I got restless the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. My spouse was away for the holiday so I called the shop about 1:10 p.m. and asked how late their oil change service lane would be open. I left immediately for the small city to our north. They were closing early because of the holiday yet got me in. The engine oil could have easily gone another 1,000 miles yet I needed to do something to get out of the house. Being among people was my best choice.
I arrived with time to spare, drove my vehicle into the service lane, and left them the keys. In the waiting room, I read on my mobile device and in the book I brought. Time passed quickly before the technician came out to brief me and then lead me to the cashier. I wished him a Happy New Year.
While paying my bill I suggested to the young cashier she be careful if out driving late that night. She said she was staying home, which made me think of our child in another state who was also staying in. I wished the cashier a Happy New Year and she reciprocated. When I finished at the shop, I drove to the nearby hardware store.
I didn’t really need anything, yet wood shims had been on my list for a month. About eight employees gathered around the checkout counter chatting, with myself and one other being the only customers. It was a slow business day, one of them said. One helped me find the shims and I wished her a Happy New Year. Same greeting for the cashier. Both seemed surprised I would say that, yet returned the greeting. What has happened to us as a society? These common courtesies used to be easy, natural, and quite normal.
Next stop was a nearby grocer. I don’t usually frequent this one yet I wanted to get celebratory snacks to ring in the new year. They didn’t have what I wanted so I improvised. I wished the stocker a Happy New Year. At the checkout was a man about my age, although shorter and wearing a name tag. He looked like he was carrying a heavy emotional load so I wished him Happy New Year. He didn’t smile or return the greeting. While heading toward home, I hoped I did something positive for him.
After my repast I went out for a walk around the neighborhood. The ambient temperature was above 40 degrees so I didn’t wear a coat. I don’t usually walk in the neighborhood, preferring the state park trail. Houses had outdoor colored lights for the holidays. Human activity was minimal. The moon rose over the house.
Was I lonely or simply alone. Probably a bit of both as I finished my walk and headed indoors toward the light. Of the New Year’s Eves I experienced, this one was not bad. There is hope for the future and I survived to live another year. That’s saying something.
Artificial intelligence rendering from my photo of a woodpile.
2025 has been a crappy year in some ways and a good year in others. On the crappy side, our president is undoing much of the good that has been in place since World War II. He and his collaborators in Iowa are changing society in a way that will have long-term negative effects. On the good side, I stepped back from society to get my own house in order so I can contribute effectively to driving Republicans out of power. The latter outweighs the former in importance.
I don’t know what happened to me during the coronavirus pandemic. I was diagnosed with diabetes mid-2019 and have been treating it by controlling diet. It is working. Things went well before and during the early part of the pandemic, but as I retired from paid work and stayed home more, maintaining my health became a challenge. In 2024, I tested positive for COVID-19 and literally felt like I was going to die. In 2025, I began to turn my health around. I started logging my meals, exercise, and weight on My Fitness Pal. My weight reduced by 12.2 percent and BMI went from 36.8 to 32.3 during the year. During a recent visit to the clinic my practitioner told me to keep doing what I am doing, so I will.
I wrote already about my writing. All I have to add on the last day of the year is I feel more confident than ever as a writer. 2026 should be a good year.
Mine is a world of ideas and reading is essential. I wrote about The Great Sort, which was the first major review of books I collected beginning when I was a grader. In the last year, I donated more than a thousand to Goodwill and the local public library used book sale. There is at least another thousand to go. The important thing about this year’s project is not the downsizing. It is development of a new way to acquire and read books.
Notably, a substantial percent of the 71 books I read this year were checked out from the public library. That was huge, and according to library data, I saved $821 by doing so. How do I get ideas for which books to read? I get newsletters from several large publishers yet a main part of it is by querying the library’s new arrivals on its website. There was more related to reading happening in 2025.
I have been on social media since about 2007. One of the uses is to find new ideas and books I should read. The contribution social media makes is I get real people’s ideas about what to read in the context of their social media account. It is a more solid recommendation than if I knew little about the referrer. Part of this is I take chances on authors with limited distribution of their work. It has been a positive experience.
