12/31/2025

 Wednesday, December 31, 2025

1930 Pius XI's encyclical Casti connubii against mixed marriages and artificial birth control and abortion, predecessor of Paul VI's Humanae Vitae

1946 US President Harry Truman officially proclaimed the  end of WW II

1965 There were 39,092 III MAF Marines in South Vietnam, of a total US deployment of 181,000.  Since March 8, 1965, 342 Marines have died in action, 2,047 have been wounded, and 18 are missing.  They claim to have killed 2,627 enemy.   Only God knows how many Vietnamese had been killed, wounded, bombed,  burned, poisoned, or otherwise harmed.

1970 President Allende nationalized the Chilean coal mines

1999 Boris Yeltsin resigned as President of Russia, leaving Prime Minister Vladimir Putin as acting President

2015 US law enforcement killed 1,134 in 2015, young black men 9x more likely to be victims

In bed at 9:30, awake at 4:30 to move to LZB, and up at 5:10.  Geri's up too.  24°, wind chill 14°, high 32°, low 9°.   

Meds, etc.  Morning meds at 8:40  a.m.  

From last year's journal:  

Distrust/skepticism/cynicism.  I grew up in the Irish American Catholic Church.  I grew up in Chicago. I served in the Marine Corps in Vietnam.  I lived through 'light at the end of the tunnel' and Watergate and "weapons of mass destruction" and the Wall Street bailout.  Why would I accept "on faith" or "on authority" anything the faithful or authorities say?  If I can't believe 'my' clerics or 'my' government, why would I believe those of any other religion or any other government, including any plausibly accused of genocide?

A passing New Year's Eve thought.  When most of your life is behind you and you get feebler and less able each day, the coming of another year isn't entirely a thing to celebrate.  Will this be the year that I die?  Will this be a year when I take another fall?  Is it even conceivable that I won't take another fall?  Will the next one result in a trip to the emergency room?  to a broken hip or shoulder?  hospitalization?  When the New Year initiates 4 years of power plays by a wicked, selfish, malignantly narcissistic hegemon, one wishes for the Old Year, bad as that was.  How much human misery will he cause in his first year back in power, this time surrounded by his people, not traitors like Jim Mattis, Mark Milley, and John Kelly.  What havoc will be wrought by Stephen Miller, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., Tulsi Gabbard, and Pete Hegseth?  

Re: distrust.  It's only gotten worse in the era of AI.  The old joke (who are you going to believe, me or your lying eyes?) doesn't have the same punch as before because we know we can't trust 'our lying eyes.' AI images, AI writings, AI 'friends' and advisors.

Re: New Year's Eve thoughts.  Last year, I wondered 'how much human misery [Trump] would cause in his first year back in power.  Now we know, or do we?  (1) A peer-reviewed study in The BMJ (formerly the Brittish Medical Journal) estimated that cuts in Medicaid and related policies from the “One Big Beautiful Bill” could lead to ~16,000 additional deaths per year in the U.S. due to loss of coverage and related health impacts. (2) Researchers tracking changes to U.S. global health aid (including cuts to USAID programs) have found that disruptions in treatment for HIV, TB, malaria, and other conditions could translate into hundreds of thousands of deaths globally in a given year, with tens of thousands occurring in 2025 alone. One report suggests the USAID shutdown has already resulted in deaths from infectious disease and malnutrition in the hundreds of thousands.  (3) Analyses from ProPublica and The Guardian based on climate and emissions models project that Trump’s climate rollback policies could cause hundreds of thousands to over a million additional temperature-related deaths worldwide by 2115, with some estimates still in the hundreds of thousands even under more optimistic scenarios. 

There are all estimates or projections.  It's impossible to know exact numbers, but we can be sure that a great many human beings have died unnecessarily early and others will die unnecessarily early because of actions by Trump and his regime.  We can't know how many people will not die but will otherwise be adversely affected.  271,000 federal jobs have been eliminated since Trump took office (through late Dec 2025), according to the administration’s own statements.  It is estimated that ~42,000 U.S. manufacturing jobs have been lost since tariff policy changes in 2025, with slowed hiring and fewer openings.  Other studies estimate that Trump's mass deportation policies could ultimately eliminate nearly 6 million jobs across the economy (both immigrant and U.S.-born workers).  I haven't found studies of the number of jobs lost because of the cancellation of research and other grants to universities, states, and local governments, but again, we can be sure the numbers are significant, and perhaps staggering. 

Additionally, Trump has installed his apparatchiks in all or virtually all departments and agencies of government.  Most of the organizational and mission-related mischief they are causing internally will likely never be known, and much of it is probably irreparable.  

Quaere why we should celebrate tonight. One year ago, we trembled in anticipation of what Trump would do once he was in office again, much more knowledgeable about the levers of government and surrounded by dyed-in-the-wool, incompetent, and mean-spirited loyalists.  Now we know.  It would be and was even worse than we imagined.  What do the next three years hold in store for us?  I shudder.

Maria Shriver, Tatiana Schlossberg, and Me

This morning, Maria Shriver posted a loving tribute on Facebook to her cousin Tatiana, who died from leukemia the other day. The tribute concluded: "[M]ay each of you who read this know how lucky you are to be alive right now. Please pause and honor your life. It truly is such a gift."

These words touched me deeply, especially because I am so ambivalent about my life in old age. If I make it to my next birthday, I'll be 85—almost surely in worse shape than I am today, and worse than I was when I began writing this journal nearly three and a half years ago. I've often complained here about decrepitude, debility, failing senses, chronic pain, and saddening losses.

