Every once in a while, it’s time to update my 960 Months image:
See Only 960 for an explanation.
Stay ticking, my friends! Go forth and spread beauty and light.
∇
Every once in a while, it’s time to update my 960 Months image:
See Only 960 for an explanation.
Stay ticking, my friends! Go forth and spread beauty and light.
∇
As we slide into leafy glory of Midwestern fall — the Autumnal Equinox, my least favorite day of the year lurking dead ahead — thoughts turn nostalgic for the dying summer and by extension all those long-dead summers that tail behind.
The older we get, the longer our 4D tail back through the years to our first. As different as we become over time, there is a continuity that defines us.
This post, as did the last one, has notes from 40+ years ago — still a goodly fraction more than half my span (thus far), so these are definitely from my callow youth.
It’s hard for me to believe 2025 is already sliding into fall. The leaves are starting to turn — the trees are ending their annual breath. Some geese are heading south — unmistakable signs that winter is coming. There’s been a chill in the air.
Another orbit around our star, another year torn from the calendar. For an old farts like me, it pulls my thoughts backwards through all those discarded calendar pages.
The usual stream of the new pushed aside a pair of ancient note piles (mid-sized spiral-bound notebooks, actually) that date back to college and high school. It’s time to let the new abide a bit and dig up these time capsules (so I can at long last throw away those agèd notebooks).
The last post, Smoke Alarm Saga, concerned the frustrations with my smoke alarms and the service vendor who installed them — a company whose failings apparently put them out of business.
It wasn’t just the service; the product was bad. Three of the four smoke alarms they installed failed after seven months. In the midst of that frustration — after I’d removed the two my ladder reached but was still plagued by the one 13 feet up — I had a rather strange morning.
One that seemed to fit right in with everything else going on…
Almost exactly six years ago — in September of 2019 — I began having electrical problems. Power outages affected half the lights and plugs in the place. Getting an electrician in to fix it led to what became my worst experience with home service — a six-year saga with a disappointing ending.
More precisely, five-and-a-half years. The unsatisfying conclusion came last May with a faint echo in June. Some fallout persists, a task left unfinished, but the stress is thankfully past.
Here’s what happened…
About a month after I started this blog (on July 4, 2011), I wrote about my first and second skydives — which were tandem jumps — as well as my first (semi) solo skydive. A year later, I wrote about graduating my training to a full-fledged solo jumper as well as a particularly enjoyable skydiving “boogie”.
My last jump was in September of 1999 when the owners of the drop zone suggested that — because I wasn’t putting in the time needed to improve — that it might be best if I considered another hobby. They were right, and I did.
At that point I had made 50 jumps in two years. Here is my logbook.
So, if a fortnight is 14 days (but counted as nights), then a fortjuly should be 14 years. I suppose it should really be a fortwinter to align with the counting nights aspect. But that would mean we’re on the 13th “day” (year) of this blog, and this post celebrates the blog’s 14th anniversary, so fortjuly it is.
As in: “It has been fourteen years — a fortjuly — since I started this blog.” By other metrics: 1,438 posts (42 pages); 1,996,695 words (damn, just missed it being a cool two-mill); 287,266 sentences; or 63,337 paragraphs.
As usual, there are charts and lists.
I usually publish a pair of Janus posts in early January, one looking back (with charts and stats), one looking forward (with intentions for the year). This year I’m “juuust a bit outside” the strike zone.
I got a respiratory virus just before Christmas, and it took me out for Christmas and the song-celebrated Twelve Days after. Mid-January I was dog-sitting and decided to take the whole month off from the interweb (and, to a large extent, even the computer).
Now I’m back. With charts and stats.
While one might disparage the white colonialism that birthed the holiday along with the bowdlerization of its history, I like to think time denatures these things and leaves us with a Norman Rockwellesque secular day of family travel, over-eating, discontent, and infighting. Our American tradition.
But pointed opening aside, the season in general, along with the coming year’s end, does — if we but take it — give us a chance to pause and reflect on the past year and what it meant to us. And, if the soul is gentled and still, to find things to be thankful for.