2020 Annual Year-End Card

Right-click to download printable, full-size version of card.

Folding the printed version once in each direction should create a traditional card.

 

2020 Annual Letter

Looking for Thanks in 2020

 

It’s quite a year when small victories include remembering how to tie one’s shoes and pump gas—here’s a summary of ours. In a year when it’s sometimes tough to laugh, may you and yours find some small chuckle and, perhaps, a bit of inspiration.

 

Given the current situation, I don’t understand how the PlayStation 5 is outselling autoclaves for end-of-year gifts. There is also bittersweet solace in seeing the value of my various tontines rise.

 

With confused pride, I can attest that Chris, I, and our fellow apartment dwellers create trash and recycling that is so valuable that it’s now under 24-hour quarantine. The minor inconvenience of taking out the trash has morphed into a high-security, multi-step operation designed to stymie the legion of low-level safecrackers waiting to pick through our expired consumables. Our Herculean measures are counterbalanced by the overall diminuendo of the sometimes-noisy life of the back alley.

 

Needing supplies at the local supermarket, I was up and out early one morning to take advantage of the seniors only hour. Perhaps my pace was a little too brisk as I strode to the entrance. The security guard sternly informed me that the store was currently only open for folks over 62. His startled gasp—after I doffed my baseball cap—muffled his immediate offer of an electric stroller. That first shopping experience was reminiscent of a scene in Marathon Man. I kept muttering, “Is it safe?” at each new aisle as I encountered yet another geriatric shopper who looked remarkably like the dentist Zell. At that hour, everyone looked like a white-haired angel, including me.

 

Is it too late to develop the next innovative market disrupter app to garner millions in a tech buy out? Ever the dutiful spouse, I was happy to brave the elements (and virus, mustn’t forget the virus) and pick up a full-course meal from a favourite, local restaurant. The dispiriting surprise came as my wife’s thanks included the undisclosed tidbit that she was ferry-bound to share the feast with friends across the water. My repast was whatever leftovers were in the fridge. Inspired by the re-heated soup over rice, a new business opportunity emerged, Grub Hubby. Currently in a beta of one, Grub Hubby is a game-changer of an app for husbands to pick up delicious meals for their spouses, who then go off to enjoy a fine nosh with others.

 

With an abundance of unexpected spare time, I implemented the long-term aspiration of a banjo-full retirement. Acquired as a teenager, I’ve hauled my now-antique instrument around for decades in the hope that it would one day ring out yet again. After several weeks of blistered fingertips and bruised brain cells, my goal shifted from learning to play the banjo to figuring out how to tune the darn thing. Jamie, my banjo mentor, politely let it be known that such yearnings reveal a naïveté about the concept of banjo which most folk learn to outgrow.

 

What transpired next was both helpful and humbling. With long-distance tutelage, I dutifully replaced decades-old strings while incorporating a micrometer for the incremental adjustments in bridge placement. When Jamie told me that his wife (also a fine musician) does not welcome bluegrass music in their home, I dispiritedly—but truthfully—had to respond, “No problem. The way I play, neither of you will recognize what I do as bluegrass or music.” Chris’ new hobby seems to be taking long walks when I practice.

 

It’s often said that results are 90% perspiration, 5% inspiration, and I’m too tired to think about the other 3%. Have continued with the half-hour per day of pedaling—while watching educational videos—to the rowing regime. The only downside is the constant muscle stiffness accompanied by a self-generated soundtrack of groans and sighs whenever I stand up. One evening, I discovered Chris working on a grant proposal. That was no surprise, as she had mentioned the idea of starting a new business or career after retiring from the Vancouver School Board. The confusion came when I learned her proposal was to provide care and housing for the elderly. Asked to list her qualifications and experience tending to the aged and infirmed, she had too-readily written down, “Ministering to my husband.”

 

Along with all of the other monumental changes, 2020 was the year in which I finally sold the house in Point Roberts. The dwelling has served me well, first as a home, then for many years a combination hostel, PO Box, shipping depot, and storage locker before morphing into a rental property. The expiration date has come, though, and it made sense to pass the property along to another. For several years, my neighbour Doug had expressed interest in expanding his spread, and an agreement was quickly reached. One day, while waiting for the paperwork to finalize, Doug excitedly explained his plans to expand his fence to unite the two lots into one mega-compound. Not only would this let his puppies run free, but it would also provide enough space to raise poultry. On the drive back to Vancouver, it struck me that for years he had thought of me as living in a three-bedroom, two-bath chicken coop. All of that is a long way to say that I no longer have a US address. The Vancouver address is likely to change next year, so the best way to reach us is through e-mail, telephone, or the not-as-reliable-but-usually-faster rumour mill. For an emergency, just light the beacons of Gondor.

 

When we hung new calendars last January, who would ever have imagined how this year would unfold? 2020 has brought pain and grief to cherished friends, amplified by the suffering, hate and discord we have witnessed south of the border. And still—we’re with Bob Marley—if the pandemic teaches us anything, let it be that we are capable of “lighting up the darkness” by working together against racism, hate, poverty and injustice. May we face 2021 with courage and determination to do just that.

 

love, Chris and Todd

 

 

Bonus Track

 

The Muppet Movie opens with Kermit the Frog singing Rainbow Connection while accompanying himself on the banjo. This lovely tune foreshadows his amphibious, cinematic journey. In a similar spirit, I re-wrote some of the lyrics to reflect my personal quest regarding this instrument. The muted, offkey sounds only make it seem like I've grown webbed fingers. It's just me practicing, though.

 

Banjo Connection (sung to the tune of Rainbow Connection)

 

Why are there so many songs that use banjos? 
And why is mine so hard to tune? 
Banjos are pretty, but mine brings out pity. 
These five strings will lead to my ruin. 
So I keep on strumming, and practice drop-thumbing. 
Just give it some time, wait and see. 
Someday I’ll fit in, with musicians I’ll sit in 
The pickers, the frailers, and me. 

Who said that all tunes could be heard and mastered 
When played with a forward roll? 
Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it 
Blisters, my fingers have taken their toll. 
The clock keeps on ticking while I learn down-picking. 
When will these licks ever sound smooth? 
Someday I’ll play along, with minstrels I’ll join in song 
The pickers, the frailers, and me.

 

copyright 2020 by Todd Strong