Month: December 2024

“What do I write about?” I ask the two lovely young people who are visiting from afar.

“2025,” says the first. “2024: A Retrospective,” adds the second. Noting that I couldn’t retrospect what I had for lunch yesterday, he added, “It will be a good exercise, important.” Some strong words.

Plenty of people do write about the future. This delightful article was written in 1924. Some wild ones there besides the expected 150-year life spans, world peace, and an end to poverty. This one is short and uses a lot of “will. Just two fields here—government and technology. Pretty brainy but interesting. Don’t forget the astrologers. This one is called a celebrity astrologer. The people who believe him are celebrities? Sure. Anyway, he gives me this prediction as an Aries: “Note that you may also come to realize that the universe is ‘laying more weight and responsibility on your shoulders’ throughout the entire summer.”  Maybe so, but each one of the other eleven are a mix of “Good news!” and “New energy!” and “Focus on…”  Finally, we had Jeane Dixon until 1997. She was a psychic who had a sketchy record, and her name is associated with an affect that followers will laud her correct predictions and ignore the far-more-frequent misses. Nancy Reagan was a client.

The entire concept of predicting the future seems odd to me. Yes, I believe in prophecy—that’s different. God can and has given future truths. But someone extrapolating on barely understood common events is rarely accurate. So I rejected this perfectly good suggestion. It would take a lot of energy.

Not that looking back doesn’t take effort. My calendar is now on my phone which gets it from the cloud. Or maybe that’s how it works. I’m not really sure. Was it 2024 I had “Lunch” on a day but no name or place and no recollection of making the plan. Oh well. No one called me, so maybe she also forgot. In my 20s, I invited a friend to come to my apartment for lunch, went to a noontime concert, and realized in the middle of it what I’d done. We sort of had calendars then but not for actual appointment setting. I apologized profusely, but never felt quite forgiven. And I also feel guilty about once a year for not keeping a journal. Young person #1 does, daily, I learned today. Guilty is just lazy, here. Let us begin.

Time is A) relative A) non-existent or C) going faster. Maybe 2 out of 3. A short article about possibility b. This article is an interview with Alan Alda, a favorite actor, which shows a different side of his interest in science. This one includes option A; this one, C. And it has nothing to do with aging.

SO, I was stunned to learn from my calendar that it was a year ago I recorded a podcast interview with Jeremy Koontz. It was amazing. The shape that is best in such things begins, slants upward then soars. It’s not my doing. A great person made it happen. Here’s his (short) recording.

AND, how to do better? Young Person #1 suggested the term “gamifying.” Here are four steps to doing so with your life. She also suggested a Habit Tracker by Thyme Is Honey (Best $7.99 ever, she assures me.)

A few random things I learned this year:

• Begin with why. At some point, people need motivation. The first one is why bother.
• When they say, “I’d rather have a root canal than…” I will now be able to say no, no that isn’t necessarily true. I wasn’t in pain that required one. I tried to chicken out and have the tooth surgically removed. I rescheduled when I learned that ordeal was worse in many ways. I lost a week.
• Saying you’re inadequate is not modest. It is, in fact, prideful. This lesson I learned twice. Both times, I was asked to do something I thought well beyond my abilities. The processes were similar, though the details don’t matter. The conclusion was that I could do what I was asked to do although, of course, I was/am technically inadequate. The results? I guess that will have to wait until next year. At which time I may be more organized (perhaps with a reMarkable) or gamified or habit tracked. As always—time or money.

The Light had come suddenly, from an insignificant dot to a blaze that filled the sky. Ze’ev and the other wolves watched from the hill above the camp. He could not take his eyes off the brightness surrounding the shepherds but finally glanced at his mate, Adi. She, too, was transfixed, with the gold of her eyes reflecting its shine. There had been bright moons before, so clear the fields and meadows glistened, the occasional bonfire when the shepherds needed more heat or light. But nothing, nothing compared to the scene transpiring in the spring night. Adi did turn toward Ze’ev, with questions in her eyes.

