Recent Splats according to Miz Yank

Greet 2018 with optimism, and maybe also some hand sanitizer

Many people like to celebrate New Year’s Day with traditions, like eating black-eyed peas or taking a flying leap into frigid water. I kicked off 2018 with a time-honored tradition of my own: a travel delay, courtesy of United Airlines.

When I arrived at Charleston International Airport at 9 a.m. on January 1, ninety minutes early like you’re supposed to, I learned from the departures board that my flight was delayed an hour. Most airlines would have texted or emailed this news immediately, but not United because, really, who wants to find out while they’re still at the hotel that they could steal an extra hour on New Year’s Day? It’s not like most of us were sleep-deprived after staying up late the night before or anything. And who wouldn’t prefer to spend extra time in the airport rather than in Charleston itself? Forget Rainbow Row, the Battery, and Fort Sumter: give me Gate 2B.

As the delay continued, United communicated with passengers only through the departures board, which, as reliability goes, more closely resembled a ouija board. Ultimately we left three hours late, and I found myself repeating a familiar refrain when it comes to my travels with United: at least we left.

After landing at Dulles, I headed to the above-ground garage at my office, where I had parked my car four days earlier. Because the temperature, like Trump’s approval ratings, was plummeting with no bottom in sight, my car quite reasonably decided it didn’t feel like moving under these conditions. I called roadside assistance. An hour later, they arrived, revived my car, and sent me on my way. I got home at 6:30 p.m., six hours behind schedule.

My Italian ancestors –people who believed eating pork on New Year’s Day would bring you good luck –might have seen these mishaps as an inauspicious start to 2018, but I didn’t. (Though I did eat bacon at breakfast, because you shouldn’t leave some things to chance.) Overall, I felt quite lucky: while at the airport, I knocked out a tedious work project I’d been dreading. Roadside assistance came pretty fast, especially on a holiday, and I waited for them in the warmth of my office, with snacks on hand in the kitchen. And though the delays caused me to miss the traditional New Year’s Day dinner with Mom and Dad, I still got home faster than it would have taken me to drive the whole trip. In sum, a few things went wrong, but they went wrong in all the right ways, so I’ll call that a win.

Some of you might read the preceding sentence as proof that, if 2017 taught us anything, it taught us to lower our standards. You could be right, but that’s not what I took away from last year. Yes, I despaired with everyone else at our country’s polarization, at the surfacing of murderous racism in Charlottesville, at natural disaster in Puerto Rico and Houston, and at the potential for manmade disaster because the U.S. head of state is an impulse-fueled narcissist who really puts the “twit” in Twitter. But 2017 also reinforced a belief I have long held: the best way to counter what feels like large-scale negativity is through small-scale action and small-scale optimism.

I went into last year conscious of all that I had to look forward to on a daily, weekly and monthly basis. Those sources of happy anticipation really delivered, and a few unexpected ones popped up, too.

I made three trips to New York: one in January with my dear friend LC, her mom and my mom, ostensibly to see the Roundabout Theater Company do “Holiday Inn,” but it also gave us a chance to check out One World Trade Center and have afternoon tea with champagne at the Plaza Hotel; a second in October with Mom and my brother to see Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden, something I’ve wanted to do for years; and the third in November with my sisters and parents, to see “Hamilton” and put a happy exclamation point on our celebration of Suzi’s 50th birthday.

I participated in the Women’s March in DC on January 21 with Mom, LC and my good friend Tricia. One of 2017’s most memorable phrases describes the march’s impact best: still, it persists.

In May I flew to Atlanta for my nephew’s fifth birthday and, with my brother’s help, surprised the birthday boy by popping out of an Amazon box. His younger brother will be in therapy for life as a result, but we all agree it was worth it.

My eldest nephew, J.J., graduated high school in June, which gave me an excuse to impart some words, or at least a word, of wisdom and to take him to Greece for two weeks, because that’s the kind of selfless aunt I am. We spent a week of our trip on Crete, where I became friends with someone who reignited my love for writing actual letters.

