From the Mouths of Babes

Since the Missus and I purchased our little piece of Paradise by the Sea in 2015, I have subscribed on-line to The Coast Star.  It is a weekly paper, which hits newsstands and e-mail in-boxes alike on Thursday. It is quite an excellent little newspaper, doing a reasonably deep dive into the day-to-day issues afoot in southern Monmouth County (Bradley Beach, Ocean Grove, Avon-by-the-Sea, Belmar, Wall Township, Spring Lake, Spring Lake Heights, Sea Girt, Manasquan, and Lake Como).  My annual subscription costs me less than $40.00 and helps me keep up with what is happening at the shore all year-round. 

As Christmas approaches, the Coast Star is replete on a week-in, week-out basis with "Letters to Santa", authored by little kids (generally speaking kindergarten to 3rd grade) who are students at the area's various elementary schools.  A number of the letters are what I suppose you might expect from a small child, which is a recitation of the "must-have" treasures on her of his Christmas list.  Truthfully, however, when I read them I am impressed by their depth, their substance, and their candor.  In this week's edition of the paper (December 3, 2020), among the classes whose letters were published were first graders from West Belmar Elementary School, and included this treasure (note the lad's name): 

Dear Santa:

How many toys do elves make? I want 100 Hot Wheels cars

and a Lego Death Star. I've been trying to be good. 

Love,

Adam

Young Adam did not add emphasize the final sentence in his note.  Old, gray-beard Adam did.  I just love his frank assessment of his own behavior.  He's been trying to be good but someone else, St. Nick himself perhaps, will be the final arbiter of whether he has attained his goal. 

Third-grade students from Ms. Kuczko's class at Wall Township's Allenwood Elementary School had their letters to Santa published week too and included among them was one that, after reading it, I had to remind myself was the work of a third grader:

Dear Santa:

For Christmas, I would like a Razor edge dirt bike. 

I have been a good big brother, a true friend to all and a kind person.

For my sister, who's been through a hard time,

it would be nice for her to get a play ATM machine for Christmas.

She has been brave through a scary time! 

She's sweet like candy and deserves happiness. 

Thank you Santa for reading my note. 

How cold is it in the North Pole? 

Love,

Jackson 

"She's sweet like candy and deserves happiness". Young Jackson reinforces my belief that children represent the best part of humanity. We, the adults who occupy this planet have much to learn from them.   

-AK 

Play Like A Girl

I don't need permission

To change this tradition

When they tell me

"You can't play"

I just turn my back and say

Now all over this big wide world

I play like a girl. 

-Janis Ian

Full disclosure demands that I acknowledge having never heard Sarah Fuller's name until this time last week, when the Vanderbilt University senior, the goalkeeper on the Commodores' SEC Championship-Winning Women's Soccer Team, was pressed into service as the kicker on the Commodores' woebegone football team, for which she made her debut on Saturday, November 28, 2020 against the University of Missouri. 

Just so no one accuses me of unfairly characterizing Vandy's football team as "woebegone", less than twenty-four hours after Mizzou shut them out 41-0, Vanderbilt fired its head coach, Derek Mason.  Coach Mason was in his seventh season as Vandy's head coach, during which time he had complied a 27-55 record, including 0-8 this season. Vanderbilt is one of America's truly great universities. It simply perpetually punches above its weight class playing football in the SEC.  

This weekend, although Derek Mason now has Vanderbilt Football firmly in his rear-view mirror, Sarah Fuller finds herself atop (and alone on) the depth chart for the Commodores' season finale Saturday afternoon in Athens, Georgia against the 10th-ranked Georgia Bulldogs.  Irrespective of whether Vandy's offense offers her an opportunity to do anything more than kick the one time she was able to kick last weekend, her story is worth knowing. Not simply for what she has done in these past seven to ten days but for what she had done as a student-athlete at Vanderbilt in the four years she has been a Commodore.  

Sarah Fuller v. Missouri - November 28, 2020

Photo Credit: (c) UPI 

I cannot do her story justice but, fortunately, ESPN has a writer who did.  I commend to your attention this piece Alex Scarborough wrote for its website.   When you read it, you shall learn as did I that this young woman's "overnight success" has been years in the making. It is as inextricably linked to her hard work, her mental toughness, and her perseverance as it is to her natural talent, which is considerable.  

