Matt of All Trades blog, like the title suggests, is by a Vermont author and offers offbeat musings on pop culture, media, journalism, humor, weirdness, stupid people, smart people, my life as a journalist, landscaper, photographer, married gay man, dog lover and weather geek and more. It's run by me, Matt Sutkoski, a native Vermonter living in St. Albans, Vt.
I haven't been wearing my wedding ring much lately.
That's not any sign of marital woes whatsoever. Just the opposite, in fact. Oddly, it's a sign of the strength of our marriage and my love for Jeff.
Eight years ago today, Jeff and I got married. I'm biased, but I still regard that as the best wedding ceremony I've ever seen. But I should explain the ring, since I brought it up.
Jeff and I don't get out much these days. You know, Covid. For the past so many months, Jeff and I don't go out to shows, movies, restaurants, plays or to visit friends.
It's just as depressing for us as it is for everybody else, but we are hanging in there just fine. We make do. It works.
I now work mostly from home, he's retired. When I do work outside the home, it's in somebody's garden, far from any other people, which makes social distancing easy.
Before Covid, I was out and about quite a bit. I wore that wedding ring as a badge of honor, gloating to everyone how lucky and blessed I am to be married to Jeff.
Jeff knows how much I love him, or at least he'd better! I have nothing to "prove" to him. Since most of my life outside the house is gardening, I don't want to lose that ring in the dirt. So I take it off. And there's just no incentive to put it back on, since I can't wave it under anybody's nose. Yes, I'm that shallow.
I don't need to wave the ring under Jeff's nose, either. He knows how much I love him. I've said this a million times before: What first attracted me to Jeff was his absolute decency, kindness and humor. These characteristics just keep growing on me, confirming to me every day that marrying Jeff was by far the best decision I ever made.
I imagine the isolation that Covid has created for everybody can create tension in some marriages. Being cooped up in the house with the same person day in and day out might not work for some people.
It works for me! I'm happy to report we're great. We are also smart enough to explore both our mutual interests and our own. Jeff has gotten somewhat addicted to researching family ancestry. I was initially only marginally interested, but now he's got me totally hooked.
I go out and do my gardening. Now Jeff seems to have gotten that gardening bug. He's been experimenting with hollyhocks, gardinias, calla lillies and other plants. The gardens around the house are so much better as a result.
This is just one example of how this works so well. We have our own interests, along with common ones. Separate interests meld into one, and the result is much greater than the sum of its parts. It's a sign of what Jeff has done to my entire life: Add one ingredient, namely Jeff, and it just transformed my whole life.
Life goes on, we hope, anyway. Even the small disasters seem much more manageable with Jeff around. Recently, the fridge sprung a leak and wrecked the floor. The hot water heater needed replacing. So did the kitchen stove. Jackson the Wonder Dog got sprayed by a skunk. The extreme summer weather was harsh on the gardens.
I tend to whine when a problem hits, but Jeff always gently reminds me that we just need to deal with it. It cuts the whining short, and we move on and solve the problem.
There's a song I like called "Easy's Getting Harder Every Day." Because of Jeff, if I wrote my version of that song, I'd have to call it "Hard is Getting Easier Every Day."
Jeff might have spoiled a cry in your beer country song, but he keeps improving everything else around him. Including me.
Here's an open letter to my dad, who would have turned 100 years old today:
My dad, Red Sutkoski, would have turned 100
years old today. Happy Birthday, dad!
Dear Dad:
Happy 100th birthday! I hope wherever you are, they're showing you a good time.
I can't believe it's been more than four years since who left Earth. But you never really did leave us, did you? You show up in my dreams at least twice a week. Lynn and Laurie say you visit them frequently, too.
In those nightime visits, you're the same as you always were. Steady, good humored, ready with good stories. You always remind me to try and be the same way. Funny how I always wake up feeling better on mornings after your visits.
As you well know, times are tough right now down here on Earth. That virus going around the world is killing lots of people, and scaring the rest of us. The economy has bottomed out. A lot of people are unemployed.
We're told to stay home and socially isolate ourselves so we don't make the situation worse.
It would have bothered you to have to do what we're doing now. You were always such an outgoing, social person. You always wanted to hear the latest stories, the latest news, the latest silly pratfall somebody in town did.
But you would never complain about the situation, would you? You understood duty, and your responsibility toward others. You always found ways to make do. You would have in this situation, too. I try to use all that as a guide for me to get through this mess.
You lived through tough times, too. You endured the Great Depression and World War II. You always told all kinds of colorful stories about those times. You'd acknowledge the difficulties during those years, but barely.
Instead, you focused on the life, the color, the humor. You talked about how sometimes, you'd indulge yourself by watching a film at the Joy Theater in West Rutland during the Depression. Or tell a funny story about how Mrs. Reczek got busted for moonshining during Prohibition. You'd tell us about the leaders, like FDR, who shepherded us through the rough times.
And you cherished the memory of World War II, finally ended, as you and your mates were serenaded by the song "Sentimental Journey" as you sailed home into Boston Harbor.
Your style is a road map on how to get through our times. I'm taking notes on how we are all coping through the current crisis, how humor and compassion like yours is helping people get through this now.
All through life, at your tavern, Red's Place, you always knew to surround yourself with good, fun, kind and down to earth people. Sometimes they were raucous, and they always made us laugh. You know the type. Friends like Julia Redington, Clay and Jeanie Burney, Larry Carrara and all the rest. You kept each other grounded. Sane. In good humor. You taught me that's the way to do it. It's a good lesson for all of us.
Down here on Earth, we can't get together now in a bar like Red's Place. At least for the moment. But we have technology and such, so we can connect and find ways to laugh, and raise a glass. And try to look on the bright side.
To blow off steam, or just to keep yourself occupied, you always had outdoor projects. You would build stone walls, clean out the Whipple Hollow Cemetery, or just tinkering around out in the fresh air. I find myselt doing the same thing, as it works so well. It really clears my mind. I always feel better after planting more perennial beds, clearing brush, and yes, building stone walls.
Jeff says hi. Jeff still keeps telling me how appreciative he is of you because of how accepting and warm you were to him when he came into my life. Also, your embrace of Jeff confirmed that I had chosen well in marrying him.
That was your M.O. anyway. You held tight to anybody from any background who was a good person. You rejected the haters. It's a great way to go through life, as I keep discovering, over and over again. Thanks for instilling that in me!
Jeff's mom just joined you up there a month or so ago. I hope Jeff's parents, Don and Lois, are able to swing by to wish you well today. But I guess everything is pretty well up there, isn't it?
So a toast. Only a select few will understand what I'm saying, but I raise a glass in your honor and to you: Nice Driveway!
I blow off steam by gardening and writing silly things like this blog The willow tree on my property decided to blow off steam on November 1 by falling over and crushing my husband's Jeep. We all have our ways, dont we?
I've had a long hiatus from this here blog thingy because I just got too busy. I know that sounds like an excuse, and it is, but there you go. Hard to believe the last post here was on July 4.
