As I write this, I am sitting in the front row of the 12th Annual Conference on the American Revolution being held in the wilds of Virginia outside Richmond, VA. It is my second experience with this conference, with my first commemorated in this piece from two years ago.
Two years ago, I was treated to the wonderful hospitality of David and Allison in Williamsburg and was joined there (but assuredly not in the conference) by my inamorata Catherine. I am solo this time, bunking at dear friends of forty years Tom and Jo. Tom and I were joined by the third of the Three Musketeers (Rob) for dinner last night, an event of grandeur that will not be recounted here, save for this photo.
For the longest time, I considered myself primarily a student of the coming of the Civil War and the conflict itself. I have of late become far more interested in the period 1763-1789 corresponding to the founding of this great nation, perhaps as I perceive the blessings of that founding increasingly threatened. Which is what brings me back to this conference.
This is essentially a day and a half of undergraduate level lectures on some piece of the Revolution, mostly delivered by historians of the period who have written books on the subject, helpfully available in the lobby. Much of the audience looks like me, and older versions of me. Probably 80/20 male/female. Good folks interested in our shared glorious history.
We are probably 150 in all, though I admit to little expertise in estimating and no desire to count. As most of the attendees are staying onsite, I was late to grabbing a good spot to sit, and so am in the very front row, center.
My American war interests tend toward wars where it appeared serious questions were at stake. The Revolution, the Civil War, WWII. I know a bit about the others, but I think you'd have a hard time fixing our participation in those wars on the same plane as the three cited.
In conversation with my brother Patrick yesterday as I drove across the minor theaters of the Revolution (sorry Virginia, you had a role, but a minor one) he affirmatively attemted to hurt my feelings by asking if there would be Revolutionary War cosplay on the agenda. Such a kidder, that Patrick.
I am indebted to the speakers for the care and work they bring to their subjects. We are talking here about events that happened beginning 250 years ago next month at Lexington and Concord, and so you'd think that just about everything knowable about that time is known. Not true. These folks pull stuff from letters and diaries and reports that really make you think about events on the ground, and sometimes think differently. The first guy today made a really persuasive argument that the sort of romantic view of the farmer grabbing his fowling piece (or his pitchfork) and running to the sound of the guns is really overdone. The Massachusetts Bay Colony had been actively and methodically preparing for conflict for over six months, organizing formations and fitting out those “troops”. And he had the receipts, as the kid say now.
I looked over the stock of books in the lobby, and there are a number of attractive titles. I need to write them down though, as I remain dedicated to keeping my acquisition of physical books to a bare minimum, preferring to take up memory in my tablet by buying them on Kindle. I love books, don't get me wrong. But as I move forward into my dotage, I realize what a colossal pain in the ass those books will become for someone else to tend to when I pass to my eternal reward. Visiting my mother recently, I was confronted with her version of book buying, which was fabric acquisition, which left her with numerous copy paper sized boxes full of fabric still with price tags on it. At least I read my books.
The First Thirteen Shirts
In line with my desire to to simplify things in 2025, I culled the shirt herd the other day. I've talked here before of actions like this, and I've made no bones about the fact that I had considereably more dress shirts than I needed at this point in my life. When I left the Navy nearing two decades ago, I worked hard to dress better than the average military retiree forced into a necktie and jacket, and in the process spent more and acquired more than anyone in my situation really needed. Two huge, sinusoidal weight excursions across that time contributed to the problem, as I had fat and skinny Bryan clothing to account for. I got rid of a number of suits last fall, and this spring I am attacking the shirts.
Specifically, the french-cuff shirts. I grew across this period, fond of cufflinks, bantam cock of a man that I am. And so, I bought shirts to wear with suits that I bought, and those shirts were adorned with the cufflinks. Jaguar cufflinks. GOP cufflinks. Royal Navy, Colombian Navy, Italian Navy, and US Navy cufflinks. I had em all. And each day as I dressed in one of those shirts and wrestled the cuffs into position to thread the needle with the cufflink, I thought of the day when I would get rid of them all, because I would no longer have a desire to wear cufflinks. I am there now, and so I retain one white, one light blue, one pink, and one patterned french cuff shirts. Four is almost certainly three too many, but getting rid of thirteen was liberating, and freed up considerable room in my closet.
It is nearly time for the spring clothes to come out of storage, and I will continue to work myself down to the point where I have no need for a swap of clothes twice annually. Simplifying.
Comments
I have disabled the comments for this essay, not because there is anything in particular that I am sensitive about here, but because I've reached the stage of life where I really don't have to screw around. By that I mean, I write this Substack for me, as a place to ruminate and air my views. You subscribe, presumably because you find something here worth your time. That you subscribe is meaningful to me. That does not however, levy upon me a responsibility to return the favor. Your rambling thoughts expressed in the comment section, thoughts that I often find repulsive, ridiculous, over the top, and/or cruel--are of little or no interest to me. If you want to pontificate, write a Substack and attract an audience. Your desire to preen is not that different than my own; what IS different is that I created this space within the Substack forum, and I have no desire to provide YOU with a platform for your idiocy. If you are reading this wondering if I am writing about you, than YES, I am writing about you.
I don't know whether I will reopen comments, and if you feel like this decision is the last straw and my tyranny will no longer be tolerated, unsubscribe. In the meantime, I hope you find something worthwhile in my scribbling, and I wish you well.