The best thing about acquiring books to read this year began during the pandemic. The Haunted Bookshop is one of the few remaining used bookstores in the county. Its proprietor, Nialle Sylvan, has changed how I select books and helped improve the quality of writing I have been reading. During the pandemic, the shop’s business plummeted. I felt badly about the situation and asked her to pick $50 worth of books and I’d buy them. That worked out well enough that this year I gave her more information about what I was reading. The last batch of books she picked for me has been so engaging I had to put some of them down because I didn’t want the experience of reading an author to ever end. The writing was so good! That is rare. Long story short is if you can find a bookseller like Nialle Sylvan count yourself lucky.
I want to talk about menu planning in our household in 2025. We do it now, mostly a week in advance. This takes the stress out of daily questions about what’s for dinner. It created an environment where I could focus on developing new dishes, something for which I have ample creative energy. Who knew planning meals could be such a benefit?
In the entry box I asked, “When did I make my first message on ChatGPT?” The machine, which prefers pronouns you/it, didn’t know. More precisely, it replied, “I don’t have access to the exact timestamp of your very first message, but I do have a reliable estimate.” It was in late May this year, according to the machine’s best estimates. Sounds earlier than I thought, but what do I know. That’s why I asked.
I am figuring out how to use artificial intelligence effectively. The reason I use the words “artificial intelligence” is what I am learning on ChatGPT is applicable everywhere ai is used in my world. This includes Google, my bank account, this blog, and a host of other applications. They are not all the same artificial intelligence, but the kernel of getting information I need is a similar process in any of them. It is a helper, although I don’t usually mention I use it in the Twitch chat I frequent because millennials and Gen-Z folk are skeptical of ChatGPT specifically and ai in general. As content creators, there may be concerns about ai taking over the space and putting them out of business. The energy use is a concern as well.
People ask, “What about the energy artificial intelligence uses?” Hannah Ritchie, who I think is brilliant, posted the following around the time I started using ChatGPT:
My sense is that a lot of climate-conscious people feel guilty about using ChatGPT. In fact it goes further: I think many people judge others for using it, because of the perceived environmental impact.
If I’m being honest, for a while I also felt a bit guilty about using AI. The common rule-of-thumb is that ChatGPT uses 10 times as much energy as a Google search [I think this is probably now too high, but more on that later]. How, then, do I justify the far more energy-hungry option? Maybe I should limit myself to only using LLMs when I would really benefit from the more in-depth answer.
But after looking at the data on individual use of LLMs, I have stopped worrying about it and I think you should too. (Email from Hannah Ritchie on May 6, 2025).
For the time being, I will restrain myself by not mentioning ChatGPT on Twitch. That is, unless the chat is about ai, which it was yesterday. In those cases, I drop Ritchie’s name with a quote. Bread on the water.
Things I use ai for are related to living in the real world. How should I organize my workshop tools? How should I manage a photoshoot of a political rally? How can I improve my exercise regimen? Please explain this piece of legislation so I can understand it. Here is my schedule for starting garden seedlings, how can it be improved? How do I solve the problem of binders in a casserole that lacks eggs and cheese? Why does cornstarch get such a bad rap? The machine is quick, its access to information is broad. It uses the same language to answer that I used in my queries. I am convinced the machine has read the work of Dale Carnegie.
I asked about data privacy and the machine gave me good tips about how to use not only their service, but would apply to my internet traffic generally. Things like speak in generalities, be mindful of what you put out there, and how to use controls built into the app to minimize how much of me is out there. So far so good with this tool. I plan to continue.
The good in 2025 definitely outweighed the bad. Republicans are not going to go away, so I need to be ready for the 2026 Midterms. This cycle, I will likely use my new ai helper to be a more effective canvasser.
I decided to call 2025 finished with 71 books read. I set my goal at a book per week and exceeded it. Yay!
Goodreads is great for me because it provides satisfaction when I finish each book and rate it. Likewise, I refer to the historical information often. The above chart came via email last week and tells a story about which I hadn’t thought. June through August is the busiest time in the garden. Likewise September through November are taken up with kitchen work processing the harvest. Seems natural I would read fewer books during those six months. The seasonality just never occurred to me.
I post each book I finish on Goodreads and at the Read Recently page of this blog if interested. I also keep a spreadsheet.
Book reading appears to be a lost art in American society. I understand people are busy taking in information from the large number of sources that exploded after Tim Berners-Lee invented the World Wide Web in 1989. The web was popularized through the adaptation of web browsers in the mid-1990s. We bought our first home computer and logged in via dial-up on April 21, 1996. After that, it was Katie bar the gate with many more words than could be read by a single human. I think even artificial intelligence machines have trouble getting through all of it. All that said, I sort of understand it, yet believe individuals reading books is an important kind of experience that rewards us in tangible ways.
