I'm a middle aged guy, like a bunch of you, and hopefully unlike you, I lost my younger brother the first of the year. He had been living at my parents' house, the house we grew up in, before he got sick (not sure when, we'd been estranged since about '10 and Dad & Mom died in '99 and '14 respectively). And because I'm in a nursing home 3 states away and our brother is also in a nursing home, it's fallen to my son to gather some artifacts from the house that is stuffed with the detritus of someone who just gave up. I'll spare you the details but I'm crying about losing the last things from my childhood. It feels like I'm just whining but it just hurts, ya know?
Referring to today as "Brexit 1776"
So Happy Brexit 1776
As a person who has interviewed prospective employees for technical positions (before I became disabled) I view political campaigns as extended job interviews and elections as giving my recommendation as to who to hire. So the first thing I think about is whether the candidate is technically qualified.
In every Presidential election before this year's that has eliminated about half of the field for the primaries and almost all of the third quarter party yahoos. In some years, a third party candidate will meet that standard (Perot '92) in some not (Nader, Buchanan, Perot '96, Anderson). Never in my lifetime has the general election candidate of one of the major parties failed to meet that standard.
Until now.
Donald John Trump is singularly and completely unqualified to run what is, in effect, the world's largest company. Our "company" has in excess of three million employees, more than 2/3 of whom are issued weaponry of deadly force. It has 535 members of the board of directors. And I cannot support a CEO who has never been a member of that board or the CEO of one of the states.
As far as Secretary Clinton is concerned, her errors in judgement, while extremely disappointing, do not in my mind, rise to the level of disqualifying.
However, if one insists of voting a write-in protest, I would recommend that instead of writing in Mickey Mouse or Jesus Christ or another fictional entity, that you would write in someone who is qualified to serve, either George H W Bush or Joe Biden.
Four years ago I wrote a post in this series from a very dark place and I have been trying to do two things since:
1) Get my head screwed back on straight.
2) Get out of the nursing home I'm in and back to my home city.
Progress is being made on both fronts but it's both slow and inconsistent. My mother finally lost her battle with Alzheimer's and I couldn't even go to the funeral due to lack of money. Both my brothers have plenty but were worried that the stress of the situation would make me join her and that's the "last thing we need right now (sic)". I'm lost without her. My friends have helped me and so has my son. He was able to visit this summer for three days and I also visited him this spring to try out for a nationally televised game show. So everything is on hold here except...
Those of us here who have even less family than I do need your thoughts and more importantly your DEEDS. There is a place like this in YOUR town. Don't forget about us.
When you celebrate with your families of this, commerce's last gasp for the year. Spare a thought, if you will for those of us whose families are gone or have abandoned us.
I am a currently a resident in a small nursing home, the location doesn't matter, there's at least one in your community, too. My reason for still being here after five years doesn't matter either, just that they are physical, not psychological. Suffice it to say, right now, I have nowhere else to go. My father died of complications from diabetes in 1999. My mother is in a similar facility to this, 500 miles from here, but she remembers nothing, including her three sons and
two grandchildren, one of them mine. My brothers have their own families and complications, but near my mother. My son lives 500 miles away from here and 250 miles from his grandmother. He's beginning his own life and while we still speak from time to time, my time here has put more than a physical distance between us.
My first reminder that Christmas was not for me, nor I for it, was the year my son was one year old. My son was born 1000 miles away from both sets of grandparents, but my ex-wife's family flew us in for his first Christmas. I had just gotten a new job and money was incredibly hard to come by. So I was spending every dime supporting my wife and son. That was fine, everyone assured me, they didn't expect anything from us, our presence, so long as we were accompanied by their first grandson, was sufficient. They gave me nothing, which I expected, because they paid to fly us back to their home. My wife and son made out so well that I had to fly back home for work a week early, they flew back a week later with 3 extra suitcases filled with presents for them and nothing at all for me. My own parents, not having the wherewithal to fly us in, came down to visit when my son was born and help us out then. My parents also returned to at the end of my "exile" to help us travel, again for a job, back to my ex's home town.
The Christmas when my son was one, we were living three doors down from my in-laws, after having moved out of their basement two months before. Money was again tight and despite my ex-wife having baby-sitting family living across the street, she refused to go back to work. A blizzard struck on December 23, putting the kibosh on our plans to see my parents that year, they shipped us my son's gifts after the holidays. So we wind up at her parent's place across the street.
The scene was beautiful, the tree straight out of Currier and Ives, the table and house bursting with food and relatives, respectively. And every distant cousin or hanger on received a gift that day.
All except me.
My bitterness toward this most crass of commercial holidays began that day and has continued to this. If I had the capability today, I'd drink myself into oblivion and not wake up until January 3. As it sits, I'll take as much pain meds as they will allow me and sleep. And who knows, maybe I won't wake back up...
Merry Christmas.