It's been an active few months, both with work and lots of stuff to do outside of work. It involves lots of garden work, lots of extra time spent at my other job as we went through a systems upgrade, fun things like Jeff's retirement, parties to honor that and a hot air balloon trip.
There were a few minor disasters along the way, like a storm a few weeks back that toppled my beloved willow tree onto Jeff's Jeep, crushing that vehicle beyond repair. The same storm cut off electrical and cable service, and heat to our house, briefly, so there's that.
Now that winter has set in early, it's time to jump in the saddle again. I don't know where this will lead, and frankly, I do this blog just as a release, because I like to write, even if I'm sometimes not good at it. And to vent. And to expose both really good and really bad ideas to whoever reads this.
Good ideas need to be celebrated, and bad ideas need to see the light of day so that maybe people won't repeat them. I know that humans have an unlimited capacity to be dumb, so I am a bit of a pollyanna when it comes to trying to shame people into stop being stupid. Besides, I'm perfectly capable of being totally idiotic, too. That's life, I guess.
Sometimes, while watching the news over the past few months while I was blowing off this blog, I sort of missed blowing off steam here in this blog thingy. But for most of my hiatus, the weather was warm and pleasant. I have lots of gardens to enjoy. So I would always cool off, both physically and mentally, among the flowers, plants, shrubs and other plants I'm lucky enough to have on my property.
Sometimes, when I am writing, I can do a quick throwaway piece that just shows off a social media meme, a funny video, or one of the zillions of quirky people this good Earth holds. Sometimes, when I have the time, especially on a cold winter day when all I want to do is hibernate inside, I do a deeper dive, which has its own pleasures.
I'm not a great writer. My brain is weird, though, which is actually a benefit. I do hope some people get a bit of pleasure, or at least some type of emotion when I write something and you see it, like here. If not, thanks for indulging me and allowing me to blow off steam.
Jeff helping to pick out a Christmas tree a few years ago.
Today is my husband Jeff Modereger's birthday.
I'm not going to tell you which number birthday or in which year he was born, because that would be rude. But it's a significant number. And it's coming in a year that is bringing big changes to his life, our life.
Jeff will retire from the University of Vermont this coming May. He's been at UVM for a quarter century. His departure will be a big adjustment for him, for the university, and I would argue for the community at large.
As he retires, he doesn't want hoopla. He wants to ride off into the sunset, as he puts it. As if his retirement is some sort of end. It's actually a beginning.
Some people, when they get to retirement age, do fade away. Jeff won't. He doesn't have it in him to just fade. It's one of the things I love about him.
True, he'll be home more often when he retires, which is a definite plus. But he'll still continue his career as a scenic designer, which has always been his passion. He's so good at it that he'll always be demand. Probably even when he's 100 years old.
His mother worries that he pushes too hard, and it's true Jeff works too hard. (Note to Lois Modereger: I crack the whip when Jeff starts to push himself too much, and so he's fine!) The retirement this year is not a sign of him aging, but it is a sign that he's finally wising up enough to slow down, just a bit.
I'm not surprised, but always stunned by the number of his students and former students who come to Jeff and tell him what a great influence he was on them, how much he taught them. I know that will continue after he retires. Because he will meet more people, and teach more people, and just make things good. It's his habit, and he'll never be able to break it, thank goodness.
Jeff's magic is that he makes everyone he comes in contact with a better person. That certainly includes me. I'm far from perfect, but every day, Jeff, through example, shows me and everyone how it's done. As of this August, we will have been married seven years. Time flies. And I can't wait to experience the many more years I have with Jeff.
It's funny. Jeff has an eye for fashion, at least in a superficial sense. We'll tune into some show like "Project Runway," and he'll exclaim: "What is she wearing! Did she look in the mirror before she left home?!?"
Yet Jeff is completely out of fashion in a much more fundamental sense. It's not fashionable these days to have a sense of morality. To be honest. To do the right thing. Jeff does all of these things, fashion be damned. Thank Gawd. Another in a list of a billion reasons why I love him.
So Jeff: Here's to another birthday. I love you so very much, and look forward to being with you as the years tick by.
This post has been sappy, yes, but so what? I'll even make it worse with this song, which reminds me of you. Here's Carly Simon to help me out here:
A percentage (not all) of Trump supporters seem to like him because his
presidency his hurting (nonwhite) people they don't like
and that makes these supports happy.
A quote from a New York Times article last week from a woman who has been affected by the government shutdown has hit a lot of nerves, including my own.
The Florida Panhandle is pretty conservative. Trump territory. The Times interviewed a woman named Crystal Minton, a secretary at a local federal prison.
She's not happy about the pain caused by the government shutdown, as she is going without a paycheck for the duration.
This is what she told the Times, regarding Trump: "I voted for him and he's the one who's doing this....I thought he was going to do good things. He's not hurting the people he needs to be hurting."
Got that?
I can't paint all Trump voters with the same brush. Not all are racist. Not all are hurtful. But this quote sums up why I'm disgusted by a fair number of Trump supporters.
A lot of them think the whole point of his presidency is to hurt people. Trump's not good at many things, but he's good at hurting people, or at least trying to. Notice how Minton regards hurting people as "good things."
Of course, the people Minton thinks Trump ought to be hurting are not white people like her. Nope,
"Making America great again, in her mind, involves inflicting pain....This is what makes Trumpism work. This is the dark heart of our political movement. Even people who are tremendously vulnerable themselves, like Crystal Minton, support Trump because of his capacity to inflict pain on others they detest."
"(Trumps) only real, authentic pleasure is in cruelty. It is that cruelty, and the delight it brings them that binds his most ardent supporters to him, in shared scorn for those they hate and fear: immigrants, black voters, feminists and treasonous white men who empathize with any of those would steal their birthright. The president's ability to execute that cruelty through word and deed makes them euphoric. It makes them feel happy, it makes them feel united. And as long as he makes them feel that way, they will let him get away with anything, no matter what it costs them."
Trump is a grifter, and he'll never hesitate to hurt anyone if it's expedient to him. Still, I have a feeling that Minton, the woman who said Trump is hurting "the wrong people" will ultimately stick by the president.
For now at least, the white, straight, cruel folks feel emboldened. Rep.Steven King of Iowa touts white supremacyand pretty much gets away with it, even with a backlash against him.
YouTube is now full of videos showing people being unabashedly racist toward blacks who have the gall to walk into their own apartment building, have a barbecue, go swimming at the neighborhood pool, park their car, or show up for work.
True. there's a backlash against the racist idiots in these videos, but still, they persist.
It's unclear whether the hate wing of the Trump crowd will go away, or get worse, or just be the unfortunately background noise of American life and politics.
I do believe this old cliche is true: "Hate destroys the vessel that carries it."
Those who embrace the hateful aspects of Trump do so at their own peril. There will be karma. Maybe that karma has already started.
Darlene Love does it again, performing in 2018 my favorite holiday song
"Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)"
My long standing tradition has been to feature the seemingly immortal Darlene Love doing her holiday hit "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)", which is my favorite song of the season.
The song is bittersweet, which is a vacation from the cloying claptrap we usually have to put up with this time of year. Yeah, I'm a Grinch, but deal with it.