Day to day, I'm like a yo-yo moving up and down the string between two extremes: deep gratitude for all the good in my life—family, friends, experiences, the natural beauty all around me—and the feeling that it's time to die, time to "get it over with," as my Dad used to say. During months of severe pain when I couldn't function, I've regularly wished I would die. I've thought of doing myself in. When those thoughts came every day—or more commonly, every night—I would try not to dishonor and devalue my life by reminding myself of all that my mother went through: giving birth to me, nurturing me, shielding Kitty and me from the worst of my father's PTSD, and providing me an education better than her own.

But it's hard to honor your life, to consider it a gift, or to feel lucky to be alive when life is dominated by intense pain and loss of autonomy.

On honoring life

I don't like writing about this because it reveals me as self-centered, whiny, weak. Micky the Mope. Denny the Downer. Wally the Wimp. I do it nonetheless—to avoid pretending that what's happening in my head isn't happening, and to clarify my thinking. I'm like Flannery O'Connor, who wrote to a correspondent: "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say."

I've long believed that a person's ultimate freedom is the freedom to choose death over continued life. When I was a kid, my mother tuned in every week to a popular prime-time network TV show featuring Fulton J. Sheen, auxiliary bishop of New York, delivering lectures that were half-sermon, half-encouragement. The program was called "Life is Worth Living." With all the hardships in her life, she probably needed what Sheen provided. Perhaps we all did—mother, father, Kitty, and me.

But we all know, I suspect, that life is not always worth living.

Geri and I have shared with each other the circumstances under which each of us would rather die than continue living. The significance of that choice came home to me twice this year when VA surgeons, prior to my eye and bladder surgeries, asked whether I wished to waive the Do Not Resuscitate instruction in my Health Care Power of Attorney. The first time, I said, "Resuscitate me if possible."  The second time, I said, literally, "Let me die."

In between, Geri and I had a serious talk about the options. We both reaffirmed our wishes not to prolong our lives by medical or mechanical means.

Was I committing passive suicide when I told the surgeons and the medical staff, "Let me die"?

Wearing Out

I had two experiences this afternoon. First, I went to Sendik's to buy a loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, and a bottle of Coppola's Claret. Halfway through my shopping, I was very short of breath and would have sat down if a seat had been available. My legs were weak, my breathing rapid. I was exhausted. The likelihood of my having congestive heart failure seemed much more than a mere likelihood.

Later in the afternoon, I received a call from Amanda at the Cardiology Clinic at the VA, scheduling my first visit for January 15th. On Thursday, I have another appointment at the Cardiology Clinic to be fitted with a Holter monitor.

In his eighties, my Dad used to tell me that his parts were wearing out. So it goes with me. I accept that, at some particular time and place, my parts—or one of the vital ones, like my heart—will wear out for good. I think I'm okay with that. I hope I'm not fooling myself, but I seem to be like my Aunt Mary Healy, widow of my Uncle Bud, who spent her last months in a nursing home waiting to die. She told my sister Kitty that she prayed regularly to God: "What's the problem? I'm ready."

I don't want to end up in a nursing home like Mary or my Grandma Charlotte. I don't want to end up demented like my brothers-in-law. I don't want to end up living weeks, months, or years in increasing pain and decreasing autonomy.

So I do consider myself lucky to be alive right now—enjoying and sharing life with Geri, looking forward to a special New Year's Eve dinner with her, and to some good days ahead. I do honor my life, despite all my mistakes, sins, weaknesses, and failures, and I recognize it as a gift for which I am thankful. I would agree with Bishop Sheen that life is worth living. I would even tell him that there have been times in my agnostic life when I've thought that people invented the idea of God because, with all the goodness and beauty and glory that life offers, they needed someone to whom to say "Thank you."

Great-Grandparents Jacob and Martha, Duncombe, Iowa.

12/30/2025

 Tuesday, December 30, 2025

1972  Richard Nixon halted the bombing of North Vietnam & announced peace talks

1993, The Vatican recognized Israel

2024  The Second Circuit Court of Appeals upheld a jury verdict finding Donald Trump liable for sexual abuse and defamation in E. Jean Carroll v. Donald J. Trump.

2024 The Taliban government of Afghanistan announced it would close all national and foreign nongovernmental organizations in the country that employed women. 

 In bed at 10:30, up at 6:10.  12°, wind chill 0°, high 22°, low 12°.  

Meds, etc.  Morning meds at  a.m.   

"Consistent with congestive heart failure . . ."   I received a telephone call from Nurse Kim Kitzke at the VA yesterday.  She told me that my  PCP had received the results of my PFT and they were 'consistent with congestive heart failure', which was what she expected, considering my blood test's BNP number and my SOB.  She has referred me to the Cardiac (CHF) Clinic. 

Rummaging again in the basement, I opened a basket with a bunch of old treasures in it.  I found my Uncle Jim's discharge papers from the Navy, dated March 1946, and correspondence to my mother from the VA after he became schizophrenic and was hospitalized, including a letter about a suicide attempt (cutting wrists).  I also found photos from my wedding that I don't recall having seen before, though I must have.  

Survivors 

 My beautiful, heroic, and saintly sister

With Grandpa Dewey and Grandmas Charlotte Clausen

The basket also contained some notebook writing of mine from years ago, about Jesus's 40 days and 40 nights in the desert, contending with the Devil.

Luke 4: 1-2

What went on with you in the desert?

What in the world went on?

What drove you there, or were you drawn?

Did you know yourself?

Or was that why you went?

And 40 days, for heaven's sake!

40 with no food!

Did you want to die?

Were you self-destructive then

As in Jerusalem?

Did you hear voices 

Or just your own?

Were you called or were you calling?

Did you know yourself?

Was it Satan who tempted you there

Or was your temptor you?

Did you know yourself?

You were clearly out of your mind, of course,

Hunger, exposure, wild beasts,

Isolation and temptation,

Or was that all hallucination?

Did angels really tend you there?

Did you know yourself?

Why did you leave when you left at last

To come back to the world?

Were you drawn or driven?

