Word games of every kind haunt me, befuddle me, sap my self-confidence, and cause me to wonder if I have no claim to a “native language”. I can’t spell, and that is an understatement. In grade school when my class lined up in teams for a spelling bee contest, I was ALWAYS the last kid chosen. I wonder now if the teacher considered the two teams equally divided if the one that I landed on had one extra player.
It didn’t improve in high school. One of my English teachers once pulled me aside and well-meaning, hand on my shoulder, said, “Mr. Schloss, perhaps college is not for you. You would be better served pursuing a technical education.”
I could have been happy in a “technical” occupation. I have an aptitude for things mechanical: electrical, plumbing, carpentry, auto mechanics. However, I think that the “mechanics” of human relationships has been my calling.
My amateur construction and repair skills have saved us thousands of dollars over the years. On occasion those same skills have tested Christine’s patience, like the time I decided to begin demolition of our kitchen in the middle of a 4th of July party we were hosting… Or the afternoon she was away shopping and returned to find that I had removed all of the water and sewer lines from inside the house. Bad timing on my part, she was 6 months pregnant.
Christine and our children seem like savants to me when it comes to word games and puzzles. They have discovered the daily online puzzle section of the New York Times, son Peter gravitates to the big crossword puzzles, Alexis, Renee and Christine especially enjoy “Wordle”, “Strands”, and “The Mini”, Although playing is free (with ads), Christine learned that for $6 a month she can buy 6 “ad-free” accounts, thus enhancing family group participation.
Just a few of the Times daily puzzles.
A few months ago, Christine encouraged me to try “Connections”, another of the New York Times daily puzzle offerings. “Not just no, but hell no!” I replied. “Pete, it doesn’t involve spelling.”
How could that be? A word game where spelling isn’t required? I was intrigued.
Each day, “Connections” presents a grid, 4 boxes by 4 boxes and within each box is a word. The challenge is to see patterns emerge which result in the successful player allocating 4 of the words each into 4 different categories. This from the Times: “You must separate 16 terms into four categories, with four terms in each category, and there is only one solution that works. The trick is that one category often has 5 or more potential answers.”
This is a recent example of “Connections”. The solution is at the end of this post.
For me “Connections” has been like the blind seeing, the deaf hearing, the lame walking… Christine asks ME for help!!
My current “Connections” scores.
Encouraged by my enthusiasm for “Connections”, Christine then urged me to take on “The Mini”; very small crossword puzzles that The Times subtitles, “Solve in Seconds!” Indeed, Christine and our daughter, Alexis, daily challenge each other to see who can solve the puzzle the fastest, often in less than a minute.
Christine vs. Alexis. Alexis won this one.
Hell, I can’t type that fast even if I know the answers and can spell them!
Nevertheless, I have tried, and tried, and tried. Twice I got it done in just under 2 minutes. Most of the time I throw my hands up and ask for help at the 8-10 minute mark.
My “Connections” followed by my result in “The Mini”.My effort at “The Mini”, and Christine at “Connections.
How is it possible that I can be so bad at all word games except “Connections”? It’s Puzzling.
May 2025 be a year of Health, Love, and Happiness for you and those you hold dear.
Peace Everyone, and Happy New Year. Pete
PS. Here is the solution to the “Connections” example I gave above:
The solution to the above “Connections” puzzle.The difficulty rating on this “Connections” puzzle.
The year was 1977. Christine and I were married in June, I had quit my job, we bought our first home, and I started law school. Christine chiseled away on her undergraduate degree as she worked full time and was raising a 6-year-old boy. We were happy, and in love. Thankful for our blessings, we were oblivious to our lack of money. In gift giving this was to be a “thin” Christmas for us.
Midnight Mass was wonderful. St. Francis Xavier church had a congregation with an eclectic mix. There were octogenarian parishioners who had called this church their spiritual home since the 1930s, and there were college students who were drawn to the more liberal Jesuit atmosphere. We felt welcome, loved, comfortable, and embraced by God and his (“her” as Christine would say) children.
As special as the service was, it took second place to the spectacle before us on our walk home. The sky was deep indigo, laced with countless stars shining diamond sharp above us. It was a white Christmas. Fortune had given us 4 inches of new snow, deep enough to challenge the footfalls of a 6-year-old. Sean stretched to match my stride, finding reward in the “trail” that I blazed. Perhaps he was wondering what it would be like to someday walk with the stride of a man.
A man, me. Here I was with a family, home, bills, school and the nagging fear of failure weighing upon me. Sean would someday face his own adult challenges, but for that night his focus was to just put one foot in front of the other and managing his excitement that Santa would soon be at his new home.
