In fact, the times did a-change...

Cheryl and I went to see the Bob Dylan biopic a few weeks ago and we both really liked it a lot. I’ve never been a big fan of his, but after seeing the movie, have a new appreciation for him. And soon thereafter, Peter Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary fame passed away.

So I listened to a few of their songs. And a handful of Dylan’s. And what hit me most solidly, well besides trying to make any sense of meaning of Dylan’s lyrics at all, my previous post about poetry and lyrics notwithstanding, was the earnestness which drip from their every word. They delivered each lyric with great intent and feeling and importance.

And it all took me back to that time – the 60’s - when I was a kid and the world was pretty darn wonderful. Not only was it wonderful, if kind of boring to be honest, but it was a time of simplicity and great hope and excitement about the future. Our family hung out with people like us, many of them Quakers: the Marohns, Kietzmans, Browns, McQuails, and, at Quarterly Meeting gatherings, the Zorns. All people who shared our values and our belief in love and caring for each other and a gleaming future absent of prejudice and war. And seemingly all the families drove VWs – bugs, buses, Carmen Ghias, squarebacks – and they were a beautiful simple political statement of their own.

We had soundly defeated the extremism of Goldwater and the John Birch Society and we were sure we were going to march and protest and wear our peace sign medallions until we had left Vietnam. It was a time of great promise.

It's going to take 4 years of all kinds of body contortions: chin up, stiff upper lip, growing a spine, keeping an eye out, and the nose to the activist grindstone

My approach to Trump’s first term was not unlike the path our country too often takes when outraged by the actions of another country: all-out war.

My approach to his second term will be more aligned with the way I’d prefer we deal with conflict: diplomacy, finding common ground, listening carefully to their positions and trying to understand then, but speaking truth to power when necessary, working together to find acceptable solutions and calling out injustice when we see it.

And in this case, making sure as many people know our position, in specifics, on any given issue, when I disagree with the solution they’ve forced on us. But also, more radically, give the other side credit when they do something I agree with or that has proven to be successful.  And I desperately hope President Trump will take the same approach with us…as well as the foreign countries doing things we don’t approve of.

Along the same lines, I watched the recent Senate confirmation hearings of the (likely) incoming “SecDef” Secretary of Defense, Pete Hegseth, and cheered on the Democratic Senators grilling him about his personal shortcomings involving excessive drinking on the job, financial mismanagement of organizations he ran, and allegations of sexual assault, as well as statements he has made regarding women in the military. It wasn’t until I read posts from Mark Cuban that I realized I should have been jeering many of their questions instead. Sure, 1 or 2 of the Senators should have attacked him about those semi-relevant issues, but what they really should have peppered him with were questions about the actual job ahead.

Cuban wrote: “I'm sorry but the Dems are ridiculously bad at their Hegseth questions. IMO, if you want to prove someone is incompetent, you ask them the hardest strategic questions they will have to know to succeed at the job. What would I ask? "What was your analysis of the Houthi Bombing in October? What counsel would you give POTUS regarding next actions?" "What should the US strategy be in Syria ?" " How would you counter Chinese aggression on the south China Sea ?" ‘How would you assure civilian oversight of DOD’"

And it is similar to the bigger issue I started with. What are the real issues here – his past or his future? It’s like a comparison of China’s foreign policy vs ours. They care little don’t care at all about human rights. They care only about how it impacts them financially and in terms of global power. Meanwhile, the US (to our credit) cares greatly factors in a country’s record on human rights when making decisions related to foreign policy. Or at least we have, historically, particularly when Jimmy Carter was President.

And we should continue to, but respecting their approach and working with them, not against them to right those wrongs, not taking a militaristic approach, but the same approach I’d use when my friend or neighbor has a different way than ours.

All that said, a number of friends have reached out, asking how we are dealing with the then impending Trump presidency. This was my reply to a friend this morning:

"I/we are really trying to not just stay above the proverbial fray but avoiding it entirely, or as much as possible. Frees up a fair amount of time, at least. Just ignoring it and pretty much everything DJT-related beyond the unavoidable headlines. I'm just in a completely different place than I was 8 years ago. Acceptance and revulsion co-mingled, and an absence of hate or protest, with a touch of hope that he can do some really good things. What I see in the headlines are just so effing awful. People talk about Dems needing to grow a collective, or even individual, spine/s, but my hope is that some of the Rs do, as they begin to realize what exactly he is doing to the people of this country. Collins and Murkowski in particular, but even Mitch McConnell and John Kennedy (LA) among others."

Sitting in the clubhouse, Right in the front row!

The legendary Milwaukee Brewer (and ex-Phillie) Bob Uecker died today. Hard to say what he was most famous for - his announcing, his hysterical appearances on The Tonight Show as a guest with Johnny Carson, his TV commercials, his movies or TV shows.

