A Season's Concession

Dear Maria,

Greetings! A seasonally appropriate 28 degrees this morning, and so I must concede, fall has arrived. Despite some mornings in the lower to mid-30s, because the highs, like several of the past few days, have managed to climb into the 70s, I ignored the calendar. Not today. 

Today is resignation day. Winter is going to come.

You know I have only half-jokingly referred to this place as Camp Reflection—the pun, obvious—but the character of the place lends itself to frequent pauses to, well, reflect. Were it a summer camp, the kids would be long gone, the last few senior counselors would have turned the bunks, locked the windows, and stored the canoes and kayaks in the shed. The pantry would be nearly empty, just enough for the senior director to see the place through the winter.

Yep, that would be me. Yep, feeling a little swelling of melancholy in the chest. So now I write, you are thinking. Lucky you.

No geese this late afternoon as I walked Max. In fact, very few birds today. Yesterday could have passed for Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson out here. Did see what I am pretty certain is a tree swallow, but it is most likely merely pausing during its migration. Beautiful bird.

Oh, by the way, speaking of writing—and I sort of was—thank you for telling me the other day that one of my posts didn’t resonate with you. I could hardly take anyone seriously who said they liked—liked, which now is even a more vapid word thanks to social media—every post, every story, every poem.

However, to chew on if not eat my words, thanks for liking the little haiku that tallied around 1/15^th the views my open letter to Trump received. That minor foray into the current situation resulted in a 600% jump in readership and more likes and more shares than anything I have ever posted. Go figure.

Regardless, most likely, it’s back to the landscape for me.

Minus the melancholy. Besides the seasonal shift brings the holiday sprint. Thanksgiving was 34 of us—final accounting in the hands of tabulators—and was good-spirited as always. I might even throw up some lights in the crape myrtles out back, which would give my neighbors across the way something to look at and would most likely amuse my neighbors on either side.

I am sure your family’s gathering was warm and fun—and the temperature as well. Enjoy the pleasures of the season. Perhaps we will put a little extra emphasis on the word peace when we ask for Peace on Earth this go-round.

My best to the family and friends and colleagues.

As always, yours,

srk 

In Absentia

Dear Maria,

Ouch! Okay, okay. No matter how gently delivered, I feel your reproofs—truly, I do. Hey, I can be sensitive.

As to the first matter—no letter since the relocation—no excuses. I know you prefer opening a mailbox and tearing open an envelope as you walk back to your front door. I get that. And since the blog posts from here are fairly general, I won’t claim any kind of equivalence. All that would do is fuel more scorn from you.

Simply, then, the move turned out to be the right decision at the right time. Reconnecting with family on a weekly basis—or at least some of the 31 who are 25-35 minutes away—certainly has been good for me. Max has settled into a routine of barking at neighboring dogs and patrolling the backyard fence. Every day, nearly, is outdoors, outdoors, outdoors. My new playpen suits me—the kudzu battle, planting trees and setting gate posts, and managing the lake and dam, including the beaver dam. All good.

Several others have asked me about the election, and honestly my response was pretty muted. You know I maintained an awareness in absentia after a few mocking posts about walls and guns. For me, the tone became sort of the verbal equivalent of some minion chewing off his own hand in Penny Dreadful. I am at the point in my life of why subject myself to that stuff.

Of course I am aware of what was at stake—is at stake.

I did watch Trump’s victory speech. The man was tired, and well he should be. Our process for vetting the candidates is brutal. Otherwise, I don’t what to make of him. I read very little beyond headlines and a few lead paragraphs, and I am no psychologist, pundit, or political savant. As for the daily routine and minutiae of governing, I am guessing he will lose interest. The Republicans in Congress after assessing his tolerances for policy may have a field day legislatively—I don’t know.

I can say—and for no other reason than a sense of schadenfreude—watching Cruz et al call him Mr. President for the first time might be entertaining.

To be sure, Trump is no more than a set of ideas-elect. If he said anything to win, to make the sale, then it will interesting to see how his customers respond when he doesn’t deliver. Just don’t know.

Here’s what I suspect—based on no deep knowledge or insight, but why stop now—that 4 years from now the divisions of class and race and gender will be mostly the same, that poverty rates will be essentially unchanged, that income inequality will be more or less the same, and that the Democrats will be hard pressed to find a champion to win the day in the lists.

Short of an enormous economic breakdown that unleashes chaos in the streets, or some horrific war that tears into our country’s soul, more of the same from my perspective.

I did post on Facebook that I believed the Nation would endure. Deliberately I did not use the word Republic. You know I am at heart, in my mind, a longstreamist, and I know that aggravates the dickens out of you.

Certainly such a kerfuffle is enough to cement our friendship for an eternity. Promise to write with a holiday update. Maybe even by then the beavers and I will not have gone to war.

Best wishes to you and the family.

Always yours, srk