Word Back: Trump reached his goal: Make America Grate Again

Make America GREAT Again

Great as in...The Greatest Generation.

As he wrote his famous book on his Montana ranch, Tom Brokaw gave a lot of thought to the GREAT-est Generation. He gets credit for popularizing the term although its first documented use is by U.S. Army General James Van Fleet ("our greatest General" Pres. Truman called him) during the Korean War. Brokaw might cover it in the book but, well, you see, I never read it. As offspring of that generation, I already knew how great they were. 

It took some time to realize it. 

My parents, two Denver natives, born 1923 and 1925, who found themselves growing up in The Great Wall Street Collapse of 1929, the Great Depression, The Great War Part Deux, and America's post-war boom which, as far as I know, does not have "great" attached to it. Great Caesar's Ghost! That was a term The Daily Planet Editor Perry White in "The Adventures of Superman" made famous, first in 1946 on the radio show and then on TV in the 1950s. We Boomer kids loved Perry White's apoplectic outbursts. We loved cub reporter Jimmy Olsen getting blasted by White: "And don't call me chief!" And his outbursts at Clark Kent, "mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan daily." "Great Caesar's Ghost, Kent!" Kent just took the abuse as underneath all the mild manners and big eye glasses was a super man from another planet who "could leap tall buildings in a single bound" and round up passels of bad guys before breakfast. 

We loved Superman. Our parents were not so sure about this hero worship. But our first heroes were our World War II fathers. We sort of knew their good deeds. We played with his medals and shoulder patches and uniforms. He had a helmet and machine guns, booty from the war. We played war, having no idea what it was preparing us for. But our parents' generation accomplished great things and we knew it.

Vietnam and assassinations and Watergate almost banished the greatness. Today marks the 81st anniversary of the D-Day landings. The end of the war was in sight. Our fathers were still in great danger and we wouldn't know the stories first-hand had they been killed on that day and the others that followed in 1944-45. Death on all fronts. Our Denver neighborhoods swarmed with our fathers' memories and the ghosts of those who made it home or made it home and died later or were not quite right. You'd think all of that would be enough to lift a nation, cause it to avoid pointless wars and entanglements. You would think it would be enough to stop a charlatan and his goons from taking over our great country. 

Researching this post, I came across all kinds of references to great. I watched the first season of "The Great," a satiric retelling of the Greats of Russia: Peter and Katherine Very funny. Educational too.  

I came across this reference: "Literae humaniores, nicknamed Greats, is an undergraduate course focused on the classics (Ancient Rome, Ancient Greece, Latin, ancient Greek, and philosophy) at the University of Oxford in England and some other universities."

Make America THE GREATS Again!

Finally, the Online Dictionary writes this: "great is sometimes confused with grate."

We can certainly see that Grate is a far better term for what America has become. Make America Grate Again. Yes, MAGA is grating, it grates the nerves. It's prime spokesperson, POTUS, may be the most grating person on the planet. His online rants are beyond grating, they get on my last serve.  Not so great.

Boomer Scouts took an oath and we intend to keep it

Here is what I have pledged and held close to my heart all my life:

The Scout Oath: "On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times; to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight."

The Scout Law: "A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent."

Retro, right? My Millennial daughter tells me that retro is in (am I using that term right?) and that housewifery is in and the phrase "women can have it all" is so old and so Boomerish. The cool kids are now Republicans and the squares are Democrats. My wife and I are quite Boomerish. 

My daughter may be right. The bloviating from Trump's America makes me feel quite squarish. 

Still, I keep hearing that oath run through my head. And this one, too, the one I uttered when I was sworn in as a U.S. Navy midshipman:

"I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign or domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter; So help me God."

I was a lousy midshipman and never became an actual shipman. Still, I took an oath and obey it. I am attuned these days to those who took the oath and now ignore it. You know, enemies, foreign and domestic. But mostly domestic. 

Happy New Year: Fear and Loathing in 2025 America

A friend once asked me to name my favorite writers. It's a long, long list, but I gave him the top five: Joseph Heller, Kurt Vonnegut, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Flannery O'Connor, and Hunter S. Thompson. Fine writers all.

My friend who shall remain nameless made an astute observation: "But you don't write like any of those authors." 

A fair point. I don't write like any of them. But how could I? These writers had their own styles that are much admired and frequently copied. That's what beginning writers do: imitate their maestros. But you eventually move on to find your own voice if you stick with it. I've stuck with it and crafted my own style and it apparently has few fans in the publishing world but that's life in the fast lane. 

I haven't given up and I'm called to write for a number of reasons that make up my 74 years. My parents read to me and I gobbled up Yertle the Turtle and Winnie-the-Pooh. I read cereal boxes at the breakfast table and billboards as I peered out those big windows in post-war automobiles. I wrote stories for my third-grade teacher Jean Sylling and she put one up on the bulletin board. It was about aliens in a flying saucer landing in my Denver backyard. I was embarrassed but also thought it a bit grand, a story I wrote put up for all my classmates to see. 

My father the accountant had a big library and I read through many of them without really understanding what was going on. My mother usually had a baby in one arm and a book in the other. That's who introduced me to "Catch-22." She read and laughed and I was curious but was only 11 and not interested enough until I was in high school and close to draft age and Heller's novel haunted me and made me laugh. I turned on my chums to the book and its hilarity resonated with them but we rarely talked about the war part. 

Strange happenings were all around and I soaked them in but did not write about them. My parents and eight brothers and sisters were all distinctive entities and I inherited their nuances. My forebears visited my dreams. I attended Catholic School and irony and metaphors surrounded me but I was not aware of it until later, much later. I watched "Get Smart," "The Monkees," and the evening news and they all kind of blended together. Sex was a puzzle that we Catholic teens were left to figure out on our own and it's still a work-in-progress. 

My childhood and teenhood were all precursors to hard lessons to come. I really thought I had it made at 18 and the world was my oyster although I'd never eaten an Atlantic Ocean oyster as I surfed in that salty sea whenever I didn't have to take care of my siblings or go to school or go to work to afford that school. I dated the most beautiful creatures on Planet Earth but they might as well have been the imaginary aliens that landed in my yard in my third-grade story. 

Speaking of alien life forms: I am no closer to understanding the human condition than I was in the third grade. I refer to recent happenings in the U.S. of A. It is past time to revisit Thompson's Fear & Loathing chronicles and Yossarian's naked self and Billy Pilgrim's time jumps and the residents of Macondo and O'Connor's Misfit. I may not fully understand them but they live inside me every second of every day.

To the barricades – patiently, part one

Antiwar protests on college campuses are in the news and it’s no longer 1970. In the spring of 2024, young people are objecting to Israel’s handling of the war and the ensuing mass casualties. They also are upset that their universities may be funding Israel’s excesses through investments and other business ties. There are also protests by those who support Israel objecting to a 19-year-old getting involved in politics and saying bad things about Israel. It’s as ridiculous to say that criticism of Israel is antisemitic as its is if you decry Hamas you are Islamophobic.

You don’t have to know every single thing about this war to go out on the streets and check it out. Young people gather for events all of the time. It’s exciting. Their friends are there. The police look amazing in their U.S. Army castoff riot gear and their giant riot trucks once used to quell disturbances in Fallujah. That’s a lot of adrenaline surging through demonstrators’ bodies and things happen. Still, most protestors have been peaceful. I cannot say the same thing about NYC and Boston cops.  

I am a Baby Boomer who saw his first antiwar protest in the spring of 1970. I was a ROTC midshipman and I went to the demo instead of the annual Navy Ball. My dorm friends were going outfitted with gas masks and scarves to take the sting out of tear gas and pepper gas. I went with them to campus where all the action was going to be. Tear gas flew and the S.C. state cops rushed the demonstrators applying their batons to longhair’s heads.

We fled into the dorm complex and ended up in a restroom being used as a first aid station. Men and women were jammed in and those with even a tiny bit of first aid experience helped administer to those with cracked skulls, eyes blinded by gas, and asthmatics struggling to breathe. One guy had been a medic in Vietnam this time the year before. Others like me had been Boy Scouts and knew enough first aid to patch broken scalps.

An ambulance arrived outside and I was drafted (Hah – drafted) to pick up the wounded in makeshift stretchers and carry them outside. One was my buddy Pat who’d sliced off the top of his index finger when picking up a broken bottle to throw at the cops. Yes, there were young people on this night of nonviolent protest who threw broken bottles at cops and picked up tear gas canisters and threw them back.

We were demonstrators once, and young.

End of part one

I contemplate generational conflict in the blogosphere

Daughter Annie has been chronicling her graduation experience on her blog. She graduated from Laramie County Community College on May 14 and will head to UW in Laramie in mid-June.  She intends to be an English major. I have done my best to change her mind. "How about something useful, like pre-med or accounting?" or "Have you thought about a career as plumber?" 

Nevertheless, she persisted. She is a chip off the old block, offspring of an English major. I posted about the graduation here. She speaks openly about her long haul and her not always pleasant experiences along the way. I admire her honesty as I tend to skip deep feelings and fall back on humor to lighten life's heartbreaks. A generational difference, I guess. I am a first-wave Boomer and Annie is a second-wave Millennial. We share interests in reading, writing, classic rock, and movies. But we look at life through different lenses.

She knows more about my generation than I do hers. When I look at her generation, I see bright people looking on in disbelief at the chaos we older generations have wrought. I may have looked this same way in 1969 when the best and brightest wanted to kill me and millions of others. Annie has many artistic tattoos and introduces me to new music by changing the dial on my car radio. In reality, she doesn't need my car radio because she has her own car and car radio and myriad tech devices that pull in music, videos, and possibly signals from Tralfamadore. 

See how much fun you can have with generational conflict?

When I first signed on with Blogger in 2001, I admired the fresh voices, honest as the day is long. Not one of the bloggers I followed in those early days would use "honest as the day is long" (air quotes) which is, as you know, "as old as the hills." They were much more creative. In 2006, I gravitated to lefty political blogs which led to my selection as Wyoming's official embedded blogger at the 2008 Democratic Party National Convention in Denver where, at 57, I may have been the oldest practitioner at Blogger HQ outside the Pepsi Center. I received a scholarship to Netroots Nation 2011 in Minneapolis. I traveled in fall of 2011 with fellow nogoodniks to present a panel on progressive blogging at the University of South Dakota. Those were heady days. We were the future. I tied in with regional lefty bloggers and started posting and reposting on Daily Kos. Social media was in its infancy but pretty soon grew into the monster we know today. 

I started a blog for my workplace and a year later was called into the director's office to ask why I started a blog without permission. I said, gee, all the kids were doing it and he agreed that I should stop doing it immediately. At career's end, I was lord of our Wordpress blog and social media manager. My Millennial kids thought this was hilarious and I tended to agree.

So here we are in 2022. Blogs did not birth a thoughtful, more progressive, America. 

I blame myself.

Read part two of Annie's "How I got here: my time at LCCC.

Boring old college lecturer responds to "The Chair"

Watched the last episode of "The Chair" this week. I laughed, I cried. Various faculty and administrators and students pissed me off.  All in all, a good investment of six Netflix hours. 

I have never served time on a college faculty and I've been an adjunct at community colleges. I was an undergrad English major at one community college and a land-grant university in the Palm Tree South and a grad student at a land-grant university in the Rocky Mountain West. I never got within spitting distance of a small liberal arts college such as Pembroke. 

But Pembroke's people seemed familiar. As a grad student T.A., I experienced some of the same frustrations of Pembroke faculty, those f*cking f*cks referenced in The Chair's (F*cker In Charge) desk sign. Some faculty members were old and stuck in their ways. The Literature, Composition and ESL faculty didn't like creative writing faculty and vice versa. The administration was always targeting the English Department for cuts due to the fact that we all speak English so why in the f*cking f*ck do we need an English Department? Shouldn't it be the  'Merican Department since we all speak 'Merican here? 

All an MFA grad student could do was teach our two sections of comp, keep our heads down and write a lot. We had regular classes to attend on top of writing workshops. And, in my case and some others, I had a family to support. 

One of my favorite aspects of "The Chair" are insights into faculty's families. Dr. Ji-Joon Kim has a daughter who is as argumentative as faculty ("You're not my real mom"). Dobson's wife died and his only daughter went off to college. No matter he gets stoned before and after class, and sometimes doesn't show up at all. Dr. Joan Hambling gave up her personal life and career advancement to prop of the fragile egos of male colleagues. She is working on a relationship with a college IT guy who is as much as a wise-ass as she is. Dr. Rentz (Bob Balaban) chats with his wife before a college event and we find out that she gave up her academic career to raise three kids. "Someone had to cook dinner," she says as she urges her aging husband to wear his Depends.

My daughter, an English major, is watching "The Chair" but I don't think she's finished. After a couple episodes she was angry at the students, which I thought was interesting since she is a student and a Millennial. I was angry at the students too but possibly for a different reason. They didn't want to learn Chaucer and Melville? I fondly recall my red-haired prof at UF who taught us Chaucer in Middle English. She spoke it like a native and there were times I imagined her as The Wyf of Bathe. 

The Pembroke students just didn't want to learn it the old-fashioned boring Boomer lecture way. They liked the way Moby Dick was taught by Dr. Yaz, a Millennial who approached it in a new way. By the end of the final episode, I was depressed about the state of academia. No surprise -- I was a boring old lecturer and probably still am. Back in my day, etc., etc., and so on. 

"OK Boomer!" is a good retort. A better one might be "Go, Boomer, Go!"

OK Boomer!

It's a thing now, a quick retort by members of a younger generation when a Baby Boomer rambles on about the good ol' days and why youngsters are causing the USA to go to hell in a handbasket.

First question from a Millennial: What's a handbasket?

Baby Boomer: A basket carried by hand.

Millennial: We don't believe in hell.

Boomer: The hell you say.

We're always talking around one another. That may be the case until every last Boomer goes to his/her/its heavenly reward.

Millennial: We don't believe in heaven.

