The Bleak Mid-Winter

 Tomorrow February begins, the official kick-off of the bleak mid-winter. I have written many times of my disdain for the month of February, so I will not rehash all of that again. We have all been trapped in our ice-encrusted neighborhoods for a week now. How worse can it get? February just looked at March and said, “Hold my beer.”

At this point I have exhausted all of my errand runs. Yesterday I wore out a second vacuum cleaner. Then I spent two delightful hours on the telephone with the IRS. I am here to tell you that if you want something to distract yourself from the chaos and confusion of Minnesota, try having a tax payment you made in 2025 recoded from the third quarter to the fourth quarter. Poor Gloria, my tax-payer assistance professional, placed me on hold no less than six times with the rehearsed phrase, “I’m going to put you on hold for 5 to 7 minutes.” Each time she did not disappoint. 

Looks like we are set up for our second hilariously busted forecast in a row, the much hyped 8-10 inch snowfall having morphed into a possible dusting. Despite the introduction of cayenne pepper laced bird food into our fancy new Bird Buddy device, the local squirrels seem unfazed, three of whom have already been picked off by my trusty Daisy Powerline 35 for their impertinence, one of the very few highlights of the past week.

And now my little grandson has his first ear infection…typical pre-February treachery.

But I am reminded that no matter how dreadful or delightful life can sometimes be, change is always right around the corner. Actually, I wrote something about this dynamic years ago. Yes…here it is:

In the summer no one thinks about the snow. Sitting at a feast table no one recalls the famine. In the season of peace no one listens for the drums of war. No one except me. I am always moved on to the next thing. And the next thing is always different. It is tiresome to receive a gift of new shoes and only being able to imagine them with holes. But, my gift has benefits. A run of bad luck or ill health is always about to end. It's always on to the next thing. If life seems bright and grand, it's about to turn wicked and dark. But a sick child is about to recover, the long miserable winter is about to give way to spring, crushing grief is about to melt into tender memory. It's what happens next that matters. Always... what happens next.

Day Six of Cabin Fever

 

Day Six of Cabin Fever

Day 6 of cabin fever. The streets in my subdivision still glisten with solid ice, a rutted milky white mess. I walk across my lawn without leaving any evidence. Its currently 6 degrees. My office—the Cafe at Hope Church—has been closed all week. I have been denied my coffee, Asiago cheese bagel, and all of my amazing Cafe peeps for a fortnight. 

Pam is thriving under these barbaric conditions. She drinks her hot chocolate, texts her friends, performs productive work on her computer and creates beautiful cross-stitch/crochet things while the Hallmark channel plays in the background. She wears warm sweaters and makes homemade soup for supper, perfectly and completely content. I stare out the window and come up with excuses for venturing out to “run errands”.

One such errand was to go next door to thank them for shoveling my sidewalk and driveway. As a “thank-you” I brought them a can of some “special chips” I had bought in Columbia that were gluten free and super delicious that I was sure they would love. When their youngest, Sully, eagerly opened them a giant coiled snake shot out of the can and across the room. Sully burst out laughing but her Mom ran from the room screaming. Good times!! Later they sent me a couple of videos of other family members who opening the can with similarly hilarious results. So, I’ve got that going for me.

I did manage to pick up my whimpy friend Tom from his house so we could have breakfast at Waffle House a couple days ago. And yesterday I did run by CVS for reasons that now escape me. While I was there I picked up some toiletries that I will no doubt have need of at some point in the future. I managed to drop by my old office where I enjoyed harassing them for thirty minutes or so. The other day I dragged Pam with me to have lunch at Los Panchos. Today I’m thinking maybe the house could use a complete and proper vacuuming.

I have managed to do my exercises every morning. I’ve also logged 24 miles on the stationary bike. Despite this I have gained even more weight, bringing my 2026 total weight gain to four pounds.

All the while an ominous weather forecast has been looming. Each day I wake up to learn the latest predictions. A week ago there was talk of up to a foot of new snow coming this weekend. A couple of days ago it had morphed into barely a dusting. This morning, the pendulum has swung back to impending doom.

My buddy from Maine texted me yesterday morning. I had been bemoaning the horrible weather we have experienced. He responded with, “We had 18 inches yesterday and this morning its -16.” There’s nothing worse than having a smart ass friend from Maine.

So today is another day. I am trying to wrangle a clandestine visit to the Cafe for an Asiago Cheese bagel. I’m willing to sign a waiver holding Hope harmless if I should end up ass-over-tea kettles walking across the parking lot. Sacrifices have to be made in this life.

Outrage Fatigue

 I have developed a severe case of outrage fatigue. Am I the only one?

