I have known people throughout the years who, from as far back as they can remember, have planned their lives with excruciating care, and with great success. They seem always to have known what they wanted in life: education, career, marriage, children, retirement . . . every detail clearly envisioned and plotted. And all along the way, for the most part things have worked out well for them.
My life, on the other hand, seems to have been more reactive than proactive, guided by the forces of chance: making decisions and choices based on current conditions or opportunities as they arose. And, as with most people, some of those choices have proven more fortuitous than others.
Which road to take?
With the transition to yet another new year, I’ve been thinking back on some of my life choices, and how different things might have been if I had gone in some other direction. So — while it’s obviously too late to change things — I went searching for some words of wisdom to satisfy myself that I didn’t screw up too badly. And I found these two opposing, though equally defensible, points of view:
“The best way to predict your future is to create it.” – Abraham Lincoln
Abraham Lincoln
. . . and . . .
“I never think of the future – it comes soon enough.” – Albert Einstein
Albert Einstein
Wow! Two brilliant individuals: one with the confidence to believe he could be the master of his own fate; the other, more adventurous, with the courage to face whatever came his way. But which was more logical?
And then I found a third quote, from an American author of fantasy and science fiction, which struck me as the most reasonable of all:
“The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next.” – Ursula K. Le Guin
Ursula Le Guin (1929-2018)
Which, I suppose, is what I’ve always done: worked hard, tried to make rational choices while still having as much fun as possible, and dealt with the ups and downs as they came my way.
And isn’t that what most of us do? The future, after all, is maddeningly unpredictable, and not always ours to control.
All things considered, I suppose I could have done better; but I could also have done a hell of a lot worse.
I’m ready for a little cheer to start the new year, and I’ve found it in a Christmas video from the Feenstra family, back — for the time being, at least — in their home province of Ontario, Canada.
Christmas Morning
After the long, long flight across Europe, the Atlantic Ocean, and a sizable chunk of North America, the family had about ten days to catch up on some sleep, spend time with the grandparents and cousins . . . and prepare for Christmas.
Last year’s holidays were spent in their new home on the farm in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, with new friends, good food, and a focus on the spiritual meaning of Christmas. This year, back for a visit with their extended family, Anneesa’s parents set the theme by introducing the littlest children — and re-introducing the older ones — to a typically Canadian Christmas, filled with the sounds of activities and laughter and the aromas of freshly-baked cookies and a newly-cut tree.
While Arend busied himself with carpentry and electrical work for his in-laws and one of his own brothers, Anneesa took the kids sledding on her favorite childhood snow hill . . .
Grandma and the kids baked dozens of cookies . . .
There was always an ample supply of nourishment . . .
A tree to be brought home and trimmed . . .
Grandma’s miniature Christmas village to be set up . . .
Time out for a visit with Arend’s even larger family, who had commandeered the local school to hold them all . . .
Games to be played . . .
And, at last, gifts to be exchanged on Christmas morning.
Big Brother Ben
Baby Maddie
Warm Clothes
And, of course, toys
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But of all the hustle and bustle, one activity — seemingly unique to this family — that stood out for me was a group art project organized by Grandma, who exhibited an unsuspected creative bent. For the two large windows in the living room, she made two huge drawings of a village on heavy-duty rolled paper. She and eldest granddaughter Cora then took the drawings outdoors, where they taped the perfectly-sized sheets, picture side facing indoors, to the exterior of the windows . . .
Grandma’s Artwork
“What are they doing out there?”
The eight children were then given pens containing a sort of liquid white chalk, with which they each traced a section of the drawings onto the inside of the windows . . .
Hard at work
. . . producing these beautiful murals:
The Finished Product
*. *. *
It was at that point in the video — watching eight children ranging in age from 17 to just 3 years old, engaged together in a creative activity, enjoying each other’s company, wrapped in the warmth of a loving family — that I finally came to understand the essence of the Feenstra clan.
Their religious and political beliefs and their chosen lifestyle are vastly different from mine. Their decision to live in Russia is something I will never fully comprehend or agree with. But their devotion to one another, and their ability to find true joy in the smallest of life’s gifts . . . these are the qualities that first drew me to them, that have impelled me to follow their progress over the past two years, and that inspire my admiration and envy.
For, no matter where they live, they have each other; and that bond gives them the strength to face whatever challenges life may bring. And that is indeed something to be thankful for.
So, for the coming year and beyond, I wish Arend, Anneesa, and their entire family good health, prosperity . . . and the ability to differentiate between fact and fiction in their adopted homeland.
