Barb Caffrey's Blog

Writing the Elfyverse . . . and beyond

Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

This Just In: Studebaker’s Gas Station Is a Wonderful Place…

leave a comment »

Folks, in July of 2022, I wrote a blog called “A Requiem for Willkomm’s Mobil” about how my favorite place in Racine County, the Willkomm’s drive-thru gas station on Washington Avenue in Racine had closed. I was very frustrated, because I’d written to the owner and told him exactly what I thought: that the Willkomm’s had friendly people who remembered what I ordered and would go the extra mile, and who never treated me — a disabled woman — as anything other than a good human being.

Well, I have news.

In late January of this year — 2024 — I found out that Studebaker’s Mobil was coming to North Green Bay Road in Racine. This turned out to be true, and it’s been open since that time. The actual address is 1215 North Green Bay Road, Racine, WI, 53406. Studebaker’s is run by the same people who ran my favorite Willkomm’s, and it also features a drive-thru where it’s possible to get anything you’d normally find in a gas station through that same drive-thru.

I vowed to patronize it just as soon as I could. This wasn’t easy, as at the time there were some members of my family who were not feeling well. I was doing what I could to help in that regard, even though most of what I could do were small things…nevertheless, once they got better, I did indeed go to Studebaker’s.

I loved it.

The same people work there who worked at the Willkomm’s, along with a few new people I don’t know. They’re all friendly, knowledgeable (one of the clerks, Nick, remembered that I always liked a large diet Pepsi fountain drink, and brought me one right away the first time it was available; yes, I paid for it, but I didn’t ask for it), and very good people. There’s a large variety of soft drinks, liquor of most sorts (including some craft beer selections; I got one called “Dragon Milk” for my good friend Lika and her family as a late birthday present, and she said she enjoyed it), various types of foodstuffs like milk, bread, Snickers bars (I do love those, probably more than I should!), and much more.

I enjoy Studebaker’s gas station very much. (If they had a website up, I’d link to it, but they don’t as of yet.) As I said, they are extremely good people, friendly, knowledgeable, will remember you and will do their utmost to serve and help you in whatever ways they possibly can.

I’m very glad to let the readers of my blog know about Studebaker’s, even though I know most of my long-term readers don’t live in Wisconsin at all, much less Racine. But if you do ever come here, I hope that Studebaker’s will still be open so you can get a taste of what Wisconsin hospitality is all about.

Edited to add: Studebaker’s, like my old favorite Wilkomm store that closed in June of 2022, is the only drive-thru of its type in all of Racine County. It is an especially fine place to go if you are disabled because you do not have to get out of the car. (They will even pump your gas for you. How cool is that?)

Written by Barb Caffrey

March 19, 2024 at 7:15 am

Grief, and Nothing More’s Song “Fade In, Fade Out”

with 6 comments

Folks, most of you know if you’ve followed my blog for any length of time that I am grieving my father’s passing last October at the age of eighty-six. Because of that, and because I am a musician anyway (always will be), I have been listening to songs differently.

One such song is Nothing More’s “Fade In, Fade Out.” (Link to main YouTube video is here.) It discusses, explicitly, the link between fathers and sons, so it’s not too much of a stretch to consider this dialogue from a father to a daughter as well.

“But why this song,” you ask? “And who is Nothing More?”

First, I’ll answer the second question. Nothing More is a rock group from the American Southwest. They skew more toward metal than anything, but they have various influences on their music. Their lead singer, Jonny Hawkins, started as their drummer/percussionist, but realized he needed to front the band instead. Their music has a lot of life, and speaks to many different emotions and states of being.

As to why this particular song? Because of some of the lyrics, combined with the power of the music, just speak to me in a way that I can’t quite understand, except by listening to this song, crying somewhat, and then listening to it again.

The song starts out with a grown son realizing his father has grown old. They speak, almost as if it’s their final conversation; the son listens as his father says (from lyrics):

Son, I have watched you fade in
You will watch me fade out
I have watched you fade in
You will watch me fade out
When the grip leaves my hand
I know you won’t let me down

The father continues, telling his son to follow his heart, to never settle, to hold his head up, and to never run away from change. (If you look at the lyrics, which I found here, you’ll realize I’m telling this out of order. That’s OK. This is how it speaks to me.)

These next lyrics are essential to understanding “Fade In, Fade Out,” as far as I’m concerned:

(From a bit later in song)

When the morning comes and takes me
I promise I have taught you everything that you need
In the night you’ll dream of so many things
But find the ones that bring you life and you’ll find me

That’s where you’ll find me (repeated several times until the end)

The song ends on a huge crescendo, as another child is born, this to the son.**

To my mind, though, what matters most is the line about “find the (things) that bring you life, and you’ll find me.” The reason this matters so much to me is, the passions I, myself, have, are partly because of the passions my parents had. Dad loved music; so does my mother. Both of my parents were inveterate readers (and Mom still is); so am I, though I read some different things than they did (and Mom still does). The learning I took in, regarding morality and ethics and what’s truly important in life, I also took in from family influences.

So, the things that bring me life are music, words, and important relationships with friends and family. (My friends are my family, too. Just in a slightly different way. But I digress.)

Anyway, symbolically in this song, the son ends up with a child. I have no children, unless you count the workings of my mind and heart, as Michael and I were not blessed with any. (He was worth everything, though, and still is. You’ll know this if you read my blog for any length of time.) But overall, the point still matters: the oldest among us die, to make way for the new, but there is continuity between one generation and another.

