Category Archives: Just for fun

On My Five Year Blogiversary

On January 25, 2019, I took a big breath and hit “Publish” on sherribassner.com.  In preparation for writing this essay, I decided to reread all I’ve written over these five years: about 130 essays, and around 156,000 words.  It took me a while.  My first thought was, “Wow—I’ve written a book.  Maybe two books.”  I guess I can say that’s one life goal met.

My second thought was, “Just goes to show—when you really have passion for something and make it a priority, you can do big things.”  To get to this point, I had to first figure out HOW to create a blog.  I started, cleverly, by Googling, “How to create a blog.”  Oftentimes, for me, just that first step is an impassable barrier.  But I found a tutorial on how to create a website and set up a basic blog (the creator got a commission from my hosting site) and got going.  Putting my writing out there was really scary.  I am not known for having a thick skin but if I was going to do this, I had to accept the vulnerability.  I oscillated between just wanting to keep this among my friends and family and, of course, wanting to be a viral sensation and Oprah or Brené Brown getting me a book deal.  I’m pretty happy with where things have landed. I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 subscribers, which means that in addition to my close friends and family, there are a bunch of acquaintances and even people I don’t know at all who felt compelled enough by something I wrote to go through the process of subscribing.  In addition to the subscribers, each post gets somewhere around an additional 50-100 hits.  While this doesn’t really sound like a lot of people, I am still amazed that that many people occasionally read something I wrote!  Know that I am so honored each time one of you chooses to read an essay.

As I read through the body of work, I noticed a few things.  First, that the initial year was pretty strong!  I credit both Trish’s editing skill (who knew I mixed tenses so frequently?) and the fact that most of those first essays were thoughts that had been clogging my brain for years.  If you are new-ish to the blog and are looking for those essays focused more on career coaching, you’ll find most of them in those first two years.  Those lessons still resonate.  As time went on and I began to write more about “life lessons,” the pull-through of those topics I coached on was pretty clear.  It’s a reminder to all of us that there is not a big difference between effective behavior in the workplace and effective behavior in life—as well as the importance of being your authentic self in both arenas.

My favorite pieces tend to be the “theme arcs.”  Early on there was the three part-er on Transitioning to Retirement.  A bit later was a deep series on creating sustainable change in yourself, anchored by the example of the weight loss journey that Trish and I went on during the pandemic.  I have written many times in these essays that I know I am not breaking new philosophical ground with what I write.  I hope, though, that I am finding ways of expressing thoughts that help you better internalize and then act on the lessons.  I know when I read on personal growth, I am rarely confronted with brand new thinking.  However, I am often exposed to ways of thinking about a topic that make me say, “I never thought about it that way” which helps me internalize and use a thought more effectively.  I hope I’ve been able to occasionally do that for some of you.

I also hope I’ve made you laugh a bit.  My all-time favorite essay has to be A Day in the Life, the story of when Trish and I got new cell phones.  I can be a very serious person, especially in my writing, yet I try to inject humor when I can.  Laughing, particularly laughing at yourself, is one of the healthiest things you can do.  This is a crazy world we live in and it can be easy to get caught up in all the drama.  One of my themes continues to be taking a deep breath and recognizing that you can only control so much.  Giving yourself the grace to laugh and release a little of that external stress gives you the fortitude and energy to then work to effect change outward.

Speaking of external stressors, 2020 provided a lot of food for thought and writing.  What a year that was!  A global pandemic, a contentious election, and a lot of social unrest.  It was fascinating to live through that.  My writing during that time captured the angst, yet I was glad to see I didn’t totally dwell on it.  My journal is another story!  And, when I was going through my hard drive printing out essays, I found several drafts that I had written during that time that I just couldn’t publish.  There was a lot of rage that I wasn’t comfortable sharing.

Things have settled down a bit for now, yet I know there will still be much to write about going forward.  I do feel, though, that I am at a bit of an inflection point.  To me, the Abecedarium started to become a bit derivative toward the end.  While I was gratified to see that I hadn’t repeated myself too much in the bulk of my writing, over these last few months I kept circling around the same thoughts.  Maybe it was the pressure of my self-imposed biweekly publishing deadline.  Maybe I just need to take a little time to reset.

I’m going to close this reflective essay with a request.  Over these last five years, I’ve gotten amazing feedback and encouragement from so many of you.  If you have some thoughts to share with me on what kinds of essays you’ve enjoyed the most or found most useful, I would appreciate hearing that.  Is there anything in particular you’d like me to write about more (or less)?  I know I’m going to keep this blog going for at least a little while longer (I just re-upped the hosting fees for another year) but I am going to back off the biweekly posting goal.  I want to make sure when I post something, it is on a topic I have felt strongly about.  My frequency will be more unpredictable.  (Don’t worry—there are at least three topics going on in my head right now.)

Thank you for joining me on this very personal journey.  As noted above, I am humbled that you have taken the time to read some of my writing and have found it enjoyable/useful.  While I started writing for me, I keep writing for you.  Oh, and if anyone has any thoughts on how I might get a book deal, I’m all ears!  Apparently, I’m going to need the income since Trish says she’s going to start charging me editing.

“Z” is for Zoo

Happy New Year, my loyal readers, and welcome to the final installment of our year-long Abecedarium!  I’ve thought long and hard about the best way to wrap up this journey.  I could have written some sort of “best of” list, which seems too common at the end of a year.  I could have written some deep thoughts about this journey we’ve been on together.  But, since the year-end is usually a Zoo for us all, I thought humor might be the best way to go.  Herewith, a slightly fictionalized recap of these last two weeks, presented in four parts, since while the truth has its funny moments, making some stuff up is way more fun.  I’ll leave it up to you to determine what is fact and what is fiction!

Part One:  The Great Eating (and Drinking)

The week leading up to Christmas is a time of social gatherings, eating, drinking, and general merry making.  As a Jew, I did not really participate in much of this most of my life.  Hannukah has its latkes and brisket, but it doesn’t hold a candle (pun intended) to what I’ve stepped into since I slid into Trish’s social circle.  All I want to do during this week is sleep, eat beans, and feel normal.  Instead, I never know what day it is, I have heartburn every night along with alcohol-induced insomnia, and a daily 5:00 am wake-up call from Baxter.  OK, so the Baxter wake-up call happens every day but it’s more annoying to have a kitten wail one inch from your face when you are uncomfortable and haven’t slept.

Our engagements included: 

  • Three “light” dinners at friends’ houses, involving delicious but constipating appetizers, wine, lots of red meat, wine, heavy desserts, wine, and cookies.  Always cookies.  And wine.
  • A Christmas cookie bake sale to support a cat rescue (more cookies).
  • A traditional Christmas Eve Eve neighborhood party (more wine, “signature” cocktails, constipating appetizers, heavy desserts, along with conversations for hours amidst so much background noise that my aging hearing only picked up half of what was said).
  • Christmas Eve with part of the family that involved (all together now) wine, constipating appetizers, and cookies.

By the time Christmas morning broke, I was exhausted.

