Having been held back from my original deadline of December 1 by various means, including, but not limited to, sick dogs, extreme allergic symptoms, general malaise, far too many interruptions, and an assortment of other duties, I am pleased to announce that most of the limiting factors toward producing a coherent monthly edition have been eliminated.

I no longer have a dog, the pooch in question returned to its rightful owner. With the dog gone, my allergies are clearing up quickly. I was taking a steady dose of Sudafed daily for well over a month. Just yesterday, my sinuses cleared and I haven’t needed any medication since. My health and mental outlook are improving rapidly. I have to admit to having no idea how severely my overall health was being affected. I suffered from severe brain fog, listlessness, stuffiness and other allergy-related symptoms. It makes me wonder how many people who have pets - a national tragedy of epidemic proportions - are harming themselves physically simply by failing to put two and two together: that their general health and well-being are being negatively affected by their “little friends.” The numbers are probably staggering.

So, on to my holiday message:

I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with the month of December. I was born, many years ago exactly three weeks before Christmas, an eight pound, six ounce bundle of joy for my parents, Molly and Nick. Now, anybody with a birthday in December can probably relate to the issues I experienced.

Because of the proximity to Christmas - and the closer to it the worse this gets - kids often get kind of stiffed on their birthdays. Fortunately for me, my birthday was far enough removed and my parents such good people, that I almost always received birthday and Christmas gifts. There may have been one or two years in which I got the “combo” treatment, but overall, it worked out OK. Those born on or after the 15th, know exactly what I’m talking about.

Then there was school. Because most school districts have age cut-off dates around October or November, I was denied entry to kindergarten, which, as it turned out was kind of a blessing in disguise. BY the time I was halfway through sophomore year of high school, I’d had enough of the regular scholastic grind. If I had started earlier, I may have dropped out before even graduating, seriously. I always disliked school. Thought it was a waste of time and, for me, it generally was. I was an A and B student, despite extremely poor study habits, as in, I almost never did. What is taught in today’s schools through high school could probably be taught and learned in six years, but then, well, the whole daycare industry would collapse, and we can’t have that.

In any case, when it came time for my enrollment in first grade, the nuns at St. Margaret Mary’s stood firm upon their enrollment dates, telling my mother that I was old enough for kndergarten but not the first grade. Mom, bless her heart, pled with the nuns and arrived at a deal, saying that if I was unable to keep up, they could hold me back a year. Turns out mother knew best and the rest is history. I was almost always the youngest kid in my class, but it wasn’t a problem.

Beyond the celebratory nature of the month of December, one of the things that I loathe about it, even to this day, is the weather. I grew up in Western New York, and December is generally cold and bitter. I’ll take too hot over too cold any time. December meant heavy coats, boots, shoveling copious amounts of snow and ice, limited outdoor activities (I could never stand up straight on ice skates, but that’s another story) and some degree of isolation. Even though I now live in Tennessee, the change in temperature remains less than optimal. I prefer shorts, sandals and polo shorts, thank you.

But, December isn’t all bad. It does provide an end to a year’s worth of memories and the proposal of better days ahead in the coming new year. December provides the opportunity to reflect on hopes and dreams - some achieved, others sadly missed - and the opportunity to move forward over the next twelve months, not just in a personal sense, but, as I matured (some say I haven’t, and they’re right), I longed for change in areas beyond my control; better government policies, lower prices, a more amicable society, which, as it has turned out over the years, never seems to change for the better.

Despite annual disappointments, most of us remain hopeful and optimistic that those at the top of the food chain will do right by us, that the good will and pleasantries of the holiday season will last beyond January 2nd, and that some things might cost less than they did a year ago.

As far as I can tell, none of those hopes will be fulfilled in 2026, which is another part of the reason this essay took so long to develop and still isn’t sitting quite right. Having lived in America for seven decades, I don’t see anything improving. Politicians seem to be worse than ever in terms of caring for the general population and more focused on getting re-elected and becoming multi-millionaires. The price of anything and everything continues to march higher and people aren’t as friendly or congenial as they used to be, generally speaking.

It’s somewhat discouraging to look back at the 1960s, 70s, and 80s and wonder what went wrong. Society has changed in so many ways that those decades seem like a part of a separate reality. People these days seem cold and detached, heads staring into phones instead of at others, looking out for themselves without regard to anyone else.

Not everybody is like that, though. Deep down inside, I believe most people have some sort of moral compass that roughly aligns with the golden rule and old-fashioned values. But there appears to be growing numbers that don’t share those basic tenets of civilization and that’s a problem, a very big problem. I fear society is going in the wrong direction and I, for one, have little desire to spend the remaining years of my life dodging people who don’t agree with me, who might dislike me because of my values, my beliefs, or even the color of my skin. In days past, I’d like to think I could change things, but, more and more these days I get the feeling that we’ve gone too far over the cliff that separates civilization from barbarism. With that overhanging my psyche, I tend towards wanting to get away, get out, before it’s too late.

Everything’s too expensive. Every conversation becomes an argument. The people at the top - the government types, the tech oligarchs, the entertainers and the media personalities - don’t seem to be on the same wavelength as most of the people. They measure success by appearance and the size of one’s bank account. It’s - to use a term Dr. Chris Martenson of Peak Prosperity has recently employed - demoralizing.

And I fear that I have failed. Instead of producing an essay that was witty, hopeful, or inspiring, I feel I’ve left this space a rambling, incoherent miasma of loathing, foreboding, and hopelessness.

I’m going to leave it as flawed as it is, accept that my reality is not to my liking and look forward to something better come January or maybe tomorrow. There's always tomorrow.

Happy Holidays,

Fearless Rick

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