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I am writing this one while waiting at DTW airport for my Frontier flight home. It was snowing when I woke this morning and Someone sent an email he received saying TSA would be bad so please allow 70 minutes. This all tickled my angst about flying enough that Brother #3 drove me to the airport three hours before take off. The roads were fine; check in was a breeze; there was no line at TSA. It was a relief, almost a disappointment.
In my relative haste to pack and get on the road I forgot a few things. I bought Someone some exquisite bleu cheese (no rubbish type) which I forgot in the fridge. While on the drive to the airport Brother #3 and I realized he forgot to write me the inheritance check – and this was the main reason for coming, apart from the ballet! You would think 75K would not be forgotten.* Oh well. He can pop it in the post with the Christmas card.
I was supposed to come home with my share of the February Bourbon excursion, but that isn’t happening. Brother #4 wants some sort of opening ceremony involving all his whisky pals which happens tomorrow, so no booze for me – or at least not this type. On the other hand he handed me a $100 dollar bottle of something apparently I said yes to while on one of his excursions. That one is coming home along with next year’s whisky advent calendar.** After a few years of commercial calendars often with disappointing contents, Brothers #3 and #4 made their own, a homemade collection of twenty-four ounce bottles made from various friends’ bottles . Let’s see how many make it back to Phoenix intact.
Along with the whisky I hope to carry home some of the Christmas spirit (not whiskey type) I had in Michigan. I’ve done no shopping, no decorating, no cooking and goodness knows when I will. I don’t think I have anything scheduled this week, so maybe next weekend. I would like to put the tree up despite all the work involved.
*It turns out in the end the stock inheritance totals 100K, with the second part 25K coming in February. Every time I think this is over with Brother #3 announces but wait there’s more. I think this is it though. I hope so, for his sake. It’s tiresome being an executor.
**We haven’t finished whisky advent calendar 2024. I think we have four days/bottles left.
The Board of Directors Here at Spo-reflections Here at Spo-reflections say these recent posts are too maudlin and they plan to hang me feet-first out the window until I cheer up. It is hard to be humorous when peering down at a moat filled with Nokken. But I will do my best. Or else. Spo.
Greetings from Michigan, which is cold, gray, and snow-covered – like my men. Last night there was a blizzard on nearby Mt. Brighton as they are making snow for their opening this weekend. Many folks have their Christmas lights up; so there is a sense of holiday cheer in the air – which is below freezing with a wind factor. Would that I had packed warmer clothing!
Last night I joined Brother #4’s Dungeons and Dragons game, which was held in his basement, as far away from SIL #4 as possible, who sensibly wanted no part of it. I was given role of throwing die for the attacking monsters. I had a good wrist as I continually rolled high numbers, much to the chagrin of the players, his neighbors, whose characters promptly died. It was ‘TPK’ or Total Party Kill, which puts an end to the thing. Brother #4 A.K.A. Dungeon Master wasn’t too happy either. He had put a lot of work into the game and everyone died in the first chapter. Just hate when that happens.
This morning I braved the cold to go out to the henhouse to retrieve several freshly-laid eggs for breakfast. The shells are twice as thick as the ones bought in the stores and the yolks are an intense orange. I had three with toast and tea – breakfast of the gods, or at least the demi-gods.
This afternoon Princess-Goddess performs in the Nutcracker and afterwards her maternal relations come over for post-ballet libations. My Brother’s in-laws are Polish butchers so no lo-cal vegan nonsense will be served. Meat’s back on the menu boys, along with Polish dumplings I don’t pronounce probably. I suspect I will have a little of everything and promptly sink like a stone. Cold gray snowy days make for good naps.
Speaking of sleep, last night I got a lot, more than I’ve had in a week. I slept in The Kiefer Bed, which was made by my ancestor John Kiefer in 1877. Six generations of Spos have slept in it. I had a lot of dreams last night, most of them about rolling down grass hills but in among the shenanigans walked in John Kiefer. I think we discussed if the bed was holding up. I told him it was as he didn’t stay for long. I slept until 8AM. Time to get clean. I want to go to town and buy gift certificates from the local bookstore for the niblings for Christmas. It isn’t very original but they are appreciated.
