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.
Pre-dawn light on the state park trail on July 2, 2025.
Ours is a small family. The size influences how we celebrate holidays, which is less often as we age. When I was younger, it was very Polish of me to want each holiday to be a special occasion. In the rural Minnesota community where my forebear Maciej Nadolski settled, holiday celebrations were well-organized, especially Easter and Christmas. In some cases, a procession developed on the outlying Polish farms and grew as it visited each of scores of farmsteads enroute to town. It meandered through the countryside, collecting people from their homes, and ended at the church they built when the land was deeded from the railroad. All that pageantry has gotten sanded off in the wood shed of time. Also, there are automobiles now.
Independence Day falls into the category of “day off work.” When I was in the paid workforce, I most often had to work on the holiday. We sometimes watched organized fireworks displays. When I was more active in politics and had the day off, I traveled several miles north to Ely and walked with the Democrats in their city’s Independence Day parade. I haven’t done either of those things in a long time.
The big Independence Day, in 1976, I was on leave from the military and spent the day at Mother’s house. Because I hadn’t known in advance I would return home for the holiday, I had no plans. It didn’t bother me, either. I was doing my duty to serve the country. If folks wanted to celebrate signing the document, that was fine with me.
Next year is the 250th anniversary of signing the Declaration of Independence. The president came to Iowa yesterday to kick off his celebration. I’m not aware of the plans the way I was for the bicentennial. However, it seems like the kind of broad, inclusive planning that took place in 1976 is missing for 2026. Apparently our president will be telling us what to do. No thank you.
This year on the holiday I will put the garage door up and hang my American flag above it. Beyond that, I’m not sure what I will do, except go on living. Maybe for old times sake, I’ll get a copy of the Declaration of Independence and read it.
Our child asked for an authentic copy of the Declaration of Independence for their bug-out bag so I gave them mine. It is not really American to need a bug-out bag, yet here we are, after almost 250 years. Hopefully we can mind our own business and no one will come after us. If they do, we must be ready.
This is one of my favorite explanations about Independence Day from National Geographic Kids: “Also called the Fourth of July, Independence Day marks the historic date in 1776 when the Declaration of Independence was approved by the Continental Congress. The written declaration stated that the American colonies were tired of being ruled by Great Britain.” That word “tired” really hits home.
Have a happy Independence Day! Cut back on the fireworks, moderate consumption of stuff you know you should, and rest up for the campaign of a lifetime as we head into the November election!
We celebrated a minimalist Christmas this year. My spouse and I left the holiday decorations in their boxes, did not plan a special menu, and made some cards to send to a few friends. Ambient temperature was 53 degrees Fahrenheit at 3 a.m. on Christmas Day, and rain is in the forecast. It will be a time for reflection.
The first Christmas I think of is when I was in first grade. I had a discussion with Mother about whether Santa Claus was a real person, and that year imagined I saw him flying through the sky with his reindeer. Father spend a lot of time in the basement of our rented home near Wonder Bakery on River Drive. He was building me a desk to keep in my room for school studies. I rapidly outgrew it and still have it. Our child indicated they don’t want it when I’m gone. I’m okay with finding another home for it.
Midnight Mass was an annual Christmas activity after we moved to Marquette Street in 1959. I remember walking the block and a half to the church as snow fell upon us. It was one of the best-attended services of the year, so we had to go early to ensure getting a seat. My maternal grandmother was the main force of religion in our family and she herded us along. Holy Family Catholic Church was a center of our family life. Mother and Father were married there, Grandmother worked as a housekeeper in the rectory. Mother worked in the school cafeteria. I was baptized and confirmed there, as were my siblings, and we kids attended grade school at the parish school.
When I left home in 1970, Christmas became mostly a time of traveling home for the holiday. At university, I didn’t want to stay in the dorm over the long Christmas break, so I went home. I do not have living memory of those Christmases. It was never the same after Father died in 1969. When I enlisted in the military in 1976, I came home for Christmas maybe once. It was a long way from Germany where I was stationed.
After our wedding we split holiday time between Ames and Davenport where our parents lived. When our child was born, it felt important for grandparents and great grandparents to have time with them and the end of year holidays were a good time to do that. It was never our holiday because of the travel. It was an important duty of parenting we fulfilled as best we could.
Since our child left Iowa in 2007, Christmas has been hit or miss. There were good ones, and average ones. At some point we stopped doing anything special. We haven’t unboxed the decorations in a few years. We make an effort to call important people in our lives, yet that gets spread over the time between Dec. 18 (our wedding anniversary) and New Year’s Day. Christmas Day is no longer as special as it once was.
