Tag: #stories

End of an Era

End of an Era

There’s a change coming to my Sundays. Starting this week and going forward, the paper copy of the Washington Post Sunday newspaper will arrive on … wait for it … Monday. Yep, it’s the end of an era for many of us here in rural Fauquier County.

I’ve always read newspapers. Growing up at home, it was the Ottawa Daily Times, and on Sundays, both the Chicago Tribune and Sun Times. At West Point, it was the New York Times (Plebes delivered hard copies to every cadet room). When we lived in Germany in the ‘80s, in addition to the Stars and Stripes, I would buy the International Herald Tribune, at the local book store or snack bar. At the time, The Tribune was a joint publishing effort between the New York Times and the Washington Post. It was a great paper and provided in depth coverage of events in the States and around the world. When Cathy and I returned to the DC area in ‘89, we began our subscription to the Washington Post and have read it ever since – thirty-four years of delivery.

At the time of course, the subscription was only hard copy and delivered daily. In 1999, when we moved to our farm in Fauquier County, our subscription moved with us. During the week, when I left for work around 5:30AM, the paper was already delivered to our home, and I’d pick it up and take it with me.

Home Delivery of the Post for Thirty Four Years

Ahhh, but Sundays were different. After getting up and starting a pot of coffee, I’d dutifully walk up the drive and retrieve the Post from the receptacle next to the mailbox. Big and fat, the Sunday edition was meant for leisurely exploration. I’d always start with the sports section, then move on to the front page. After that, Outlook (the opinion section), Art&Style, Business, Metro, Bookworld, the Comics and finally the Sunday magazine*. It was a great way to while away a couple of hours.

Times change of course. Digital subscriptions started and were included with our home subscription. I found digital great for looking at headlines, along with the updates and alerts that were posted throughout the day. Having said that, I still loved getting ink on my fingers and reading the hardcopy. Some of my younger friends laughed at me and basically told me I needed to get with the times. I’d always argue back about the corollary reading the hardcopy provided – you started reading a front page article which continued on page A15, and on page A15, you would see one or two other smaller articles that you never would have found if just reading digitally.

Then Covid hit, and as with so many things during that time, other changes happened. Remember early on, when folks still weren’t sure how it spread? Wiping down groceries before you brought them into the house? Everyone buying Clorox wipes, or other antiseptics? At the time, we’d let the hardcopy sit in the garage for a day or two before bringing it into the house. Yea, I know it all sounds foolish now, but everyone was concerned (or at least we were).

I started reading a lot more articles online, not just the headlines. “Corollary reading” was lost, but it didn’t seem so important during Covid. Eventually, we canceled our daily subscription – it wasn’t worth it anymore. We did decide to keep the Sunday hardcopy, along with the digital. I still enjoyed working my way through the Sunday paper – it was a form of leisure in it’s own right.

Two weeks ago, our friend Colleen who also lives in Fauquier, posted on FB that she received an email notice that on January 30th, the Post was going to start using the Postal Service to deliver the newspaper. Soooooo, your daily morning paper would now come sometime later in the day, and the Sunday paper would arrive on Mondays. What the heck?!

The Email Colleen Received

Shortly after, we received the same email and a post card via mail. We were on the hit list as well. And just like that, the world changed.

Our Post Card From the Washington Post

We are retired, so we have the time to read the Sunday edition on Monday, but it won’t be the same. For our working friends who subscribe, it actually becomes somewhat untenable. A few of their (printable) comments are here:

  • I MUCH prefer reading print over any form of electronic distrubtion, and this totaly blows my VERY long-standing Sunday routine out of the water.
  • My Sundays will never be the same… Walk the dog, make my coffee, and start reading. Now it will be walk the dog, get in the car and drive to the Exxon station, then…
  • I will miss my daily morning paper. Cut it back to digital. So sad. 😞
  • I emailed and spoke with them yesterday within minutes of having received my notice …

Of course it’s all about economics, and I understand. Home delivery is no longer feasible in rural counties such as ours. With people moving to digital, hardcopy deliveries have dropped in general and for places like Fauquier, there is too much driving for the carriers, increasing their time and cost. It’s an uncorrectable downward spiral.

I called the Post to cancel my Sunday hardcopy, although I planned on retaining the digital subscription. It turns out the cost for Sunday hard copy and digital is virtually the same as just receiving the digital subscription, and so for now, I’m keeping them both. We’ll see what happens in the near term, but my guess is on Mondays, the physical newspaper will go straight from delivery to recycling, and in a month or so, I’ll cancel the hard copy. In the meantime, the nice man I spoke to on the phone promised to convey my complaint and concern to “management”.

Our Last Copy of the Sunday WaPo that Actually Arrived on a Sunday.

Last week, I received a similar notice from the New York Times. We also receive their Sunday paper hardcopy and have a digital subscription. I’m probably going to cut their Sunday paper soon as well.

That will leave us with digital copies of The Post, the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, good papers all. I appreciate the daily headlines, their alerts throughout the day and the links I have to any number of special features. Still, I know my world will grow just a little smaller and a little less broad without newspaper ink rubbing off on my fingers.

Addendum:

  • I didn’t touch on it here, but the demise of print newspapers, and local newspapers in general is a real thing, and an unfortunate one. Between 2004 and 2022, over 2,500 local papers have ceased operation, including over 360 that have disappeared just since the start of the pandemic. We are all a little poorer for their disappearance.
  • * There have been changes to the Sunday WaPo over the years. Book World disappeared and later reappeared. Outlook (The Opinion section) moved from a separate section to just a few pages at the end of the main section. And, just before Christmas last year, the Sunday Magazine disappeared all together.

Orion, My Old Friend

Orion, My Old Friend

It’s nice to have constants in your life, even when they are little ones. Something you can count on. Something that gives you comfort. Something you can look at and say, “Yep, it’s still there.” For me, one of those constants is my old friend Orion in the winter night sky.

I suppose my interest in space and the constellations started with Mrs Finkeldey, my first grade teacher. On February 20th, 1962, a little over halfway through our school year, astronaut John Glenn became the first American to orbit the Earth. Mrs Finkeldey talked about Glenn, and taught us about the solar system and the (then nine) planets. Combining current events and science for first graders – who knew?