That trip was not all fun and games, mind you: it fell to me to teach the kid that you brush your teeth before you go to breakfast in public. Naturally, when December rolled around, J.J. got my name in the annual Yank Christmas gag gift exchange and got me a backup set of toothbrushes and toothpaste. Which I will absolutely pack when I take my nephew Casey on his graduation trip this year. (Destination: Iceland!)

Over the summer I started getting together with my friends Bud, who plays the guitar, and Vlada, who plays the violin, to collaborate on old jazz standards and some pop tunes. As much as I enjoy playing piano solo, nothing beats the joy of making music with friends, so I hope we get to do a whole lot more of it in 2018.

Our family celebrated my dad’s 75th birthday in August and gave Dad tickets to the Nats’ first playoff game, which I went to with him in September. We should’ve spent a little more and bought a victory, but Dad and I had a blast anyway.

And speaking of having a blast, in September, I took a trip with my boot camp pal Diane to see our friends and former boot-campers, Ted and Martha, who had moved to Durango, Colorado, a few months earlier. (Some people will do anything to get out of burpees.) Even if the altitude hadn’t left me breathless during our hikes, which it did, the gorgeous aspens and stunning vistas would have. I can’t wait to go back.

In November, electoral sanity returned to Virginia. (A bit of electoral insanity showed up in the Commonwealth this week when a tie in a House of Delegates race was settled by drawing names from a hat, but we won’t dwell on that.) And by way of teasers, something else really good happened in November that I might talk about on the podcast at some point.

In December, I got my parents’ console stereo fixed —one of my prize possessions –just in time for the voice of Johnny Mathis to make a Christmas cameo.

In sum, I experienced my fair share of joy in 2017, and I owe all of it to my friends and family. Those same people send me into 2018 with a healthy dose of optimism. And a flu shot, and Vitamin C, and copious hand sanitizer, because those things never hurt.

I hope 2018 brings you more than your fair share of joy. And may anything that goes wrong for you this year go wrong in all the right ways.

23172487_10214438365574708_6462994107705162247_n22228382_10155036372549677_6985605253094398056_n (1)

21768862_10155007963494677_236643072727439919_o

 

Our nation’s capital: gone to pot

Having grown up in the DC area, where national politics is the local news, I’d had my fill of all things political by the time I hit puberty. (Perhaps I recognized even then that politics and maturity tend to be mutually exclusive.)

I’m an a la carte voter who has views on issues but almost never airs them anywhere but on a ballot. I don’t really want to hear anybody else talk about that stuff, either, because it’s as personal, subjective, and proof-defying as religion.  I have my opinions, you have yours, and I’m never going to come around to your wrong-headed way of thinking so why even start the discussion? I especially dislike it when my pals get into ” friendly debates” about politics. Whether it’s the form of the discussion or the content, I almost always walk away having learned something I’d rather not have known about either or both people.

Given my hatred of politics, and the fact that my book came out yesterday (and, thanks to you all, it is currently  Amazon’s #3 “hot new” release in the fiercely competitive Chicks With Plungers genre), only an issue of critical importance could motivate me to write about the results of yesterday’s elections. That issue is: pot.

To be clear, pot is not of critical, or even minor, importance to me. It’s not my thing, never has been, and probably never will be. But the voters of the Capitol clearly felt differently.

Yesterday, Washington DC voters weighed in on an initiative to legalize pot. (It was voter-proposed, dealing a cruel blow to all those stereotypes about unmotivated stoners. At the very least they’ll put down the bong to take up the cause.) According to an article I read in the Washington Post, Initiative 71 passed effortlessly by a margin of 2-1 and caused a spike in Doritos sales at the polls.

Decisive though that margin was, the initiative might not become law because our nation’s capital isn’t allowed to fully govern itself. It can’t enact a law like Initiative 71 without Congressional approval.

Well, Congress, the people of DC have spoken, and they are very clearly saying, “You’ve been smoking it for years up there. Isn’t it about time you shared?!”

 

Pot might be controversial, but you know what’s not? My book. It’s legal in all 50 states. Puerto Rico, too!