The bittersweet song matches my mixed emotions this time of year. I know Christmas demands that I be deliriously happy, but no, I'm not going to do that. I really don't mean to be negative, and I don't want to take away from the joy that many people experience this time of year. But still. Bah-Humbug!
Yes, I know I'm one of the lucky ones. There's been no tragedies in my life around the Christmas season, knock on wood. Life is good, no complaints. Happiness abounds.
Still, this is a season of contrasts. People get giddy with joy, but there's an undercurrent of sadness for many people, even sometimes among us "lucky ones." It's just that nobody dares admit it. It's against the "rules."
That's not good enough, dammit. This holiday demands that everybody's life be perfect. I guess the holiday advertisers are the ones that expect this of us. It's a way to make money, and I get it. However, they hold too much sway over most of us, and I think that's awful. It's time to break those chains.
Nobody's life is perfect. This seasonal expectation that insists everything must be ideal makes people who are feeling less than perfect feel worse. Which is a cruel joke. Shame on those Hallmark Christmas Specials types. If I were a worse person, I'd wish heartache for them on Christmas.
But I can't bring myself to do that.
Which is why I love "Christmas (Baby Pleas Come Home)" so much. She wants to be with her lover, her ex-lover, or whoever it is, and can't. The song brings us to church, which should make us feel exultant, but at the same time brings us down to a sad reality.
Which is life for pretty much all of us. In a world of fake news, let's deal with reality, folks.
As usual, my, husband and I must be apart this Christmas. Me in Vermont with family, Jeff in South Dakota with family. It's just circumstance that causes this. Work schedules, life in general. No biggie. I want him to be home with me, or I want to be with him in South Dakota.
We can't, but we work it out. Which is why for me, Christmas is bittersweet, and the song fits the mood. Hey, if relating to a song makes you feel better, why not, right?
Jeff will be with me soon enough, and all will be well. I just wish I could spend time today with family, simultaneously in West Rutland, Vermontand Yankton, South Dakota. We'll do Facetime, which is nice, but not perfect.
Hallmark will be mad at me for not being perfect with this, but screw 'em. It's time for all of us to enjoy our strangely wonderful, gloriously imperfect lives.
Love always performed "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" on the David Letterman show, until he retired. Then,"The View" picked it up.
I think this year "The View" diluted Love a bit by having her duet with Bryan Adams.(Gosh, I haven't thought of him in years.) But it's a blessing we still have Darlene Love to uphold the tradition in this blog. After all, aren't we supposed to be all traditional this time of year?
So what if my tradition is being imperfect at a time we're all "supposed" to be flawless? I'm rebelling, and I hope you'll join me.
Here's to sloppy Christmas decorations, gifts falling short, less than impeccable holiday clothing choices, and anything else that violates all those supposed Christmas standards.
Let's enjoy "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" if only because it celebrates our imperfect but good lives:
My husband Jeff, supervised by Jackson and Tonks, waters the garden
this summer. It's our sixth wedding anniversary today, and this post
explains why I'm so happy.
I can't believe that as of today, it's been exactly six years since Jeff and I got married.
Time flies when you're having fun. At least I am. I'll let Jeff speak for himself.
It's so funny how much Jeff moves me, even when he's not around. One small example: Jeff didn't go to the company picnic with me this year, but an Elvis impersonator performed there.
"Elvis" inevitably performed "Can't Help Falling In Love,"which was a song at our wedding. Frankly, "Elvis" didn't perform it nearly as well as the singer did at our wedding, but whatever. Though I was having fun at the picnic, I had to turn away for minute during the song, because I was getting misty, like I always do when I hear that song nowadays.
On some evenings, driving home from work, I think about getting home, because I know Jeff's there. And I get verklempt just thinking about seeing him again. As if the 10 hours I spent without him around was an eternity. Either I wear my emotions on my sleeve or I'm a dog that looks like a human. You decide.
Sometimes, Jeff watches a television show that I'm not interested in, so I retreat to the office to play on the computer for awhile. Then something funny happens on TV, and his unique laugh booms down the hallway and into the office. (His laugh is the loudest thing he does, besides sneezing.)
Every time he laughs, I smile. And strangely, or maybe not so strangely, it reminds me of how comfortable and safe I always feel around Jeff.
I write a blog post about our marriage every year on our anniversary. I guess it's tradition. Each year, I say that by far the best decision I ever made was marrying Jeff. I think that every day. And with every passing day, the decision to live the rest of my life with Jeff looks better and better.
I'm basically a happy guy, but I never dreamed I could be as happy as I am with Jeff. Just like everyone else, we sometimes have our painful moments, our lousy set of circumstances, bad luck, bad moods.
But the constant is Jeff's steadiness, love, kindness, incredible moral compass, humor and compassion. I still haven't figured out how I got so lucky as to have Jeff in my life. I just know I cherish each day of it.
Denis, my best man at our wedding, is one of the most thoughtful people I know. He once gave me a delightful children's book called "The Gift of Nothing."
In the book, Mooch the cat wants to give his best friend, Earl the dog a birthday gift. In the end, Mooch gave Earl an empty box. Sounds disappointing, doesn't it? But wait....
Earl opened the box and discovered nothing inside. Mooch said yes, there's "nothing but me and you."
I love that line. To me, nothing matters except the love and bond Jeff and I have. "The Gift of Nothing" story ends with the following lines, with images of Mooch and Earl sitting side by side, embracing each other.
"So Mooch and Earl just stayed still and enjoyed nothing and everything."
Even when there's nothing there, it feels like I have everything because he's in my life. And that's all that matters.
I love you, Chief and happy anniversary. Let's have many, many more years together.
Here's an open letter to my husband Jeff to note our fifth wedding anniversary which is today.
Dear Chief:
They say time flies when you're having fun, and as far as I'm concerned our marriage proves it.
I can't believe it's already been five years since we got married. Life goes by fast, especially when I have somebody like you in my life to make it so awesome.
I've learned to savor every day, as I know things will keep whipping by us, even as we settle further into the wonderful routines of marriage.
Big life events blindside us every now and then. We both lost our fathers since we've gotten married. I lost a job, gained another. We've watched each other gradually turn a little older. We deal with our mini-crises that all couples face. The furnace breaks. We need a new roof.
We manage.
We manage because you're always there to keep me propped up. Since Day 1, you've been the one to steady me when I worry too much, or when I wrongly begin to see my glass as half empty.
Because with you, my glass is always full to the brim. And I'm not talking about the glass full of beer I sometimes have in the evening.
What's full is my life. With you. It's unimaginable to think what I would be like right now if you hadn't come into it.
You remember when we first started dating all those years ago I resisted. You persisted. Thank God you did.
This will sound odd, but as I resisted you way back then, thinking I didn't deserve someone as fine as you, lyrics from an old Eagles song kept nagging at me.
"You'd better let somebody love you before it's too late."
So eventually, I popped the question. And on August 26, 2012, we married. Thanks to you, it wasn't too late. It wasn't too late to be in love, to have you, this big hearted, kind, strong, smart, compassionate loving man in my life.