Later, in Boy Scouts, I began learning about the constellations. It started with the Big Dipper pointing to the North Star in the Little Dipper. Suddenly, and amazingly, you always knew what direction north was (unless it was a cloudy night). That was just the beginning. With my Boy Scout Handbook, I began to learn how to identify and locate the constellations – Cepheus and Cassiopeia; Canis Major, along with Sirius, the brightest star in the sky; Gemini the Twins; Taurus the Bull; the Pleiades (the Seven Sisters) and many others.

Knowledge of the Constellations in My Old Boy Scout Handbook

I’m not sure why, but my favorite was always Orion, The Hunter. Orion is one of the more identifiable constellations and has been mentioned by Homer and Virgil, and is even in the Bible*. According to Mythology, Orion was a great hunter and the son of Poseidon. He was killed by the sting of a large scorpion after possible misdeeds. Later, Zeus put both Orion and the Scorpion (Scorpius) in the sky as constellations.

Orion, The Hunter.

Orion is easy to see and easy to recognize, but here in the Northern Hemisphere, only viewable in winter. Starting in November, I watch him traverse the sky. Every night when I take Carmen out for her last walk, there he is overhead. If I take binoculars with me, or bring out my telescope, I can see the the Orion Nebula in his sword with greater detail. It’s no matter though. Knowing he, and it, are there are comfort enough.

Photo of Orion Taken With My iPhone 12 at Home in Virginia

I’ll observe him until March or so, and then he disappears from the night sky. The good news is he will reappear in late Fall, as he always does. He’s a bit more reliable than many of the unstable things in our lives.

Photo of the Orion Nebula,Below Orion’s Belt. Taken With My iPhone 12.

It’s not just here at home where I see him. Because of his location in the sky, he is visible in both the Northern and Southern Hemispheres. He was with us when we lived in Germany in the ‘80s. Over the years, I’ve seen him on vacations around the world, including this week in Grand Cayman. He has been a reliable travel companion.

iPhone 12 Picture of Orion With his Shield From Grand Cayman This Week.

Take a look one of these nights around 10PM. This time of year, he is high overhead, and slightly south of the center of the sky. You will find him easily enough. Look for his belt, and the rest will come with it. Know that I will probably be gazing on him around that time of night as well. I spend a few quiet moments with him almost every evening.

It is perhaps strange to think of a constellation as a touchstone, but that is what Orion has become for me. He is a constant I can count on and my eyes are drawn to him on starry winter nights. For me, he provides calmness and serenity, if only for a few moments. For most of us, there aren’t many things that do so. When you find one, it’s good to hold onto it.

… Silently, one by one,
in the infinite meadows of heaven,  
blossomed the lovely stars, 
the forget-me-nots of the angels… 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Addendum:

I fondly remember my First Grade teacher, Mrs Thelma Finkeldey, and her purple hair. She was a great teacher. You can read more about her here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/06/04/mrs-thelma-finkeldey/

* Here are the Bible verses which mention Orion:

  • Job 9:9. Who makes the Bear, Orion and the Pleiades, And the chambers of the south;
  • Job 38:31. Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades, Or loose the cords of Orion?
  • Amos 5:8. He who made the Pleiades and Orion And changes deep darkness into morning, Who also darkens day into night, Who calls for the waters of the sea And pours them out on the surface of the earth, The Lord is His name.

Artificial Intelligence, Art, and Writing

Artificial Intelligence, Art, and Writing

There’s been a lot in the news lately about creative Artificial Intelligence (AI) art and writing programs. Some see them as the doom of mankind, others as a bright and shiny future. I don’t have an answer to either point, but what I DO know is people better get ready – this is happening and will continue to grow.

AI, or near AI capabilities have been around for awhile, and continue to expand in our lives. Everyone knows about computers frequently beating all but the very best chess champions on a regular basis. In fact IBM’s “Big Blue” computer defeated the reigning world champion, Gary Kasparov, in 1990. In the intervening decades, AI has expanded in numerous other areas to help mankind – assisting doctors, robots performing intricate operations on humans, financial fraud detection, facial recognition, digital assistants (think Siri or Alexa) and navigation apps (think Waze, Google Maps, etc) to name just a few. In general, we have accepted and embraced these changes and advances. They have improved our lives in one way, or another.

However, we humans seem a bit concerned as of late. It was all fine when AI was assisting us. Now, it is moving into “creative” areas, such as art and writing. People seem a bit more … uneasy – “Wait a minute, if a computer can be creative, what’s my value-add to this thing called life?”

We Seem to have More Concern with AI When it Starts Getting Creative

Over the past several months, my friend Morgan and I have been discussing AI and the potential repercussions of it’s expansion into art and writing. It started last fall when he downloaded the AI art program DALL·E 2. It’s free for the first 50 searches. After that, it’s $15 for 115 searches. Each search gives you four images based on what you input as a request. You can request a theme, a style and color scheme and the computer does the rest. Some questions – if a computer can do a da Vinci quality painting, do we need Leonardo? And what’s the value of either painting – how do you equate them? Are there moral issues? How do you compare something generated by a human versus something generated by a computer?

We spent several miles of walking and more than a couple of beers discussing all of those questions and others. We even ran a series of “tests” comparing the classic painting “Dogs Playing Poker” by American Artist Cassius Marcellus Coolidge, and computer versions, based on Morgan’s inputs. You can judge a couple of the results below, including the refinement over time. I particularly like how one of the dogs in the lower (later) AI painting is looking in the direction of the artist – a nice touch.

Dogs Playing Poker by Coolidge on the Left. A Couple of AI Generated Pictures on the Right

Then last December, the news started talking about a new AI writing tool called ChatGPT. It can write poems, answer questions, generate lists, act as an assistant in writing, and even do writing of it’s own, including “factual information”, essays and short stories. There have been problems with the “factual info” sometimes getting something totally wrong, but it’s also been correct more often than not.

Morgan and I again spoke about the ramifications. In the future, what happens to a prospective Tom Clancy, James Patterson, Tolstoy or Shakespeare? What happens to college essays? What are the implications for plagiarism? If you wrote the questions that generated the subsequent ChapGPT output, are you the author?