I realized the other day I am experiencing loneliness. At first I thought the emotion was mere fatigue from a week’s worth of flu. I then wondered was I have some seasonal affective disorder-like feelings. After careful consideration I realize it is loneliness; I didn’t get it right away as I seldom experience it. I am fairly confident I am correct.
Work is a factor: there is no one in the offices when I am at work. This wasn’t always so. Back before COVID, all appointments were done at the office and the owners worked in-office as well. The halls and waiting rooms were always full of activity. Lately the receptionist has been more away than not with flu of her own. The therapists aren’t here; they are either working from home or have taken time off. I am in offices where no one else works; the other office doors are open to reveal dark empty rooms. Nearly all my patients are doing their appointments via video.
Home is another matter. With Harper gone I open the door to the house and there is no pooch to greet me. We no longer have to keep lights on for the sake of her poor vision so I enter a house that is dark, and at this time of year there is darkness when I rise and when I return. Someone works long hours at this time of year and he often doesn’t get home until after 10PM. So I have the place to myself in the evening. I haven’t experienced such quiet in years, and it is not a serene; it is the sort of quiet of something missing. I am going to bed early as there isn’t anything to do; I could sleep the winter away like this.
Other than patients I am going days without seeing or talking to anyone. I text constantly – this is a comfort – but it isn’t enough. I want to be around people, especially at this time of year. I wonder if getting out the Christmas trimmings would be cheery or make things worse. It seems lackluster if it is only me who will see it.
This weekend I flew to Michigan to see my niece dance in ‘The Nutcracker’. I glad to be with family, which includes extended in-laws also coming in for the ballet. As soon as I post this, Brother #3 and I go over to Brother #4 for pizza and Dungeons and Dragons. He’s quite involved in his neighborhood and I dare say other fellows will join us. It feels good to be among people; I want to give them all a hug. I hope they have low savings throws. ho. ho ho.
Note: this one is more personal than usual; tt was inspired by a patient who recently told me a jobsite was going to give him a chance, despite his lack of experience or qualifications. Spo.
I was taught what made America great was opportunity. Regardless of background you had a chance to grow from nothing to something. Unlike other countries where success was determined by title, caste, or governmental decree, our nation takes as many kids as possible and nurture them to their potential. We didn’t select the ‘best’ seeds but watered them all to see which ones would grow and thrive. For example, I have a vague memory, maybe a false one, the local Little League wasn’t something you tried for but you signed up and the coach’s job was to turn who he had into a team.
I did well in school but I wasn’t that great; I always had to work hard to get good grades. This became harder to do with each advancement in academics. By the time I got to my internship I was over my head and struggling in may ways. I won’t dwell on the factors but in summary I bungled it, enough the program directors weren’t going to keep me. Where I would go do: that was my not their responsibility. I had to hustle calling the local residency programs in town to tell them I wanted to go into psychiatry and do you have an opening? All of them declined, probably because they got wind of my failure and wouldn’t try me.
My lucky break came via The University of Chicago. The psychiatrist in charge of the interview process called me one morning as I was contemplating what would happen to me to say they are going to accept me. The reception was not a warm one. I remember him bluntly telling me:
You aren’t qualified but we are going to give you a chance.
I joined five others residents who had been accepted in the usual way through stiff competition to get a slot at one of the top universities. My class consisted of five brilliant interns and Urs Truly. Initially psychiatry was a struggle for me; one professor had serious doubts of me being there and she was ready to oust me within six months. I daresay I wasn’t as they needed a warm body to work the long hours. I like to think there were a few professors who liked me enough to stand up for me; they saw in me potential. By the end of the residency I was as good as the others and in some ways better. Indeed one professor gave me ‘The poky little puppy award’ for being the most skeptical at first but the one who went the furthest.*
You aren’t qualified but we are going to give you a chance.
That was thirty years ago and I can say without bragging I am excellent in my field; I have a reputation as being one of the best in the valley. One element I have that perhaps others lack is compassion for someone struggling to make it. In my own way I have lots of patients for whom I have said I am going to give you a chance.
The perception from my youth about America faded long ago. We seem to have now an approach more like The Hunger Games. Winners to good schools and jobs lead a remarkable life and for the losers it is too darned bad. People only want the best, the most experienced; the other 99% are on their own.
Your aren’t qualified but we are going to give you a chance.