You know I'm grateful every day.
Five years in, we are kind of an old, married couple, aren't we? You've remodeled the house to truly make it a beautiful, comfortable home. I'm coming along nicely with the garden projects outside. You inspire me to spread beauty, so I'm just going to keep planting those flowers until I'm no longer capable of doing so.
The dogs bark, telling us they're hungry, so we feed them. Then we all go out for a dash around the yard. All great moments in life, again because you're there with me.
In the evening, we sit in front of the TV, gnashing our teeth in anger when Rachel Maddow explains the latest Washington scandal, or we marvel at the teenage ventriloquist on "America's Got Talent," or thrill to the athletes on "American Ninja Warrier."
All routine stuff. But really, it's not routine. Because you're sitting there with me. It's all something to embrace and savor. I lose my concentration with what Rachel is talking about - it's not important anyway. because you're there.
So I sit on the couch and stare at you as you sit in your nice big easy chair. And I think about how empty my life would be by comparison if you weren't taking the journey with me.
Yes, this message was mushy and gooey and oh so sticky sweet, but it had to be said. I also understand this message is similar to the one I gave you last year on our anniversary. I feel the same as last year toward you, only even more so.
You've made me a much better man, and nothing compares with the joy of being in love with you.
Happy anniversary, Jeff! I feel so lucky to love you more and more each day.
A Pentatonix cover of "Can't Help Fallin In Love" has me thinking of my late dad, my marriage and how well things have worked out. An essay in this post.
I totally admit I'm a Pentatonix fan boy, having posted a few entries into this blog thingy about them and their a capella music.
Today, Pentatonix made me cry a bit.
Because I'm a sentimental fool.
Pentatonix dropped a new video today. It's their rendition of "Can't Help Falling In Love." You can see and hear the video at the bottom of this post.
Zillions of people have performed this song. Perhaps Elvis Presley is the most famous example.
"Can't Help Falling In Love" was one of our wedding songs when me and Jeff got married. As I like to tell anyone, my wedding was by far the best one I've ever attended. (Duh!) And I'll always remember like it was yesterday that moment when they sang "Can't Help Falling In Love" at our wedding.
So yeah, I've got an attachment to that song, to say the least.
I think it's interesting that Pentatonix released this video today on what would have been my father's 97th birthday.
Dad died a year and a half ago. But here's the thing. Dad always worried about me. Would I do OK? I had some rough times as a kid. Would I slip back into trouble? Would anybody be there for me if I needed someone? Would someone catch me if I fell?
There was a very noticeable change in how my father regarded me after I connected with Jeff, and after he met Jeff.
Dad still loved me as much as ever. But I could tell dad had stopped worrying about me. Because I had Jeff. Jeff would protect me. Jeff and I would protect each other. Everything would be OK. And it is.
When I watch the video of my wedding, there's a great moment before the ceremony started. My dad was already seated, and Jeff's dad came in. You can hear my dad loudly and warmly greeting Jeff's dad by saying, "I saved a seat for you."
Jeff's dad and my dad instantly connected and bonded. They were fast friends.
Jeff's dad is now gone, too. I like to think that my dad and Jeff's dad met up again somewhere in the afterlife, and they're having a great time. And neither of them is worried about us because Jeff and I are doing just fine.
And here I am on a routine day when nothing special is going on, and I'm getting teary-eyed over Pentatonix singing "Can't Help Falling In Love."
It's 5:15 in the afternoon as I write this. I can hear Jeff snoring softly as he takes an afternoon nap. The dogs are curled up with him, just quiet and happy. I'm trying to summon the energy to go out and work in the garden, a garden that both Jeff and I love and are building together.
Everything is OK. I can't help falling in love with Jeff every day.
Dad was right, as always. I'm OK. I guess I'm writing this because I miss my dad on his birthday. But everything is OK. Dad and Jeff made sure of that.
So watch the video below and if there's anybody in your life that you love, and makes everything alright, hug them and tell them everything is OK.
Chief: My husband Jeff and I are celebrating our
fourth wedding anniversary today.
Today is my fourth wedding anniversary. Time flies.
I thought I'd use the occasion to write an open letter to my husband Jeff, who I call Chief. Here goes:
Dear Chief, Hard to believe we've been married four years already. Time flies when I'm happy, I guess. If I had to list all the reasons why I love you'd we'd be here all week. So I'm going to dispense with the list. You know I love you for a gazillion reasons, and we'll leave it at that. In these past four years, we've settled into being a couple old married farts, but I'm sure you'd beg to differ with that description. Actually, I pretty much do, too, since it certainly does nothing to capture the essense of our marriage. The old fart remark is a reference to being comfortable. Happy in our routines. It's just that I'm so comfortable with you around. Even when neither of us is doing anything in particular. Just vegging in front of the TV. Having another dinner. Or when you're downstairs at your drafting table and I'm playing around on my laptop in my office. All "boring" routine things that old farts do. I feel safe. At home. In every sense of the word, whatever we're doing, whenever we're doing it.
Jeff ripping apart part of our deck this summer to retrieve the
wedding ring I dropped between the boards
Repairs were quick, by the way.
Home is a refuge. And I don't mean just a house. Our home is a place where I still get a spasm of delight when I pull into the driveway and your Jeep is there. That means you're home. And I'm happy. I even get a little pang of disappointment when I arrive home from work and I see you're not there. You're still at work, or grocery shopping, and you'll be home soon. But I still miss you and feel a little bit too alone when you're doing something routine like that. Oh, I can handle myself just fine when you're not home. But I feel my heart lift when you're around. The other night I called it "the vapors" You just make my heart race with joy, is all. Another thing that makes me feel secure - at home and comfortable - is you have faith in me even when I don't have faith in myself. I'm impatient. I have ambitious plans for the gardens around our house and the plans are moving too slowly. Meanwhile, you create an enormous, beautiful outdoor deck so we can enjoy our home even more. You created it seemingly in an instant, while I plod along. You constantly remind me my projects are a process, that you delight in seeing the slowly expanding flower beds, the incremental transformations in our yard.
Jeff and his mom. He's as good a son as he is a husband!
You always come to my rescue. Even little instances. Like when I dropped my wedding ring between the boards of the deck, and you ripped up some of the boards to retrieve it. My hero! And I'm not being facetious. You ARE my hero. I might not show it through my frustrations but again and always, your words and support and love make me feel safe in my own chaotic head. I keep bringing up the word "safe." Love, when done right, is a safe place. It's a shield against all the hate and turbulence and weirdness of the world. I think - I hope - we're doing love right. In the evening, when we're watching TV, you sit in your big armchair, and I'm usually on the couch with our crazy dogs Jackson and Tonks. I don't think you notice that sometimes I go quiet and stare at you instead of the TV screen. Yeah, the antics on "America's Got Talent" are fun enough, but the real entertainment for me is you. Not the fact that you're sitting there watching TV. No, the entertainment is the fact that you're there. Home, with me. So I watch you as you giggle at "The Big Bang Theory" or roll your eyes at the politicians Rachel Maddow is picking on. And I feel so lucky, so over the moon in love with the guy in the armchair watching TV. Because the guy in the armchair is the one who never makes me feel lonely, who always makes me feel safe, who has made me so happy to be alive. The one I want to be with forever and ever. I don't want this to ever end. Thanks, Chief, for always being there. And Chief: Happy anniversary. We're celebrating our fourth. Let's go for 40! Love, Matt
Of course I dedicate this song to Chief, too:
My dad, Red Sutkoski, in his tavern, Red's Place, shortly
before he retired in 1991. Red's Place
was a popular gathering spot in West Rutland,
Vermont for the four decades my father owned the place.
