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- The Morning of First Day of the New Year
The morning of the first day of the year is gone most places across the states with about an hour left in the Southwest Corner. It is dreary here. Rain in the Southwest corner.
i have the black-eyed peas cooking on the range. i’ll make the cornbread with a small piece of cornpone for me later this afternoon. i had wonderful blueberry pancakes courtesy of Maureen this morning. i forgot to cook my Tennessee Pride Sausage and went without. i have just finished my third and last cup of coffee.
New records from Blythe have been played along with Roy Orbison’s “Greatest Hits” and “The Freewheeling Bob Dylan,” his second album and the one that put him on the road to success. i heard an Orbison song in August 1959 when John Sweatt took Earl Major, Jimmy Hatcher, Jimmy Gamble, and me to Johnson’s Dairy. It was between the two-a-day practices for Heights football. i had lost 10 pounds in the morning practice — this was back when you were a wimp if you drank water during practice and took salt tablets before practice. We each got a half gallon of Johnson’s orange drink. it was all gone before we got back to the campus. i had regained the lost weight before the afternoon round. After that practice, i had lost another 15 pounds.
Note: i almost cried when i wrote this. All the others in that car ride have crossed over that bridge. They all were just flat super people. We were close, townboys at a predominately boarding prep school.
Today, i have added a few LP Albums to my spreadsheet. i actually might complete the cataloguing this year. i estimate there will be about 800 of them. Several came from Maureen, a number from her father including what must be all of Carmen Cavallero’s albums, and quite a few from Keith Macumber who gave them to me when he and his wife Becky decided to live the rest of his life on the road in a “recreatation vehicle — I wonder how many folks nowadays would know what “RV” stands for (oops, ending the note with a preposition). Sadly, Keith crossed that bridge several years ago. Good man.
i’ve added several photos to my ten or so “History Notebooks.” Photos, slides, documents, newspaper clippings, and other memorabilia are included. i’m not sure i actually will finish this project. That stuff is everywhere.
As it moves toward noon, it occurs to me i have not watched any football or basketball today. And i think about years past when football occupied this first day. Sugar Bowl, Cotton Bowl, Rose Bowl, and Orange Bowl, preceded by the Gator Bowl on New Year’s Eve. That was it. Now, there is a glut and they mean little, even the playoffs, which undoubtedly will prove the champion is not really the champion, just bragging rights for the winner and a topic which will be slobbered to death by the talking heads.
But oh, those New Year’s Bowl parties. My favorites were at 911 South Main in Paris, Texas. My previous in-laws, Col. Jimmy Lynch and Bettie Lynch threw the party. They probably had 60 or so people wandering through the house at those parties.
Televisions were set up in separate rooms with a theme for the game that would be on that TV. The dining room TV had a bowl of cotton balls sitting on top. The living room TV had a bowl of oranges on top. The Sugar Bowl TV was in the opposite corner of the living room and had a bowl of sugar on top. The Rose Bowl TV was in the breakfast room and boasted of an urn filled with red roses.
Food and drink, especially drink, was more than plentiful. They put a two-foot circle of cheddar cheese sent from Wisconsin. They had finger sandwiches, full sandwiches, barbecue, hot dogs, chips and dips everywhere of every kind.
Drinks began with bloody marys. The Colonel, a.k.a. “The Alligator,” was proud of his bloody marys. The bar in the kitchen contained every type of liquor with beer and wine aplenty.
It was great fun, the type that we don’t have anymore because the games have grown into spectacles with nearly all in poorly attended stadiums and are spread out over a month. Sad.
Yesterday, we had no intention of bringing in the New Year. Maureen went to bed just before the ball fell in NYC. i stayed up for another hour but kept falling asleep, finally surrendering and hitting the rack myself.
i recalled one about twenty years ago. Danny Boggs, Maureen’s brother, gave us a round of golf and the New Year Eve’s party at Singing Hills out in El Cajon. The golf was fun. We quickly changed into our party dress and tux and went to the dining room. The only seats available was a table with eight older folks who came together every year. They were delightful.