Online apps are not for everyone, yet if you are on Goodreads, I’d love to see what you are reading. Find me here and join my community!
Packinghouse Daughter: A Memoir by Cheri Register is a book I wouldn’t have found except for patronizing an excellent local used bookstore. They have a deal where you set an amount of money to spend, tell them your interests, and they locate books that match. I have yet to be disappointed by their choices. One of the interests I presented was in memoirs written by female authors. They likely didn’t know the story of Wilson & Company was connected to me in multiple ways.
My father worked in a hog processing facility with a kill floor and everything else mentioned in this book through to the fertilizer processing tanks. He died in a plant accident in 1969. I worked there too, for two summers while at university. I even crawled into one of the large processing tanks to help a millwright fix it, learning about lockout/tagout for the first time. The first part of the book resonates completely with my experience, even though Register was older than I am. It is useful to know this history of Wilson & Company in Albert Lea, Minnesota exists.
Register claims hesitancy about writing the memoir about Albert Lea because it was her father who worked at Wilson’s and experienced many of the issues she mentions. I don’t know who can better tell this story than such a daughter whose father worked there and was invested in the job and packing plant employee community. She did the research and the narrative is better for it. She could have gone easier on herself. Register died March 7, 2018.
I was struck by the description of people moving from farms to the city to work in meat packing. This was true of my family where my maternal great grandparents left central Illinois to live in Davenport in retirement. Four or five of their daughters worked in a defense plant making coats during World War II. My maternal grandmother did, and also worked a stint at the Oscar Mayer hog processing plant where Father and I worked. That cohort is now buried in local cemeteries. This part of the book also resonates with my experience.
An exodus from farming and rural areas continues today as agriculture has grown larger and requires fewer workers because of computer automation and changes in operations. Those who relocate, for lack of a better term, are not choosing meatpacking as a profession — or even as a job. With consolidation in the meatpacking industry and increased automation, there are simply fewer positions available. It is hard, dirty work as well. As a result, the job-driven movement from rural areas to cities no longer exists in the same way it did in Albert Lea during the period covered by this book.
I found Register’s narrative deeply resonated with my experiences. It is must reading for anyone interested in the specific history of Wilson & Company or in meat packing culture. With changes in the industry happening post-WWII era, that culture would disappear without books like this.
Ambient temperatures in the 40s have been melting snow and ice, leaving a dead landscape. No spring hope. No winter cover. Except for the lake, it’s just dead. It’s a good time to turn indoors to my writing.
I have three chapters remaining to draft in part two of my autobiography. In the story, I just concluded leaving paid work during the coronavirus pandemic. If the pandemic did one thing right, it made a clean break between the workplace and me, forcing me to live on a fixed income. The final chapters write quickly because they are so recent. Today I created three of them, and next I write about the coronavirus pandemic plus two other chapters with working titles of “Beginning of the end,” and “New beginnings.” It shouldn’t take long to finish the first draft. Then begins the process of going through the whole book for the first major rewrite. I expect there will be three or four of those before I’m ready to publish.
After the book is ready for publication, I don’t know. I’ve been focusing on this work so long, I hadn’t given much thought about what’s next. I want to revise the first book to clean up a few things identified by friends during the post-publication period. I also must see if there is continuity without repetition. Next year I should be able to declare everything finished.
The biggest predictable issue in our lives is Social Security doing nothing to avoid running out of money beginning as early as late 2032. Benefits will be cut automatically by 24 percent across the board if nothing is done to prevent going over this cliff. If anything, Republicans in charge of the federal government are going the wrong way. The One Big Beautiful Bill Act, and the Social Security Fairness Act, accelerated Social Security insolvency alongside well-known demographic challenges to its structure. An answer to the question “How do I make up for this loss in benefits?” needs finding. Counting on the Congress to do something is not an answer.
What that says is I have to return to paid work. I have no regrets about how my working life proceeded and ended.
Physiologically I am changing. I know this because I adopted a new morning exercise regimen and my conditioning schedule is outpacing the ability of my soft tissues to recover and adapt. After a good couple of weeks on the new regimen, my shoulders started to hurt. This is self-diagnosed as inflammation, not a chronic problem. I believe I’m right about that. I have to take it easy for a while to let my body catch up with my ambition. Apparently I am no longer young.