Photo by my brother in law, David Jenne.
My dad, Red Sutkoski passed away Saturday afternoon, January 23, 2016 at the age of 95.
He had a damn good run, that's for sure.
He wasn't well known outside of Vermont, but in a time when we can all be overwhelmed by the greed, crassness, ill will and anger out there, the whole world could learn from his grace, giving nature and gentle wit.
Dad was born in 1920 to Polish immigrants in what was then the busy marble quarrying town of West Rutland, Vermont.
Dad, known to everyone from Day One as Red for his red hair, lived a sweep of West Rutland's history:
He saw onstruction of the duplexes built for Vermont Marble Company workers, the Great Flood of 1927, the Great Depression, the labor riots among West Rutland quarry workers in the 1930s.
Red saw Prohibition,during which he good naturedly took note of who got busted for making what dad called "Screech," which was the shockingly abysmal home made booze people discreetly made during that time.
Along with most of West Rutland's young men, Red marched off to World War II. He came back, opened his restaurant and bar, and from that perch saw the town at first thrive with the marble quarries, then go into a near death spiral when the quarries closed and the jobs evaporated.
He watched West Rutland struggle back from those days, and had a hand in its slow rebirth, by encouraging its redevelopment while honoring the community's history.
Red was the unofficial Town Historian, as he was the go to person to ask whenever you wanted to know what happened in town anytime after 1920, the year he was born. His mind was sharp to the end.
He was much more than West Rutland's memory vault, and everybody in town knew it. His warmth, humor, compassion and friendship brought out the best in the town,. The best in its people. His family. Me.
My dad, Red Sutkoski outdoors in his younger days. He loved
being outside, especially if it was working on a project
to benefit those around him.
That restaurant and tavern Red owned for 40 years in the heart of West Rutland had the official name of Marble Valley Restaurant, but everybody just knew it as Red's Place.
Or maybe embrace it. With Red's laughter ringing out over the sound of either a Polish polka or Patsy Cline warbling from the juke box, the smoky Red's Place was the most welcoming and lively place in town.
There's even a song by the excellent Vermont bandStarline Rhythm Boys called Red's Place that is about my dad and his bar. It captures the vibe of the bar, and my dad just perfectly. (Watch the video of the Boys performing that song at the bottom of this blog post.)
Red's Place wasn't fancy, and neither was the clientele. Dad liked it that way. Sure, he embraced and befriended everyone, including the rich and powerful. As long as they didn't abuse people with their power and money, or victimized them with it.
Dad's soft spot, though, was for the underdog, which was why Red's Place was such a good fit for him, and such a good fit for West Rutland.
Red's Place was a second home to quarry workers, Polish immigrants, truck drivers, farmers, and other town residents who just wanted a friendly refuge for the evening.
Many of us Americans are perhaps inadvertently raised to celebrate the rich, the powerful, the flashy, the thrilling. And that's all OK, except when we do so at the expense of everyone else. Or worse, we ignore the underdogs as not important and not worth our time.
Dad knew everyone was important, and he showed it by being welcoming to everybody. As long as they weren't hurting anyone else.
Dad's example in his life and work showed me how to do the opposite of that. He taught me to seek out the people we're "supposed" to ignore and dismiss. The ones that have no power, who live quiet lives, who live humbly, through choice or circumstance.
For all that I'm a much richer, happier, well-rounded person. We should all live by dad's example. The world would be a much better place if we did.
Red Sutkoski as a young man reading the paper with a faithful
companion at his West Rutland, Vermont home. It was
a perfect combination for him. Red loved animals,
and he was always curious about what
was going on in the world around him.
That doesn't mean we should be somber sympathizers to those who aren't at the top of the heap. The only way dad's example worked, how his life worked, was through a sense of humor.
If there's not laughter, according to the Rules of Red, there's not much else to live for.
So Red loved telling stories of other's foibles, in a way that celebrates rather than ridicules our pratfall moments.
As mentioned, West Rutland had many Polish immigrants that came to work in the quarries during the later 19th century and early 20th century. Many people, including dad, regularly spoke Polish.
At Red's Place, you'd often hear people yell out "Nostrovia," the Eastern European equivalent to "Cheers!" when people share a toast.
At one point, a new guy started coming into Red's Place. He was worried about fitting in, and didn't speak much. He listened, trying to understand the vernacular.
This guy kept hearing everyone saying "Nostrovia!" and finally decided to make his move. He bought the man sitting next to him a beer, and chimed in with that golden cheer. The man clinked the bottle with his new buddies at the bar and shouted, "Nice driveway!"
The moment was so funny that dad immediately embraced the Nice Driveway guy as a good friend.
Dad loved telling the "Nice Driveway" story, such that I've taken it upon myself to spread the tale. Everyone knows that when they share a drink or a bottle with me, we'll clink our glasses and tell each other, "Nice driveway."
If that's not a good tribute to Red, I don't know what is.
God knows dad's sense of humor was gloriously goofy. One great example was a day a long time ago when he was walking along Marble Street in West Rutland.
A car with out of state plates pulled up along side him, its driver obviously lost and in need of directions. "How do you get to Tinmouth?," the woman in the passenger seat asked dad.
"My brother takes me,!" dad replied.
Of course, he said he was just kidding, and made sure the couple in the car got on the right road to Tinmouth.
Roads figure pretty prominently in my memory of dad.
When I was about six or seven years old, the state was building a four lane road in back of our house. The Brand New Route 4.
The way the road was built in back of our house, there was a two lane eastbound lane, situated at an elevation several feet above the parallel westbound lanes.
As they were building the road, dad and I would go up and explore the construction site. Often, he'd start singing, of all things, a bit of the Scottish song "The Bonny Banks of Loch Lomond."
The part he'd sing, was "You take the high road and I'll take the low road."
On the surface, his words could be taken as a simple commentary on the highway construction. But there was a deeper meaning. He was instructing me to take the high road in life, just as he did. I guess the best way we can remember Red and his life is to always take that high road. And I'm not talking about eastbound Route 4 here.
Red's M.O. was to take the high road quietly. He had a gorgeous habit of honoring history, and the people that came before him. In a remote corner of West Rutland, the Whipple Hollow Cemetery had become overgrown, broken down and all but forgotten by people in town.
So he took it upon himself to clear the broken trees and branches, rip out the weeds, replant grass and got some help fixing broken grave stones. This kind of stuff dad did is infectious.