More miles of walking and more beers ensued. Generating a list to help you was one thing, but the computer writing an essay submitted as your work was another. How would teachers know what was reality? We again ran a test of sorts.

Last December, I wrote a blog about our neighbor’s dog, Kylie, who stole some of our shoes (Read it here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2022/12/21/kylie-the-shoe-thief/). A couple of weeks ago, I asked ChaptGPT to “Write a short story about my neighbor’s Dog, Kylie, who steals our shoes, when our dog Carmen isn’t outside.” In the meantime, Morgan asked DALL·E 2 to produce an accompanying picture. Here was the response from ChapGPT, and Morgan’s picture:

“ Sure! Here's a short story about Kylie the shoe-stealing neighbor's dog:

It was a typical sunny afternoon in the neighborhood, and Carmen the dog was lounging in the yard as her owner, Maria, worked in the garden. Suddenly, Maria noticed something odd happening at the edge of the property. It was Kylie, the neighbor's mischievous golden retriever, sneaking into the yard and making a beeline for the porch.

Maria watched in amazement as Kylie snatched one of her shoes and ran off with it, barking happily. Carmen chased after Kylie, but the clever retriever was too fast. Maria couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the two dogs running circles around the yard, with Kylie proudly holding on to her prize. Despite her initial frustration at losing a favorite pair of shoes, Maria couldn't stay mad at the playful Kylie for long. She knew that the retriever was just having a good time, and she couldn't help but admire her neighbor's dog for her boundless energy and enthusiasm.

In the end, Maria decided to keep an eye on her shoes whenever Kylie was around, but she knew that the playful retriever would always find a way to keep them on their toes (or rather, off their feet).”
Picture of Kylie with a Stolen Shoe, produced by Morgan Using the AI Program, DALL·E 2.

My friend Mark wasn’t overly impressed with the story. His words – “It’s fine, but it looks like it was written by an eighth-grader.” And he is right to a degree. Obviously, ChatGPT didn’t have the full context of the reality of the thefts, but as stories go, it had a beginning, an end and maybe made you smile a little. With a bit of imagination, you can see where the future is heading.

There are lots of questions surrounding “creative” AI – ethical, moral, values, access, financial and privacy concerns to name a few areas. Yes, we need to continue discussing all of this. As importantly, we need to understand the inevitability and implications of what is coming in the future. As Morgan said on one of our walks, “People need to understand this is going to happen. It’s not going away, and it will get exponentially better in the coming years. Good writers will avoid this technology. Great writers will embrace it to flesh out their stories. You won’t lose your job to AI. You’ll lose your job to people who know how to use AI”.

Sometime in the future, a real HAL computer (Of 2001: A Space Odyssey fame) will exist. Will computers become sentient in their own fashion? You never know, but I wouldn’t bet against it. Maybe there will always be a “Dave” or two around to protect us. Maybe we won’t need them. Then again…

Dave: Open the pod bay doors, HAL.
HAL: I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that.
Dave: What's the problem?
HAL: I think you know what the problem is, just as well as I do.

Addendum:

  • I realize this is a hard topic to really cover in 1,000 words or so (my typical blog length), but thought it was worth getting the topic out there. The future is now, and the more people are aware, the better.
  • You can read my original Kylie, The Shoe Thief blog here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2022/12/21/kylie-the-shoe-thief/
  • Thanks to Morgan Johnson for editing support and additions to this blog. More importantly, thanks for being a good friend and engaging in these ongoing conversations.
  • Thanks to my friend Colleen and wife Cathy as always for their editing support. Also thanks to my old buddy Mark Dunavan for taking a look or two.

Max

Max

I always suspected it might be true. Still, it was a bit jarring to find out it actually was true. Here in America, there are more dogs named Max, than people named Max. A lot more. In fact, there are about 8 times as many dogs as people named Max. I’m honored … I think.

Growing up in Ottawa, Illinois in the ‘60s, Max was a unique name. I believe I was the only Max at McKinley Grade School and it caused a bit of a problem. When filling out forms or headers for formal tests, teachers never believed my name was just “Max”. They were convinced it must be Maximillian, or Maxwell. I’d dutifully tell them no, it was just Max. I know at least a couple of them called mom, as I obviously didn’t know what I was talking about. Mom would let them know I DID know my own name, thank you very much.

Of course Maxwell Smart in the ‘60s, Mel Gibson as Mad Max and Russell Crowe as Maximus in Gladiator spread the name a bit more. And, Cathy’s Dad was named Max (I believe he was the first Max I personally knew). Over time, it wasn’t quite as unique among us humans.

As I grew older, one of the things many people said when they first met me was “Oh! I know a dog named Max!” We would of course have a chuckle. Sometimes they would ask if I could sit, or stay, and I’d do a reasonable dog imitation. I drew the line at rolling over.

Time passed. People became more inventive, or more sharing. I learned of several horses named Max, a Cat named Max and even a Guinea Pig named Max. And then of course there was the occasional person with a mother or daughter named Max. Years ago, friends in Germany wanted to name their beagle Max (pronounced Machs in German), but checked with me first to make sure I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind and thought it was cool, although they also pointed out they weren’t actually naming him after me ;-).

Max, the Beagle.

Which brings us to the present.

The Washington Post recently ran an article about dog and people names and the overlap between them. It turns out Max is the second most popular dog name in America right now. Only Bella (of Twilight Saga fame) is a more popular name for dogs.

Max is Pretty Popular as a Dog Name.

So how popular is Max? If you gathered 100,000 people and 100,000 dogs together in a park, 351 dogs would be named Max, while only 44 people would be named Max (for Bella, it’s 357 dogs and 20 people). At the other end of the spectrum, only 80 dogs, but 411 people would be named George.

Outnumbered a Bit on the Human Side.

Yep, if you know a “Max” (other than me), he’s more likely a dog than a human.

What’s in a name? Max means “The Greatest” and I agree it’s a great name for either a man or his best friend. The Baby Center, (an online site with a wealth of knowledge about babies, including names) had this to say – “Max is undoubtedly a cool name, but if you’re considering it, keep in mind it’s also a common pet name. In fact, Max is the most popular name for dogs in the United States, right up there with Toby, Bella, Riley, and Molly.”

