Category: Captain’s Log

“What is the magic of the holidays? Where does it come from?”

Ask any group of people “on the street” and I’ll bet that you will receive as many answers as people that stop to give a reply.

My mother was recently lamenting a lack of holiday cheer, as she usually does before Christmas and New Year’s days (more on that in a bit), and said that, for her, it came from her children and grandchildren, and watching them enjoy the season. Now that her children are (mostly) out of her home, my mom tends to be depressed at Christmas. In recent years, she has had grandchildren around, but this year they will be elsewhere. How is my mom to rustle up some good old holiday magic?

That got me thinking. Where does my magical holiday cheer come from? This year, I, too, have been a bit blue. I’ve been living in a room in my sister’s house, and as grateful as I have been to have a place to live, it’s been a little difficult emotionally, especially thinking about the holidays, because I haven’t had a place to put up all my decor. Fortunately, my wife and I may be closing on a new house this Friday (yay!) but given a few things that we need to do to it (painting, cleaning, etc) it is doubtful we will actually move in until after Christmas Day.

My holiday cheer doesn’t come from trees, or presents, or gnomes, or movies, or cookies, or anything else, fun and festive as all those things are. My holiday cheer comes from within. It is a special season to reflect on all that I am thankful for, all that brings me joy, and how I share that with those that I love. Starting around Thanksgiving Day in November, I am reminded to slow down and take a moment for me. I think “what has brought me to this moment in time?” and I think back and give thanks for all that I have. Around Christmas Day, I’ve had a tradition of reflecting on my favorite things (not just objects) from the previous year, everything that has sparked in me something wonderful.

These exercises ignite in my heart something more for me to think about. Often I reflect on family, circumstances, sometimes tangibles, that are so special to me. And that brings a smile to my heart, an extra leap to my step, and makes everything appear to be so much more much. That muchness, to me, is the magic of the season.

Sure, a cool, brisk day, or a heavy snowfall, or twinkling lights on a festive tree can assist the feeling of the season, but even all alone, as I have been on the holidays, there has always been magic for me. Seeing life through a long lens puts me in the feeling of holiday cheer.

Remember my mom, and her blue Christmas? She often says that it is me or one of my siblings that “rescues” Christmas for her. A few years ago, my sister and I had to literally decorate for her, or surprise her with lights on the house, and that exercise has pulled my mother up and put her in the mood of the holiday. While the tree, the snowmen, and the lights contribute, I more suspect it has been the acts of love that we show her that have contained the magic for my ma. I don’t say this to brag on myself, but more to showcase what I am getting at here. My mom has occasion to think about her children/grandchildren and what matters most to her, and while she does enjoy her snowmen collection, I think they aren’t what makes her heart sing. (Well, ok, maybe a little!)

Lights, incidentally, have a way, in the northern hemisphere, of exemplifying holiday magic. Up here, Christmas occurs in the depths of winter when the days are shortest and blackest. The heart and body longs for light, no matter how faint and remote, and in decorating for the holiday, light is an abundant part, through candles or a lit tree or so many other sources of illumination. Lights don’t contain magic, nor are they magical in and of themselves, but they exemplify something extra and much. All of these feelings, and mental exercises, are so much light for the soul.

My thankfulness and favorite things are my light, and my mother’s snowmen and grandchildren are her light. Light feeds light, and as my light shines forth, I suspect that it sets ablaze my mother’s light, and I hope, others, too. For what it is worth, seeing all my mom’s decorations and more, hearing the stories behind them (“this belonged to your grandmother” or “these were mine as a small child”) bring a whiff of ancient magic to me. I can feel my dearly departed grandparents’ spirits, I can hear their laughter, smell my grandfather’s cologne, see my grandmother’s smile: and that is magical. I remember every Christmas my mom pulled out those same decorations and told many of the same stories, keeping the family spirit of Christmas alive. I remember the excitement of Christmas morning, of staying up for New Year’s Eve, the food, the fun, and the over-brimming joy.

Now that I am an adult, whatever that actually means, I don’t feel any different on Christmas morning. I feel the magic inside of me, and that is all I need. I don’t (usually) have toys beneath the tree, or get around to watching all the movies, or decorate cookies, but I do always have the memory of family and what I am thankful for. That pulls a smile across my heart.