In this article in The Athletic, this line stood out to me for personal reasons, because I can attest to it: "Uecker was a fixture in Brewers clubhouses, as much a part of the fabric as the clubhouse attendant or bench coach."

Back around 1979-80, I took a vacation, first visiting my sister Judy in Vermont, then driving to Maine for a few days of camping by myself at Acadia - alone except the night I asked my lunch waitress to dinner and to my delight, she said yes.

Heading south, I decided to take in a game in Boston at Fenway against the Brewers, my first time there. After the game, I went for a walk around the inside of the stadium and in the concourse behind third base, I noticed a stream of reporters filing into the Brewers' locker room, so I surreptitiously jumped in line and followed them in.

Seeing their slugger Gorman Thomas at his locker, I went over and sat next to him, telling he was my friend Jim Daly's favorite player and engaging in general small talk particularly about his memories of being a kid and going to major league games. At some point he asked me why I was there and I told him I had sneaked in. So he gave me another minute or two before he kindly said he needed to get going. So I thanked him and looked around the clubhouse to see who else I might talk to or what else I could do to prolong my stay.

Seeing a big spread on a table in the middle of the room of meatball sandwiches among other things, and not having eaten since breakfast, I moseyed over and made myself a nice big meatball sandwich.

Leaning up against the table, halfway through the sandwich, surveying the room, I looked in the manager's office and made brief eye contact with the aforementioned Mr. Uecker, quickly looking away so as not to get his attention, but then quickly looking back to see him nudge one of the other people in the room and point at me saying something I couldn't hear. Moments later, he came out of the room, came over to me and asked me who I was and why I was there.

So I told him the truth and he gently told me I'd have to leave...which I did. And that is my riveting Bob Uecker story.

RIP Jimmuh

Jimmy Carter has long been a hero of mine, even before I met him, primarily because of his insistence on pairing foreign aid to any country's record on human rights.

Many years ago, 1997 to be exact, Colin Powell organized a Volunteerism Summit in North Philadelphia. Current, former, future and wannabe Presidents Clinton, Carter, Ford, GHWBush, Gore and their wives were there, along with Powell, Nancy Reagan, Arlen Specter, Mayor Rendell and various others, including LL Cool J. We all first met on the pockmarked Simon Gratz High School football field, where I stood about 10 yards in front of the stage furiously taking photos until I ran out of film (remember that?!).

Eventually, we were all shepherded into buses to be ferried to our assigned North Philly post were we would be clearing litter-strewn lots, painting buildings, etc.

As my bus slowed to a stop to let us off, I saw out my window that President Carter was holding a mini-press conference half a block away. As soon as my bus came to a stop, as the leaders were directing us to a different assignment, I, pretending not to hear them shouting at me to stay with my group, hustled over to join President Carter's group.

I got there just in time to see President Carter begging away (forcefully) fro the assembled media because he wanted to get to work. And when I saw where he was headed, I, also semi-forcefully, made sure I was as close to him as I was allowed and to my surprise, I eventually found myself painting the outside of a dilapidated North Philly building, virtually and almost literally elbow to elbow with him, each paint roller in hand.

My two enduring memories of my interactions with him that day came first when we were directed to a place where there was some rather beautiful graffiti on the side of the building. When the (ex-)President came to that spot, he paused and looked at it and asked me whether I thought he should leave it alone or he should paint over it.

I commented that it really was pretty enough to leave alone but was otherwise non-committal. President Carter paused, stared at it for a moment longer and soon started framing it with his roller, filling in all around, and leaving it for all to see.

My second memory is when we were all sitting on front steps of row houses, finishing up the boxed lunches provided to us. There were two attractive young college-aged looking women who wanted to have their pictures taken with President Carter. I vaguely remember that one of them wanted to sit on his lap, and even may have, though what I remember even more than Jimmy's big toothy grin as the two college girls fawned over him, was his wife Rosalynn standing to the side, watching, not smiling, until finally she said "OK, enough of this. Time to get back to work, everyone!"

Years later I drove around North Philly hoping to remember correctly the location of the building President Carter and I had painted together and after some circling around in parts of the city many would never go within 20 blocks of, I found the spot. It had since bulldozed to the ground, nothing in its place.

I am tempted to list all the incredible achievements of his presidency as outlined here, but if you need to be reminded, either open that link, or let me know and I'll copy and send it to you. It's worth it. He really was a great President...and by all counts as great a person.

Though certainly the punishment wouldn't have fit the crime

If Joe Biden hadn't pardoned his son, I think Hunter's punishment should have been to be put in a cell with Donald Trump and Rudy Giuliani.

 

Thank you, Senator Schatz! Asked who the Dems should look to as a Presidential nominee in 2028, he said: "I think whomever we nominate has to talk like a normal person. A person who is real. If you had them over for dinner, you could understand what the hell they were talking about. And so I think we are looking for someone who can plausibly fit in as a human being all across the country. I don’t know who that’s going to be. But the challenge is going to be, how do you maintain your progressive values and not sound like you just got your post-doctoral thesis in sociology.”