We should all be so honored and appreciated.

Addendum:

  • Thanks to our old friend Steven Buxton for sending us a picture of Max the beagle. We had so much fun with Steven and his folks Jim and Res back in the ‘80s.
  • It turns out this is my 300th blog. I started this effort in October of 2015 and it’s evolved over time. Back then, I’d push something out every couple of weeks, or when I could get to it. The last couple of years, it’s been more or less weekly. For better or worse, my topics have remained as diverse as ever. I’m still small scale, but 300 blogs and 7 plus years of continuity – I’ll take it. I think Live Life Exuberantly remains a valid title for the blog, and one of my ongoing life goals. Thanks to all who continue reading my wandering posts.
  • If you want to read the full WaPo article about dog and human names, you can find it here. (And check out how popular your name is as a dog name). You may need a subscription to read it, I’m not sure – https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/interactive/2022/people-names-for-dogs/

A Plebe Christmas

A Plebe Christmas

I distinctly remember returning to West Point after Christmas my Plebe year. It wasn’t fun. As a matter of fact, the last couple of days at home became bittersweet as I started thinking about returning to West Point as a Beanhead* for another five months.

It wasn’t just returning to the Plebe System (Fourth Class System) that affected me. We had first semester finals two weeks after returning. Also, have you ever visited West Point in winter? In the Fall, West Point is one of the most beautiful places in the country. In the winter? Not so much, unless you have a fondness for the color grey. January to March at West Point is called “Gloom Period”**, with good reason.

If I’m honest with myself, it wasn’t Gloom Period, or finals that brought me down. It was going back as a Plebe for another five months. Before you enter the Academy, you hear all about how tough Plebe year is both mentally and physically. It’s one thing to hear about it. It’s another to experience it for six months, have a break, and then know you are going back for more of the same.

Official Plebe Photo

Coming home to Ottawa that December, Christmas break was great. Being a real person again was even better. Everyone wanted to know how West Point was, and of course I told them the good stuff, while minimizing the actuality of Plebe life. The time at home divided out between family events, dates with Cathy and partying with my friends.

During the day, I spent time at home, or went to see Grandma, various aunts and uncles, and church or family friends. I remember racing around town fitting in as many visits as I could. It was good to catch up with so many people, but also a bit exhausting.

Cath and I went on dates most evenings and tried to make up for lost time. The last we’d seen each other was Labor Day Weekend, when she visited West Point with my folks. In the interim, we’d written so many letters back and forth, I lost count of the actual number. While home, there was even a formal holiday dance at Ottawa High (Cathy was still a senior in high school). I wore my dress uniform, and felt so much older than the high school “kids”, who in reality were only one or two years younger.

At Home Before Going to the OHS Winter Formal

Since she was still in school, Cathy had a curfew most nights. After our dates ended, I often linked up with my buddies Howard, Tim, Mark and others. The drinking age in Illinois was 19 at the time for beer and wine, but nobody really checked. We made the rounds at Berta’s, The Flamingo and Russell’s Tap before finally making it to bed. The next morning I’d wake up and start the cycle all over again. As I recall, sleeping in wasn’t an option.

I’d taken a couple of text books home with me to study over break, but of course I never cracked them. The days and nights raced by.

Finally it was New Year’s Eve and just a couple days before I would return to West Point. I remember going to a party with Cathy at our friend Jack’s home that night. Many of our friends were there. It was a great time, and as the clock struck midnight, there were kisses, handshakes and toasts all around. It was wonderful and things seemed almost perfect.

Maybe an hour later, it hit me. This was all going to end and I would return to the reality of Plebe life. The exhilaration from midnight rapidly disappeared. I crashed and a forlorn feeling took over. I found a quiet spot in an empty room and just sat there thinking. The dread I felt was visceral. Cathy found me a few minutes later and could tell something was wrong. She asked if I was OK and I struggled with words, then just gave up trying to explain. The thing is, she felt it too. We stood there hugging for I don’t know how long.

I more-or-less bounced back the next day and enjoyed my last day or two of freedom. Finally, it was time. As a Plebe, I think I was required to travel in uniform, and when Mom, Dad and Cathy drove me to O’Hare, that’s what I wore. Back then everyone could walk all the way to the gate, and that’s where we said our final goodbyes and “I love you’s”. Mom gave me a care package and with a last wave and a smile, I boarded the plane for New York.

A Smile for Mom, Dad and Cathy as I Boarded the Plane to New York.

At the airport in New York (LaGuardia I think), cadets were everywhere. Most of us made our way to buses for the final fifty miles to our Rock Bound Highland Home on the Hudson. The bus I was on was pretty quiet, with Plebes and upperclassmen alike lost in their own thoughts. By now, I’d steeled my mind for the return to school and Plebe life. I was as ready as I was going to be.

And of course it wasn’t as bad as things looked on New Year’s Eve. I made the Dean’s list that first semester, and by late March or early April, Gloom Period was lifting. As for dealing with upperclassmen and the 4th Class System, that too passed. As the Semester wore on, things became easier and and finally, in June, Recognition Day happened. We were no longer Plebes, but full fledged members of the Corps of Cadets.

To this day, I remember that New Year’s Eve and the roller coaster of emotions I felt. Speaking with Cathy, she too distinctly remembers that night. I recently told her I thought I’d write a blog about New Year’s Eve Plebe year. She immediately knew what I was talking about. I laughed a bit and said something like “I didn’t know you remembered”. She quickly answered “How could I forget?”

Addendum:

  • *Beanhead – one of the many less flattering terms upperclassman used for Plebes at the time.
  • ** Gloom Period – If you want to read more about Gloom Period, you can do so here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2018/01/21/gloom-period/
  • I’ve often thought of that New Year’s Eve over the years and the feelings I experienced that night. I’d contemplated writing a blog about it before, but couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Then, during Christmas season this year, one of my classmates posted an email on his own feelings about the return to West Point after Christmas. Several others chimed in. Some were worried about academics and getting separated due to grades. Others, like me, thought about the return to the 4th Class System for several more months. Still others talked of the general malaise around our return, with Gloom Period settling in. A few told (now) funny stories about missing flights, late arriving girl friends, and even running into the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders during a stopover on the return to the Academy. It’s interesting what binds people together. My classmates and I laugh and now tell stories of those times that seemed so serious back then. Time and distance have brought perspective and a camaraderie that has lasted a lifetime. I feel lucky to be a member of the Proud and Great Class of ‘78. Thanks for the memories, and the continued friendship my brothers.