According to the Social Security life expectancy calculator, a reasonable expectation is I will have 14 more Christmases and my spouse will have 16. I expect to do everything possible to make them the best we can. Merry Christmas dear readers. Have a happy 2024!
We collaborated on the Thanksgiving Day menu yet I did most of the cooking. I made baked beans, wild rice, steamed broccoli, sweet potato and apple sauce. No specific dessert yet the baked beans served double duty because of how much brown sugar was in them. I made applesauce in the morning from the last of the cooking apples in storage. It was prelude to making apple sauce cake, yet I didn’t get that far.
I used the Social Security Administration life expectancy calculator and found I can expect to live 14 more years based on gender and birth date. One presumes the SSA has more data than most to make this calculation. It doesn’t seem like a lot: 14 more Thanksgivings, 14 more garden harvests, 14 more springs and summers, 14 more winter writing sessions… I don’t look forward to reading all the obituaries yet I will. Hopefully my name won’t be among them until the statistics have been borne out. Fourteen is a finite number. As we all should know, it is 14, plus or minus.
Over time I watched the 1994 film The Shawshank Redemption multiple times. As the character Andy Dufresne said in a letter to his friend Ellis Boyd Redding, “Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” That is, unless one consults with the Social Security Administration. After which we’ll have a pretty good idea when death is near.
The character Dufresne also famously said, “Get busy living, or get busy dying.” It’s good advice, especially as winter approaches and we get on with our lives.
Geese hanging around, waiting to fly south, Nov. 22, 2023.
Stars were bright at 4:45 a.m. despite a neighbor’s holiday lights interfering with the darkened sky. Orion and Ursa Major were easily evident, as were outdoors lights in the yards of distant neighbors. Points of light all jumbled together to create a personal galaxy. So began a day of cooking for us and countless others scattered across the landscape. It is American Thanksgiving and eating well is a main part of the holiday.
Shortly after Threads launched on July 5, 2023, I signed up for an account. I deactivated my Twitter account yesterday after giving Threads a thorough test drive, investigating the consequences of switching, and saying my goodbyes to those left on the decimated platform who still followed me. I’ll be fine. It was time to choose and I could not adapt to the social media platform Twitter became after its acquisition by Elon Musk.
I tried out all the social media groups to which I belong. Everything I don’t use is tucked in a bookmarks folder. Threads will be my main microblogging site. It’s different going from 1,348 followers to 100, yet I’m committed to change and already am getting to know people behind accounts on the new platform. Friends from other platforms are joining us.
This week, Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and others in the administration joined Threads. Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg has been on the platform as long as I have. I suspect these new presences will release a number of people who have been holding back in making a change. News media and corporate accounts may be the last to arrive because they continue to prefer to present breaking news on X. They will come around, I predict, because the eyeballs will increasingly be on Threads.
So, that’s that. I’ll say no more about social media for a while.
Yesterday marked 60 years since the JFK assassination. I have living memory of that day, which means I see my former self in those moments related to the news spreading to Iowa. I am still standing with the crossing guard at Fillmore and Locust Streets when she tells me the news. I am still walking south on Fillmore toward the school. I am still sitting in the darkened classroom waiting for news as to whether the president would live. These memories seem likely to stick with me as long as I am sentient. They say the book Case Closed: Lee Harvey Oswald and the Assassination of JFK by Gerald Posner is the final word on who killed JFK. When I get time and resources to buy a copy, I will. I know how the book turns out.
I’m going outdoors to do some star gazing before heading to the kitchen. The world remains full of wonder and with our engagement, decisions can be made. We pick our battles, hopefully decide well, and move on.
The author’s first Thanksgiving in 1952 with Father and my maternal grandmother. Photo by Mother.
It would be great to write just one more post about Thanksgiving and be done with the holiday. Aside from the fact certain relatives get time off because of it, Turkey Day serves no useful purpose.
Politicians make hay over the cost of Thanksgiving dinner. The American Farm Bureau Association reported a 4.5 percent drop in price for the meal this year compared to last. The average cost of a dinner for ten people was $61.17, they said, although the longer term trend is an increase since 2019. Democrats focus on the price decrease, Republicans nit pick the data and find incremental increases, regardless of AFBA reporting. For example, the price of sauces and gravies is up 7.5 percent, reported my congresswoman. I think the purpose of the holiday is to be thankful for what we have and make sure everyone eats this day regardless of means. That gets lost in our politics.
