Holt Family Holiday Letter 2025

 

Holt Family Holiday Letter

2025: Fully Depreciated, Still In Use

 

 

So imagine for a second, this letter was written, printed and mailed in time to accompany the above holiday card, as in years past – a package deal.  Well this year we’re just cranking it out right under the wire, the last 18 or so hours left in 2025.  On time, but just so. 

We ended 2024 with a trip to Washinton, D.C., to visit family, see the sights and take in some national treasurers.  The photo on the right was the best photo I could get of two kids who don’t understand why their mom drags them to museums.  I reminded them ‘it’ is not a museum, but The Library of Congress and I found it to be truly amazing, not to mention beautifully decorated for the holidays.  Kids found it to be ‘mid’.  We also visited the National Museum of African American History (technically a museum but way more interesting), The International Spy Museum (big hit) and visited other monuments which could never be confused for being museums because they are not even inside of buildings (MLK, FDR).  We rode the DC Metro, and the kids noted that it smelled remarkably better than the NYC subway (fair point).  Other important locations received only a mere drive-by as kids were too Washingtoned-out after four days, it was a speedy jaunt to cover The Pentagon, The Capitol, The White House and The Supreme Court.  Just major institutions of Americana my kids (and perhaps many adults) find ‘lacking Sigma Rizz’. 

If you’re unfamiliar with the Middle School vernacular, it’s ok.  I made those Skibidis listen to my ‘80s-‘90s-‘00s radio station the whole ride back home and then again on our second road trip of the year – Ocean City, Maryland.  The photo on the left shows two happy kids on summer vacation, who swam, played minigolf, inhaled ice cream and hit up surf shops.  Everyone enjoyed this trip and our hotel even had an ice-skating rink in the lobby.  I thought that would make for a good back up in case of rain, but we lucked out with a week of gorgeous weather. I can’t believe it took us so long to find this fabulous stretch of beach; it was like the PG-rated version of the Jersey Shore with way more crabmeat.

Two more family trips of note this year – Rob and Nick flew out to Las Vegas to visit Aunt Carol and Uncle Alan in April, crossing the Hoover Dam and riding the rollercoasters at Circus Circus (basically the only casino that would let Nick in).  In May, Katelyn and I slept in the Quad with 100+ other classmates at my Smith College class of 2000 25^th reunion.  I had the opportunity to reconnect with old friends and appreciate what an amazing experience I was afforded with a Smith education.  It was also quickly apparent that communal bathrooms are not for people over 40 years old.  I was able to re-experience college without all the homework and papers due and with things I was lacking 25 years ago – disposable income, a car, a child(!)!

When he’s not busy with school, playing soccer or video games with friends, Nick’s into flag-football, chess and this spring he played CYO volleyball for the first time.   He just celebrated his 4^th Christmas as an altar server.  KK sings in our church’s Children’s Choir and is getting involved with the costuming and makeup side of this year’s school play.  Both kids partake in the school Service Club and both kids attended travel camp this summer.  All Holt children are in the throes of full-metal-jacket orthodontia. 

In the spring, Rob celebrated his 25^th anniversary at the Bank of New York.  He’s entitled to mad vacation time that he’ll never get to use.  My job – well let’s just put a pin in that one.  I did get to some interesting conferences this year, which were all in Midtown Manhattan, so no big work-travel going on over here.  In October, we celebrated our 15^th wedding anniversary with a family trip and dinner at Bear Mountain.  The weather didn’t cooperate and the food was pretty bad, but hey, we gave it a shot.

So that’s the good news.

We returned home from Washington to find our refrigerator entirely warm.  Our oven had been heating up to whatever temperature it felt like and if it cooks meat thoroughly, well good luck.  2025 would be the year most of our major appliances quiet quit on us.  The washing machine bowed out the week before Thanksgiving.  The car lease was up in April.  Fortunately, the coffeemaker is still with us. 

Even our beloved cats, Rita and Pepper didn’t make it through the year.  Despite bright spots throughout the year, 2025 just had this theme of being entirely tapped out, overwhelmed, running on empty, fully depreciated but still in use.   

 But sometimes you’ve just got to clear out the old to make way for the new.  Appliances are replaceable.  We got a new car.  Not to sound cold-hearted, but we also got new cats for Catmas, an entirely Holt-fabricated holiday, whereby in the month of December the shelter responds to your application and lets you leave with two feisty, rescued tabby bois, Derreck and Dylan (the dog is not a fan of Catmas).  Nick’s elementary school career is fully depreciated and, in a month or so, we’ll hear back on his high school applications.   