Mistakes

Mistakes

It’s that time of year when we (some of us) make resolutions. The making of a resolution often implies we previously made a mistake, or hadn’t done something well enough. The thing is, everyone makes mistakes. Everyone. The question is, what do we do about them?

Yes, we all make mistakes. Sometimes they are little. Sometimes they are life altering. We often beat ourselves up about them, which doesn’t really do any good, does it? I think back through my life and some of the mistakes I’ve made at work, at home, or in my relationships. Maybe I could have avoided making them, but due to foolishness, pride, lack of knowledge, inattention to detail or just plain stubbornness, I didn’t. And afterwards? To be honest, I’m not always proud of how I reacted, once I realized the error of my ways.

They say you can’t teach old dogs new tricks, but I think that’s a cop out. We all have the capacity to learn, and to change. And that’s true of how we deal with the inevitable mistakes we make as well.

I’ve learned, for me at least, there are four steps I can take to improve from the mistakes I’ve made – Even big mistakes that altered my life. How we react to our mistakes determines the ultimate path we follow in our lives.

It starts with recognizing and acknowledging I made a mistake. It seems pretty straight forward, but is a step many of us have a hard time taking. I’m not sure why, but I know I have a problem saying “I screwed up.” It’s often easier to try and blame someone else. And yet, once I finally do acknowledge I made a mistake, it makes everything else simpler. It also lessens the opportunity for a a fight with someone else, when after all, I’m really just angry with myself.

Next is forgiveness. We routinely forgive other people for their mistakes and sins. Why is it so hard to forgive ourselves? Forgiveness, instead of self punishment permits us to recognize that yes, we are all human, and mistakes sometimes happen, even with those of us who are loathe to admit we make them.

After acknowledgement and forgiveness comes knowledge. What can I learn from the mistake I made? How can I ensure I don’t make the same mistake again? What other mistakes can I avoid making, by understanding this one? With knowledge comes power – the power to better control my own life.

Which finally leads to the last step – moving forward. We can’t undo the past, but we can learn from it, improve ourselves and focus on the future. It doesn’t mean we don’t acknowledge the mistakes in our past, but we must look forward. Dwelling on past mistakes gains you nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Zip. For me, I know that once I’m looking forward, I can move on, continue my life, and continue improving my life.

So, Happy New Year to all. As we enter 2023, and lead our less than perfect lives, remember to cut yourself a break occasionally when you make a mistake. As Alexander Pope said “To err is human”. We can try to minimize our mistakes, but we can’t eliminate them totally. And when mistakes do occur? Life is short – don’t dwell on them, or live in the past. Acknowledge your mistakes, forgive yourself, learn from them and move forward. You will be a better person for it.

Kylie, The Shoe Thief

Kylie, The Shoe Thief

There is a thief in our rural Orlean neighborhood. We’ve discovered this over the past couple of months as some items have gone missing. The items are of low value and the intent seems mostly to show he visited us and could get away with the theft, rather than anything more devious. We even know the young thief’s name – Kylie.

Kylie is pretty good as a youngster overall and our dog Carmen likes him. If he stops by while Carmen is outside, they have fun together and to be honest, I think they wear each other out a bit. Sometimes, when Carmen is inside, I’ll see him standing forlornly on the back porch staring at the door. He won’t knock, he’ll just stare at the door. I usually relent and let Carmen outside. He gives me a friendly nod and a grunt, and off they run together.

If he’s in our physical presence, with, or without Carmen there, he’s well mannered. He’ll look me straight in the eye like the most innocent guy around. “Who me? Why no, I’d never take anything from your garage, like say a shoe for instance.”

But there’s no getting around it. If we don’t see him, or don’t let Carmen out to play, that’s when the thievery occurs. We didn’t realize what was happening at first. We usually leave our garage door open and have our shoes sitting by the back door of the house inside the garage. Cathy was the first to notice something was up. One of her flip flops was missing, but she found it later in the backyard. “Hmmmm, that’s a bit strange. I wonder…”. But she didn’t finish her sentence.

A few days later, one of her muck shoes went missing. Now, Cathy’s suspicions rose up, and she called Kevin and Julie, our neighbors. Kevin, Kylie’s dad answered the phone. “Hey Cathy” – “Hey Kevin – ummmm, is Kylie by chance a shoe thief?” “What kind of shoe are you missing?” “A muck shoe.” “Yep! I found one in the front yard – I thought it was Julie’s!” That’s when we knew Kylie was the thief for sure. Evidently he’d come to play with Carmen, and since she wasn’t there, stole the shoe as a memento of his Carmenless visit. He then took the shoe to his home, which is a quarter mile away. When Kevin returned the shoe, it was a bit strange, as there were no teeth or bite marks on it.

Yes, Kylie is our neighbor’s golden retriever.

The Face of Innocence.

I chuckled about it when it happened to Cathy, and said “There must be something about you he likes.” Then it happened to me – one of my barn shoes disappeared. We looked around the house, the barn and in our backyard. No shoe. Finally, we called Kevin and Julie and asked if they’d seen the shoe. All apologetic, they immediately searched their yard, and no shoe. Kev came to our place and looked around the yard, in the woods, and by the pond (Kylie loves going for a swim in our pond). No shoe. Kevin offered to buy me new shoes, but I said don’t worry about it. These things happen, and I probably needed new ones anyway.

Kylie continued to drop by to play with Carmen, but we started keeping our garage door closed, just to remove the temptation and that seemed to work. I bought new muck shoes and dutifully placed them in the garage by the door.