As dad was at the Whipple Hollow Cemetery one day, Markowski Excavating was working on a nearby construction project. When they saw what dad was doing, they quickly went up to the cemetery with an excavator to clear rocks, stumps and debris away.
Dad never worried about controversial topics, especially when they involved love. When I came out as gay and introduced him to Jeff Modereger, the man I would marry, dad embraced Jeff like he would his own son.
Dad's biggest goal was that his three children, me, Lynn and Laurie, would be happy and well taken care of. Dad went out knowing that the husbands and partners of us three kids were making us all happy, and would take care of us beautifully once he was gone.
My dad and my father-in-law, Don Modereger, were both about 90 years old when Jeff and I married. Don had a lot in common with Red, especially in terms of their warmth, generosity, compassion and good humor.
Red and Don's only face to face meeting was at my wedding. (Don lived way out in South Dakota, and it was hard for both Red and Don to travel.)
Even so, Red and Don immediately became good friends. I can't help but think the two fathers are sharing a good laugh as I write this.
This month, dad's physical heart finally gave out, worn down by 95 years of work and family and joy and troubles and worry and friendship. But his metaphorical, spiritual and loving heart kept beating strong. It still is.
There's not going to be a wake or a funeral or anything like that, because Red said he didn't want such ceremonies. He never wanted people to make a fuss over him. Red told us that if anybody wanted to mark his passing, they should just do something kind for someone else.
To close out and keep celebrating Dad's life,the video of the Starline Rhythm Boys performing "Red's Place" is coming up.
When you watch it, grab a beer, and another one to share with a friend. Clink the two bottles together, tell each other "Nice driveway," laugh, and then say or do something good for anyone you see around you.
Red will see this, fetch another round for his friends in heaven, and the party will go on here and up there. Just as he wants it.
So dad, all I can say to you now is "Nice driveway."
Much has been made in the past couple of days of the late, great David Bowie's influence on all us "weirdos" out there.
Through all his personas over the decades, the vibe was that if you were an outsider, somebody that was unusual, seemingly from outer space, that was cool. Be yourself.
I guess that's why space and space travel often played such a role in Bowie's music.
Another maybe more important aspect I detected in Bowie's music was a sense of urgency, along with that otherworldliness of the music.
Not only was Bowie telling us we didn't have to fit into neat little boxes set up by society, but it was urgent that we NOT fit into these boxes. We had to stop trying to fit into these artificial boxes. Now if not sooner.
That sense of urgency was mostly noticeable in the musical arrangements in Bowie's music.
A classic example is in my favorite David Bowie song, "Heroes," the title track to his 1977 album.
The video for that song is at the bottom of this post.
He's certainly checked off the otherworldliness part. In the video, he's in mist and shadows, an apparition from another world.
The music in the song to me inspires visions of being in some fast moving rocket ship, stars outside sweeping by as we go to God knows where in the universe. He's taking us on a journey to another world. Maybe a trip that really takes us to ourselves.
Tbe music and lyrics in "Heroes'' pushes us on with an urgency and determination. Against all odds, we can be heroes, just for one day.
Wouldn't it be wonderful, no matter what the situation, if any of us could be heroes just for one day?
It's metaphorical heroism in this song. It invites us to come out of the shadows, from outer space, and present ourselves to the world as we are.
As the emphatic lyrics of "Heroes" says, "We can be us, just for one day."
The music in "Heroes" is also ethereal. It almost puts you into a trance, draws you in to the ability to be yourself. To embrace your oddball mind. Just for one day. And another. Until it's forever.
My gay, ADHD - addled brain is writing this blog post. So yes, I'm "weird" or an "outsider" or something like that.
Bowie helped create a world in which that is all OK. For me, and for more and more people around me.
If you come down to it, we are all weird outsiders from somebody's perspective. Bowie helped give us the courage to recognize our outsider status. He turned our weirdness into something cool
As we remember Bowie, we should all make sure we are truly us, as we are, just for one day.
I wasn't in this mess, but if you caused a winter vehicle crash like this or made it
worse, just know that I and everybody else hates you.
To the person who caused a highway crash today on an icy winter highway:
I hate you. Intensely. Hundreds of other people really really hate you, too. Those hundreds of people who hate you were the ones caught in the traffic jam on the way to work this morning.
Because you are a stupid, selfish jerk who crashed into other cars, because you're stupid and selfish.
It's winter, so the roads tend to get icy. Especially after it snows and the temperature plunges to around zero.
To most people, I"m being Captain Obvious when I say that, but not you. Because you're oblivious. You are too trying to break land speed records, texting gossip to your boyfriend or girlfriend, swerving all over the place until you cause a crash.
My ire, of course, is not directed toward the unfortunate people who were driving cars that you smashed into. It's directed toward you.
I hope nobody got hurt. Except you. I hope you got hurt. Not hurt in a permanently debilitating way. Just hurt so you feel physical pain for the next few days. You deserve it.
Did you cause this crash because you subconsciously enjoy the attention? I know, I know. You didn't hop into your trash of a car or a pickup truck this morning and say, "I'm going to cause a big crash."
However, you have a sad, pathetic life and nobody pays attention to you, so maybe this is the way to get noticed? People will notice you now, when you drive like a maniac and crash into about five cars on the Interstate, right?
You caused the crash because you don't give a damn. You figure it's not your problem that you wrecked somebody else's car. Maybe injured them. Caused a five mile long backup that made lots of people late for work and school. Maybe made them lose some pay. Get chewed out by the boss. Miss an important final exam at the university.
You figure it's not your fault that police, fire and rescue personnel had to go out in this awful weather, perhaps risking their lives, to deal with morons like you who caused this crash.
Because it's never your fault, is it? Yeah, we shouldn't be on the road when you want to drive and text, drive and drink, drive and speed on ice, drive and do donuts on the middle of the Interstate. We should just let you have your fun and get out of the way, right?
Why were the rest of us driving so slowly, you ask. So slowly you were forced to drive with your car's front bumper an inch from the rear bumper of the car in front of you, instead of backing off a bit. You just had to crash into that car when he braked to avoid the snow plow, right.
Doesn't everybody understand they MUST drive dangerously fast, just to accommodate you? Doesn't everybody realize you're the most important person in the world?
You probably figure we are all in the way, that we shouldn't have been there when you spun your car out of control on the ice.
Now that you caused this winter highway crash, deep down you're loving it, aren't you? You're the center of attention. People are paying attention to you. It's negative attention, but hey, it's attention.
For once in your life, nobody is ignoring you. Feels good, doesn't it?
Again, I hope you got injured in the crash, just to take the shine off your moment of glory.
Now you can play the victim. Isn't that wonderful? You can blame the crash on someone else, when you tell all your friends about your adventure. How the other motorists didn't get out of your way. How the state DOT didn't clear the ice off the road.
Because, after all, to your mind, even if its 10 degrees with snow and freezing rain falling heavily, the DOT trucks are supposed to magically make the roads dry with not a speck of ice, right?
The DOT failed, in your mind. So you drove for the conditions you wish the roads were in, instead of the condition they actually were in.