Did you know yourself?

When you at last came back to the world,

Did you know yourself?

####################

And other notes/thoughts written down at the time:

Was it better there?  . . . Like something the cat dragged in.  When they saw you like that, what must they have thought?  You've carried this much too far!  But now, oh my God, what happened to you?  Just distant, disturbed, and . . . what?  You weren't normal then.  To be baptized or not by John.  On your way to the Jordan.  When you walked down your street to Joseph and Mary's house, you must have caused/made quite a stir.  Your nails like Howard Hugh's.  Your hair and beard must have been a nest . . . On your way back, did you bathe in the Jordan and foul the water and fishes?  When you dragged your buttt back to town, you must have looked like Hell    Mark 4:1-6

#####################

Only you were there.

Knowing trouble when they saw it,

The others stayed away.

What was Peter doing there

By the servants' fire?

What could he hope to accomplish there?

Peter was no fool.

Lest he himself be nabbed,

He had followed but at a distance.

He denied he even knew him 

That was perfectly clear.

He wasn't there to offer support.

What did he hope to accomplish

By the servants' fire?

What was Peter doing there?

########################

And snapshots from Sarah's first year of life, including photos from a trip to Riverdale, where my parents and Kitty and Jim each owned a townhouse, the first home for each of them that was owned rather than rented.  It reminded me of the uneasy relationship between Anne and my family, but perhaps I am writing that wrong, that the unease was mostly mine.  Anne came from a genteel middle-class family: polite, church-going, respectable, non-drinking, suburban homeowning.  Her dad, nicknamed "Pink" was a kind and gentle soul who worked in inventory control for Lincoln Electric in Cleveland.  He brought work home every night and worked on it on their dining room table.  Her mother, "Gert", played clarinet in a local community orchestra.  Pink had not served in the military during the War; either he was too old or, most likely, Lincoln Electric was a defense industry whose workers were draft-exempt.  There was no PTSD in the family, no alcoholism, no taverns, no history of home invasion and rape, no citywide news coverage.  Pink was warm and friendly; my Dad was past the worst of his PTSD and related behavior, but he was still not naturally open and communicative.  My mother and Kitty were, but neither was as educated, experienced, and quick-witted as Anne, so fluid conversation didn't come easily.  There was always some awkwardness to it, and we all felt it, I perhaps most of all.  I'm reminded of the awkwardness I felt as an undergraduate at Marquette, with my family background compared with those of my roommates and best friends: Ed's father a prosperous, Beverly Hills business owner, Tom's a LaSalle Street lawyer, Jerry's an insurance broker, Cam's a doctor.  Decades later, at a reunion at Ed's extraordinary home on Marco Island, he and Cam remarked on my "aloofness" during our college days.  It came from the feeling of not belonging, perhaps almost a feeling of imposturing.  In any event, I had that feeling of unease and awkwardness every time Anne and I got together with my family, which resulted in my avoiding such contact.  It worked out OK until my mother died.  She had been my protector, my caregiver, my guardian angel, my biggest fan, my booster, my support throughout my childhood.  That I had survived my childhood with my father,  obtained a college degree and a law degree, a big fancy house on Newberry Boulevard at age 32, a commission in the Marine Corps, and a position on a law school faculty was all because of her, and over a period of nine days, she died and was gone.  I didn't have to worry about awkwardness or unease anymore, but I was left with a lifelong sense of shame and guilt over my ingratitude, selfishness, and weakness.

Kristi Noem wants to demolish more of St. Elizabeth's.  It's where my Uncle Jim was taken after he was picked up, delusional, by the D.C. police on a park bench in Washington, sometime after his father's death and funeral.  As a WWII veteran, he spent the rest of his life under government care, including the period when he was depressed and suicidal.    Most of his care was provided by the VA hospital in Elgin, Illinois.  I wonder now whether his 'care' may have simply consisted of keeping him housed, fed, and medicated.  I'm wondering now what his thoughts were during that suicidal period.  I think of my friend Roland Wright and his father.  St. Elizabeth's was established by Congress in 1855 and was originally known as the “Government Hospital for the Insane.”  The complex has been listed on the National Register of Historic Places since 1979. and was certified it as a National Historic Landmark in 1990.  In 2001, the West Campus of the hospital was declared 'excess property' by Health and Human Services.  In 2007, DHS announced it intended to locate its headquarters there, and by 2019 the move commenced, with significant planning assistance from Geri's niece, Katherine, deputy chief of staff in the office of legal counsel to the Secretary of Homeland Security.  DHS now wants to tear down vacant West Campus buildings because they pose "a risk to life and property."  Their reasoning about the old buildings posing of danger seems to be specious and even paranoid, but they will probably succeed, and another historic treasure will be destroyed, including perhaps a building where my Uncle Jim was cared for.  Maybe I'm saddened by old historic structures being destroyed because the structures remind me of myself and other old times, unsightly and useless, but with a lot of history behind us.

Stand By Me by Rob Reiner.  I watched this movie over the last two days and was struck by the theme of the effect of Gordy's father not loving him, preferring his older brother, Denny, who had died.  It brought back thoughts of my Dad and my cousin Jimmy and of late-life conversations with Kitty about both of us wondering, as kids, whether we were really his children.

Geri and I visited our local dentist, Anne Neary, this morning, Geri to get a detached crown reattached and I for a regular checkup and cleaning.  Geri had replaced the crown herself (loosened by chewing a chocolate-covered caramel leftover from Christmas Eve dinner) and showed Dr. Neary the wrong tooth on her first visit, immediately preceding my visit.  Dr. Neary was unable to remove the crown of that good tooth and told Geri to go home and carefully chew another caramel.  Geri did so, again the crown came off,  and she called while I was in the dentist's chair.  Dr. Neary told her to come back and again Geri did so, returning as I was paying for my visit.  A humorous incident, but all ended well.  My checkup was OK, my teeth were cleaned, and Geri's crown was reglued and replaced.

