Mine was pretty good, but I missed the party I was invited to because I didn't feel like fighting the snowy-cold, icy weather that moved into Portland on Christmas Eve.
I don't own a car, and when it's very cold in this town the trains seldom run on time, if at all. Same with the buses, which must chain up and battle the hills and narrow streets that make up a large portion of the city's terrain.
So I stayed home and divided my time between the NBA and the NFL. I ventured to the store and got a pizza for myself and baked it up on the cool Pizzazz "oven" my daughter sent me for a Christmas present. I washed the pizza down with PBR and called it a night.
Speaking of gifts, a nice one came my way on Christmas Eve when an old friend donated to Round Bend Press. He likes this blog, which makes him very special, and probably rare! Thanks old friend!
Now, if I could just get more of my unknown readers from around the world to pony up I could buy more pizza and beer as needed. Haha.
***
Here is an interesting piece by the editors of CounterPunch. They've published some of my work, and along with appreciating their occasional interest in what I've written I've long admired them for all the hard work they do as editors.
The volume of mind-bending, insightful pieces they publish and the tight deadline they must meet daily is hella more than this lazy procrastinator is capable of, that is for sure. A slip up like the one they describe in their "Alice Donovan" piece is understandable.
Radical journalism comes with its risks and hazards, as well as its rewards, just like everything else.
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In a few weeks I'll turn 67. That doesn't seem possible or real given the history of my lifestyle. There's a genetic component, I know, but I've done everything within my power to override it at times. My paternal grandmother lived to 105, but she was a saintly prohibitionist. My mom and her mom, two more saints, lived to 90. My dad, certainly not a saint, died at 51 in an accident, but he was otherwise in good health at the time despite battling mental illness, another genetic marker I've lived with. I've had a few accidents and close calls myself over the years, but luck has been on my side thus far.
Not a chance here that I'll live very much longer. When I think about age I think about Vietnam. Who knows what might have happened to me if my choices and luck were much worse at that crucial time?
Maybe missing that Christmas party was a good thing. I could have ended my days by falling into a snowbank on the way home, perhaps a slightly better scenario than dying in a rice paddy in Nam in 1969, but nonetheless disconcerting to think about.
TS
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