Frustratingly for us, there are really no consequences to you for your driving this way in the winter. Sure, if the cops are in a particularly bad mood, they might write you a ticket. If you're especially unlucky, your insurance rates might go up a bit. You have to get your car repaired or replaced. Oh, boo-hoo.
But you're get off scot-free in terms of fixing the other cars you wrecked. Making up for lost wages for people who weren't working, but stuck in the traffic jam you created on this snowy highway. Are you going to pay us for the time we need to deal with insurance, bring our cars into repairs, get caught up at work?
No. Because you don't give a damn. Life is all but you, isn't it?
Look, all of us make mistakes, and any one of us might absentmindedly cause a crash. But more likely, it's you, habitually texting, drinking, speeding and driving like you need to get to your destination within a millisecond that's causing this problem.
You caused the crash this morning, and you will cause other ones in the future as well, I'm sure.
I wish the cops would jail people who cause these crashes. I wish the courts would somehow make you pay off all the people you hurt or inconvenienced. Revoke your drivers liscence permanently. Maybe put your name and picture on the Internet so you could be publicly shamed.
None of us know you, but as I said, we all hate you. I hope you somehow feel the hate rays.
Need an aspirin for your sore neck, asshole? Sorry, I took the last one for the headache you gave me.
Would it help if I tried to strangle you.? I won't. But many people want to.
To get an idea of how many stupid winter drivers there are out there, get a load of this Wisconsin DOT traffic cam on a snowy highway. Most people are driving carefully enough, but all it takes is maybe 10 percent of the motorists driving like maniacs to create ever worsening chaos:
A tiny minority of shoppers are bullies. They yell and cause ugly scenes. Let's stop tolerating them.
A friend of mine posted on Facebook today a June Huffington Post essay by Matt Walsh on a middle aged woman who absolutely LOST it when she ordered a burger without ketchup, but when she bit into it, she found it had ketchup.
A reasonable person would have come back to the counter, and calmly say "I don't like ketchup, I ordered a burger without ketchup and this one has ketchup. What can you do for me?
I would bet my next paycheck the person behind the counter would take the burger, replace it with one without ketchup and hand it to the customer, and the issue would end right there.
However, there are precious few reasonable people around these days.
We must all cause a scene, apparently. Because an improperly prepared burger is a High Crime Against Humanity and must be met with hysterics.
In this case, the teenager behind the counter did, in fact, offer to give the irate customer a new burger, sans ketchup. Not good enough.
"What's wrong with you people?! I just sat in the drive thru for ten minutes and now I have to come in here because you guys can't understand fucking English! I ordered this burger with NO ketchup but of course I get gobs of ketchup. Unbelievable. This happens every fucking time!," Walsh quotes are ketchup-hating heroine.
As Walsh notes, if this particular establishment mucks up her burger order Every Single Time, why doesn't she go to one of a zillion nearby burger establishments that DON'T muck up burger orders?
Anyway, the woman Walsh writes about is all too common. Do a search on YouTubeand see how many bazillion examples there are of people losing it over a minor mistake in customer service.
As for the offering a new ketchup-free burger? Not good enough.
"No, I don't want a new burger! Give me your name and the number to corporate! I'm sick of this shit! Give me my money back and the number to your corporate office! Why can't I ever fucking get good customer service?!"
Probably because you're always screaming about you can never get fucking good customer service. Who would want to, with your crummy attitude.
Yes, I get it. When I order something and it turns out wrong, I'm vaguely irritated. But almost always, the customer service rep fixes it and everybody's happy. There are some companies that don't give a whit about customer service and basically say "screw you" when an order is messed up and it's their fault.
But they are generally an exception.
Customers who bully should be treated as "seriously" as Marvin the Martian, who always seems to be "very very angry."
My job involves a fair amount of customer service. It's interesting, more often than not, when there's a problem with an order and it's our fault, and not the customer, the customer is pretty amazingly understanding, provided we fix the problem, which we always do
When the order problem is the customer's fault, like when they ignore the warning on the web site that we can't garauntee delivery before Christmas if you order after such and such a date, they scream at us, and no matter what we do, we can't appease them.
I guess this type of person can't handle being wrong, so they lash out.
The customer is always right ethos is wrong. There's a difference between great customer service and assuming the customer is always right no matter how terribly wrong they are.
A minority of people internalize the "customer is always right" idea and try to bully the retailer, the service provider, or whatever, into doing something they can't do.
It's all about them.
If there's a sale, say 20 percent off, and there's a disclaimer that says the lower price can't be combined with another offer, they go ballistic. Like everything has to be handed to them for free.
If every business did that, every business would go out of business, if you can follow that.
Wouldn't you want the nice people to keep coming back and the nasty people go elsewhere? It's better for business, better for morale, better for everybody. Except the nasty person, but who gives a frig about them?
The vast majority of customers are perfectly reasonable. They want a fair price, an honest salesperson, decent qualilty goods, food or services and no bureacracy. Perfectly reasonable.
It is also an absolute joy to work with these pleasant, fair minded customers. Thank goodness almost all of them are like that.
It's perfectly fair to fire employees who can't or won't give great customer service. It's also fair to "fire" customers who demand much more than great customer service, and abuse people to get what they want.
My dad, Henry "Red" Sutkoski, 95, catches up with
friends during a World War II Memorial unveiling
in his home town of West Rutland, Vermont Saturday.
My father, Henry "Red" Sutkoski, now 95, says he remembers when World War II ended, the troop ship carrying him and fellow soldiers returned home and prepared to dock in Boston Harbor.
A tug boat pulled up along side the troop ship dad was on. Suddenly, a band on the tug boat started playing "Sentimental Journey" to welcome the returning soldiers.
To this day, "Sentimental Journey" is just about dad's favorite song.
Fast forward 70 years later and there we were, in West Rutland, Vermont Saturday, where dad has lived most of his life, taking another sentimental journey, this one returning back to World War II.
There was a lot of 'em, considering the town only had about 3,000 residents at the time. About 600 West Rutland residents served in World War II, or about 20 percent of the town's population.
Few World War II veterans survive to this day, of course. My dad was an honored guest at the memorial unveiling, along with a few other surviving West Rutland veterans like Joe Czachor, Leo DiGangi, Charlie Katomski and Stanley Wos.
The story of how West Rutland's new World War II memorial came to be is its own sentimental journey, one graced with an overwhelming need to honor the town's World War II heroes.
On Facebook, people began to wonder what happened to an old memorial that had to be taken down years ago because it had deteriorated.
A nice crowd gathers in front of the West Rutland, Vermont
Town Hall Saturday for the unveiling of a
World War II memorial.
The town's historical society had a World War II discussion one night and somebody came up with the idea for a new memorial. The idea took hold, big time.
Lots of research, lots of community fundraising and lots of planning over several years led to this new World War II memorial that was unveiled Saturday.
The memorial, listing all 609 men and women from West Rutland who served in the war, is in a place of honor at the most prominent place in West Rutland, right in front of the community's handsome Town Hall.