I hope you find your magic. I know that for some, holiday magic is all too fleeting or nonexistent, and that is ok. Lost loved ones, never having a “special” time at Christmas, or hard lives tend to dim the light. The busy-ness and business of the season can drown it out in blaring cacophonous noise. Work, stress, other things can quench the fun. But out of the gloom, I hope you are able to find some arc, jumping across the darkness, to spread a glow on your soul and bring you just a little bit of magic for the holidays!

The horrors persist…but so do I!

That’s a nice little slogan that is on a sticker that my sister gave me, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot in light of recent events.

Trigger warning: everything. Politics, hate, and all that goes with it.

The results of the US presidential and other elections last week were not as I would have wanted them to be. I have grave fears about the president-elect’s leadership. He has said emphatically what he will do and none of it is nice.

I spiraled into a deep, black hole since the night of the election and I stayed there for days. Even now all I’ve managed to do is push down the blackness and it is taking most of my energy to keep it at bay.

I reacted so strongly because I care what happens to people who are not me. I am not a single-issue voter, and never have been. I try very hard not to be “political” at all, really, because my entire lifetime has proven it to be more divisive than not. I have seen presidents on both sides of the political spectrum be elected. I have seen all sorts of shenanigans from presidents on both sides. I have only ever been proud of one, and President Obama faced much hate and vitriol just for being a decent man whose only point of contention is his ethnicity (and a tan suit, for some reason?). I didn’t agree with all his policies, but he is a man I am proud to call President. The polar opposite, in almost every respect, is our next president-to-be.

But this is less about presidents. They come and (hopefully will still) go. It is about the person next to me on the road, the person behind me in the checkout line at Tom Thumb, the person who goes to my parent’s church – people who I thought we were safe around. Now that it has been revealed, for all the world to see, that half of the people in this country (that voted anyway) support and endorse hatred, fear, indecency, and callous disregard for human sanctity – it seems that I have a 50/50 chance of constantly rubbing shoulders with someone who may want to tear apart what I hold dear, either personally or through elected representation.

The president-elect is only the flash-point, the permission slip, the disgusting head of the slimy serpent. He has proudly played no other role. But I will never meet him, never say anything to him, or have any interaction with him whatsoever. But I may have frequent encounters with those who enabled him. Proceeding in that atmosphere for four years (at least) has me suffocating on negativity.

But it has always been the case. During his previous four years in office, the ugliness emerged, cautiously at first, but then with much flaunting. Even back to the very beginnings of the “United” States it was so.

History lesson: slavery was the part of the foundation of this country, and the subjugation of black slaves quite literally built this country. Leading up to the Civil War, states were created as “Free” or “Slave”. Those wretched slaves were counted at 3/5 a person for purposes of “representation” in the House of Representatives for nearly a century. Woman fared no better, not having the right to vote or be autonomous from men until much, much later in our country’s history. So much is a small fraction of the history the president-elect and his acolytes don’t want told.

You see, this hatred, history of subjugation, fear, and evil has long been a part of the grand vision that is the United States of America. To pretend otherwise has been my ignorance. I certainly didn’t want to believe it. In my naiveté I thought it behind us, or buried so deep that it wouldn’t again be re-animated to the light of day. I was, quite simply, wrong. Such is my privilege. For that I apologize to everyone not like me that has continued to suffer attacks physical and mental, existential and real. I didn’t have to deal with it, and thus I felt it not. But this that will be normal again has always been normal for some.

Where does all this lead? The new-old president, the hate and un-love, the continued daily experiences of many, my own inner darkness and despair for what I didn’t want to acknowledge? The Good Book says this, and while I endorse little that Book says, I do agree with these parts:

“Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly” and “love your neighbor as yourself”

These sentiments I have always tried to follow, to endorse, and to live by. I must do thus with much more intentionality now. Nothing, really, has changed, except that our leader now represents that half of the country that thrives, or at least lives, on fear, hate, and discontent. While my daily existence might not change, I must work hard to right the injustice that I encounter, and use my voice for those who may not be heard.