As we walked up the steps to our yard, I suggested to Sean that we stay in the backyard and scan the sky for the vapor trails that might be evidence of Santa’s wanderings. To again have a child’s faith, what a gift. Next best is to look deeply into the eyes of a 6 year and remember.
Christine took her leave, complaining that “You men are just too warm blooded”. Actually, her departure was contrived as part of a plan to enhance Sean’s first Christmas in a home with a real fireplace and chimney. Our previous home had been an apartment. While it was a nice apartment, the vision of Santa arriving on the balcony and opening the sliding glass door fell short of the poetic image which begins with the words, “Twas the Night Before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse”.
We had gone out of our way to make a big deal about our “new” fireplace. It had seen its first fire in 1922, and like fine wine it had mellowed with age. The ceramic bricks had taken on the patina of countless fires through 55 winters. Tonight, there would be no fire. Sean insisted that we not risk preventing Santa’s entry.
At my urging, our arrangement was to engage in a bit of theater. The Christmas Tree was decorated, but it stood solitary without any presents beneath it. The gifts were hidden in the living room coat closet. While Sean and I stood in the yard searching for signs of Santa, Christine planned to place the presents under the Christmas Tree.
Out in the yard Sean and I pondered whether the wisp of a cloud here or a dash of smoke there was Santa’s trail. There was a bright moon which echoed its glow on the snow atop our home. I turned my gaze to the roof and shouted, “There, Look There! Did you see him Sean? Santa on OUR roof!” The pliable mind of a 6-year-old is a fertile place to plant thoughts. Sean saw him too.
On cue Christine burst out the back door calling for us to come quick, Santa had been in the living room when she walked into the room. We fairly fell over one another as we charged up the stairs and into the house. In the living room we saw presents where none had been before.
Sean slowly surveyed the room, his eyes and mouth wide. One must remember that this was a “thin” Christmas. We had purchased with care, and within our means. Before the fireplace was a pair of roller skates, the kind that take a key and clamp on your shoes. There was a red wagon, some wrapped gifts, a couple of small toy cars and a large yellow metal dump truck. Noteworthy was the absence of items which needed batteries for fun. These toys were powered by imagination. It was imagination that we counted on to elevate this Christmas in a small child’s mind.
Sean’s gaze continued around the room as I mentally congratulated myself for the cleverness of our creative “theater”. The thing that I had not counted on was that a child’s imagination, like gasoline, is easy to ignite but once lit is difficult to control. Sean’s eyes halted upon Christine. His little face hardened, and his gaze narrowed as he uttered these words of accusation, “You scared him off! You scared him away before he could leave all the presents!”
Christine and I were dumbstruck. For an instant I might have thought the irony of this turn of events funny, but any such tendency was ended by the very real tears that began to fall from my wife’s eyes. She ran to the bedroom and I went to console her. She felt failure as a mother, and I felt failure as a husband. A few minutes together felt like hours. We composed ourselves and resolved to make the best of things. We still had a small child downstairs, and it was still Christmas.
Arm in arm we descended the stairs only to find a 6-year-old happily occupied in the joy of moving imaginary earth from an imaginary construction site with his new toy truck. Nothing more was ever said by him of Santa’s “interrupted” visit. By any child’s measure, that Christmas was a resounding success. For us it has taken the passage of time to temper the bittersweet of that night.
We have since enjoyed many more Christmases. Three holiday seasons in our early years brought with them the births of our children, Peter, Renee’, and Alexis. If you do the math their births are also celebrations of the preceding Springs.
Christine knows that I am telling this piece of our history. Signs of the old pain remain, but punctuated by a smile, a knowing look, and a squeeze of my hand. So, Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Good Night.
It’s 5 a.m. and as I gaze at my computer I find myself staring at the year near finished and the one yet to come. The pages of this life’s “book” turn ever faster as I age to the final chapter.
At nearly 10 weeks post-surgery I am well. That is not to say that all is perfect. I have occasionally been lulled into a false “sense of ability” and done more than I should, like power walking 5 miles. The following morning brings a reminder in the form of stiffness and discomfort. Two Tylenol along with a disapproving look from Christine and a lesson is temporarily learned. My next post-surgery doctor appointment and Xray are later this month.
The concurrent frustration is that inactivity tends to bring about weight gain. I’m working on that, but the holidays don’t help.