OK Millennial, what I'm actually pointing out is that the Baby Boomer Death Clock at Incendar shows that a Boomer dies every 18.2 seconds and that already today (as of 11:47 a.m. MST), 4,746 Boomers have died. As of right now, 64,914,430 Boomer are "still alive" and 20,443,571 are "dead." Percentage-wise, this is 23.9503896% of available Boomers. In the world of demographics, this is known as "cohort replacement."

A better Millennial chant might be: Go, Boomer, Go!

Meanwhile, we waste precious time in clashes with each other instead of concentrating on the real threat which, of course, is Donald Trump and Trumpism. We can find common ground here. I am a Boomer Liberal and many Millennials are liberal, much more liberal than their parents and grandparents. This is especially true if you are an urban dweller. Wyoming is much more rural than urban which partly explains Trump's continuing popularity. I live in the state's largest city, Cheyenne. But even here, I am an anomaly. Cheyenne is located on the cusp of blue-state Colorado, but it is almost as conservative as the rest of the state. County Democrats were devastated in the 2016 legislative races. MAGA hats are not everywhere but there are enough of them to make a Liberal pause before launching an anti-Trump tirade in public. Being a blowhard is a Trump thing. But liberals can be obnoxious, too. When I was part of a Democrat/Republican panel interviewed on radio the night of Obama's 2008 win, the radio host said the worst thing about Obama's election was having to listen to remarks from his liberal friends for the next four years. Eight years, as it turned out.

And then came Trump. His diehard fans haven't STFU since.

OK Millennials, listen up. I won't give advice to, or cast aspersions on, your generation if you do just one thing: get out and vote in 2020. If Millennials registered and voted for the Democrat a year from now, Trump would be history. I realize that I am an elder giving advice, and that it's appropriate to roll your eyes and then say "OK Boomer." I can handle that. What I can't handle is another four years of Trump.

Can you?

Boomers and Millennials live in different worlds when it comes to books

A university professor complained on Facebook that her upper division literature students don't know the name Gerard Manley Hopkins. Never heard of him, never read any of his work.

These youngsters have also never read Gwendolyn Brooks. They don't know Gwendolyn, they also don't know the greatest spoken word poem of all time.

The Pool Players.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We
Left School. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Ms. Brooks recited that poem in a room in the CSU student union one night in 1990. It's hard to find more meaning in 24 simple words. Kind of like the poet herself -- so much talent in a tiny frame. Nobel Prize winner.

Some English majors have never heard of her. Take heart, youngsters. It took me awhile to discover our Ms. Brooks. I had to read up on her as I planned her trip from Chicago to Fort Collins. I'd never encountered her work in any of my undergrad or grad courses. I discovered her by meeting her when I was 39, a late-blooming M.F.A. student.

Better late than never. Probably won't see that over-used phrase in any good poem. And what if you did? At least you'd be reading. That seems to be the problem. Kids are reading but only certain things. Sci-fi and fantasy. Harry Potter. Superheroes. Graphic novels. Zines. Manga. Etc.

Lest I be another Baby Boomer ranting about Millennials, let me say this: "I'm not." I am glad that Millennials continue to read. Some of their reading is online and on smart phones but it's still reading.

Millennials complain about Baby Boomers, those aging humans that are parents and grandparents to new generations. Millennials are tired of Boomers asking for computer advice. Much like the techs in BBC's "The IT Crowd," many are basement dwellers surrounded by high-tech gizmos, When we call them for help, they advise us, "Have you tried turning it off and then back on?" Even worse, sometimes we call them from land lines which youngsters regard as quaint items from another century, which they are.

Other things that annoy Millennials are our tendency to accumulate things, especially old china sets and fine silver. Chris and I have three sets of china gifted to us by various relatives. Chris has art and figurines from Japan, Ethiopia, and German, parents where there army family was based. Should Antiques Roadshow ever come to Wyoming, Chris is ready to haul her treasures to the stage and rake in some cash. Our kids hope she does as they do not want to deal with them when we pass into the other realm. I am told that businesses have cropped up aimed expressly at disposing of all the collectibles Boomers leave behind. 

Books are my treasures. Many of them are in boxes in the basement. My basement-dwelling daughter occasionally brings me a box to go through, saying she will be happy to take the castoffs to the library bookstore. I open the box and cull the castoffs. Unfortunately, I often find an old favorite
or one signed by a writer friend. I insist on going through these thoroughly lest some classic should slip through my fingers. Annie comes along hours later and is flummoxed that I have added just a few volumes to the library pile while  the box remains nearly full. Often I am in my easy chair, reading a book I enjoyed decades ago. She feigns anger, vowing to wait until I die to get rid of all the books. Who cares, I say, I will be in the great library in the sky. All the universe's books will be at my fingertips. I will be able to read them in any language, including Tralfamadorian. That would be heaven.

Hell would be TrumpWorld with no books. We already live in that hell.

This Baby Boomer grew up hating Nazis -- and still does

The Nazis are in D.C. this weekend.

Sounds weird, doesn't it -- Nazis in our nation's capital city? Last time we contemplated Nazis roaming through D.C. was in "Man in the High Castle," and that was sci-fi. Before that, it was George Lincoln Rockwell, founder of the American Nazi Party, demonstrating in front of the White House against President Eisenhower's effort to send military aid to Israel. Nazis don't like Jews -- you probably heard about that. Rockwell thought there was a Jew in every boardroom and behind every tree. He should have been concerned about members of his own organization -- one of them gunned him down outside an Arlington, Va., laundromat in 1967.

Prior to World War II, Nazis curried favor inside the beltway. They found isolationists and white supremacists willing to listen. As Philip Roth envisioned in "The Plot Against America," Charles Lindbergh and his Nazi sympathizers did not get into the White House in 1940 and keep the U.S. out of the war and the Nazis in power.

Baby Boomers grew up hating Nazis. Our fathers fought in World War II and they hated Nazis. Movies and TV shows extolled the virtues of killing them. Until "Hogan's Heroes," which transformed concentration camp life into comedy. My father refused to watch the show. "None of that is funny," he would say. We kind of know what he was mad about but we did think it was funny. "I zee nuthing!" Oh, Schultz. Ha ha.

Nazis tried to kill my father. Not him, specifically, just any G.I. that wandered into France in June 1944. If they had succeeded I would not be here, in this form, anyway. I might be a grandmother in Belarus. I might be a Pacific Ocean sea slug. As in George Bailey's alternate universe, I may not have ever been born.

At the heart of my Nazi hatred is what Hannah Arendt called "the banality of evil." Hitler and Goebbels and Eichmann were easy to hate. But what about the millions of Germans who followed Hitler? Those who worked as low-level bureaucrats tallying the amount of gold yanked from dead people's mouths at Auschwitz and Birkenau? Someone had to keep those records. How far along are we with The Final Solution? Halfway? Two million more Jews to go!

Most of Hitler's support came from the compliant. This will always be Germany's shame. "We thought that smoke from Buchenwald was a barbecue." We were proud of bringing down this rotten regime.

Now we have our own rotten regime. Arendt would recognize the signs of totalitarianism. Trump is a liar and a braggart. His followers are true believers. Bad combination.

