Mustn't Grumble

The bluejays seemed very happy that I tossed some peanut suet nuggets onto the roof of the shed today. They either announced it to the neighborhood, or warned other birds to back off, as they happily gobbled a few down. The temperature is hovering around freezing, and while I have left some leaves and yard litter to help give them food, the pickings are likely meager. I had to sweep up some leaves that were clogging a sump pump that keeps a low spot from flooding, and found a live earthworm in the mulch, so not sweeping up all your leaves does have an impact.

Reading Substack Notes, and taking a peek at Threads, has led me to double down on avoiding social media. There are often earthworms in the compost, but that does not hide the fact that it is mostly manure. We were not meant to share our every thought with one another. Jill of

Life Litter

said it well, so I’ll share her post here.

Start here.

I find myself thinking again and again about The Dawn of Everything by David Graeber and David Wengrow, and their discussion of some indigenous American societies that followed leaders, but gave themselves the option of not listening to them. These particular societies didn’t have zealot police forces looking to enforce the will of their leaders, which is why it worked.

Americans tend to mock compromise as design by committee, but in the long run, it’s a hedge against having half the populace aggrieved and looking for comeuppance all the time. Everyone grumbling a bit may not seem much better, but tends to not to foment violence. “Mustn’t grumble,” is a Britishism that I admire, and I am at times a fervent Anglophobe. It’s much better than “keep calm and carry on.” The American version is “can’t complain.” Which is the exact opposite of about ninety percent of social media posts.

For example, one Redditor decided that he hates his commute so much that he wishes for an apocalyptic event, so he can play out his dreams of being Mad Max. He was entirely serious. Rather than let’s say, find a new job, or move closer to work, he somehow thought a post-apocalyptic subsistence lifestyle would be an improvement. My advice? Take the bus and listen to an audiobook, you absolute clown. It’s rather like the unfortunate fact that pandas in captivity become uninterested in breeding, because they’d rather frolic in the snow and eat all day. And who can blame them?

panda.ins_

A post shared by @panda.ins_

My stress levels were high for the past week or so. I blamed it on the holidays; my gut’s been bothering me, I wore myself out by working out too much last week, I’ve had bad sleep, and my anxiety has returned. I’ve needed a few days off to do some enjoyable things, like check out the gaming and record shops, which I plan to do today. That, and I’ve learned a few things about my aging body this year. One is that even a single alcoholic beverage tends to ruin my night’s sleep. For someone who has tried over 4,000 different beers in his lifetime, this is a minor tragedy. Thankfully, there are plenty of nonalcoholic ones that aren’t shite, and a Guinness NA will have to do, these days.

Anyhow, I mustn’t grumble. It’s been three days, but I can finally trust a fart. If that’s not something to be thankful for, I don’t know what is. Just in time for the Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve, and my stepfather’s standing rib roast on Christmas Day.

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate. May you always be able to trust a fart.

Lots of people are doing a “best of the year” retrospective, and I do one better. At the top of my page is a “Best Of” tab, where I curate my favorites of the 210 entries I’ve made since starting this newsletter. You can read it here: