Inherited Distance: When Blood Is Not Enough (05/26/2026)

Recently, I spent an afternoon with friends and learned a lot about family dynamics. She is a good friend of my wife, and her daughter has a lot of issues with her uncle. I am just amazed that there is nothing new under the sun. People fight with each other, especially with those close to you. It reminds me of a saying in my native language: “good neighbors are better than a distant relative.” We have been trying to live our life that way, especially now since we have absolutely no relationship with my siblings, sometimes to my regret, but also often to my relief.

My parents were perfect role models for family feuds; we must have learned it from them.

On my father’s side: Once my uncle Karel died of meningitis in the 1960s, we lost contact with his wife and two kids. It seems my uncle was a player (well taught by their father) and they were about to divorce. When I finally met my cousin in 1971, we were 18, she did not want to acknowledge me, she actually was angry at me at first sight. We ended up in the same classes in college, but she always stayed angry with me and once told me that her mother had told her what scum we were. I finally met her brother around 2001 but he was friendly and told me that she always had an angry outlook on life.

My uncle Willem also screwed around and divorced his wife. They had four daughters and he had a son from the affair. Once they divorced, my parents chose sides against the brother. My father and his brother finally reconciled a year or two before Willem died of cancer. My father always appeared to be sorry that the break lasted so long and that they only had two years to catch up.

On my mother's side: Things were not any better. I previously wrote about how my grandmother mistreated my grandfather and my mother. One of her brothers (Jan) died in a German concentration camp. But eventually my mother broke her relationship with her two remaining brothers. Simon fooled around, got divorced and again there was a choice against him. Eventually my mother did allow him to visit her, but this was a few years before she died at the age of 76. Her other brother Cornelius and mom had a mutual breakup and they never reconciled. The breakup was also wife related, my mom and my aunt could not get along, and the breakup occurred sometime in the 70s and they did not see each other for 30 years although they lived less than 2 miles apart.

I have often wondered why both had these issues. While it is easy to assume what brought it on, my parents did not accept unfaithfulness or divorce, I doubt whether my father was faithful. It is easy to blame my mother, she seemed always angry, had a strong character and was principled, uncompromisable, and stubborn. I should have asked them what made them like this. Now it is too late; they are gone.

In a later post I will eventually chronicle why my siblings and I all broke up. But this post is getting long. We broke up around 2005. Around that time I told my siblings that we were emulating what our parents did with our own interactions. “Fuck you” was my sister emailed me in a response. My brother wrote me: “Now you did it.” In other words, we have not spoken since 2005. Do I miss them? I think about them at times; but I feel that I tried to make amends but was pushed away. I have given up, I will no longer make an attempt on reproachment. I told my wife that I will be open and respond if or when they contact me. I will be friendly but be very cautious and probably will not allow myself to become too close.

What will I recommend you do? Try to treasure your parents, siblings and extended family as much as you can, but don’t let them abuse or bully you, your family, or the life you lead. In an article in Very Well Mind the authors write that if fighting is unavoidable, it is best to not take things personal; find support elsewhere; try not to perpetuate it; invest in your own family; and accept the reality of the situation. I think I have done all these things in my situation. But if all fails get professional help by seeing a therapist. I just hope our daughter breaks the cycle.

My sister and I.  I was probably 11 here in this photograph and she was 2 or 3.

My brother an sister.  We visited the Holland American Line's Rotterdam when it visited Curacao where we grew up.  I think they were 9 and 4 at the time. 

Veronica and the fornicating deer (11/18/2025)

On our walk this morning we saw a gorgeous (at least 8 point) buck humping a doe in the woods. This made me think about a wool hat that a friend of ours knitted for me. We always call this hat “The Fornicating Reindeer Hat”.

Ever since we met in April 1994, Veronica was special to us. She was an archaeologist at the company I joined, she was half Dutch and still had a grandmother (oma) in the Netherlands. Her father was a Mennonite from Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania, and her mother was half Indonesian and half Dutch. Her dad was ultra conservative, a chiropractor, alternative medicine doctor and anti-vaxxer. Mom was a traditional housewife and somewhat of a homesteader. Veronica had a lot of fights with her father but often showed the same conservative streaks that he had. She was an amazing fiber artist and an expert spinner, knitter and weaver. Lastly, Veronica was grossly overweight.

She left her profession and moved to Burlington, VT right after we left Cincinnati for the Hampton Roads in Virginia. We did not lose touch, especially early on. We exchanged monthly phone calls, and her job required her to travel all over the place, so she made an effort to visit frequently. Veronica became her mother away from home when our daughter moved to New England. We had fun visiting her one autumn to coincide with the famous New England leaf-peeping season.

Eventually, the phone calls became scarce and when we spoke, she seemed out of it, or even drunk. At times we spoke the day after and she did not remember that she had called us the day before. Veronica lost a couple of jobs, but it was never her fault, and we never clued in that it could be alcohol related. After a hiatus of a half year, she called us and told us that she had used her frequent flyer miles to fly to Rio de Janeiro to attend the Olympics, in particular the rugby games which she loved. Not long thereafter we got a phone call from her mom telling us that Veronica had died.