Happy 2026, everyone! The “happy” part, of course, is finally seeing an end to what has been a truly horrific twelve months for the world.
As I have spent the last few days reviewing my posts throughout 2025, my already entrenched belief that “if it ain’t bad, it ain’t news” was sadly reinforced. If I tried to touch on every newsworthy item today, this retrospective would be too long for anyone to bother reading — especially for those who may have gone a little overboard on the New Year’s Eve celebrating last night.
So, here are just some of the highlights (or lowlights) — not necessarily in chronological order, since many of them just kept going, and going, and going . . .
“And away we go!”
Russia’s War in Ukraine. Throughout its fourth year, Vladimir Putin’s “special military operation” — or more accurately, his war of attrition — against neighboring Ukraine has intensified despite punishing sanctions and diplomatic efforts at a settlement by dozens of the world’s leaders. The longest European conflict since World War II, it seems destined never to end . . . or, at least, not until one side or the other is completely demolished.
Kyiv, Ukraine
*. *. *
The War in Gaza. What began as Israel’s rightful retaliation for the October 7, 2023, attack by Hamas on Israeli civilians has devolved into an ongoing, vengeful assault by Benjamin Netanyahu on the citizens of Gaza. Even the staunchest allies of Israel continue to be sickened by the maelstrom of death and destruction being written off in the name of retribution. Whatever happened to a proportional response?
Gaza
*. *. *
The Emergence of DOGE. A whole new government entity — the so-called Department of Government Efficiency — was quickly created at the beginning of the second Trump term, to be administered by a billionaire with a chainsaw and operated by a slew of prepubescent neophytes with a mandate to cut costs by destroying every iota of system and order essential to the functioning of the very government that was paying their salaries. So now, nothing works as it should.
Cutting Jobs with Glee
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The Gilding of the Lily. In Donald Trump’s vision of a new “Golden Age” for America, everything must (a) bear his name, and (b) be slathered in gold, gold leaf, or gold paint. And so we now have the Trump Institute of Peace, the Trump-Kennedy Center, a Trump coin, and plans for a completely useless Trump-class battleship. On the glitter side, there are all the shiny chatchki in the Oval Office and the rest of the White House (what’s left of it), and drawings of a blindingly-gilded, $400 million ballroom. The concept of “less is more” seems to have been lost somewhere between Mar-a-Lago and New York’s Trump Tower.
The Trump Ballroom
*. *. *
ICE on the Streets. No, not a winter weather event. What started as a raging, psychotic assault on America’s immigrant population, heavily armed and often masked Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents began appearing in cities and towns across the country, grabbing and detaining people at will, without due process, based on nothing more than their physical appearance. When innocent citizens protested, Trump sent in reinforcements from the National Guard to cities like Los Angeles, Chicago, Portland, and even the nation’s capital, to “protect” the ICE agents. Martial law descended on our democracy, despite court orders declaring the administration’s actions blatantly illegal.
How many tough guys does it take . . . ?
*. *. *
The Epstein Papers. There is no need to explain this one; we’ve all read the reports ad nauseam. Yechhh!
No need for introductions; you know who they are.
*. *. *
Natural Disasters. Floods, earthquakes, volcano eruptions, droughts, melting glaciers, disappearing coral reefs, wildfires . . . all of biblical proportions. And in Washington, an official denial of the existence of climate change. Genius.
A Slow Death
*. *. *
Man-made Disasters. Starvation due to cuts in aid; the return of measles and other plagues because of ludicrous untruths about vaccinations; power shortages because someone doesn’t like wind farms . . . to name just a few.
Just one of millions
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And then there are the . . .
People We’ve Lost. In light of all of the foregoing, perhaps these are the lucky ones to have left this “mortal coil.” But we are the poorer for their absence:
Pope Francis Actor Gene Hackman and his wife, Betsy Arakawa Boxer George Foreman Wrestler Hulk Hogan Epstein/Maxwell victim Virginia Giuffre Musician Brian Wilson Musician and TV star Ozzy Osbourne Journalist Bill Moyers Astronaut Jim Lovell Actor Robert Redford Actor Malcolm-Jamal Warner Filmmaker David Lynch Actress Dame Joan Plowright Fashion designer Giorgio Armani Conservationist Jane Goodall Actress Diane Keaton Actor Val Kilmer Actress Claudia Cardinale Former Vice President Dick Cheney Playwright Tom Stoppard Architect Frank Gehry Actress Brigitte Bardot Actor Graham Greene Actor-director Rob Reiner and his wife, Michele Singer Reiner
To them, and to any others I may unintentionally have overlooked . . .
