Notes to a Ghost

I didn’t believe in ghosts. Despite the wondrous literary usefulness of spectres and shades, as they were called in Victorian literature, they aren’t a very appetizing reality. Great for motivating Hamlet when his father’s ghost appears, and motivating when Jacob Marley returns for Scrooge's “reclamation”. In all other ways, the idea of the recently deceased still wandering around is too distasteful to be taken or considered literally. And yet, there are examples of ghosts in the real world that feel too real. People who have lost loved ones claim they sometimes hear them speaking. I had a friend who lost a dog and he kept hearing phantom barks in his backyard at night. I would chalk these and other examples up to the horrid damage that loss does to the human mind, but they are no less real to those who experience them. For all that I may doubt the experiences of others, I have a kind of ghost following me, even as I write this. 

My friend Wade died in December. It was a terrible shock and those of us who knew and loved him reeled with the suddenness of it. Wade had become a dear friend that I got used to texting, calling, speaking with and sharing memes with in the short time we knew one another. He would send things to me, I to him, we often hung out or went to dinner after our meetings. I got used to him being around. I took his presence, and his friendship for granted, as we all do with the people we care about. His words of wisdom, his refusal to judge, his intensely authentic personality made him that rarest of things: a dear friend.

Friendship has never come easy to me. I'm fine making acquaintances, and I can talk to just about anyone in a social setting. Getting to a point of closeness is difficult for me because I’m a very private person. Also, I don't have the bandwidth for it. I give a lot of myself to my family. The relationships I have with Micki, the boys, their significant partners, our grandkids, our nieces and their families, Pop Bare and my brother's family take precedence over all other people. Ask my coworkers, they will tell you that although I hold most of them in high esteem and respect, there are only a few I consider true friends. I keep to myself a lot and it takes me a long time to open up to new people. This is a normal tendency among Scandinavian and other Northern European people, and I take it as evidence that my ancestry lies in those places. I just don’t open up to people easily.

It was like this with Wade. I liked him at first and we gradually got to know each other, but I kept him at more than arm's length for a long time. It wasn't anything about him really. Yes, there were aspects of Wade—his humor, his lifestyle, some of his opinions—that were offputting, even offensive sometimes. He had an irritating habit of telling me what kind of person he was, or funny things he said to other people. I later gleaned that this tendency was born from his belief that he did not have his father's approval, and desperately wanted to be seen as a person of worth. I brought my own foibles and weirdness to our still-growing friendship too. However, within a few years, Wade proved himself to be not only a good person to talk about our mutual fondness for reading or Batman comics, movies and music, he also proved himself to be dependable when I needed him. I tried to be the same for him and that’s when the friendship cemented.

The realm of friendship between males is an odd place. Guys are much more likely to be straightforward with one another and eschew drama. Sometimes, too, we’re better at accepting people for who they are and not worrying about the other things. I have one hard and fast rule about being friends with someone: once you’ve gained my hardwon trust, you have it until you don’t. I’m not sure if this is how it is for everyone, but trust is not easily gained from me but once you have it, you’re in for as long as you keep it. I accepted him, as he accepted me and because I valued his friendship, I honored him as often as I could, reminding him of how grateful I was that we became friends. When he would occasionally call me, I always tried to empathize and encourage him. His was not always the best home life and he needed a lot of reminding that he was a good person. When I would call him, struggling or frustrated, usually about work, he would say, “I’m sorry, buddy. That sucks. You’re a good man and a good friend. It will be okay.” 

It was in the interim, when things were fine, or status quo, that I most depended on him, though. We kept up an ongoing, meandering conversation, seamlessly picking it up, no matter how long we’d not been in contact. It was this that provided the most comfort for me. Though I never shared much about the family or personal issues with him (it’s not my style), it was through our texting and phone calls that he demonstrated our friendship to me most. It turned out to be the place where I felt his absence most keenly too.