There is social pressure to develop a narrative in response to the question, “How was your Thanksgiving?” Times I responded with “we didn’t do anything special,” killed the conversation. Years we prepared a special meal were at home, my spouse and myself. Because our child works in the entertainment industry, they usually had to work Thanksgiving. Who needs such social pressure? I’d rather discuss more important matters.
Thanksgiving is a boon to retailers and if one ventures out during the days before the holiday, a well-curated shopping list combined with excellent knowledge of store layouts is essential to maintaining good mental health. I went out on Monday and the stores were already crowded. Our specialty items for the big meal — sweet potatoes and wild rice — were already in the pantry so I stocked up with a 20-pound bag of organic rice, salt for the water softener, items for the freezer, and plant-based beverages. We were almost out of some items, otherwise I would have avoided shopping completely.
While growing up, Thanksgiving was a big deal and a living celebration. After Father died in 1969, the holidays weren’t as much fun any more. Eventually my side of the family just stopped celebrating Thanksgiving. In retrospect, my maternal grandmother was the person who held this tradition together. She died in 1991.
I no longer feel particularly alone on Thanksgiving, even if my spouse is away from home. With telephones and video conferencing, they day is highlighted by such contact and the opportunity to get caught up with each other. Anymore, contact doesn’t always happen on that Thursday, but during the days before and after.
Below is a Thanksgiving dinner we prepared for the two of us in 2013. We had leftovers for a week. We no longer prepare such massive feasts. Rice and beans makes a complete meal. Throw in a sweet potato and a relish tray and we are good to go.
Thanksgiving dinner in 2013.
I wish readers a happy holiday season. Hopefully we each have plenty for which to be thankful. Thanks for reading.
In 2022 I wrote how I felt about Labor Day: “Even though I retired during the pandemic, and its been many years since I carried a union card, I believe I’ll take the day off, work at home, and thank a union.” At 11.3 percent of the workforce, there are not that many American workers represented by a union. The number is down by 0.3 percent over last year, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics.
The Iowa City Federation of Labor is hosting a Labor Day picnic at City Park this afternoon. When I was more involved with politics, I attended the annual event. What I found was it was difficult to relate to young union families with children. It is their event. Rather than feel alienated as a “friend of labor” once a year, I no longer attend. I’m okay with that. The union members in attendance likely won’t miss me.
It is hard to avoid talking about class on Labor Day. George Carlin famously said there are three classes in the United States, the rich who have all the money and don’t pay taxes, the middle class who do all the work and pay all the taxes, and the poor who exist to keep the middle class in line as a warning of what they might become. Carlin was funnier when he said this. The division between the rich and everyone else is no laughing matter.
My member of Congress sent her weekly update Sunday afternoon and it serves as an example of how Republicans attempt to co-opt the middle-class. There was no mention of the Labor Day Federal Holiday in it.
Miller-Meeks believes H.R. 1, The Lower Energy Costs Act is the answer to what’s troubling the middle class. The bill passed the House with four Democratic votes and is stalled in the Senate. I described the bill previously here. The bill represents a rejection of the Biden administration energy policy and establishes a view of the middle class that may sound good yet is off base. Here is the second paragraph from the email.
The consequences of high energy costs are far-reaching, particularly for working-class families who find themselves grappling with the rising cost of living. As gas prices linger almost $2 higher than they were when President Biden took office, many families are left to make difficult choices between essentials like groceries and rent. The relationship between energy policy and the price of goods is undeniable as American companies rely heavily on having affordable energy for both manufacturing and transportation. In fact, a major component of food costs is energy, which affects average Americans every day with much higher food prices. With gas prices nearly doubling in recent years, American companies of all sizes are left with no choice but to raise the prices of the goods they produce to survive financially. With an abundance of energy resources on American soil, hardworking Americans should never be forced to make tough financial decisions on their most basic needs.
Miller-Meeks Weekly Script, Sept. 3, 2023.
Was there ever a time when people did not grapple with the rising cost of living? No. Since I can remember, our family never had enough money to do everything we wanted. Each bill we got was prioritized in the order of payment. There were good times when we felt we could splurge on a vacation, but mostly, we held our nose to the grindstone to pay for our child’s education, pay off the mortgage, and keep functioning in society. Grappling to meet household financial needs is neither Republican nor Democratic. What is significant is the usage brings “working-class families” under the Republican tent. This is not a minor point.
While middle-class families may be familiar with gas prices when they fuel up, things get complicated when discussing why the local prices increased.