Remember that person on the road in the car ahead of me? That person in the Tom Thumb line? That person at church? They may be hurting, attacked, and vilified for nothing more than trying to live as who they are, and they may need love, kindness, and someone to speak out for them. I can do that. I did my part to help elect a leader that represented me and failed, but may I never fail to love! May I never fail to be a light in the darkness. Granted, I have had to work very hard to find my own inner light these past few days, but that light no election can steal, no oppression can hinder, and nothing can snuff it out.

That is the end of the matter, for me: to live my life with as much muchness as I can muster, and spread that as far as I can. Everything else is out of my hands.

I refuse to apologize for how I live my life. That does not mean I don’t apologize for when I’ve been an ass, or done something I shouldn’t. No, I refuse to apologize for how I live, and what I do along the way.

I see on social media, mostly Instagram (but on other platforms as well) that an account that I follow will not post for a little bit of time, and when they come back, the first thing they do is apologize for the time away. Whether they’ve been gone for work, life’s pleasures, a family matter, or just not having time, they apologize. That is what I won’t do.

For instance, I try to post on this blog twice a month. Lately I haven’t. My last post was about finding the obsession to create art, which I still haven’t mustered. Well, I won’t apologize for not doing that. There are reasons, of course. For example, last week my eldest niece was in town, and we as a family had all sorts of adventures and experiences. As a result, despite having taken the week off of work, and hoping to have some time to create, I didn’t get anything done. But I won’t start this blog by saying “Sorry. My niece was in town and I didn’t have a chance to post.”

There just isn’t anything to apologize for. I was having fun of a different sort, and my time was spent in an enjoyable way. As well, I am coming to the realization that a life well lived includes hobbies, adventures, writing, and anything else I choose to do, and everything is a choice. I either choose to take my niece to the LEGO store, or go to a pumpkin farm, or the State Fair of Texas, or I choose to stay home and pursue toy photography, or writing, or creation. One is not better than the other, just a different choice I have made.

Right now, I am choosing to spend this time writing a blog post. I could have watched Adam Savage create himself in carbonite, and maybe I will choose to do that later. Or maybe I will watch baseball later (honestly, it will be baseball). Even Adam will die eventually with things on his list to do, not having gotten to even half of them. Some of them will be projects, some of them will be family events, some of them will be books to read, or films to watch, or music to listen to, places to travel to, or anything else. Really, we live in a time of an “embarrassment of riches” when it comes to “things to do”.

I think what you read me doing, whenever I write in this vein, is circling closer to the understanding that the pressure I feel to be or do or create or imbibe is just the common feeling we all share that life is fleeting, and there are too many wonderful things to enjoy along the way.

I won’t apologize for the choices I make that take me away from photography and toward a pumpkin farm with family. Or away from writing; or away from creating. These things are great, and wonderful, and I am glad that you share these interests with me, and I with you, but at the end of the day, what I do is for myself. I take photos because I enjoy taking photos. I enjoy writing because it comes from my soul, and I can’t stop it even if I want to. I enjoy what I enjoy when I can enjoy it, even watching a baseball game or an Adam Savage build video, or whatever it is.

Furthermore, depression (which can fuck all the way off) is a part of me. When it keeps me down, or away, from what I would ordinarily enjoy doing, that too is part of life, and I won’t apologize for being this way. I wouldn’t choose this, anymore than anyone is able to choose how they exist in the world. I will simply deal with it as it manifests, and move on. I have a zen way of dealing with other circumstances out of my control which is to breathe out and let it be. Say I was going to apply for a job. What I can do is fill out the application and go to the job interview. What I can’t do is make my application be considered, or my name to be drawn for an interview. And what I can’t do anything about isn’t something to be worried with or obsessed over. I breathe out and let them go. I need to do the same thing with my depression. I need to breathe out and let it be. I can’t control when it hits, or how hard, but I can control my reaction to it, and it’s hindrance of what I would otherwise be doing. I need to stop apologizing for my depression to myself.

Life is what it is, and I’ll have what I have out of it. I only get so much anyway, and to spend any more of it in negativity just wastes what I do have. I choose instead to focus on what I can control. I choose to do what I want to do when I can and how I can. And for the rest? No apologies.