Wade passed in December, but it was a while before it became real to me. He constantly rose to my mind, especially when things were quiet. Questions about how he died, or concerns and doubts about whether I could have done anything to prevent it flooded my mind. Discussions that we had right before we lost him eased some of the pain, because I had been able to say how much he meant to me, but it was a long time—months, really—before his absence began to take hold as an immovable fact.

Then, sometime in May, as I was lazily scrolling through a newsfeed, I saw an article about the coming sequel of the Batman movie we had gone to see together and both liked. Back then we’d chatted about who we thought the sequel’s rogue would be, but Wade departed before that information ever came to light. So it was that I queued up a text to him with a shared link to tell him that his guess had been, in part, correct. As my thumb hovered over the send button, reality struck me like the afternoon train, a few inches above the belt buckle: no one was at the other end of that text. The months of grieving, healing, trying to get used to him being gone all came back like an avalanche. As unbidden tears streamed from my eyes, I told Micki what had happened. It was the emotional equivalent of restubbing a recently stubbed toe that was just starting to feel better. Then it happened again. A little while later, while enjoying some solitude on a Monday morning, I saw an ad for a coming show and started to text Wade. Again, I came up short, stung and stunned.

I might, under other circumstances, actually go through with sending the text. His phone, his email, his personal belongings were managed, no doubt, by his family. But I had a sick feeling of one of them turning on his phone, only to see recent texts from me. It would give them an unnecessary and thoughtless pang, too. I thought better of it. So I did something slightly strange, but that has really helped. I created a ghost file. When I think of something I want to say, or a joke to share or just to drop a line in a knee-jerk, habitual way, I open this file and write what I was going to say there. Sometimes I share a link, other times, I just say what I’m feeling and thinking, much as our correspondence was before. Mostly, it is to tap clear, concise words to him about how much we all miss him and how stupid and arbitrary his death was. At first, I felt odd, slightly morbid. I love gallows humor and appreciate—as did Wade—a good joke about death, but then a surprising thing happened.

Rather than running up against the cupboard corner with an already sore toe (emotionally speaking) the file has allowed the feelings to process through the words that I wouldn’t be able to share in the former ways. I can shoot him a short text, as I would have done, and it eases the pain of the sudden remembering. The one obvious thing is that he never responds, but then, it would be truly weird if he did. In fact, it would be more than unsettling.

There have been a few times over the last month or so when I’ve begun to feel that I’m moving past the worst of the grief. I’m pretty good at grieving, having had to learn how to do it the hard way. This is an odd statement, because, who is actually good at grieving? What I mean to say is that I try to pay attention to how I’m feeling and accept the wolf when it shows up and sit with it until it goes. Those visits have become less frequent and I’m happy to say that they are no longer as painful. Where once there was hurt, there is now gratitude and joy at the memories. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll write to my friend’s ghost. It is a solution only for now. I don’t want to let the act become a final thread that I cannot let go of and let him have peace.

All-in-all, we were only friends for about eight years. I met him in the spring of 2018 when he came back to our meetings. We didn’t start getting close for another few years, but by the time we lost him, just before Christmas, Wade was one of the most valued people in my life, outside the family and very old friends. I let him in and I’m grateful I got to know him. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be good at making friends, or if I’ll ever have a friend like Wade again. What I am sure of is that I’m deeply grateful for the chance to have been called his friend. 

Though I miss him and feel his absence keenly, sometimes, I will carry the memory of him close. Now and then, when I think of something I want to share with him, I’ll shoot his ghost a little note. If death isn’t the end (I respectfully think that it is) I hope he knows I’m thinking of him fondly, remembering who he was and doing my part—for now—to keep up my end of our ongoing conversation. He’s not a ghost in the traditional, literary sense, but it does mean he’s still around, at least in thought.

Listening to the Sky Talk

At the summer solstice in June, I noted something that probably seems depressing to think about: half our solar year is done, already. The calendar year, which turns on a slightly different fulcrum than the solar year, marks the midway point of summer on or around July 4th. It doesn't matter really, but then, the calendar year is full and sometimes fraught with its own list of challenges, appointments, celebrations, holidays, deadlines, cumbersome hills and v-shaped ravines, whereas the solar year just plugs along without many bells or whistles. 