I open my computer and read the news, then scan through social media. There is a torrent of indignation pouring forth. ICE. Trump. Minnesota. Somalian daycare. Church invasions. The NFL is fixed. The Dodgers are destroying baseball. Pedophiles running amok in the halls of power. It is a dizzying menu of anger. But lately there has been a new wrinkle thrown into the mix. I’m not sure what to even call it but it’s there in plain view. It’s a strange new performative guilt-shaming aimed at people who aren’t sufficiently outraged. 

Suddenly, it’s not enough that people feel the need to daily broadcast their rage on social media. Now they feel compelled to disparage those of us who have remained “silent”. Our lack of daily memes castigating Trump or AOC is now taken as proof of something sinister. Perhaps we are closet Communists or mouth-breathing MAGA’s. If we aren’t out in the streets blocking traffic or boycotting this company or that we are clearly not down for the struggle. Our perceived apathy is not sufficiently equal to “the moment.”

I would like to offer a counter explanation for my lack of an acceptable level of zeal for this “moment”. I simply don’t have the emotional bandwidth required to be in a perpetual state of apoplectic, spittle-spewing rage 24/7. I just don’t. Psychologists claim that a human being is only capable of deep emotional connection with roughly 100-150 other human beings. This sounds right to me. But even if I could manage a huge reserve of empathy and indignation about say…2,000 people, my ability to do anything of substance for them is severely limited. So, what exactly does posting all day every day of social media actually do to move the needle? Nothing. That’s what. Actually, that’s not entirely true. It does accomplish one important thing. It makes the angry poster feel good, enhances their sense of moral superiority—and that is a powerful rush.

Although I can literally do absolutely nothing to change events a thousand miles away from me, I can do something about the Asian lady who got her car stuck in the snow at the entrance to her culdesac. I can take a friend to a doctor’s appointment because they don’t want to drive on the icy streets. I can remember to check up on the members of my family to make sure they are ok when the temperatures plunge into single digits. I can annoy my friends with texted dad jokes. In other words—for those who God has given me the motive and opportunity to be a blessing to, I need to act on those opportunities. I will keep informed on all the other lunatics running wild through our country. I will pray for peace. But I’ll leave the performative rage to others.

Minnesota and My Neighbors

 After a week of keeping up with a seven month old my back is a bit of a mess. Perfect timing right? There’s snow and sleet piling up outside, meanwhile I’m sitting here in my recliner with the heating pad set to STUN when I hear an odd scraping sound coming from outside. I get up and walk over to the window about the time that Lucy begins an all-dog alert by barking like a maniac. I look out and there they all are. My neighbors, Stu and Jamie, along with their kids shoveling my sidewalk and driveway.

I’ve spent much of this morning catching up on the news, which seems to be dominated by killings in Minnesota, the current epicenter of turmoil surrounding the roundup of illegal immigrants by ICE and the Department of Homeland Security. It seems to me that I’ve been writing about immigration ever since I started this blog 15 years ago. So, I actually searched the archives and sure enough I’ve written over twenty times in the space about this issue. Surprisingly, my views on this topic have been unusually consistent. I have found that over these fifteen years my thoughts on many hot-button issues have changed along the way, but on immigration they have remained steadfast and include the following:

I am very much PRO-LEGAL IMMIGRATION, and very much against illegal immigration.

I am not an open-borders guy. I believe it is reasonable for any country to control the integrity of its borders.

I have NEVER been in favor of any “solution” to the problem of illegal immigration that involves rounding up the 10-15 million people in the country here illegally and kicking them out. 

I have always been 100% in support of arresting and deporting people who have committed violent crimes while here illegally.

The President with the best record of deporting illegal immigrants was Barack Obama who averaged over 400,000 such deportations every year during his second term in office. He even awarded a medal to Thomas Homan, his ICE director at the time. Yep..that same guy that many now accuse of being the new Gestapo. Trump’s response to the unprecedented surge at out southern border under Biden has been to unleash a newly expanded ICE with new, seemingly unlimited powers that have in recent weeks resulted in the killing of United States citizens protesting their law enforcement operations. Regardless of the circumstances of each of these shootings, it is a disturbing and un-American look for law enforcement officers to be taking out their fellow citizens.

Here’s something I wrote in June of 2016:

What to do with the 10 million or so illegal immigrants already here? I have no idea actually. I wish there weren't 10 million illegal immigrants here. How they got here is a great shame to the rule of law and a black mark on the resumes of those who presume to lead us. But now they are here. The notion of rounding 10 million people up and herding them back to the border has a trail of tears quality to it that no decent human being wants to witness. They are human beings, not cattle. Any politician who says that this is what they want to do is an idiot and worse...a heartless idiot.

In other places I have written of various encounters I have had with immigrants over the years. In each case I was impressed even though I had no idea whether of not they were here illegally of not. After each such encounter I came away with the idea that we have to find a different way to speak about Immigration…a way that doesn’t make enemies of the “other.” Many of them are our neighbors. Probably the kind who would shovel your walk if your back was out. Being part of a community means taking care of your neighbors, looking out for them. If that’s what these protestors in Minnesota are doing, I understand completely. If they are instead protecting known criminals in their midst against deportations because they hate Trump, then that’s just misguided stupidity. 