Veronica was 55 years old when she died, and we learned she had a thyroid issue but like her stubborn father refused to take the regular medicine that could keep it under control. Our daughter went to look for the obituary and googled her name. It was then that we learned that Veronica had a couple Driving Under the Influence (DUI) convictions (for drunk driving) and actually was sentenced to a half year in jail. This was during the time she was supposedly in Rio (the lies alcoholics tell). A combination of thyroid disease and alcohol abuse must have killed her. We suspected alcohol before but never figured it was that bad. We still often kick ourselves that we did not clue in and did not drive up to intervene. We miss her terribly and often talk about her, even some six or seven years after her demise.

Crazy what a couple of screwing deer brings back. While Veronica technically did not commit suicide, she did it in her own way. She hated her father and loved him at the same time. Some famous person once wrote that hate and love are the same emotion. We knew that a lot of her drinking was about her father. Every time our friend called while under the influence, she spoke about him. If you suspect that a friend is in trouble, go out and help him or her. I do not think we would ever make that error again, and neither should you.

This is the cap that Veronica knitted for me.  She told us that she would go to a bar and knit one of these in an evening and when a guy would tell her that he loved it, she would sell it to him on condition that he would pick up her tab.

I am older than I have ever been (04/21/2024)

I am 70 years old, going on 71, the oldest I have ever been, at least when you do not believe in reincarnation. Otherwise in a previous life I could have been a turtle, elephant or some other creature that outlives humans. That is of course also assuming that these animals did not meet an untimely death as the result of poachers or worse some millionaire schmuck who killed me on safari.

Crap, I am not getting any younger, just older and older, but as the cliché goes, “it beats the alternative.” A lot of elderly like me joke about it, like “hey, I woke up this morning, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” or “I checked the obituaries this morning and I wasn't in it.” But seriously, I am at the point that the obituaries of celebrities are my favorite part in the newspaper. I want to see how old they were when they died and what the cause was of their demise.

Our church has what are called fellowship circles, where a group of six to eight folks get together and exchange their feeling over a specific topic. It is meant to be personal and a way of getting to know each other a bit better and create friendships. Since it is a Unitarian Church, the character of God is never brought up; we don’t pray or talk about religion, maybe with the exception of bashing it. Believers in God, Christ, Allah, Buddha, humanists and even atheists are all welcome in the Unitarian Church.

My circle is held in the afternoon and as a logical result it consists of retired folks, everyone is in their late sixties and seventies. The topic of the day this past week was spring and reawakening of nature after the winter torpor. Maybe not surprising, but when my wife asked me when I got home how the meeting was, my answer was that we discussed old age, mortality, and our anxiety about getting older. It was somewhat amazing how we got there, but it seems that I am not the only one struggling with the impending decline. Now here they say that human bonds, friendships and fellowship are the prerequisite to living longer. I hope that talking about death contributes to aging gracefully and gives us a few more extra quality years.

This week we also met a neighbor of ours at a party at one of our local breweries. We had not seen her in some time, and she let us know why. Her husband, a retired NASA scientist was diagnosed of coming down with Alzheimer. He is in his mid-70s and they have been at neurologists trying to find a way of slowing down the decline. Another (male) friend was there and he told me he has osteoporosis. He is 75 years-old, very skinny and a retired NASA scientist. I read somewhere that the 70-ies are supposed to be the “go-go” years, the 80-ies the “slow-go” years, while at your 90th birthday you enter the “no-go” decade. I better get going, I've got nine more years of fun ahead of me.

This old man and his wife!

Advice anyone? (10/12/2023)

How would I have reacted as a 55-year-old if I, as my current 70-year-old self, was able to return and tell that 55-year-old self what to do, how to live his life, or what not to do? Or how would I react right now when my 85-year-old self returned with all that advice, if I even make it to 85? An interesting question, isn’t it? I based this question on a YouTube video I saw, in other words, I am not that original, but it got me thinking.

We recently came home from our trip across the country. As I wrote <here>, we followed part of the Lewis and Clark Trail going west, but had to cut the voyage short, and dropped south to the Los Angeles area after we got to the continental divide <here>. At the divide we came upon (one of) the source(s) of the Missouri river. When they reached the divide, the Lewis and Clark expedition spent some time in this general area, meeting the Shoshone Indians, figuring out the trail further west, and negotiating for horses. Lewis celebrated his birthday during that stay, and he wrote the following “self-assessment” in his diary:

"This day I completed my thirty first year, I reflect that I had as yet done but little, very little indeed, to further the happiness of the human race, or to advance the information of the succeeding generation. I viewed with regret the many hours I have spent in indolence, and now sorely feel the want of that information which those hours would have given me had they been judiciously expended. (Spelling corrected by me)

I dash from me the gloomy thought and resolved in future, to redouble my exertion and at least endeavor to promote those two primary objects of human existence, by them the aid of that portion of talents which nature and fortune have bestowed on me …"

The man who led the expedition to open the west had self-doubt and did not think he had achieved anything to further the happiness of humanity. Lewis discovered and described a large number of new plant and animal species. He described the medicinal use of these plants by the Indian population he came across. He studied the various tribes they encountered. In fact, he greatly advanced the information for succeeding generations.

A few years after their return, Lewis reportedly committed suicide. Some say he was murdered, but the interpretation of events has been questioned. Regardless of Lewis’ untimely death, if his older self or we were able to go back now and tell him what a hero he would be considered, or how revered he now is by humanity, what would have happened? Would his depression have lifted, or would he have quit and gone home, would he have lived to a rip old age? We will never know, will we? But I had that thought on top of the divide: if he only knew.

