Grateful for gifts of grace given

Even as Covid lingers in the White House, there are few visual signs of the pandemic in northeast Wisconsin. Look hard and you will find some quite devastating problems, from "runaway" inflation to staff shortages. These maladies are apparent when buying gas, groceries or a restaurant meal. Fortunately, none of these purchases are a significant part of our budget. In fact, I am regularly reminded of multiple reasons for gratitude.

My family -- immediate and extended -- continue to have generally good health, no serious health or medical problems, and a positive attitude through the pandemic. Dena, Gaby and Jane have prospered in their work these past two years and only Gaby and Jane have had Covid, relatively minor cases at that. Much the sam can be said for brothers and sisters, in-laws, and nephews and nieces.

Despite a sharp, Biden-induced jolt to the markets that his pernicious inflationary policies have been driving this year, our finances are in good shape. Gaby and Jane no longer require support. Dena has flourished in her sales career, now in management, with a nice raise this year. Social Security and TIAA have provided a great base income. Medicare has taken the uncertainty about my medical costs and even made the CPAP worth considering, with no co-pays and no deductibles. I'm off all of my prescriptions, just Prilosec with vitamins.

My writing has been divided between political/cultural commentary and delving into my past relationships with the most memorable women in my life, starting with Mona Margarita and Nancy Galli, with Dianne Van Beber, Dianne O'Donnell, Jane Cook and Peggy Nelson likely to earn prominent positions. My journals provide excellent archival research, creating timelines for those relationships, most of them short and intense, with either an amicable or "ghosting" ends to the relationships. Never a big argument, hurtful speech or dramatic ends, instead, just "piddling out" in such a way that it was probably impossible to identify when the relationship officially died. Sometimes I moved away. Sometimes I just stopped calling. In any case, I am grateful for each and all of them, for what I learned from them. And I perhaps owe a few of them apologies. Yet, in most cases we have remained friends of sorts even to this day, including Nancy, Mona, Dianne and Jane. Not Peggy. I tried to track her down over the years and had a Reading, PA address for her but I've been out of touch since that summer tryst in Muncy, 1979.

Studying my journals I was surprised to see how little -- if anything_ I wrote about Peggy and that night in Muncy or Dianne and the July 1982 night after "Best little whorehouse in Texas." What also surprised me is the list of rapidly passing through women, like Cindy Puglisi, Sally Robertson, Susan Hankin, and Sally Jackson at State, or Sid Hollister, Trudy Harris, Colleen Ball, Cindy Hall, Peggy Burnett, Joy House, Myra Moody, Susie Reichle, and Linda Blair in Kansas.

All these memories grow stronger as my body and mid grow weaker. Had you asked me thirty years ago what seventy years of age meant, I'd think of a man much like I have become yet who I try to pretend is still that thirty-year old living in that seventy year old body. I find it hard to bend over, to put on my running socks, to be mobile on the playground with the Holy Spirit elementary school kids.

When I look at national and global statistics and comparisons with peers and neighbors, I can't help but feel extremely lucky, with abundant gratitude. Rather than thinking of what I thought retirement was going to be or what it could be, I need to think of it as it is, to make the most of these blessings. I need to master the CPAP. I ned to lose some weight. I need to reduce my sugar and dairy consumption. I need to stay on track for 1,100 walking miles. I need to put together our next family gatherings, be in September in Juneau or Thanksgiving in Tucson. Edinburgh next May is in the books.