Carmen and Kylie Playing Together

A couple of days later, I was walking Carmen and we passed Kevin and Julie’s home. Kevin came running out of his garage with a shoe in his hand. He’d found the shoe! Except he hadn’t. This was one of the new muck shoes I’d recently bought! What?! It turns out we’d left the garage door open earlier that morning and Kylie saw his opportunity, and seized it, so to speak.

Safely Returned with No Teeth Marks

We continue to try and keep the garage door closed, and store our muck shoes on a shelf out of reach. It seems to be working. Kevin and Julie continue to work with Kylie to understand the boundaries of their yard. In the meantime, he still drops by to play with Carmen, which she loves. I guess like many fathers, I’m a bit suspicious of her boyfriend’s intent. He’s a great dog – other than the shoe thievery thing. 😉

Hey Mr Hall! Can Carmen Come out to Play!?

Cathy and MS

Cathy and MS

My wife, Cathy, has had Multiple Sclerosis (MS) since 1976 when she was 20 years old. It’s been almost 47 years since that first diagnosis. The MS is always there, lurking in the background, but Cath refuses to give in to it. It’s a special strength she has, and I love her for it.

Cathy Around the Time of her Diagnosis, and Just a Few Weeks Ago

MS is called the snowflake disease; no two people have exactly the same symptoms, or frequency of occurrence. MS symptoms can include: trouble walking, fatigue, vision problems, numbness, muscle spasms, weakness, mobility issues, and bladder or bowel issues, among other problems. Not all symptoms are visible.

Cathy’s symptoms have varied over the years, but fortunately for her (and us), she has been relatively stable for the last few decades, with only some minor issues. Compared to many with the disease, we are extremely lucky.

We both belong to a Facebook MS support group called We’re not drunk, we have MS. The name is a bit of an inside joke. Many people who have MS but can still walk, sometimes have an unsteady looking gait or trip easily, not unlike someone who’s had a few too many drinks.

Recently someone put a query out to the group: “If you were to wake up tomorrow MS free, what is the first thing you would do?” There were many responses. Reading through them, I thought they expressed how the disease effects so many people much better than anything I’d ever read or watched on TV about MS. It’s the straightforwardness and simplicity of the answers that is their strength. People were just asking for the basic things in life that so many of us take for granted.

Here are some of their answers to the question “If you were to wake up tomorrow MS free, what is the first thing you would do?”

  • Walk normal
  • Stand
  • Run
  • Walk
  • Dance
  • Stand up, embrace my husband, and not let go for a long time
  • Go Skiing
  • Ride my horse
  • Go for a hike in the woods
  • Dance with my husband
  • Wear heels again
  • Jump out of bed
  • Go for a run – maybe like Forest Gump
  • Ride a bike
  • Hike in the mountains
  • Shoot hoops again
  • Walk on the beach
  • Go horseback riding and then dance
  • Get a full night’s sleep
  • Play tennis again
  • Walk through my neighborhood
  • Chase my grandchildren
  • Go skateboarding again
  • Run with my kids
  • Stay at a hotel
  • Go up and down stairs
  • Walk, run, dance
  • Drive my car
  • Learn to belly dance
  • Dance in rhythm again
  • Get on the floor and play with my grandchildren
  • Eat out and enjoy every meal
  • Start quilting again
  • Go skating, then dancing
  • Go to my daughter’s home and go up the stairs to see my grandchildren’s room
  • Work in the flower bed
  • Ride a motorcycle again
  • Carry my grandchildren around
  • Rake the leaves in my yard
  • Go back to work
  • Just to consider this is overwhelming
  • Buy a lottery ticket because it would be a miracle
  • Jump in the ocean
  • Walk on the beach with my husband
  • Get on my knees and thank God.

They have newer medicines these days to address the symptoms of MS, and sometimes lessen the progression of the disease, but there is still no cure. In the meantime, these MS Warriors soldier on.

As for Cath and I, we count ourselves pretty lucky in the big scheme of things. She has some issues, and occasional flare ups, but continues to live her life. Every day is something to be enjoyed, and lived to the fullest.

Cathy and I in ‘77, a Year After her Diagnosis, and Last Summer

The Hike

The Hike

As we hiked towards the Hanakapi’ai Falls on Kauai, what I was thinking was “If one more person happily says to me ‘You’re almost there!’, I am going to punch them.” Seriously. Bonnie and I knew we were almost there, but I was concentrating on climbing over boulders, roots and slippery rocks, and not falling down…again.

Bonnie, my sister-in-law, contacted Cath and I to see if we were interested in a couple of hikes while visiting Kauai, one of the Hawaiian Islands, with her and her daughter Lana. The hike to Hanakapi’ai Falls sounded interesting, although not for the faint of heart. Bonnie had completed the hike several years earlier with her husband Don, before he passed away. She warned us the trail was a challenge – It’s an eight mile round trip trek with mud, lava rock, roots and stream crossings, with over 1,800 ft of elevation change. It also promised a tropical forest, panoramic ocean views and the Falls themselves, which drop over 400 feet.

The only catch was the rules changed since her last visit – now you needed reservations for the bus to the trailhead and access to Haena State Park. Both Bonnie and I were in, and she made the reservations.

The big day came for the hike and we packed lots of water, snacks and sandwiches. Our friend John dropped us off at the bus pick-up point. We told him we thought we’d finish between 2 and 3PM, and would call once we returned to the shuttle. That allowed 5-6 hours for the hike, at a 2 miles/hour pace, plus some spare time at the beach and Falls. It seemed like a reasonable time estimate. That was our first underestimation. ;-).

We arrived at the park itself about 9:00AM, where there was a check-in station and we were given more information about the trail. It turned out they’ve now measured the trail multiple times in recent years – it clocks in at 9.2 miles, not 8. Whoops! What’s another mile among friends? We were also warned to leave the Falls no later than 2:00PM to ensure we had enough time to hike the return to the start, where the last bus left at 5:30PM. If you missed the bus, it was a 6 mile stroll back to the parking area.

We started up the trail about 9:15. The first section was two plus miles from Ke’e Beach to Hanakapi’ai Beach. Two miles – easy peasy, right? Well, not quite. The first mile was all uphill, much of it over slick flat rocks. The trail also had a 500 or so foot drop off on the right hand side, which ended in the ocean. Mental note to self: if you fall on the rocks, don’t fall to the right. As we hiked along, we passed some folk, others passed us. One young woman hiked by in flip flops, while chatting with her friends. We eventually reached the high point and were rewarded with beautiful views of the ocean and distant coastline. We stopped and took a couple of pics, before continuing.

