I make my way through a dimly lit hall of walkers, wheelchairs, and medical carts to find him where I always find him – in a threadbare recliner, lightly coated with dried skin cells and broken hair follicles – hunched over the New York Times crossword in his flannel robe, pee-stained underwear, and perfectly fitted Red Sox cap – his lips moving silently to the clues:
“1 Across – Act of saving or being saved – 1 down – Environmentally friendly material.”
Dad never used to move his lips – they were always tightly creased, well-mannered, and coolly detached from the finely humming machine in his head as he attacked the puzzle on all fronts.
To Dad, the Times crossword was a trusted friend, a worthy opponent, and an intellectual fencing partner who, for years, prepared him mentally for the start of his day. It felt grossly unfair that Dad was aging so inelegantly while his opponent remained unscathed by time.
I stand invisible at the entrance of his room, just staring, not wanting to disrupt his endeavor.
When he finally looks up, he shoots me a broad smile and tips his cap in my direction before returning to the puzzle.
I enter the room, clear my throat, and get to the point of my visit.
“Dad, do you have a will?”
Without lifting his eyes or halting the motion of his pencil, he responds, “You can have it all. Just burn me down to a fine ash, then bury me in the desert. There – that’s my will. Cross it off your list.”
I sigh heavily.
With his head still bowed, he holds up his mechanical pencil and points it sharply in my direction before continuing.
“But not too deep. A few inches below the topsoil will do just fine. I want the rain to be able to get to me — muddy me up a bit.”
He lifts his head. A thin dusting of skin cells and hair follicles fall – it’s wintertime in Flannel Ville. He gives me a wink and a smile before returning to the puzzle.
“What about the family plot where Mom is?”
“What about it?”
He goes on, “In the words of the best Beatle by far, Let. It. Be. When she was alive, your mother nagged me about hogging the bed and disturbing her sleep. Trust me, she’d be fine with my desert plan.”
He returns to the puzzle, mumbling under his breath.
“6 across – Breaking down organic matter” – 2 Down – To accept without protest”
“Is any of this written down, Dad?”
He slams the folded Times on his lap, and an unwelcome whiff of urine fills my nostrils.
“Why do I need to write it down? I just told you with actual words from my mouth – Put me in the goddamn desert, a few inches deep – Easy-Peasy. You want to bring nurse Jackie in as a witness?”
There’s no Nurse Jackie, but Dad loved that show so much that he referred to all his nurses as Nurse Jackie—even the males.
“Sorry, Dad.”
He softens immediately and smiles.
“It’s OK. No worries from the weary.”
“The Times is kicking my ass today.” He tosses the newspaper onto his bed – a school of dad-DNA swims in a stream of sunlight above the bedding.
“How are things at home? How are Emma and the boys?”
“They’re good – I’ve been wanting to get the boys in for a visit – -they’ve been busy with basketball and homework.”
“Don’t worry about visits. Honestly, I don’t want them to see me like this.”
A silence settles in the room. I can hear the paint peeling and a clock ticking.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure, Dad, whatever you need.”
He points to the wall behind his bed.
“Get rid of that goddamn cross. It’s from the poor soul who was here before me.”
I lift the lacquered black Christless cross from its nail. The unfaded paint beneath it leaves a crucifix shroud of Turin.
In a deadpan voice, Dad stares at the wall and quotes Luke 24:6-7, “He is not there; he has risen,” and smiles sarcastically.
“Thanks, son.”
I stand Pope-like in the middle of his room, holding the crucifix, “What should I do with this?”
“Burn and bury it in the desert – he chuckles and starts to cough – a mosh pit of Dad-dust bounces enthusiastically on his shuddering shoulders. I can almost hear Cobain screaming.
Suddenly, there’s a discharge of electricity around Dad’s recliner. I look up to an intense blueish-white light pushing through the crevices on his forehead—a halo of electrified dandruff swirls above his head. A look of relief falls upon him. He winks and says warmly, “I’m just saving you the effort. Goodbye, son.”
There’s a loud pop—like a fluorescent light bulb dropped from a great height—as Dad bursts into flames like a human Hindenburg. Thin flakes of ash float in the air. Their fiery orange edges burn bright for a few seconds before self-extinguishing into dissipating wisps of smoke and settling all around me.
I drop the crucifix in stunned silence.