The calendar year dominates all our lives. We spend our time thinking about what this Monday meeting will add to our to-do list, or where we will spend this long weekend, or when to schedule an appointment. All the rest of our time is spent staring at our phones or tablets or TVs. We seldom look up. Even when the sky performs its most breathtaking artistic flourishes, we rarely have a chance, or take time to notice. This is a shame, because the solar calendar surpasses the former in beauty, splendor and the simple reality that we are part of this cosmic machinery of whirling planets and dust and gas.

I've said before how I tend to notice changes in the light as the year moves through its orbit. This comes from early tutelage from Uncle Dan, who taught me that observing the sky could provide a rich reward and keep one safe. The only time I don't glance at the sky is when I'm sleeping, but even then, I have been known to step out and look up during my nightly wanderings, just to see which constellations are over us, or where the moon is in its fullness and arc.

The calendar year is only loosely based on anything naturally occurring. It barely pays heed to the seasons, except as a chance to celebrate its commercialized holidays. Those holidays, the vacations, the seasonal borders, are all founded on somewhat arbitrarily established long weekends put in place by humans, not nature. If humanity were to vanish completely in some cataclysmic event that didn't destroy the earth or disrupt its orbit, the solstices, equinoxes and seasonal changes would still occur even with no one here to see them. Meanwhile, Labor Day, Memorial Day, Christmas, Independence Day, Halloween and Easter would all go away forever.

Fascinating as it might be for a budding horror novelist to consider, it isn't necessary to eradicate humanity to focus more on the celestial year and its beats and measures. Actually, doing so not only enhances the annual experience, but with some time and practice, it can become a habit.

This isn't some buzzword-rich influencer slop as found in wellness culture on social media. There's no astrology, no fad caveman “natural” diet, no new age self-help list of rules. It isn't about gaining some internal peace or balance in a chaotic world. There's nothing performative about it. It is just about looking up and observing.

Back when I was regularly walking to work, especially on long winter evenings, I liked to look up and see where the Orion constellation appeared to be positioned overhead. I also enjoyed tracking the moon's phases, or watching the signs of the shift of light as the sun appeared to move from the true west, sliding along the horizon daily until it appeared almost due south in the winter. 

These shifts are what influence the changes apparent in the natural world, too. You may have noticed how the deep golden light of June becomes watery, pale and murky, and the hazy days of July and August rise and fall through mists. Then, there is a flash of gold again as the sky sheds its humidity, and sweeps to deep, hard azure before fading again to silver-white as winter steps on the stage. All of this is enhanced by the trees growing from pale green to deep, rich verdency and then burning gold, orange, red and purple before falling to earth.

One has to keep one eye on the sky to watch this show in four acts. The beauty of it is enough of an incentive, but there are other benefits to paying attention that may not be immediately obvious. More than what I’ve mentioned above, it pays to stay alert because paying attention is a skill that we are losing in the modern era. The regular culprits apply. We spend a lot of time (one might say an inordinate amount) looking at our screens. We spend more time indoors than previous generations. We’ve become inured to the world around us, the web of nature and our place in it.

Uncle Dan’s habit was to always look up, gauge the weather, see what, as he put it, the sky has to say. Not only the weather (which we might think is obvious) but also our surroundings. It is only recently that humanity has turned its back on the natural world’s messages. How can we see the vast, complex interplay of life that surrounds us if we won’t look up to see it? It is largely because most of our holidays no longer gel with the solar year, and though we are peripherally aware of the seasons and light, we almost never stop to experience it.

Most calendar year holidays didn’t come about until the 19th Century. President U.S. Grant established four major holidays for federal workers (in the District of Columbia only, at first) around 1870. Memorial Day (formerly Decoration Day) and Labor Day came later. One forgets how recent most of the things we take for granted really are. 

Of course, I’m not against the regular holidays. I enjoy a good calendar year celebration as well as the next guy. Well, mostly. Recently, I’ve been celebrating the 12 Days of Yule, at least in spirit for several years. We still do Christmas, of course, but it starts earlier and lasts longer when you apply Yule to it. Yule is based on the solstice, not some arbitrary church feast or federal holiday. 