12/29/2025

 Monday, December 29, 2025

1835 The treaty of New Echota was signed between the US government and representatives of a minority Cherokee political faction to cede all lands of the Cherokee east of the Mississippi River to the United States

1890 US 7th Cavalry massacred 200+ captive Sioux at Wounded Knee, South Dakota

1908 A patent was granted for a 4-wheel automobile brake, Clintonville, Wisconsin

1970 Occupational Safety and Health Act was signed by President Richard M. Nixon

2024  Former U.S. President Jimmy Carter died at the age of 100 in Plains, Georgia

In bed at 9:10, up at 5:50, pretty ferkrimpter, back and hands.  25°, wind chill +1°, high 29°, low 13°. Same WIND ADVISORY as yesterday, plus WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY: Some additional snow accumulations up to 1 inch, plus winds.  Sleet forecast for the next hour.   

Meds, etc.  Morning meds at a.m.  

Wind, blowing snow, sleet; I'm homebound, glad I'm not a bird

Ecclesiastes, ch. 3.

1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: 
2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; 
3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; 
4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; 
5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; 
6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; 
7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; 

8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.  

18 I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts. 
19 For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity. 
20 All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.

A ChatGPT version:

There’s a rhythm stitched into the fabric of living,
an unseen clock quietly keeping time.
Everything arrives when it is meant to arrive,
and leaves when it is meant to leave.

There is a time to begin, bright and trembling,
and a time to end, gentle or fierce.
A time for planting hopes deep in the ground,
and a time to pull them up, roots exposed to sky.

A time when the heart breaks open,
and a time when it heals and closes again.
There is a time when we tear things down—
walls, illusions, even ourselves—
and a time when we build from the rubble,
slowly, deliberately, lovingly.

There is a time when we must weep,
water spilling from places we didn’t know could ache,
and a time when laughter shakes our ribs
and reminds us we are still here.

There is a time to mourn the losses,
to carry grief like a stone in the pocket,
and a time to dance wild and unashamed,
hands lifted to whatever heaven we can find.

There is a time to scatter what we’ve gathered
and a time to gather what we once scattered.
A time to reach out
and a time to step back.

There is a time when words burst out of us,
necessary, burning, truthful,
and a time to stay silent
because silence is the truest thing we have.

There is a time to love deeply,
even when it costs us something,
and a time to resist, to refuse, to stand firm.
A time for conflict we cannot politely avoid,
and a time for peace we must fiercely protect.

We spend our lives working, wanting, shaping,
trying to make sense of the turning seasons of the soul.
And still, mystery remains—
a puzzle bigger than our hands can hold.

Yet whatever goodness we are given—
the work, the laughter, the breath, the bread—
is gift enough for the day.
We live inside a rhythm older than memory,
a song that began before we were born
and will go on singing when we are gone.

So we walk with a kind of reverence,
knowing we do not control the tides of time,
but we can be honest, grateful, and awake
to every season we are given.

###############################

I like both.  I prefer King James of course, but I like that the AI version suggests to me Spinoza's vision of God, Deus sive Natura.  

Church Going by Philip Larkin

Once I am sure there's nothing going on I step inside, letting the door thud shut. Another church: matting, seats, and stone, And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff Up at the holy end; the small neat organ; And a tense, musty, unignorable silence, Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off My cycle-clips in awkward reverence, Move forward, run my hand around the font. From where I stand, the roof looks almost new- Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don't. Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce "Here endeth" much more loudly than I'd meant. The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence, Reflect the place was not worth stopping for. Yet stop I did: in fact I often do, And always end much at a loss like this, Wondering what to look for; wondering, too, When churches fall completely out of use What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep A few cathedrals chronically on show, Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases, And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep. Shall we avoid them as unlucky places? Or, after dark, will dubious women come To make their children touch a particular stone; Pick simples for a cancer; or on some Advised night see walking a dead one? Power of some sort or other will go on In games, in riddles, seemingly at random; But superstition, like belief, must die, And what remains when disbelief has gone? Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky, A shape less recognizable each week, A purpose more obscure. I wonder who Will be the last, the very last, to seek This place for what it was; one of the crew That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were? Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique, Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh? Or will he be my representative, Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt So long and equably what since is found Only in separation - marriage, and birth, And death, and thoughts of these - for whom was built This special shell? For, though I've no idea What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth, It pleases me to stand in silence here; A serious house on serious earth it is, In whose blent air all our compulsions meet, Are recognised, and robed as destinies. And that much never can be obsolete, Since someone will forever be surprising A hunger in himself to be more serious, And gravitating with it to this ground, Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in, If only that so many dead lie round.

12/28/2025

 Sunday, December 28, 2025

1878 Pope Leo XIII published the encyclical Quod apostolici muneri on socialism

1981 1st American test-tube baby, Elizabeth Jordan Carr, was born in Norfolk, Virginia

2015 Japan and South Korea reached an agreement over WWII "comfort women"; Japan apologized and paid 1bn yen in compensation

2024  A body was found in the wheelwell of a UA aircraft in Hawaii, reminding me of how fortunate I am to have been born in America, and Olivia Hussey, who starred in the 1968 Romeo and Juliet film, died at age 73, reminding me of how fortunate I am to have lived into my 80s.

In bed at 8:45, up at 5:55.  40°, high 43°, low 25°, DENSE FOG ADVISORY & A WIND ADVISORY: from 6 p.m. today till 6 p.m. tomorrow, NW winds 20 to 30 mph, gusts up to 50-55 mph; rainy conditions expected fro 10 a.m. to 1 p.m., with wintry mix expected by 1 p.m.

Meds, etc.  Morning meds at 9:45 a.m.  