A nurse (followed by an elderly gentleman with a Dustbuster) enters the room. The nurse tilts her head towards her left shoulder and speaks into a small black microphone, “Mr. Smith in 103 has transitioned.” She nods sharply to the gentleman, who retrieves the crucifix and vacuums up every remnant of my father. He even vacuums Dad from my shoulders and shoes. When he finishes, the nurse checks her watch and makes a notation on her clipboard.
She hands me a piece of paper. “Your father left us these coordinates. We’re sorry for your loss. Please collect your father’s remains at the nurse’s station.” She and the orderly exit the room along the same path they entered.
I unfold the paper. Scrawled in my dad’s handwriting are the coordinates 40°40′N 117°40′W.
After a few minutes, I head to the Nurse’s Station. Dad’s been packaged neatly in a small cardboard box with the Crestwood Nursing Home logo. Someone thoughtfully taped the crucifix onto it. I pull it off and toss it in the trash on my way out the door.
I place Dad in the glove compartment and drive west to the desert.
My Paper, My Words is a collection of essays, stories, and poems that reflect the challenges of a middle-class husband and father trying to navigate a rapidly changing political, religious, and technological landscape of post-9/11 America.
Let’s Ask Arty uses existing Artificial Intelligence (AI) technology to query LLMs about politics in these troubled times.
Query 1: How did the war between Ukraine and Russia start?
The war between Ukraine and Russia began with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine on February 24, 2022. This invasion was preceded by years of tension and conflict, including Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea in 2014 and support for pro-Russian separatists in eastern Ukraine2. The full-scale invasion in 2022 marked a significant escalation in the conflict
Query 2: Did Russian Forces commit war crimes against Ukraine citizens?
Yes, there have been numerous credible reports and investigations indicating that Russian forces have committed war crimes against Ukrainian citizens since the invasion began in 2022. These war crimes include deliberate attacks on civilian targets such as hospitals, schools, and residential areas, indiscriminate attacks on densely populated areas, abduction, torture, and murder of civilians, forced deportations, sexual violence, and destruction of cultural heritage.
Query 3: Is Vladimir Putin responsible for war crimes against Ukraine?
The International Criminal Court (ICC) has issued an arrest warrant for Russian President Vladimir Putin, accusing him of war crimes related to the unlawful deportation and transfer of children from occupied areas of Ukraine to Russia. This is part of broader allegations of war crimes committed by Russian forces, including deliberate attacks on civilian targets, abductions, torture, and murder of civilians, and destruction of cultural heritage.
Query 4: As an American citizen, how can I support Ukraine in its war with Russia even when my government seems now to be siding with Russia?
It’s commendable that you want to support Ukraine despite the complexities of international politics. Here are some ways you can help:
Donate to humanitarian organizations: Organizations like People in Need, the Ukrainian Red Cross, International Medical Corps, and CARE are actively providing aid to those affected by the conflict. Your donations can help provide food, shelter, medical aid, and other essential services1.
Support Ukrainian businesses: Purchase products made in Ukraine or from Ukrainian-owned businesses to help support their economy.
Advocate for Ukraine: Use your voice to raise awareness about the situation in Ukraine. Write to your representatives, participate in peaceful protests, and use social media to spread the word.
Volunteer: Look for local or international volunteer opportunities with organizations that support Ukraine. This could include anything from fundraising events to providing direct assistance to refugees.
Educate yourself and others: Stay informed about the situation in Ukraine and share accurate information with your community. Knowledge is power, and spreading awareness can lead to more support.
Support cultural initiatives: Attend events, concerts, and exhibitions that promote Ukrainian culture and raise funds for the cause.
Query 5: Was Donald Trump financially beholden to Russia?
The relationship between Donald Trump and Russia has been a topic of much discussion and investigation. While Trump has consistently denied having any financial ties to Russia, investigations and reports have revealed several connections.
Business Ventures: Trump has pursued business deals in Russia since the late 1980s. Although he never successfully concluded any real estate deals in Russia, Russian investors have heavily invested in Trump properties.
Financing: Following his bankruptcies in the 1990s, Trump borrowed money from Russian sources. His children have also acknowledged that Russia was an important source of money for the Trump businesses.
Associates: Several of Trump’s senior advisors and business partners have had financial and business ties to Russian financiers.
Despite these connections, Trump has maintained that he has no financial ties to Russia. The full extent and nature of these connections remain a subject of ongoing scrutiny and debate.
