would happen to this character. All I had on May the first was this setup. Two days ago I finished the story, 100,000 words later. It turned out to be my sixth novel. It is also the sixth time I have started telling a story on the slimmest pretext of an idea only to have the idea mutate into a novel. I have no idea how this happens. It is seldom planned—“I think I’ll begin writing a novel today”—they always take me 8-9 months to complete and they are always crazy fun to write. And…when I finish them I battle two competing emotions. Relief and sadness. I will miss these people.

Not to give anything away but, it turns out that the man in the ditch got there by way of a time travel mishap from the year 2078. Although he has no memory he is endowed with a variety of abilities that serve him well in his new environment and a few which baffle him. The story is basically the story of how he finds his way building a life for himself and the people he encounters along the way, some who he grows to love and others who have come to “take him back”.

Now I’ve started the process of going back to page one to proofread and make some changes that a few of my designated readers have suggested. Then sometime next year I will attempt to get it published. What’s the title, you ask? I’m not sure. Working title has been John Doe, but I’m thinking about calling it either Cottonwood or The Cottonwood Tree.

I’ll keep you posted.

Our Week With Silas

 Let me set the scene before I get into this particular post since it might provide context and give Pam and me at least the slimmest cover from accusations of being helicopter grandparents.

The week of Thanksgiving was to be a cozy event featuring all seven members of the family being together with Silas, and notably the little guy’s first Thanksgiving. As many of you know all of our plans were torpedoed by a raging stomach bug that ran roughshod through the Manchester household in the days leading up to Thanksgiving. To make matters worse, this was followed by colds that afflicted all three of them. In the midst of the angst felt by everyone on account of such a lost opportunity for memory making Pam made the off the cuff suggestion to Kaitlin that maybe we could come down the following week and look after Silas while they went back to work, keeping him out of the Petri dish convention that is the day care industry. Notice that Pam didn’t first run this idea by me to see if I was on board with the idea for the perfectly understandable reason that she knew that I would say “YES”.

So, we piled in the car and went down to Columbia, South Carolina last Sunday morning and arrived back home Saturday afternoon. As soon as we pulled out of their driveway Pam looks at me and said, “Its December 6th and I have not bought one single Christmas present.” She thought that since she was retired this Christmas would be a leisurely frolic through Christmas websites as she did her shopping on her laptop in her pajamas while sipping hot cocoa, unencumbered by the pressure and constraints of the calendar. But those fanciful dreams were before the arrival of Silas Nathaniel Manchester. 

Our week with them was no picnic. Being in charge of a six month old baby experiencing sleep difficulties ie…when he should sleep he disagrees after the first 30 minutes…is not for the faint of heart. Moreover, listening to a baby crying for ten minutes while they attempt to fall asleep makes you feel like a monster, deliberately withholding love and comfort from the sweetest little human on Planet Earth. But, other than his aversion to taking naps—something I should point out he will love when he gets to be his Pops’ age—he was about as perfect a six month old as was ever born on God’s green earth.

The schedule was relentless. He wakes up in the morning. We get his parents out the door to work. We give him bottle #1. He destroys it like he hasn’t eaten in a week. We change his diaper. We play with him for 2 hours at a variety of very cool play-stations strewn throughout their home which before his arrival was already smallish, but now resembles an obstacle course designed by Willy Wonka. There’s a standing play circle, two activity centers that feature various dazzling attractions hanging just out of reach—a diabolical scheme which I don’t fully comprehend but the little guy is intrigued. Then there’s story time where Pam and I read him a selection of truly wonderful books for little ones, many of which feature animals making noises. These books never grow old for him or us. 

Then its time to pick out his outfit of the day since up to this point he is still in his adorable pajamas from last night that Pam can’t bring herself to remove since it was one that she bought for him. But, we finally find a stunning new Carter’s special that was all the rage on the Gerber catwalks last fall, one which my wife could not possibly resist buying back when he was two days old. He looks like a million bucks and I make a mental note to see if Carter’s is a publicly traded company. 

After the new outfit is in place its time for his first nap of the day. In this tricky exercise we are aided in no small way by modern technology. First there is this clever night light/noise machine which turns on and off with a mere wave of the hand. Then, of course, there’s the surveillance camera above the crib that sends live pictures and sound to our cell phones (and God knows where else). That way not only can we hear him crying, we get to have the fully immersive experience of watching him in agony. I am told that this represents progress.

Anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and 45 minutes later, he wakes up and gives us a ridiculously irresistible smile…and it starts all over again until mercifully between 5:00 and 6:00 in the evening his parents get home from work to find me trapped on the floor playing with little man since I have no choice because I can’t get up without assistance and Pam is busy making dinner! We had five days of this. Was it hard? Yes. Does it sound exhausting? Sure. But it was also quite surprisingly energizing. In five short days I wrote the last three entire chapters of the novel I’ve been working on since May the first. Somewhere between sleep training, diapers, and teaching Silas to throw left handed, I had enough creative energy to write the hardest 12,000 words of the story.

At this point I should say that Silas’ parents are killing it. Everything is brand new for them and they are rolling with the punches like seasoned vets. When they look at him you can see it in their eyes, this deep and abiding love. They overwhelm him with this love because it’s the only thing that feels equal to the moment.

Before we left I told my daughter that there was no place Pam and I could have been, nothing that we could have been doing this week that was more important than this. I meant every word.

Feels Like Christmas

 We got here around 5:15 yesterday afternoon. Pam had called Kaitlin over Thanksgiving suggesting that maybe all of them could stand a break from daycare for a week. Would she be ok with us coming down and keeping Silas for a week, cooking dinner for them and allowing him to fully recover from his cold before going back to daycare? It took her around five seconds to say, Yes please!

So, here we are. We hadn’t seen him in a month. He’s gotten so big and can do so many more things. At first his response to us was tentative, like maybe we looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place us. But it didn’t take long before he was smiling and being adorable. Last night I got to read him books right before he went to bed. I was sitting in the rocking chair in his room and Pam was kneeling down beside him. As I read he kept looking at Pam and then twisting his head around to look up at me as if to say, Lolli and Pops are both here reading to me! How great is this?

Kaitlin and Jon left for work around an hour ago. It’s just the three of us now. Pam is putting him down for his morning nap. Every time I look at him my heart feels like it’s going to burst. 

We will be here for a week. By the time we head home on Saturday we will both be worn out. But somehow having this whole week with him feels like Christmas. 

Missing The Little One

 We didn’t get to see him. But I wore everyone out showing them pictures of the boy. Christmas is coming and hopefully nobody will get sick and have to stay home in Columbia. Even though it was a wonderful day together with my big beautiful family, I missed him so much. And yes, of course I missed his Mom and Dad too. 

Preventative maintenance

 On the surface this Thanksgiving is a big disappointment. Pam and I had been looking forward to it for weeks, all of our kids would be here and it would be our first Thanksgiving as grandparents. I planned on spending most of my time playing with him, reading to him, watching him sleep etc etc..But then we got the news that Little Silas had gotten his first cold about the same time that his Mom and Dad came down with a stomach bug. The timing could not have been more sinister. So the whole first Thanksgiving thing isn’t going to happen.

But, life goes on and Thanksgiving is a time to celebrate the blessings of life and by any measure I have much to celebrate. Patrick and Sarah arrived this past Sunday evening and we have thoroughly enjoyed their company all week. Their Golden, Frisco, has been his customarily delightful self. Lucy has loved having guests. As I write this they are downstairs preparing three different varieties of baklava to bring to Linda’s house tomorrow where my side of the family will be together for the afternoon.

This is my first Thanksgiving Day as a retiree, which reminds me of yet another reason I have to be grateful. I was rehearsing all of my many blessings the other day on the drive to my doctor’s office for my annual check-up, its usually the way I hype myself up for what I have always considered a morbid exercise. “Hello Mr. Dunnevant. Hop up on that bed and let’s see how much damage you’ve managed to do to yourself since this time last year!

This was my first “Medicare Wellness Exam”. I was not prepared for all of the mental aquity questions—Can you recite the months of the year in reverse order? What year is it? Have you contemplated suicide in the past six months?

Me: No…but these questions are making me consider it.

Anyway, all was well except for the fact that my doctor was not impressed with my plan for living a long and healthy life in retirement—My plan is to stop going to doctors because thats where all the sick people are. Her reaction to this logic was very similar to Pam’s, and she proceeded to chastise me for neglecting things like dental appointments, colonoscopies and whatnot. She gave me a list of four different doctors I needed to schedule appointments with ASAP. Then she said something like…Mr. Dunnevant, are you listening to me? While you’re at it, maybe you should get a hearing test! My doctor is kinda badass which makes her a lot easier to tolerate.