-AK 

The House is Full of People

Indeed it shall.  Growing up with Mom is a constant reminder to me that it is often better to be lucky than good. I, of course, had no control over the family into which I was born. I did not pick my parents.  Yet, fate smiled upon me.  And it did so especially with respect to Mom.  WPK, Sr. died when I was fourteen and before Kara, Jill, or I had set a single foot on a college campus.  Times were tough. Mom was tougher. She made certain that we learned how to be tough too.  

She made certain as well that we learned how to keep our wits irrespective of how hard the situation we were then and there enduring made it for us to do so. Dig deep. Stand fast.  These are life lessons Mom taught me.  

They are also lessons she continues to teach me.  Forty-two months after she died, she remains the greatest, most important teacher I have ever had. 

All that she taught me I shall carry with me for the rest of my life.  As I shall carry her.  Love don't stop. 

Never forgotten. Always loved. 

-AK  

 

So Far, So Good...

I could be wrong. I often am.  However, in this case I believe I am correct.  I believe that the last time my beloved Colorado Buffaloes football team entered December unbeaten and untied was way back when in 1989, which season ended in an Orange Bowl defeat to Notre Dame on January 1, 1990.  Truth be told, the 1989 Buffs roared through September, October, and November winning all eleven games they played.  

The 2020 Buffs?  

Along with the rest of the Pac-12, they sat out September and October. Then, in November, thanks to the continuing presence of COVID-19,  they played only three out four scheduled games and, for good measure, the third and final November game was against an opponent that did not appear on their schedule until two or three days prior to kickoff.  

But I digress. 

"Smart money" coming into this truncated season, in which non-conference games were pared from the schedule and the Buffs were to play only Pac-12 opponents, said the Buffs would perhaps win a single game and, if the stars aligned, then maybe two.  So, entering December 3-0 with wins in both Pac-12 games they have played, against UCLA on Opening Night as a home underdog, and against Stanford at the Farm in Week Two as a road 'dog.  December's first three weekends shall hopefully bring the Buffs their final three regular season games.  While I do not pretend to know how they shall fare, I have every confidence that, under the direction of Head Coach Karl Dorrell and his staff they shall be well-prepared to play and shall do their level best...

...with unrestrained momentum. 

-AK 

At November's End

Friday, as part of our continuing celebration of the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, the Missus and Yours truly headed to our little paradise by the sea to officially bid November farewell.  Truth be told, there was not a lot happening at the Shore this past weekend, which is kinda, sorta just how we like it.  Other than a great few hours spent mid-day on Saturday hanging with Jill, Joe, Julia, and Rita (Sam and her #1 cousin had a romp and rumble on the beach...and all throughout Jill and Joe's house), Margaret and I spent our weekend relaxing.

My Saturday morning itinerary included a haircut and another fantastic conversation on civics, electoral politics, and current affairs with my barber, Pat, at his shop in Belmar.  Great haircut at an unbeatable price and, for free, ten to fifteen minutes of intelligent, thoughtful and thought-provoking conversation. I left there on Saturday morning not only looking much better than I did upon my arrival but, also, thinking that if I had more hair (so it took longer to cut each time I went) Pat and I might have time to iron out solutions to the world's problems.  

I cannot wake up at the beach and not go for a run...unless it is pouring rain.  Saturday, because I wanted to get to Pat's not later than 7:00 am to ensure I got a good spot on the sign-in line (no appointments at Pat's. Customers sign the sign-in sheet outside the front door and then gain entry one at a time), I went out for my run before sunrise.  My short, two-mile jaunt took me, as I try to make sure it always does, past the September 11 Memorial in Spring Lake.

It was roughly twenty-five minutes to sunrise when I stopped so I could take these few pictures, looking east over the Memorial and out to the horizon line. 

Sunday morning, Sam came with me. It was quite a bit colder than it had been on Saturday morning, even though I went out a bit later.  The sun was much closer to announcing its arrival on Sunday when she and I arrived at the Memorial than it had been when I was there the previous day.  Best photograph I got? 