The wolves were downwind from the dogs but close enough to watch the evening’s activities. The shepherds usually gathered for their dinner soon after dusk. The flock was nearby. Lambs bleated after their mothers. The night birds came out to sing. Among the shepherds was a young boy who usually played a simple flute as the older ones sang with him or clapped their hands to the rhythm.

And oh, the aroma of that meal. Tonight it was a lamb stew simmered with onions and lentils. The dogs chewed on the bones of the poor creature. With a broken leg, he had not been perfect, could not be sacrificed. Ze’ev couldn’t begrudge them the meal—who didn’t savor the sweet flesh of a lamb?

Tonight was different. The meal ended quietly with no boy to play. The Light had come.

Gevurah, the leader of the pack, rose slowly to his feet, never taking his gaze from the light. He tilted his head back and howled softly, a gathering call. Clearly the shepherds were distracted. It was time for the pack to take a lamb or two of their own.

One by one the pack members rose, reluctant to leave their vantage point. Perhaps someone unseen  watched the sheep. Perhaps the dogs were also watching the brightness. Perhaps—just this once—the hunt would be easy. Gevurah howled again, just a bit louder. Always the hunger, not so bad in spring, but there.

Ze’ev rose but moved no farther, sensing something different in the air, not just the Light. He felt a fullness in every breath. The air itself was thicker, more alive. He blinked and looked again at Adi. This time she was waiting for his gaze. She moved closer and both looked again down at the shepherds’ camp.

Gevurah yipped. It was time to leave the safety of the hill and go to the sheep. Ze’ev raised his head slightly to signal he and his mate would remain behind. It was spring so they were not needed. The pack moved off to the right and would flank the herd easily, unless the dogs came first. The herd was unusually quiet. They too were looking at the Light.

After the others were out of sight, Ze’ev and Adi sank to their haunches and waited. The Light was brighter and fuller, filling the entire sky as far as the eye could see, and the Light seemed to sing. The words were simple, the tones beyond what humans could master but clear to the wolves’ hearing. Yes, the earth echoed the excitement with a joy the wolves had never known. And then the heavens closed with a new star remaining.

The shepherds no longer kept silent. They were talking among themselves, gesturing excitedly, pointing back toward the village. Three limestone hills lay between them and the outskirts. The younger workers gathered packs and added more wood to the fire. Clearly, the group was leaving. It had never happened before.

The sheep began bleating again, softly. Their backs would be toward the approaching pack. Ze’ev knew a the weak and young would be taken before the ewes noticed.

Adi looked at Ze’ev again and stood to take a tentative step toward the shepherd’s camp. She knew he would follow. As the pair crept quietly quickly along the rocky ridge, they were hidden from the shepherds who were still talking excitedly. They would have been unnoticed anyway. The dogs were with the shepherds, trotting at their sides, the sheep forgotten.

The two wolves came into the camp silently, measuring and placing every step. Bowls of stew had been left cooling. They lapped up the rich lamb broth one, then another. The world was still quiet, odd because the lambs should have been bleating in fear. Silence, except for a gentle wind.

Again the air was dense, and the Light returned and grew until it filled the camp and the field. Ze’ev looked far off to the right. Gevurah and the rest of the of the pack were alert but down, not a muscle moving. What could it mean? The shepherds were long gone.

Alert now and standing, the two wolves looked up and saw a being. Not like a shepherd, grown or child, but not unlike either. Of the same family, surely, but brightness and light beyond any imaginable.

Ze’ev wasn’t frightened. That puzzled him. Why not? Man was to be feared. They, he and his pack. took animals from the herd, but only as they needed, no more. Besides, without the wolves, the shepherds would not have jobs. There was for them no common ground.

Finally, the Light had filled the air and space. Ze’ev saw that behind the being, the Light was filled with others. They filled the hills and the skies. And there was music, again not like the shepherd tunes, but sounds that came within the breaths of time.

