Season's Bleatings -- 2015

Consider the cow. Personally, I love cows. They're delicious. Hindus love cows, too, but in a spiritual way. They’re adored for their gentleness and tolerance… bovine role models for the rest of us. But the great majority of us loves them when they’re kaput, medium rare, and slathered in ketchup.  We demand them with such enthusiasm that great swaths of the planet have become devoted to their care.  What good are millions of acres of Amazon rainforest when they can be cleared for grazing?  But all those sweet cows fart and poop in such cataclysmic quantities that their discharges wind up melting glaciers and suffocating coral reefs. It's true. While there's an outside chance the world's governments can put a tourniquet on carbon emissions, there's NO WAY to thwart the ceaseless hordes from inching forward in drive-thru lanes to pick up quarter pounders with cheese. Hindus consider the living cow an honored beast. But now, thanks to a movie*, I can't stop pondering the world’s industrialized cattle, 1.5 billion strong, so darned delicious, swinging their cheerful tails to mooing melodies of a sinking Titanic. I didn't want to know this… my mind’s become infected as a rump roast tainted by E. coli.

Geez, sorry. That’s no way to start a Christmas letter. No, it's best, if you're upwind of the vast corrals of eastern Colorado, to consider the Spartans... not the Spartans of Sparta, but the mighty Spartans of East Lansing who are (drumroll)... IN THE NATIONAL PLAYOFFS! Our beloved team consists of brawny Rhodes Scholars, Hindus mostly, saints across the board, whose first mission is to swirl Nick Sabin's head (the traitor) in a toilet of crimson tide before advancing to bring home the bacon. Go Green!

My Christmas gift to Sue is to pay off her gambling debts. You would think that someone so prepared and organized would be more adept at picking winning NFL teams. In fairness, she has spent countless hours this football season piecing together exquisite quilts… TO GIVE AWAY.  If she would merely charge a fee for supplies, she could pay off her own damn debts. In her spare time, Sue watches endless reruns of NCIS and raises hell with her fellow retired dinosaurs, thus far avoiding arrest.

My Christmas gift to Brendan (32) is a cookbook of pheasant recipes. His hunting dog, Sadie, is expert at converting hidden birds into sitting ducks. Both Brendan and his wife, Jodi, have become seasoned foodies, and with all those fowl in the freezer, I'm sure they'll welcome some culinary pointers. My precious little boy has a receding hair line and loves his job at Fifth Third Bank in Grand Rapids.

Come to think of it, you never see a cow cast as a villainous cartoon character. They’re so irresistibly nice. But you also never see the livestock and dairy industries cast as bad guys. Hey, that’s the ticket: let’s show our grandchildren the devastating reality of our planet’s unsustainability on Saturday morning TV. Sponge Bob to the rescue!

My Christmas gift to Elizabeth (30) is a tune-up for her Subaru. She teaches English at Baker College in Cadillac, a long journey to and from the house in Traverse City she shares with her FIANCE, Levi, and his seven year-old daughter, Keira. That's a lot of miles for the old buggy. She left Austin in May for new adventures here in her old stomping grounds. She also assists a local travel writer and artist with her projects, so... Liz’s master's diploma in fine arts, once regarded as kitty litter lining, is paying dividends after all.

I’ll share a Christmas dream:  I dream that before every Republican debate, instead of the candidates doling out hollow introductions, we view a scene from Animal House: John Belushi is in a cafeteria assessing imminent chaos and with a mounting and crazed expression, screams "FOOOOD  FIIIIIIIGHT!!!"  

I continue to wander around northern Michigan in my social worker hat, plying the delicate service of infant adoption. For better or worse, the call for pregnancy counseling has dwindled.  As I stare down the barrel of Medicare eligibility and with the adoption phone mainly silent, I am happy to be semi-retired. Meanwhile, my fantasy football team has advanced to the playoffs and I’ll be glued to my laptop this Sunday as the points add up. Just think: I could win enough big bucks to buy a case of Omaha steaks. 

Okay, maybe we’re not so doomed, not doomed at Christmas anyway. Enjoy your turkey and cranberry sauce. We’re opting for prime rib, medium rare. Delicious.

* Cowspiracy, streaming on Netflix. Do NOT watch if you value sustainable human life or feelings of inner peace.