The View, One Mile Into the Hike.

From there, it was another mile or so downhill. The slippery rocks mostly disappeared, to be replaced by steps carved into the side of the mountain. You know the kind of steps I’m talking about – too wide, and too high to be comfortable while moving downhill. They were easy enough, but would come back to haunt me on the return trip.

An hour and twenty minutes after starting, we reached Hanakapi’ai Beach which was gorgeous. We stopped for a break and to eat a snack. Sitting for a bit felt good. There were warning signs everywhere about the treacherous rip tides and not to swim here. Evidently every couple of years someone would get sucked out to sea, never to be seen again.

At the Beach. Numerous Signs Warned About the Dangers of Swimming Here.

Around 11, we continued our hike. It looked like well over half of the people we’d seen along the way, including the young lady in flip flops, were staying at the beach, so the number of people on the trail to the Falls thinned out considerably. It would be a little over two more miles to the Falls.

Bonnie brought out her new, never used walking sticks for this part of the hike. After the first half mile or so, the trail narrowed considerably. Flat ground gave way to a tangle of tree roots, mud and lava rocks. It slowed us down as we worked to find a reasonable path on the path. We passed through bamboo stands and dense forest along the way.

There were Lots of Rocks and Boulders on the Trail – Looking for a Path on the Path was a Challenge.

Hanakap’ai Stream was on our left as we made our way up the trail. Along the way, we crossed the twenty foot wide stream three times. We rock-hopped across the stream pretty easily the first two times, but on the third crossing, I slipped and went into the water, banging my shin in the process. Bonnie looked at me and my bleeding shin, and with a smile, changed from her boots to water shoes. She then used her sticks to safely cross.

One of the Stream Crossings.

At this point we were nearing the Falls. The trail was getting more slippery, and we were frequently climbing over wet rocks. I fell another time or two, scraping the same shin I’d already banged up. Bonnie stayed vertical the entire time – I may need to buy a pair of those walking sticks for next time!

This is also when we started encountering the Good Samaritans coming the other way – “You’re almost there!” … “Keep going, it’s worth it!” … “Only 15 more minutes to the Falls!” … and then 15 minutes later, “Only 15 more minutes to the Falls – you’re almost there!” I believe that last one was what made me think I’d punch the next person with words of encouragement … ;-).

We did arrive at the Falls a short time later, and they were beautiful. It made the hike totally worthwhile. Bonnie took a short swim in the pool at the base of the Falls and then we ate lunch – our sandwiches tasted pretty damned good. I looked around at the other people at the Falls taking their breaks – I think almost everyone was a decade or four younger than us. Well younger physically, but maybe not mentally. Having eaten, I was feeling pretty good again.

Bonnie, as we Arrived at The Falls.

After about a half hour break, it was 1:00PM and we started our hike back. We were at the four hour mark from our start that morning and knew we were going to be late returning to John, Cathy and Lana. There was no cell coverage in any case, so nothing to be done for it.

The return hike was the same path we came in on only in reverse. Again we passed a few people, and some passed us. There were three Japanese ladies we hiked with for a while, before eventually passing them for good. Another lady was running to the Falls – we would see her again as she re-passed us a couple of hours later. We crossed the stream three more times, and this time, with the use of one of Bonnie’s walking sticks, I managed to stay dry. Eventually we reached the beach, and took another short break before tackling the last two miles.

A Section of the Trail, Returning from the Falls.

The last two miles? As I said before, Bonnie had done this hike 5 or 6 years earlier and at this point said to me “These next two miles are going to suck!” and we both laughed. Finding humor in the truth is always a good thing. She was right – for me, they were tough. Those steps on the way up were spaced just far enough apart to make me dislike them. The downhill for the last mile over those wet stones and roots, well, my knees noticed every step. And yet, there was also a peaceful feeling of contentment. Maybe we were drawing strength from the trail itself.

Finally, at about 4:30PM, a little over seven hours after we set out, we were back at the start. It had been a great experience, a wonderful hike, and a tiring day. We still had no cell coverage, and couldn’t reach our crew to let them know we were safely back, so we just climbed on the bus for the drive to the parking lot. When we arrived dirty and sweaty at the drop off point, two or three hours later than our “expected time”, they were there waiting for us. There were hugs all around and a return to John’s for a well deserved beer.

Over the next couple of days, my thighs reminded me of what a good time I had. I reflected back on the hike, and a couple of things occurred to me. First, Bonnie and I both encouraged each other along the way, as we traded off the lead at various points. It was a natural back and forth between us. Also, although, I’m the former Boy Scout and Army Airborne trooper, Bonnie was the better prepared. She brought her water shoes and the walking sticks, making for a better and safer hike. Those last couple of miles? She may not have skipped up the trail, but she handled them better than I and my old man knees did.

My final thought? Age truly is a state of mind. Go for the gusto, and enjoy every bit of life you can.

Aloha, Until the Next Time.

Addendum:

  • Talking with locals afterwards, I’ve learned the hike is considered one of the “tougher ones” on the island. I’ve been asked by several folk if I would do it again, and the answer is an unqualified yes.
  • Special Thanks to Bonnie for her contributions of content and editing for this blog. Also a big thanks for suggesting the trail in the first place, and for being such a positive force on the hike itself – it was a blast. Love you sis!
  • You can find more information on the hike here: https://www.hawaii-guide.com/kauai/hiking-trails/the_hanakapiai_falls_trail

Our Candidate

Our Candidate

We started gathering signatures last winter to place our congressional candidate on the ballot. We would have from February to November to get her elected – it would be a busy year. With redistricting, Fauquier County moved from a bright RED district, to a new slightly BLUE one. Slightly Blue is worth squadoosh, especially in today’s world. We had our work cut out for us.

Introducing our Candidate at an Event in Warrenton Last April.

Over the next nine months, we held and attended events for the candidate to meet members of the community. We wrote Letters to the Editor. Our Ad campaign placed ads in our local hardcopy paper, and digital pop up ads in local online publications. We expanded our social media presence. We texted. We phone-banked. We ordered and placed over 140 large signs across the county on major (and some minor) roads. We mailed well over 10,000 post cards to local voters. Our candidate attended rallies, visited people and talked with local businesses.

Big Signs, Yard Signs, Flyers, Events, Ads and Post Cards – just a Part of our Effort

We raised money for her. In fact the fundraiser my friend John hosted at his barn was the largest fundraiser held for our candidate across her entire district.

The Fundraiser at John’s Barn

And we knocked doors. If you want to see America, I urge you to canvass for a candidate. Here in Fauquier, it’s a bit different than canvassing in a city, where you quickly walk door to door to door on the city streets. Yes, we have the small towns of Warrenton, The Plains, Marshall, Bealeton and Remington where you can do that, but most of the county, and our 55,000 voters, live in the country. We criss-crossed the highways, byways and gravel roads of Fauquier over the summer, and into the fall. You might be able to canvass 100 homes in an afternoon, if in a town. If driving through the countryside, it might take 3 1/2 hours to canvass 35 homes.

We Canvassed Everywhere in Fauquier County.

We met voters with mile long driveways and magnificent vistas from their back porches. We knocked on doors of small apartment complexes that had seen better days. We spoke with voters whose families lived in Virginia since before the Civil War. We met newcomers who only recently moved to the county. Men, women, young and old (the oldest person I personally canvassed was 91). Brown, black, white and every shade of color in between. We met dog people, cat people, and families with no pets at all. Single moms, families with 2.2 children and bachelor guys were all spoken with and listened to.

A few weeks before the election, a call came from my friend Austin, the Campaign Manager. The race was tightening. Our opponent was closing the gap and we needed all hands on deck. I couldn’t find my notebook, and furiously scribbled notes on a 3×5 card for reference.

Make it or Break it Time was at Hand.

During the final three weekends and the Get Out The Vote (GOTV) effort, we doubled down on our door knocking. We revisited areas previously knocked. We spoke with parents, whose kids were away at college, making sure they too had a plan to vote. We encouraged people to vote early, and if not yet registered, to take advantage of Virginia’s Same Day Registration. We started in the morning and were still knocking as dusk approached.

Finally, it was Election Day itself. Our precinct captains and their teams covered every one of our 24 polling locations from 6AM to 7PM. It was a sunny, but chilly and blustery day. As I drove around and spoke with our volunteers, people were bundled up against the cold and wind, but remained in good spirits. A couple of volunteers continued to text voters, reminding them to get out and vote. Voter turnout was high, although it was difficult to tell whether there were more Republicans than usual, or more Dems. Fauquier remains a red county, but margins matter, and margins were what we would look at later that evening.

Election Day – A long Day that Included a Visit by our Candidate.

When I made a visit to a last polling location at 6:45PM, it was cold and dark. An election official came outside to announce the poll would close in 15 minutes. Our team reported the Republicans working at the location had already left to attend their Victory Party. Our team was still talking to voters at 6:55, 56, 57, 58, 59… At 7PM, they closed polling location 206, at P.B. Smith Elementary School.

That night, after the polls closed, there was an official campaign Watch Party at a brewery in Loudoun County about an hour away, and our candidate would be there. We were tired, and elected to stay local, rather than chance the drive. Our friend Whitney hosted a party, and we went to her house. To be honest, most of our volunteers were exhausted from the long day and went home. I popped a beer and ate a slice of pizza. While election coverage was on the big TV in the family room, several of us were in the kitchen where one of our members was downloading results from the Virginia Election site as soon as they were posted.

As I said earlier, our new district, the 10th CD, is slightly Blue. What that means is if we voted exactly as the district did one year before in the governor’s election, our candidate would win by two points* – not much of a safety net, particularly in this day and age. It’s why we were interested in what our margin would be when results started coming in.

Fauquier is always one of the first counties to report. As expected, we were losing across the board in the county, but something interesting was going on. As precincts were reporting, something was happening. Although still losing in the county, we were performing three points better than we had the year before. Wow – THREE POINTS!

Three points up from a year ago was great for us, but our neighbor to the north, Loudoun County – the largest county in the District by far, would be the deciding factor.

Their precincts started reporting as well, as did other parts of the district. Our candidate’s lead remained steady, dropped some, dropped some more, then started to grow. Things were starting to look promising. I traded texts with Austin, and he confirmed things were going well from their perspective, but no one wanted to get ahead of themselves.

Finally, around 10PM, our candidate, Democrat Jennifer Wexton, was declared the winner by multiple sources, and won re-election!

Yessssss!

Emotions washed across all of us. Joy, relief, happiness… A bottle of bubbly was popped and we toasted Jennifer, each other and the Fauquier Democrats. We’d done our part to secure her re-election. The best candidate had won, and a Democrat would represent Fauquier County in the United States House of Representatives for the first time in a long time.

Cheers and Congratulations all Around!

When all was said and done, there were about 700 more Dem votes in Fauquier than during last year’s Gubernatorial election. It’s unheard of for a stand alone Congressional election to have more votes than a Gubernatorial election. Our Republican brethren had about 1,700 less than a year ago. Together, those numbers accounted for our 3.4+ point shift in the county. 12,250 people voted Democratic in Fauquier this year. We turned parts of the town of Warrenton Blue, as well as the village of The Plains – something that hadn’t happened since before 2008.

Jennifer won overall by over 5 points, and 16,000 votes. Here in Fauquier County, we are proud of the part we played in this victory for her, and for Democracy.

Jennifer Wexton – our New Congresswoman.

Addendum:

  • * With redistricting here in Virginia, this is actually the first elections held with the new districts. When I said “if we voted exactly as the district did one year before in the governor’s election, our candidate would win by two points ”, what that actually means is they re-combined the votes from last year’s Youngkin/McAuliffe Gubernatorial election (in their old districts) into their new districts, to project what a specific district might look like. Those Numbers showed Wexton winning by a couple of points, and showed Congresswoman Abigale Spanberger to the south of us, losing by a couple of points.