Combat the cold by thinking Goony

Indian Mounds Park this morning.

 

  THERE IS SOMETHING lucid and searing about a cold and pristine winter morning. We just got back from an Indian Mounds Park walk - the dogs love careening through the snow and it's not bad if you keep moving.

But ... the snow and the cold can get you down. Do what I do if you want to combat the winter blues - think about a Lake Michigan beach and Goony Races!

 

Roland Hart, my cousin, sent the above photo from about 10 years ago. I think Sheryl may have taken it. Roland’s father, the late Peter Hart, is my uncle. Peter and Helen Hart lived on a wooded dune above Lake Michigan, and we spent countless sun-drenched days on his beach between Saugatuck and Holland.

You can see Peter's grandchildren and others lined up, ready do the Goony Race. I invented it, more than 20 years ago. Peter is just to the right, egging us all on. We all lined up and charged as fast as we could into the waves of Lake Michigan, acting as silly and "goony" as possible. At the end, the silliest person won. It was always me.

Uncle Peter could be a serious man who tackled serious issues, like world peace and conflict resolution. But he also delighted in the absurd and he took great joy in ... joy. So the Goony Race was right up his alley.

I'm feeling the warmth of the sun from this golden day a decade ago. It's probably on a Labor Day weekend. It looks to be early afternoon. The grandkids had been begging for a Goony Race for a while. When you are on the beach and listening to the waves and having good family conversation, you took your time before unleashing Goony.

Of course, the cold beverages ("rivers of beer" as Peter called them) didn't hurt either. And by late August or early September, Lake Michigan was warm enough to swim in and cool enough to take the sting out of the summer sun.

You can see Peter laughing as we all head to the water. He didn't go in, of course. It was his way of pranking us. But I also think we wanted to see all the silliness and sheer childish joy unfolding in front of him. Who can blame him?

I'm already feeling warmer while starting out the window at the winter landscape.

The snow will melt and the air will get warmer and soon I'll be making plans to go to that beach to help spread Peter's ashes. Maybe I'll be a little Goony when I do it.

Think warmer Goony thoughts and we will get through these cold winter days. In other words ... Just. Keep. Going.

Death, finality and Christmas

Uncle Peter’s Lake Michigan Beach.

I CORNER NO market for misery. We all go through ups and downs. We all deal with death, finality.

It's a hammer blow and it leaves you reeling, especially at Christmas.

My uncle, Peter Hart, passed away Dec. 26. I will miss him and it seems surreal that he's gone. Peter died on his own terms after a long fight with cancer, with his family near, at home, in his sleep. My cousin Roland said they've been dealing with grief for a while, knowing he was terminally ill.

But death itself brings a new finality, and that's where the world gets ... murky.

I am still angry about my friend Jeff Vankanegan, who died Nov. 23. He and his wife and family and close friends went through hell in his final months because he had a rare neurological disease. I was praying hard as death closed in that he go to a better place. He did.

And now he's gone, and it's final. It's like trying to see in the dark, or swim through lava.

My brother Steve and I had a great talk with Peter on Sunday. He wanted us to know how important family was to him. After talking to him, I went into a strange daze.

In Holland, Michigan, Christmas Eve found Peter's family surrounding his bedside, knowing he'd be leaving soon. In Quincy I brought lunch to the Blessing lab for a friend, part of Peter's message to "be a light." Then I found myself in church that night strumming away and completely out of it. I think it went OK. 

Now Peter is gone, and his wife and children grieve and move on. It's hard to describe, this huge void, but we've all been there and we all have different coping mechanisms.

I'm at a loss for words. So I'm going to let a few other people explain it.

First, this comes from 11-year-old Henry Shelley, the son of my cousin Maaike, who lives in Ontario.

"Christmas is like a magnifying glass for your life. - if things are going great, the holidays are so much fun and exciting; if you're struggling with something, the holidays can make things extra hard. Everything is magnified."

Maaike and Brian are raising amazing humans.

This is from cousin Natalie Hart, daughter of Peter.

"I feel like I understand how people came up with the idea of Purgatory. Not for theological reasons, but because of how in-between things feel for us when someone we love dies. Life has changed, but it also doesn't feel like it will when the reality of loss settled in. Yesterday I kept looking for a checklist for what to do after a loved one dies and none of them seemed right. But then I realized I was just in-between."

And finally, from my aunt Willa Hart, sister of Peter, in reply to Natalie's comment.

"I understand you. You feel like you should be able to move on faster than you are. After all you had plenty of time to get used to the idea he (Peter) was going to die soon. But then it actually happens and it seems so surreal. Death is a mystery and so  hard to accept even when it's expected. The more you loved someone the harder it is. Give yourself lots and lots of time. Death stings for a long time and then very slowly your grief begins to shift. Always loved and never forgotten."

Geesh. Just give Aunt Willa a doctorate in Understand Life right now.

I am playing three shows in the next five days, so that's how I'm going to deal with it. I'm raising a glass at each one to Jeff, Peter, and all those who have departed. I'm just going to ... keep going.

That's it! 2025 - Just Keep Going.

Peace.

Less Beach? No problem ...

THE PEPPER SPRAY express just got back from the annual whirlwind Lake Michigan vacation.

Ahhhhhhhh.

For the third straight year, Frank Haxel, Adam Yates and myself jumped on pilot Tim Smith's single-engine plane and flew to Holland, Michigan, where my aunt and uncle live. We left an hour or so earlier than planned Saturday morning to beat a massive storm system, and we had perfect weather on the beach.

I gave I-84/90 a big middle finger as we zipped over the highway near Michigan City. For as many agonizing and harrowing hours as that road has given me, I thought it was deserved. It took us two hours to fly to Holland. Two hours .... driving, we'd be just leaving Springfield.

On the beach, there is no such thing as time. Great conversation, great weather, great company, great jam session on the deck Saturday night with cousins Roland and Michael. The beach itself changes every year, and there's a lot less of it right now - but still more than enough.

Sunset from the deck near Holland, Michigan.

Of particular interest were the discussions between my Uncle Peter, who is into conflict resolution, and Sgt. Adam Yates of the Quincy Police Department.

Tim and Frank slept on chairs right by the water. Tim woke Frank up at 2 a.m. so they could see the space station streak across the sky. Adam and I collapsed in a tent gracious provided by cousins Roland and Amy Hart. There is something to be said about falling asleep to the waves just feet away.

On the way back, Tim dodged more thunderstorms and the view in the clouds was amazing.

As we left, Peter said, "We'll do it again next year."

We already can't wait!