Give someone a chance today; it may be the best thing you can give to someone.
*this award still hangs in my office where I see it every day.
4 December is Cookie Day. I know this because The Cookie Monster told me decades ago. Cookies – or biscuits as thems across the pond call them* – are an essential part of The Christmas season for many. They were for us. Mother always made her signature gingerbread cookies (which are the best; no not dare to question this) and chocolate chip cookies (which were not that good, but hey, they tasted like Christmas). She made others on occasion but we liked these best.**. Relations on Mother’s side of the family make ‘S” cookies, a not too sweet thing that is S-shaped. The recipe has been passed down over several generations and when I compare the recipes among the great-granddaughters, none quite match up. It is a case of culinary divergent evolution where the passed-down index card recipe develop typos and leave out ingredients.***
For a while I would make my own gingerbread cookies. They are a lot of work, a three day enterprise, consisting of making the dough, rolling out and baking the cookies, and finally frosting them. On one’s own, it’s some job. Mother had four helpers who were generally helpful and it made it a fun endeavor. Once upon a time at Christmas I made chocolate chip cookies using better ingredients with an extra yolk for cake-like texture. Mine beat Mother’s by a country mile but they were a flop. They were rejected as not proper chocolate chip cookies. Talk about pearls for swine.
There was another run of Christmas times when I tried making cookies I’ve never had before. They were recommended by friends and loved ones as their go-to cookie for the holidays. Many didn’t turn out well or weren’t as good as hoped, but that may be operation error. Making something for the first time is often a bungle.
Each year I find the process of making cookies more tiresome and less magical, hardly worth the time and effort. Someone isn’t a fan of cookies, and we both feel guilty/bad for eating any, even at Christmas. On the other hand I hate the idea of no cookies at Christmas, which feels like blasphemy. Baby Jesus will weep and Krampus will probably carry me off. Worse of all, Santa won’t stop at our house. Come to think of it, the Christmas when St. Nick put out the most was the one Father suggested rather than milk and cookies we kids put out beer and pretzels, on the argument Santa is a grown up and the change would be a warm welcome. That year we got a popcorn popper.
Tell me what cookies do you make at this time of year. Do you have one to pass on?
*As a boy the British word biscuit was source of confusion for me. I knew biscuits as savory flour-based objects served with chicken and gravy. I later learned thems in The UK, The Commonwealth, and probably anywhere they use the metric system folks use the word biscuit for small sweet round things, while thems in The States use the Dutch-deprived word cookie. Is The Cookie Monster called The Biscuit Monster in other lands?
**Mother would go to cookie-exchange parties organized by the church. She came back with cookies nobody at home liked, so she stopped going. I think she was disappointed we were so picky but I bet she was pleased as Punch hers were judged superior.
***Spos have split into two camps who has the proper “S” cookie recipe. It is House Moorehouse vs. House Cooper. It’s like ‘Dune’ but the spice is cinnamon, not melange.
What’s top of my mind: My health. The worst of the flu may be over but I still have a cough although it has evolved from a continual thing to paroxysms of violent hacking as if my lungs are trying to eject themselves. I get tired easily and a mild exertion causes me to sit or better yet lie down. It’s a slow mend. I have some nickel and dime days off the month; they were initially taken for Christmas-related activities but I am going to use them for convalescence.
Where I’ve been: The Good Doctor. I had my quarterly appointment the other day. The routine is to get blood work done a few days beforehand so they are ready to process in the appointment. This time I showed up and there wasn’t any on order but a urinalysis. I asked the phlebotomist to check; I’ve never had ‘no blood work’ to do. When I showed for the appointment TGD asked where were the labs. Upon investigation someone had canceled them. With not much to talk about he chastised me for not having done a home test for COVID and influenza last week. If I had and was positive, he could have phone in a Rx to cut down the duration and severity. On the way out I stopped by the lab to do the six vials that ought to have been done Monday morning.
Where I’m going: Michigan, lord willing. I am scheduled to fly to Michigan this weekend to see Princess Goddess ballet class dance “The Nutcracker”. She plays Clara.* The trip was arranged long before I became sick. I hope I will be up to go. I may have to cancel. It will feel funny flying to Michigan this way, for all trips were to babysit Father to give Brother #3 a break. This time he won’t be there.
What I’m watching: My blood pressure. Along with a residual cough, I am having lightheaded sensations upon rising as if my blood pressure has dropped. A few times I have had to hold onto something lest I go down. After decades of near-stroke readings how odd it is to have symptoms of low blood pressure. Yet the OMRON home BP device has the temerity to tell me 123/63 is ‘elevated’.
What I’m reading: The Hogfather – again. This Christmas parody has joined “Santa Mouse”, “Eloise at Christmas”, and “How the Grinch stole Christmas” as must-reads for the season. Mr. Pratchett’s point is humans need fantasy to be human. Belief in Santa Claus types helps us believe the big lies like Truth, Justice, and Mercy. We have to believe in things that aren’t true, how else can they become?
What I’m listening to: Christmas music. Ho ho ho there is no lack thereof. The Spirits of Christmas (or someone like them) keeps introducing me to new tunes, some of them rawther amusing and a few downright appalling, along the line ‘what on earth were they thinking?’
An example of the former: ‘Five Pound Box of money’ – Pearl Bailey. Ms. Bailey (the dear!) tells Santa never mind the gifts, just bring a box of money. Jolly good fun!
An example of latter: ‘Oh Holy Night’ – Tiny Tim. Oh the pain.
Do you know of an amusing (or appalling) Christmas carol/tune rendition?
What I’m eating: Soup – or soon will be. I gathered all the vegetables peels from Thanksgiving dinner and put them in a pot along with the turkey carcass to make stock. This is a profoundly satisfying endeavor. I like the notion that nothing is wasted. It pleases me there is no recipe per se but whatever bones and bits are at hand. It simmers on low in a stewpot on the stovetop all day, filling the kitchen with an aroma of savory satisfaction. This year I put in the dry brown outer peels of the onions. Some bigwig on The Tube of Yous said this won’t enhance flavor but gives a warm brown tone to the stock. Good! My broth often comes out with a yellow-gray tone, so I hope this helps. At days’ end I will strain the lot and use the stock for soup or later cooking. Bliss.
Who needs a good slap: Optum Rx – again. Once again they’ve bungled my prescriptions. Something ordered on 11/11 still isn’t here. When I looked it up it appears someone tried to deliver it at my office, ‘failed’, and sent it back to OptumRx. Two more prescriptions are in transit heading towards the same conclusion. I spent some time on the phone explaining the situation and what needed to be done to fix things. Almost as soon as we finished, I got a text one had been delivered to my office – while I was sitting there. It appears to have been placed in the office mailbox (after the tracking said it was being returned). But the receptionist is out sick and no one knows where the key is. Oh the pain.
On my 1-5 scale, I give three slaps.
Who gets a fist bump: Myself. Every day I do language lessons on Duolingo, mostly Spanish but also German (to keep it fresh). I even dabbled in some French. Duolingo sent out the 2025 report the other day; it says am in the 1% of learners for time online and numbers of words learned. Well! Que stupende y sehr gut und tres bien! I get an A for effort.
I have mixed feelings though. If the point of learning a language is understanding and conversing with in such, then I get a F grade. For all my effort I can barely understand when someone is speaking Spanish unless they slow down to a turtle’s pace. As for my speaking, I can barely ask for a pencil or the time of day. Oh the embarrassment.
What I’m planning: Nothing right now. Normally about now I am planning all sorts of things like shopping for Someone, getting out decorations, making menus, and baking cookies. My mind doesn’t feel like doing any of these things at the moment. I know folks already done setting up the tree and the Christmas prizes purchased.
What’s making me smile: Another allotment of money. Patience above! I thought the estate of our late Father was over and done with, but Brother #3 recently reminded us there was a portfolio of stocks he and his shyster financier didn’t make as part of the main inheritance. Brother #3 was driven to distraction (and drink) this year getting this settled – and now it is. Because it is stock, the estimated value has varied so many times I don’t know how much it is. I will come home from Michigan was a modest Christmas cheque of ~ 70K and that ain’t chicken feed. And I was just looking forward to having some freshly-laid eggs!