Wow, this is a post with a lot of question marks, I feel like I haven’t found that key in a lot of my posts. But this question got me thinking. What would I like to tell my 55-year-old self that I know now but did not know then? Or conversely what would I like to know about me in the future 15 years from now? (when I told my wife what I was pondering her immediate answer was: “eat more vegetables.”)

My posts go back only 10 years, so I have no reference here. This blog started out as a photo diary anyway, and I have never kept a diary to find out where my head was at the time. I was most likely unemployed sometime in 2008. They had closed the office where I was working; thank goodness I had a few consulting jobs and the conditions of my lay-off were good. In addition, I was drawing social security during the weeks I had no consulting income. It was tight, but we weren’t hurting.

It was around this time fifteen years ago that I was getting excited about a job with the state that I applied for and was about to be interviewed for. We all know now that this was the job that I was going to get for the next 14 years until my retirement. Is there anything that I would have told myself to dissuade me from taking the job? Hell no, there have been very few moments that I hated the job or regretted taking it. I love to teach and that’s what the job turned in to. Eat more vegetables? I lost around 20 lbs. since then and I have been able to keep them off. Yes, I would love to lose an additional 20. The only thing I can come up with is: “follow your bliss.”

What would I want to learn from my 85-year-old self? I am not sure, I currently love life and I just hope that I can hold on to it for another 20 years or so, of course in good health. On a positive note, my financial advisor estimated the other day that I will live to the ripe old age of 92! Guess, I need to eat more vegetables and salads. This post isn’t a “rest of my life resolutions.” As I mentioned in that post, I hate resolutions. But this was something I was pondering after that YouTube video where the maker asked exactly that question: “what advice would I give my 10-year younger self about van life?”

Lemhi pass, the continental divide and the border between Montana and Idaho.

The supposed source of the Missouri River in Lemhi pass

The valley where Lewis camped and celebrated his birthday

Nomads, days 13 and 14 (9/18/2023)

We woke up in Logan Utah, with the destination in sight. We slept decently, even after being relocated by the folks that stole our site. But let’s first resume my daily log.

Day 13: Logan UT – Cedar City

Day 14: Cedar City – Zion National Park (Kolob Canyons) – Moapa Valley (NV) – Hoover dam – Henderson (near Las Vegas)

Back to Logan. We were not particularly happy as you might have noticed above and in our previous post. The memories that flooded back from our time there were interesting. Together we received around $1000 in stipends, and we lived of that and savings that we had accumulated from my Uganda job. We cleaned our home and did laundry on Saturdays and hiked on Sundays. When we left town at the end of our studies, our landlord gave us our deposit in the form of a check. When we arrived on the east coast four days later, we learned that she had blocked payment on it without giving us any reason. Our discussions with the waitress, the evening before (shew was from Texas and obviously not from the prevailing religion), somehow had brought other negative feeling up about our stay 42 years ago. I am still amazed how events from so long ago can jaundice someone’s impressions and feelings. It harks back to some of the stuff I read in “The Art of Travel” (look at my first post for the reference <here>).

After breakfast at McD. (we wanted get the hell out of the campsite ASAP), we again drove by our old home and decided to go view the campus. We hardly recognized it, so much has changed in the 42 years although a few things looked familiar. I was looking for houses friends used to live and tried to remember parties we had while driving to campus. However, those homes were gone and now were the sites of commercial buildings. We remembered our friend Allen who was always in shorts and even biked to campus in shorts during snowstorms. We also again discussed our very good friends Jeff and Maria. Jeff had rheumatoid arthritis and one afternoon they came to our home, giving us all their booze, because they had decided to turn Mormon. A couple of weeks earlier we had been skinny dipping together in a creek in the hills.  Jeff committed suicide soon thereafter; he could not live with the pain and the outlook on his future.  In those days, they did not have the drugs we have now. We hit the road after that and took off for Cedar City.

The drive took off some of the pressure, I personally was delighted to be back in the basin and range ecosystem. I love the Great Basin Desert. We initially wanted to go to Bryce Canyon NP, but changed our minds, since it was getting hotter again. In other words, we found a dog friendly Holiday Inn Express; I booked a room online and set that as our goal. Our intention was to go for a hike after checking in and visit Zion the day after. Well, by the time we got near Cedar City we were hit by some major thunderstorms and the hike never materialized.

Zion stayed on our list, but a visit the next day revealed to us that this National Park wasn’t dog friendly. The Kolob Canyon scenic road was partially closed, and we walked the dogs on a section of the closed part.

Goodbye Utah, hello Nevada; one of the few states I had never set foot in. Lunch at a taco stand in Moapa Valley while watching a flock white faced ibises; they were what looked like grazing in a flooded pasture. This was followed by the drive through the Lake Mead scenic area. In Nevada we had entered the northern regions of what looked like the Mojave Desert, I was delighted to see creosote bush and the sparseness of the vegetation. The geology was amazing, as well. Here I am in my element, at home; being an arid land ecologist. We loved seeing the lake and the white ring showing how the water level had dropped. One of the rangers told us that the level had come up 26 feet these past few months.

A visit to Hoover dam, and a hotel. It was 98 outside and we were not thrilled with camping. This turned out to be something. It seemed that only the casino hotels in the area were dog friendly (guess why). Honestly, they sucked, or the one we ended up in did! You had to enter a smokey casino with dogs to get to the elevators, but we survived it. These are some of the perils of camping in a van with dogs.

What did I learn to date? We need a rooftop AC, if we want to do this more regularly in the warm part of the year. To be able to operate the AC on sites with no electricity, we will need to generate our own power. In other words, we need to install solar panels on the roof and a battery system. Something to investigate when we get back home.