It’s been a long, hot summer. As September nears in Texas that means that the onset of fall is still a few months away, but at least cooler summer-time temperatures seem to be on the way. Again, that means 80’s (F), not exactly sweater weather, but then again, not triple digits either.

I long for the cooler air. It seems in the past nine years since I moved from Wisconsin, I have simply traded one extreme for the other: where Wisconsin had nine months of winter, seemingly, Texas has nine months of summer, apparently.

But this diatribe isn’t really about local climate and the change of seasons. This is about the long wait in doldrums between more temperate climes in life.

Currently my wife and I are waiting out a long, hot summer of uncertainty. As I’ve documented, we sold one house, and were unable to buy a second. Now we are living with my family. It has its good things and bad things about it, but it doesn’t feel like our home because, well, it isn’t. I don’t know where we will land eventually, but unless things change radically, I doubt we will live here long term. My wife wants her own place, and honestly, so do I. This wasn’t meant to be a permanent solution, and we will be glad of our own space.

Phrases like “we’ll make the most of it” and “it’s only temporary” only underscore the difficult nature of things. I am not complaining or ungrateful. I am blessed beyond measure to have a family that welcomed us in and is enduring a harder time for our sake’s. I am enjoying being nearer my nieces, my sister, and my parents. Just last night I was thinking to myself that it is wonderful to be able to see them, and then not have to make a half hour drive back to somewhere else called home.

We like it here at the Homestead in Waxahachie, Texas. We didn’t expect to, what with the long commute to work, the smaller living arrangements, and the unsettled feeling of not having our own home. But we do. Our dogs have more room to roam. We have the ease of family support, and if we could just figure out the AC trouble in our bedroom, it’s a decent living arrangement.

I am typing with one hand because my littlest niece, Cassia, wants to cuddle in the early morning quiet. She is soon to be four and I remember holding her as a baby. Next she will be a teenager. When else would I be able to take advantage of these interstitial opportunities in life?

Yes, a house of our own would be nice but I am happy here, at the end of summer, while I wait for autumn to arrive, slow though it may be to show up in Texas. Soon enough it’ll be winter and then where will we be? I have no idea. I confess I am still not that eager to find out.

What did Virginia Woolf say, “one only needs a room of their own”? I have that, and I will be content until something else comes along.

In the meantime, the sun is rising, and it will be another hot day in Texas.

Well. We’ve landed. Not where we wanted or planned to land, but sometimes all you need is wheels on the ground. A few years ago my parents and sister bought a large house half an hour south of where my wife and I used to live, and they’ve lived together there ever since. That house has a few extra rooms that have been seldom used, and as soon as my sister heard of our predicament she reached out to me to say “you are living here!”.

We’ve been here a week today, and already it feels longer. We have settled in well, except for our bewildered dogs who are constantly asking when we are “going home”. If only I had a way to communicate to them the abrupt change we made in their lives and why everything is different. But really, if only there was someone to communicate to me the abrupt change in my life and why everything is different. I am still not sure I understand.

On top of that, the day we moved, and the week since, has been the hottest and most humid we have had all summer. Dog days, indeed.

Another house came available the other day, and while my wife and I drove by and looked at the particulars, we both agreed that we didn’t have the mental wherewithal to even consider the decisions and complications necessary towards procuring a house. While it won’t be available until October, we need time right now to rest from major decisions. If that house is sold in the meantime, so be it. We cannot right now, and that is ok. Our dogs have it easy with only deciding when to bark and where to pee in the lawn. If only my decisions were as easy.

As it looks like we will be living where we are for some time, I went through the process to change our address where necessary and fill out the new address enough times to already memorize it. We will be receiving new IDs in the mail, and whatnot. While our space isn’t large, it is more than adequate for now, and even a little comfortable. We shared a meal with my sister last night, and while quiet and unassuming, I think my wife and I both needed quiet and unassuming. Our dogs even begged for scraps a little and it was all so…normal. Nice, for a change. Things haven’t been that level of normal for several months.