We can see the price at the convenience mart or gas station is higher than in recent memory. Two dollars higher than when Biden took office? No. She rounded up to simplify for the masses. According to the U.S. Energy Information Agency, the U.S. All Grades All Formulations Retail Gasoline Price per gallon was $2.420 in January 2021 when Biden was inaugurated. It was $3.954 per gallon last month. Gas prices doubled in recent years? No. Half of $3.954 is $1.98. Gas prices have not been consistently below that number since April 2004, although they did hit it for a single month after Trump took office. The congresswoman is selling us subtle woof tickets here.
By sanding the specifics off her message, Miller-Meeks seeks to gain buy-in to a conservative view of how we live. “Grappling the rising cost of living,” “gas prices,” “difficult choices between essentials like groceries and rent,” and “hardworking Americans,” are all political tropes. As gossip columnist Louella Parsons might have said, they are nothing burgers. The evenly-worded message lures the unsuspecting in, and I believe gains the congresswoman votes.
To make lives of middle-class working Americans better, Republicans should support universal healthcare, lifting the cap on Social Security taxes, raising the minimum wage, taxing the rich, smart regulation of business, and our K-12 public school system. I don’t hear any of that from the Republican who represents me in the Congress. If she did want to support the middle class, she might turn her attention to some of these instead of to energy policy which masks the large corporate entities who are pulling the strings on what gets done in Washington.
Best wishes for a happy Labor Day to all my card-carrying union buddies. You earned this holiday.
The Thursday before Ash Wednesday is celebrated as Weiberfastnacht in the German Rhineland. It is a day when women assert their dominance by cutting off the neckties of men they encounter. Some of us long recognized that women should be in charge of society, and not only on “Silly Thursday” as today is known. Helau! to those who celebrate.
We had a dusting of snow overnight in Big Grove Township. It was lightly falling when I looked out the pre-dawn window and is expected to continue into tonight. It may be a proper blizzard and a good day to get indoors work done. I’m writing today about my return from Mainz and the work I did at an apartment at Five Points.
When I returned to Iowa from Germany I stayed at Mother’s house for a week or so, and then found an apartment at Five Points in Northwest Davenport. I was settling into my new place by Nov. 11, 1979.
We called it Five Points because it was the intersection of Division Street, West Locust Street and Hickory Grove Road. From the intersection there were five directions one could go. All five led to distinctly different parts of the city. There is another five points located in the city’s poorer district, although it is not well known among the majority white population.
Hickory Grove Road used to be a wagon trail before the arrival of paved roads. Follow it northwest and it intersects with U.S. Highway 6, not far from the place Jack Kerouac wrote about in On the Road.
“The sun was going down, I walked, after a few cold beers, to the edge of town, and it was a long walk,” Kerouac wrote. “All the men were driving home from work, wearing railroad hats, baseball hats, all kinds of hats, just like after work in any town anywhere. One of them gave me a ride up the hill and left me at a lonely crossroads at the edge of the prairie. It was beautiful there.” For me, it was a place to stay while I figured out my future. I wasn’t sure which direction I would go.
Excerpt from an autobiography in progress, Feb. 16, 2023.
I have living memory of that apartment at Five Points. While I was in Europe, a number of friends from high school had gotten married and I missed all of their weddings. Now that I was back, I ordered wedding gifts from a mail order catalogue so I could visit with them individually, present the gift, and get caught up on our lives.
The UPS delivery person was a high school classmate. He attended elementary school at Saint Vincent’s where since 1895, the Catholic Church had cared for children as an orphanage and school. My friend said he could get me a job at UPS if I wanted. If I had taken him up on the offer, I would likely have earned far more than I did during my worklife. I thanked him and declined. He ended up retiring early and moving to Florida.
I wrapped all the gifts and contacted my friends by telephone to set up dates. It wasn’t like being at their wedding, yet it was something positive. If I had stayed in Davenport, I would have attended their weddings and maybe closed in on one of my own. Marriage had not been a priority for me while in the military or as I returned to Iowa.
I don’t celebrate carnival any longer, except on social media. I used to join friends to attend the annual Rose Monday Parade in Mainz near the thousand-year-old Saint Martin’s Cathedral. It was a big deal, with hundreds of thousands of people in attendance. I note the date of my settling in at Five Points was the same as the beginning of the carnival season in Germany. A coincidence, I suppose… although maybe not.
As snow falls in Big Grove Township, we are bunkered in with provisions. I don’t plan to wear a necktie, yet if we get into a celebratory mood, I would. Happy Weiberfastnacht to those who celebrate… and Helau!
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