Part Two: Presents

Trish and I live by a certain Fairness Doctrine.  We split household chores and are constantly afraid the other one is doing “more” so we fight to scoop the cat litter or take out the trash.  Gift-giving is no different.  My birthday falls a week before hers, so if I feel she has “outdone” me in the gift-buying, I have a week to fill in gaps.  But Christmas morning means we open gifts at the same time, so there is always a little panic.  Plus, since I have a really hard time keeping gifts until the appointed day, I tend to wrap them as soon as I buy them and put them away.  This means I forget what I’ve bought her.  The bad part of this characteristic is that I over buy.  The good part is that her gift-opening is just as exciting for me as it is for her!  I can’t wait to see what I got her!

This Christmas morning was wonderful.  Baxter let me sleep until almost 6:00 am.  We put the Yule Log channel on the TV.  We made decadent breakfasts, partly to hold us until the family gathering and partly because, well, why not?  We ate a few cookies.  Here are the winners of the 2023 Gift Awards:

  • Best Gift I Asked For:  A T-shirt from the Drunk Phils Fans Facebook page.  We are big fans of our Phillies (baseball team) and, as such, complain about them all the time.  This Facebook page is a riot—and they have merch.  Proceeds (supposedly) go to local charities.  Their motto:  Our Bases are Always Loaded.  I will wear that T-shirt with pride!
  • Best Gift I didn’t Ask For:  The book What an Owl Knows.  I’m sure it was on my wishlist.  A non-fiction book about owls.  Nothing could be better!  I tend not to buy myself books anymore because I still have SO MANY that need to be read.  However, I can’t wait to dig into this one!
  • Riskiest Gift: An Instant Pot.  I told Trish I did NOT want an Instant Pot because I get skittish about pressure cookers.  I have no idea why.  I must have had an accident with one in a previous life.  However, I have been intrigued and three of my favorite people have one.  Over the last week or so, I’ve been watching videos, joining Facebook groups, and perusing recipe websites.  I’m getting excited!  I know I’m going to love it.  I think today is going to be the day that I will boil water and hope I don’t blow the house up.

Part Three:  Family

Trish’s brother and his wife have been hosting the Family Christmas for years now and it is always an amazing day.  This year began with Trish volunteering me to make an appetizer that a foodie friend of ours had made during the Week of Eating festivities.  I had never made it before.  Now I was going to be making it for my in-laws who, I admit, I am still trying to impress nine years in.  This appetizer was a two-day prep affair and had to be served warm.  They weren’t pretty, but they tasted decent.  I butlered them around the house and since every time I turned around, her brother was there to grab another one, I think I did good.

Besides the wine, constipating appetizers (not mine), wine, red meat, wine, heavy desserts, and cookies (and wine), the best part of Christmas Day is the Reindeer Games.  Trish has a big family and almost everyone participates which makes this loads of fun.  There are always abusive gag gifts.  The only one I will share in this G-rated blog was the coaster we were given with a picture of a cat saying, “Let’s sit down and discuss what happened to my testicles.”  This, I assume, was for Baxter. The highlight this year was the Ball o’ Prizes:  a bunch of small prizes (candy, airplane-size bottles of booze, gift cards) wrapped in layers of saran wrap that you need to unroll while wearing oven mitts.  You have until the next person in line rolls doubles on a pair of dice. Since there had already been much wine, hilarity ensued and was captured on video.  And posted to Facebook, where it will live forever.

After Christmas, Trish and I boarded a plane to Atlanta to visit my family and celebrate my Mom’s 90th birthday.  By now, we were both exhausted, hadn’t slept, and our systems are totally out of whack.  But, hey!  Time for more wine, appies, foods we’re not used to eating, wine, a little Fireball, and more social interaction than my worn-out psyche had absorbed in a long time.  Yet we loved every minute!  Mom’s birthday lunch is the first time the whole family had been together in ages since my California Girl niece and I are rarely in Atlanta at the same time.  We sat around a big round table at Mom’s favorite Chinese restaurant and fêted our matriarch.  I could feel my Dad’s presence.

Part Four:  The Re-entry

We headed home the day of New Years Eve.  I, of course, woke up at 3:00 and couldn’t get back to sleep.  The Uber picked us up at 6:00 for a 9:00 am flight because the Atlanta airport is so busy.  Except for THAT day.  No traffic.  No line at security.  We were at the gate before 7:00.  We treated ourselves to one more large meal (served at a restaurant) and boarded on time.  Then we sat on the plane for three hours in a queue to get de-iced.  I think they need to de-ice planes maybe once every three years in Atlanta.  Lucky us!  We rolled in the door some time mid-afternoon, just in time to watch the Eagles lose yet another game they should have won.  We slept 10 hours that night.  I made a big pot of 16 bean soup the next day.

We were tired and cranky and yet happy.  It was an outstanding holiday season.  We all feel pressured to have a Hallmark Holiday, but real life is messy.  People fight and get sick and misbehave, but they also show up and laugh and love.  So much social interaction does drain this introvert but it also fills me up.  In the end, all we have is each other.  Let’s have a little wine, some cookies, and enjoy that.

“Y” is for Yesterday

Can you believe that we are at the penultimate essay of our year-long Abecedarium?  This process has been a blast.  I admit that I have mostly forced a title starting with the appropriate letter of the alphabet based upon whatever was streaming through my head at the time.  However, that has made me appraise my ponderings more deeply, as well as more frequently, between essays.  I hope you have enjoyed this journey as much as I have.  These last couple of weeks, I’ve been ruminating on Yesterdays.

This past week I had an MRI (annual screening test).  The scan takes about a half hour, so while I’m lying prone on the sled inside that tube listening to the banging of whatever bangs inside the MRI, I have a lot of time to think.  And I often think about my mortality.  This year, I asked them to play ‘70s music.  So, in addition to thinking about my life looking forward, with the music of my youth blaring in my ears I was also thinking about the years past.

I’ve noted often that I have struggled my entire adult life with living in the present.  Listening to those songs from my youth, I marveled at how easily I lived in the moment back then.  Those songs made me think of warm spring days, lying on the pole vault mats after track practice listening to music and talking.  They made me think of long summer days, which I mostly spent in the high school gym working on my jump shot.  They made me think of the first day of school in the fall, full of hope and anxiety.  And everyone always looked so different when we came back together to start the school year!  Time passed slowly back then.  Four years in high school felt like an eternity.  Four years in college went by so much faster.  Four years in grad school passed so quickly!  Well, individual days seemed slow, but the entire process seemed fast.  Now, four years of just “life” passes in the blink of an eye.  I want it to slow down.  I want to savor each day more because I appreciate each day more now.

Earlier this month, my bestie had a milestone birthday and a few of us jetted off to New Orleans to celebrate.  At one point, I started giving her some good natured grief about getting older.  Asking her how she felt about this birthday, she didn’t miss a beat.  She said, “It’s a privilege.”  I absolutely loved that response.  She’s right.  Many people don’t get the privilege of reaching our age.  When I was in my 20s and 30s, “60” seemed really old.  With life expectancies at that time barely in the 70s, I guess that thinking wasn’t too far off the mark.  It also seemed very far away for me.  I barely gave a thought to what my life might be like in my 60s or what I should be doing in my 20s and 30s to prepare for that stage in my life.  (Except for saving money.  Thank you, Mom and Dad, for teaching me basic fiscal literacy!)  My thoughts were filled with building my career, building my social life, always focused on “getting through” the current stressor.  It wasn’t until I retired that I started realizing that what came next was less important than living fully today.

