Just a little more than usual
Besides the gifts of someone’s time and love and attention, it would have to be $5 million. Such a sum would probably take a few persistent concerns and headaches off the table.
I imagine that may sound shallow, but at this point in my life, an unexpected financial windfall seems more likely than me finding work I actually enjoy and for which I am well compensated.
Gustavus Adolphus College, in St. Peter, Minnesota, and the former Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, which is now part of United Lutheran Seminary, a partnership and cooperative effort with the former LTS at Philadelphia, PA.
I’m not waiting until I cool down. For some reason, I had a small meltdown in the midst of trying to make it through an interview on PBS News Hour between Amna Nawaz and the Trump-appointed chairman/director of the Kennedy Center.
Yes, I purposely left out Donald Trump’s name because it does not belong there. I know that, you may know that, and most everyone else on earth who gives a rat’s ass knows that. Trump and the people who position themselves always in close proximity to his huge posterior are among the only ones who don’t. I have no intention of honoring this unwarranted and totally egocentric move, which may have been at the behest or suggestion of cellar dwellers like Stephen Miller or Russell Vought, or maybe Trump himself.
What’s gotten under my skin is the tenor of the conversation between Nawaz and this person supposedly in the know about changes at the Center since Trump decided to appoint himself chief cook and bottle washer. Nawaz asked some pointed questions and this guy predictably took offense to every one. Just like Donald would do. He blamed Nawaz for being biased. Yawn. And he talked over her as she tried to get clarification on pretty much everything he was saying– some hogwash about economics and Trump’s peerless fundraising capabilities.
I’m to the point of no longer offering the benefit of the doubt to any Trump crony. I held little hope that this would be an enlightening give and take, and my doubts were confirmed. The playbook is to discount PBS, to discount any spokesperson who works for a “woke’ network, and to make them all look like the bad guys.
Kudos to PBS for extending the invitation to someone who was just gonna shit all over the gesture.
You’re on the defensive for a reason, buddy. What’s it like working for a POTUS who never grew up? You getting any REM sleep?
I occupy my time with things I enjoy doing, but don’t know as I’d consider it play. The grandkids are synonymous with playtime, though some of them are getting old enough to sit at a table and draw or assemble a Lego kit. Playtime is evolving, but there’s still plenty of hide and seek and piling on papa.
We just keep ignoring the elephants. We keep going about our business, hungry for stability, putting one foot in front of the other, looking for the silver linings, putting lipstick on the same pigs. We keep trying to get through the day, somehow oblivious to, yet fully cognizant of the dissonance—as if nothing is changing when everything is changing.
We’re trying to hold onto “better days” like we hold onto our Christmas traditions and feelings, all the while aware of the challenges we face: a President and Cabinet who couldn’t care less about traditions and feelings, who are possessed of a diabolical vision and insistent on feeding us a line, who are constantly overmatched and out of touch, who are bought and paid for by fossil fuel magnates and tone deaf Silicon Valley rich kids with weird takes on what makes for a great society.
We just keep trying to live our lives without risk, hellbent on climbing onto a hamster wheel of interminable, self-interested striving, trying to bring to fruition some incredibly shallow, naive, mythical, and nebulous American Dream.
Fingers in ears, humming “la, la, la…”
Finding something to do, keeping a smile on my face, being blindly and unreasonably optimistic just because. It’s hard to smile when it looks like the world is heading for the dumpster.
Some might hazard a diagnosis of depression, but I’m not sure that would be accurate. I feel like it’s more that it’s difficult to look around at the leadership in this country and elsewhere, at certain trends, at the condition of the planet– among other things– and not be concerned, or angry, or frustrated, or pessimistic.
Maybe my biggest challenge, as a new year begins, is summoning the courage to add my voice and my being to the resistance. Finally take the plunge.
The smell of a wood fire in winter, the smell of beef stew cooking on the stove, the smell of a Spring or Summer day, certain songs, visits to childhood haunts, looking at pictures taken years ago.
My marriage, our children and their children, my siblings, most of my in-laws, a couple of friends from my time as a pastor, and a couple of college buddies, who I’ve known now for over fifty years.
I guess it would depend on the sport. If it was football, maybe a mixture of royal blue and black– and I’d be sure to require that the actual team city/logo was visible and not a small patch that gets lost amidst all the advertising on the uniform.
If it was baseball, I’d probably go with white home uniforms and gray away ones, with a dark blue hat and red lettering.
Mascots are silly.
I have started to vote in local elections more often, and my party affiliation has been established for awhile now. There was a stretch when I valued the label of Independent and voted based on whatever candidate struck me as likeable and seemingly capable. But anymore and until convinced otherwise, I am a one-party voter, and it’s not the party of Donald Trump, if he even has an affiliation. He may just be a one-person party, all in for himself.
My worldview and political sensibilities shifted for good during my years as a Lutheran pastor.
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