The Being spoke without words, sharing thoughts that were pictures within their minds.

“Dearest Ze’ev and Adi, welcome. The shepherds walk now to Bethlehem to see a newborn babe. He has come from God. You see they have left their flock. You also know Gevurah and the rest simply watch and do not approach. My friends and I protect the flock but also ease your friends’ hunger. You and your mate have lapped up the shepherds’ meal, but they will forgive you.

I sense that you wonder about the light all around you. We have come from realms of glory. We rejoice this night at the birth of a King, come as a child who will grow and learn and become a Savior to His people. You, my dear wolves, have no need of him, as do the shepherds. Would you like to see?”

Without an answer, the two were suddenly near a manger nestled in a limestone cave. A baby lay in the stone hollow, wrapped in swaddling clothes. The wolves wondered at this human use of a sheep birthing spot. For this stable was their shepherds’ place for special lambs. These, too, were wrapped at birth and did not mingle with the flock. There were whispers and weeping among those watching, the glad tidings shared with quiet awe.

“Ah, yes, you know something of this place then. The other lambs born here go out for sacrifice. They must be spotless and without blemish. This Child will also be pure, though His beauty is not so easily seen as that of a snow-white lamb.”

The dogs with their masters looked at the wolves, without anything more than an interest in this shared moment. Ze’ev saw the faces of the shepherds. The face of the oldest glistened with tears. The air shrank away, and just as they had been at the stable, the wolves were back on their familiar hillside.

“We leave you now, Adi and Ze’ev. The next years will see much sorrow, more than you will know. But I promise that you will have joy. Your posterity in a far generation will see this Son—then a king robed in red—come again, restoring all things. They will rest with lambs, the posterity of those who fear you now. Love and peace will reign.”

And the light faded slowly as the songs grew ever more quiet. The wolves were all back in place, looking down on the flock and the shepherds. The night air, clear as if washed by the Light, once again held the sounds of the flock, the chatter of the shepherds. Ze’ev came near to Adi, as together they would keep this night in their hearts.

Quite the whirlwind the past three weeks have been. Visits to Germany, Portugal, France, and Luxembourg (not much of the latter except a good little walk) did not have to prevent writing new blogs, but they did. On we go.

In Portugal, we stayed at a “smart” house Airbnb in Cascais, outside Lisbon a few kilometers. Bright and warm, colorful grounds. Metal shutters go up and down on command, lights in halls and bathrooms come on when you approach and dim at night. The fridge answers to “Hey Bixby” though I can’t report any meaningful conversations other than the weather forecast. Two living areas, four bedrooms, three baths. Beautifully appointed, as they say. Several small balconies but the big one was the big draw—nice Jacuzzi, elaborate grill, and a cold plunge tub. When I read “$1500 off!” it’s already out of my range. The owner showed us around everything carefully, very carefully we were to be. Instructions for the cold plunge specifically included prohibitions of length and age (over 60 seconds, under 18). So, the Play It Where It Lays Society immediately made plans to challenge all rules. I immersed my left arm (2 seconds), and the 8-year-old didn’t die. It was a high point.

After a day of visiting castles and such, the hot tub was welcomed by all. One evening, the high schoolers and I waited for others to join when the topic of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 came up. How and why elude me. The senior said, “My teacher says it’s not about a person at all, but about Shakespeare’s writing.” My response, as in all such cases, was “Oh?” The freshman had his phone handy so read it to us. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day” remains in the “top” of most lists, #1 at Forbes. Sung here for a Taylor Swift video, and nicely interpreted with a Birmingham accent by Lorna Laidlaw here.

My usual extended response is “believe the poem” and not an interpreter or even, for that matter, the poet. That high school teacher, by saying “this is the meaning,” makes a serious mistake because nothing in the poem refers to writing. The “thee” mentioned is a person. Admittedly, an argument could be made for the hoped-for immortality of one’s writing, it’s a stretch. Did my lecture on such make an impression? Probably not. Having taught college students whose teachers taught them “true meanings,” I can only offer alternatives.