I don’t, of course, live mindfully every day.  I have my routines.  There is the class-of-the-day at the Y.  All the daily challenges on my iPad games.  All the email newsletters that need to be read.  Then it’s lunchtime already.  Then I go into a food coma and read more or play more games.  Maybe there is an errand or two.  Maybe a phone call or two.  Before I know it, it’s time for my daily check in with Mom and then time to make dinner. 

Every year, as we move into the latter half of December, media outlets start looking back over the past twelve months to remind us of the good, the bad, and the ugly.  What always strikes me are the lists of famous people who have passed over the year.  That list used to be populated by people with whom I mostly had a passing awareness.  Now those lists include a number of my contemporaries, or those not much older but who have been fixtures in my life.

To emphasize this feeling of mortality, I found out I lost a friend earlier this week.  Not a close friend, just someone in whose orbit I circulated for a few years and someone I respected immensely.  I ruined that friendship through a hurtful selfish act.  I owned up to it; apologized; did not make excuses nor throw anyone else under the bus.  She graciously heard me out.  I determined the best way I could respect her was by exiting her orbit.  Most definitely my loss.  The indiscretions of youth have a cost.  I have worked to learn from that experience by, first, trying not to make stupid selfish decisions.  Since no human is capable of avoiding that completely, I then work to own my actions.  There is a reason personal accountability is a hot button for me.  Since I have embraced the pain and embarrassment of owning my actions and words, I expect the same from others.  Unfortunately, taking ownership does not grant you forgiveness.  That’s up to the other party.  But part of living mindfully is doing the right thing because it’s the right thing—not to get a certain outcome.

I am not breaking new philosophical ground with these thoughts.  We all know we need to slow down and live with more intention.  This time of year, we get lots of reminders of that, which is something I appreciate.  Simultaneously looking forward and backward has the paradoxical effect of helping me live in the present.  Life can change in an instant, as I also was reminded this week.  A relative on Trish’s side had a bad accident at work.  He is badly hurt and we are praying for his recovery.  As of this writing, we still do not know the full extent of his injuries, nor his long term prognosis.  I am doing what I do:  cooking for his family.  One instant, one phone call and your life changes.  We don’t think about that all the time because we’d be paralyzed with anxiety if we did.  It’s a good idea to think about it every now and then, though.  It reminds us to live mindfully; to treat people with kindness; to own your issues; to forgive others theirs.  I didn’t know any of this in those long ago yesterdays.  I just lived each day as it came.  Now, as Beth says, I know each day is a privilege.  I don’t want to forget that.

“X” is for Xena

For years now I’ve been wanting to pen an essay entitled “Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned from Xena: Warrior Princess.”  This Abecedarium has finally given me my chance!

“Xena: Warrior Princess” is a TV show that aired for seven years, spanning the late 1990’s into the early 2000’s.  It followed the exploits and adventures of a warrior woman and her trusty “sidekick” Gabrielle as they fought injustice, Greek Gods, and an anachronistic list of historical figures (she fought both Julius Ceasar and Alexander the Great, among many others).  The show aired at a pivotal time in my life and became an important touchstone for me.  It began shortly after I got dumped from a relationship and found myself living alone for the first time since grad school.  It aired from the transition to my expat assignment in Mexico all the way through my transition back to the US.  At a time when my life seemed upended in almost every way imaginable, it was a constant.  And, thanks to email listserves in those early years of the commercial internet, provided a community that I could take with me from place to place.

The show, which on the surface seemed really cheesy, was brilliantly written and quickly became a cult success.  I happened upon it by accident (it ran on a second tier network) and was hooked immediately.  There was strong lesbian subtext between Xena and Gabrielle at a time when there were vanishingly few positive gay roles on TV, and the writers played that up as they realized the show caught on quickly with the gay community.  But more than that, Xena was a deeply developed character with conflicting strengths and flaws who served up a number of life lessons.  Herewith, what Xena has taught me:

Stay focused on winning the war, not each and every battle.  Xena always had clarity on her goals and recognized when she needed to walk away from one battle to be able to win the war.  She did have an uncanny way of being able to clean up those loose ends by the end of each episode, but the point was that you had to stay focused on the bigger goal.  Many of us have the tendency to want to win every single battle we are faced with and end up expending so much energy that we never achieve the big goals we were really after.  This is important in your work life as well as relationships.  We’ve all heard the maxim “Pick your battles.”  Xena knew which ones were important.

Never, ever, lose your moral compass.  Xena didn’t just keep in mind what the bigger goals were, she also stayed loyal to WHY those were the bigger goals.  It may have seemed like she was selling out her morals at times, but she knew what she was doing and always came back to the “right” side.  It is easy in life to be seduced into compromising your principles to achieve a goal that you think is important.  Often, though, the money or the job or the “prize” was never as satisfying as you thought—or the brightness was dimmed by what you gave up to achieve it.  Deep down, WHO we are is much more important than WHAT we have accomplished.  Some people have stuffed that realization down so deeply that they never reconcile their actions with their negative impact.  Most of us do have that better angel on our shoulder, though.   Listen to it.

When you have that clarity of purpose, don’t give up.  Time and time again, it would seem like Xena was defeated yet she’d find some way to prevail.  Once she knew what she had to do, she was unstoppable.  I will admit to not having that degree of intestinal fortitude.  I have rarely been able to attain that kind of clarity.  I have always harbored too much doubt.  That’s why I could never be a successful entrepreneur.  I need too much validation and support to be able to persist in front of a mountain of obstacles.  However, I have learned to persist in small ways, and it always comes back to reminding myself what is truly important.

Stay loyal to those who stay loyal to you.  This may sound like a mob creed (and maybe it is), but you know who you truly love and care about and who returns that commitment to you.  Keep those people close and do whatever you have to do to support them.  These are, in turn, the people you can count on.  Certainly, Xena would do anything to get Gabrielle out of jam, but she also put herself on the line more than once to get Joxer out of trouble.  He was the annoying comedic foil in the show but he had a heart of gold and Xena knew it.  The people you need to pay attention to in your life are not always the loudest and most insistent.  Often, they are the quietest and most unassuming.  Treasure and protect them.

Don’t take yourself too seriously.  My favorite episodes are mostly the funny ones.  By your comments, it seems your favorite essays of mine are usually the lighthearted ones!  We all like to laugh and find the humor in daily life.  That doesn’t mean that you can’t learn important lessons at the same time.  We are all works in progress and full of contradictions.  That’s what makes us human.  Learning to look at ourselves clearly and find the humor in our flaws is a form of grace and a way to learn to love yourself for just who you are.  It’s also the best way to learn to love those around us for just who THEY are.  No one is flawless.  Learn to laugh at those imperfections while you work to change the ones in yourself, and mitigate the impact of those you don’t.

