Solstice Letter (Adventure?)

Every year I send out a letter (an actual physical letter in an envelope...hard to imagine) to friends and family. It is filled with ramblings, rants and some updates about the past year in Sheri's and my life. Now that we are in Europe, it was difficult (and expensive) to send letters, so I emailed a PDF to everyone on my distribution list (that I had an email address for). A large number of you have already been subjected to this year's penned tirade, but I have decided to include it here as well.

The first part is a "Squishy" story that recounts some aspect of my life. Usually from many, many years ago. I then move on to more recent events and switch to writing in the first person.

You have been warned. Proceed at your own peril. Normal blog posts about London and then Tromsø should be forthcoming.

The Letter (no pictures just words)

December 2025

It certainly is not uncommon for music to play an important part in life. Squishy is no different. He is not musically talented. This is too kind. Squishy is musically untalented. He actually makes music worse if he tries to participate in any way. He took a silly online test and discovered that he is just one step above tone deaf on the scale that measures such things.

When Squishy was young, roughly 10 years old, he was handed a violin and took some lessons at his elementary school. It is hard to imagine that a public school had a musical teacher that would give one on one lessons to children. Prop 13 would take care of that in short order. Squishy was told where to put his fingers and how to hold the bow. He ran the fibers of the bow across the strings and the instrument would make a sound. It never occurred to Squishy to listen to that sound.

Squishy practiced with unbridled apathy. It was a chore. It was only much (much) later that Squishy found out that playing music was meant to be fun. His father finally couldn’t take the horrific sounds emanating from the bedroom anymore and sat with Squishy for a few practice sessions. Squishy learned to play Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. At his father’s direction, Squishy practiced it over and over again, but he was simply memorizing the motions of where his hands went rather than listening to the song. Squishy went to his next lesson. He played Mary Had a Little Lamb and another simple, starter song. It was time to play Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Squishy played it, and the teacher immediately said, “You practiced that one!” The only conclusion Squishy could make was that the teacher was a wizard. How on earth could he know?

Fortunately, for all involved, Squishy’s time with the violin was mercifully terminated. But just because Squishy couldn’t play music didn’t mean it would have no impact on his life. As he entered his teen years, he began to discover the groups that would become permanently part of the soundtrack of his life. His brother Dave would certainly influence Squishy. Dave had (and still does) an incredibly wide range of tastes. From Michael Jackson to The Smiths to Rush to Megadeth, Dave liked it all. Despite a brief obsession with Shaun Cassidy’s Da Doo Ron Ron (a song Dave and Squishy performed a skit to over and over again), Squishy found himself taken in by the darker material of Iron Maiden, Queensryche, Metallica, Smiths, Oingo Boingo and Dio.

Since Squishy couldn’t understand music, he became obsessed with lyrics. This was where the message of the song was to be found. He didn’t quite know it at the time but these artists were tapping into the teenage angst and alienation that Squishy thought was unique to him.

When Ronnie James Dio sang, “You've been left on your own…like a rainbow in the dark.” Squishy knew he was talking directly to him. Squishy was a rainbow that simply couldn’t be seen. Dio would later follow this up with The Last in Line where he told Squishy, “We’ll know for the first time If we’re evil or divine. We’re the last in line.” Squishy would play these songs over and over at the highest volume and wallow in his self-pity and know while the rest of the world didn’t understand him, at least Dio did.

Rush was such a cerebral band it took Squishy a bit to discover their genius. He was taken in by Red Barchetta. On the face of it it’s a song about a car, but it represented freedom. Neil Peart’s lyrics, “Drive like the wind. Straining the limits of machine and man. Laughing out loud with fear and hope. I’ve got a desperate plan.” Could anything capture that feeling of escape better? Squishy would pour over the lyrics of Rush albums. While they did address teenage alienation with songs like Subdivisions, they also covered topics as varied as space travel with Countdown, the horrors of the holocaust in Red Sector A, and the realities of fame in Limelight.

The Smiths and Oingo Boingo were the best at hitting teenagers in the gut. Morrissey’s lyrics were strange and brutal. “Driving in your car, oh, please don't drop me home. Because it's not my home, it's their home. And I'm welcome no more.” No teenager was immune. Despite Squishy’s easy life, these words resonated with him. He couldn’t wait to get out. He would fail in the most spectacular way upon leaving home, but that is a story for another time. Danny Elfman wrote the words that summed up Squishy’s feelings: “And just when I think. That things are in their place. The heavens are secure. The whole thing explodes in my face.” Squishy would play this song over and over again, and when it came to this part, he would sing at the top of his lungs with all the rage, fear and passion he could muster.

Squishy is an old man now, and these songs have not lost their impact. He views them a little differently, but they still stir in him all those same emotions. He has picked up a few newer artists along the way, but it is these songs from his teenage years that will always hold a singular place atop the mountain. Squishy still listens to these songs and finds that the melancholy overtakes him at times and can’t help but cry a bit, but he wouldn’t change anything.

--

“The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.”

―  Joseph Conrad

I am nothing but extremes lately. I am ecstatic, joyful, and filled with rage. I know what to do with my joy. I am unclear what to do with my rage.

Jan Goodall, a true hero in a world in desperate need of them, thinks there is something after we die. I think she is wrong. If she is right, she currently knows what’s next. Naturally there is no way to know until we follow in her footsteps, but I am convinced I will not know since my best guess is nothing but a void awaits.