*. *. *
It’s been quite a year, to say the least — and all the more remarkable for the dearth of happy events to offset the bad stuff. I, for one, am glad to see the back of it.
But on the up-side, through all of the difficulties, we’re still able to say:
“Should old acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot In the days of auld lang syne?
“For auld lang syne, my dear For auld lang syne We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet For the sake of auld lang syne.”
Robert Burns (1759-96)
We all know the first verse and the chorus of this old Scottish folk song, based on a poem written by Robert Burns in 1788. But do we ever think about its meaning?
The literal translation of “auld lang syne” is “old long since,” “times long past,” or — in the spirit of the song — “for the sake of old times.” And this year, it seems particularly appropriate to bid farewell — and good riddance! — to the year just gone by. Because it was a stinker.
This year, rather than relying entirely on luck, chance, or the fates, why don’t we all work toward a better one to come . . . even if the only thing we can contribute is our voice in support of peace and justice, and our refusal to bend to opposing, destructive forces.
So — one more time — here’s to a Happy New Year. We’ve earned it.
Yesterday, December 30th, was the 103rd anniversary of the establishment of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), then comprised of Russia, Belorussia, Ukraine, and the Transcaucasian Federation (later divided into the republics of Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan). It eventually grew to encompass 15 republics, only disintegrating from its own rot in December of 1991.
And today, December 31st, is the 25th anniversary of Vladimir Putin’s accession to the presidency of the Russian Federation — the day in 1999 that Boris Yeltsin walked off the job. His departure left Putin, then Prime Minister, in charge as interim President until the next scheduled election in March of 2000, when he officially took hold of the reins . . . reins he has tightened again and again until it almost seems as though the Gorbachev-Yeltsin years of glasnost and perestroika (1985-‘99) were nothing more than another Russian fairy tale.
Passing the Baton – December 1999
The five years between the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the formal establishment of the USSR, or Soviet Union, in 1922 were politically chaotic, and represented perhaps the most world-altering events of the early 20th century.
But the arrival of Vladimir Putin at the head of the world’s second most powerful nation, though quieter and less dramatic, signaled changes that would prove as life-changing to the Russian people — and to the rest of the world — as that brutal revolution nearly a century earlier.
Putin had served for 15 years as an officer of the Soviet KGB and was at his then-assigned post in Dresden, East Germany, in August of 1991 when news was received of an attempted coup against Russian President Mikhail Gorbachev. Correctly assessing the possible future ramifications of the event, he quickly left Germany and returned home to Leningrad (soon to be renamed St. Petersburg), joined forces with Mayor Anatoly Sobchak, and began his ascent from jack-of-all-trades to Deputy Mayor.
With Mayor Sobchak – St. Petersburg, C. 1990s
In 1996, when Sobchak lost his bid for reelection, Putin moved to Moscow, where Yeltsin was duly impressed by the younger man’s ability to get things done . . . by any means. Starting out in the Presidential Property Management Department, he rose to Deputy Head of the Presidential Administration in 1997, and First Deputy Head in 1998.
In July of 1998, he returned to his professional roots when he was appointed Director of the Federal Security Service (FSB), successor to the KGB. In March of 1999, he added to his duties by becoming Secretary of the Security Council — one of the most influential positions in the Russian government.
And finally, in August of 1999, Yeltsin — then on his last legs due to ill health and long years of alcoholism — appointed Putin his Prime Minister.
Receiving an Award
And that, my friends, is how history is made. It takes just one person with the right skills for the job, in the right place at the right time, to alter the course of events for an entire nation . . . and, by extension, the whole world.
Tragically, sometimes that individual also happens to have a narcissistic personality disorder, the instincts of a cold-blooded killer, and a complete lack of conscience or scruples.
The good news is that nothing — and no one — lasts forever.
My blog site asks a daily question on a wide variety of subjects, which can be answered and shared on the site or simply used to encourage individual introspection (my personal choice). And as the clock struck midnight today, a new question was revealed: “What makes you feel nostalgic?”
This being New Year’s Eve day, that query could not have been more timely. As the world prepares to sing about Auld Lang Syne (“times long past”) in a few hours, my thoughts turn back to a lifetime of New Year’s Eves . . . some great, some not so great, and a few utterly disastrous.