I don’t know what happens next, or where we and our dogs will eventually land. I hope it will be somewhere with room enough, and a fenced yard for them to traverse. I would like a room for LEGO, and an office, and a comfortable bedroom and room to entertain guests. I don’t need much, really. All the same, I realize how fortunate I am. And really, we aren’t that much different from many in the world. A past job I worked was teaching English to Koreans. Many of them live in multi-generational homes, with grandparents and children all in the same dwelling, and sometimes, a dog. I think it is even more natural than everyone having their own home, which we preach so loudly here in the United States. Not to say I don’t want a bit more space, but our current arrangement is normal, too, globally speaking.

So what do I do now, while I am waiting for things to settle, for things to work out, for a house to become available? Last time I wrote, I mentioned putting one foot in front of the other and forcing myself to keep going. While that is still true, I think this may be more a season of putting my feet up and relaxing for a bit. I feel something telling me to wait, to rest, to just exist for a while.

Right now, while I am typing in the new-to-me office, I am watching the sun rise across agrarian fields. There is a pale pink and light blue in the sky. A gentle breeze is stirring leaves and flowers. A cow bellows in the distance. It is peaceful here, and I can see why my parents and my sister chose this place, beyond the concerns of enough space and a good size kitchen. I feel connected for the first time in a long time, connected to something bigger.

We won’t stay here longer than is required, but while I am here, I will do some soul searching, and try to determine exactly what I need out of a space. The last house I moved into was already established, my wife had bought it before we were married. It was a fine house, and served us well. Now we occupy space in someone else’s house, and it is serving us well, too. In between, I think now with space to look back on the last few months, we might have been forcing it a little. Rushing from one house to the next, barely stopping to take them in, flitting from one room to the next, hastily imagining ourselves living there. Certainly, some of the houses we looked at didn’t necessitate much looking (there were some truly terrible examples we toured) but some might have warranted a slower approach. I hope, the next time we venture out to look at homes, it might be on a more relaxed pace, and with more thought behind it. Part of the trouble we had this last time was the fact that we had already promised to sell our house, and had a deadline to move out by. That won’t exist next time round.

For now, it is patience and rest, and then it will be time for contemplation and examination. While slightly uncomfortable now, going from a four room house to one room in a house, I believe the time here will yield dividends later. And in the in-between? Rest. I am so thankful for my sister who insisted we be here, and my parents to support the move, and my nieces to fill the house with laughter and play, and room for the dogs to roam. I think we needed this, though we knew it not.

My wife and I dreamed that we would buy a new home, a better situation for life and health, and a new start into the next stages of life. But that dream vanished.

There was once a dream that was Rome. You could only whisper it. Anything more than a whisper and it would vanish… it was so fragile.

– Marcus Aurelius in Gladiator

I feel like our dream was too audacious, too ridiculous, too ambitious, and ultimately, too fragile. We’ve been denied funding for our new home, something to do with income. I don’t pretend to know the ins-and-outs of the process or the legalities, I just know that a man that I’ve never actually met called this evening saying that my wife and I cannot go forward with the purchase of what we had finally begun to think of as our new home.

And we are closing in a week on the sale of the house we are currently living in, a deal we cannot stop, and probably honestly, still wouldn’t stop if we could. There is only a path forward, not backward, even if we cannot see where that path leads or what lies along the road.

But now we need a place to live, and we only have three weeks to find that place for the two of us and our two dogs. Three weeks and not one because our buyer gave us a free two weeks of rent-back. What once seemed a luxury now seems a life line, cast into the surging seas of the unknown when we didn’t know we’d need it.

We are devastated, of course. Angry, sad, bewildered, and grasping for answers. Our well-meaning real estate agent reminded us that “all things work together for good” but that is little comfort in our time of uncertainty. My wife said it seemed like someone had died. Maybe it was our nascent dream, so close to coalescing, evaporating in the harsh heat of reality. I don’t know.

I am so tired of fragile dreams. I’ve lost so many dreams in my thirty-seven years. I thought for once I would gain something. This was to be more than a house, a structure. It was going to be a home, a place to settle down and put out roots, and cement me where I wouldn’t have to leave. Ever since I was sixteen, and honestly for years before then, I’ve been on the move, always on the move. From the home I still dream of as home when I close my eyes at night, to Florida to Papua New Guinea to New York to Pennsylvania to Wisconsin to Texas. From dorm to dorm at college; from college to college. From family to family for Christmas. From life and wife to life and wife. Now to move again and to know I have to move again after that. I am so tired of fragile dreams.