Zion

The taco truck

In the sand dune area with petrified sand dunes

Same as above, with our van.  The temperatures are 98

The Hoover Dam

The carpet at our hotel.  Should I take my shoes off?

This is where you walk your dog, in the parking lot of the casino

Compromise (5/4/2023)

During our lunch meeting at work, Kevin our supervisor asked me what I have learned during my long career. We had gotten takeout and most of the staff members were gathered around the conference table eating our salads, pizza or sandwiches. The question made me think back to something we talked about at our UU church yesterday: write a letter of apology to yourself for something you did to someone else. At the time, I could not think of anything I was sorry of.

So, what wisdom could I impart to this group of colleagues and friends now I am a month from retiring? I could not leave them hanging, like I did in church, or really haven’t learned anything in life.

After a few seconds it dawned on me: mellow out, compromise. I have mellowed out over time. As I described to the gang, I have always devoted 100% the company, organization, and colleagues I worked for and with. This devotion was sometimes to a fault. The fault was that I would not compromise. I used two examples that I told to my colleagues, which I’ll recount here.

I entered required military draft in 1976. When my wife graduated in the US in 1977, she moved to the Netherlands to be with me; however, to be allowed to live there we had to get married. In addition, marriage allowed me to live off base and tripled my salary. We were able to rent a mobile home near the barracks and we moved in. The guys in the group I was working in (mostly career soldiers) started making fun of me before we got married and making crude jokes like: “Don’t come knocking, when the trailer is rocking,” and this was a mild one. Instead of taking this in jest, I got pissed and after extensive teasing I blew up. This got so bad that the Army asked me to file for Section 8 (or insanity). I refused, partially because I knew I wasn’t insane and because I wasn’t looking for a compromise. I threated to kill them. Eventually the solution was to make me the base photographer for my remaining time. I was the only private first class with a private office and free to roam the base to take photographs. It helped that I was the leader in the photography hobby club. Compromise might have been OK and gotten me out early.

The other example I used took me back to Uganda. My first job out of the Army. If you are a regular reader, you would know I worked there as a farm manager for a leprosy center in 1978 and 79. This was at the end of the reign of one of the most ruthless dictators Idi Amin. We stayed in the country during the civil war that ousted him. Right after our liberation one of my friends and top assistant, a local young Ugandan man went crazy and tried to attack all the white (European) staff at the center except me and my wife. The rumor went around the entire hospital that I sent him. It was known that I had quarrels with the European medical superintendent and the European hospital administrator because they were funneling profits from the farm to pay for the hospital expenses. I understood that this was one of the reasons the farm was there; however, in my mind they were taking too much. It seemed that everyone in the hospital knew of the issue and when the guy stated running around with a machete trying to kill all the white folks, rumors started flying. This made it impossible for me to maintain my position at the center and I had to return home. Of course, I did not send him, and had I taken a less public, less strong stand, the rumor might not have started, and I would have been allowed to stay.

These two examples are among a few where a harsh or hard stand had some interesting results. I can mention many more. Finally, in 2002 after two quick consecutive layoffs and a minor bout of depression I decided to go for a few counseling sessions and it was there, by talking with a complete stranger, that I finally became to understand that a strong, hardline opinion might not always be the best, especially if you express it and put your foot down. Lessons learned.

When Kevin asked me, it took me a few seconds to figure out what I had learned in the course of my career. The day before my wife and I were listening to a radio show where they were talking about the term: “That’s a great question.” My wife commented that it was such an overused meaningless sentence. But I had to contradict her, I told her that as an instructor it gives me just enough time to consider the question and come up with an answer. Then came the answer over the radio and they answered it the same way as I told my wife. The question from Kevin was such a good question that needed a few milliseconds of thought to come up with the answer. That was a great question, Kevin!

Too Old to Rock 'n' Roll: Too Young to Die (4/1/2022)

I am starting to wonder if I am getting obsessed by getting old. Or maybe I am getting obsessed by changing. Who knows? In my latest post I lament about getting older and more sentimental and I even quote one of the blogs I wrote entitled “The old man and the woods” which is purely autobiographic. I write how “Old age is not for sissies” and about mortality. I am sure that I can probably find more when I start combing through my posts.

Am I really obsessed by it or just more aware of it? I really don’t know. For one, I know that I am getting slower. When I walk what I consider a decent pace, I get passed by folks and I rarely pass people. Yes, my knees are not in the best of shape, but that is probably also age related. I am faster than my brother-in-law who is a year older than I am, but he had a hip replacement. I am faster than my 95 year old father-in-law, surprise. We always joke that it is essential that you only need to be faster than the grim reaper, well I have this feeling our top speeds are slowly getting closer.

The other reason probably is that there isn’t a day that I am not reminded about retiring. We either talk about it at home (most of the time it is the topic de-jour), or someone asks me about it (when are you retiring, or aren’t you retired yet?) or tells me about their retirement. It is tough to think you are at the end of your career and feel you are slowly being sidelined, put on a dead-end track. While they tell you that they still value your contribution when you volunteer, they seem to pass you over when it comes to career choices.

Getting old comes with something else, something my wife pointed out, to my chagrin. She told me the other day that in addition to getting old: “You are no debonair!” Man that bugged the hell out of me! Not that desperately want to be super suave and well-groomed, but inside I sometimes feel like I am somewhat sophisticated, just a little bit. Can old men still be suave without looking creepy?

