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A Descent into Silence

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Today marks the first day of October. Superficially, nothing’s significant about today. Climatologically, October ranks sixth in terms of overall warmth in West Michigan, barely edging its closest rival, April. The decline of high temperatures, which peak mid-July, accelerates. Already, signs of the color turn dot the trees. A few days ago, a cool spell—daily highs dipped into the mid-to-upper 50s—reminded us that we’re gearing up for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the new year.

October in the Grand Rapids area starts nice, in typically in the upper 60s, and ends cool, typically in the 50s. Lows can reach into the 30s (and are projected to this week, in fact, according to the National Weather Service).

I love this time of year.

The hustle of the summer calms. The motif of harvest and the transition from life-to-death reminds us of the circle of life. Shorts and flip-flops give way to jeans and boots. Sweaters come out, windows close a bit, and days begin to shorten noticeably as we slide into the homestetch before the solstice. The urge to grab a book (I just bought the first volume of The Gulag Archipelago) grows larger while my recliner and a warm fire and a purring cat conspire to abduct me on the first genuinely cold night of the season. Things get quieter. Silence, a peaceful quietude, descends almost like a lamb.

All this downshifting coincides nicely, I think, with an Advent-like spirit of renewal. Of all the liturgical seasons, Advent’s my favorite, in part becuase I’m always the most inspired to re-think and renew in that narrow window between my birthday and the final denuding of the trees.

In the last two weeks, I’m down seven pounds. Most of my inboxes are cleared out and my task-list recurated on a strategic scale. A new, slower rhythm already governs my weekly schedule. My stress levels—normally imperceptible to me—feel lower. Between an increase in hiking and hitting my exercise bike, and a day spent kayaking, and evenings focused on writing, I’m unwinding a bit, and planning for a calmer but more meaningful 2020 by thinking about foundational stuff and dialing back the aggressiveness of my goals list.

It’s a good day. A quiet day.

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It’s the Ho-Ho-Holidays. Allegedly.

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Two years ago, we had a super-snowy winter that landed on the record books. Last year, we had a super-cold winter that landed on the record books. This year, we have a super-warm winter that’s pretty much the inverse of the prior two seasons. With no snow, temps between 40 and 60 and frequent bright sunshine, the last six weeks have been a definitive counterpoint to winters’ past.

As such, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. More like Easter. Which isn’t bad — the cats like sitting in my open bedroom window — but still.

I am looking forward, however, to my annual two-week vacation. For 16 full days — from the afternoon of Dec. 18 until the morning of Jan. 4 — I’m away from the hustle and bustle of the day job. I’ll probably spend the bulk of the vacation catching up on domestic chores, binge-watching Netflix whilst peddling away on my exercise bike, and opening the Caffeinated Press office to prepare for 2016.

It’ll be a good time to read, to write and to catch up. Speaking of which: This week, I’ve progressed from having roughly 1,500 emails (combined, all inboxes) to — as of today — less than 20 messages left to address. Let me tell you, it feels like an accomplishment, especially given that since mid-year, I’ve been on a roughly 10-day lag on responding to people given how much I was drowning in e-correspondence.

Anyway. Maybe I’ll put on some Christmas music and turn on the air conditioner, to start to generate the “feelin’ of the season.”

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It's the Ho-Ho-Holidays. Allegedly.

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Two years ago, we had a super-snowy winter that landed on the record books. Last year, we had a super-cold winter that landed on the record books. This year, we have a super-warm winter that’s pretty much the inverse of the prior two seasons. With no snow, temps between 40 and 60 and frequent bright sunshine, the last six weeks have been a definitive counterpoint to winters’ past.
As such, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. More like Easter. Which isn’t bad — the cats like sitting in my open bedroom window — but still.
I am looking forward, however, to my annual two-week vacation. For 16 full days — from the afternoon of Dec. 18 until the morning of Jan. 4 — I’m away from the hustle and bustle of the day job. I’ll probably spend the bulk of the vacation catching up on domestic chores, binge-watching Netflix whilst peddling away on my exercise bike, and opening the Caffeinated Press office to prepare for 2016.
It’ll be a good time to read, to write and to catch up. Speaking of which: This week, I’ve progressed from having roughly 1,500 emails (combined, all inboxes) to — as of today — less than 20 messages left to address. Let me tell you, it feels like an accomplishment, especially given that since mid-year, I’ve been on a roughly 10-day lag on responding to people given how much I was drowning in e-correspondence.
Anyway. Maybe I’ll put on some Christmas music and turn on the air conditioner, to start to generate the “feelin’ of the season.”

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Smorgasboard of Updates and Pithy Observations

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Today’s exercise in stream-of-consciousness blogging follows. Hold on to your buttocks.