My Input
Before I get going, I need to jettison some of my anger about America’s shift regarding the war in Ukraine.
I’m angry that millions of Americans don’t seem to care their President is a fucking liar. They don’t seem to care that under Trump’s authority, America has flipped its position on Ukraine, signaling support for the nation that unlawfully invaded them while committing war crimes against Ukrainian civilians.
This past week, in America’s name, Trump stood on the world stage and knowingly lied about who started the war in Ukraine and then regurgitated Russian talking points about President Zelensky being a dictator.
Let’s get to the point. As Arty states clearly, there is no ambiguity about what happened on February 24, 2022.
After Putin unlawfully invaded Ukraine and committed war crimes against Ukrainian citizens, America stood shoulder-to-shoulder with law-abiding nations around the world in condemnation of Russia. America and our Western European allies offered humanitarian, military, and moral support to help Ukraine defend and fight against Russia.
Before Trump became President again, standing up for Ukraine wasn’t a sticky wicket politically. Ukraine was not threatening Russia. Ukraine was simply next to Russia—there for the taking. The “right and wrong” of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was so clear that even our divided Congress came together almost immediately to support President Zelensky and the Ukrainian people.
I was proud of our government’s stance, but honestly, it was a no-brainer.
Right??
Now look at where we are today. Trump is working directly with Russia while excluding Ukraine from negotiations and labeling President Zelinsky a dictator.
What we need to remember about Donald Trump is that he’s purely transactional, has no moral compass, and has a penchant for revenge.
Why is this important regarding the war in Ukraine? Whether you curry favor or scorn Donald Trump, you can expect reciprocity—he’s a tit-for-tat president unfettered by morality or the rule of law.
Donald Trump dislikes President Zelensky because, in 2019, Zelensky didn’t agree to Trump’s request that he “do us a favor” and investigate Joe Biden, his political rival, and his son Hunter Biden.
Trump threatened to withhold military aid and a White House meeting as leverage to strong-arm Zelensky.
A House investigation found that Trump’s actions constituted an abuse of power (pressuring a foreign leader for personal political gain) and that he obstructed Congress by instructing his administration to ignore subpoenas for documents and testimony.
Donald Trump hates the fact that Zelensky would not be bullied and probably blames the Ukrainian President for his first impeachment.
Trump likes Vladimir Putin because Putin and Russia curried favor with Trump by interfering in the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election to undermine Hillary Clinton’s campaign and boost Donald Trump’s chances of winning. Russian interference included hacking and releasing emails from the Democratic National Committee and Clinton’s campaign chairman, as well as spreading disinformation through social media.
The U.S. intelligence community, the Republican-led Senate Intelligence Committee, and Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s investigation all concluded that Russia engaged in an extensive campaign to influence the election in favor of Donald Trump.
The people who know Trump best – the ones who served in his administration and the high-ranking officers in the military that he commanded, spoke clearly before the 2024 election, telling Americans in no uncertain terms that Donald Trump was a fascist and a threat to our democracy and democracies around the world. However, the price of eggs was through the roof, a handful of trans athletes competed in events, and the local library hosted Drag Show Readings. And so millions of Americans turned a deaf ear to the warnings and voted for a convicted felon and serial sexual abuser. Today, the consequences of that decision are unfolding before our eyes.
It’s clear that Congress, which has the constitutional authority to check the President’s powers, lacks the courage to do so. And we can forget about the Judicial branch, which granted Trump immunity from criminal prosecution.
American citizens will have to right the ship. The longer Trump’s actions go on without protest or dissent from citizens, the more momentum Trump and the MAGA movement gain, and the more dangerous and difficult our task becomes.
With each passing day, more executive orders come, and Elon Musk swings the DOGE wrecking ball at federal institutions and agencies to weaken the government and solidify executive power and authority.
It’s up to American citizens to demand a moral, competent, and just government that supports democracy and works for the people instead of an autocratic, oligarchic government that demands fealty from the people.
Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious Elon-Bezos-Zuckerberg are really quite atrocious We need to fight them in the streets and call them on their grossness Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious
We cannot be afraid to speak at what is being done Trump’s a bully and freak who wants to shock and stun with fascists in our government, this isn’t a dry run And so we have a song to sing, a song that must be sung
GO!
Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious Elon-Bezos-Zuckerberg are really quite atrocious We need to fight them in the streets and call them on their grossness Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious
It seems a lesson wasn’t learned from Hitler’s evil days when you lose democracy, your freedoms slip away when oligarchs and fascist pigs try to steal away everything you’ve worked hard for this is what to say
Hey!
Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious Elon-Bezos-Zuckerberg are really quite atrocious We need to fight them in the streets and call them on their grossness Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious
Now’s not the time for sitting back or fretting in dismay Be courageous in your deeds and learn to seize the day Don’t go hiding in the weeds or worse just weep and pray, take to the streets to fight misdeeds while singing all the way
Hey!
Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious Elon-Bezos-Zuckerberg are really quite atrocious We need to fight them in the streets and call them on their grossness Neo-fascist-oligarchic-expialidocious
“I’ve washed this towel twice and still can’t remove the puke stain.”
His wife Mary stands at the top of the stairs, gently shaking the unfurled towel at her husband, who sits with his back to her, hunched over his “work-from-home desk,” even though he’s been out of work for 10 months.
The vet called it megaesophagus, a condition in which the esophagus is unable to move food into the stomach efficiently, causing their aging dog to vomit frequently. His wife displayed the artistic consequence of their dog’s medical condition for her husband to see.
Planting his bare feet on the protective matt under his office chair, he spins towards his wife, her pretty, puzzled face resting atop the puke-stained towel.
He studies the stain. “Let’s change Pepsi’s name to Pollock and sell her work online.” Then, in the next breath, he squints and quips, “Hold on a second… what the hell . . . I think I see Jesus’s face in that puke stain!”
“Ha-ha, very funny”, still, she turns the towel 180 degrees, tilts her head slightly, and studies the stain.
“Our lord savior, perpetually pictured in Pepsi’s puke! — or Pollock’s puke if we decide to move ahead with the name change,” her alliterative husband continues with a self-satisfying grin.
“This could be the financial windfall we’ve been waiting for!”
“It’s a laundry version of the miracle at Lourdes… the Tide Pod that Spied God!” He slips effortlessly into one of his riffs, wagging his finger enthusiastically above his head.
“I’ll call the Vatican and local paper; you work on logistics for backyard tours.”
She chuckles, turns on her heel, and heads down the stairs.
He’s unfazed by her absence.
Once he starts ranting, it’s got to run its course, “like diarrhea,” she would often say.
“We’ll need to erect a clothesline for the bath towel shroud of Jesus!”
“Maybe by the vegetable garden in the back, in front of the doubting toms and holy basil,” he shouts while spinning back to his work desk.
Halfway down the staircase, she responds sarcastically over her shoulder, “I’ll get on that right way,” tossing the rolled-up towel into the clothes hamper at the bottom of the stairs.
The morning sun finds its way through crowds of whispering pines and stoic oaks before crashing onto the skylight, splashing the inhabitants below in ghostly shadows of needles and oakleaf.
Peering over his coffee cup, he clears his throat – brushing aside the silence.
“We don’t fuck in the shower anymore.”
He takes a sip.
She raises an eyebrow, but not her eyes, working her butter knife methodically, like a skilled artisan, covering every nook and cranny of a slightly burnt English muffin.
A second passes.
“Fuck in the shower?” she scoffs incredulously, “Hell, I’d settle for a dry hump in the driveway.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” He takes another sip and studies his wife across the table. “Still pretty without makeup,” he thinks to himself.
Lifting her head, she takes a bite and shoots him a toothless smile, which he returns instantly (with a wink) before heading to the sink with his coffee cup.
“So,” he says, “What’s the plan today?”
She floats across the kitchen floor, meeting him at the sink, “I’m thinking of going to Mom’s to help in the yard.”
“After that, I’m free as a bird.”
“Maybe we can shower then?”
Standing directly behind him, she places her hand lightly on his lower back and slides her plate onto the kitchen counter before walking away.
He marvels at how she’s kept her figure. With his hand on his belly, he begins to second-guess his shower comment.
It’s their anniversary.
“By the way,” she says over her shoulder. “We’ve only done that like twice – maybe 3 times – in 30 years of marriage.”
He detects a hint of disappointment, and that famous quote from Cool Hand Luke, “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate,” plays on a loop in his head.
He wonders momentarily how many shower opportunities he’s missed out on.
The space between them has grown exponentially since the kids left, and lately, he wonders if it’s even navigable.
The kids were a bridge.
Now, the person he fell in love with is this spotty, blurry-edged figure on a distant shore, and he’s pretty sure that’s how he appears to her as well — spotty and distant, lost in his coffee, fantasizing about fucking in the shower.
