warrenspringer.com

It’s cold here in northern Alabama and winter is settling in. Not bad in light of growing up south of Buffalo where we laughed at snowstorms and winds and freezing temperatures.

But life can be cold here too. I have my new L.L. Bean slippers, a new bathrobe arriving tomorrow (thanks for the Internet} and the goose down quilt is on the bed and I’m happy it’s there.

Now I just miss having a fireplace. I know they are old fashioned, inefficient and smelly and dirty. But there few pleasures these days that stimulate your eyes, your nose and your taste buds like a nice cheery fire. Sort of like a dog rolling in the yard. Well, maybe smoking a cigar but that’s so frowned upon theses days. I’ve been cigar-free for more than a year and wake up wanting one every day, though it’s smelly and dirty and bad for my heart. Thank God for whiskey.

But back to the topic. I looking forward to the next few weeks of quick shuffles along the sidewalk, looking at all the nooks and crannies usually hidden by foliage, tramping on some late lost leaves and staring into the eyes of garden gnomes and following their concrete dreams.

And every day the evening lingers a few more seconds, giving us hope for the coming season.

But now, it’s hat time and scarf time, and time a ppreciate those really brisk, sunshiny days with brilliant blue skies  …and the visit to the the mall and a chance to thaw.

It’s a cold rush and it pays dividends.

I’m not doing any resolutions this year. I know what needs to bedone and i’m going to just do it.

Promises to myself and others seldom seem to fulfill themselves. So this is simply an action year. And a year for enjoyment of the best things in life.

I’m going to appreciate my elderly mom, because I know I’m lucky to have here here. But, realistically, that’s not always a joy. And the changes are coming faster every day. It’s not going to be a fun year. But we’ll enjoy what we can.

I’m going to do a little more fishing, since it’s one of the few activities one ndulges in that doesn’t mean you have to have something to show for your efforts. Catch fish, don’t catch fish, whatever. It’s the most zen of activities. As Buckaroo Banzai used to say: “Wherever you are, that’s where you are.”

And I’m going to listen to more music both from here in Alabama (Doc Daily and the Magnolia Devils) and around the world. British pop, Irish folk music, French madrigals, a couple operas. Life can be good.

Watching members of my family grow and change. Waiting for cheese from one niece’s new hobby. Using the fine soap from the other niece’s efforts. And doing a little drawing of my ow to pass on some memories.

It’ll be a fine year. Your’s will be too.

Being the prodigal sons who has finally found his way back home, this past Thanksgiving was a very special time. My brother and his family have a tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas at Thanksgiving so the kids and grandkids and great=grandkids can visit other relatives or take vacation at Christmas.

This year both of my nieces showed up with husbands and kids and dogs in tow … and carrying fishing rods on the roof. Yes, most of us troop down to the Tennessee River here in Northern Alabama and try to out fish each other. This is just worm and hook fishing off the bank and it’s pretty nice. We get to gather together, tell a few jokes, get caught up with each other and maybe, not often, catch some fish.

This year we caught panfish and had a fishfry on the day after Thanksgiving, with everyone holding up fried fish and pointing to their biggest trophies. Some fish were claimed by several people. Others,  the small ones, were attributed to my brother who always catches small fish.  It’s a bonding time and one I’ve too often missed. Never again.

And having 10 people around the table from age 14 to 87 also is a special treat these days. My 86-year-old mom just couldn’t enjoy herself enough. It’s a difficult lonely life with too many complaints, too many pills, too much TV and never enough family around.

Her happiest time was passing down an heirloom watch from her family to her granddaughter who recently received her Ph.D. A moment not to be missed and a lesson of sorts to her teenaged great-grandsons who aren’t yet on the academic track. They are on the track of four-wheelers, football, deer and , I assume, girls. I think I remember those days. Spending time with their grandfather and playing with Diesel the pit bull is more appealing to them now. But the memories will remain.

Life is good.

Back in my youth, and that was some time ago, I interned on Capitol Hill for  a congressman. An honest, straight-forward man with principles.

His name was Andy Jacobs and he was from Indiana. He was honest, didn’t like abuse of government and was not happy with government spending. In fact, his dog was named C5-A after the now eclipsed bloated spnding of development and spending on the C5-A cargo plane. His Great Dane puppy grew as fast and large as the plane’s budget.

He was a gentle man and a gentleman. He was a bit cranky and did’t always side with the Democratic leadership. But he exemplified a citizen legislator. He was a former policeman and a lawyer and my friend.

I was just a rube from Upstate New York, but I found a family in that office and a dedication to the country and government, with a cautious eye out for the winds and needs of re-election.

I think that he, along with his irascible father, are shaking their heads somewhere and wondering what happed to our legislators. Or maybe he knew this was going to happen.  Maybe more legislators should choose to move along.

And I think it’s time for more responsible and level-headed legislators to band together and make the hard decisions. I know there are some left. Maybe we could get their moms to grab ‘em by the ears and tell them to do the right thing.

Warren in Florence, AL.

I have to say I’ve always been a little leery of coaches and showers and most athletic endeavors. So brutal and so sweaty. And I didn’t like horseplay with my peers and certainly wouldn’t put up with it from a 50-year-old guy.

So the Penn State sex scandal, if it turns out to be such, just hurts us all. And I have no sympathy for Joe Paterno and the other folks at the school.