In the old days, I needed to be well dressed, groomed and wear formal clothes and a tie to work. This is not required working for the state; I have put in my dues, and the worst thing that could happen is that they could fire me for not following the dress-code, early retirement at 68!

Actually, my preference right now would be to retire and buy a piece of land of 10 to 20 acres. I would love to restore it to its pre-historic or pre-settlement condition. However, I would like to have an acre of two somewhere on that property to have a homestead. Of course there would be walking trails and the homestead would need to be as sustainable as possible, hopefully off the grid. I would not look like a debonair but more like a (old) rugged (unshaven) woodsman. I could even be a nudist on that property (weather permitting). I would still like to be able to care for my bonsai, have my wine cellar and a good beer collection.

A man can dream can’t he? But for one, the funds are lacking. What will come from all this? I have no idea, all I know is that I am getting a haircut tomorrow to look a little more civilized (debonair like?).

By the way, today’s writing kind of reminds me of the tune by Jethro Tull: Too Old to Rock ‘n’ Roll: Too Young to Die. Part of the Lyrics go like this:

The old Rocker wore his hair too long,

wore his trouser cuffs too tight.

Unfashionable to the end --- drank his ale too light.

Death's head belt buckle --- yesterday's dreams ---

the transport caf' prophet of doom.

Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams

in his post-war-babe gloom.

….

So the old Rocker gets out his bike

to make a ton before he takes his leave.

Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner

just like it used to be.

And as he flies --- tears in his eyes ---

his wind-whipped words echo the final take

and he hits the trunk road doing around 120

with no room left to brake.

And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die.

No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die.

Don’t worry, I am far from being depressed. I love life and still have fun. But a man can think sometimes: “am I too old to rock ‘n’ roll?” Nah! I am definitely too young to die!

Walking along the abandoned road in the woods behind our home. I do not need to be worried about being passed by other walkers.  Not many folks use these trails and here I am "forest bathing." These are my meditative walk with Jasper, my hound; taking up the sights, sounds and smells of nature that sustain me.  

Musings on getting old (10/30/2021)

One thing I am starting to realize more and more is that the saying: “Old age is not for the faint of heart” or maybe the way Betty Davis put it: “Old age ain’t for sissies” is real. So here I was checking out at the pharmacy after buying medicine for our 15-year-old dog Jake, who is still on his last legs, when I got the call that my 94-years-old father-in-law had fallen for the umpteenth time and was on his way to the emergency room. This was all after complaining a day earlier on our daily walk that my back, hip and knees hurt and that I am getting slower.

Oh well, who am I to complain. My wife comes back from the emergency room with the story that the doctor there tells my father-in-law, that since he is close to the end he might as well enjoy what is left instead of trying to prolong it as much as possible with drugs that have side effects that make life miserable. The nurse tells him he looks great, and when he says: “hell no” she tells him: “you don’t get to see what I get to see here in the emergency room.” My wife and I came to the conclusion that when you suffer you become selfish, and you have it worse than everyone else in this world; and yes, so do I.

I have written a few posts about getting old or getting older. But never about one of my major complaints with age: peeing! When I was young, we had peeing contests, who could pee the furthest. Now, especially in the morning, you wake up and lay in bed and boy you have to go and it comes slowly and not much. But at least it takes the pressure off the bladder, and then after walking around for five or ten minutes, all the sudden it hits again, and finally there is release or is it relief? I wonder what it will be like 10 or maybe 20 years from now.

My symbol of being able to pee a good distance!

But hopefully I will keep my mind, if not for me, at least for my wife. I think it would be the hardest for a spouse to watch their husband or wife lose their mind to Alzheimer or some other form of dementia. My father-in-law went through that, and it devastated him. It was his second wife, and they were married only seven years or so. She was obviously not my wife’s mother. In other words, while it was terrible watching her and my father-in-law go through it, it would have been worse if it was your own mother, and you would have known her all your life instead of only about ten years. I hope I never do this to my wife and daughter.

Wow, I better quit. The past post was about politics in our county, this one is introspective. What a difference a few days make. But it is important to think about: quality of life, enjoy it while you still can, enjoy others. Especially when you are young; however, even this old guy or my 94-year-old father-in-law can and should fight depression and enjoy life to the fullest. We only have one life to live and after that? Who knows.

Crossroads (9/14/2021)

I have been somewhat at a crossroads in my life and on the other hand at peace with being there. Looking back at these past few weeks, it has been an interesting time, as it probably is for many of you or eventually will become for many of you. Being part of the so called “sandwich generation.” I am not sure which generation the top half of the bread is a which is the bottom, but although one, the parent part, has been reduced to only one, it has become progressively heavier or thicker. The kid, we only have one daughter, part of that sandwich is progressively getting thinner or lighter. But she has not gone away all together, in particular since she decided that she is going to get married early next fall and she wants to do it here in Virginia while she lives in Maine. So, you get the message, it looks like we will need to do a lot of leg work. We have absolutely no problem with the marriage itself, we just hoped she would elope (not really, that is just me joking).

In the middle of August, we moved my father-in-law from his spacious condo to an apartment in an independent living facility. Since he is 94, hard of hearing, technically blind in one eye, and has difficulty walking, the task fell on us to downsize him. He is still very much with it, thank goodness. But it was a lot of work going through his home and figuring what to take and what would go to our home or what we would have to take to Good Will. I think my back has finally recuperated somewhat. But our home is still one big tripping hazard. We look like hoarders! But a lot of his stuff is much better quality than ours which we accumulated in our student days of the late 1980s. Yes, we bought some new later with our limited budget.