In the north of Europe, the summer solstice is called Midsummer. Of course the climate probably fits this title better, but to me, it makes perfect sense. June 21st is the midway point between the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, marking the literal halfway point of the year. We say that this is when summer actually begins in the Northern Hemisphere, dividing the seasons into four equal quarters of the entire year. 

Actually, the ancestors didn’t really use written calendars. Their entire awareness of the passage of time and seasons was by observation. The years were divided mainly by where the sun rose and set, each day. At each solstice, the sun stays in the same place for a few days, before moving a little to the right of where it rose (moving toward summer) and left of where it set the day before (moving to winter). Winter’s onset had more to do with the experience of nature, the first frost or serious snow, than anything else. 

Those days are past us, but for much of human history, awareness of the weather and the sky meant a great deal. Not knowing or paying attention to the sky could mean the difference between life or death. This is partly why, even now, our association with the gods living in “heaven” or the skies comes primarily from ancient propitiations intended to maintain clement weather. Prayers for those who traveled, especially by sea, exist in almost every polytheistic system and each has its own gods of storm and harvest to call upon. El, upon whom Moses placed the burden of being “Almighty God” was just a Sumerian storm god, one of many such ancient creations whose will covered our doom under the rolling clouds.

We have new gods these days. In place of a storm god, we have a phone app that tells us the will of the weather. Who needs to look up, if you can look down at doppler radar on a screen? Who needs to gaze at the place where the sun rises or sets, if you can look at your built-in calendar? According to the modern way, that May Monday off is the real beginning of summer, and that first September Monday off is the official end. Fall is more marked by Halloween than the Autumnal Equinox. Likewise, spring by Easter. Actually, Easter is still defined by old seasonal rules, since it happens on the first Sunday after the Paschal Full Moon, which is the first Full Moon after the Vernal Equinox, which is why it shifts from year to year.

Overall, to me, it seems foolish to cast our heads down and to ignore the world around us. Beauty, warnings, mysteries of nature all happen around us every day and we miss it, while we gaze stupidly into a bright window on emptiness and misery. In the meantime, in the periphery, we are hailed by the most amazing reality imaginable. Each of us is sitting on a planet, slinging around a star, whose light and gravity mark the very real experience of the nature that supports us. Uncle Dan was right. It is a pity to miss the sound of the sky talking to us.

Happy 250th Birthday, America

This week, I have decided not to write a complete essay, nor dredge up anything from my old newspaper columns. I feel I have been a little too serious of late, and I am pretty sure I'm not saying anything that most of my readers don't know already.

Writing about America and her big birthday brings up a bunch of unhappy feelings I have about where we seem to be heading, creating an undue sense of unease about our fellow Americans who decided to follow an authoritarian cast of characters and the rampant religious funding that has gone to back much of the current versions of legislation. I’m not easy in my mind about it, but I still think that there is much of worth to celebrate, and if we celebrate the good things, it will cause us to remember that they’re the more important, in fact, vital part of our republic.

It can feel pretty hopeless. I have, I admit, over the last decade, had some real moments where I felt that the ship was going down. If, like Spock in Wrath of Khan, I asked, “Ship out of danger?” I wouldn’t get good news. However, despite how rough things have been and are, I will say that I believe we are not done yet. We have traveled down a very dangerous road and undone many essential things in the process, but I believe that America is not wholly lost. In our national core, there is a strict lack of tolerance for bullshit. It may take a while to present as such, but when it finally does, most of us do not care to keep going with it or those who produce it.

It's just one of many characteristics of our nation that I hope will hold us to a higher standard in the future. 250 years isn't a very long time for a country, but it is long enough to learn some very important lessons. The last decade will have to go down in history as a warning, as some decades in the previous century did. I just hope that this time, we remember those lessons and don’t make them again. It will have to be checked and verified by future generations.