I've been saying this for so long that my original examples of appealing politicians who speak like the rest of us were Ed Rendell, John McCain and Joe Biden.

Enough with…Existential crises! Inflection points! and Blue ribbon ad hoc stopgap measure bipartisan blabbityblahs! Sound like a normal person — like the guy at the end of the bar.

Like, dare I say it, Donald Trump.

 Yet another reason I'm glad we elected Barack Obama in 2008: So we won't have to refer to Elon Musk as our first African-American President.

Roll over, Bill Shakespeare

By popular demand, by which I mean 100% of my responders...and very possibly, readers..., and by which I mean, well, Niece Becca, I am going to post the poem, if one can even call it that, that I referred to a few posts below when I was writing about um, checks post, poetry.

As a reminder, this was what I wrote while on my 4871 mile bike trip from San Francisco in 1982 passing through LA, San Diego, Flagstaff, Oklahoma City, Kansas City, Chicago, Detroit, Toronto, Burlington VT, home, and finally around the field in Veterans Stadium before completing the last 60+ miles to Atlantic City.

God?

God? Why do you put the wind in my face

instead of my back

 so you could help push me along?

(A gust of wind on my back)                                

God? Why do you keep the sun so bright 

when my water bottles are dry 

and the next town is 25 miles away?

(A small cloud covers the sun)                            

God? Why do people throw things at me as they pass

and miss me with their cars

 by only a foot or two?

(A car slows down as it passes and the people inside              

 ask me if there is anything I need)            

God? Why do I carry on these running

 conversations with you,

 if I keep telling people that I don't believe in you?

(A gust of wind on my back)                         

Perfect sense

I remember when my kids were born, holding them, thinking they were perfect in every way, and with Cheryl and me as parents, and having been born into such an amazing extended family, they would grow up to be perfect humans. And I think it’s safe to say I was not the only parent thinking my kids were and would grow up to be perfect.

And yet we know, as humans, no perfect little ones grow up to be perfect big ones. At least not by the time they learn to talk, no matter what Pink sings:

Pretty, pretty please
Don't you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than
Less than perfect

Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You are perfect
To me

On the other hand, after reading any obituary or going to any memorial service, by the time we die, you’d think Pink, and we parents, did indeed have it right.

Dunworryaboutit!

I’ve often heard the admonition that one shouldn’t worry about what other people think. And I always thought the saying was meant in terms of what they thought of me (duh!), or ourselves anyway.

After the 2024 election, it took me a month or so to realize, it also applies to what people think about anything.

As I once concluded, completely unscientifically: there is no single opinion that is held by every person in the world, because if they did, it wouldn’t be an opinion, it would be a fact.

So why should it upset us so when people have different opinions than ours, including for whom we vote.

Don’t worry about what other people think

(Postscript: Turns out I wrote something very similar 8-9 years ago: https://jmcvickar.blogspot.com/2016/01/go-ahead-and-try-me-tell-me-what-you.html I wonder how many other times I've done that.)

But no, seriously, what do you think of me now!?

So now, back to the topic of validation. I recently decided that I don’t want any more. And it is one of the most freeing exciting energizing decisions I’ve ever made. Like breaking up with a bad girlfriend. (Or so I hear. I’ve never had one. A bad one, that is. I’ve had girlfriends. Seriously.)

I reluctantly confess here in electronic print, for the ages, that I used to, at worst, want, and maybe even seek validation. Plaudits, approval, any form of positive reactions to, well, me. My humor, my appearance, my verbal contributions, my blog entries, my observations, my possessions, my wife, my family, my fantasy baseball team. 

And I just don’t anymore.

It was a conscious decision, a flick of the internal light switch, to just no longer care whether people told me I had done a nice thing or was wonderful or smart or witty. Okay, I admit that it will still get me all a-twitter when someone actually does say something nice to me or laughs at something I say. It's just that I no longer seek it or, more importantly, no longer am hurt if I don’t receive the bon mots I thought I deserved. (And don’t bon mots just Sound delicious!)

And as simple as it sounds…yeah, it actually has been just that simple. Though there have been times where I’ve had to remind myself that I don’t care if someone doesn’t notice that I was the one who had that brilliant new idea or observation first. Or notices that I did some unexpected chore, or heck, even an expected one (I am a male after all) around the house or did something nice for someone. And when I do remind myself, I feel the joy all over again of not even caring.

Part of it too is that it means that I simply accept me as I am. I don’t need external approval. I only need to be happy with myself and what kind of person I am. Doesn’t mean I think I never do, or more likely say, anything wrong or hurtful, or don’t have things I can be better about. In fact, one of the things I like about myself, or anyone, is a desire to keep trying to work on one’s shortcomings, but also accepting that we are human and none of us is perfect. It is all so incredibly freeing. And yeah yeah, more than a tad embarrassing that it was ever so important to me in the first place.