The Nazis march in D.C. today. Would I kill a Nazi just for being a Nazi? I don't think I have it in me. Would I punch a Nazi? Too old for that. Do I oppose everything that these people stand for? Absolutely. I wish I could be in D.C. this weekend at what are being called "counter-protests." Thing is, how can you counter such a rotten philosophy? This is a white pride rally. A bunch of goofballs, including KKK Grand Wizard David Duke, who say that the white race is superior and your Indian/Somali/African-American/Nicaraguan neighbors are inferior. This cannot be as you have seen the proof with your own eyes. Your neighbors from India shoveled your snowy sidewalks after your heart attack. You watch the Academy Awards with your Somali friend who had no movie theater in his village. You've been a member of NAACP and seen the good works on this organization and the  stalwart stance it has taken against white supremacy. Your Syrian cardiologist saved your life. And so on.

The Nazis marching today in Washington aren't worth spitting on. Same goes for their leader, Donald Trump. They are beneath contempt but we must be ready to fight them with the tools we have. Truth. The Free Press. Poetry. Maybe violence, if it comes to that. It did once.

Those long drawn-out arguments among Baby Boomers brought us Trump

"Wow, so disappointed in America right now."

That was my daughter Annie's reaction this morning on Facebook.

I said similar things during my 65 years, even before the arrival of social media. I said it in November 1972 after Nixon clobbered McGovern. I was 21 then, even younger than Annie. I lived in Massachusetts, a little bubble of Democratic blue among all the red. We thought McGovern would stop the war and make the U.S. a kinder and more peaceful place. I worked the graveyard shift at a Boston hospital. While all of us orderlies and nurses and techs walked around like zombies, one of the physicians made the rounds and said that Nixon is the one now, suckers, and all of you lefties are in trouble. We were, but somehow we made it through. Most of us anyway. More than 22,000 more Americans and another million Vietnamese died between November's election and the declared end of the war in April 1975. Many GIs returned with wounds to the body and the soul. The rest of us moved on, or thought we did.

Despite the election landslide, Nixon won by less than 1 percent of the popular vote. As always, it was the Electoral College who clinched the win. And the southern strategy, which counted on turning all of those white middle class Democrats into Republicans. He used their hatred of civil rights and college activists to stoke the flames of hatred. Fear and hatred can work, as we just rediscovered.

Nixon went to China. He resigned, which made us lefties all warm and fuzzy. Jimmy Carter won the election over Gerald Ford. Carter was a Southerner but we thought he had warm and fuzzy feelings about America. He would usher in a new progressive era. Instead, in 1980, we go the shining city on the hill with Reagan. I lost friends over that election. Many arguments with family members. Those arguments continued into the presidencies of both Bushes.

The arguments continue. It has been important to act, to be involved. It's a life's work, not something you do for a couple weeks every four years. It helps me get out of bed in the morning. I continue to live my life as the best possible human being I can be.

One thing is clear. The arguments of 1972 continue. They will continue as long as the cohort of Baby Boomers remain upright. The scared ones will continue to be fearful and to vote those fears. Liberals like me will keep open minds and welcome the new, including those children who make up the Millennials. We've left them in the lurch. Perhaps it was the argumentative nature of our generation, caught in the whirlwind of civil rights, women's rights, LGBT rights, and the changing demographics of immigration. We never quite resolved all of those differences. And now they have emerged again with the presidency of Donald Trump.

Presente! Keep on making trouble.

Baby Boomers want to know: "Wazzup, Millennials?"

As a proud Baby Boomer parent of two Millennials, I am pleased to offer my services as a workplace consultant. According to a report last week on CBS This Morning, consultants can earn up to $20,000 an hour advising companies on what makes Millennials tick. I automatically believe anything on CBSTM because it features mind-blowing news items, most of which I've already seen on Facebook and Twitter: monster gator on golf course, rogue gorilla at Cincinnati Zoo, cats surprised by cucumbers, updates on Trump's hairdo. These breaking news updates are sandwiched between ads for Boomers' preferred meds: boner pills, blood thinners, joint-pain meds, and so on.

Here's my first tip as a consultant, which I offer freely as a good will gesture: Millennials do not watch CBSTM. They are on their way to work in Portland or Denver, or they are sleeping in after the night shift at a trendy urban bistro. Lest you think that all Millennials are slackers, Derek Thompson at the Atlantic Mag Online says that there are 50 million Millennials in the U.S. workforce. I'm just guessing here but I'd say that half of them are in Denver. Last week, while visiting a friend, we ate dinner at a Thai place in Denver's trendy Tennyson Street District. We were by far the oldest people in the place. As we left, Millennials were swarming Tennyson's brewpubs and shops, ogling the new studio apartment buildings that are rising along Tennyson at an alarming rate.

As you can tell, I'm observant despite my fading eyesight. I have other tips based on my years as a parent of Millennials and as someone who worked alongside them during my declining years.

1. Don't ask Millennials technical questions.
Nothing says "I am an old fart" like asking a Millennial co-worker for help with a web site, Facebook, smartphone, etc. Your best approach is to feign helplessness due to an infirmity. An example: "Greetings Millennial co-worker. I just broke my spectacles and can't see a thing. Can you help me Photoshop this photo for our web site?"

They will only be too happy to oblige, as 97 percent of Millennials said they would assist an old lady trying to cross the street. Except on Tennyson. That's our hood, bitches!

2. Don't use the term, "Millennial."
Nothing pegs you as an again BB like the use of this cliched term. Better to say, "Hey there, Mr. Young Person" or "What is happening, Ms. Youth?" And don't ever say "Wazzup?" or "What's the haps, peeps?" You may as well have BEWARE: BABY BOOMER tattooed on your forehead.

3. On the other hand, Millennials like to use ancient expressions.
Using words coined by people long dead can be endearing. Some good words to use in casual conversations are shenanigans, reprobate, canoodling or bindlestiff. The last one refers to a hobo. Most Millennials have never actually seen a real hobo, although some look the part. I caution you here to avoid using terms (old or new) that could be construed as suggestive or sexist. Most Millennials respect other ethnicities and gender identities. I have been told by someone not on Fox News that at some liberal bastions of learning, use of the pronoun "he" could be offensive if that person does not self-identify as a male. The same goes for "she." This may explain why the Webster's Dictionary folks recently decided that "they" and "their" can now be used in the singular form.

Here are some examples:
Incorrect way to use pronouns:
He: Miss Millie, would you like to accompany me to the barn dance this evening?
She: I would be delighted, kind sir. Will our chums, all traditional couples, be at the dance?
He: They will each be driving his or her own automobiles.
She: We shall meet the hims and hers there.

Correct way to use pronouns:
They: Millie, would you like to accompany me to the barn dance this evening?
They: I would be delighted, kind human. Will our friends of various ethnicities and genders be going?
They: They shall be carpooling or taking their preferred form of wind- or solar-powered public transportation.
They: We will meet them there.

4. Millennials are very keen to find meaningful work.
Nothing bores a Millennial like grunt work. Come to think of it, nothing bores a Baby Boomer like grunt work. If you are the supervisor in charge of doling out grunt work, call it "meaningful" work, a task destined to change the world. Text or IM the details to your younger colleague as you leave work for an afternoon on the golf course or volunteering at the homeless shelter, depending on your political affiliation.