On Saturday, the guest speaker was retired Senior Master Air Force Sergeant Rick Aldridge. He's too young to have served in World War II, but the West Rutland native who served a long, proud career in the military announced at the beginning of his talk that he would take the audience on a sentimental journey back to those war years.
I don't know if Aldridge's announcement that his talk would be a sentimental journey was a nod to my dad or not, but Aldridge told the story of the quarry workers, farmers, merchants and others from West Rutland who answered the call of duty to fight in the war, because that's just what had to be done.
Aldridge described how everyone else left behind in West Rutland during the war coped with strict rationing, the worry over what the Axis dictators would do if they were not defeated, and fear for the fate of their loved ones literally battling to save democracy.
After the war, the returning West Rutland veterans picked up their lives. Some stayed put in the quarrying community, others set off to start educations, careers, families elsewhere in the nation.
Aldridge remarked how the people of the World War II era are always referred to as the "Greatest Generation."
He's right, of course. If I had to judge a "Greatest Generation" by the way my father has lived his life, he truly lived the life of someone who deserves that title.
Through the decades, through his successes, his mistakes, his fortitude, cheerful stubborness and especially his sense of humor, dad has always been a model of how to live a life with dignity and grace.
So many people from the "Greatest Generation" are like dad, too. In this era of screaming, bickering TV pundits, a "gimme gimme" culture, opportunistic politicians, corrupt business people, routine dishonesty and other ills of today's society, we'd all do well to take careful notes on how the "Greatest Generation" lived their lives during and after the war.
My generation, the ones after that, and the ones who aren't even born yet should just take a sentimental journey and look back at what the World War II generation did.
They say the Greatest Generation made America great. That's true. They also say America isn't as great as it once was. Maybe that's true, too.
All the more reason why we should really embrace the ethos of the World War II veterans. Like the ones gathered in West Rutland on Saturday. Like my dad.
The World War II memorial unveiling in West Rutland Saturday sent me on my own sentimental journey, reflecting on the lessons my dad taught me. The example if his life, teaches me, teaches everyone, how to live honorable.
I don't measure up to my dad's level, of course, but at least he's a guide that puts me on the right path and keeps me from veering off course into too much laziness, meanness, or selfishness.
Maybe if we all follow the steadiness and honor of World War II veterans, this country might yet have another "Greatest Generation"
That would be the ultimate way to thank all the World War II heroes, like my dad.
Also, dad? Here's that song you like. Thank you. For everything.
Put the word "only" between any two words in this sentence: "She told him that she loved him."
No matter where you put the word "only," the meaning of the sentence totally changes. And you wonder why people trying to learn English mangle their meaning so badly when they attempt to speak it?
This kind of situation recalls my other rants about English. Why can we have sunny days but not moony nights? Why aren't butterflies called flutter by? After all, that's what they do.
We can become overwhelmed or underwhelmed, but nobody is ever just whelmed.
It can get warmer and colder, but not damper or humider. We have the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh day of the month, for example, but not the twoth or threeth. Why?
I liked my father's attitude. When he ran a tavern years ago, he put up an intentionally incorrect sign that warned patrons about the dress code: "No bear feat" said the sign.
All this is why I don't understandrabid members of the grammar police. Yes, you should make an effort to use the English language and to write properly to be understood, but accidentally using "their" instead of "they're" in a hastily written email is not cause for the death penalty.
Oh, sure, I ridicule some of the bigger offenders, too, but I ignore small "word crimes." You still have to laugh at angry protestors who called President Obama a "Half Breed Muslin" or another placard that read "Remember: Descent is the highest form of patriotic." (sic)
Who knew the President was a fabric and you have to go down hill to be patriotic, not to mention grammatically incorrect?
I also liked the sign, "Repeel Congress." Yeah, it would be fun to peel that group.
Here's my answer to the word police. I'm going to lighten the mood by giving you Weird Al Yankovic's "Blurred Lines" parody, "Word Crimes"
My husband, Jeff Modereger, on the set of
"The Mountaintop" at Vermont Stage Company.
My parents' decrepit, scary, awful, 40 year old living room carpet became part of an awesome piece of art.
My husband, Jeff Modereger, is a set and scene designer for plays, and he's the scenic designer for the Vermont Stage Company's production of "The Mountaintop"
If you're anywhere near Burlington, Vermont between now and May 10, when "The Mountaintop" closes, you MUST go see it.
It's the best play I've seen Vermont Stage Company produce, and that's saying something. They've done some awesome work over the years.
More on this in a moment.
The wall to wall carpet in my parents' home had become a risk to them. It was frayed, and split. Tripping hazards for my mother, who is in her 80s, and my father, who turns 95 on Friday (!!)
We were visiting my parents, and Jeff looked down at the carpet and said, "This is perfect."
Um, what?
"The Mountaintop" takes place in the Lorraine Motel in Memphis. In the play, Martin Luther KingJr.has just checked in. It's the night before he is to be assassinated.
The play is exclusively about the imagined interaction between MLK Jr. and a chambermaid who comes in to deliver the coffee and newspaper he'd ordered. I won't describe what happens in "The Mountaintop" beyond this, because I don't want to be a spoiler.
African Americans in the late 1960s didn't get to stay in nice hotels, and the Lorraine Motel was pretty threadbare.
My parents' carpet was certainly threadbare, and was the just right color for late 1960s cheap furnishings, the kind in the Lorraine Motel. Jeff had struggled to find a carpet for the set, and my parents' mess of a carpet was exactly perfect for "The Mountaintop."
So we struck a deal. Jeff bought the carpet from my parents, and Jeff, me, and my two sisters and their partners chipped in additional funds to buy them a new, safe carpet. Everybody wins!
Except for people with allergies. Though my mother faithfully vacuumed the carpet over the years, the carpet has 40 years worth of cat and dog dander, plus whatever the cat literally dragged in.
People on the crew for "The Mountaintop" with allergies have not been happy. Because of this issue, and the fact that a feather pillow bursts open during one scene in the play, there's a sign on door to Vermont Stage Company alerting people with allergies.
Still, I love how my parents managed to contribute in a strange but effective way to the Vermont arts scene.
Even if you do have allergies, go see"The Mountaintop" at Vermont Stage in downtown Burlington.
Theplaywright is Katori Hall,who certainly has a way with language. From a literary standpoint, it is one of the most well written plays I've seen, full of provocative, beautifully constructed dialogue that never gets flowery, but does get intense.
Cristina Alicea, the artistic director at Vermont Stage Company, directs the play, and paces it just perfectly so that the plot moves briskly, but not so fast that you can't catch the powerful dialogue and the expressiveness of Jolie Garrett, who plays Martin Luther King Jr and Myxolydia Tyler,who plays Camae, the chambermaid who comes into MLK's room.
Interesting fact: Garrett was born on the day MLK Jr. was laid to rest.
Tyler is especially awesome. Many of her best moments are not when she's speaking, but when she's reacting to what Martin Luther King Jr is saying. This is especially true as "The Mountaintop" builds toward its riveting climax.
Yeah, I'm gushing about "The Mountaintop." Deal with it. Better yet, go see it for yourself. As I noted above, this production is the Vermont Stage Company at its finest.