A favorite photograph and the most memorable.  I tried again and again to obtain a photo of this crabapple tree in the bluff in Lake Park, Milwaukee, near the Lions Bridge and overlooking the lake.  Each attempt failed because of visual clutter from the bushes behind the tree, which obscured the view of the tree.  One Spring morning, around sun-up, as I lay in bed half-asleep, I heard the foghorn moaning from the Lake Park lighthouse.  I bolted from the bed and drove to the park with my camera bag, lay on my belly on the wet clay at the crest of the bluff, and finally got my photo - all the background clutter shrouded by the beautiful fog.  It was 40 to 45 years ago, but I can still almost feel the cold, wet clay under my belly that morning.  The photo now hangs proudly over the headboard of my bed.

Happy holidays, Steve Marley.  I remembered to write a check for $25 to Steve Marley, our 'paper boy'.  He delivers our Sunday New York Times and Milwaukee Journal Sentinel each week, taking care to wrap each paper in a plastic wrapping whenever the weather requires it.  He lives in Random Lake, in Sheboygan County, almost 40 miles from Milwaukee and I suspect he has a mighty huge route, all covered before sun-up.  I try to remember him with a gift at Christmas in memory of my Dad, who also delivered newspapers in Florida during his retirement years.  He and his wife, Grace, would get up in the middle of the night to pick up their papers, fold them, and deliver them to their customers.  Later, he took a job as a crossing guard at a local elementary school.  His jobs paid little, but he added that income to his very small pension from the Continental Can Company and his very small Social Security payment and that was his total income.  I suspect, but don't know, that Grace also received a Social Security check and perhaps some other income during her life. However, in any event, their combined income was not substantial, yet they managed to live on it.  It's of my Dad I think when I write that holiday check to Steve Marley.

I kept busy today with chores:  filling my pill boxes, doing dishes, pots, and pans, cleaning the wok from the other night's meal, taking the garbage out, doing a little work in the basement painting area, doing a small load of laundry, and puttering.   I also watched the entire Mozart's Requiem, hoping that I would like it more than I have in the past, but no luck.   The performers were the Polish Sinfonia Iuventus Orchestra and the Warsaw Philharmonic Choir.   It's hard for me to believe that Mozart composed it, and apparently, he didn't compose all of it, dying before it was completed.  In any event, I get little enjoyment listening to it, though I enjoyed watching the choristers and instrumentalists in the orchestra.  As always, I am amazed at the amount of individual and coordinated human effort it requires for any performance like this to occur.  Amazing.  Astounding.  Magnificent.  I also enjoy looking at each chorus member and wondering what each does for a living, assuming that they are not professionals.  Each one of them looks so elegant and distinguished in his tuxedo and her formal gown.  I remember the many, many hours Anne devoted to her artistic and other work with the Milwaukee Symphony Chorus under the direction of Margaret Hawkins, and how I loved attending their concerts, including one at Carnegie Hall.

We started watching Death by Lightning about the assassination of James Garfield.  Geri watched all of Rob Reiner's Stand By Me; I watched the first half before going to bed and will try to watch the rest today.

I think that I shall never see / A poem lovely as a tree. / A tree whose hungry mouth is prest / Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day, / And lifts her leafy arms to pray; / A tree that may in summer wear / A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; / Who intimately lives with rain. / Poems are made by fools like me, / But only God can make a tree.

12/27/2025

 Saturday, December 27, 2025

1939 Between 20,000 and 40,000 people died in a magnitude 8 earthquake in Turkey

1978 Spain became a democracy after 40 years of dictatorship as King Juan Carlos ratified Spain's 1st democratic constitution

1985 Arab terrorists attacked the airports of Rome and Vienna, killing 20 and wounding 110

1996 Taliban forces retook the strategic Bagram air base, which solidified their buffer zone around Kabul.

2004 Radiation from an explosion on the magnetar SGR 1806-20 reached the Earth, the brightest extrasolar event known to have been witnessed on the planet.

2008 Israel launched Operation Cast Lead in the Gaza Strip, beginning with an airstrike that hit 100 targets in 220 seconds, killing around 250 people

In bed at 9, up at 5:10.  34°, high 40°, low 32°, cloudy all day.  

Meds, etc.  Morning meds at 7 a.m.

Text exchange with Andy last night:

Andy Clausen:

Our schedule is getting really crazy the next couple weeks where having all 5 of us available at the same time is difficult, and Anh now has to head out to Oconomowoc or thereabouts at 11:00 tomorrow morning. Could we come by tomorrow at 10:00 for a brief visit instead of doing brunch?

Charles Clausen:

With all your schedules, I’m not surprised!  10 o’clock here would be fine.  ♥️

I've long since retired, my son's moved away

I called him up just the other day

I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind"

He said, "I'd love to, Dad, if I can find the time

You see my new job's a hassle and the kids have the flu

But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad

It's been sure nice talking to you"

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me

He'd grown up just like me

My boy was just like me

[Chorus]

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

"When you comin' home, son?"

"I don't know when, but we'll get together then, Dad

We're gonna have a good time then" 

Thanks, Harry Chapin, for a beautiful song and painful memories.  From the memoir:

I haven’t written much about [my mother] until this letter for a number of reasons.  First, revisiting memories of her is painful, for reasons which will become clearer later.  Second, I left home within days of my 18th birthday to go to Milwaukee, be sworn into the Navy Reserve, and attend Marquette.  My college summers were spent on active duty with the Navy or Marines.  I married immediately upon graduation and went off to serve 4 years of active duty in the Marines.  Your mother and I returned to Milwaukee after I was discharged in 1967, and we did not visit my family frequently.  My mother died 5 years after I was discharged, so for the last thirteen years of her life and the first thirteen years of my adult life, we were living in different cities, and I was not in frequent contact with her.  As a consequence, my most vivid (though fading) memories of her are from my childhood and adolescence.  I am remorseful that my relationship with my mother during those years was not nearly as close as Kitty’s.  I have lived with this remorse in my heart for 35 years.  It is one of the two great sorrows in my life.    Third, it is impossible to get an understanding of my mother’s qualities without some knowledge of the tremendous challenges she encountered in her life, i.e., the subjects of the last several letters.