In the end, Xena and Gabrielle did not sail off into the sunset together.  Initially, I was pissed, as was most of the broader fan community.  Over time, I saw that it was the most fitting ending to the series and consistent with the character the writers had built.  Xena sacrificed herself for the greater good, even though she had the chance to come back from the dead and be with Gabrielle.  (She had reanimated several times during the series.)  She stayed true to her moral compass until the very end and that’s a goal we should all embrace.

“V” is for Vampire

My last few essays have been a bit heavy, so I thought I’d lighten things up a bit today.  Those of you who are cat owners will appreciate this essay.  Those of you who are not cat owners will probably be convinced to never own a cat.  This is the story of bringing a new cat into the house.

Losing our not-quite-six-year-old Maine Coon mix, Beau, was dramatic, as you know.  He was an awesome cat and replacing him would be impossible.  However.  Little Miss Bridget was quickly showing signs that she would not be a good “only” cat.  Bridget had a hard start in life.  She was abandoned, as a kitten, on the Platt Bridge in South Philly and somehow hit the lottery and found herself adopted by us.  She still carries scars (we believe) from that rough beginning.  Girl has an attitude (see this essay for more on that).  But without her chill big brother Beau, Bridget was quickly becoming excessively clingy and showing signs of separation anxiety when we would leave the house.  We knew we had to get her a playmate—or, at least, another cat to torture.

Socializing cats versus dogs is a very different exercise.  Dogs are pack animals and quickly (so I’m told) develop a dominance order and everyone learns their role in the pack.  Cats are solitary by nature and tolerate other cats only if they bring something useful to the table.  Female cats that are established in a household are particularly territorial.  Blood sacrifice is required from all beings (human and feline) when a new entrant arrives.  Bridget, as a torty (tortoise shell coloring), has attitude to spare.  We knew our best chance to introduce another cat was to get a kitten, preferably male, and preferably very soon.

I will admit that I wasn’t ready.  I was still in mourning.  I will also admit to saying Kaddish for Beau for the requisite 30 days of Shloshim.  But Trish saw a picture of a little fluff ball on Facebook and the die was cast.  (Spoiler alert:  I am totally smitten by him.)  We picked him up about a week and a half ago, and the adventure began.  He was so good on the hour-long ride home!  He is a six-month-old domestic long hair male, whom we named Baxter in a nod to Beau.  I am convinced Beau sent him to us.

It has been a long time since either of us has had a real kitten.  We had to be reminded of a lot of things, such as how their claws are like needles.  And how they can be very skittish.  And how much energy they have.  We had set up our sunroom for him since we could close it off yet Bridget could keep an eye on him through the French doors.  I set him down when we got home around 2:30 in the afternoon and he immediately ran under the couch.  He did not emerge for 12 hours.  I made the first of many panicked phone calls to my bestie, who works at a cat rescue.  She has been my Voice of Reason.  “What have we done?!” I exclaimed.  “This kitten is never going to come out from under this couch and Bridget will hate us forever!”  “Give it time,” she soothed.  “It’s going to take time.”

I took the first night on the couch.  Sometime after midnight, I woke up to the sounds of a kitten exploring.  I spent the rest of the night coaxing him over, trying to soothe him between runs back under the couch, and getting him to eat and (thankfully) use the litter box.  Dawn found me totally exhausted but with Baxter lying between my knees and shredding the skin on my fingers.  Trish came downstairs looking annoyingly rested and he immediately dove under the couch again.

He did not come out all day.  All day!  We were watching TV in the evening and noticed he had just ventured out under cover of darkness.  He would come to the French doors to look into the family room, but if we dared to go into the sunroom, back under the sofa he would go.  Trish’s night with him went something like mine had gone the night before.  I came down, annoyingly rested, to an exhausted Trish who was lying on the sofa with Baxter between her knees and shredding her fingers.  She had been up all night.  As soon dawn broke, under the couch he went.  “We appear to have adopted a Vampire cat,” I said.  “We should have named him Vlad.”

Over the next few days, we moved him up into our bedroom (since the temperature dropped and the sunroom was just too cold) and made slow but steady progress.  I made hourly panicked calls to Beth, who patiently reinforced that we were doing all the right things and reminded me this process take time.  Little by little, he came out of his shell.  He has proven to be a real snuggler and an amazingly good-natured cat.  We have got ourselves a winner.

At this point, you must be wondering how Bridget is adapting to this new entrant.  Well, when we first brought him into the house, I leaned down close to Bridget (but not too close!) and introduced her new little brother.  She back up sideways a step or two and gave me a wide-eyed look that can only be described as “What fresh HELL is this?!”  Over the next week, we did a couple of supervised introductions.  Baxter’s ears would flatten as she let loose a growl from deep in her gut and finished off with a first-class hiss.

The most unnerving part of socializing new animals is that at some point you need to just let them work it out.  We started letting Baxter wander and explore with one of us following him.  When Bridget would encounter him, little Miss Bitchy McBitch Face would give him a few solid hisses and back away.  We feel fairly confident, though, that she’s not going to hurt him.  This is why you get a kitten.  As I edit this essay for publication, we have him in free roam.  We’ll hear the occasional hiss and growl, but aren’t worried.  Baxter has stopped flattening his ears and just gets down in a submissive pose.  Bridget gives him “what for” and walks away.  I suspect this will continue at some level for a couple of months.  Cats.  So much fun!

Bringing Baxter in the house was ill-timed in the sense that I felt that our lives were finally getting back to some sense of normal after a crazy couple of months and suddenly we were tossed back into total disruption.  Baxter will never replace Beau.  He is bringing his own love to us.  As a wise person once told me, “True healing begins when you realize that hole in your heart is really an opening.” 

“S” is for Scottoline (A Bonus Essay)

My loyal readers (both of you) are probably surprised to find this essay in your Inbox.  “Why, you JUST published your Deep Thoughts essay on Reflection this past Sunday,” you must be thinking.  “And you teased us that the ‘S’ essay would be on Surrender.  Plus, you are too lazy to write another essay in less than two weeks!”  You are right on multiple counts.  Yes, I indicated at the end of the Reflection essay that, as we work our way through our year-long Abecedarium, the next essay would be on Surrender.  And it will be.  In a little over a week.  If I can figure out how to write about it.  Because, yes, I generally AM too lazy to write more often than biweekly.  Consider yourself lucky!  Or not.

I write today motivated by Trish’s birthday.  Birthdays took on a whole new meaning when I met Trish.  I learned quickly that Trish is an outstanding gift giver.  Sometimes it’s because I turn to her and say, “I want THIS for my birthday!”  But more often, it’s because she is very observant and caring and notices things that would make excellent gifts for me.  Those first couple of years, I was stunned at her gifts.  How did she know?  I asked her for her secret.  “Just pay attention,” she said.  Luckily for me, my birthday is nine days before hers, so I get a little over a week to try and make up the gap between what I got for her and what I SHOULD have gotten for her.

Over time, she shared her superpower with me and I began, in my own way, to pay attention.  You see, those “wow” gifts don’t need to cost a lot.  They just need to mean something.  In fact, one of my all-time favorite gifts is a coffee mug.  What makes this mug so special, besides the person who gave it to me, is that it wears my mantra, the quote from Brené Brown that I often use in these essays—I’m here to GET it right, not BE right.  It is the only mug I use for my morning coffee.  (Trish didn’t give it to me, but knows how much I love it and she loves the giver as much as I do.)

There is a story behind one of the gifts I gave her this year that makes a great example.  And there’s another lesson in there, as well.  To introduce the gift, I have to make sure everyone knows a couple of (non-sensitive) things about Trish.  She is an avid reader, particularly of the crime/thriller/murder genre.  This is why I sleep with one eye open.  As such, she is a fan of Lisa Scottoline.  Additionally, Lisa wrote a weekly humorous column that ran in the Philly paper for years (and that now runs on her website) called Chick Wit that Trish absolutely adores.  I went onto Lisa’s website (I’ve decided we are on first name basis, now) to see if I could buy an autographed headshot or a personally inscribed book.  Not finding a way to purchase exactly what I wanted, I sent a generally inquiry to the “Write to Lisa” email listed.

Expecting to maybe hear back from a publicist in a few weeks, I was knocked over when only an hour or two later I received an email reply from Lisa herself!  Holy cow!  I just got an email from a world famous, best-selling author!  You have to try to imagine what someone who has always enjoyed writing (and painfully pens a biweekly blog that maybe a hundred or so people read) felt receiving that outreach.  That became MY birthday present!  Anyway, Lisa was super sweet in her reply and after a couple of back and forths we had a plan.  I would buy the book of my choice and she would send me a birthday card written to Trish for me to include with the book.  Lisa sent the card out THAT day.  I could barely contain myself!  How I kept this a secret for a couple of months is beyond me.

The card arrived a few days later.  I was hoping to intercept it and squirrel it away, but I came home from running an errand and found Trish had beat me to the mailbox.  It was the only piece of mail for me and there it sat, all by itself on the kitchen table, all but yelling, “EXPLAIN ME!”  Lisa had wisely addressed the card to me and not put on a return address.  Looking like a thief, I grabbed the envelope and hid it away.  I thought I had dodged a bullet, until we were reading side by side later that night.  Then this exchanged happened:

Trish:  What was that letter you got today?

Me (a terrible liar):  Just junk mail.

Trish (knowing I’m a terrible liar):  But the address was handwritten.

Me (panicking):  It was an offer from some store.

(Brief silence.)

Me, again:  OK, fine, it’s part of a birthday present for you.  But don’t ask me anything else about it because I’m really excited and I’ll give it to you now.

Trish (knowing I WILL give it to her now because I’m like a little kid when I get excited):  OK.

That was late July.  I wrapped the book right away with the envelope in it and put it with all the other gifts I wrapped right away to avoid giving her.  Over the next two months, it took almost everything I have inside to NOT break down and give her the gift.  And then today finally arrived.

We sat down for her to unwrap her pile.  I waited for her to reach for “it”.  I tried to contain my anxiety.  As she started to unwrap the gift, I grabbed my phone and said, “I want to video you opening this one.”  She gave me a sideways look.  She could tell it was a book.  How exciting could a book be?  I’ll tell you how exciting a book can be!  Just watch the video.  We haven’t been able to stop talking about it since (hence my need to sit down and write this essay).  Yes, Trish complimented me on my thoughtfulness, but we talked mostly about how cool it was that Lisa took the time to, first, engage with me, and then to write and send the card.  I know it wasn’t a ton of effort (compared to writing dozens of books!) but it’s not about the effort.  It’s about the impact of thoughtful actions.

Trish and I have often talked about this:  the importance of doing little things that may have an outsized impact, whether you realize it or not.  And most of the time, you don’t.  That’s why she catches the eye of everyone she sees at the Y, smiles, and says “Hi.”  It’s why I’ll compliment a perfect stranger on her shoes or his eyes.  It’s why she’ll use the server’s first name.  It’s why I’ll grab someone’s empty shopping cart and take it back.  Little, personal actions matter.  I wrote in the last essay about the importance of seeing the humanity in everyone around us.  This is part of that.

Think about little things that others, even strangers, have done that made a big difference in your day or even your life.  Then pay it forward.  Look for the opportunity do little nice things for others.  Oh, and go buy a book written by Lisa Scottoline.  In fact, buy all of them.  Multiple copies.  Give them to people you love.  I have it on first hand information that she’s a pretty cool person.

“Q” is for Quiet

Like many writers, I tend to write about a theme reflecting what is going on in my life at the moment.  Finding the theme is not difficult; fitting it into a title that follows our Abecedarium can be.  Trish often helps me find the word or phrase to title these essays and we were talking about this “Q” essay this morning.  “How about Quixotic?” she asked me.  I made a face and said, “You really think my writing—and thus my life—is an idyllic and ultimately unsuccessful quest?”  She quickly backtracked and said she must misunderstand what “quixotic” means.  Although she’s is among the most erudite people I know, I chose to believe her.  We did agree, though, that “idyllic” is not a bad way to describe this past week.  However, since we are well past “I” in our Abecedarium, I have opted for the word “Quiet”.

That thought came to me a few nights ago as I sat on the boat dock where we were visiting, watching the sun start to set across this quiet lake in Wisconsin.  The wind rippling the water all day had died down as we approached sunset and the water looked like glass.  When a breeze did kick up, sending waves along the surface of the lake, the angle of the sun created what Trish calls “water diamonds”—endless sparkles, like cascading diamonds.  A gull flew overhead; fish jumped; a loon was floating on the surface fishing for dinner.  I was by myself just then and my heart just sang.  I hadn’t felt that peaceful in ages.

We both needed a bit of a recharge.  This last year has been more stressful than two retired people should have to endure.  You all know about the renovations on the house and the meltdowns THAT precipitated.  But there were other issues that, in sum, led to the two of us needing something of a reset.  We just didn’t feel like ourselves.  Even Trish’s annual week up in the Poconos with her long time best friend was not restorative.  We had high hopes for this week in the Midwest.

Our hosts, Lori and Jeff, could not have been more generous.  They moved out to Wisconsin a couple of years ago, once Lori retired, to be closer to family and a climate that is more like home to them.  They found this incredible house on a rural lake in a town that is just big enough to have most services that one needs yet small enough to keep the lake from being overrun.  They have their own dock; a pontoon boat; a couple of kayaks; and a pair of resident hummingbirds that were feeding all day every day to prepare for their migration south.  The first night we were there, they took us out on the boat and almost immediately a bald eagle flew right over us, landing in a nearby dead tree.  A good omen if there even was one.

I’ve known Lori for over thirty years and we have a comfort level with each other borne from time and experience.  When I still lived in the Valley, we had a great “First Friday” tradition—a standing date to go out the first Friday of the month.  We didn’t always make it, but it was always on the calendar.  We were particularly regular during the spring and summer months when Bethlehem would host “First Friday” events with dinner and drink specials and live music all over town.  What I remember most are those martinis at Loopers.  I know we must have talked about the kinds of things that deepen a friendship, but after the first half of a martini, my memory goes fuzzy.  We have traveled together, spending the better part of a week together in Aruba.  We were at each other’s weddings.  Since she’s moved, we’ve transitioned to monthly Facetime calls.  Our friendship is time-tested and has weathered some serious highs and lows over the decades, as all long term friendships do.  They say people come into your life for a reason, a season, or life.  Lori is a lifer for me.

The four of us have done dinners and nights out, but never concentrated time like this planned week.  All four of us REALLY wanted it to go well, to the point that we were too afraid each couple was overcompensating.  And, yes, I did pick up one check too many.  While I know I crossed a line (and apologized), I also know my Dad would have approved.  There was no need to worry.  The time together was seamless.  They took us out on the boat in the evenings, just to tootle around and talk.  We had a fine Saturday when we enjoyed a 90 degree summer day on the lake complete with floating in the water (I actually got IN the lake), conversation, and quiet time when we all read and Trish, of course, took a nap.  Perfect day!  We went out on the kayaks and saw four (maybe five) different bald eagles and two nests; a turtle; a snake.  And the loons!  That was a highlight for Trish—seeing loons in the wild and hearing their beautiful song each night.

While we each had plenty of time to ourselves to read, nap, or work (sorry, Jeff!), we came together in the evenings for dinner and conversation, usually by a fire pit, and usually with one of Jeff’s signature cocktails.  We talked; we laughed (“Wisconsin is known for their grapefruits!”); we shared subjects close to our hearts.  I am always in awe of how Trish is such a great conversationalist.  I admittedly can really struggle.  I am the queen of “companionable silence”.  Trish can talk with anyone, bringing out their stories and sharing her own.  I loved sitting back and watching them all talk.  I got to know Jeff much better and, even though I’ve known Lori for decades, learned new things about her as well.  It was just all so comfortable!  And I slept better there than I have in ages.

We left before we were really ready to leave—always the right time to go.  We feel rejuvenated not just by the peace and beauty of the lake, but by the love we felt from Lori and Jeff (and their cat, Buckley, and newly acquired yet not permanently named kitten, Junior Mint).  These are the times that I really treasure.  Vacations used to be about detoxing from work.  Now, they are all about creating shared memories with those I love.  We hope to go back to visit Lori and Jeff again.  The lake is beautiful and quiet and an immersion in nature that is critical for the soul.  But what really restored our souls was sharing that experience with the right people.

Best of 2022

A tiny me under the Corona Arch

It’s that time of year.  Now that we’ve navigated Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hannukah, and by the time this posts, New Years Eve, looking back at The Year That Was seems all the rage.  I’m going to jump on that bandwagon and regale you with a random list of my favorite things from 2022.

Favorite Thing I’ve Read I promise I get no fee from this recommendation.  My favorite thing I’ve read over this past year is a substack newsletter from Matt Labash called Slack Tide.  I get a lot of newsletters, mostly on current events.  This one is far and away my favorite mostly because while his essays are inspired by current events, they are not really about current events.  They are about the human condition.  On the surface, you would be forgiven for thinking that my favorite newsletter would NOT come from a politically conservative Evangelical Christian.  I love everything he writes, enough to plunk down the $50 for an annual subscription so I can read each essay, not just the free ones.  He makes me want to be a better writer, which is the highest compliment I can give someone.

Favorite Thing the Cats Have Done Beau has this toy that his foster Mom gave him.  It’s a plastic stick, about a foot long, with a short elastic string tied to the stick on one end and a catnip-filled fish on the other.  Beau loves to carry it around with the fish in his mouth and the stick dragging behind.  The other night, we were watching TV and heard the strangest sound.  Being in a different house, we weren’t sure what major appliance could be breaking.  Just as I was about to get up and go investigate, Beau came around the corner with Stick, fish in mouth.  The sound we heard was the stick being dragged down the wooden steps from upstairs and across the wooden floor.  I love him!

Favorite Kitchen Hack Being a relatively new cook, I am constantly on the look out for kitchen hacks to make my life easier.  Last year’s favorite was the onion slicer Trish got me.  I chop a lot of onions.  This year, my sister-in-law introduced me to the joy that is parchment paper.  I have only used parchment paper in the past to wrap up breakfast burritos that go in the freezer.  Meg showed me the trick (that most of you probably already know) of using parchment paper to line a sheet pan.  I know that bakers do this when they bake cookies.  It somehow never occurred to me to use parchment paper when I roast vegetables.  And I roast a LOT of vegetables.  I hated tossing used aluminum foil in the trash and I also didn’t like the silicone baking sheets.  This use of parchment paper has changed my life.

Favorite Weekend Getaway This one is a tie, but both involve the Poconos.  The first was when Trish and I went up to spend a weekend at Lake Minisink, the small lake she grew up on.  We were staying at the cabin our step-daughter’s family had bought last fall and got there early on a spring Friday.  We got out kayaks and spent the afternoon silently paddling the lake and just breathing in the peace.  Then we got to spend the rest of the weekend with Sarah and her family.  The other was a weekend late fall at our friends’ house at Lake Wallenpaupack.  The air was crisp but not cold.  The trees were just starting to turn.  Most boat owners had already pulled their boats in for the winter, but our friends like to enjoy the lake as much as they can.  We took their pontoon boat out on a sunny afternoon and just about had the lake to ourselves.  Lynn took us in and out of countless little coves for hours.  It was the most peaceful I’d felt since that weekend at Minisink in the spring.   It’s a good recipe: people you love + a beautiful, quiet lake = peace.

Favorite Day Trip In late February, on a surprisingly warmish day, Beth and I took the train into DC for the day and visited the African American History Museum.  The museum is really impressive but that’s not what made this a favorite day trip.  It was about spending a day with my bestie and creating shared memories: the drive to 30th Street Station and going around the block several times until we figured out how to get into the parking garage; the Amtrak ride; Ubering around DC; finding somewhere to eat; a selfie with the Washington Monument; totally missing the pick-up point with our Uber back to Union Station.  It doesn’t matter what we do.  It just matters that we do it together.

Favorite Moment on a Big Trip We took a trip out to southern Utah in March.  There were a ton of what could be favorite moments.  We visited Canyonlands, Arches, Capitol Reef, Grand Escalante, Bryce Canyon, and Zion National Parks (or Monuments) and a number of state parks.  But my favorite moment was when Lynn and I hiked out to the Corona Arch outside of Moab.  The trek was about a mile and a half and that last half mile was a real challenge.  Well, it was a real challenge for me.  The five-year-olds bounding about, fearless, on steep inclines and perilous cliffs seemed to struggle less.  When Lynn and I finally got to the Arch, though, we were alone.  We were blown away by the grandeur of structures, the remoteness of the vistas (couldn’t see anything related to humans), and the silence.  We were breathless from the climb and effort to get there, which made the moment that much more special.  I felt small and insignificant and at the mercy of the power and beauty of nature.  Those are always important moments.  We would all benefit from having a few of those each year.  Humility is a good thing.

Favorite New TV Show Let me say right up front that I am not a binge watcher.  “Binging” for me is watching two episodes.  As such, not many shows hook me.  But I fell in love with the sitcom Ghosts.  I don’t know why I love this show so much.  Maybe it’s the premise of being able to connect with those who are no longer with us.  Maybe it’s because I love the idea of having a bunch of friends from very different time periods throughout history.  I know it’s because the characters have depth and interesting stories and they just keep adding more facets.  And it’s because I love the character of Isaac, the gay Revolutionary War soldier who absolutely hates Alexander Hamilton.  Best line: “If you don’t gasp at that, you’re just not a gasper!”  Try it.

Favorite Activity The week before Thanksgiving, during our first real cold snap of the year (of course), Trish and I went on an Owl Prowl at a local Nature Center.  I have a thing for owls, just as Trish has a thing for eagles.  As usual, it was us and a bunch of five-year-olds with their parents.  We started with a half hour presentation about “owls of the area” which included recordings of the different owl calls.  This is THE time of year to go looking for owls since they look for mates around now and then nest through the winter.  We went outside into the year’s first snow fall, all bundled up.  We walked a little way into the woods in the pitch dark.  The leader played a saw whet owl call a few times, hoping one would answer.  And then.  Out of NOWHERE a very large barred owl buzzed us, thinking there was a saw whet that would make a nice meal.  It all happened in just seconds.  There was no sound.  None.  Just suddenly a shadow and a large raptor coasting just above our heads.  The only noise was the quick intake of everyone’s breath.  In the dark.  In the snowfall.  I will never forget that moment.

A bit of a theme, then, to this essay.  Time in nature.  Time with animals.  Time with people I love.  Time in the kitchen.  Yeah, it was a good year.

Things That Drive the Scientist in Me Nuts

Consider this a Public Service Announcement.  Or just a rant.  And pity Trish:  she has to hear me “go off” about these things all the time.  I would like to think that writing about this topic is a way to get it out of my system, but who am I kidding?  I will most likely continue to correct TV announcers for the rest of my life.  Herewith, a short list of things about the non-scientific part of the world that drives the scientist in me nuts.  Daily.

The word “data” is a plural noun.  The singular is “datum” but you hardly ever hear that used.  Instead, the word “data” is used as a singular noun.  Of which it is not.  One might say, “The data shows that….” Or “The data is clear on that topic,” but one would be WRONG.  This item is one of those little seemingly insignificant things that, once pointed out to you when YOU use it wrong, sticks in your craw forever.  Like “I could care less” or “chomping at the bit” or “irregardless”.  For the record:  it’s “I couldn’t care less” and “champing at the bit” and “irregardless” isn’t even a word!  Use “regardless” or “irrespective”.  We are veering from science to grammar a bit but my point is about using words in a way that shows that you understand them.  There is an awful lot of that in the scientific community—using jargon in a way that indicates lack of understanding of real meaning.  I can forgive the non-science world for using “data” as a singular noun since it is probably the only way most people have heard it used.  However, any scientist (or journalist) should know better.  Now this will drive you bonkers just like it does me.  You’re welcome.

Significant Digits Matter.  This explanation must begin with a story.  When I was between my junior and senior years in college, I stayed up in Baltimore to continue my undergraduate research work.  I was young and just getting my first exposures to what real “research” meant and I had only a cursory understanding of what I was doing.  My advisor would send me up to Swarthmore College on a regular basis to use an instrument there.  While there, I worked side-by-side with two students from that school who were much more capable scientists than I was.  We were all doing similar work and would have a research review to discuss our results each Friday when I was there.  I was showing a table I had put together presenting the data I had collected that week.  The guys were snickering and whispering to each other.  Finally, they laughed out loud and said, “Look at all those significant digits!”  I wanted to drop through the floor.  The instrument gave me a string of numbers.  I put that string of numbers in my table.  If the instrument reported a value of, say, 1.942583, then that’s what I put in the table.  I did that with each entry, so the screen was a sea of long numbers.  The problem was that the “confidence” in the measurement was only to the second decimal place.  There was no real difference between 1.942 and 1.944.  I should have just reported 1.94.  Most of you have probably fallen asleep by now (Trish does) but I have a serious point.

Let’s take an example we hear about regularly:  We’re in an election year (Ugh).  What if I told you that Candidate A leads Candidate B in the polling by a measure of 52.4 to 47.6.  Sounds like a significant lead, no?  But if the margin of error is +/- 3 points (not uncommon) then this race is a dead heat.  Polling numbers should never be presented to three significant digits, but they often are.  And then they are over interpreted.  The pundits go breathless analyzing what Candidate B is doing wrong when there is really nothing definitive they can say about the race!  This happens all the time when data of any sort are presented in the news.  No one seems to know how to put numbers in context or certainly use the correct number of significant digits.  How do I know if any number is meaningful when I have no context?!  You  know what commentary is like on monthly jobs reports.  New jobs went DOWN by 20,000 from the month before!  We must be heading for a recession!  Millions will be out of work again!  Food lines!  Crime increases!  BE AFRAID!  Of course, new job numbers are regularly revised by well more than 20,000 each month since collecting accurate data is difficult.  THIS is why I am constantly yelling back at the news. 

When I taught Freshman Chemistry in grad school, I taught the lesson about significant digits in the first week of class, but deducted points all semester long if significant digits were wrong in calculations.  When someone complained that the topic was from the first week of the semester, I’d answer, “And clearly you didn’t learn the lesson.”  Significant digits matter, if for no other reason than to keep you from going crazy when you watch the news.

The Scientific Process is not Widely Understood.  This issue has been magnified as we’ve gone through the COVID pandemic.  Never have I seen the scientific community communicate so poorly nor the general populace demonstrate their lack of understanding of the Scientific Process so profoundly.  It was literally painful to watch the news each day.  The Scientific Process basically works like this:  First, you form a hypothesis.  Your hypothesis may be something like “wearing masks helps reduce infectious spread of viruses” or “pharmaceutical A can cure people of COVID-19”.  Next, you devise experiments to test that hypothesis.  Those experiments must be carefully designed so that you are sure you are testing only the question in your hypothesis.  You have to articulate all the little assumptions that you are making about what might or might not affect what you are measuring so you can account for all those other influences on the results.  Designing experiments this way is really difficult!  Then, there must be enough data such that your conclusions can be statistically valid.  You run your experiments.  You analyze your data and draw your conclusions.  If the results don’t fit your hypothesis, you can modify your hypothesis and/or design more experiments to gain additional insight by changing your assumptions.  Maybe, for instance, pharmaceutical A only works if administered within 3 days of infection.  Or maybe there were people who got relief from COVID-19 when they took pharmaceutical A but it was not BECAUSE they took pharmaceutical A.  We’ve already discussed the danger of anecdotal information.  Finally, you have your peers review your assumptions, experimental procedures, data, and conclusions and have them tell you everything you did wrong.  Science is so much fun!  But, in following this process (which takes a fair amount of time), you get reliable results, not anecdotal information.  It’s not fast.  It’s not fun.  It’s kind of boring.  But it WORKS.