Christine is two weeks post-surgery and also doing well. She underwent a procedure which she calls, “Old lady who gave birth to a lot of kids surgery”. She is under instructions to limit activity for 6-8 weeks. We make quite a pair.
Neither of us were able to do much in the way of hosting the family Thanksgiving dinner. Our children and grandchildren came to the rescue. We provided the venue, and they brought the food. We numbered 16. There was enough food for 30.
Christine and I have filled some of the downtime with travel plans for 2025. We will celebrate Christmas with family here in Kansas City, and then travel to Colorado for a few weeks where we will again be joined by some of the children and grandchildren. Skiing is out for me this year. A good book, a warm fire, an adult beverage (or two) and time with family will more than compensate.
We plan on returning to Colorado in mid-February. Our 1992 German exchange student son, Andre, and his family will be joining us. They currently reside in Washington DC, where Andre is stationed at the German Embassy as an economist. They were with us in Kansas City earlier this year.
In May, Christine and I will fly to Chicago, take in a show, dine, and generally enjoy the city. Four days later we will board the “California Zephyr”, a train trip cross-county to San Francisco. We have booked a private compartment for the 54-hour journey. Our compartment includes a bathroom with shower. Our passage also includes a private dining car and observation car. The route will take us through several destination cities, including Omaha, Denver, Salt Lake City, and Reno. We will then stay in San Francisco for 4 nights before catching a flight back to Kansas City.
From the Amtrak website,From the Amtrak website.From the Amtrak website,
In September, we fly to the city of Bergen, on the coast of Norway. After 5 days exploring the mountains and fjords of that region we will board the 500 passenger Norwegian ship, MS Trollfjord, bound for Svalbard Island, 650 miles from the North Pole.
From the Hurtigruten website
The 15-day arctic journey will include 13 ports of call. Our voyage ends back in Bergen where we will train to Oslo and spend 6 days before returning to Kansas City. While in Oslo we will spend time with our 1994 Norwegian exchange student daughter, Hege, and her family.
Though currently more sedentary, we have not been couch-bound. Christine continues to be super-grandmother. She is working on forming a parent organization, a “booster club”, to support athletics at Academie Lafayette, the international high school attended by 3 of our grandchildren. Recently her work has included vetting suppliers of “letter jackets” and working on designs for the jackets and award patches. I accompanied her to the shop of the chosen vendor and was intrigued by the possibility of duplicating my long-gone jacket from 1970. Yes, they could not only duplicate the jacket, but all the patches as well. I placed my order!
Grandson Britton, with whom I walked a portion of the Camino in France and Spain earlier this year, has asked me to be his sponsor for the Catholic Sacrament of Confirmation. I am incredibly honored and look forward to sharing his faith journey. He has also asked if we can return to Spain in the summer of 2026 to complete our aborted Camino. Body willing, I am an enthusiastic “Yes”!
Many of you know that in a span of 30 months, between January 2008 and June 2010, we had 9 grandchildren. These included a set of twins and a set of quadruplets. Sadly, one of the quads, all very early and very tiny, passed away at 7 weeks. The remaining grandchildren are now high school teenagers, happy and healthy.
There is a tenth grandchild, 7-year-old Lennon. Since birth she has been surrounded by her older siblings and “the cousins”. In her efforts to keep up with “the bigs” (as she calls them) her language and reading skills are a marvel.
A second grader, she speaks French (and of course English) fluently, reading equally well in both languages. She has read the first Harry Potter novel (300+ pages!) and has found that she loves detective mystery novels. I could keep going, but then I would risk appearing as just another proud grandparent. However, I will share one more thing:
A couple of weeks ago she and I began a spur of the moment project: Plant a variety of seeds found in the kitchen and see what happens. Seeds, included those from a sweet red pepper, hot red pepper flakes, popcorn, navy beans, Lupini beans, a carrot top, a radish top, and an apple core. Progress has been AMAZING! Lennon’s focus and engagement remind me of my days, nearly 60 years ago, competing in the Chicago Regional and Illinois State Science Fairs.
From my Mother’s “archive”.
As 2024 comes to a close I pause to reflect on so many people and things. I wish I could share them all in detail with you. However, this “update” would become a tome instead of a post. In stream-of-consciousness fashion a few include:
Being reconnected over the past 20 years with so many of my high school classmates. One of them, Tom, continues to share his deeply held philosophy of gratitude in spite of life’s lottery that has delt him the challenge of cancer.
“D”, a friend and former client, is also dealing with serious health issues. Throughout his life he has exuded much optimism in the face of adversity. I am honored that we remain in touch and that he calls me “friend”.