In that sense, my father’s mother (who died when he was only eleven) has lived on, through him. In that sense, my maternal grandfather, who died when I was seven, has lived on, too (among others). Even though they couldn’t teach us directly, they did teach and impart values and such to my father and mother, who passed them on to me and my sibs.

So, in the parlance of “Fade in, Fade Out,” Dad watched me as I grew older (thus, faded in). He grew old and passed away (thus, faded out). But I haven’t forgotten what he taught me, the good, the bad, and the indifferent…and I never will.

What songs have mattered to you most, especially when you’ve been grieving? (All of us grieve something, mind you. That’s the parable Gautama Buddha gave, in a perhaps apocryphal story, when he sent a woman looking for someone without grief around the world. She couldn’t find anyone.) Tell me about ’em in the comments…and hey, if there are any other Nothing More fans out there, chime in, too. (That group deserves wider fame, methinks.)

———

**There’s an acoustic version of “Fade In, Fade Out” available here that’s also well worth listening to…then again, anything Nothing More does is worth it, and I can say that about very few bands. (Disturbed, Nothing More, Linkin Park…that’s about it. I’d add a few earlier bands and singers to that, such as Phil Collins with and without Genesis, and Styx with Dennis DeYoung.)

Sunday Reflection

with 2 comments

In the past few weeks, I was reminded — forcibly — that life is incredibly short.

There is a Biblical quote that comes to mind about such times. It’s from Psalm 90, verse 12. “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”

It seems to me that too many people in this world forget both parts of that equation. Time is very short, so we have to work hard to find wisdom as our days are numbered and we have no idea when the end will come.

I try to find wisdom, teachings, and purpose wherever I can, partly because I know how short time is. (Ask anyone widowed young, and they’ll agree with me.) The other part is, I’ve always tried to find common ground with other people whenever possible, in the hopes that light can shine not only in my life, but in someone else’s life, too.

There are many things I’d do differently, if I had more energy, health, financial security, and overall stability. But seeking out purpose and wisdom would not be one of them.

As the ancient proverb says, “Time and tide wait for no man.” Please remember that, and don’t put off until tomorrow what you could do today to make someone’s life a little better.

Watching Sports (Without My Father)

with 4 comments

Folks, as most of you know if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, my father died last October at the age of 86. He was a huge sports fan, as am I, and I’ve been reflecting on how different it is to watch, listen, and read about sports without being able to talk with him about it.

Now, you might be wondering why this, in particular, is what I’m ruminating about. There are many things that people miss when someone they care about dies. But for my father and I, who were so different in many ways, talking about sports was our common denominator. We could discuss the various things like Brewers trades (he’d have not been happy about Corbin Burnes being traded to Baltimore recently, that’s for sure, no matter how good the two players are that we got for Burnes), Milwaukee Bucks basketball (Dad remembered watching the Minneapolis Lakers — yes, the LA Lakers were once in Minneapolis, folks — when George Mikan was playing, and after that he never stopped being a fan of pro basketball), the Green Bay Packers successes and failures over the years, and more.

See, Dad was up on current events, yes. But mostly he saw politicians failing to do their jobs. Or not representing the people they claimed to represent with any sort of humility, honesty, or integrity. Or just being huge buttheads for whatever reasons of their own…and none of that impressed him.

(Nor does it impress me. But I digress.)

And while professional sports has many things that are frustrating — the officiating, the huge salaries, the various strategies teams use when they want to move a team (such as the Oakland Raiders moving to Las Vegas a few years ago, and the Oakland A’s wish to leave Oakland now for Las Vegas as well) — there are more hopeful stories there to watch, listen to, and ponder.

For example, in Milwaukee, Dad and I got to watch as Giannis Antetokounmpo was drafted as an all-but-unknown 18-year-old. He was raw, but very talented; we didn’t know it at the time, but he also was one of the bigger human success stories of the past thirty or forty years (at least when it comes to sports). Giannis grew up in poverty, and his family were undocumented immigrants living in Greece. They went there for the reason immigrants have gone to other countries forever: to live in peace, to strive for a better life, and to be able to raise their children in a more peaceful environment, too. But Giannis and his family had many struggles in attempting to become registered “aliens” (that is, known immigrants waiting to become citizens), including some struggles just to be able to leave Greece to be drafted by the Bucks in the first place. Giannis has said, fairly recently, that if he and his family had not been able to get visas, he wouldn’t have lasted a year in the NBA — not because he didn’t have the talent, but because his family means more to him than anything.

Anyway, Giannis has had the experience of playing for several excellent coaches, including Jason Kidd and Mike Budenholzer. Every coach who has dealt with him talks about Giannis’s work ethic, his values, and about how hard he works to master everything aspect. (He still needs work on his free-throw shooting, but he has improved somewhat in the past few years.)

Still. When he was drafted, no one knew much about him. We had no idea if this was just another of the Bucks’ overreaches, or straight-up draft busts…it wasn’t, and isn’t, and instead Giannis has become one of the best players in the NBA over the past ten years. He’s world-famous, and Greece, now, is delighted to claim him as a favorite son and citizen. Giannis has even played for Greece’s national team in international competition…talk about a huge change in circumstances, huh?

But this is only one of the stories the Bucks have had over the years, with the most recent story — happening before Dad died — being the replacement of Coach Budenholzer with rookie head coach Adrian Griffin. (I wrote about this at the time Coach Bud was fired, and felt it was unfair and unjust.) Dad didn’t know how Adrian Griffin was going to do, and he didn’t get a chance to watch or hear the Bucks in regular game-play. (I think he might’ve heard a few pre-season games on the radio, but pre-season can’t tell you very much when you’re dealing with a veteran team rounding into shape.)

Then, if you have followed the NBA at all, you know what else happened after my father passed away. (No, not ’cause of him dying, but still.) The Bucks replaced Coach Griffin, even though he had a sparkling record of something like 30-13, because the Bucks were not playing good defense. To be honest, the Bucks weren’t even playing average defense; they mostly were playing very, very poorly, and while they were still winning most of their games, they had to scrap and claw and fight at the end of the game to win too often for the front office’s liking. That’s why they brought in the next coach, well-traveled veteran coach Doc Rivers.

Now, Rivers played for Marquette, years ago. He was an excellent player, and his number was retired by Marquette (if memory serves). He enjoyed Milwaukee, and he said the only reason he decided to come to Milwaukee mid-season — doing something that’s almost unheard of — is because he really wanted to be here again.

Rivers, BTW, is going to be coaching in the All-Star game this weekend, something even he believes is bizarre and nonsensical. (He’s said so several times, too, mostly on the local broadcasts and in the papers and blogosphere.) He said he’s going because a) the coaching staff deserves it (all those assistant coaches get an additional paycheck, and of course they also get some more notice league-wide), and b) he believes Adrian Griffin deserves a paycheck. (I am guessing Rivers looked into whether he could bow out of this without adversely affecting the Bucks coaching staff, and wasn’t able to do it.) Rivers has said firmly that he does not deserve to be the coach of the All-Star game and I hope he does indeed send the paycheck to Adrian Griffin.

These are all things I wish I could’ve discussed with my father.

Mind you, Dad did not in general feel that the All-Star game was very important. He mostly didn’t want anyone to get hurt in a meaningless game, as he did worry about such things. (Too many Brewers, Bucks, and Packers over the years have been injured in meaningless games, whether in the pre-season or in the All-Star Game/Pro Bowl, for Dad to think otherwise. I agreed with him, too.) But this All-Star game probably would’ve been different, at least regarding Adrian Griffin’s situation.

Finally, one of the biggest sports stories since Dad died in October was when former Brewers manager Craig Counsell decided to become the manager of the Chicago Cubs instead. Counsell was the Brewers manager until the end of the season, and had said he would make up his mind after the season ended. We fans had been led to believe that Counsell would give the Brewers the opportunity to match any salary quoted to him by any other team, but that doesn’t appear to have happened.

Dad didn’t think Counsell would go anywhere. First off, Counsell was a home-grown player who had partly become a manager in the first place because the Brewers had seen his potential during Counsell’s last few playing years (spent with the Brewers). Second, Counsell had an almost unparalleled status in Wisconsin as someone everyone liked — they might not always like his managing, but they liked him. Plus, Dad felt that if Counsell did go elsewhere, he’d pick an American League team that didn’t play the Brewers very much, just out of common courtesy.

None of that happened. Counsell went to the Cubs, a team that’s just down the road; the National League Team closest to the Brewers, rather than a team further away that we’d not see much. Counsell also is getting paid a reported $8M a year to manage, which almost doubles his salary from last year with the Brewers. (Note that the top-paid manager last year was Terry Francona of Cleveland, and he made, I think, $5.5M. No one was even close to Francona; Counsell was probably as close as it got, else.)

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, Counsell made a video for the Cubs — and no, I’m not going to link to it — that says something to the effect about how he was “born a Cub.”

That’s just wrong, you know? That’s wrong. That treats the Brewers fans like we don’t matter, like everything we did wasn’t enough, and it’s astonishing to think that a Wisconsin-grown man can do and say something that’s so tremendously classless.

I’m sure this is how my father would’ve felt about it, too. He’d probably have called Counsell a “Benedict Arnold,” and have been upset that a man who has worked in baseball all his adult life, who’s made an excellent living and has an even better retirement ahead of him no matter what else he does, would choose to spit in the face of the Brewers fans and the state of Wisconsin as a whole just for the sake of $3.5M a year.

Counsell is not a guy who’s going to lose his earning potential anytime soon, either. So this is not a “swing for the fences, this is the only time I’ll even get a chance at making $8M in my life” sort of deal. Instead, this was meant to try to raise the salaries of managers overall — Counsell had said something like this, a few years ago, and it’s been dwelled upon in the Milwaukee radio market somewhat. (It’s also as good a reason as any for Counsell to do this, but I digress.)

I’m all for raising the salaries of managers. They are underpaid, compared to the players. So are the rest of the coaching staff.

But I am not for treating fans as dismissively as has Craig Counsell. Nor was my father.

So, as time goes on, I’ll probably think of more things I want to talk with Dad about. Players will get traded, released, injured (though we never wanted to see that, and I still don’t), all that…new, young players will make impacts (such as Brewers rookie OF Jackson Chourio, one of the most highly-touted Brewers rookies in the last twenty years), too. Coaches and managers will change, as we’ve seen three times in a year with the Milwaukee Bucks, and also with the Brewers when Counsell went to take the job with Chicago. (BTW, the Brewers elevated bench coach Pat Murphy, an extremely sensible choice. Murphy has a sense of humor, too, which will be a nice change from Counsell’s laconic, stoic game summaries.) Other things, stuff I hadn’t ever considered possible, no doubt will happen, too.

Now, my whole family is doing its best to watch the Bucks, Packers, and Brewers’ various situations, as we all know Dad can’t anymore. (I’d do it anyway, at least to a point. Especially when it comes to baseball, my favorite sport.) I think this is our way of saying that Dad mattered to us — or, at least, that it’s my way.

At this point, I just hope my way makes some sense.

Discussing Daughtry’s SFnal, Dystopian Single, “Artificial”

with 7 comments

The other day, I heard a new song from Daughtry, the band fronted by former American Idol contestant Chris Daughtry. Daughtry is known mostly for their single “It’s Not Over.” That’s a hopeful song, in its way, about the ups and downs of relationships. But the new song, “Artificial,” definitely is not hopeful. In any way.

“Artificial” is about human beings being supplanted by robots, AIs, synthetics…the world has turned poisonous, and the scenery looks like an old Mad Max movie, which sets the scene for the dystopic lyrics. For example, the second verse includes the lyrics, “No sickness, no dying, no disease/no begging for mercy on your knees. No God, no religion, no beliefs.” This may seem somewhat innocuous, especially to secular humanists, but the choruses definitely aren’t. “Welcome to your worst nightmare. Days are getting dark, you should be scared. It doesn’t have a heart. Plug into the new you…the death of who we are is right here.” (I jumped a few lines down, thus the ellipsis.)

Because Daughtry himself is muscular and fit–especially for age 44–he plays himself being uploaded into the “perfect,” human-looking robot. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, it doesn’t exactly work out.

Now, why did I say fortunately, or maybe unfortunately? Well, in this dystopic nightmare of a world, that’s apparently the only way you’re going to survive. It’s a travesty; it’s not human, as the lyrics say. The whole bit about “no begging for mercy on your knees” is about compassion, and about how the robots–or whatever they are–don’t have any. They’re just beings, without true emotions; they think, but they don’t sleep. They can’t admit to fear, even if they feel it–then again, they don’t feel much of anything–and it’s obviously not the way a human being wants to live.

There is a second level to “Artificial,” though, that’s more relevant to me as a writer and editor. There’s a real problem right now, that’s grown significantly worse in the past five years, with AI programs grabbing hold of people’s work–whether music, art, writing, you name it–and not paying anything for this. If one, single AI was the creation of some guy in his basement who had no money at all, then maybe this wholesale “borrowing” (read: using without paying) would be understandable even if still wrong. However, the AI programs are being developed by some of the biggest and wealthiest companies in the world.

They don’t have an excuse. They should be paying writers, musicians, artists, etc., for the use of their works if they’re going to be used to try to bring about a better and more comprehensive version of AI (artificial intelligence).

So, the lyric “It doesn’t have a heart” in “Artificial” could, conceivably, be talking about Google. Or Microsoft. Or whomever else that’s trying to develop an AI. If they had hearts, working souls, and even an ounce of compassion, they’d not have taken so many different people’s work without paying for it.

They certainly don’t seem to have ethics, either. Or they’d be paying writers, musicians, etc., for their work. As they should.

So, getting back to “Artificial,” Daughtry seems to be saying that in the not-so-distant future, there will be copies of what he does. Purporting to be what he and his band have actually done. (Maybe he’s referring to deep-fakes, in an elliptical way.) But it’s “ice cold, mechanical. Artificial.”

A real musician, a real band, playing in real time (even if it’s recorded and played back in any medium), has a nuance and resonance that, so far anyway, synthetic programs can’t match. The sound, itself, may seem to be easily replicated, but it’s not.

You might be asking, “Barb, what are you talking about? The YouTube video will always play the same version of the song, with no variations.”

But in live performance, there will be variations. There have to be. Every time a piece of music is played, sung, or performed in any way, it’s going to be a little different in one way or another. That’s because it has life. Purpose. A sort of drive that infuses the music, makes it far more than simply numbers on a page represented as notes (and put to lyrics, in the case of Daughtry’s “Artificial”).

In short, music has soul. The best music, made by thoughtful musicians throughout our recorded history, has touched something in us, something profound. (Even something as silly as “Purple People-Eater,” with the lyrics of “one-eyed, one-horned flying purple people eater,” will make us laugh. Laughter, itself, can be profound in its way. So sayeth I, at any rate.)

Chris Daughtry and the rest of his band, Daughtry, are excellent musicians. They put together songs that tell stories. They have multiple levels in at least some of their songs (as seen with the recent song “Artificial”), which shows a remarkably fluent and in-depth understanding of what they’re trying to do. There’s life to their songs. And just a bit of edginess (which I appreciate), along with outstanding performance values, brings about the best of results.

So, “Artificial” is a departure for Daughtry due to being dystopic. But it’s a welcome one, especially under the circumstances. I hope they write a whole lot more songs about whatever they feel like, as there’s no way an AI could ever reproduce their passion, drive, wit, and ability.

Do not accept substitutes, people. (Further the writer sayeth not.)

Discussing Other, Alternate Timelines

with 4 comments

Folks, the last several weeks have been extremely challenging. I am unable to say why, as what’s going on mostly does not pertain to me…let’s just say it’s a family health crisis and be done with it.

Anyway, I knew I should write a blog, but about what?

I could write about sports — the Milwaukee Bucks made a coaching change, mid-season, which is quite unusual — but that didn’t seem right.

I could write about politics — some of what I’m seeing from people like Rep. Elise Stefanik of NY (R) is extremely disquieting. (Rep. Stefanik seems to have the attitude of “Vice President or Bust” and is doing her best to ingratiate herself with former POTUS Donald Trump despite her past voting record, which shows at one point she was a moderate.) But again, that didn’t seem right…though I do admire Nikki Haley’s pluck in refusing to get out of the Republican primary, mind you. (She’s right that only two states have spoken. There are 48 states and a number of US territories, plus the US emigres abroad, that have yet to vote and thus indicate a preference.) While Haley is almost certainly not going to win the Republican nomination, any more than Bernie Sanders was going to win the Democratic nomination in 2016, Haley can highlight important issues to voters and ultimately make a positive policy difference (if nothing else).

And while that was a long digression about politics, that’s not what I want to talk about today. I am a SF&F writer, no matter how little-known, and thus I think about a lot of stuff most other folks don’t. I’ve done this for a long time, mind you; my Elfy books, which feature alternate universes (where the Elfs lived — don’t call ’em “Elves” as that’s a swear word to them– and the Elfys were created, among other races), were not the first time I’ve ever thought about alternate universes. I may have thought about them even sooner than age fourteen, which is when I read Philip K. Dick’s classic MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE, which features an alternate universe where the Nazis and the Japanese won World War II.

I’m not the only one to think about this, of course. There are other writers who’ve discussed this in various ways, such as Doris Lessing and the more recent book THE FUTURE OF ANOTHER TIMELINE by Annalee Newitz. But my own ruminations lead me to how my own, personal timeline could’ve been changed by the following events:

2004: Instead of dying after four heart attacks, Michael has one heart attack and survives with brain and body intact. He does cardiac rehab, which I fully support him doing, and we get another ten-twenty years together rather than two. More books of different types result, and at least some of Michael’s artwork survives. (In this timeline, I have one piece of Michael’s artwork. That’s it. It was a brief drawing of what the uniforms looked like in his Atlantean Union universe.)

But even if Michael had still died in 2004, I had another possible better timeline with which to work, as follows:

2011: Instead of dying of a massive stroke, my good friend Jeff Wilson lives despite the heart virus that nearly killed him. He does cardiac rehab and anything else they suggest; after six or eight months of treatment, he’s allowed to leave the rehab hospital (really a nursing home). During this time, we start to date, long-distance…maybe I even manage to visit him in Fort Collins while he’s in the hospital, as it’s under the threshold of altitude that I can tolerate. (Jeff knew I get high-altitude sickness at about 7000 feet and it gets worse the higher up I go.) Books and stories follow, and whether we ever progressed beyond a very solid friendship or not, things would’ve been much better all the way around for both of us.

And even if Jeff had still died in 2011, I had yet another possible, better timeline to work with, as follows:

2014: A good friend, someone I had no idea that was interested in me, makes a play and I respond. (This happened in real life, though not in 2014.) Things progress. Books and stories follow. The relationship is serious enough to perhaps lead to marriage, and despite some major difficulties, we manage to overcome them and forge a life together.

Of course, that timeline didn’t happen either. So how about this one?

2020: Covid-19 does not happen. Millions of people do not die. (If this was lab-grown in China or anywhere else, it does not escape the lab.) People are not shut in for weeks, months, or years; there is no such thing as public-shaming over mask-wearing (I believe masks can help, especially if you, yourself, are ill and don’t know it; you won’t give it to someone else that way. But shaming people is wrong.) There’s no such thing as kicking people off public trails because of fears that they might get Covid…one of the dumbest things I ever heard, yet it happened to a good friend of mine in 2020. (I wish that hadn’t happened to him, too. As we found out later, Covid is not likely to spread outside with the same frequency as it’s going to spread inside with the greater density of people to work with.)

And as we all know, unfortunately that timeline didn’t happen either.

I’ve avoided some of the obvious ones, mind you. (Some folks may be asking, “Why not go back to 2000 and have Gore win instead of W.? Why not go back to 2016 and have your choice, Hillary Clinton, win instead of Trump?” Or even this: “Why didn’t you eliminate the war in Ukraine?”) I think many others have gone over those possibilities, and I wanted to make you think more about smaller, more personal decisions rather than stuff like that. (Well, with the exception of Covid, of course, though Covid caused more small-scale upheaval than just about anything in the past fifty years in my own not-so-humble opinion.)

So, what other timelines could you have had? What other timelines do you wish you would’ve had? (I know I wish Michael would’ve lived. Everyone who’s ever read this blog or known me in any way whatsoever should know that’s been my most fervent wish.) And is it still possible to create a better timeline in the future than the one we fear may happen? (I hope so, otherwise I’d not do anything, much less write this blog.)

Looking for Optimism in 2024

with 7 comments

Folks, 2023 was a difficult, frustrating, and disempowering year for me. A whole lot I wanted to get done didn’t happen. A whole lot that I never wanted to occur did.

So, how can I look for optimism in 2024?

It seems like every time I turn on the news, something else awful has happened. There’s a tornado in Alabama. There’s a documentary about a young woman, Gypsy Rose Blanchard (now happily married, married name Anderson), who was mistreated horribly by her mother and who served several years in prison for conspiring to kill her mother. (If you saw what her mother did to Gypsy Rose Blanchard, you might be like me and say, “Small loss.” Especially after Ms. Blanchard tried hard to get away from her mother, and how no one understood the horrific stuff her mother had put her through.) Blanchard’s story sent ice straight down my spine, as her late and (to my mind) unlamented mother kept her looking ill and much frailer than she ever should’ve been due to Blanchard’s mother’s significant mental illness. (The diagnosis for Blanchard’s mother, who I’m not naming as I feel she was among the world’s worst villains of the last thirty years, was Munchausen’s Syndrome by proxy, meaning Blanchard’s mother put Gypsy Rose through all sorts of crap by making her appear sick — as a cancer patient, as needing various surgeries Gypsy Rose never required, etc.)

