I had been petitioning the proper authorities for what they generously provided — wisdom, courage, guidance, grace — more directly than usual over the past few weeks. Holiday blues don't hit me. In the first hours and days of President Bush's triumph, I was more determined than celebratory; ever careful of fleeting, besotting euphoria that can trip a man up on his next step. Even so, the familiar questions stood in line by mid-December: Where exactly am I? Should I be here? Where am I going? Should I head there? Uncomfortable, unavoidable. Luckily, I had not seen this place in quite some time; but return was inevitable and, anyway, this is the time of year to audit books.
Tonight was the officer installation dinner for my Republican organization. I, alongside a reconstituted board of directors, was reelected as president. Our club has aged and shrunk but very few members have given doubt or discouragement much attention, and we're still lauded as one of the most active and close-knit in Cuyahoga County. This evening was no exception. We hoped for a good turnout: turnout was better than we hoped. If the number of attendees wasn't the best in years, the mood certainly was. The juxtaposition of new faces and those not seen for auld lang syne brought hope, prospects, memory and reverence to a single occasion. We had our city's lone Republican councilman; the city's finance director; our state senator; a school board old hand; two good men from the county party; and the young fellow who challenged Dennis Kucinich's Congressional seat, Ed Herman, who in his address reminded us that victory is commencement, not a denouement.
Conversation was thoughtful; dinner was delicious. I've always thought myself a shade shy but with an amateur knack for the microphone, fitting well this night as master of ceremonies. The audience, of course, lighthearted and warm, gave me the spirit.
My parents were in attendance. After the ceremony, Ed and my silver-bearded father swapped stories about what sounded like business, politics and the damned-if-it-isn't coincidence that Ed spent time near the Astoria home in which my father grew up.
Ubaldis, one and all, end nights spent with good friends and neighbors quite happily. I'd received my requested item in full, an answer, evanescent if only from my mortal faith, though strong enough to last me through the months: This is where I belong. The last verse of a song my friends and I used to sing on stage, a song about the riches of the simple life, rang: What's the world without another George Bailey?