Tina, meine Deutscher Brieffreundin. Wir haben uns auf dem Camino getroffen und immer noch schreiben und Video-Chat.
I reflect fondly upon each of you, including: Liz and Frank, Liz and Fred, Kris, Stanley, Bert, Tom and Nanci, Charley and Mary, Wendy and Pat, Hugh, Bobbi and Russ, Pam and Steve, Mary Lou, Anne and Bryan, Ron and Lena, Greg and Rebecca, Maggie and Doug, Tom and Lissa, Melissa and Joe, Hal and Jane, Phil and Kathy, Paul, Larry and Sharon, my Casita friends, my Camino friends, my friends from P&P, … and so many others. You enrich my life.
My children, my grandchildren…
…and Christine, who I first met over 50 years ago and who looks more beautiful to me every day, you are the boundless source of my happiness.
May your Holidays be filled with Love and Gratitude. Peace Everyone. Pete
(I took the above picture during a 2018 protest in Santiago Chili. The government was using “non-lethal” bullets to suppress protests. However, the ammunition permanently blinded hundreds of people. This demonstration was led by very brave women.)
I’ve survived. The bunker door is mostly open now and peering out I see that life hasn’t really changed that much. I’ve tried watching the news again, but only local and in small bits. It will be a while before I again find Steven Colbert’s political commentary funny. My vote for President was among the 48.1% cast, not the “other” 50.1%.
First an acknowledgement that democracy works. Nearly 150 million Americans set aside their daily routines to make their voices heard. Second, gratitude to the thousands of nameless election workers that made voting possible.
The margin of victory was less than 3 million votes. That is approximately the population of Chicago. Once again, the Electoral College result, 312 to 226, discloses how disconnected this historic dinosaur is from the popular vote. I find further criticism with the length of United States political campaigns, the unconscionable amount of money spent on the campaigns, and the disproportionate influence given to wealth in selecting representation in this country. Those are perhaps subjects for posts at another time.
Another 2018 protest I was present for in Chili. This one focused on economic condition.
My self-imposed post-election introspection has given me an opportunity to seek understanding and peace with the outcome. During the weeks leading up to the election, Christine and I often found ourselves wondering, “How can they consider voting so contrary to their own interests!?!”
The answer is that I was applying myown understanding of what was important, not theirs. Perhaps theirinterests included elevating the voice of a contrarian. Shaking up a system that hasn’t worked for them. Expressing frustration with a government that to them favors “foreigners” over “Americans”. Declaring dissatisfaction with rising prices and tailing wages. And believing promises (real or not) that were addressed to them.
Just as I looked upon themin the pre-election weeks as being voters against their own interests, it occurs to me that in post-election America there may be 48.1 percent of the electorate now wishing against theirown interests, just to say, “I told you so.”
100 percent of America should wish for a strong economy. An efficient and fair system of immigration. Price stability and wages that provide the possibility of upward mobility. Safe streets and safe schools. An efficient justice system that fairly punishes the guilty and quickly frees the innocent. Stability in the world order… All of this and more without regard for which candidate was successful in the election.
I have friends who count themselves among the 50.1%. When they voice complaints, criticisms, and worse about the 48.1%, I know that they are not thinking of me. I know that they would not apply those assertions to me personally. Conversely, as a friend I would never apply to them the complaints, criticisms, and worse often spoken about the 50.1% by those of the 48.1%.
Putting the face of a friend on “them” is one road to an understanding that “they” and “we” are often “us”.
Peace Everyone. Pete
PS. In 1995 we hosted 16-year-old Svetlana as a year-long exchange student from Slovakia. She remains in our hearts a daughter to us. In 1998 we arranged a reunion of our exchange students in Prague. Christine and I offered to pay the room and board of any of the students who could join us for the 5 days. What they did not know was that I had booked 3 large prison cells in the former Communist prison. $13 per person, per night, breakfast included!
Svetlana, along with her older brother Alex and 8 other students joined us. Her parents and little brother were there as was the mother of another of the students. They opted for more conventional (comfortable) lodgings.
In 2018 we enjoyed a wonderful visit with Svetla and her husband and children in Bratislava, Slovakia.
Yesterday, we spent a delightful afternoon here in Kansas City with Alex, his 12-year-old daughter Ellen, and his friend Dasha. Alex is an attorney practicing in Prague, the Czech Republic. He was also an exchange student in Kansas City, spending 1993 with the Harper family in North Kansas City. Alex came back for a visit to attend his host-brother’s wedding.
Earlier this year, our 1992 German exchange student son Andre and his family visited us.
