Unlike way too many others, I don’t think about ancient Rome much until we slouch towards the end of the year, when references start popping up about the god Janus. He is absolutely one of the coolest Roman gods, if only because he is one of the few who the Romans didn’t rip off from ancient Greece. Janus wasn’t just the god that looked forward and backward in time; he was also the god of doorways and transitions.
This idea of transitions seems appropriate as I looked back on what this newsletter, Casey’s Catch, has become to me.
Writing it was rooted in a sense of frustration.
I had written opinions for more than 30 years and, while I had not worked at a daily newspaper for years, I still felt the itch to speak up. This impulse became stronger as democracy seemed headed for increasingly choppy seas here in the United States (forgive my sailor’s analogies) and especially as the cult of Donald Trump inexplicably seemed to grow ever stronger.
But as my concern grew, in a contradiction, I also felt sick to death of politics. I wanted to write about small, precious things that give me hope: The sight of a field of sunflowers here on our small farm. The birth of a beloved grandchild and wondering all that she will see. Mourning the loss of a beloved golden retriever and, totally against my will, beginning to love her two furry replacements. Watching the strawberries grow. Cats I have known. Renewing a friendship after many years.
So I took a deep breath 14 months ago and decided to write about it all: politics occasionally, but more often, the blessed and trivial events that make up the shining moments of our lives. Since I needed readers, I asked my kids to subscribe, as well as my brother and sister.
That made four.
Even with a handful of subscribers, I needed an editor, and I am ever grateful that Elaine Hooker, retired Connecticut Associated Press bureau chief, agreed to look at my copy every week. If you find a mistake, it’s because I fiddled with it AFTER she edited my musings. Sorry, Elaine.
Yet what has surprised me is how this experience has been different from writing for newspapers.
The comments on what I write are deeper and teach me more. They are also nicer, frankly; I love the emails I get every week.
The reach of the internet never ceases to amaze 60-something me. I still can’t figure out how I managed to get readers in 30 countries.
The most popular posts were not those that I spent days researching or reporting. They are those that I felt deeply. The death of my beloved dog, in Molly: A Love Story, was far and away the most opened and shared, probably because so many of us have gone through similar experiences mourning a pet who became like family. My mother’s Army service, in Recalling Mom on Veteran’s Day, hit a chord, as did my writing about what people don’t get about my beloved city of Buffalo, in My Misunderstood Hometown.
But people also shared and liked The Spirit of Seneca Falls, the column I wrote about the 175th anniversary of the 1848 Woman’s Rights Convention in Seneca Falls, N.Y. It led to American women winning the vote and so many other rights, but that consequential meeting had its roots in the insults and indignities women delegates suffered who tried to participate in the World Anti-Slavery Convention of 1840 in London. (Note to pro-life Republicans: Piss off women at your peril.)
And although whenever I wrote about the Cult of Trump, I got unsubscribes, it was worth it for the thoughtful comments from others that ensued.
In the end, this newsletter is not and never will be about writing for clicks or what is popular. The writing will always be my take on personal and public events, however flawed. Like Janus, in looking back, I’m glad I took a chance on this major transition in my life, publishing opinions once again on a more-or-less weekly basis.
In looking forward, I am especially grateful for all of you, my readers, some of whom I know, and many whom I have never met. Thank you, thank you. Here’s to another year together.
Now I want to read the essays that ignited kerfuffles among the Trumpers. Are they locked?
...And we are grateful for your wit and wonder. I smile whenever I see your Casey's Catch pop up on my screen. Your writing sings through all life's transitions.