Tonight Donald Trump is delivering a live televised address spelling out why he needs an emergency declaration to address the crisis at our southern border. Assuming the claims of a crisis are to be believed, it’s also true that we’re simultaneously experiencing a climate crisis, a contributing factor in many of today’s mass migrations. So while it might make better sense to focus on mitigating the effects of climate change to slow migration, it’s also true that – as the November gas tax protests in France showed – people want their basic needs met before they’ll care climate-favoring policies. And since, especially with growing inequality, we’re likely to never reach the point of feeling universally content, we can’t really expect to meaningfully address climate change. So: expect more walls. On borders to stop migration, and on shores to stop the rising seas. They won’t work, and we’re screwed.

Last night I got to hang out with the kids while cleaning up the kitchen after a pasta scarpariello dinner. We talked about Grandpa Ron’s recent visit and family in general, and their determination, sadly but understandably, to not bring kids into this increasingly messed up world. Afterwards, before playing with the Zizzle David found in the basement, Natalie shared some very good feedback about how I made her feel as though she wasn’t a priority for my time and affection. Which I heard and intend to act upon; after all, there’s only the 18 months left.

Last year I spent at least 86 nights in a hotel room alone, away from home. Primarily because I don’t want to don’t want to relocate away from Natalie. What a bind.

Today I had a pit in my stomach most of the day as David and I took down the Christmas tree and prepared to say goodby for another semester, as I joined Josh and John at Dan’s for the first of what I hope will be many more rehearsals together despite my travel, and later, as Andi and I shared our last meal of the break before I said my own goodbye, leaving for my first trip of the year. There is work ahead, and typing this into my phone from my seat in the plane, and I’m ok with that, if just down that it seems like I have to be gone all the time. Sensing my mood, Matthew Houck was singing a new Phosphorescent tune through the overhead speaker as I settled into seat 13A: “There From Here. ”

I don’t recall a song in my head when I woke this morning, possibly because I’d taken an atavan and an ambien to get to sleep last night.

With Dad gone, it’s time to begin Sober January, making today more like New Year’s Day than Jan 1 was. So Andi and I went on a 5.75 mile hike with Bruno in Pinkney Rec under a beautiful clear sky, and like always, the serenity of the walk in the woods without seeing another person on the trail was restorative. I was thinking about the new “Ten Things That Scare Me” podcast, and how I might like to list my top 10 fears here. But then, if you’re afraid of one thing, you can be afraid of everything: if all suffering comes from wishing things were different than they actually are, harboring fear is just another form of wishing, only that it’s a wish the fear will never be realized in the future. And I can say with confidence that one of my Top 10 fears would be that I would die before I ever figured out how to live without anxiety and apprehension. So fuck that, I’m not making a list of ten things that scare me and will endeavor instead to live in the present, fully accepting of how things are at any given moment. And obviously, abusing alcohol doesn’t count as acceptance.

Also on the hike, Andi and I discussed our retirement plans and worked back to the present moment. Retirement looks like keeping our home in Ann Arbor and having the ability to rent in a sunnier and warmer place out West from Jan-April each year. The next 18 months before Natalie graduates will be a crucial transition period. Either John Ducote retires and I relocate to take his job, or he doesn’t and I do something different. Inclusive of the possibility that John will retire, the priority order of preferences for my career after June 2020 are:

1. Take an expat assignment in a cool country with any company
2. Relocate to take John’s job as head of quality for Emergent
3. Work as a consultant or for someone else, but stay local (where local is defined as 3 out of 4 weeks in Ann Arbor and a commute of less than 35 minutes)
4. Take a position as head of quality (or equivalent) for some other company and relocate to one of the coasts.

There’s a bigger gap in preference between 1 and 4 and their adjacent numbers than between 2 and 3. The third choice is close to the second, and to pull it off, I will need to cultivate a network of potential clients, begin to establish a brand that focuses on quality management system development, deployment, and improvement (inclusive of data governance), and improve my skills in data analysis. With the clock ticking, I have to be very intentional about how I use my time.

Friday, the third and last in a break that has involved mostly sleeping in and going out. Last night’s dinner at The Standard was epic, we all ordered what we wanted. David asked what it was like to have money coming out my ass, which was an interesting question, that, even if the premise can be agreed, suggests that ass-money must mean puppies and rainbows. While I have so much to be thankful for (including this morning’s breakfast with Grandpa and the kids at the table featuring oatmeal with blueberries and Michigan maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and Swiss chocolate spread over banana bread), there seems to be a constant “meh” reaction to all I feel I should be more grateful for. I would like to have felt gratitude for today’s weather, clear blue skies and a high temp of 50 degrees under which the Tesla got washed and a Huron River Drive was had, and Grandpa got to it when he said, “Enjoy it while it lasts, there won’t be another [January 4] day like this in another 50 years.” He’s a climate change-denying Trump supporter obviously, and maybe my problem is that I can’t be as blissfully unaware that this is all very bad, for as nice as it sometimes is.

The day before yesterday, Ron (Gorga) excused himself from our traditional New Years Day visit to take a nap. Which would have been unusual enough, but then he passed out afterwards (from exhaustion?) and was admitted to the hospital. Then yesterday, Andi spent over four hours in a dentist chair getting an implant to support the crown (i.e., fake tooth) that will eventually replace the perfectly good tooth that broke her fall from Eric’s childishly stupid shoulder on my perfectly planned birthday weekend in October. That same night, with Ron G. still in the hospital and Andi recovering at home from her surgery and Natalie sleeping over at Mia’s, David and I went with Grandpa Ron (Bell) to see the Red Wings play inspired hockey against the Calgary Flames in Little Caesar’s Arena, my first visit to the fancy new venue. Today, I made scratch banana bread and French press coffee with Grandpa Ron (Bell) before second-distilling last year’s final pear brandy fraction, David’s perfect bottle labels adding an air of professionalism to the proceedings, all the while ignoring the Roland SPD-SX SE sampling machine that showed up in the mail yesterday. Then we all went out to an amazing dinner at The Standard. I am completely exhausted and can’t wait for work and fiscal restraint (along with Sober January) to restore a sense of vitality.

When I was in boot camp, parents were instructed to address mail to “Recruit John Doe.” My mom garbled the instruction and sent a letter addressed to “C. Bell.” We had mail call one evening, the Drill Instructor reading the last names one by one, not even looking up or caring where the letters actually went as they whipped them across the squad bay and when they got to mine, the Drill Instructor stopped and said, “C-Bell.” He twisted up his fake puzzled look and said, “C-Bell…. . C-Bell. . … C-Bell, what?  How about see Bell bend and thrust!!” His fist flung open in that motion where the fingers all got extended violently from a closed fist as though he was discharging lightning bolts in my direction each time he said it: “Bend and thrust bend and thrust bend and thrust!!” He wore me out to nothing left that night, but I still thought it was a really funny piece of improv. And so today, when I saw my choices for blog extension names, I immediately thought, “C-Bell blog!” I shall try.