In a strained and slightly desperate tone he pushes his words towards her “Strange how time clouds our perception of reality,” as if words can fix what feels irrevocably broken.
After more than eleven years of love and devotion, we had to put our beloved Pepsi down on Sunday.
Over the next several weeks, I’ll miss the routine I had with Pepsi for the last eleven years – all the daily interactions – from when I woke to when I went to bed.
Our pets affect us in ways that the people in our lives do not. Our relationship with them isn’t complicated by ego, insecurities, or pettiness. There are no traps, tripwires, or pretentiousness because our pets love us unconditionally. More significantly, they allow us to love with no contingencies—something we’re incapable of doing with people—no matter the relationship.
So, when our pets die, that pure and unblemished love and devotion disappears from our lives. The grief is so profound that it wrecks us for a time.
How We Came to Know and Love Pepsi
In 2013, months after losing our lab, Walter, to Cancer, I found myself searching for shelter dogs. As I remember, it was just a whim; I had no intentions of adopting.
I have no recollection of what I typed for my Google search – but I ended up on this Facebook post:
The post included a link to this video, showing Pepsi and a shelter volunteer:
Unfortunately, as often is the case with Pitbull and Pitbull mixes, a NYC animal shelter put this sweet girl on their kill list.
As I watched the video of Pepsi, I felt an immediate obligation to contact Second Chance Rescue to get her off “the list.” So, I corresponded with them through their Facebook page, which initiated a sequence of events (filling out an application, putting down a deposit, and having a consultant visit our home to ensure it was a suitable environment) and ended with the ASPCA transporting Pepsi from Brooklyn, NY, to the Mystic Aquarium parking lot in Mystic CT, where she went from a dog on a video to a cherished member of our family.
Second Chance Rescue of NYC rescues and rehabilitates critically injured and neglected dogs and cats and those at high risk of euthanasia.
Pepsi was our first experience with the pitbull breed. The consultant from Second Chance Rescue told us that Pepsi should be the only dog in the household. We quickly learned of her distrust of other dogs, but of people, her affection was undeniable. She developed a strong bond with our family almost instantly, especially with my wife, Meg.
Pepsi’s mood spanned the spectrum from stoic and intimidating to warm and loving.
Her smiling eyes could melt the coldest of hearts.
She was loving, observant, doting, and intelligent. She was also deaf and, thus, the quietest dog we’ve ever owned.
I work from home, so Pepsi was my constant companion for more than 11 years. She loved resting on the recliner next to my work desk, stretching out on our bed, sleeping and sunbathing on the patio, going for walks, lounging in the yard, and crunching on carrots.
She chased squirrels and bunny rabbits and killed a groundhog behind the shed one summer.
If Meg was outside, Pepsi wanted to be outside. She would dutifully follow Meg to her gardens and lie down in the shade while Meg weeded, planted, or watered. When Meg was done, she would follow her back into the house. Every time Meg went to the bathroom, Pepsi would follow her. If Meg locked the door, you could hear Pepsi knock her head into it from the living room. If Meg happened to leave the latch off, well, she had a visitor.
We will miss Pepsi deeply – we’ll miss seeing her navigate the swivel chair as she walks from the kitchen to the living room in search of hugs – we’ll miss the gentle snoring and weight of her in the bed – we’ll miss the sound of rhythmic hopping as she descends the staircase from the upstairs bedroom to the kitchen, ending with the slight sliding and clicking of her nails when she reaches the kitchen – we’ll miss watching her morning routine, slowly walking the perimeter of the yard, we’ll miss the thump of her tail on the bed or the recliner – we’ll miss how she helped connect us as a family – I think that’s the most magical thing a family dog does – they connect us because we all love them in the same way.
Dogs bring out our humanity and kindness in ways people don’t.
Even before putting Pepsi down, I said that she’d be my last dog. This time around, the slow decline was more challenging to deal with emotionally and physically. In her final months, Meg and I carried Pepsi from room to room, putting off the inevitable as long as we saw a spark of life or tiny moments of enjoyment—until the day they no longer came.
Maybe my feelings will change over time, and my longing for a dog’s love will outweigh the sadness I know I’ll feel when we part. For now, I’ll simply cherish what I had with this wonderful dog.
I’m so grateful for Pepsi’s love and companionship to our family, and I will never forget her.