5. Millennials will happily throw you a retirement party.
Nothing brings glee to Millennials such as the statement "I will be retiring Aug. 1." They will throw you a retirement party featuring delicious coffee and treats from Millie's Midtown Cupcakery and Su Yee's Sushi Barn. One of them will direct and product a multimedia show featuring embarrassing photos from when you were young and not-so-young. Most, but not all, of your Millennial co-workers will wait until you've left the building to pilfer items from your desk or to stake a claim on your cubicle space. Don't be offended. As you did when you were young, they are just trying to get a leg up in this dog-eat-dog world. It's the circle of life.

P.S.: That will be $20,000 please. I prefer cash.

Wave good-bye as the Boomer train leaves the station

We staged a farewell lunch for a work colleague today. She's moving on to greener pastures, and by that I mean another job. That's what young people do, move on. It's the circle of life.

Ten of us dined at the Albany which, as you locals know, is right across the street from the UP train station, now known as the Cheyenne Historic Depot. Twentieth-century passengers used to eat at the Albany before their trains departed for Chicago and San Francisco. There also was a Burlington Northern Depot, which has been torn down.

I rode trains as a kid growing up in the fifties. By the time I was in my teens, I had switched to air travel, as did most Americans. At 16, I was driving a car and have been ever since. Train travel was passe. Slow and annoying. Kind of like us Baby Boomers, now reaching retirement in alarming numbers.

I thought about this at lunch. Half of us were new employees from several different departments. They all had moved on from other jobs, as young people do. I was the oldest one at the long table. We conversed, had fun, teased the departing one. As the only one with a camera, I shot photos. Not to say nobody else could take pictures. I probably was the only one there lacking a smartphone equipped with the usual snazzy camera. I have a dumb phone. "They won't trust me with a smartphone," I sometimes joke. My colleagues have heard it more than once.

Pretty soon, I will head out the door of my workplace for the last time. Retired at 65, wondering where all the time went. I'll walk on down to the Historic Depot and climb aboard the train that takes Boomers to wherever we go when we retire.

All aboard!

For Baby Boomers, the arguments go on forever

Big news from the Brookings Institution: Baby Boomers are in each other’s faces – again. According to a Brookings report:

“The primary political output of the divided boomers has been frustrating gridlock and historically low evaluations of congressional performance.”

As an early cohort Boomer (born 1950), I’ve been engaging in political arguments since my high school days. I grew up Catholic, attended Catholic school and went to mass regularly with my large family – I’m the oldest of nine children. For most of my childhood and teenhood, arguments with my parents revolved around curfews and whether rock was devil music (Parents: Hell Yes; Mike: Hell No.)  Vietnam wasn’t a hot topic – not yet, anyway. Civil rights, drugs, abortion, and all of the rest.

My first two years if college was one long political argument. I was a ROTC guy, but didn’t want to be. But I also didn’t want to go to Vietnam. I solved this by smoking pot, skipping classes and engaging in dorm-room political arguments that raged into early mornings, punctuated with long sessions of devil music. 

Over the decades, family gatherings have been filled with toasts to our continued good health and raging political arguments that may last an entire Thanksgiving weekend.  Most of my friends are boomers. Many are liberals, even here in Wyoming, but others are not. I no Longer have lunch with some conservative friends because it leads to indigestion on all of our parts.

These arguments will rage until we can rage no more. They can be traced back to the divisions caused by the Vietnam War. You might say: “That was a long time ago, guys – can’t you get over it?”

In a word, no. The divisions are deep and will only be solved by cohort replacement – death of all of the Boomers.

Go back to spring of 1970. On April 30 of that year, Pres. Nixon announced that U.S. troops would be sent into Cambodia. We had been told that Vietnam was winding down and now here was news that is was winding up instead. That led to protests in college campuses across the U.S. The most radical one was held at Kent State University in Kent, Ohio, a place I had never heard of until then. On May 2, KSU students burst down the ROTC building. That was a bit off a shock to us ROTC guys at University of South Carolina. We spent quite a bit of time there. Attended naval science classes there during the week. Played basketball in its gym at night and on weekends. We assembled there in uniform weekly for our drills. Following Martin Luther King’s assassination in 1968, demonstrators had trashed our ROTC building. There were no real signs of the damage when I arrived in September 1969.

Ghosts remain.

We make enormous decisions when we’re young. We hope to receive guidance from our elders. We don’t always get it, or the right kind. So we end up making decisions on our own that come back to haunt us later. Then, at 64, we have to forgive our younger selves for our ignorance and our passion. I can remember how lonely and afraid I was at 19. It’s as if it happened yesterday. I was supposed to be a man but I was just a little boy.

I was sensitive and gifted with a great memory. That helped me lead a life of empathy. It also contributed to my passion as a writer. I could have turned out otherwise. Nixon parlayed a natural distrust of pointy-headed intellectuals and anti-American college brats into an election strategy. At a NYC demonstration after Kent State, hard hats rallied for Nixon. Most of these blue collar guys were Democrats then. By the next election (1972), Vietnam and student protestors and civil rights had turned them all into resentful Republicans. Many of their sons and daughters continued this policy of resentment. Some of them remained liberals and activists who continued to march for peace and justice. After the Vietnam War and civil rights struggles came the women’s movement and LGBT rights. The anti-nuke movement and swarms of environmentalists. All of these people looking for special treatment! Reagan and his policies arose from that resentment. That, eventually, gave rise to the Tea Party, that privileged group of Boomers who are wildly indignant about nearly everything.

But for me and my fellow liberals, there were more struggles ahead, more wars to protest, more inequalities to be addressed.

So Baby Boomers continue to argue. Not sure how our descendants will see us. Hippies. The Me Generation. Warmongers. Peaceniks. The generation who brought us the Millennials with all of their faults (everybody gets a trophy!). The generation that despoiled the planet with their excesses and stood by and did nothing.

Argumentative? You bet. And don’t expect the conflict to cease as long as we have breath enough to hurl an invective.

What happens when Wyoming tourists no longer want to drive?

Gas prices are lower and expected to go even lower. We may be in for $2.50 gas prices in early 2015.

Yellowstone had a record 4 million visitors in 2014.

All good news for Wyoming.

Or is it?

America's love affair with cars may be over. Hard to believe for us Baby Boomers. I've been driving for almost 50 years. I couldn't wait to get my license and a car and tear around Volusia County, Florida -- and possibly use my new motorized self to get a date.

I did get a date or two. And I've driven in hundreds of counties all over this country and had a pretty good time doing it.

But those days may be over, at least in urban centers where most of the population lives. Kids these days -- they don't dream so much about piloting their own car as they do about saving the planet. Public transportation and car-sharing and walking and biking are hip.

Teton County, the gateway to Grand Teton and Yellowstone national parks and the cornerstone of Wyoming tourism, just opened a new terminal for its Southern Teton Area Rapid Transit (START) bus line. We have buses in Cheyenne and Casper and maybe a few other communities. But none of us has a transportation terminal that includes a "bus barn" for storing vehicles indoors away from the cruelties of Wyoming weather. The first phase of this transportation terminal was dedicated Friday. When it's completed, it will even include employee housing, a real concern for any middle class person hoping to make a living in one of the richest counties in the country.