However, it is not over. During the past year and a half of COVID, I did most of the shopping for my father-in-law. We were hoping that this would be a thing of the past with his move. Before he lived 10 minutes away, which has now become a 25-minute drive (each way). But the orders are still pouring in: peanut butter cup ice cream, lactose free milk, Post grape nuts, just to name a few of the essentials. Today I ordered a chair for his shower. His dry-cleaning lady misses him and asks my whether he is eating enough at his new place.

There are good things too. He gave us (me) his car, which is 9 years younger than mine and the same make and model. My car has 313,000 miles on the odometer, his had 31,000. I am paying is forward, I think, and I’ll be driving my car up to Maine this weekend to give it to our daughter and her fiancé, in the hope it holds up and they can use it as a second car. But Hondas should be able to do it for a while, I hope. (Postscript … I am editing this post while sitting in Maine. The car made it, and everything is fine).

Typical Jersey turnpike breakfast for champions like me.  

So yes, watching people getting older, talking about a daughter getting married, and approaching 70 in a few years (I am 68 right now), makes you wonder when it will be my time. These are the crossroads I was talking about. Should I retire or not retire, that is the question. Reading an article in the newspaper this week that Jill Biden who is 70 returned to the classroom to teach was somewhat interesting if not encouraging. Hey, I can do that too! I had a physical just before Labor Day, and while the words physical exam is somewhat disappointing, I came through it with flying colors. It was just a set of blood test which showed I was more-or-less healthy. It does make you feel good, and it was another piece in the puzzle in making that decision on retirement. Maybe I can try to break Jill Biden’s record.

There you have it. These are some of the things messing with my head and with my life. My crossroads right now. Not necessarily bad. This is why I am at peace with what is to come in my life; maybe more than ever.

I need to write more (12/22/2020)

Usually and the end of the year, or sometimes at the beginning of the new year I take stock of what happened during the year that has just gone by. Well’ I am not sure if this is my definitive blog for 2020, but I somehow feel like writing and excusing myself for not writing as much as a should, have been in the past, etc.

I am finding that it is more difficult to be creative after having to be creative for my job day-in, day-out and having to create on-line classes that keep people’s interest. In addition, being stuck at home and looking from my perch is somewhat boring and I do not get the inspiration that I usually get from traveling, listening to the radio and meeting people. Do I have the COVID blues? I do not know, but look at the graph below and you can see what funk I am in in my blogging (the 17 includes today’s blog). 

Previously, I wrote about inspiration in which I debunked this idea of not being inspired or not having a creative mind (somehow, the illustration was lost). Therefore, I cannot blame it on that. Am I depressed? Not really, in the sense of the word. Maybe slightly depressed, but I think we all are in a bit of a funk having that Sword of Damocles (the sword of COVID) hanging above our head on that tenuous string. When will I get it or a loved one, like my almost 94-year-old father-in-law get it? And how will I or they react to getting it? Yes, I can finally say that people in my direct orbit have gotten COVID. One survived; she reported that when her husband brought home her favorite ice-cream, it just tasted wet and cold. Esther, the 90 year-old (ex?) girlfriend of my father-in-law who has Alzheimer is currently in the hospital with COVID. We fear the worst. But by now, we are all waiting until it is our turn to get the vaccine, at least when you are not an anti-vaxxer.

What is my daily routine like? I usually wake up around 6:20. After getting dressed, I put on the coffee and get the newspaper with the dogs. They get their morning snack when we come back in, and we read the paper. Then it is breakfast and a dog walk, followed by “hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to the office we go” and that is just one flight of stairs away. Coffee around 10:30 and lunch at 12. We walk the dogs again, and I may spend a few minutes out back with my trees (bonsais). Back to work, which is interrupted by coffee around 3. I usually quit around 4:30 and take a shower. The shower is a great ritual for me to end the work day. Then it is time to make dinner and settle down for the evening. Boring isn’t it? Thank goodness, I still enjoy cooking, and at least once a week, the monotony is broken up by the need to bake bread. Baking bread requires more frequent trips down the stairs to fold the dough and to do something to it (“hey Google, set the timer for a half hour”).

COVID weekends are not any more exciting. One of the days is a dog park visit (Waller Mill in Williamsburg) and a walk in the woods (one of three trails). If the weather is good, we may stop for a brief visit for a beer at one of the microbreweries (usually the Brass Cannon, we sit outside of course). The other day is spent around the home. It is all very inspirational and I am sure, something many of you also spend your COVID year. Listening to my colleagues during our staff meetings that is about right.

So how should I get my writing mojo back and again write at least 30 posts per year? Maybe for next year I just need to take a word out of the dictionary and write a blog post around it. Just what comes to mind, but that would be crazy, wouldn’t it? At least now, I still have room to write my review of 2020.

Time for an update (10/11/2020)

Not sure why I have not written in my blog for such a long time. It is not because I am depressed; however, I think I lack the motivation and external stimulation. “What” you may say, most of us are over-stimulated by all the events happening in the news. Let’s look at them all:

• We are looking at hurricane Delta, which is aiming for New Orleans or somewhere around there.
• Trump has COVID-19 and is acting like a baboon. Moreover, it seems that he has become a super spreader and is proud of it.
• Talking about baboons, if you had the stomach as I did to watch the first presidential debate, you know what I mean.  On the other hand you may wish to buy a fly swatter.
• It looks like the entire western U.S.A. is on fire.
• And, let us not forget Jerry Falwell, one of the subjects of a post of mine earlier this year, was fired from Liberty University, in Lynchburg. Best of all, because he enjoyed watching his wife having sex with other (younger) men.