The band was almost as old as the folks at our table. They played oldies, and i mean old, big band stuff. Maureen and i danced and laughed. And when the clock struck midnight, the band played “Auld Lang Syne” like they were Guy Lombardo. In the middle of the dance floor, Maureen and i kissed. It was a great night.
Change doesn’t stop. It seems the parties are bigger, longer, and louder. The fireworks are more plentiful, louder, and more spectacular. People obviously enjoy them. But i have changed as well. i don’t need to be entertained anymore, i just want to enjoy whatever it is. i will likely watch a bowl game tonight or one of our favorite movies. And i am with that lovely woman who shared a kiss with me long ago and this morning., We will soon have blackeyed peas, cornbread, and a glass of champagne (after all, we didn’t come close to drinking all of that bottle last night.
May all of you have a healthy and successful 2026, have fun, and accept change gracefully.
- Churchill’s Commentary on Man
Man will occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of the time he will pick himself up and continue on.
- Thoughts Before 2026
It is twilight, not really, as the sun has sunk behind our slope, but not down on the Pacific horizon, no, not down on the western horizon. If i wished to climb up to our flag, i could watch it set, possibly catch a “green flash.”
But i am grilling filets tonight. i sit on the small patio outside our kitchen. i earlier marinated the steaks. The grill is heating up. Charcoal is my only choice for grilling. i link my bluetooth speaker to my “library” and play my “oldies” from most genres before “rap” and “hip hop.” Maureen is in the kitchen cooking the sides and preparing the salad.
It was cool today for the Southwest corner. As the sun fades behind our slope, it gets cooler fast. i add a Navy watch cap and a thick green hoodie for warmth. Still, i sip from my martini while waiting for the charcoal to heat up. It does get cooler as i listen to my music, “shuffled” to guarantee all genres will play. As i write, Nina Simone is singing one of my favorite songs of hers, “You Can Have Him.”
It is a time for thought, peaceful thought.
i think life ain’t all that bad. If the next round of rain holds off, i should get in a round of golf on New Year’s Day. Approaching 82, a duffer’s golf game doesn’t get better, just shorter and shakier. The game is now about being with long-time friends, military men with unlimited stories to tell over a beer or two after a round. We call ourselves, appropriately “curmudgeons,” frequently using the term “asshole” as a compliment.
The sun has set, head down over the pacific about seven miles away, a figure that was important when i was officer of the deck: “hull down” meant a ship was more than seven miles away with only her superstructure or, at night, her running lights visible.
i look back toward the kitchen. Maureen is rinsing vegetables at the kitchen sink before drying them by spinning them in the collander. She is a great cook, a kitchen engineer with preciseness, just like her dad was as a mechanical engineer. Her salads are the best i’ve ever had anywhere.
She remains beautiful. Her movements there in the kitchen make me feel glad, lucky i must admit. Our two daughters are happily married. One is a successful manager. The other is on her rise to success. We don’t see them or our grandson enough. Knowing they are secure and living good lives is enough.
That New Year’s golf game is only a few days away. Then comes 2026. Our travels won’t be as long or often as they used to be. Our driving will be slower and, for me, more careful. i already avoid freeways when possible. My aches will increase. i will start to shuffle more than walk. My balance requires me to be careful of how and where i walk.
It’s all okay. i am alive with a wonderful mate (the seaman connotation, “mate” is a nice word but much better when it concerns us).
i hope all of you have a successful and healthy 2026 and find happiness and peace beyond the next horizon.
- The Lonely Things
Eight years ago, i wrote a post titled the same as this post (https://jimjewell.com/a-pocket-of-resistance/lonely-things/). That earlier post was about the song; Rod McKuen, the poet whose most famous poem was “Stanyan Street;” and Glen Yarborough, the singer who recorded the last verse of the song under the title of “The Lonely Things.”
i sit in the family room/den/great room — why do we use different terms for the same thing — of my sister and brother-in-law’s home on Signal Mountain outside Chattanooga, a place we’ve spent Christmas almost every year since 1992. The lights on the wonderful Christmas tree which is roughly nine feet tall are not lit. The fire in the majestic fireplace has not yet been lit. Our daughter and her husband have left and are headed back to Las Vegas. My sister Martha and Maureen with a slight bit of help from Todd and me are feverishly preparing the Christmas dinner for twelve.