The state has no plans to widen tourist-clogged Teton County roads. And many environmentally-conscious residents don't want those roads widened anyway. So the county plans for more rapid transit to get residents and visitors out of their cars. As it is now, visitors can fly into Jackson and spend a week without a car. In fact, they may prefer that.

The town of Jackson's web site had a link to this article written by Tim Henderson for the PEW Charitable Trusts. It talks about the drop in rates for commuting by car, not only in cities but here in the Great Wide Open:

Western areas known for wilderness and a car-loving culture are seeing big decreases. In Oregon, Washington and Colorado, the percentage of workers commuting by car dropped by either 3 or 4 percentage points. 

The car commuting rate in Teton County, Wyoming, with its breathtaking mountain views and world-renowned skiing at Jackson Hole, dropped from 79 percent to 70 percent. No other county saw a larger decline. 

“We took a number of actions between 2000 and 2010 with the intention of changing the mode of travel away from the auto, particularly for the work trip in our area,” said Michael Wackerly of Southern Teton Area Rapid Transit. Some of the steps included providing commuter buses to get workers from neighboring Idaho, bus passes for Teton Village employees and higher parking fees to encourage bus use. For Teton County, the motivation was largely environmental. 

“A transportation system oriented toward automobiles is inconsistent with our common values of ecosystem stewardship, growth management and quality of life,” said the county’s 2012 master plan.

The Western Greater Yellowstone Consortium, a four-county partnership in Wyoming and Idaho, cites the expectations of Eastern tourists, many of whom come from cities where driving is falling out of favor. “A growing percentage of those visiting our National Parks from the nation’s urban centers and other countries expect to have alternatives to driving a private vehicle,” the group said in laying out its transportation goals.

You can read the rest of the article at http://townofjackson.com/current/more-cities-and-states-car-commuting-skids/

Many tourists "expect to have alternatives for driving a vehicle." They may be prompted by an environmental ethic. They may not want to be bothered with the hassles getting around unfamiliar territory on their own. Or they may not want to endure a National Lampoon-style family summer vacation family trip from Des Moines to Yellowstone. Where's Aunt Edna?

Sure, Jackson may be filled with tree huggers (along with the occasional Dick Cheney). But what about tourists visiting other Wyoming destinations? It's hard to imagine Cheyenne Frontier Days without city streets clogged with coal rollers and RVs. But even at CFD, the city uses school buses to transport tourists from a big parking area off of I-25 to concerts and the rodeo. And the city offers a free downtown circulator bus each summer. Downtown is very walkable and there are more and more reasons to walk around in it. We have a superb bikepath system, although commuting by bike on roadways still can be a harrowing experience.

There is a huge difference between Jackson and Cheyenne, One of the first comments I heard after moving to Wyoming in 1991: "Too bad you live in the ugly part of the state." It's true -- Jackson Hole is gorgeous while you have to hunt for the beauty in the High Plains. It's there, but it's not staring you in the face as it is every day in The Hole. More and more, Teton County residents realize what a gift they have. It's reflected in transportation policies and planning and a strong "locals" movement and arts and cultural activities such as the summer's Wild Festival which has the goal of "deepening our connection to nature through the arts."

In Wyoming, tourism is as important as digging carbon out of the ground to incinerate in giant power plants that obscure our national park vistas and contribute to global warming. But changes in national attitudes and demographics may be the real key to the state's future.

"If we're going to keep our young people in the state..."

"If we're going to keep our young people in the state....."

How often have you seen that phrase used by Wyoming politicians, community leaders and newspaper columnists?  I saw that phrase twice on the op-ed pages of this morning's paper.

"If we're going to keep our young people in the state we have to....."

We hear solutions. Diversify the economy. Transform our downtowns. Emphasize the state's "quality of life." Enhance our recreational opportunities. Give every UW grad a lifetime smartphone subscription and his/her own coffee shop or craft brewery.

I made up that last one. Although it's not bad, as ideas go. Wyoming has $2 billion in its rainy day fund and millions more stashed in coffee cans buried in Republican legislators' backyards. Let's take some of that dough and put it to work keeping our young people in the state and energizing the economy.

Alas, even this modest proposal is doomed to failure. There's more to life than crazy apps and pumpkin spice lattes and bitchin' IPAs.  Once these young people discover Wyoming's rapidly aging population, they will desert their funky new shops in Cheyenne to do what millennials do -- find other millennials to hang out with in FoCo and LoDo and Boulder and -- God help us all -- Greeley. Cheyenne could end up with legions of drunk, caffeine-infused oldsters tottering around downtown. Many of us will be flush with cash, recipients of those gold-plated state retirement plans. I, for one, plan to buy a gold-plated house and a gold-plated Caddy with all of my gold. I may even gild a lily or two and sell them in the Ye Olde Gilded Lily Emporium which I hope to open downtown.

It's hopeless, you see.

"If we're going to keep our young people in the state...."

In a pig's eye.

1950s filled with creeds, oaths and pledges for us Boomers

Remember Hopalong Cassidy on 1950s black-and-white TV?

Remember Hopalong Cassidy's Creed?

Hopalong was in the news this week, A press release from the University of Wyoming noted that the archives at the American Heritage Center contain hundreds of items from the mythic cowboy's career in TV, radio and movies: LP records, photos, scripts, personal memorabilia, copies of the creed and all of the rest.


Wholesomeness was crucial. Hopalong was the “epitome of gallantry and fair play” and his creed reflected that. Honesty, cleanliness, respect for parents, love of country, etc. All great things. We recited the creed along with our TV cowboy hero -- and meant it. If you've lost your copy of the creed, get a copy at Hoppy's web site.

The 1950s were filled with creeds, oaths and pledges for us Boomer kids.

I was a Catholic, too. That meant memorizing the Ten Commandments and various prayers, including the Hail Mary, the Prayer to Saint Francis and the Apostles' Creed. The liturgy still was in Latin, but the nuns and priests and parents had mercy on us and let us memorize prayers in the vernacular. The Apostles' Creed:

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord: Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost....

We always said "Holy Ghost" back then instead of "Holy Spirit." I still like saying it. Holy Ghost!

I was a Cub Scout, too. At meetings held at our den mother's house, we recited the oath before launching into various crappy crafts activities. We always wanted to go outside, play tag, shoot BB guns at squirrels, throw snowballs at cars and engage in other healthy outdoor activities. We did like the snacks. They were all-American 1950s snacks. Hostess Twinkees, Snoballs, homemade chocolate chip cookies, Kool-Aid, fat-rich milk, and all the rest. No carrot sticks,  apple slices or chia-infused organic juices for us. This was the beginning of the plaque build-up in my coronary arteries. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Lemon. 

At school, we recited The Pledge of Allegiance every morning, hand over our hearts.

We were good kids. We meant what we said.

To borrow a few lines from Catch-22 (remember Major Major?): When adults told us to look before we leapt, we looked and then leapt. When they said don't take candy from strangers, we didn't take any candy from strangers -- unless it was chocolate. When they said don't take any wooden nickels, I didn't take any wooden nickels.

It was only later, in the 1960s, when we learned that those creeds and oaths and pledges could not protect us from some things. Heartache, for one. No known creed protects against a broken heart. There may be a "I Will Never Love Anyone" creed but I never heard it. I've heard plenty of friends say they were never going to fall in love again. I've said it. Next thing you know, that friend is up to his eyeballs in love and there's not a thing to be done for it. Love stinks, hell yeah, but it's also a drug. Go figure.

We pledged out troth to institutions: The Church, Boy Scouts, U.S.A. They all betrayed us. The worst betrayal came at the hands of our government. It tried to send all of us to Southeast Asia to get killed for a lie. We know that now, and most of us suspected it then. Problem is, it seemed as if we would betray all of our institutions if we didn't do our duty and go to war. All those creeds and oaths and pledges! I didn't go, but that was only through the luck of the draw and strange circumstances. Some of my peers felt it was their duty to fight communism in Vietnam, to help stop the dominoes from falling. They had pledged loyalty to their government and now their government told them it was time to fulfill that pledge. We all took another oath, even us ROTC types, that said we would defend the constitution of the United States, so help us God.

God help us.

It's a long time gone, as the song says. But some of us still remember what it was like to feel betrayed. It caused some of my pals to take a hard right and blame the gubment for all of their ills. I don't blame them, really. I'm a liberal, though, one of those people who tend to put their faith in institutions. But that faith comes with a skeptical eye. Being a Boomer during Vietnam should have left us all with a bit of skepticism. The war was a lie and the draft lottery was rigged. Our elders would tell us anything to sway us to their righteous cause. Can't really blame then, either, as they had made their own pledges,  fought in the war, and been rewarded with peace and prosperity. Why were their children such ingrates?

Generations bang up against each other, sometimes in violent ways. At this moment, we are undoubtedly betraying our children and grandchildren. Some conservatives still bemoan the loose morals of their Boomer peers, blaming all of our present ills on those darn sixties. We lefties tend to regret the scourges of pollution and global warming. Sorry, kids, but you'll be underwater by 2200, maybe sooner. Not in Wyoming, but here in Cheyenne we'll have all of those coastal immigrants to worry about. Wonder if we'll be putting up a fence to keep out fleeing Californians and Carolinians?

If only we could come up with a pledge to save us from ourselves.

As new year dawns in Colorado, authorities on the lookout for stoned Wyoming Boomers

An Iraq War veteran with PTSD was the first in line to purchase pot this morning in Colorado, according to a story on NBC News Online.

"I feel amazing. This is a huge step forward for veterans," said Sean Azzariti of Denver, who helped campaign for Amendment 64. "Now I get to use recreational cannabis to alleviate my PTSD."

Meanwhile, the state's “potrepreneurs” are preparing for an onslaught of Cannabis tourists.

From the Colorado Highlife Facebook page

Colorado Highlife Tours promises “fun, affordable and discreet” cannabis-centered excursions on its bus and limo tours. From NBC:

“You’ll be able to buy a little pot here and there, see a commercial grow, visit iconic Colorado landmarks and take lots of pictures,” said company owner Timothy Vee. “It will be like a Napa Valley wine tour.”

--clip--

Unlike Napa Valley wine tours, however, out-of-states tourists to Colorado’s pot retail stores won’t be able to take home most products they purchase. “It remains illegal to take marijuana out of the state,” said Michael Elliott of the Medical Marijuana Industry Group. And because marijuana also remains on the Transportation Security Administration's list of prohibited items, Denver International Airport will enforce a new policy that bans pot throughout the airport.

Prior to Jan. 1, Colorado Highlife Tours has mixed sightseeing with stops at glass-blowing shops, marijuana grow centers and has offered customers “free samples” — because buying pot was not yet legal.

“You live and learn,” said Vee. “On our tours, we’re getting a lot of empty nesters that haven’t smoked pot in 20 years. We’ve also had people who have never smoked pot take our tours and had one couple get high and so paranoid that we had to interrupt the tour and take them back to their hotel.” 

Stoned empty nesters. Baby Boomers, high on Bubba Kush, reeling around downtown Denver is search of organic munchies. Busloads of Wyoming retirees rolling down the highway, sweet smoke and Doobie Brothers tunes wafting out the windows.

All hell is breaking loose in my home state of Colorado. Across the border in Cheyenne, we are sober as judges -- most judges, anyway. No legal pot here.

But Wyoming NORML is working on it. It will sponsor a "Walk for Weed" Feb. 10 in Cheyenne. At least two Republican legislators have been discussing marijuana publicly. Sen. Bruce Burns (R-Sheridan) made the news recently when he revealed that 30 years ago he transported illegal ganja to his cancer-stricken uncle (a priest!) back in New York. His momma asked him to do it and he delivered. His uncle started eating better and gained 15 pounds. Burns knows first-hand the benefits of medicinal weed, which is where Wyoming may start. Rep. Sue Wallis (R-Recluse), she of the strong Libertarian streak, has already talked about promoting medicinal marijuana legislation. On most issues, Rep. Wallis is as conservative as most of her neighbors in rural Campbell County. But she is a big promoter of the local food movement, spoke out last year in favor of a civil unions bill and has been very vocal in opposition to anti-women legislation promulgated by the wackos in her own party.

So who knows? Will Legislature focus on pot amongst all of the budgetary items? On day one, 2014 already looks interesting. Don't know about you, but I'm glad to be here.

Stories from the front lines of The Big L

Acute myeloid leukemia.

The Big L

My brother Dan has it. So does my retired coworker Marirose. You may know someone with AML.

If you're the praying kind, say some prayers for these fine people. Wish them good health and cheer. Long life and happiness.

It's a relentless killer. Doctors and researchers have come a long way but there is so much more to be done. The survival rate is around 23 percent. Chemo and bone marrow transplants prolong life, sometimes lead to remission and even cures.

Dan has subjected himself to all of the treatments in the past year. It still wasn't enough. A month, the docs say, as if they know to the day your span on this earth. It's their best guesstimate. It never really helps. But it's the question everybody asks: "How much time do I have, Doc?"

The answer never satisfies. But we are curious and we ask.

So who knows?

Last week I flew down to Florida to visit Dan. He was surrounded by friends and family but his only big brother lives 2,000 miles away in Wyoming. Bad news travels fast and I would have been on the first plane out but couldn't get on it so I settled for the 100th plane out. Dan and I had time together, and time surrounded by family. Dan and I were the first two of nine born to Anna Marie Hett and Thomas Reed Shay. We're less that two years apart. Our Mom liked to joke that she didn't even know whether Dan could speak until I went off to kindergarten. I was his mouthpiece, his constant companion. "Danny needs a drink of water" or "Danny is hungry." Once I went off to school Dan handled his own requests, and has been doing fine with them ever since.

A wise person once said that you can tell a lot about someone by the people he surrounds himself with. If you didn't know Dan, but were in a room with his friends and family, you'd know what a fine person he is. He has a cool wife and three great kids. He has friends from high school and friends from five years ago. He has air traffic controller friends (his career for 25 years) and biker and surfing buddies, Harleys and surfing being his main hobbies. An old Air Force friend called on one of the days I was there. His house is a busy one, filled with laughter and stories and good food and cold beer.