So, I did as I was told and set all the required appointments. Pam was 100% on my doctor’s side, explaining that these appointments were the equivalent of normal upkeep on a house or a car. This is preventative maintenance, Honey. 

Of course it is. Makes total sense. Or…it might also be a sinister shakedown conspiracy hatched by a consortium of local physicians to boost their revenue so they can buy their sixth vacation home.

Just kidding about that last part…sorta

Last Words

 About two weeks ago I wrote a scene in the novel I’ve been working on since May that has stayed with me ever since. It involved a character who was dying and had the rare opportunity that few dying people have—to gather the kids around and pass along final thoughts. Ever since I wrote it I’ve thought about what on Earth I would say if I were afforded such a forum. What a daunting task, one final chance to give them something infinitely meaningful. For the rest of their lives they would say to each other, “You remember what Dad told us at the end?”

The hardest part of this project would be deciding which of the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime would be included. I’ve learned many things that while helpful to me weren’t exactly life changing. I wouldn’t want to waste my final words on inconsequential things. There are also things I’ve learned that my kids learned long before I ever did. Of course there’s always the chance that in the moment you might go on and on about something that you are convinced is beneficial but might end up being terrible advice. So, the whole bedside blessing thing is fraught with peril.

My character killed it, by the way…left them moved and inspired. I’m not sure I could do as well because…well, because I’m not a fictional character. Nevertheless I have spent quite a bit of time thinking about this and have distilled those thoughts down to just a few, unrelated thoughts as follows:

“I believe there are three types of people in the world, those who always think that they are capable of greater things than they actually are, those who always think they aren’t good enough to do great things, and those who never even think about great things.”

I would rather you be the first type of person, always attempting, always reaching for great things. But whatever you do, don’t be the person who never thinks about grand things. That’s an unexamined, unchallenged life.

Now, I know what some of you might be thinking..isn’t that setting them up for disappointment? After all, not everyone is great. My answer to that objection is simple. What’s so horrible about disappointment? Some of the best things I’ve ever accomplished in my life grew out of the soil of failure and disappointment. And, what is this “everyone isn’t great” balderdash? The trouble with that mindset is that it is based on a flawed concept of greatness. Its the Tom Brady, Elon Musk brand of greatest which is always measured with numbers.

How do I define greatness? Let me tell you by giving you some examples from my own life.

Even though I worked 30 hours a week for the four and a half years it took me to graduate from University of Richmond I still graduated with a debt that it took ten years to pay off which I did in full and on time. Does that qualify as great? I think so.

I married a woman who was much more than merely beautiful, she was raised right by parents who taught her about love, kindness and generosity. We have stayed married through good and bad for the past 41 years. Great? I think so.

We managed to bring two humans into this world, struggled mightily not only to provide for them but to protect them from harm while trying desperately to teach them right from wrong. They are now grown adults who have built beautiful lives for themselves and have never once embarrassed us. I believe this to be my greatest single achievement.

For me this is where the “greatness” ends. I’m not sure anything else qualifies. Yes, I built a business from scratch and had a reasonably successful career. That was good fortune, not greatness. Yes, I’ve written this reasonably entertaining blog for 14 years along with a bunch of other short stories and novels. That doesn’t qualify as “greatness”. That’s just a really fun and fulfilling hobby.

“Never stop learning. Always pursue improvement. Never wave off bad behavior in yourself as something you were born with. Bullshit. I was born with an aggressive, naturally occurring bluntness that morphed into rudeness by the time I was a working adult. I had to learn the kindness and thoughtfulness that seemed to come naturally to people like my wife. It took work and learning how to apologize. The fruits of the spirit in my faith are traits that have to be practiced and even if it is a lifelong project it will be worth the struggle.”

This one comes with a caveat. As a Christian I benefit from a liberal dose of grace in my pursuit of improvement.

“Finally, I would say…if there’s one passage of scripture that it would behoove you to memorize and apply to your life its this one found in Ephesians 4:32:

“Be kind one to another, tender hearted, forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”

I have nothing to add to this truth.

So, that’s what I’ve come up with over the last two weeks of pondering this “last words” thing. Unlike my character, whose blessing was beautifully rendered with grace and brevity, I would probably have expired halfway through this screed. 

Hopefully I’ll have many, many years to work on it.

Always, forever learning….