There are other topics.  Like the fact that the general populace tends to use “chemical” as synonymous with “toxic chemical”.  Or the common assumption that if something occurs in nature it is, by definition, “natural” and therefore safe and healthy.  Last I checked, arsenic is naturally occurring.

And that brings me to my final thought.  When I asked my niece (a plant pathologist) for her thoughts, she reminded me that what often bugs her the most is how annoying the ego of scientists can be!  Hmmm.  I have often described understanding chemistry as like learning a foreign language.  If you don’t learn the early stuff well, anything more advanced is totally unintelligible and is either suspect or just misunderstood.  I was lucky.  I had the interest coupled with good early teaching.  Most people are not in that situation.  Maybe, then, I should get down off of my pedestal and not let these things bug me so much!

[Editor’s Note:  Can I hear an AMEN?]

Flying Is No Longer Fun

When I was traveling regularly for business, I toyed with the idea of writing a book called Road Warriors.  It would be a collection of essays about business travel gone hilariously wrong.  We all had stories and usually shared them over dinner or while waiting in airports.  They were funny upon the retelling; they were rarely funny while they were happening.  So, in an effort to speed up the “funny” associated with this story, I am writing it down and sharing it with you.

It all began innocently enough at 4 am on Saturday March 19th.  Although, really, does anything begin innocently at 4 am?  Trish and I had just wound up a glorious two weeks trekking around Utah with friends, visiting the Big Five National Parks there, a National Monument, three state parks, and finding a really excellent Sports Bar we went to for dinner two nights in a row (more on that next time).  This was the trip we were supposed to do in March of 2020, just as COVID hit.  It was something of a redemption trip.  Getting our lives back to some sort of normal.  We couldn’t have asked for a better time!  We had excellent weather.  The Parks were breathtaking.  We were happy and exhausted and ready to come home.

My alarm woke me at 4 am, which should have been my first clue.  I never sleep until the alarm.  I am always so nervous that I will oversleep that I wake up every 15 minutes all night, checking the time, and then usually get up 15-30 minutes before the alarm.  I staggered to the hotel bathroom and took a shower.  I had gotten dressed and was checking my phone when Trish got out of the shower and I saw a text from United.  Our 7 am flight from Salt Lake City to Denver had some ill-defined technical issue and was delayed.  Until approximately 4 pm.  No indication that any further connection to Philly was forthcoming.  Ugh.  I sat in stunned and tired silence for a minute gathering my thoughts and trying not to cry.  Trish heard my “Oh no,” and waited with bated breath for me to explain.  We decided to go to the airport anyway and find some other way to get home.  And thus the odyssey began.

I put in my AirPods, called United, and began the On Hold journey.  As we piled into the shuttle to the airport at 5 am, I apologized to the other passengers in case I actually got a human and started either yelling or crying or both.  We got into the reticketing line by 5:15 am.  There were only maybe six groups before us.  This shouldn’t take long.  Meanwhile, I did get a live person on the phone.  Let me say right now that any ranting I do in this essay is not addressed to the good customer care people at United.  They were, to a person, very nice and patient and, except for one fool, competent.  There is only so much you can do when a system is entirely messed up and you have limited freedom to take any action.  I spent an hour and a half on the phone with this woman, mostly listening to the United theme song on hold.  That jingle now makes me twitch uncontrollably when I hear it.

There is just no slack in airline schedules these days.  None.  A flight gets cancelled and you have very few options.  Every flight is full.  Especially when you are trying to leave Salt Lake City during spring skiing season.  I am all for airlines making money since a profitable airline should be a safe airline, right?  And I do know that right now, United is losing money.  At least what they officially report.  I also know United bought back over $500 million in stock last year and over $2 billion in stock in 2020.  And their executives were showered with millions upon millions in bonuses.  But, hey, filling every seat means reducing Average Cost Per Seat Mile, so why leave any slack?  I’ll tell you why not.  Because some version of Catbert the Evil Finance manager has calculated that dealing with the occasional irate customer is cheaper than being able to get a replacement plane to Salt Lake City.  Well, this irate customer has a blog and a Twitter account, @united.

It took that hour and a half on the phone to come up with this plan:  fly from Salt Lake City to San Francisco; sit for four hours; fly from San Fran to LA; sit for another four hours; take a red eye to Newark; figure out how to get from Newark to Philly on your own, loser.  I chose to put that plan on hold since, hey, we were only four groups from the counter now and how long can THAT take?  I can see that this essay will be 5000 words if I relate every detail of this story, but suffice it to say that the natives were getting restless and complete strangers started to plot together on how to get rid of the crazy lady in the white jacket who had been at the counter for—I’m serious—three solid hours.  There was literally a round of applause when she finished.  Ron at the counter did his almighty best for us but all he could do was confirm the above itinerary and off we went.  Slowly.  We had nothing but time.  With all that extra time, I kept trying to make something happen.  No one seemed to be able to upgrade us further than Economy Plus (which is as much as an improvement as it sounds) without the CEO signing off.  Each person I talked with sent me to someone else who “may have that power”.  Never mind that we counted six pilots sitting in First Class on our flight to LA.  I’m all for happy pilots, but not when I’m shoved in next to someone who hasn’t showered in a week and plays incessantly with his AirPod charging case.

The good thing about Trish and me is that we rarely melt down at the same time.  At least, it hasn’t happened yet, or if it has the trauma has wiped it from memory.  For the next 24 hours, we took turns melting down.  We kind of hate people to begin with and there were a lot of people on this journey.  We made an unspoken agreement to suspend our rules of trying not to judge other people (ok, it’s my rule, and I’ve been struggling mightily with an essay about that anyway) and we amused ourselves with a running commentary on the idiocy of pretty much every person who crossed our path.  Why can’t people use headphones?  I don’t need to hear the music with your TikTok videos, nor listen to you on speaker phone talking about what Joey did to Ricardo or your Aunt’s gall bladder.  What saved us from disaster was an episode of the My Favorite Murder podcast, which distracted us for that last hour of waiting in LA.  (Thank you, Beth, for turning us into Murderinos.)  Fortunately, all those flights went smoothly (no fights over face masks or kicking the seat) and we touched down in Newark at 5 am Sunday.  Even more fortunately, we were able to arrange a ride home.  You’ll also be happy to know that our bags made it to Newark Saturday night.  They were able to send the bags ahead, just not us.  Had I known, I would have stuffed Trish into a duffle.  She prefers the cold anyway.

Here are my takeaway thoughts on this whole fiasco.  Flying is a pain in the ass, but we all knew that already.  Airline companies have taken all the joy, along with our legroom, out of the process.  Even the elite flyers, who get all the perks, look as angry and disgusted as the rest of us.  They cram more and more people onto planes and their process for dealing with disruptions involves more pain for the customer.  Customer-facing employees with the airlines, however, are almost always good people trying to do their best in the face of a system stacked against both them and us and with almost no freedom to act.  Treat them with kindness.  They display a degree of patience that we don’t deserve.  I wonder if the airlines are handing out Xanax behind the counter.  And, finally, people in general have forgotten what it means to be out in public.  I miss common courtesy.  My advice it to just put on your headphones to block them out.  Take a deep breath.  And, when in doubt, listen to murder podcasts.