Occasionally, I wonder if there is something, anything. I find the notion of an eternity, whether good, bad or indifferent to be terrifying. Eternity is simply too long for anything. No one consulted me on my existence nor on how I think it should end. When it is all over, I would love to have lived a life worthy of an Irish funeral, but given that I am neither Irish nor lived a life of any consequence, it is unlikely. If I were put in charge on how it all is resolved, I would choose at the last moment to have an instantaneous flash of the complete truth. What was the real nature of our existence? What did I get right? What did I get wrong? Where did I lose my keys? With all the answers to the universe, I think I could safely fade into the void quite contentedly. Afterall, what more would there be to live for?

A majority believe in an afterlife, and with that many expect some sort of judgement. Christopher Hitchens said of Jerry Falwell, “I think it’s a pity there isn’t a hell for him to go to.” While I share Hitchens’ view of Falwell (definitely not deserving of an Irish funeral despite his Irish ancestry), I am glad there is no evidence for the vile notion of hell. I would not condemn anyone to hell. Doing so would be the greater sin. Eternity is simply too long. Occasionally, my brain will inadvertently wish for the idea of judgement, especially in light of the current political and social structure of American society. I fantasize that consequence awaits for those perpetrating evil on our marginalized communities.

On the flip side, I would be disillusioned if I found that treating others horribly because of their race, ethnicity, and sexual orientation was deemed to be moral and right as our current leaders claim. This is, of course, utter nonsense, but I cannot help where my brain goes sometimes. It took me a long time, but I have finally accepted that there will be no repercussions for the men and women terrorizing our communities with their hate. I simply hope that society will do the long, hard work of changing our ways and move to a kinder approach to the planet and our fellow human beings.

I am currently sitting in a gorgeous home on a fjord in Tromsø, Norway above the arctic circle. I sit in this opulence due to an economic system that favors people born with my zip code, gender, and ethnicity. Was I wrong to take advantage of it? I would say no (no one wants to think they are doing wrong). I simply didn’t know I had everything handed to me until I was completely within the clutches of the capitalist machine. The wife of Sheri’s friend calls it “wealth guilt.” These two words sum up much of my world view. The beauty that surrounds me cannot be overstated. Everyone here is exceedingly kind. My life could not be better, even if visited by Halle Berry and Selma Hayek. I already live in a fantasy. I did nothing to earn it, and I certainly don’t deserve it, but I will selfishly live it with all the joy I can.

Sheri and I have been retired for just over a year now. It is simply the best. We are currently completely engulfed in our nomadic lifestyle. I will assume you are following along with our blog (and if not, why not!?) so I will not go over all the places we have visited and adventures we have undertaken. Such pretentiousness I will leave to our online presence. I have been amazed at how easy everything has been. Once we arrive in a new location we quickly unpack and then we are home. It doesn’t take long to fall into a new routine as we learn the transportation system, where the grocery stores are, the sights we want to see, and what restaurants to visit. The biggest wild card so far has been the quality of the bed. This can vary wildly, and fortunately we have had no real clunkers, but there have definitely been more comfortable stays than others.

My brother Dave told me that after he retired, he was amazed how quickly he didn’t think about work. I echo this sentiment. I think it goes to how completely unimportant and pointless my job (and my brother’s) was. Almost immediately work, work politics, meetings, and deadlines all became a distant memory. I simply do not care if the systems I worked on are still in use or if I left any kind of legacy at a company built to churn money and shave off a little for themselves along the way. I have many more interesting things to focus on.

There is a question I absolutely hate that is common to ask someone when you meet them. “What do you do for a living?” This is a question that sounds like you are taking an interest in another person, but whether consciously or not it is meant to reduce you to a unit of labor and to determine where the asker fits socially and economically with the person being asked. Are they a doctor, a professional, a tradesman or a clerk in a store. The asker then knows if they are dealing with a superior or inferior and behave accordingly. I refuse to ask this question, and did everything I could to deflect it when it was asked of me. Fortunately, I have a good answer to this question now. “I am retired.” I seem to be able to answer in such a way that deters follow up questions, and we can get on with far more interesting aspects of who a person really is rather than discussing what they exchange their time for money doing.

My responsibilities are few and my troubles fewer. My only chores are the dishes and an occasional load of laundry. We will spend the majority of next year crisscrossing through Europe. Our accents, and the fact that we cannot speak another language, immediately betray us as Americans. It is common for there to be a brief pause of concern when we meet someone new. They are trying to determine if we are “one of those people.” We quickly apologize profusely and say it wasn’t us. We have yet to meet a single person in Europe that has anything kind to say about the current administration. They actually still have newspapers here, and the headlines are brutal, funny and embarrassing all at the same time. My favorite was “Felon to visit United Kingdom.” We hang our heads in shame, but hopefully Sheri and I are being good ambassadors and reminding them there are plenty of decent people in the United States.

Another year in the books. The fact that we spent this solstice north of the arctic circle made it extra special. It is dark most of the time, but we are occasionally rewarded with the northern lights. Even in the darkest times there can be beautiful glowing lights dancing in the sky. I hope each of you is living your best life, whatever that means for you.

And Halle and Selma, come find us in Europe, but please call ahead first.

Brad and Sheri