Then, of course, there are the usual problems. Snow. Ice. Wind. Man against nature.

So, it’s a dark and rather depressing opening to 2024 for me. It’s cold, there’s not a lot of light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m frustrated overall because I’ve tried very hard for the last nineteen years-plus since my late husband Michael died (yes, I know to the hour, but I won’t be that anal-retentive today) to live the best life I can. Maybe I’ve done that, but my creativity has not been where I wish it to be; I didn’t achieve my goals in 2023 of getting some new stories out under my own name due to my father’s passing in October (partly, anyway; I was already behind that expectation due to the earlier cellulitis of the face I suffered in February and March before he died); work lagged, and I was having to play catch-up even before I caught Covid-19 in early December.

When looked at all as a piece, it seems much worse than what it was when I lived through it. And it’s of course not a patch on what Gypsy Rose Blanchard lived through for years until her mother was killed by Gypsy Rose’s then-boyfriend. (Don’t judge that young woman until you’ve seen what her mother put her through.) But pain is pain, and Michael always told me that it’s invalidating to try to compare your pain to others’ pain.

I think that’s good advice.

In my case, stuff builds up inside. I have no way to express it safely, or at least it seems like there isn’t one. This feeds depression, this feeds illness, this feeds lack of creativity and this also feeds despair, hopelessness, and as my friend Karl Ernst put it in his book Rocking Change, stuckness.

That doesn’t mean I’d not have been ill with Covid-19 if my problems magically went away. (Plus, life seems to be all about how to navigate problems. We always have some, somewhere.) That doesn’t mean everything would be lightness, creativity, brightness, and happiness, either.

What it does mean is that the real issues I’ve got: grief, again, this time due to the loss of my father; iffy health (that I continue to work on to get at least slightly better); loneliness; frustration; anger; hopelessness; well, they all get stuffed together in a maelstrom of despair.

That said, I think there are some reasons for optimism here.

First, I am aware of these problems. They aren’t just sitting there, unremarked and misunderstood.

Second, I have managed to write over 36K words in the last year into a new story I can’t tell you much about yet (it’s in a friend of mine’s universe and will eventually go out co-branded with his name), which is the highest word count I’ve managed in the last three years. This means the prospective novel is about one-third completed. (Yay!)

Third, I have good friends I trust, along with family, that have known me for many years. That has to help.

Fourth, while 2024 is already shaping up to be a year of change for me in many senses, I believe there is room for me to take a new role upon the stage somehow. (As life is but a stage, and we are merely players according to both Shakespeare and the rock group Rush, this needed to be said.)

Or as my father used to put it, “There’s always another season.” He was talking about sports, but I think that’s applicable to life as well.

So, what I’m going to do is this. Write. Edit. Compose music. Talk to other people as best I can. Continue on my path, as I know exactly what it is, and do whatever I can and whatever it takes to make my life happier, more stable, and far more satisfying.

See, I can’t control the future. I can’t control what other people think about me. I can’t control all the vicissitudes of life.

But I can control how I react to it.

That’s my overarching reason for optimism in 2024. (What’s yours? Tell me in the comments!)

Details from the Covid-verse

with 2 comments

I just read that generative AI (chatbots, roughly) tend to write better headlines than human beings, which is why you are getting the above-mentioned headline. (And no, I did not use AI to come up with it.) Enjoy at your peril…or something.

Last week, I tested positive for Covid-19. The symptoms were not what I had expected. I still had some sense of taste/smell; what I had mostly was bronchitis, followed by a ton of sinus involvement and general “icky feeling” along with body aches, muscle weakness, and more of a type of malaise. (No, “icky feeling” isn’t exactly the same as malaise, at least not in my book.)

Because of this, when I went in, I thought I had RSV. (For those who haven’t heard of that, it’s a different type of respiratory virus that can cause many of the same symptoms.) All I knew was, I was sick, I felt lousy, I had almost no energy, and I wasn’t the only one in the family with these symptoms. (Two out of three tested positive is all I’ll say about that.)

So, they did an overnight test for Covid, both flu strains, and RSV. Covid came back positive.

As most long-term readers of this blog surely know, I never wanted to get Covid. I have asthma. I knew that if I got Covid, it was likely going to be a bad case of the sucker, and that I would not be able to do much of anything for several weeks…which has unfortunately proven to be the case. (I’d wanted to write this blog for the last ten days, for example. It didn’t get done until now.)

For me, Covid mostly was a case of “bad cold/bad flu” with a ton of coughing, high temps, body aches, etc. As it came on the heels of my father’s recent passing, I was already at a low ebb, energy-wise, so perhaps it hit me harder than it strictly needed to do, for all I know.

What I found out, when I tried to find out how much Covid was in this area of Wisconsin, is that the state now tracks Covid through wastewater (i.e., how much Covid is in the, um, effluvia when we flush our toilets). To no surprise, Racine County, Kenosha County, and the part of Milwaukee County that’s closest to me are all in the “very high” range (nothing is higher than that on the scale, either). But it’s nearly impossible to find out how Covid’s doing, elsewise, unless you want to see how many people are put in the hospital.

Mind you, anything that keeps you out of the hospital, no matter how nasty it is and no matter how much it gets in the way of your normal life, is now considered a “mild case” of Covid. So, despite how sick I’ve been, and despite how sick other family members have been, far and near, with Covid (a few of my cousins have had it in recent months, too), we all apparently have “mild” cases.

Hmph. (Or better yet, harrumph.)