Watching it all play out and the divided reaction to each killing that always falls neatly along party lines makes me think that we are watching our nation ripping itself apart. This is the exact opposite feeling to seeing your sweet neighbors caught red-handed in an act of kindness. 

Beautiful Symmetry

 Last night our sweet neighbor sent us an old photograph of her as a young mother holding her son in her arms. Now that little boy is almost as tall as his dad. She made the comment that she would do anything to be able to spend just 24 hours with any of her children when they were that age just one more time. I looked at the picture and felt the same emotions. Pam responded by sending her a picture from 39 years ago.

It is impossible to underestimate just how little we knew about how our world was about to be transformed by the arrival of that little girl. All we knew was that we were in love with her and fascinated by every little thing she did.

Now, that little girl has brought another child into the world, and Pam and I are in love with him and fascinated by every little thing he does.

There is a beautiful symmetry to this life if you live long enough to recognize it. 

Our New Consulting Job

 It’s been three weeks since we’ve seen our grandson. We both agree that’s long enough. So we asked Kaitlin and Jon if we could come down Monday and take care of him for a week, fix them dinner every night and then leave the following Sunday. They said, “Yes.” I mean, what’s the point of being retired if you can’t inject yourself into your grandson’s life at a moment’s notice?

Lest any of you think that we are going a bit overboard with the grand parenting, I should point out the fact that it’s not entirely our fault. When you are being bombarded with pictures like these practically every day, what would you do?

What would you have us do? Ignore all of this cuteness? I think not. Of course, there are practical reasons why we are making this particular trip. There were several Christmas presents that had to be left here at the house because they couldn’t fit everything in their car when they left three weeks ago. We can’t keep putting that off. Then there’s the other issue having to do with Aunt Bailey…

Not gonna lie…a little jealous that she gets to hang out with him more than us.

I like to think of this grand parent thing as sort of like our post-career consulting job. Pam and I go down for a week at a time to consult with the new parents where we discuss the latest best practices of child rearing—like scrapping crib naps for contacted naps, doing wheelies on walks with the stroller, and bringing cultural awareness to the boy with the use of ethnically diverse tickle monster voices. You know what they say—it takes a village idiot to raise a child—or something like that.

Calm Down…

 I know people, some of them friends, who can’t go 24 hours without posting about politics on social media, our present cauldron of troubles having overtaken their entire lives to the exclusion of practically everything else. They feel some deep and primal need to make sure that the entire world knows of their hatred for one side or the other…like anyone alive still might be unsure of their position. I mean, they’ve been telling us every day for years now. I think we get it.

However annoying they can be I must admit that I do envy them their certainty. These rabid partisans might be super cringy but they are totally convinced of the righteousness of their cause. My trouble with politics is that basically I don’t give a shit. Some of you are appalled at the level of my disinterest. Others will find it impossible to understand—“How can you be so nonchalant about the most dangerous moment of our lives?” Still others will write off my lack of interest as some kind of proof of privilege of one kind or another. Whatever.

I suppose what’s at the root of my apathy is the fact that I can’t trust the story tellers, the various media companies who report the news to me. Each of them have agendas. None of them are in the business of reporting facts, but rather the framing of facts to suit their preferred narratives. Consequently none of them can be trusted.

But it’s not just that. There’s also the undeniable truth that is irrefutable if you have been consuming news for the last 50 plus years and that is this—nothing, and I mean NOTHING is as bad as we are told it will be. I challenge each and everyone of you reading this post to read the reporting of practically every potential “crisis” reported on in this country and show me one that has ever been as bad or even worse than advertised. Good luck. There’s a simple explanation for this. Measured, serious reporting doesn’t attract eyeballs. Hyperbole does. The more dire the headline, the more people will read or watch. It’s terribly difficult to write a fundraising letter without first having a terrifying story to tell.

So yeah…a couple of weeks ago weeks ago we attacked Venezuela and the initial breathless reporting featured a lot of hand wringing about WORLD WAR III about to start. Now, that story is on page four. It’s quite possible that within the next 24 hours we are going to pull another nation-building/regime change stunt in Iran. Although I have no idea what we can do militarily to keep the Iranian government from killing protesters and am pretty sure whatever we do might very well make things worse, I’m not losing any sleep over this one either. Not a single thing I can do about it, for one thing, and for another, the world is a screwed up place. Bad things happen, and when they do people freak out. But seriously people, would any of you prefer to live 200 years ago? How about 100 years ago? How about this…would you rather it was 1976 instead of 2026?  

The answer is a resounding “No”. Be honest. Yes, the world is a dangerous place. But it has always been, and comparatively speaking, to 99% of our ancestors we’ve got it made.

Take a two week break from news consumption. You will be happier and no where near as boring.