*Princess Goddess has slowly risen through the ranks, going from chorus to Clara, good for her I say! For the past couple of years she danced the role of The Mouse King. Her uncles tried to bribe her to fix the ballet for The Mouse King to win, but she wouldn’t do it. I promised to pay for her college if in the middle of the ballet she started doing ‘The Rite of Spring’ but she wouldn’t do that either.
I like wall calendars although they are fuddy-duddy in these modern times. It’s sort of like preferring a paper daily appointment books to some sort of online calendar where you and the world all know your business, Someone, who is more clever than I, uses Google or one of that crowd to coordinate all he does in life, but Urs Truly, who leads a dull life, manages just fine with wall calendars, thank you very much. One hangs in each of my offices and there is one in the office kitchen area too. One hangs by the desk in The Dragon Room at home.
My passion for wall calendars started early in life. In our youth, Brother #2 and I got a yearly calendar that included stickers to commemorate certain days like ‘bad day’ and to countdown our birthdays. These kiddie calendars came with fun facts about the months as well. Oh to have one of those calendars again! Alas, Babylon, I cannot remember the manufacturer to see if they still exist.
I still write on these calendars the dates of appointments, pay days, and days off – the later have a bright pink sharpie X on them. With a face calendar I can see at a glance all that is happening this month. If I had more to do or what I do gets moved about a lot, this system wouldn’t work. But for now it does. I lead a dull life; it can be managed on a face calendar hanging on the wall.
One of the nice things about a face calendar is they have pretty pictures and there are no lack of variety to choose from. Once upon a time I would vary them; nowadays they are the same ones.
At the PHX office: Inuit artwork.
At the MESA office: Owls (I love them so)
At home: DougT’s butterfly calendar; he makes one every year.
Before the pandemic when folks traveled on a regular basis Brother #3 made family calendars using photos from all the various brothers and cousins, with a mind to put seasonal photos to the right month. There was always a ‘pet month’ featuring everyone’s cats and dogs and parakeets. Alas, Babylon! He hasn’t made one in years as no one is traveling or taking photos. Worse, in 2025, we all lost our dogs and cats from old age. I miss these calendars.
What still varies is the calendar that goes up in the office kitchen. I doubt anyone looks at this one but it is comforting to see as I make the morning brews. The 2026 calendar will be of nature prints from wooden blocks. I misread the dimensions of the calendar as it is a small thing hardly taking up the space above the coffee machines and tea-things.
Do you use a wall calendar? Where do you hang it? Do you use it other than for decoration?
56. Which humanitarian causes have you cared most about?
I don’t remember what my grandparents contributed to exactly. My maternal grandfather was a big fan and supporter of The Boy Scouts of America; I suspect he gave them money. I have a vague recall visiting one of their camps where he was known for his patronage. My paternal grandmother, being the devout Catholic, probably regularly contributed to her parish, but did she give otherwise? Indeed question #56 is one I would like to have asked my grandparents. They were not poor, so did they help any charities? *
My late Mother regularly contributed money and time to The Arts, mostly the symphony and the local art institute. Later on in life she got involved in my medical school and without an ounce of avarice rose in the hierarchy to become a major decision-maker including which students were to be admitted to medical school. She had no qualifications other than a keen sense if a person was nice or not. I suspect they gave her tasks as she would say yes and do things.
I used to be a big supporter of The Arts as well, and felt good about it, but people pointed out this sort of charity really only benefited myself, not people who really needed help. In the 90s I contributed time and money to TPAN (Test positive awareness) and The Howard Brown Clinic in Chicago, to help thems HIV positive and in need of assistance with medical treatment and basics. Doctors Without Borders was another I liked and it felt particularly good to help them out as I wasn’t an indirect beneficiary.
Truth be told Someone and I haven’t been contributing anything lately to anybody. It seems all the ones we used to help turned into scandal. The Salvation Army was written off when we found out they do not like our kind. The Human Rights Campaign (Someone told me) was using their funds wrong. We no longer give to The Met ever since they bowed to pressure not to broadcast certain operas. I hear tell there is somewhere online you can go to check if this-or-that charity is legitimate and doesn’t give most of its money to fat-cat CEOS and Board of Directors. Oh the horror.
There is certainly no lack of humanitarian causes, but which ones will do the most good for my money? If Spo-fans know of some causes that need help and actually walk the walk I would be blithe to hear about them. It is high time I did better at helping others.
Spo-Reflections 