Then a much smaller group will go to the 11:00 p.m. church service where Martha will play the bells, and they will turn the lights out, the congregation will light individuals for all of us to sing “Silent Night.”
In this quiet before the gathering, i think about our soldiers, sailors, marines, and air men and women away from home during these holidays. They are experiencing lonely things.
i was lucky to have been away for Christmas only three times during my career. i have written about all three in previous posts and will not bore you with a repeat.
From those experiences, i can tell you that as hard as our commands try, as much frivolity and great food we might have, as much as we throw ourselves into Christmas far away from home, it is still a lonely thing.
Blessings to all of our military personnel who are not home. May they and all of you have a joyous Christmas remembering the reason for the season.
- Spiritual Precipitated By My Siblings.
Sunday morning, the last Sunday before Christmas, the last Sunday of Christian Advent, i became a better person, experiencing an emotional morning due to my sister Martha and my brother Joe.
Maureen and i are on top of my favorite mountain (especially after retiring my skis several year ago).
Just before 11:00, my brother-in-law and i went to the Signal Crest Methodist Church. We parked and walked up to the balcony and sat in the back row.
For an hour, i was mesmerized. My sister Martha plays in the bell choir, which performed to excellent pieces, especially their version of “Noel.” The pastor, Dave Graybeal, gave a sermon centered around Mr. Rogers and his neighborhood. Ordinarily, i politely act like i listen to sermons while thinking about other things. Dave’s resonated with me. Even Tracy Gartman’s presentation to the children moved me.
There was a goodness in the air. It moved me.
i am a lucky man to have my sister and brother-in-law in my life.
◆◆◆
Martha’s and my brother Joe is a retired Methodist minister. He is also brilliant and holds master degrees in theology and philosophy from Boston University. He wrote a book, The Elements of Prayer, modeled from Strunk and White’s Elements of Style. It is a moving book that is for everyone to contemplate on their relationship with their higher power. i gave a copy to Marty Linville, one of my best friends in San Diego and his wife Linda. They were very religious Catholics. Marty was awarded the Army’s Silver Star due to his valiant action when in charge of a 105 howitzer artillery unit that was overrun by a North Vietnamese company. Marty told me several years later that he and Linda would read Joe’s book on prayer every month or so because of the grace they received from it. i will pick my copy up and read it again when i am feeling a bit low.
Joe is a wonderful man. He is super smart and reads deep and thoughtful books. He is a terrific family man, and loves his adopted New England. His wife Carla Neggers is a talented and successful novelist.
i am a lucky man to have such a brother and sister-in-law
Previously on Saturday evening, i opened up my brother Joe’s Facebook post:
Some fifty-odd years ago, I was walking back to my fraternity house late one evening. I had been studying for my last final exam, in Phenomenology. I had found a quiet place on the Scarritt College campus that I used when I really had to concentrate on a subject as I always did when reading Husserl. While I had been inside, it had started to snow; the ground was lightly covered and flakes were still drifting down. As I walked past Wightman Chapel, I noticed it was partially lit, the only light around, and inside someone was playing Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. I was transfixed, even though the piece was not one I associated with Christmas. It was a moving moment, but then, the player stumbled on a difficult passage, stopped, and started the section over, getting it right. I stood there, listening, and then the player stumbled again, restarted, finished. I stayed until it was over and then made my way back.
I knew I would remember those moments, but it wasn’t until some years later that I began to grasp why it had been so meaningful to me. It was the stumbling blocks, the “scandalon” in New Testament Greek, that made it special, that made it become…human.
Not otherworldly, not spiritual in a shallow sense, but human, something with which another human could connect.
We are anticipating and about to celebrate The Incarnation, God made flesh, God become human, God possibly stumbling, possible of and for connection with us. Sometimes, as this year, the Christmas “Spirit” seems sparse, so I think on those moments, that connection. And that is my Christmas wish for all who read this: that you connect to others in our humanity which promises the divine to us all.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
i was deeply moved when i read that post. Grace took me by the hand once again. i felt peace washing over me. Peace for all along with a wonderful Christmas with your loved ones.
Thank you, Joe, Carla, Martha and Todd.