I’ve had all of the various booster shots (read: vaccinations) but one, mind you. This last one, I’d meant to get before Dad died. It didn’t happen. It makes me wonder if things would’ve been better if I’d managed it…anyway, as soon as they let me, I will get the next booster shot, because I really don’t want this to hit me this hard (or worse) again if I can help it.

I know that ultimately, life is a crapshoot. We have no idea when we go out anywhere if other people are sick, much less with what. Sometimes they don’t know yet that they are ill, for that matter; there are folks who get Covid (much less other illnesses) who have no symptoms at all, so they’d have no reason to test themselves, but they can still pass Covid on to other people. You can get Covid in the grocery store, in the pharmacy, at a restaurant (if you go in; I still don’t), literally anywhere.

That said, I’ve tried hard to avoid it. (Much good that did me, but still.)

All I can ask you, readers of my blog, is this: If you are ill, don’t be afraid to get tested. It’s better to know than not. And it’s a lot better to stay home if you’re ill rather than get a bunch of people sick like Typhoid Mary did, way back when (if you don’t know the story, Mary was a kindly soul who tried to help others, but she was a carrier of Typhoid. Even after knowing she had it, she still tried to nurse the sick, and caused people to stay sick and/or die a lot sooner because of her being a Typhoid carrier with few or no symptoms).

I know it’s awful to be sick. I do.

I wish I weren’t sick now (though I am well enough to at least type this out). But all I can do now is warn you to please keep getting your booster shots, try to remain socially distant if you can in crowds (this isn’t always possible, granted), and wear masks when out unless it’s impossible for you to do so. (There are some folks who can’t wear masks due to past trauma and/or other reasons.) I have tried to wear masks whenever possible — with my asthma, sometimes it just hasn’t been possible! — and I do my best.

You do your best, too, eh?

Dad Died Yesterday, Aged 86

with 4 comments

Folks, this is a very tough blog to write. But I think I should. So here we are.

My father Roger was 86 and a bit — he would’ve been 87 in November on his next birthday — and was a huge sports fan his entire life. He loved the Milwaukee Brewers, the Milwaukee Bucks, and the Green Bay Packers, and going to the 1982 World Series with us kids between the Brewers and the St. Louis Cardinals at old Milwaukee County Stadium was a highlight he’d talked about for years. (One kid would go with one parent for each home game, so all three of us got to see a World Series game in person when we were young. I think Mom went to two home games and Dad one; it was a long time ago, but Dad insisted he’d gone and he usually was right about such things.)

I had to start off with that, because unless you understood at least some of my father’s passions, you didn’t know him at all.

Dad also played the drums. He did not consider himself a percussionist because he didn’t read music so much as read rhythms. He did play cymbals, bass drum, snare drum, field drum, castanets, maracas, and anything that was needed when he was a member of the Racine Concert Band. (Yes, my family has had a strong interest in the RCB for a very long time, and Dad was a member for over ten years in the percussion section.) He loved music of all sorts, but was most partial to musicals, Doris Day, Kristen Chenoweth, big band jazz from the 1930s, 1940s, and a bit into the 1950s (bebop was taking over from the older big band style; think the difference between Benny Goodman and his orchestra and/or Duke Ellington and his orchestra versus Charlie Parker and/or Dizzy Gillespie.)

Another of Dad’s passions was old movies. His favorite movie of all time was “Mr. Deeds Goes to Town,” a story about an unlikely man who inherits a fortune, the newspaperwoman who writes about him (incognito), and about the efforts to strip his fortune by unscrupulous members of his family. Why did they try? Well, Mr. Deeds was an eccentric. He played the tuba, he liked to dance down the street and sing a bit (Mr. Deeds didn’t have much of a voice, I’m afraid; his tuba, however, did), and he was a nonconformist for the times. That was enough to get a hearing before a judge, to prove competency or the lack of it.

Anyway, Dad loved that movie, and I know I watched with him several times over the last few years because it’s a highly entertaining movie (what with the tuba playing and all). Jean Arthur was the female lead, and Dad admired her for Arthur’s beauty and brains and grace under pressure, as he saw Arthur in several other movies (including one of Dad’s other favorite movies, “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”). He loved comedies like “Easter Parade” and “Calamity Jane” and “State Fair,” and of course he knew all the words to favorite musicals such as “The Music Man” and “The Sound of Music.”

Dad also was a man of principle. One of his favorite sayings was that government doesn’t work if the able don’t serve. He also pointed out what Samuel Gompers said, about how it’s better to be party to a principle rather than a principal to a party, though the actual quote is more like this according to a quick Google search: “It is not the party for whom we vote that counts, but our loyalty to the principles for which that party stands.”

Anyway, my father lived a good long life. He believed in family and cared about others, but couldn’t always show it as he was a guy from a time where men were admired if they were the strong, silent type. (Dad would admit he wasn’t that type, sometimes, but the Stoic nature of it all certainly was something he admired.) Dad was a member of the Lutheran Church, believed firmly in Heaven and in God (to him, God was most definitely male, though he’d not had a problem with me seeing the Deity in other ways as far as I could tell), and was mentally alert pretty much until the hour of his death.