They now reside in Washington DC where Andre is stationed at the German Embassy as an economist. We hope to have them join us next February in Colorado.
Later in 2025 we will be in Norway for a month. Our plans include traveling to Svalbard Island, the northernmost civilian settlement in the world, located about 650 miles from the North Pole. While in Oslo we will visit our Norwegian exchange student daughter (1994), Hege and her family.
Christine is fond of saying that a country is “foreign” until it has a face. These people and many others dear to us, are faces that have made the world smaller, more personal, and less foreign. We would do well within our country to do the same between the 48.1% and 50.1%
My parents loved each other, and they loved their children. Christine’s parents loved each other and their children. But early in our relationship we shared with each other that neither of us heard those words, “I love you…” spoken by our parents.
Perhaps the omissions were cultural or generational, but as we prepared to bring new lives into the world, we consciously inventoried the things we wished to model for our children from our childhoods. We also wanted to identify the things we wished not to pass along to them, and those things we wished to initiate as new traditions for our next generation.
Among those things we valued from our upbringings: A strong Work Ethic. Honesty. The Value of Education. Thrift.
Among those things we wished to focus on better presenting to our children: Inclusiveness. Kindness. Avoidance of Judgement. Giving and expecting Respect when earned. Giving praise for Accomplishment. Acknowledging Fault for a transgression and Giving Apology to those injured. Avoiding drawing Comparisons to another person. And expressing our Love and Affection openly.
It is gratifying to see our children raising their own children, our grandchildren, with the same conscious intention and values. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the expression of the simple words, “I love you”.
It is given as a greeting and expressed as a part of every farewell. It is never taken for granted, yet its omission would raise an eyebrow as being out of the ordinary. Unlike exchanges that have become social pro forma such as “It’s good to see you”, or “How are you?”, the “I love you” that we share has retained its character as a special gift between parent and child, grandparent and grandchild.
Leading up to my 50th birthday I resolved to offer that gift to each of my parents. Offering those words to them was difficult even though I loved them. With my mother it was at the end of one of our weekly phone calls, “I love you Mom” … quiet followed finally broken by, “I love you too, Peter!” Her surprise was palpable, as was her joy. From that day on every conversation between us included that expression of affection. She died in 2020.
With my Father it was not to be. Multiple Sclerosis had robbed him of his independence and the joy of life. His last years were spent in assisted living. When visiting him I would ask him how he was doing, his answer invariable was, “Just waiting…” It wasn’t necessarily to ask what he was waiting for.
I did take the plunge. “Dad, I love you”. To which he replied, “Oh well…” then trailed off to silence. I had to (and did) smile. It was affection given in the manner that he could express. This exchange was repeated at each visit thereafter to the time of his passing in 2009.
What was most important was that I was finally able to speak those words to him in the living years:
Every generation blames the one before. And all of their frustrations come beating on your door. I know that I’m a prisoner to all my father held so dear. I know that I’m a hostage to all his hopes and fears. I just wish I could have told him in the living years.
Crumpled bits of paper filled with imperfect thought. Stilted conversations, I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got.
You say you just don’t see it, he says it’s perfect sense. You just can’t get agreement in this present tense. We all talk a different language, talking in defense.
Say it loud, say it clear, you can listen as well as you hear. It’s too late when we die to admit we don’t see eye to eye.
So we open up a quarrel between the present and the past. We only sacrifice the future, it’s the bitterness that lasts. So don’t yield to the fortunes you sometimes see as fate. It may have a new perspective on a different day. And if you don’t give up, and don’t give in you may just be okay.
Say it loud, say it clear, you can listen as well as you hear. It’s too late when we die to admit we don’t see eye to eye.
I wasn’t there that morning when my father passed away. I didn’t get to tell him all the things I had to say. I think I caught his spirit later that same year, I’m sure I heard his echo in my baby’s newborn tears. I just wish I could have told him in the living years.
(“The Living Years“, was written by B. A. Robertson and Mike Rutherford. Recorded in 1988 by Rutherford’s rock band Mike + The Mechanics.)
Peace Everyone. Pete
PS. My son Peter and I practiced law together for seven years until my retirement. It is an incredible honor to be a colleague with one’s child, to see them every day as an accomplished professional. Christine also cherished this experience but with our daughter, Renee. It was common for Peter and me to wish the other well upon leaving the office. Those exchanges included a hug and “Love you…”. Often as not this happened in the waiting room with clients present.
Peter once shared with me that the day I told him that I was retiring was one of the saddest days of his life.