What do we do now? For me, I force my feet ahead and stagger into the weekend in a completely different mood than I thought I’d be experiencing. I think I’ll take this weekend and just exist. I can pick up the business of living on Monday. “Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof” the Good Book says. I guess that is true enough. I just know it will be awhile before I dare to whisper again, and that is what really hurts.

A great novel* starts with these words: “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times” and I feel that in my bones. I’ve been silent lately, not writing, and saving up my thoughts.

My wife and I are living our own *Tale of Two Cities as we are packing up our lives, selling our house, moving to a new home, and resettling. (The only thing that would make the scant metaphor complete is if we truly were moving cities, but I suspect we will stay in the same town we live in now.)

We don’t know where we will live, because we have only just managed to provisionally sell our house and haven’t yet found the replacement. We go out on Friday, it being Wednesday now, to see a few more locations. “‘There are always possibilities,’ Spock said” and for the moment we have several to choose from.

My wife’s knees are deteriorating lately and living in a two-story home is starting to exacerbate her condition. There are also a few things about this current home that we have come to not appreciate as much as we did when we first came to live here, and for those reasons we are choosing to relocate to a one floor domicile.

This is my first time being party to a house sale and purchase, though I have moved more times than I care to count in my life. My wife acquired this house before we were married, and I moved into it already being established. We have made a few improvements, but it is largely as it was five years ago when she first occupied. Technically, I guess, she is selling and we will be buying.

The process started some weeks ago when we had a discussion about moving, and made the decision together to say farewell to our housemate who has lived with us since before we were married and to bid adieu to the house. I don’t remember when exactly it was that we decided, but we’ve been talking about it for some time. Suddenly it felt right to formally start the process, and we packed a box, and since then we’ve been living with the garage full of boxes and the house as empty as possible.

We found a great real estate agent, and endured showings and an open house, and a few weeks of anxiety. They say that selling and buying a house can be the most stressful thing you can do as a married couple, besides the challenges that one faces with raising children, and I feel that is true.

We have been brought to the point of physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion more than once in the past few weeks. I fear that will only happen again. First, we still need to find a place to live, and second, we will need to endure moving in the hottest time of the year in Texas when we do find a new-to-us house to move into. Summer, unfortunately, remains a less-busy time at work, and therefore a good time, weather notwithstanding, to move.

The first house we found on the ads we thought sure would be our next house, that is, until we actually went inside. What we found did not match the expectations we had in our minds or saw in the pictures. Naïveté, I suppose. At any rate, we moved on. The second house we went into we again thought sure would be ours, until we put a bid on it and had an inspection performed. Then we found more troubles than we could shake a stick at and then some. While the sellers eventually agreed to fix many of the problems (though not all) we were sufficiently spooked to want to move on. So we did.

Meanwhile, the showings continued, and each time we would pack up our valuables, including our dogs, and leave for half an hour, or longer, to wander aimlessly or get an ice cream at Sonic while someone else decided if our house met their expectations. The process quickly got old. Then the whiplash of finding a house we liked and getting our hopes up enough to make a bid, having it accepted, then our hopes being dashed by the inspection report. It nearly crushed my wife’s spirits and mine were scarcely better.

Now? We are hopeful once more. Buoyed by the offer we have received, and excited by a few of the aforementioned possibilities before us, we go into the remainder of the week. What it will bring is to be seen, obviously, but I know that necessity will assist us in choosing our next dwelling.

The process, the feelings, and the tribulations I have described are of no earth-shattering revelation to those who have been through this process themselves, but for me, this is all new. This blog used to be called “down the dusty road” and I haven’t walked this particular avenue before, despite being thirty-seven this year. Fortunately, I have my wife beside me, a woman with whom I am grateful to be facing these challenges.

We have a dream of improving our living situation, of paying off some debt, and of starting some real savings, and hopefully that dream will be realized soon. Every endeavor expects much hard work, and this is no different. I’d hazard a guess that we are halfway through this particular part of our journey, and while it seems there are miles to go yet, I know we will get to a new home in the end. Honestly, any where I am with my wife and my pups will be home enough for me.