I am now apparently hosting a family of feral cats in the garage. A white cat with a little black nose and sapphire eyes — I’ve named her Snowball — has taken residence of the garage attic, along with her three children. The kittens are old enough to scurry about independently, but young enough to occasionally nurse. One is solid white, one is solid black, and one is solid grey. Advice from Stacie is to simply trap them and have them humanely euthanized. Others suggest a trap/neuter/release program. The advice mirrors battles among animal-rights activists. My solution, which I freely admit is the least responsible thing I could do, is to give them food and water.

The last few weeks have featured a packed social calendar. Yesterday I saw Iron Man 3 at Celebration South with Julie, Steve, Brittany and the “other” Jason; the week before I caught Oblivion at Celebration Rivertown. Last week, Tony came to town to record and we ended up enjoying some cigars and premium adult beverages before trekking to Erb Thai for some tasty, tasty curried food. On Friday, Stacie came over to meet my cats and slog back a few beers. Last week, I had cigars with The Irritable Bastard. The week before, Tony and I hoofed it to Horseshoe Hammond for the Midwest Smoke Out.

Life has been interesting on the writing front. I’ve been making more progress on some of my sundry manuscripts and I also purchased three of my friend Duane’s recently released novels, from Amazon.

Since last month’s deluge, the weather in West Michigan has been downright cheerful. Consistently in the 70s, with a mid-80s day last week, and sunny. Fairly moderate humidity, too. I think I’m going to go for a nice long walk along Kent Trails later today. I hope this pattern holds for the Isle Royale trip at the end of the month. On the extra-special bright side, it’s transitioned into “walking around with very little clothes” season, and so far the folks with the best bodies are the ones most likely to flaunt them. Please, oh please, let the trend continue. Remember: Just Say No! to muffintops.

I finished reading The Origins of Political Order by Francis Fukuyama. Most of the book was solid and well-presented; his conclusions largely tracked what I’d expect from a political science perspective of evolutionary social biology. The key insight I pulled from his work — which ended with the French Revolution — is that political order waxes and wanes and one of the forces leading to social decay is repatriomonialization. This fancy term identifies the tendency for political elites to create systems that support their kin or tribe. In small societies, the kin are usually blood relatives, but in larger societies, the tribe may well include fellow elites. Hence the tendency for the political class to resist change that harms the political class, and the reason why elite activists favor the erosion of federalism. Fukuyama’s belief, obliquely expressed, is that violence is typically the tool used to undo repatrimonialization. Hence, the only way to break gridlock and self-serving behavior in government is to overthrow the government, because political leaders are almost never willing to voluntarily cede their elite privileges for the good of the state as a whole. His observations should give pause to those who dismiss recent public opinion polling that suggests that a large minority of the American public expects widespread political violence within the next decade.

All for now.

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The Crispness of Autumn

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On this, the last day of September, the early signs of autumn already show themselves: The air is a bit cooler, the sun looks weaker, the leaves begin to show their final colors.

I love the fall. I like the transition to sweater weather, the promise of the upcoming holiday seasons, the fun of cider-and-donut season, the simple joy of Halloween. It’s a reminder to slow down, to enjoy what’s left while it’s still here.

As much as I disdain birthdays, my mid-September birth marks the beginning of an action-packed period that stretches until the new year. From mid September until Halloween, the name of the game is seasonal change. From Halloween until Thanksgiving, it’s “preparation for winter.” Thanksgiving to Christmas is a magical time of anticipation. Christmas to New Year’s prompts thoughts of annual renewal.

Of course, January 2 heralds the long, desolate slog until spring.

The scene from the coffee-shop window amuses. I see, for example, guys walking down the street together; one’s in shorts and a tank top, the other wears jeans, a shirt and a pullover fleece. Only in Michigan can both get-ups be equally acceptable simultaneously.

In any case, I’m taking today off to relax a bit. Perhaps I’ll retreat to the veranda for a cigar and a glass of wine. After all, autumn’s nigh — savor it while it lasts.

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Why I Love 100-Degree Days: An Ode to Michigan

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My fellow Michiganders no doubt appreciate that this is the hottest and driest summer since 1945. Since I got back from Las Vegas five weeks ago, we’ve seen quite a few days above 100 degrees, and most of them have been above 90. With high humidity but almost no rain, unwatered lawns look like a crude approximation of the Mojave.

So I hear the whining: Oh, it’s soooo hot.

Yet I reflect — exactly six months from now we’ll be in the dead of winter and temperatures may well be in the teens. And we’ll be whining about how cold and snowy it is.

I get it: Some people like perpetually lukewarm weather. Those people should get the hell out of Michigan, a state that includes arid, snowy, subzero winters and hot, humid, dry summers. You get the full range of the earth’s climate without ever having to travel more than a mile in any direction.

But if climate variation isn’t your thing — I hear San Diego’s nice.