In our last conversation, which was mostly about sports, Dad told me he didn’t think Jordan Love is the answer for the Green Bay Packers and that he wished Aaron Rodgers had stayed in Green Bay as Rodgers probably wouldn’t have been injured here (as the Achilles’ tear Rodgers suffered was worse due to happening on artificial turf). He was looking forward to the Milwaukee Bucks basketball season (starting tonight), though he didn’t like the trade of Jrue Holliday for Damian Lillard; he liked Lillard, but he’d rather have had Holliday and Lillard, and if he could only have one, he’d have kept Holliday. (That this apparently caused Giannis Antetokounmpo to sign a maximum-amount three-year extension didn’t really please my father. He liked to say that the Bucks needed five people on the team, not just one guy, and that compared to Wilt Chamberlain or even Michael Jordan, two guys who could and did win games practically single-handedly, Giannis wasn’t in that league. Of course, he also admitted that Giannis had come a long way and would certainly make the basketball hall of fame some day, too.) And he worried that the Milwaukee Brewers would trade their ace, Corbin Burnes, over the winter; while he didn’t think Burnes was as good this year as last (or the Cy Young year before that), he still felt Burnes was an ace-level pitcher and was needed, desperately, for the Brewers to be a competitive team next year.

So, on Sunday night, we had that good conversation. I didn’t see him Monday except once; he was not well, and I asked him if he wanted to be taken to the ER or if he wanted me to call the rescue squad. He said he didn’t want that. I abided by his wishes, went to bed, got up on Tuesday to go to a doctor appointment, and when I got back home, Dad had passed away.

Dad always wanted to die at home. I know that. But I still feel terrible about it anyway.

I also have to say this: Dad wanted everyone to know that he wasn’t a saint, just a man; he hated the idea of everyone being lauded as the most wonderful person who’d ever lived after they died (if you already thought that before the person’s death, that was another story entirely), and would rather that we remember his humanity along with the good times, the bad times, and the in-between times.

At any rate, I thought that I’d be prepared for this day, when it came, and I’m not.

Funeral arrangements are pending.

About a Girl (Dog), Part 2…and Other Stuff

leave a comment »

Folks, I wanted to give you a brief update regarding my Mom’s dog, Ms. Brat (also known as Bratty). She’s still hanging in there and is starting to use her front paw more and more. She is drinking water and has sporadically eaten in the past week. She’s always been picky about her food, so it’s nothing new that nothing we have tried to give her has pleased her. (It’s the same with treats, too. Sometimes she loves one variety of treats but won’t touch the other; other times it’s vice versa.)

Mom and I have been cautiously optimistic regarding Brat’s health. That said, sometime this week Brat is going into the vet’s office (a new one, as our old one retired a few years ago. Most of the routine coverage has been done at places like Petco.) in order to rule out any other problems. (For example, this not wanting to eat much at all thing is new. Why is this going on?)

Anyway, I have been doing what I can this past week to deal with mundane issues everyone on the face of the Earth has to deal with from time to time. I’ve also written some into the novel I’m writing that’s a prequel to a friend’s novel series. Once I get up to the time his series starts, I plan on writing a parallel story from my character’s POV. (I figured if Anne McCaffrey could do that in Nerilka’s Story, so could I.) It’s fun trying to fit the various pieces together, and add in small touches that my friend had in subtext but were never overt, or things that make sense from my character’s perspective (he’s a fifteen-year-old prodigy of a sort, but doesn’t realize it as he mostly thinks about what he lacks rather than what he has, as people tend to do at age fifteen).

When I get to the point I know it’s going to be a real book — into the 80K to 90K range — I’ll discuss it more. Until then, just think good thoughts for me, eh?

Because of focusing on this book, I’ve written almost twice as many words this year as I had all of last year. There’s still a month and a half to go, so I’m going to try to eclipse last year’s total and leave it in the dust. (Go from twice as many to three times as many, at the very least.) Or, in other words, I’ve written about 33K words and know there’s much more to say from my young character’s perspective.

As far as editing goes, I have two long-term edits that I must finish up soon. One I’ve taken a great deal of time on, partly because I love the author’s work so much and partly because there just haven’t been enough hours in the day to get everything done. (Too many crises, not enough of me, as it were.) The other, I’m starting a third pass on–this one’s nonfiction–and is the third book in a series of self-help books. (The first one, it’s more like a fourth or fifth full pass. But I’ve stopped and started many times in the past months.) Plus, I have two books where my client wants me to update their original files with better editing, along with two new novels…never a dull moment around Chez Caffrey, that’s for sure.

Finally, I watched in sadness as my Milwaukee Brewers flamed out in the playoffs earlier this month. They had a great regular season, winning 92 games and losing only 70. But in a best of three series, you must win one game to force Game Three. The Brewers bats were quiet, one of their best pitchers ended up coming up with a dreadful injury (he will miss nearly all of 2024, it’s been reported; the pitcher’s name is Brandon Woodruff) and couldn’t pitch, and despite sparkling defense I guess it just wasn’t meant to be for the Brew Crew this year.

One of these years, the Brewers will go to the World Series again. They last were there in 1982, when I was a youngster. I remember the series well, in fact, and would’ve never dreamed back then that the Brewers, forty-one years later, still hadn’t managed to go to the World Series again, much less win it.

But it won’t be this year, and I find that both vexing and sad.

I may write a longer post about the Brewers in a week or two, mostly because I remain so conflicted about how the season went. To have a great season like that, only to meekly bow out — at home, no less, as the Brewers’ record was better than their opponent’s record — after two uninspiring, even insipid, games just made me feel awful.

So, that’s about it! Keep thinking good thoughts for Bratty, would you? And if you have any thoughts re: anything I’ve discussed here, go ahead and share ’em. I’m always happy to talk writing, editing, or just about anything else. (As I’m sure you know already.)

Written by Barb Caffrey

October 16, 2023 at 6:24 am