These are just few of the wonderful things going on around us and I am sure there is so much more I can mention, or you can come up with. Maybe I should mention that we have an election coming up. While I am a news junky, when push comes to shove, and it is the end of the day, I just want to veg out and watch a YouTube bonsai show, or play a Sudoku game. I simply forget to update you all about my life. Oh well, my excuses for not keeping you apprised of my life’s events. I telework, and sit behind my computer somewhat around 7 hours every day. The other morning while walking Jasper the dog, one of my neighbors was complaining when I commented what a beautiful day it was. “Who cares, I have to go sit behind my computer for 8 hours,” Ed said. I reminded him that he could always take a break and briefly step away as I do. I water my bonsai, and we eat lunch out on the deck.  Still, I feel depressed at times.  But then, I am not depressed all the time; overall, I am doing ok.  My world has just become very small.  I have been to Richmond twice, and my other trips consist of going to the grocery store and picking up my father-in-law for dinner.  We have our daily walks around the block, and of late we have started going to a dog park in Williamsburg which we sometimes end with a visit to one of the microbreweries.  We choose the on closest to the dog park, that has outdoor seating and is the least known or popular, but has a pretty darn good IPA.

Our regular brewery stop in Williamsburg (the Brass Cannon Brewery).  They make some decent beer and a killer IPA.

So what work things have I been doing since the last time I wrote?  I have developed and presented a few webinars where I talk about soil and vegetation restoration and one about vermin in our stormwater structures.  I have also converted some of my regular classes to web-based classes.  They keep me in touch with the outside world.  On a personal we have kayaked twice, I have hand split a huge oak that had fallen in the neighbor's yard, and redid our deck (almost).  As you should have seen I even did a sermon at church.  So no, I did not sit still.  I just have enough of this, and I can imagine that many do and want to break out, don't care if they get sick and want to believe that jerk in the White House who claims is is less severe than the flu.  But don't get fooled folks, it is a killer.  I'll write ssome more about me and my thoughts soon.

Welcome to my brain, or on mortality (7/1/2019)

I sometimes feel the pressure of having to write and keeping my readers somehow updated with my thinking and my feelings. The problem is that at times, I just sit there and have very little to say. But then I am reminded of that article or blog I read once that said, even if you do not have to say anything keep writing, because practice makes perfect; moreover, who knows, something profound may come pouring out (so there may be hope). I wrote about that or about writing in general before <here>, <here>, <here> and <here>.

I have been in a funk since all the things that happened in May. Yes, I am slowly digging myself out of the hole, but hitting another landmark birthday recently (on that same day, my birthday, my father-in-law had a heart attack, he is OK), and now having a horrible backache with the pain shooting down my legs and actually numbing my toes does not really help either. You heard the saying “two steps forward, one step back,” or is it “one step forward, two steps back?” I just hope it is the former, not the latter. Interesting fact here the “f” in former stands for first (now get your mind out of the gutter) and the “l” in latter stands for last of the two choices. I had to look this up and here I learned something today.

However, the pain in my back was so bad that I actually begged my wife to kill me. Thank goodness, we do not own a weapon that could easily accomplish such a task. Moreover, while I would be out of my misery, her misery would just begin after a mercy killing like that. But all the sudden I realize that here we have hit a number of issues in this short essay including euthanasia, writing, gun control, sickness, depression; I could really be off to the races with any of these subjects. I could even combine them. I guess that is why the advice was to just start writing and see where you end up.

Sitting at the doctor’s office with this wonderful back of mine, I was confronted with my mortality. There were only three other folks in the waiting room. On one side of me was a young woman, who I overheard, thanks to my newly acquired hearing aids (a sign of old age and lots of rock music), was telling the receptionist that she was born in 1997. A quick calculation told me that she must be 22 or 23, a fresh young green leaf (she did not look ill). Across from me was an older couple, much older than I am, the woman of the couple could hardly walk in, complaining that she was burning up and very sick. She looked like a leaf ready to fall off the tree. This past week I am not sure where I was in the season of leaf development.

One wonders so now and then: at what stage of life are you, and from what angle will the wind blow and how hard will it blow and can you hang on?

Also in the waiting room, I was threatened with a 2013 article in BizNews that had the following headline: “Retire at 55 and live to 80; work till you’re 65 and die at 67. Startling new data shows how work pounds older bodies.” I guess, I already (for the first time in all these years) admitted to being old in this post. Actually, I just turned 66 and if you are a regular reader, you know that I am not retired. Does this mean I have less than a year to live? I hope not. However, if these posts stop all the sudden, you know what happened to me: my time was up. 

Honestly, my mortality does not keep me awake at night. What keeps me up lately are my back and things I am working on at work, like course design. But, death is not one of them. I know it is going to end one of these days, and hopefully I have at least 20 more years. I would like to leave a legacy, with my teaching, my thinking, my writing, and maybe with some of my photographs (sorry, I am not wealthy). I know that I cannot take anything with me; moreover, when I am dead, I am dead. I do not believe in an afterlife, a heaven or a hell. I believe that we better create our heaven here on earth, and leave a livable heavenly earth behind for our children and grandchildren, something a lot of folks seem to forget. One thing is for sure, the earth's environment might be ruined if we don't do anything about it quickly. We cannot just sit, lean back any longer, take a wait and see attitude, wondering what will happen.

