Another year come-and-gone. They seem to be picking up speed? The years, not me. Thank you for spending a few minutes with me the first and third Monday of each month. Before we fall completely into the new year, here’s what my family, my muses, were up to in 2022.

Our daughter, Sierra, is still chewing on The Big Apple. She lives in Brooklyn, a quaint little village east of NYC, and is making a go of it in various behind the scenes arenas of the film industry. We swung by her neighborhood for a visit in October, and had an enjoyable week doing what folks do in The City. Central Park was looking lovely draped in its fall foliage, Dawn and Sierra took in “Wicked” on Broadway, while I took in a few pints at McSorley’s Old Ale House. To each their own.

Our son, Jackson, had to stay in SD to work, so the three of us ventured to the Bronx for a playoff game in honor of The Boy. Although Mr. Judge went 0-for-5, and the home team lost, playoff baseball in Yankee Stadium was rowdy and raucous. Like Iris, in The Natural, as Judge struggled at the plate, I rose from my seat, silhouetted by the sun, but alas, the bum grounded weakly to third.

As if that wasn’t horrifying enough, we went to the movie Smile, a horror flick Sierra worked on as the Assistant to the Director. Horror is far from my genre of choice, but as parents, we often do things for our children that are not of our choosing. Sierra still holds it against me that I chose to never ever take them to Disneyland…ever, so I owed her one. There’s something special about seeing your child’s name roll by in the credits on the big screen…while you discretely check to ensure you didn’t soil yourself to a noticeable extent during the movie.

Speaking of brown, as I said, “Jackson had to work.” For several months, The Boy paid his dues, loading boxes, large and small, filled with the various wants and needs (mostly wants) of the consumers that dwell in and around Rapid City, into UPS trucks during the wee hours. Then one day, he emerged from the warehouse clad in an assortment of brown attire, and stepped off the loading docks and into the driver’s seat. Honk…honk…what can Brown do for you?

It can provide you with a fairly solid reason to decline an offer from your parents to go hiking. “I walk 10-miles a day at work, why would I want to stroll around the woods on my day off?” Fair enough, but old people fall down a lot. Who’s going to take you and your sister to Disneyland if I break a hip?

As has been the case since he was a lad, Jackson spent the summer swinging bats and throwing balls, but this summer he did it without dear old dad. Retirement from baseball finally stuck. The Yankee’s dilly-dallied too long, the tattered old jockstrap was hung up for good…talk about brown.

Jackson enjoys his new gig, the workday rolls by quickly, and the job provides funds for all things young people want or need (mostly want)…haircare products, libation, and overdue library book fines. He’s making a go of this thing they call adulthood, and finding out a little more about himself day-by-day. So it goes.

Us elders are getting along as well as can be expected for people with both feet east of 50. The first 50 were a joy, but I have a suspicion that the next 50 could get ugly. For me anyway, Dawn’s purebred Polish bloodline will keep her in tip-top form much longer than the cholesterol riddled system I’ve been saddled with.

Dawn is still helping bent and busted folks mend and move through the magic of physical therapy and her sunny disposition, and I’m still at Chadron State College, waiting for the president of the college to knock on my office door one day, and say, “The gig is up. There’s been a mistake, you don’t belong here. Time to go get a real job.” Until then, I can’t imagine doing anything else, or, that I’d be much good at anything else.

We lost a few loved ones this year, and our thoughts are often with them, and the ones they left behind to carry on. Our days are not guaranteed, enjoy the company of family and friends, the sun on your face, the wind through the trees, the cool grass or crunch of snow underfoot, or whatever it is that might nudge a little joy your way. Happy New Year…Carry on.