Generalization: More of everyone should question what someone says. Knowing for oneself does involve thinking and questioning and researching. Effort, in other words. Passing through the airport in Luxembourg, we went through many shops showing the latest perfumes, as well as classics lime Chanel No. 5. The Society was spraying samples on with some abandon. When I found one to try, I dabbed a wee bit on my wrist and said to my son, “Then you rub your wrists together for a deeper fragrance.” He responded, “No, in fact, that exactly what you’re not supposed to do.” But it was what my grandmother taught me! Too bad. He’s right. I’m pleased he knows. Currently, there is a wave of repeating untruths in the media. Oh, wait, it’s not new! I’ll spare you the links today.

The flight home was pleasant because said son convinced me to buy a better seat than I would have been assigned. No one in front of me, near the toilets (but not too close), and only two of us on a 4-person row. Lights are turned off, so I watch movies for hours. Some brief reviews follow.

It Ends with Us (2024) tells the story of Lily Bloom, her parents’ abusive relationship, her high school sweetheart, her abusive husband, their baby, and, from the title, the resolution. Blake Lively (The Age of Adaline) and Justin Baldoni (Jane the Virgin) star. I liked it because it didn’t sugarcoat abuse or offer easy answers to relationship difficulties. 90% Popcornmeter at RottenTomatoes. That’s the audience reading. The critics are split.

Reagan (2024) starring Randy Quaid has one of those RottenTomatoes critical spreads I love to see: 18% from professionals and 98% from audiences. A friend recommended it, but biopics are not a favorite because the facts sometimes go awry. This source (History vs. Hollywood) confirms this film’s accuracy, and without going to a “but” I will add the word “hagiography,” which means idealizing or idolizing a subject. The root hagio means “saint,” and while some scandals are reported, lightly, by the end we do have the feeling that Reagan was the right person, guided by the right mother, in the right place, and at the right time. And probably he was. The frame story of a former KGB agent (Jon Voight) explaining how the Soviet Union fell largely because of Reagan’s vision, with nods to Thatcher and Pope John Paul II. That’s a huge divide on critics vs. audiences. If you’re good with the second figure, you’re likely to enjoy this movie.

Johnny Cash: The Life (2016) by Robert Hilburn was checked out by one of the Society members, the freshman probably. Weeks ago, I was told. Apparently, libraries don’t care about late fees anymore, the bane of our lives when we were kids. Our family has a strong connection to Cash. My brother Robert idolized him. Between 1973-75, the family came to Austin to hear him live. I can picture my brother standing on a folding chair to get a better view. Believe it or not, it’s the only pop-adjacent concert I’ve ever attended. The writing was excellent, the details often so specific I wondered how Hilburn could know so much. Only 29M viewers for this version of “I Walk the Line.” A happy version here. The book ends with an explanation of the music video “Hurt” (2002), Cash’s cover of a Nine Inch Nails song from the 90s. If what I’m seeing is correct, there have been over 500M views. It’s raw, and sad, and worth watching. His was a hard life.

White Bird (2024) let me cry. I don’t usually. And I’m not going to say “made” because that’s such a negative. I will be brief, however. One of the things the senior Society member and I discussed was his assignment to read Cormac McCarthy’s 2006 novel The Road. I told him not to, if he could avoid it. Horrors within its images depressed me for three months, its hopelessness was so pervasive. It was not just that there was no God; if there had been one, He had clearly forsaken our Earth. All that to say—I can recommend White Bird but warn you that I am still grieving. Critics 74&%, and audiences an amazing 99%. It’s both a sequel and a prequel to Wonder (2017), which I didn’t know and which isn’t necessary to know. The theme is kindness. Helen Mirren and Gillian Anderson star, but the youth leads, Ariella Glaser and Orlando Schwerdt, carry the film. The setting is Nazi-occupied France, and the antisemitism realities seem timely. But, for now, that’s enough.

To explain the photo: We need to be genuine, which takes effort.