And there were other crazy, wacky, stressful moments this year that left us saying, how are we still functioning, operating after all this?  Feeling fully depreciated – but still in use.  Sometimes you just have to ask Jesus to take the wheel.  This year, I’ve had to ask Jesus to take the wheel so often that the Son of God is now on my auto insurance.

And as for Jesus, He’s enjoying the new car!

Merry Christmas!  Happy Holidays (all of them)!  Happy New Year!

~ Epilogue ~

 

2025: Fully Depreciated and Removed From Service

Because you can’t take it with you…

 

Metrocard

1994-2025

New York’s trusty Ride or Die

Jorge Mario Bergoglio,

Better Known as Pope Francis

Requiescat In Pace

1936-2025

Minting the U.S. Penny

1793-2025

If Abe Lincoln’s rolling over in his grave this year, it’s not for lack of pennies

 

 

The East Wing of The Peoples’ House

1902/1942-2025

Just because you have bulldozers doesn’t mean you have class

 

 

Terry Gene Bollea,

Better Known as Hulk Hogan

My 80’s namesake and the only Hogan I know who can tan well

1953-2025

 

 

~Fin~

 

Code Brown

 

Two New Yorkers shared a park bench one November morning, taking respite from the hustle of the early rush hour.  One sipped her homemade coffee from a travel mug.  The other picked at the remnants of a bagel.  They each sat silently as to not disturb the other as the city filled in all the space around them.  There’s a parade of busses jockeying in and out of the bus lane – a narrow river of blue and yellow.  Trucks parked illegally hustled out their deliveries.  One busboy pushing two carts piled high with an assortment of breakfast pastries and coffee urns.  He keeps them both moving at an even clip to avert slippage.  It’ s an underappreciated skill.  My companion eyes the mountain of pastries, pyramid-like and shellacked in glistening layers of saran wrap.  “Impenetrable”, I say.  “Too much plastic wrap and that guy’s pretty quick”.  My bench mate lowers his eyes in defeat.  Behind us, the swooshing of plastic coveralls catches our ear.  Two men in white protective gear walk past us and then approach, mount, and begin to power wash a nearby fountain.  They work systematically, each taking a side of the fountain and working towards the middle.  The noise of the pressure washer is noticeable above the din of rush hour and pedestrian chatter; it’s kind of annoying.

I look at my bench mate, and he re-perches himself along the back railing, as if the noise will lessen if he moves 4 inches in my direction.  I give him a look as if to say, should we get out of here?  He bobs his head towards my notebook and then stares directly at it.  “This?” I ask.  We barely know each other and he’s questioning how I start my day.  “Well, Mr. Nosy, this is my planner and I’m trying to list out all the things I need to do before I start doing them, sans distractions.  Trying to take a minute and put some order into the day before I head into the office and who-knows-what is waiting for me in my inbox once I log on.  My buddy seems disinterested in my need for structure.  He’s left his bagel on the seat of the bench, unfinished, discarded, just as (I suspect) he found it. 

It’s early November, and everything feels brown.  Crinkly leaves strewn all over the pavement.  Brown leather footballs on at least half of the train ads remind us that it’s not baseball season.  Golden brown turkeys on digital bus house ads remind us of what bad chefs we are.  Everything about November seems brown.  Staid.  Of the Earth.  Overtoasted bagels.  Discarded paper bags blowing in the wind.  The color of coffee.

“November used to be such a depressing month”, I say to my bench mate.  He looks at me as though he is unsure as to why I could possibly find November depressing.  I continue, “It gets darker, earlier, colder...”, he continues to look puzzled.  “I really used to hate it”, I elaborate, “but then you get these amazing early sunsets of absolute fire!”.  My bench mate nods to me in acknowledgement that he also appreciates November sunsets. 

“You have to rage against the dying of the light!” I proclaim. 

Blank stare.  Oh wait, the guy on the next bench left some crumbs of what might be the remnants of a buttery corn muffin.

“You have to rage against the dying of the light!” I proclaim again.

My bench mate seems more interested in these muffin remnants than the Northern Hemisphere’s dearth of sunlight.

We hear the power washer power down and the absence of that noise is welcomed. Our hearing adjusts back to the usual traffic sounds and one man in a red windbreaker shout for bus tour riders while waving a sign with a big red bus on it.   The power wash men dismount the fountain, which visibly is no cleaner than when they started, at least from this distance. 

“Well, I’m going to work.  Have a good day.”  I get up from the bench and head south on Fifth Avenue.

My bench mate flits over to the muffin remnants.  Gives zero F*cks about my departure.  Such is the morning when you hang out with a pigeon.