Scotland with Curmudgeon

 Spent 2 weeks in Scotland, probably the closest thing my people have to an ancestral family homeland. I went with my 73 year old brother Bill, who had not left Washington state in many years and had never been to Europe ever. It was pretty great.  Of course  Trump was nicked in an assassination attempt, Biden dropped out and Kamala Harris-mania began while we were touristing.  It will be well remembered . I did bring home a case of Scottish variant Covid that spread through my house upon my return.

Rolf is Renewed. I am Mortal.

    

Some vandal jackass thought Rolf should have sharpie colored shades. It's fine. It means it is considered an established part of the neighborhood, that needs to be rebelled from.

Lars Fujikawa, in his desperate confinement due to his spiralling ailments had me and my fine sons repair the ROLF NESLUND MEMORIAL in the tiny, almost non existent Pigeon Point Gateway Park. His statue had been stolen for the second time and his plinth cracked and made useless. I made use of the old concrete base of the original post and poured a 200lb base with a 3" concrete infused steel post and built a (very ugly ) masonry column. I did learn not to fill masonry with cement until the masonry has properly set, which any special needs child of 4 could have told me. A new and quite attractive head was cast at the cost of the original mold which finally succumbed to age and over use. In the end Rolf was finished and secure. This is the kind of thing that both invigorates me and also makes me question my motives and life decisions.

As a personal side note, on my 63rd birthday (how did that happen?) I was walking to a neighbor's to pick up the ROLF plaque and I had an "event" where in I almost passed out. Having never fainted in my life, it was fascinating ; everything got dark around the edge of my vision and reduced to a tunnel like matte. I remember thinking, "oh, I am going to sleep now..." and then my legs fell out from under me. I caught myself and never hit the pavement but was on the way.  Atrial Fibrillation? Head rush with too much caffeine? Evil spirits and dark humors? Being a complete idiot I shook it off and finished the plaque project and then went home where a nice telephone nurse and my beloved Laurie got me to go to the emergency room. Not the bad stuff- no heart attack or stroke yet, but  I need to see a cardiologist. It sort of happened (with variations,) again the next day. 

Being old sucks. 

Civilization's Nite Lite in a Grim, Dark Room

 Laurie and I went to the Seattle Symphony today. We heard Bach's "Goldberg Variations" played by Vikingur Olaffson. It was very moving. It was inspiring and hopeful. It was beautiful. I kept thinking it was like the night light I had as a child that when I was afraid I would look at and remember that as long as the light was still on, I was and would be okay. Art and things like the symphony still operating are like that to me. I am starting to feel old, that the center will not hold. I take afternoon naps.  My joints and neck hurt for no reason. I have very little work. The last act begins. That is why something like a symphony concert can become such an amazing afternoon for an old man.

...Of course for every positive moment there is a moment of chaos. Laurie and I saw a downtown tweaker strip his clothes off and walk down 2nd Ave fully bare ass naked. It is a sad and beautiful world,

The Theme Park of Your Ancestors Beckons (and is totally indifferent)

     My beloved and I went to France-Holland-Germany (in EUROPE).  It was swell. I am unable at this time to speak anything but junior high level English so my communication with the locals was guttural pantomimes about food and bodily functions and asking if they spoke my sad and solitary language. While it was uniformly fascinating, it was also utterly indifferent to our presence, other than to accept our credit  card. I wish I had deeply thoughts about our trip. It was nice to see countries not wholly consumed by MAGA politics and the orange pestilence, and strangely behaving as if the public welfare was important. Just the intricate dance of the bicycles in Amsterdam alone was enough to make you wish humans at home could simultaneously think of the greater good AND their own interests equally.

    One Saturday night in Paris stands out.  Laurie and I were tired but in search of food. It was hard to figure out the Google maps (a possible sign of being really old) and the streets at 7:00 pm were packed with beautiful young people . It was like Las Vegas or Coachella. I am not sure if I have ever felt more old or out of place.

Photo credit LAURIE SANDER - Quimper, France

Attempting to see things in a positive light.

 I am triying , valiently to see things in a less negative, and futile way. I am old but not dead yet, but i do not need to constantly see everything as a score on the misery index. I am drinking less and striving to be cheerful. So far so good.

...and the Elf, how it did burn so...

     In the end, the Elf burnt just fine. People were great.  Kind, decent, funny people who got the joke. There isn't really more to it than that. I am a lucky man to have a fine partner who loves me in Laurie and attractive, well behaved children and some nice friends who will always come to my house to see me do something truly unwise and monumentally stupid. Bless you all: every one.

The Sufferable Sadness of Stuffing a Seven Foot Tall Elf To Burn

     It's that time again.  The unexplainable ( and probably inexcusable) Sander family tradition of "Burning Elf",. About 1990 or 1991 Laurie and I started Christmas Eve Eve chili feeds  that were non threatening and mostly beige enjoyments of haphazard christmas lights and hand me down decorations.. Somehow that very small, pleasant vanilla evening eventually morphed into a postmodern performance art of egotistical self importance that revolved on the construction of an up to eight foot tall paper mache elf that we would immolate to the cheers of gathered weirdos. Eventually "Burning Elf" took over the entire holiday season, or so it seemed. Through most of our children's lives, through the pandemic quarantine and the Trump years, elves were burnt . A couple years were skipped due to snowfall or the post election of a criminal madman depression cycle.  I have built fifteen of these sad monsters to burn, and I am feeling their weight. It began as a reaction to the commercialization of Christmas, the elf being the ridiculous helper of the capitalist Santa Claus, and a riff on "Burning Man", and now it seems as threadbare as Xmas carols and Rudolph reruns. The truly sad thing is I really love those carols and Rudolph is a classic that still tugs at my heart. The date has moved to New Year's Eve Eve instead and that takes some pressure off. There is something nice in putting a paper wish in the elf's mouth or wishing away some wrong or abomination of the last year for him to burn away. Idiotic as it may be, there is a small catharsis that occurs.  I like chili too.