One evening, while Micki and I were flipping through streaming services looking for something to watch, I came across old episodes of Saturday Night Live, from somewhere in the middle of the first season. Kris Kristofferson was the guest host. It was made in 1976. America was still reeling from Nixon’s criminal activity and resignation. There was a lot of political commentary about Ford’s fitness to serve (lots of comic hilarity around how klutzy he was), and much of it seemed relevant to today, though it was 50 years ago. The names have changed, but not much else has. It is amazing how much things change and how much they stay the same. Jokes about Spiro Agnew could have been jokes about our current VP. Jokes about corruption, misuse of power all fit now as well as they did then. It was a timely reminder that we’ve had a lot of the same issues going on for a long time now.

Some of us feel like the last decade has been unlike any other time in our history. I have felt like that, too. Things that used to seem like they were unthinkable happen all the time. In point of fact, America has been battling the same demons for much of its existence. If America were a superhero, her arch nemeses would be the same gallery of rogues: greed, lust for power, dogma, xenophobia, miseducation, corruption, and rampant classist tactics to keep the poor, people of color, immigrants, the asylum-seeker, and anyone who doesn't look, worship, or have access to massive wealth, down. Maybe it is more amplified these days. Maybe the ones committing the crimes against the nation are more brazen. This is certainly why things have felt so helpless to me.

Even so, I don’t think it is the end. We can turn the ship of state around. It will take courage, dedication, a steadfast faith in our founding documents, and an adherence to the idea that the only ones who can change our nation for good are the people who live, vote, fight for, and believe in her. It seems we’re beginning to remember this. More and more, I see people caving, backing down, making concessions rather than doubling down. It will take more time, but I think it is happening.

In the meantime, I will keep hoping. And it helps that I'm proud to be from here. I'm far from a nationalist, but I do care deeply about this, our nation, built entirely on enlightenment ideals. It's not a perfect system—we have learned that there are scoundrels who do not care and will take down the essential (to us) establishments for their own gain. We will have to rebuild and we can. We can secure the best parts of America and make it a place where the ultra-minority of wealthy and hateful people have to pay their fair share, too, even for legislation that doesn't directly enrich them or kowtow to their confessions.

We are a nation built upon a very clear idea: when something isn't working, change it. Make it better. There will always be those on the wrong side of history, but we must press on despite them. We can only proceed in unity. Screaming diatribes online or in person won't solve anything. We have to forget our political affiliation with party and denomination. It is time to reach across the aisle and work hand in hand. 

I truly believe we can do this. Soon, we will wake up and the era of authoritarians will be gone. They will be done and gone. And in that dawning, it will become very unpopular to be seen as having supported the movement. Some will get their just comeuppance, and they will have their day with the law. Some may not. That’s okay. The movement toward liberty and justice is not about vengeance. It is about growth. It has to be. We will never go back to a time before. We have to move on, grow past this era.

Yes, it will help if we can outgrow our childish addiction to iron-age myths, and our fear of ‘the other’. I hope we can find a way to spread the wealth around for the benefit of all. Scandinavian countries have both billionaires and free healthcare. It can be done and I think if it could be done better, then America is the land where it can happen.

Back just after 9/11, there were a lot of signs and stickers going around that said “United We Stand”. It is a worthy sentiment. My political bent has not always been in the direction of unity. For a while, I too, was determined to show others just how wrong they were and keep clear of them because of it. Now, though, it is time to move together. We just have to change our movement and ask which policies, candidates, legislation move us toward unity? That movement could be my party. Let’s come together, as the Beatles said. Let’s show the 1% minority that we will no longer worship them just because they have money. Let’s start reaching out to our fellow humans and loving them, as we were meant to do, no matter how they look, who they love, or how they worship. That is, to me, the genetic inheritance of men like Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, and Paine. They are worthy to be emulated, and it will make us worthy of their great experiment.

In the meantime...

I hope we all have a safe and happy Independence Day. We have a gift of such rare beauty and promise in America. I hope we stop wasting it to make scumbags wealthy and start helping one another.

Be safe, use skeeter and tick repellent, put on sunscreen, cover your ears, and go easy on the drinks and potato salad.

See you next week.