That remorse that I mentioned has only increased with each passing year, to the point where it now nearly overwhelms me at times with guilt and shame.  In Erik Erikson's stage theory of psychosocial development, the eighth and last stage is old age and integrity or despair.  As people reflect back on the life they've lived, they either find a sense of wisdom and fulfillment, a life well lived (aka integrity) or experience disappointment and regret (despair).  In my 80s, I have fallen prone to the latter, focused on regrets, failures, self-blame, perhaps eager for unhappiness, like Jane Kenyon in Depression in Winter

Depression in Winter
.
There comes a little space between the south
side of a boulder
and the snow that fills the woods around it.
Sun heats the stone, reveals
a crescent of bare ground: brown ferns,
and tufts of needles like red hair,
acorns, a patch of moss, bright green…
.
I sank with every step up to my knees,
throwing myself forward with a violence
of effort, greedy for unhappiness
– until by accident I found the stone,
with its secret porch of heat and light,
where something small could luxuriate, then
turned back down my path, chastened and calm.

From Facebook today:

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe in a "God" who condemns people to eternal conscious torment for not believing the correct explanation of the terms necessary for salvation.

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe in a "Gospel" that rests on the premise that the human species was afflicted with a genetic sin-condition that resulted from a literal Adam and Eve who were tricked into an act of disobedience. 

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe that a middle eastern teenage woman was directly impregnated by God in order to give birth to a sinless human being who would qualify for the perfect human sacrifice to complete God's salvation plan for humankind. 

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe that men are divinely anointed with special qualities, skills and wisdom that women do not have, which allows men to hold positions of leadership and authority in the church, but not women. 

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe that the Bible, which is a collection of chosen ancient writings that were approved and interpreted out of political expedience, to be considered the infallible, binding, and only truth from God to humankind. 

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe that the suffering of our world squares with an all-powerful God in the heavens, who is overseeing and managing human affairs according to his ultimate goodness. 

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe that our primary recourse for effecting change, transformation and liberation within ourselves and the world is to retreat into a prayer room to petition for divine intervention. 

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe that the religion bearing the name of Jesus was built upon the teachings and doctrines of Paul, instead of the truth that Jesus taught and lived.

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe that "God is love" and then perpetuate a mindset where people must deliver a stellar "Christian" performance in order to be blessed and stay in God's favor.  

Is it me or does it seem odd to believe that there are 8 billion people in the world who are born into countless different cultures, religious beliefs and wisdom traditions, who are just wrong. 

Is it me or does all this seem odd? 

Wait. No. It's not me. This is most definitely... odd, absurd, damaging, indefensible and not the only way of conceiving Jesus, truth, ultimate reality or God.  

You know we can do better than this, right? 

Jim Palmer

Was this the first painting I ever tried, or was it the barnyard scene I found with it while working on organizing my painting space in the basement this afternoon?  I was first, the other second, both done in Yuma?  Or were they done when I started painting after I got back to the States from Asia?  In either case, I'm finding it interesting that each represents what apparently is my lifelong interest in cemeteries, especially military cemeteries, and farm scenes.  How many photos of cemeteries, especially Wood National, and farms in the last few years. 

12/26/2025

 Friday, December 26, 2025

1862 Largest mass execution in US history: 38 Dakota men were executed via hanging in the aftermath of the U.S.-Dakota War in Mankato, Minnesota 

1924 Frances Gumm (later Judy Garland), age 2½, billed as 'Baby Frances', made her show business debut at her father's vaudeville theater in Grand Rapids, Minnesota

1954 "The Shadow" aired for last time on radio

1957 Swedish film "Wild Strawberries" was released, written and directed by legendary filmmaker Ingmar Bergman, considered one of his best

The holiday maestro was pondering her work yesterday afternoon

In bed at 9, awake at 4:30 to move to LZB, half-awake till up at 6.  37°, high 42°, low 36°, wintry mix around 7 a.m, wind gusts to 17 mph.  0.4" of rain overnight.  None expected till Sunday.

Meds, etc.  Morning meds at 8 a.m.   Trulicity at 9 a.m. 

Above and beyond . . .  I went to bed last night before Geri did.  When I retired, there were quite a few dishes, etc., to be cleaned up from the delicious tenderloin dinner Geri had prepared.  I assured her I would clean up in the morning when my energy tank was refilled, but when I returned to the kitchen this morning, there were only a few big pots and pans to be washed.  I guess Santa or Mrs. Claus was busy overnight.

but I say to you, love your enemy . . .Mt. %:44  Trump's Christmas gift, in this morning's news"

Mr. Trump said in a post on Truth Social that “the United States launched a powerful and deadly strike against ISIS Terrorist Scum in Northwest Nigeria, who have been targeting and viciously killing, primarily, innocent Christians at levels not seen for many years, and even Centuries!”

The strike involved more than a dozen Tomahawk cruise missiles fired off a Navy ship in the Gulf of Guinea, hitting insurgents in two ISIS camps in northwest Nigeria’s Sokoto State, according to a U.S. military official . . .

An insurgency there has gone on for more than a decade, killing thousands of Christians and Muslims across sectarian lines. The Nigerian authorities have rejected allegations of a Christian genocide, noting that the web of violent armed groups, with different motives and spread across the country, kills as many Muslims as Christians. 

On Thursday, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth wrote in a post on social media, “The President was clear last month: the killing of innocent Christians in Nigeria (and elsewhere) must end.”