Reading the book "Braiding Sweetgrass" by Robin Wall Kimmerer, I came to an interesting passage comparing the Judeo-Christian "Eve" and the Native American "Skywoman." Both are seen as the founding mothers of their respective religions. While Skywoman was sent to plant it and tend to it, creating a wonderful environment for her descendants. Eve, on the other hand, was sent in exile from the Garden of Eden for eating from the forbidden fruit, the fruit of knowledge. I never looked at it that way, I always thought of it more like the attitude of Francis Bacon and man's dominance over the natural world. Instead, according to Kimmerer, for Judeo-Christians it is more like who gives a crap about this world, I want to go back to the Garden of Eden or maybe that's called heaven. Who cares if we fuck up this world, this is exile country, we don’t belong here. An interesting view on religion and environmentalism, isn’t it?

Oh well, here we are back to one of the subjects dear to my heart: protecting the world, the environment, for that 22 or 23 year old "green leaf" in the doctor's office, so she can enjoy it for another 60 years, and for her children after that. But at times it is so hard to see that we are making any headway (two steps back). Having a president who claims we have the best climate and best environment in the world, knowing all too well that the air quality has deteriorated over the past two years thanks to his policies and the EPA turning back environmental regulations.

All I can say my friends is: welcome to my brain (if you ever want to send me a hat to protect it: size extra-large) and my often non-linear way of thinking. This is how I sometimes connect the dots, especially when it is somewhat clouded by muscle relaxants, my mortality and the mortality of others around me.  If you wonder about the time you wasted on reading this blog, don't worry, the next one will be more on subject.

Depression sucks (6/11/2018)

Kate Spade, Anthony Bourdain, what news stories last week! It really bugs the cap out of me. I have a father who took his own life with a gun. He was depressed and took it out on his loved ones. I was an ocean and a continent removed, but still he did it on the day that I bought a new car to start my new job after two years of under and unemployment. I had called him the day before to tell him this and had no inkling about that he was about to pull the trigger. Did I resent him for that? Yes I did in some form or fashion. Was I hurt? Yes, I think as a family member of or close to someone who commits suicide it hurts, I'll never forget it. In a way I had expected it and had made peace with never seeing him again the last time they visited us, a half year earlier.

A number of years later I got the phone call from my brother that the person we considered one of our best friends committed suicide. My brother tried to convince me that he hurt more than I did. Who gives a shit about comparing hurt at such time or any time after that? Yes, as a younger brother he has always been in competition with me, and even in our friend’s death he tried to be better (more hurt) than me. 

A number of years ago, a good friend gave me credit for saving his life. He was about to do the same and it was me along with a few other close friends who were able to talk him off the ledge. Now every time I see a post of his on Facebook, I still let go a sigh of relief knowing he is still OK, or at least alive. I don't believe you (he) can ever be safe, but hopefully friends and family can help you (him) through your (his) darkest hours.

Growing up I learned that suicide is the most selfish thing you can do in life: “end your suffering but usually substantially increase the suffering of others.” Others say it is a cry for help, at least when people survive the attempt. I am not so sure anymore, I think that is probably mostly bullshit. It is depression, and that can be chemical but also just mental.

Depression is a scary thing, whatever the reason. I have been depressed, and have I ever thought about ending it? Absolutely, but only for a second and never really seriously. First as a teen when my parents pulled me away from my home in the sunny Caribbean and I ended up in damp cold Holland. I also thought about it at some other times in my adult life. Right now I am in a good place, so I have no worries, but I kind of know what depression is. Every time I had those thoughts of ending it, I knew they were ridiculous and would not solve anything, except solve my misery. However, I quickly realized that I would miss out on so much, or the rest of the story, and how hurt we were when our loved ones did it to us. I told myself to snap out of it. I realized that there was so much more to discover, to teach, to see, to photograph, to hobby and now to write about. I had and have so much more to say and (maybe my selfish way) to contribute to society. I forced myself to do one of those things I really enjoyed, like those I mentioned above, or some of the things I have mentioned in my blog like forest bathing, or walking in nature and exploring. It did not solve my depression instantly; yes, I stayed depressed, but every time depression set in I tried it and slowly the veil lifted and things started looking better again.

Here is a selfie of my ugly face on to of Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire.  We hiked it a couple of weeks ago.  Although the mountain kicked our ass (my knees still hurt two weeks later), it was an exhilarating thing; it lifted all our spirits, as it should.

Naturally, I had a few visits to a psychologist, I did not feel comfortable with the guy. But then I went to talk to him about another issue than depression, and he was OK in helping me with the issues at hand. For me it was a lot of working on myself and realizing that I was ridiculous and actually hurting my loved ones. I realize that I make it sound so damn easy, and it isn’t. I am also sure that I again will have periods of depression and hopefully will get through it.

As you can see, this week brought up a roller coaster of emotions for me. I still often think about my father and Rob, especially when there is another high profile suicide in the news. The first time it really hit home was when I heard about Robin Williams, although I have forgiven him, knowing what we know now. The other famous suicides will also eventually slide off my back as well. My father's suicide will never be easy to forget since he killed himself on Dr. Martin Luther King Day, January 15 and I will get a yearly reminder as long as I live.