Merry Christmas before the deluge

I know, I know, I should write something.

After all, it’s three days before Christmas so something profound should be written.

Perhaps something Dickensian to keep with the spirit of the times as certain people contemplate the return of the work-houses, although the feeling may be in some quarters on Wall Street that they pay their workers too much.

Keep Christmas in your heart, as it were, but keep your hands in the till. 

What a wonderful world this will be; what a wondrous time to be free.

My wife and I sit in the living room this afternoon, both dealing with our own illnesses – hers far more severe. She has a 24-hour cough and fever and, only with the weight of medical opinion, will she be staying home the rest of the week.

Christmas, of course, is not only the time to say I love you, but the time to come down with some illness you’d never get the rest of the year.

We both look like haggard refugees from the convalescent home. She will stay home and I will finish out the week at work. Somehow, my five days off were not filled with restful contemplation of the season but at least the shopping and wrapping is 90 percent done and we have clean clothes.

You can measure your age on a continuous line where Christmas slowly changes from being the most fun time of year to a challenge to your sanity and pocketbook. Here in middle age, I only have to buy for a few grown children, my wife and my ex-wife. The other ex-wife gets the satisfaction of knowing she rid herself of me before I was diagnosed. Merry Christmas, enjoy the house.

Hopefully not that bad

As we age further, the Christmas holiday becomes, much like Shakespeare’s seven ages of man, back to people shoving rum balls down our gullet in our dotage. Older people either become festively drunk or reclusively bitter. Since I already have liver disease, I can guess where I’ll land on the scale.

Of course, there are those who will insist that Jesus is the reason for the season and they mean well until they scream at you for the temerity of saying ‘happy holidays.’ Perhaps they could start a new campaign where they get very literal about the whole thing and force people to enthuse ‘Merry Jesus’s Birthday! Hallelujah! 

Of course, even Bible scholars know that Jesus could not have been born on Dec. 25 because no sane shepherd would have been out tending their flock in the Holy Land in late December – it gets cold enough there. And, of course, the date was chosen to co-opt the Roman celebration of Saturnalia and you can throw in the Pagan celebration of Yule. The early church, concerned with converting souls, had to replace the old holidays with something to celebrate.

And yet, in America, our Puritan forebears forbid anything other than a solemn nod to Christmas until well into the 19^th century. Then, Thomas Nast invented Santa Claus (as we know him), Sears and JC Penney found a great excuse to move merch at a traditionally slow time of year, and we were on our way.

By the way, most Bible scholars believe, based on Scripture’s own recording, that Jesus, if you believe in him at all, was probably born in late April. But being so close to Easter, we couldn’t have that.

In any case, this year I am pleased to say there was less bloodshed and fisticuffs at the malls and Wal-Marts this year and the ‘hot toy’ whatever it is (something that hatches from an egg and has to be fed – good God, who would want that kind of responsibility?) has not been immortalized in videotape of young mothers and fathers beating the crap out of store managers they believe are ‘hiding some in the back.’

And yet, this is the Christmas I’ve always feared: the last one. No, not necessarily MY last one, although who can tell about these things; but the last before our country perhaps undergoes a radical transformation that leaves it looking like a day-after Christmas scene in the aisles at K-Mart by the end of the year.

Gather with your families, buy expensive toys for the kiddies, get really drunk and go to Midnight services (not necessarily in that order) and THIS year you may REALLY be praying to the baby Jesus that you get to keep your health care, job and respect for your fellow man intact by this time next year.

One of my favorite secular Christmas songs is the oft-maligned and over played ‘Little Drummer Boy,’ which the avoidance thereof has become something of a mean-spirited game. Released in 1958, my parents had the second or third reprinting of the album by 20^th Century Fox records (yes, there was such a thing) by the time I arrived in time for Christmas 1962. So I grew up with Harry Simeone and his Chorale.

This is the one we had

Many cover versions of the song have been recorded from the tender rendition of Bing Crosby and David Bowie to the more impassioned version of Bob Segar. This year I seem to hear the traditional version of the song, lilting and graceful, but punctuated by louder and louder drums in almost a martial cadence, as if something unknown is approaching, marching in unison, with a purpose that belies the lyrics’

And with that, Godwin's Law strikes

Peace on Earth, goodwill toward mankind. Yet, it seems more like Weird Al’s ‘Christmas at Ground Zero.’ What has happened in Berlin reminds us how far we've grown distant to goodwill.

On January 20, everything changes. How much, how soon and how severe one can only guess. But we have this one last holiday season whether you’d like Christmas, Hanukah or Yule (or Festivus) before the change.

Put aside your worries for a few days. Try to make this season memorable because, in the end, it may be the memories of Christmas past that will keep our psyches warm in coming times. Heck, even give your alt-right uncle a drink. Pour one for yourself – you’ll both need one eventually.

The game is to drink until you can't see the red stripes

More than this I cannot say. The year 2016 took from us a whole host of luminaries including the aforementioned  Mr. Bowie. In addition, Greg Lake of Emerson, Lake and Palmer died as well, leaving us with, perhaps, the most perplexing secular Christmas song of all time – tinsel and fire mixed with an almost unbearable disillusionment. Such is life. I leave you with his lyrics.

I wish you a hopeful Christmas
I wish you a brave new year
All anguish pain and sadness
Leave your heart and let your road be clear
They said there'll be snow at Christmas
They said there'll be peace on earth
Hallelujah noel be it heaven or hell
The Christmas we get we deserve

Happy Bloody Thanksgiving!

The latest thing in journalism and sociology on the eve of Thanksgiving is writing ‘survival guides’ for dealing with relations who may not share your political beliefs. This isn't anything new, but after this election, many familial relationships are turning fratricidal.

What I mean is that people are being threatened with hellfire, being disinherited, having their college money pulled and things of that nature. This is really getting sick and the country is getting sicker by the day. Thankfully (ha!), I won’t have that issue this Thanksgiving as my wife, my son and I are in total agreement.

After dipping my toe in enough political talk on Facebook, I’ve had enough. I will enjoy my bubble of personal friends and acquaintances while keeping my eye on the Trumpsters through the Internet. Life is too short to argue with intractable hateful people.

Just try not to think about it

Anyway, so I had a Thanksgiving family memory to share. I call it ‘Thanksgiving 1975: The Year of Blood on the Turkey.’

It started out as a usual Thanksgiving. Mom was struggling with the whole turkey dinner and tension was growing between her and dad. This happened for many reasons. The first was that my mother was a failed cook in the eye of my dad’s mom, who could create the greatest feasts known to man and boy I miss them.

Not our family

Mom had a tendency of boiling everything which accounts for my dislike of most vegetables that are good for me: asparagus, broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts – all boiled to limpness. The smell of such atrocities still makes me retch so my wife has standing orders never to prepare those dishes, well, like my mother.

So my mom would try her best and inevitably fail. WE never said anything but my dad would occasionally offer a small critique here and there, just enough to set mom’s teeth on edge. Inside she knew, she KNEW she was being judged.

Another reason was when my father decided it was time to eat, it was time to eat. However, inevitably, mom wasn’t quite finished with everything and kept rushing back and forth to the table to put the rolls out (inevitably burned), the side dishes, etc. My father would yell “Jeezus Christ, would you please just SIT down already – we’re all (I’m) hungry.”

And, also without fail, the tension would get to my mother by Christmas which would be observed by the annual ritual of her smashing a dish to the kitchen floor and screaming “Merry Christmas God-damn it!”

Yeah! Like this. Except, um, not her.

Well anyway, the tension was so thick this particular Thanksgiving that you could cut it with a knife which was exactly what my father did.

As the former Marine who should know something about using knives started to slice the turkey, he cleanly sliced into his own thumb, going almost to the bone.

Do you remember that old Saturday Night Live bit from the 70s with Julia Child cutting herself spurting fake blood all over the kitchen? Well, that’s pretty much what this looked like except the blood was real.

After this I don’t remember too much except there was a lot of yelling and screaming to get a towel to wrap the thumb in and for mom to drive dad to the ER.

My sister and I sat and looked at the Turkey which looked like it had been freshly butchered except we knew whose blood it was and it was gross.

Gratuitous Sarah Palin turkey photo here

I went off to watch the Cowboys-Lions game and we waited for dad to come home. When he did, he had his entire hand wrapped with a metal splint to keep the thumb in place. He would wear that for week and then spend weeks more squeezing a rubber ball in his hand to get his strength back.

Mom offered to clean off the bloody parts of the turkey and re-heat it but we had long stuffed ourselves on mashed potatoes and rolls and wanted nothing to do with the bloody beast. After all, the blood had now soaked even deeper into the bird.

“Christ Con(nie) just throw the damn thing away,” my father said. Not quite as dramatic as old man Bumpus’s dogs hauling the carcass away but my mother had this look of eternal sadness that was shared by Ralphie’s dad in ‘A Christmas Story.’

You will never know the feeling

It wasn’t her fault, but in her eyes, it was.

And we did not go out for Chinese. At the time there were no Chinese restaurants in Chardon and dad was expecting a big ER bill anyway so he wouldn’t have spent the money.

All in all, it really sucked that year, but I learned my lesson – buy an electric knife and let it do the work for you.

I actually have this exact knife - Parents wedding gift

I hope none of you deal with a Thanksgiving disaster in your life and for God’s sakes, toss the giblets. Who the hell really wants to eat those?

The Rise of a New Savior

“By their fruits ye shall know them” -- Matthew 7:16-20

***

White evangelicals were so key for Trump that, had no white evangelicals voted, Clinton would have won in a landslide, 59 percent to 35 percent. – The Washington Post

***

“I would rather spend countless millennia in Hell than one day in Pat Robertson’s Heaven” – Keith Gottschalk, WJBC-AM, 2003

***

I think I’m going to Hell.

Wait, I pretty much believe I’m going to Hell and have for some time now.

I was born and raised Roman Catholic; fell out with divorce and tried other faiths and didn’t care for any of them.

Most of what I know is Christianity, either in training or practice. I think Jesus Christ was a pretty righteous dude. His followers are another matter entirely.

But they will see glory and I will be cast into the Lake of Fire™ for things I have done and said – too many here to list.

I’m not sure if Heaven is the place pictured in Monty Python’s ‘Meaning of Life’ where it’s Christmas every day and everyone ‘looks smart and wears a tie.’ Or, if it’s like the images in churches where everyone lolls on clouds all day forever praising God and eating grapes. Either way, it seems rather boring.

I, on the other hand, have always pictured Heaven as the biggest, newest and bestest football stadium. Heaven are all the people sitting in the luxury loges (like Jimmy Falwell and Pat Robertson and Billy or Franklin Graham) the box seats are for the saved who aren’t the Superstars of Christianity (sounds like a late night record offer, I know – 12 original hits, 12 original stars), purgatory people (see, I didn’t forget about the Catholics) are in the cheap seats waiting for a ticket exchange, sort of like the Green Bay Packers season ticket wait list. Those in Hell are divided between working the concession stands and restrooms or serving those in the luxury loges. The babies in limbo get to forever wander the concourses, looking out into the field but they can never go in. They get an occasional beer and hot dog to keep them happy.

Except if you're a Browns fan. 

 As far as being in Hell though, it won’t take much getting used to for me. I’ve worked in the service industry during the holiday season.

But the real reason for this post is this story in The Washington Post:, Hopeful and relieved, conservative white evangelicals see Trump’s win as their own. The writer interviewed a number of people who described how easy it was to cashier in all their moral scruples to vote for Trump. Makes for fascinating, insightful reading and causes me to reflect on my experiences with Christianity.

If honesty is going to get you into Heaven, this guy might make it to the big box:

“People wanted to vote for Hillary because they’re like, ‘Trump is a bigot.’ He is! But Hillary is 10 times worse,” (Cornerstone Church member) Scott Risvold said, sitting on an overstuffed couch in the lobby at Cornerstone Chapel, 45 minutes early for the Wednesday night worship service.

Hint

I admire that, I really do. The only thing he didn’t say was what Hillary was 10 times worser at. But that’s probably because that libtard journalist wouldn’t put that in there.

“Every church is going to be influenced by the culture,” (Cornerstone Church Pastor) Hamrick said. “The issue becomes, will the church rise up and become an influencer of the culture?”

Good God man, you’ve only had 2,000 years to do it and had a stranglehold on public morals for many centuries of those. Maybe that was the reason for God allowing Democrats and Gays, I dunno.

On the opposite couch, (CC member) Rob Cole nodded. “My sister, I just wanted to unfriend her on Facebook today. Because she’s a die-hard Democrat,” he said. Cole told Risvold, who worked in military intelligence before leaving the service last year at 29, about a video he watched online in which a Christian speaker abroad hailed Trump’s victory. “It really makes you feel great to be a Christian,” he said.

So you must be feeling really, really good, since you resisted the temptation to reject the sister sinner (at least for now). And, of course, this was foretold:

“For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.” – Matthew 10:35

OK, I didn’t see anything about brother against sister, but maybe that’s a given. It was in my family anyway.

And, after all, in the first part of that verse, Jesus says:

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

Remember THAT this Thanksgiving.

So, see, Trump is prophecy. I can’t see him riding a pale horse, however. Putin yes, Trump, not so much.

On we go:

That’s how (CC member Rose) Aller, the substitute teacher, felt, too. “There’s been a big attack on our Christian faith. I think Christians took a big stand this time and said we’re going to stand up for our faith.”

That ‘big attack’ was no doubt launched by the same people who brought us The War on Christmas™ Hmmmm. Maybe Python was right and Heaven is a place where every day is Christmas and those who dare to say happy holidays are thrown into The Lake of Fire™

Feelings. . . 

The morning after the election, Aller said, a black second-grader came into her school and declared, “Trump was elected, so we’re moving.” Aller said she responded, “We’re going to miss you. Let me know when your last day is. We’ll throw you a goodbye party.” She says she’s sure the boy knew she was joking.

Har de har har. Of course she knew. She could see his heart!

Hamrick preached Wednesday night about the culture that has bewildered and infuriated evangelicals during the Obama years. “There’s gender confusion. There’s sexual identity confusion — people are inventing words now,” he said in his teaching. Mentioning the pop star Miley Cyrus, he continued: “Pansexual. What do all these words mean?”

I know that new and big words are difficult for you types but remember -- Google is your friend. Unless you consider the Internet the Devil’s Playground™

But hey, VP-in-waiting Mike Pence believes you can pray the gay away (and probably all matter of sexual perversion) and if that doesn’t work there are ways. . . other ways.

Cardinal Biggles. . ..  the RACK!

And finally:

“It’s like every day our morals in America are being chipped away. Now on the radio you can say words you couldn’t say eight years ago,” said Risvold, the military veteran. “The more we go immoral and crazy, and everybody’s feelings count — I feel this and I feel that.”

Yeah, I know how you FEEL man. I just know it. OUR morals are being chipped away. Damn, pretty soon the pastor’s wife (that harlot!) will probably get a tattoo.

And as for feelings, I get ya’. Men shouldn’t have them. They’re supposed to be reserved for the wimmen folk especially at that time of the month where they pay for Eve’s sin. Feelings get us into a lot of trouble. It’s best we keep them inside us.

I dunno, I remember all the Christian folk talking about their feelings that the world was persecuting them. They didn’t want to make that cake for the gay person because it made them feel like sinners. Stuff like that. I guess certain feelings are OK, others aren’t.

Before you join me in the snark fest, remember: these are the people who are going to Heaven. Not me, not you – them, because their bible tells them so, IF they do everything God commands.

Taxi! 

Which always confused me during that time I was a Lutheran and was taught that we were saved by Grace Alone™ I wish these Christian churches would get together and come up with an agreed upon way to stay out of hell. I guess no matter what you believe, voting for Donald Trump was a start.

Again, though, I’m confused. Not all the Christian churches supported Trump. Many Christians thought his views and actions were very un-Jesus-like.

But I guess these are not the ‘Evangelical’ Christians, so perhaps they are Fake Christians. I guess that’s a problem: people can call themselves whatever they like and Risvold says that’s a problem.

I looked up the word ‘evangelical.’ Merriam-Webster online says this:

of or relating to a Christian sect or group that stresses the authority of the Bible, the importance of believing that Jesus Christ saved you personally from sin or hell, and the preaching of these beliefs to other people

having or showing very strong and enthusiastic feelings.

It’s funny, I read this article and have been in and out of Christianity all my life and I don’t think Mr. Trump has anything to do with it or evangelicals. I mean, he’s never even talked in tongues. Well, wait, maybe he did.

But the people who claim to be Evangelical Christians are supposed to remain apart from convening with those whose lifestyle is an abomination to the Lord.

But in this case, they cast their lot with the unrepentant sinner because. . . they wanted power; not to protect themselves but for themselves so that they may conquer in the sign of the cross via the U.S. Code and the Supreme Court.

Other Christians have cast their lots with dictators throughout history and it never went well for them.

So we seem to have a dispute, simply enough, between those wanting Trump to use God’s law to trump man’s law. And it seems that some Christians now see the rise of their flawed champion as their golden opportunity to create a world that the Commander in The Handmaid’s Tale would be proud of.

It’s all so confusing. They all seem to be trying to save themselves from perdition by making the rest of us conform to their belief system whether we like it or not. And they believe they have finally found their savior.

This reminds me of something from a long-ago play where these same issues were fought over:

Roper: So now you'd give the Devil benefit of law!

More: Yes. What would you do? Cut a great road through the law to get after the Devil?

Roper: I'd cut down every law in England to do that!

More: Oh? And when the last law was down, and the Devil turned round on you — where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat? This country's planted thick with laws from coast to coast — man's laws, not God's — and if you cut them down — and you're just the man to do it — d'you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I'd give the Devil benefit of law, for my own safety's sake.

A Man for All Seasons

At this point, I’ll vote for the Constitution over the Bible, thanks.

See you in Hell!

Confessional

The relationship between myself and shrink 29 is over. 

After 35+ years of psychotherapy or whatever you want to call it, she convinced me that whatever happens now or in the future, it’s all my fault.

I have been weighed in the balance and found defective. But deep down, I knew that.

I realized some time ago when I looked back on my life that of all the problems I have had at work or in personal relationships or with organizations I dealt with, the only constant was me. I never denied it.

So I have tried through the use of therapy and introspection to find a way to stop being myself.

And, after all these years, I have come to the only inescapable conclusion: that this is impossible. 

My therapist drove home the point repeatedly in this session:

Regardless of what I have said or meant to have it taken in the incidents at work, it was my lack of self-control that caused the issue.

Regardless of the fact that I was never counseled, allowed to face my accusers or have the chance to apologize, as I have always done when I’ve found I’ve offended anyone, it was my lack of self-control that caused the issue. 

Regardless of the fact that I was almost killed in front of my wife by a very apologetic SWAT team last year, it was my lack of self-control that is to blame. 

Regardless of the fact that when I was escorted from my work premises three days before Christmas last year when even the investigating detective admitted in his official report that my rights as an employee were being violated six ways from Sunday, that it was only my lack of self-control that was responsible. 

Regardless of the fact that there are innumerable instances of my employer doing the exact same thing to countless employees, it’s my lack of self-control that is the only issue here.

I could go on, but what is the point?

There is nothing wrong with her analysis. Her conclusions fall within the mainstream of psychological practice and, just as importantly, fall within the mainstream of American cultural beliefs. 

Whatever demons I have fought against in my life, I have failed to conquer them. I have tried to overcome my defective personality to no avail. 

They say that at some point as an adult, you have to stop blaming what happened in your youth for your present condition. The problem with that coincides with the same issue we see in PTSD and other similar conditions. The scars we bear as kids that shape and mold our personalities, imprint on our consciousness, and stay with us for a lifetime. Some can consign these incidents to a forgotten corner of their mind and deal. Some can’t.

Those that can’t, no one really wants around. We aren’t in sync with the modern self-help zeitgeist that says you can heal yourself of just about anything. 

I have tried, believe me I have tried. 

Bipolar2, major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder. Never mind, it’s all my inability to control myself . . . without a clue how to do it. My tripwires are injustice, incompetence, wanton cruelty, ignorance  and inequality. When I experience these things, I speak up, apparently, the wrong way. I am over sensitive which means if I think I’m being singled out for something I didn’t do, or treated unfairly, my mood spirals downward and I can’t get out no matter how mindful I try to be. 

I don’t fit in here. I have never fit in here. I never will fit in here. This whole thing was some kind of ghastly mistake. And it’s my fault for not figuring it all out. 

All my life I wanted to be someone else. Someone who is conventionally normal in temperament and sociability. Unfortunately, I keep being myself. All through the jobs, the marriages, the lost friends, the hurt and the anger, I tried and failed to be someone else because ‘being myself’ is what kept getting me into trouble. 

Perhaps stuck in childhood hurts and resentments, I never grew up emotionally. Or, I never developed proper emotional coping devices. To look and talk to me under normal circumstances, you would never guess. Maybe that’s a part of the condition. 

Shrink 29 is right. I should have realized it a long time ago instead of wasting everyone’s time.

Psychologists don’t care if you’re a hard case. That is one thing I have learned. It’s a job, patients are widgets, if they can’t be re-manufactured, show them the door and tell them they’re just not ‘ready for therapy.’ Or, like shrink 28, laugh at them for believing there should be a just world. Make them feel hopeless. 

Congratulations psychiatry. Oh, wait, sorry. You did not fail, I did.

From Jenny Lawson’s post yesterday:

“On Friday I saw my shrink and she told me that my Imposter Syndrome was out of control and that I need to stop beating myself up all the time and instead focus on the moments that make me happy.”

I wish I had her shrink. She seems nice. 

 “One year later I am still broken.  I am still furiously happy.  And I am still not alone.”

She forgot to add: ‘and I am sitting on a pile of cash which means I don’t have to work or interact with people I choose not to.’

There was only once in my life that I can point to and say that I fit in and did remarkably well.  Ironically, it was on active duty for training in the Army. I think the reason for it, was that my entire day was structured with activity. I didn’t have time to think. I didn’t have enough time to worry. My leadership demanded respect but they earned it. I was accomplishing things I didn’t think were possible and felt good about myself. 

At times, it was even fun. I got along with everyone. My drill sergeants thought very highly of me. 

I don’t know what would have happened if I had converted from Army Reserve to Regular Army. Perhaps it would have all gone to Hell eventually. All I know is I had a wife and child that had not signed on for military life. 

But that was then. This is now.

I am 53 and I can’t see any way out of this. 

No matter how hard I try, how much I try to use mindfulness tricks, no matter what inner source I try to conjure up including prayer, I will stifle whatever anti-social tendencies I have 99 times out of 100. But that one time will always prove my undoing. 

I’m tired of hyper-vigilance – it wears a person down; it’s no way to live. I’m tired of tip toeing through life like I’ve been doing the last six years. I’m tired of this feeling of fear and anxiety in the pit of my chest that’s like a constant companion. I’m tired of having lost interest in everything that used to bring me pleasure. I’m just tired.

So very, very tired. 

I confess, to you, oh God, and to you my brothers and sisters,
that I have sinned through my own fault.
In my thoughts and words; in what I have done and what I have failed to do.
And I ask the Blessed Mary ever virgin and all the angels and saints,
and you my brothers and sisters,
to pray for me to the Lord our God. 

I haven’t been to Catholic services for well over 20 years and I did not have to look that up. Some things you never forget.

One more:

    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
                                   For Thine is the Kingdom
   
    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
                                   Life is very long
   
    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
                                   For Thine is the Kingdom
   
    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the
   
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper.
                                            —T.S. Eliot