In the meanwhile, it’s nose to the grindstone with the book. If I can finish the first draft this year, that leaves me plenty of time to publish a final text in the first half of 2026. That would clear the deck for returning to the workforce, something I am loathe to do, yet may needs do.
Calling this project done for now. I went through all remaining boxes in the two stacks and prepped two more boxes for the library used book sale. There are five empty boxes and a good amount of new stuff placed in old boxes. This was the first major sort of my books since they arrived in 1993 and I built the shelves. I’m satisfied I have a better idea of what is available, which was the point.
Notes:
I found the rest of my books related to slavery and African-American studies. The Autobiography of W.E.B. DuBois is important to the literary discussion of the United States. If a 21st Century canon was relevant or possible, he would be in it. I don’t expect to reread the book, yet it earned a place on the shelf. I studied Stanley Elkins’ book Slavery in graduate school. I would be curious to reread it, and also read the criticisms of it. Up from Slavery by Booker T. Washington moves from box to shelf as well. On my to-do list is rearranging my African-American studies books.
I had more than a hundred business books. It was a really complete set as my work at the transportation and logistics company ended in 2009. The only ones I am keeping are Dale Carnegie’s books, which include one owned by my father, and an autographed copy of Out of the Crisis by W. Edwards Deming. I picked Deming up for a buck at a used bookstore in Sweetwater, Texas during the rattlesnake roundup.
I intentionally left political books alone. I have all the presidential memoirs I know about, beginning with Truman. The next reading here is if Barack Obama ever finishes the second volume of his presidential memoir. I’m not a fan of Trump and to my knowledge, he hasn’t written a memoir from his first term. Like with Nixon, I’ll likely wait until he is dead before considering purchasing any memoir. I bought a copy of Mike Pence’s 2022 vice presidential memoir So Help Me God for a buck at the library used book sale. It is occupying the spot where Obama’s book will go when published. Pence seems to have tried to tell a normal story of that period. Will know more if I get around to reading it. Life is short. So many books with limited time.
As I approach a new year of writing, I feel refreshed by The Great Sort. I feel better aware of my stuff and know where to find things again. Highly recommend it if you have a wall of boxes hanging about your home.
For years, my books about North American indigenous culture were tucked away in a box. I decided I was wrong about them and with newly opened space because of The Great Sort, I put them on a shelf. These are in addition to the works by and about Black Hawk which I always kept out, and those of Hyemeyohsts Storm which I kept out, yet now boxed away. I wrote about Chuck Storm as we called him here. The next step is to incorporate this literature into a reading plan.
Of these books, the author that might best fit into a canon of American Literature (if such a thing existed or was possible) is N. Scott Momaday, whose House Made of Dawn won the Pulitzer Prize in 1969. There are others here that remain quite good. I read what I read of these beginning in 1970 while at university. I don’t know where this is going, yet they are out and available in a prominent space. I won’t miss seeing them daily and expect to read some of them.
I mentioned the Time magazine purge. I came across a dozen copies of Harpers Magazine dated 1938 and 1942. I bought them at either an auction or a yard sale for a buck. They used to be property of the Mount Carroll, Illinois public library, yet now find themselves in The Big Sort. There are familiar authors inside: John Dos Passos, E.B. White, Peter Drucker, Margaret Bourke-White, Glenway Wescott, Eudora Welty, T.S. Eliot, Franz Werfel, and probably others I should recognize. At the stop on my desk, enroute to the recycling bin, I notice how many pages of book advertisements there are. The December 1938 issue has 44 pages by most of the major publishers. That says something about the role Harpers played in popular culture. If that didn’t give it away, the advertisement for New York department store Hammacher Schlemmer did.
There are four mover’s boxes of vinyl records which I will attempt to sell locally. I asked our child about them and there was only a single record of interest: Beethoven’s Fidelio. The ones I will keep are a small, undetermined number. I will keep the Red Gallagher album because he autographed it for me and grew up a block away from our home. I spent a good part of my life listening to these hundreds of records. While I still have a turntable, I need a new amplifier and don’t want to spend the money. Probably should sell the turntable as well.
I’m writing on Christmas Day and noticed how many empty boxes there are. The purge of books and magazines is having the desired effect. There are more boxes than things on the sorting tables. At this point, I will find something to fill most of the boxes, although I am weeding out different styles of boxes because I need them for book shipments to the public library. While I just began The Big Sort, it feels like it has been going on for a much longer time. In a way, it has.