As a child in the late 1940s and early ‘50s, of course, it was all about being allowed to stay up until midnight. There were always a lot of adults around — mostly family, and often a few of their friends — and while they chatted among themselves, we kids dug into the food and tried to sneak sips of their cocktails when no one was looking. Then as the clock struck twelve, we all cheered and set off our noisemakers, everyone kissed everyone else, and we were hustled off to bed. It was great fun.
Of course, that’s only satisfying for a few years. Times change, and children grow up. From around the age of 16, if you didn’t have a date for the New Year, you were a loser. So you did the only thing you could do: you lied to your friends, telling them you had a big family party to attend, or the 24-hour flu, or a great-grandparent had died. Anything to save face.
But in retrospect, those dateless years were actually not as bad as some of the disastrous actual dates I recall. Let’s see now . . .
There was the year when my date was someone new, and it turned out we weren’t really compatible. We had gone to a big party, and I hate big parties, so I wasn’t having a great time. At midnight, I looked around and he was across the room, planting one on someone else’s girlfriend. I later thought about trying to get my money back for the dress I had bought for the occasion, but my asshole date had gotten drunk and spilled a drink on it. I drove myself home as he snoozed in the passenger seat of his car; I assumed he made it home somehow, because the car was gone in the morning and I didn’t hear any reports of fatalities.
Another year, another big party, but this time with a steady boyfriend (that’s what they were called back then). I don’t remember what triggered it, but there was an argument followed by a breakup. I was home by 12:30, beginning the year with a good cry.
And then there was the year I finally had a date for New Year’s Eve with my latest crush (yes, that’s a real word). I had the new dress, the coordinating accessories, the hairdo and makeup . . . the complete package. The snow started in the late morning. It snowed, and snowed, piling up faster than the plows could handle it in total white-out blizzard conditions. Everything was cancelled, and my would-have-been date and I spent the hours leading up to midnight talking on the phone. And I have to tell you . . . blowing kisses over the phone is no substitute for the real thing.
But eventually those dating years were (mercifully) behind me, and I was married with two children. New Year’s Eve became a time for quiet celebrations with a few friends at someone’s home, good food and drink, lively conversation, and a designated driver for each car because we all had families to consider.
Even after the kids were grown, those quiet evenings continued to be my favorite way to celebrate, not only on New Year’s Eve, but on any occasion. No crowds of strangers, no obnoxious drunks, no ear-splitting noise . . . and no need to pretend to be having fun, because those get-togethers with good friends really are the most fun.
Maybe it’s all part of getting older and tuckered out . . . or maybe just smarter. But I don’t miss the big parties, the spilled drinks on expensive new dresses, the breakups, or the hangovers. So tonight I’ll toast the New Year with some well-chilled bubbly as I watch the Times Square ball drop on TV, snuggled into my favorite chair in my robe and slippers.
And as for that New Year’s kiss . . . well, there’s always this guy:
It’s nearly time to consign 2025 to the dustbin of history. And for the occasion, from the pen of Austrian poet and novelist Rene Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke — better and more simply known as Rainer Maria Rilke — I offer you these words of hope and inspiration for the coming year:
“And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things.”
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)
So let’s celebrate the passing of the old, and cheer the beginning of what awaits us . . . with renewed hope, determination, courage, and the spirit of kindness and brotherhood in our hearts.
This one is unusual, in that it comes from the day’s headlines rather than the archives of history or literature. In fact, it is doubly unusual, because it is part of an article published yesterday by Russian news outlet Komsomolskaya Pravda — described by the EU as Vladimir Putin’s favorite newspaper, and obviously not one of my normal sources of inspiration.
Komsomolskaya Pravda
In general, Russian media have been hailing Donald Trump’s stance on the “special military operation” in Ukraine as being decidedly pro-Russian. And this is a prime example, as reported today:
“America no longer sees our country as a threat. The threat is now a militaristic Europe. The US leader’s philosophy is closer to the values of Russia’s president, not the politicians of the Old World . . . he understands that a clash between two nuclear powers means the Apocalypse. He sees Europe as a liberal stronghold that must be destroyed to Make America Great Again.” [Charlie Bradley, Express.co.uk, December 29, 2025.]
*. *. *
Winston Churchill once famously described the Soviet Union as “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”
To me, the language from Komsomolskaya Pravda sounds more like a smirk wrapped in a “hallelujah” inside an existential threat.
Is it any wonder we’re feeling as though the world has turned upside-down?
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