“The @DeptofWar is always ready, so ISIS found out tonight — on Christmas,” he added. “More to come…” 

Mr. Trump, in his Truth Social post, said that “under my leadership, our Country will not allow Radical Islamic Terrorism to prosper.” He added: “May God Bless our Military, and MERRY CHRISTMAS to all, including the dead Terrorists, of which there will be many more if their slaughter of Christians continues. 

Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, goodwill toward men. Lk. 2:14. 

Schmoozing with Ellis on Christmas Day

How could any man fail to love a woman with a face and a laugh like that?

Email exchange with Bill & Paula Hendricks

Merry Christmas to all,

We hope 2025 was a good year for all.  It was an eventful year for us.  Bill turned 85, I am 2 years behind him and our daughter turned 60. How could we all be this old?  We are slowing down a little more each year but cherish each day.

We had a family discussion this summer. Our children would like us to consider moving to a senior community.  We are thinking about it, but not in the immediate future.  We admit the stairs and the care of the grounds are our main concerns.  Everyone tells us it is better to move together.  So much to think about!

Our family is doing very well. Mark’s youngest (Austin) graduated in May. He was fortunate to be offered a job following his internship last summer. Cole fulfilled his 2 year commitment to his first job.  Tired of working 70-80 hours a week, he found a job in Baltimore working in the financial arm of the Baltimore Ravens football team.  So far so good for both of them. Mark and Sharon have a few more years until they can take an early retirement.

Maria’s girls are continuing to enjoy their jobs – Amy our police officer and Suzanne our accountant. Suzanne and her husband announced they are expecting their first child (a boy) in June.  Maria and Buddy are also looking forward to their retirement and grandparent years.

               May the spirit of the season bring peace to all now and in the coming year.      

Slogthrop <slogthrop@gmail.com>

Hi, Bill, Hi, Paula.  I just saw your email and send the same wishes back to you folks.  We also are still getting around despite having too many mostly age-related maladies and too many doctors.  After Ed nagged me for years about getting my health care from the VA, I finally managed it about 9 years ago and I've been doing my best to bankrupt the system but so far I've failed.  I'm in the middle of some cardiac and lung tests right now and won't know the results for a few weeks.  Geri and I had a heart-to-heart talk a few weeks ago about whether we should sell our house because of my problems negotiating stairs and her challenges with gardening.  Our lot is bigger than 1/2 an acre with lots of gardens spread around it which Geri tends.  She's about to turn 82 and has a new knee all of which makes gardening a real challenge.  We decided to stay in the house as long as we can, but I think it's becoming an 'iffy' proposition.  My daughter Sarah has been living in Germany for the last 15 years or so and has dual citizenship.  Unless things get better in this country, I suspect she'll stay where she is.  She married into a terrific family over there, and she and her husband have a lovely home in Bavaria, not far from Austria and Northern Italy, where they go camping frequently.  Our son Andy is practicing law downtown.  Their oldest, Peter, is finishing his first year at Milwaukee School of Engineering and hoping to transfer to UW Engineering School next year.  Lizzie is a sophomore in high school, and Drew is in 7th grade (or is it 8th?)  It's been years since we've seen one another but each of you occupies a warm place in my heart, getting warmer with each passing year.❤️❤️

 

12/25/2025

 Thursday, December 25, 2025

Christmas 2025

1957 Ed Gein was found not guilty by reason of insanity for murders in Plainfield

1965 President Lyndon B. Johnson ordered a halt to bombing operations in North Vietnam, hoping to spur peace talks

1968 NASA Apollo 8 crew broadcast while orbiting the moon and read passages from the Bible to celebrate Christmas

1977 Prime Minister Menachem Begin met President Anwar Sadat in Egypt

1979 Soviet forces invaded Afghanistan to prop up the Communist government, beginning a disastrous and failed ten-year war

1989 Trial of Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu and his wife Elena on charges of genocide and personal enrichment; the couple is found guilty and executed by firing squad the same day.

1999 Pope John Paul II personally opened the Holy Doors of St. John Lateran in Rome to mark the Jubilee

In bed at 9, up a 5:20.  34°,  w/c 19°, high 37°, low 33°, windy.  

Meds, etc.  Morning meds at 10 a.m.   

I love Kitty's Hummels, but they give me a little heartache

A Christman Grinch.   I try to remember the last time I truly looked forward to Christmas, but I can't remember.  It must have been when Sarah and Andy were little, and all the world seemed brighter despite Vietnam, Nixon, Watergate, etc.  I have long hated the commercialism of the season.  Bob Friebert used to call Christmas "my people's favorite holy day" because of all the buying and selling.  Has there ever been a time in my life when the purported religious significance of the Nativity and the Incarnation, the Word made flesh, God so loving the world that He sent his only begotten Son, and all that, was more important than the money-making?  Maybe in the days before radio and television, mass communication meaning mass advertising, mass want-creating, meaning mass stress.  I am indeed a Grinch, with my soul pinched, unable to feel "joy to the world, the Lord has come, let earth receive her King " and "He rules the world with Truth and Grace".  So much mythology, so much falsehood, starting with the conflicting accounts in the gospels of Matthew and Luke, and all of it, in any case, make-believe, made up.  Call me Scrooge.  Alas.  My loss.

    Speaking of mythologies and falsehoods, I note the anniversary of Pope John Paul II's calling a Jubilee Year or Holy Year back in 1999/2000.  It was a year when Catholics could supposedly obtain a Plenary Indulgence by traveling to Rome, visiting the four major churches, and fulfilling several other requirements, thereby having all their sins forgiven and their time in Purgatory reduced.  Good grief.  2025 has been another Jubilee Year, declared by Pope Francis back in 2024.  What Bs, or as we used to say in Vietnam, happy horseshit.  We'll be home by Christmas, and all that. 