She and I shared a moment of reflection with the Memorial behind us, representing the Alma mater and the Til Valhalla Project, which is an outfit that does great work and makes/sells really nice stuff, including the shirt I wore Sunday morning.

A hell of a nice way to say goodbye to November and to refuel in time to tackle whatever December shall present to us. 

-AK 

 

All Creatures Great and Small

In the wee small hours of Thanksgiving morning, as the rain steadily fell, and my faithful hound dog looked at me with the face that practically begged not to have to go outside to pee (although she really, really had to go), I poured the day's first cup of coffee and fired up the laptop intending to spend at least the morning of November's final Thursday the way the Lords of Billable Time intended.  

As the coffee dripped down, I helped Sam overcome her "there is no way I am going out in this" issue. It turns out that she simply needed to know she was not alone in her endeavor.  So, I took off my socks, opened the back door, and went down the back steps onto the patio - and into the rain.  She almost seemed to grasp the import of my gesture.  Moments later, she stepped out onto the back porch.  Her first several steps down the stairs and onto the patio were tentative, to be sure.  But whether it was seeing me standing outside in the dark getting rained on too or the simple fact that she had held it for as long as she could, she then ambled off the patio, onto the grass, and peed.  Mission accomplished, she headed back up the stairs into the kitchen with me following.  I located the towel Margaret has set aside as Sam's and used it to dry her off.  Her bladder empty and her coat reasonably dry, she headed off to the living room for the first of her many Thanksgiving naps. 

I turned my attention back to the laptop.  

Instead of beginning the revenue-generating portion of the day, I thought for a moment or two of all the things for which I am thankful.  On the All Things Considered Celestial Scale of Life I have made out much better than I ever had any right to do.  I am, on my best day, a C+ human being at best. I count my blessings every day and appreciate them.  For an unrepentant asshole, I have much for which to be thankful. 

Among the things for which I am thankful is that while I am a man of few friends, which arrangement suits both me and the world at large exquisitely well, I have some simply extraordinary ones.  One such cat is Dave Lackland.  He and I became friends a lifetime ago at Wardlaw-Hartridge (apologies to the present regime but I am a hyphenate and NOT a + signer).  We had lost touch long ago but perhaps a decade or so we reconnected, for which I am eternally grateful.  I am even more grateful that once we did, the connection held.  Ten years further on up the road, the bond remains unbroken. 

Ours is an incredibly unbalanced friendship. By that I mean that Dave is (conservatively speaking) ten times the human being I could ever aspire to be, presuming I had such an aspiration.  I was reminded again Thursday morning of his inestimable humanity.  

He no longer writes it but, being ever hopeful I have bookmarked the link to it, Dave wrote a blog several years ago when he, the Missus, and then-baby Indy lived in the Florida Keys.  Its title? (Iguana) Dave's Dock.  In it, he chronicled his relationship with the iguanas whose own little piece of paradise abutted Dave's and, as you shall see when you read the essays in it, eventually became one with Dave's.  If you want a case study in a human being who just gets it, then read Dave's essays. They afford an insight into an exceptionally keen, sharp, and profoundly humane human being, whose understanding of not just our place in this world but the place of those species whose own worlds occupy it too, is simply extraordinary.  

Sitting alone in my kitchen before sunrise on Thursday morning, I spent twenty minutes or so reacquainting myself with the world of Dave's Dock.  Spoiler alert:  Not all the stories are happy ones. There are significantly more humans who remind me of me than there are who remind me of Dave and a disproportionately high number of the former live in the Keys (or did in the earlier part of this decade).  Yet, reading each of them restored my faith in humanity, because of the human who wrote them. 

Four decades ago, the Poet Laureate of the Jersey Shore exhorted us to, "Show a little faith, there's magic in the night."  As it turns out, magic is present at all times of day.  

All we need is a magician, or a really good friend, to show us. 

-AK 

The Power of Peace

It is both invaluable and priceless.  Strive for it, attain it, and then fight to maintain it like your life depends on it.   

 

It does.  It is an irreplaceable commodity. 

-AK