Dan not sipping the brews these days, as his intake seems devoted to painkillers of a different sort. Makes it tough for him to string words together to converse with all of the people in his life. Part of that is due to "Chemo Brain," and part to the leukemia itself. It's advancing on all fronts.

Pray for Dan. And if you're in a giving frame of mind, you can give to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society or the MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. The best thing to do is live every day as if it were your last. I had my own brush with mortality in 2013. You never know when you arise in the morning if you will see the sunset. Make it count.

"Encore careers" seems to be the new buzzword for Baby Boomers

An AP article by personal finance writer Dave Carpenter was reprinted Friday in the NYT's Business Day section. It was all about us perpetually annoying Baby Boomers and a new trend for us to find "encore careers" that combine "personal meaning with social purpose."

As many as 9 million people ages 44 to 70 already are in such careers as the second or third acts of their working lives, according to nonprofit think tank Encore.org. 

But that number is poised to multiply as many boomers and others take steps to combine making a living with making a difference. Another 31 million older workers are interested in finding encore careers, based on a 2011 survey by the nonprofit. 

A mixture of longer lifespans, layoffs, shifting cultural attitudes and financial realities is causing this growing urge among over-50s to seek out more purposeful work. Sometimes it's just an itch to do something more purposeful in retirements that can now last for three decades, while still pulling in needed income. 

The demographics of 78 million baby boomers should ensure that this careers shift accelerates, says Encore.org vice president Marci Alboher. 

"This trend has the potential to be a new social norm much the way that the dream of the golden years, of a leisure-based retirement, was an aspiration for the generation before," she says. 

Alboher is the author of the soon-to-be-released "The Encore Career Handbook," is an invaluable resource for older workers looking for purposeful career alternatives.

"Purposeful career alternatives." Kind of a clunky term but it's a handy way to describe what many Baby Boomers are trying to do with their retirement (or per-retirement). For awhile now, retirement has become less of a "leisure-based" lifestyle than one that combines do-gooderism with a little bit of freedom to travel, visit grandkids and recuperative time following the usual knee or hip replacement. 

I grew up in Florida, capital of leisure-based retirement. As a beach town, Daytona had more than its share of retirees. You saw them moseying down the beach, playing shuffleboard at City Island Park, and driving 10 m.p.h. down A1A. Half of our beachside neighborhood was made up of snowbirds, Michiganders or New Yorkers or Ohioans who spent most of their year in Daytona but who migrated north to visit family and friends during the hellish Florida summers. Many were widows, still-vital women who had moved to Florida with their retired autoworker husband only to find themselves alone after their spouse expired after a couple years due to golf ennui or shuffleboard overdose. This used to be one of the hazards of retirement, especially for hard-working men. They had nothing to sustain them outside of work. No hobbies. No creative pursuits. Nothing. So they just fade away, like General McArthur's "old soldiers."

We Baby Boomers have different attitudes and, to be fair, worked different sorts of jobs than our parents. I've reinvented myself several times during my life, as has my wife Chris. We're both surprised that I've been at my job more than 21 years and she's been at hers more than 10 years. We even have retirement plans that haven't been gutted by corporate raiders (like Bain Capital) or right-wing, Tea Party legislators.

We also both work in careers that combine "personal meaning with social purpose." Chris is a supervisor at the Cheyenne Family YMCA. Most people know the Y for its exercise classes and swimming pool, but it also offers daycare, summer camps, a myriad of classes and workshops for seniors, and scholarships for people with limited incomes. The VA Hospital uses the swimming pool for patient rehab. The Y "does good" on a daily basis. 

I'm a state employee that works in the arts. My road to this carer took me through jobs as newspaper reporter, newspaper editor, magazine writer, corporate publications editor and community college teacher. My two decades as an arts administrator has been interspersed with intense bouts of fiction writing which, occasionally, lead to publishing, as well as stints on various boards of directors for nonprofit organizations. I've served on the Wyoming Governor's Mental Health Advisory Council. I served on the first Laramie County Habitat for Humanity board and have been a board member for local social service nonprofit UPLIFT for 12 years. I've been an officer for the county Democratic Party. 

Every so often, Chris and my efforts intersect, as when we both served on the YMCA's Writer's Voice committee that brought professional writers and poets to the Y for classes and workshops. 

Our encore carers seem to be happening before our very eyes. We will retire in the near future. We will not go silently into that good night, as if any Baby Boomer could do that. We are loud and we are proud. Especially loud.

So what will these retirees do? I can retire in four years but Chris has a few more years past that -- she's younger than I am. I plan to spend time writing and travelling and volunteering and/or working for my local arts organization, wherever that may be. Chris isn't a writer, but she loves to travel and volunteer, which she may do for our local Y, wherever that may be.

Where will that be? Ironically enough, that may be in Florida. Almost all of my relatives live there -- eight brothers and sisters and their many offspring. Chris's only sister lives there. Chris and I both went to high school in Florida and I graduated from the University of Florida. We have salt water in our veins from the many hundreds of hours spent on the beach. 

Still, we've lived on the Front Range of Colorado and Wyoming for 34 years, with two years off in Washington, D.C., for bad behavior (a temporary work assignment). We have lots of friends in Cheyenne, Fort Collins and Denver. Fort Collins is one of the region's most happening arts towns. Denver is my birthplace and where I spent ten years of working life, where our son was born.

Who knows? I have four years to figure this out. Four whole years! It won't go fast, will it?

Will it?

March WPEA newsletter features blow-by-blow account of 2012 Legislative battles

The March issue of The Reporter newsletter from the Wyoming Public Employees Association (WPEA/SEIU) explains how Republican extremists in the Wyoming State Legislature attacked our retirement system. After the dust cleared, the defined benefit (Pension) plan remained in place. The attempt to replace it with a defined contribution plan (401K) failed. COLAs were not eliminated but the rules were changed. A Wisconsin-style law probiting public sector collective bargaining failed on introduction. But a bill did pass creating a teired system for retirement. For those employees joining state government after Sept. 1, 2012, the retirement age goes up from 60 to 65, retirement benefits will be calculated at the top 5 years of salary (instead of top 3) and the state multiplier is reduced. This may seem a bit arcane to non-state employees but it will have an effect on those newbies hired this year. This will not affect older employees like me, but it will affect opportunities for our children and grandchildren. When you're 25, this change may not look like such a big deal. It does when you're 61, as I am now. As a union member and progressive, I was against these changes. But members of my age cohort -- Baby Boomers -- crafted the legislation and worked to enact it. What kind of legacy are they leaving their own offspring?

I have to hand it to the WPEA. It picked its battles, realizing you can't win everything in a Republican-dominated Legislature, one that's tilted further to the Right since the 2010 Tea Party-influenced elections. 

The Wyoming Retirement System is not broken, in fact, it is one of the top ten best funded systems the nation. Our intent was to focus on the more critical issues facing public employees. By doing so, we would stand a better chance of defeating the very worst bills as we indicate an openness to necessary changes but opposed to the truly bad, unnecessary changes.

Get the full story, plus specifics on voting, at http://www.wyomingpublicemployees.org/id7.html