It's also the anniversary of LBJ announcing the Christmas bombing pause in 1965, when my young butt was living in a tent on the airbase outside Danang and working in the Tactical Air Control Center of the headquarters of the 1st Marine Air Wing.  The bombing pause applied only to North Vietnam; close air support and other aviation operations continued as normal in the South.  It was the second bombing pause.  There was an earlier one in May, intended to show Hanoi that the U.S. was willing to negotiate; it lasted only a week.  The Christmas pause lasted more than a month.  Both were unsuccessful; the war continued, and no negotiations occurred.  I remember almost nothing of my Christmas in Vietnam.  By the time of the Christmas bombing pause, Johnson and McNamara already knew the war was unwinnable.  From my memoir:

When I arrived in Vietnam in July, 1965, the conflict there was not yet a full-fledged American war.  The mission of American combat forces was limited and essentially defensive.  It all changed two weeks after my arrival when President Johnson made the decision to grant General Westmoreland’s request for a massive infusion of American forces in 1965 and more in 1966.   He granted the request for the very reasons that should have caused him to deny it - because he knew that the South Vietnamese government was incapable of effectively governing the country and the South Vietnamese military was incapable of defending it.  That decision on that date for those reasons turned the war into an American war.  The whole world knew of the fecklessness and corruption of the Vietnamese government in Saigon and of the powerlessness of the South Vietnamese military and of the determination of the VC/NVA forces and we Marines knew it too.  In Robert McNamara’s In Retrospect, he acknowledges the mistake of not pulling out of Vietnam early.  He wrote:

By [the early or mid 1960s] it should have become apparent that the two conditions underlying President Kennedy’s decision to send military advisors to South Vietnam were not being met and, indeed, could not be met: political stability did not exist and was unlikely ever to be achieved; and the South Vietnamese, even with our training assistance and logistical support, were incapable of defending themselves.

Given these facts – and they are facts – I believe we could and should have withdrawn from South Vietnam either in late 1963 amid the turmoil following Điem’s assassination or in late 1964 or early 1965 in the face of increasing political and military weakness in South Vietnam.  

So it goes.  In late 64 or early 65,  the U.S. had 23,300 advisors in RVN and 'only' 225 Americans killed in action.  By the end of the war, more than 58,000 Americans were KIAs, more than 153,000 were WIAs, and another 1,566 MIAs, including my friend 'Moon' Mullen, shot down in his A4 Skyhawk over Laos and never found.    What are we to think of this, even 60 years later?  even after Afghanistan,  and now with Trump's buildup in the Caribbean off Venezuela?  I note that today is also the anniversary of the Soviet Union's invasion of Afghanistan.  What did they learn from that?  What did we learn from that?  Merry Christmas, He rules the world, with Truth and Grace.

From the current issue of Harper's Magazine, Turning Point:How the GOP consensus on Israel cracked, by Andrew Cockburn.  Excerpt:

For decades, Zionist political organizations like AIPAC and a media industry concentrated in a few reliably sympathetic hands protected the narrative that Israel is the sole democracy in the Middle East, permanently imperiled by genocidal foes, from serious challenge—even as Israel populated the occupied West Bank with illegal settlements and kept the fenced-off population of Gaza in a state of near malnutrition with a total military blockade starting in 2007. But over the past two years, Israel has thrown the doors to debate wide open with its actions in Gaza: killing civilians by the tens of thousands, burying many alive under the rubble of their homes, destroying hospitals, sniping children with drones, and starving young and old alike. And the world has watched it happen. Predictably, traditional media outlets such as the New York Times and CNN have offered sanitized reports on the slaughter. But thanks to social media, it has become impossible to control the flow of information. By 2025, according to a Pew Research Center survey, one in five Americans was getting their news from TikTok, where a stream of powerful images from Gaza depicted what was really happening there. The figure rose to 43 percent among those under thirty.

This was a dire turn of events for Israel’s American supporters. Early in the war, Jonathan Greenblatt, current head of the ADL, noted the effects of the images from Gaza. “We have a major, major, major generational problem,” Greenblatt can be heard lamenting in a leaked recording of a November 2023 call. “All the polling I’ve seen,” he says, “suggests this is not a left–right gap, folks . . . it’s young and old. . . . We really have a TikTok problem, a Gen Z problem.”

He was right about the polls. Israel’s standing with the American public, according to numerous surveys, has been plummeting across the board. A New York Times/Siena College poll in September revealed that more Americans supported the Palestinians than Israel, and 40 percent believed that Israel was deliberately killing civilians. But the gap is most pronounced among young people. A Pew survey published in April revealed that the portion of young Democrats with an unfavorable view of Israel increased from 62 percent in 2022 to 71 percent in 2025. More alarmingly for the Trump Administration, among Republicans under the age of fifty, a demographic that includes Kirk’s followers, disaffection with Israel jumped from 35 percent to 50 percent. Public polls revealing the country’s shrinking popularity among conservatives have been confirmed by internal Republican research. 

I don't dispute the author's view that the slide in approval of the State of Israel is largely due to the world's moral revulsion over its war on Gaza, though my longer-term disapproval is based on the behavior of its settlers, in Gaza (until Ariel Sharon ousted them in 2005) but mostly in the West Bank.  From all that I have read, the Israel Defense Force and other components of the Israeli government have for years worked hand in hand with the settlers to dispossess Palestinians of their land and otherwise to make life unlivable for them.  It's been a case of slow-moving ethnic cleansing accelerating rapidly after October 7th.  Israel has gotten away with it for decades, but the chickens are coming home to roost.  The movement is led by young people, sickened by Israel's behavior, but it includes plenty of old folks like me.  

Steve and Nikki left for Chicago after Geri's dinner of mushroom and onion stuffed tenderloin this afternoon.