This is the first blog post I made about Christmas on Dec. 25, 2007.
The meaning of Christmas is derived from my remembrance of the priests at Holy Family Catholic Church in Davenport genuflecting while reading John 1:14 “And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us…” There are many translations of this verse and the idea that an omniscient God would take human form remains a compelling idea. In order for our lives to have meaning, we should live them as Jesus did, through acts in human society.
If Jesus was the incarnate God, we are something less.
If the meaning of Christmas can be found in John 1:14, how should that affect us with our imperfections?
My Christmas story is about the coffee cup that we keep in our bins of Christmas decorations. It was a gift from Jacque and printed in the glaze are five reindeer around a typewriter consulting on a message. The reindeer at the keyboard has a red nose, and must be Rudolf. On the other side of the mug are misspelled the words “Merry Christmas,” presumably typed by Rudolf. At some point I chipped the cup and each year we discuss whether we should get rid of it because of the chip. I have always said no, although I should probably let go. The chipped cup with the animals trying to put a message into human language using human technology has become part of our Christmas tradition. Because it is so similar to the meaning of Christmas, I have trouble letting go of it. We have always ended up keeping the cup and I am using it now to hold the coffee I made this morning.
We humans can use some coffee on Christmas morning, and we need to put it in something.
When handling hundreds of books long packed away, a few will stand out. Not only do I want to keep those in this photo, I want to read or re-read them next year. It’s part of the process of the Great Sort.
While living in Mainz, Germany, I had a stamp made with my military address and Social Security number on it. Back then, we viewed the Social Security number as unique to us and if we got separated from any possession, the rightful owner could be found. It was embossed into our dog tags. We put it on clothing, imprinted it inside field boots, in books, on everything that would take ink. That was short-term thinking from a perspective of how many people today would like to get hold of that number and use it for theft and other evil purposes. Wasn’t the best idea.
A substantial part of the Great Sort has been spent searching for these stamped locators and either blacking them out or cutting them off.
It has been hard to persist more than a few hours without getting impatient and stuffing books back into another box and into the new stacks I am building. At that point I must resist the urge, turn off the lights, and find something else to do. I want this to be a final sort. I’m labeling and dating the outside of the boxes so I know what’s in them and when I last touched the books. I doubt I will return to many of the boxes.
In the display area of my writing space I have about 3,000 books. I pulled out and boxed all the books of music. The vinyl long playing records will get boxed, reunited with the others I have, and then finally disposed of. This creates more space for active books and some of it will fill with the three-ring binders I am making as I write my autobiography. It should be a more useful (to a writer) library.
I want the Great Sort to be finished by Spring. I think that is doable even as I enter seedling planting time next month, especially if I stick with it a couple hours per day. The purpose of the work is to improve how I store research materials and become a better writer. I’m hopeful at this point. all of that will be the Great Sort’s outcome.
Mailing label from the first apartment where I wrote after university.
I spent two hours rearranging poetry books in my stacks. I decided eight 23-inch shelves was enough poetry and some had to go. Now there is an eight-inch stack of poetry books awaiting disposition. Poetry measured in inches.
I rearranged the poetry so more in which I have interest rest at eye level. On top are the smaller-sized books and below that is the canon. You know, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dante, Donne, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Swift, Browning, and Blake. The exception is Chaucer and Shakespeare’s plays are across the room because the poetry shelves weren’t tall enough.
The other exception, or rather objection to the canon, is where are the women? You know, Charlotte Smith, Felicia Hemens, Mary Robinson, Anna Laeticia Barbauld, and maybe others. They were largely erased by the male authors of the canon. I don’t own any of them or I’d fit them in.
Don’t get me started on an American canon. Somewhere in the 20th Century that broke down and can never be repaired.
This is my current life when I am not writing. Opening about 100 boxes of books and deciding which to keep and which to donate. Already I’ve taken a dozen boxes to the library’s used book sale. There will be more.
I used to stamp my name and address in every book I bought. My hands have been on books from every place I lived this month. Some of the fifty year old paper has changed. Books from the 19th century crumble in my hands. I took one old book to a used bookshop to consult about the damage. This is a practical task that should involve logic. It’s more emotional than expected.
There is material for multiple posts in this project. I have to wait and see what I get into before knowing what their subject will be. I hope you are along for the ride.
Journey Home 
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