Castle Air Force Base

It was a different world back then.

I was stationed at Castle Air Force Base from October of 1982 until I was discharged in March of 1984 after 4 years of active duty. My years in Merced and at Castle AFB were spent in a different world, not just geographically speaking, but in what is known as "pop culture" and what we see on shows like "I Love the 80s" on VH1, which, by the way, was non-existent when I lived there.

I was 20 years old when I arrived at Castle with my new bride, who was also in the Air Force. Cell phones, texting, and pagers for us common folk were unheard of as of yet. Same with cordless phones. Answering machines were brand new and then they were in very few homes. I can't remember leaving messages on machines for any of my friends. If someone called me while no one was at my house, the phone just rang and rang until the caller got tired and decided to call at a later time, I actually missed a call and lived through the experience, and life in general somehow continued. Weird, huh?

When we wanted to call our families back home (Houston, TX. for me), we had to be aware of when long distant rates went down, and then we still didn't dare talk for more than a few minutes for fear of an enormous phone bill. If we chose to write instead of calling, it took 4 or 5 days for our correspondence to get to its destination, instead of the mere seconds it takes for an e-mail to reach its intended target today.

And speaking of e-mail... and the internet... please ! ! ! Home computers were in the homes of geeks and the elite (who were usually also geeks), and weren't much more than Radio Shack's TRS-80. We called them trash-80s. Oh, they might be able to keep a rudimentary form of a checkbook ledger, or help to write a letter with a primitive form of some sort of word processor. Windows were what you looked out of to see if it was raining, apples were what you were supposed to eat each day to keep doctors away, laptops were where we placed our children to rock them to sleep, and notebooks were made of paper and usually had a wire spiral holding those papers together.

Our vocabularies didn't contain words like blog, e-mail, e-zines, e-commerce, e-(insert whatever you can think of here), chatgroups, dot-com, or any other words we now know as "netspeak". We didn't know the phrases LOL, LMAO, OMG, IRL, WTF, BRB, BFF, IMO, BTW, J/K, ^5, :), and the list goes on and on. If you really want to know what the hell your kids are talking about, check out http://www.netlingo.com/acronyms.php.

All we really needed to know back then was UA, AWOL, TDY, and BYOB.

When we wanted to know where to find something, we let our fingers do the walking through the yellow pages. We didn't know how to "Google" information yet. Neither my name nor my address had an “@” in it. And seven digits were all that was required to make a phone call, unless you wanted to shell out some serious coin.

Cable television was the latest in home entertainment technology, at least until the VCR came along. Some people called them VTRs. If one were among the fortunate few who could afford one of the early models, (we had to buy our first on credit and make monthly payments for 2 years I think), the decision still had to be made between VHS or Beta. DVDs, BluRay, Satellite television, TIVO, and DVRs were still at least a decade or so away.

Television programming was quite different too. Reality television was the 6:00 news (or the brand new 24 hour news channel called CNN), or perhaps a live sporting event. M*A*S*H was must-see TV and that last episode "Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen" remains the most watched television program of all time. Hill Street Blues changed the television landscape. Charles married Diana which was watched by most of the world on live television. Luke and Laura's wedding was watched by almost as many. When my enlistment was over, Miami Vice was just getting started, the Huxtable family was welcomed in more homes than not, and MTV was brand spanking new, as was Late Night with David Letterman. It wasn't uncommon to see Dave wearing jeans and a sweatshirt while doing his show.

MTV was a revelation of epic porportions to us baby boomers. I remember wondering why people would want to "watch" music. As it turns out, I might have been right about that after all... I can't remember the last time I actually saw a video on either MTV or VH1. And speaking of music... what were we thinking? Didn't we learn anything from disco? Let me run down a few of the bigger hits. Thomas Dolby's "She Blinded Me With Science", Men Without Hats' "Safety Dance", Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon", Dexy's Midnight Runners' "Come on Eileen", and I'm still not sure what Kajagoogoo's "Too Shy" is all about. Madonna was just revving up for her assault on the collective psyche.

These songs filled the airwaves, or at least were fillers between Michael Jackson, Kenny Rogers, and Lionel Ritchie tunes. And what if you wanted to purchase your own music to play whenever you wanted? One would have to trudge themselves down to the record store, my favorite was somewhere in the Merced Mall, and then browse through, pick out, and purchase actual vinyl records. Sometimes a cassette tape if that's what you preferred. CDs were still a few years in the future, and buying your music without ever leaving the glow from your computer monitor was something that far more advanced beings from other worlds could do. Not us though. And you usually had to buy the whole album just to have the one song you really wanted. What a waste, huh?

Then there was the kind of entertainment that you planned in advance and had to leave the house for... movies. Those were the days when a movie would stay in the theaters for more than a couple of weeks, unless it was a real bomb. If you missed it while it was showing, you might have to wait years before it would show up on television, and then it was only the blockbusters. Video stores weren't needed yet, but video game arcades could be found on every corner. If you wanted to play video games at home, you were limited to the original Atari or Intelevision.

During my time at Castle AFB, we watched Spock die in the 2nd "Star Trek" movie, we witnessed the rebellion finally defeat the empire in the 3rd "Star Wars" movie, we were introduced to Jeff Spicoli in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" and other memorable characters in movies like "Porky's", "Young Doctors in Love", "Valley Girl", and "Creepshow". "A Christmas Story" came out in '83 but took years to become the cult classic that ranks right up there with Rocky Horror. And speaking of Rocky, we watched the Italian Stallion battle and beat Mr. T's Clubber Lang, but only after he introduced us all to Hulk Hogan.

We knew who our enemies were, and they had a face. The USSR and communism were known to us all as the evil empire. The tensions of the Cold War were at its highest. We were routinely trained to look for signs of communism and communist spying. Our troubles with Iran were just ending and Iraq was still our friend. We had no idea what or who an Al-Qaeda was, and the same goes for Osama Bin-Laden. I loved Ronald Reagan because he was my Commander In Chief.

Karen Carpenter died while I was at Castle and we learned what Anorexia Nervosa is. John Belushi overdosed and "Just Say No" became our battle cry. Princess Grace of Monaco is killed in an automobile accident. We were scared to take Tylenol. Beruit, Lebanon is all but destroyed. A truck bomb destroys the Marines barracks at Beirut International Airport, killing 241 American soldiers in what would become one of the first of well publicized suicide bombings. War breaks out over the Faulkland Islands. The US storms into Granada. Russia invades Afghanistan. Michael Jackson releases "Thriller". Marvin Gaye is shot. And the U.S. Supreme Court finally rules 5-4 that it is legal to record television broadcasts with a videocassette recorder. I could sleep without fear once again.

In some respects, those years I spent stationed at Castle were spent in unknowing and naive innocence. The Challenger explosion (and the subsequent hearings), the worldwide implications of AIDS and the Ethiopian famine, Iran/Contra, Saddam Hussein, Monica Lewinski, and 9/11 were events that we couldn't have dreamed of in our worst nightmares. On the other hand, who would have thought that I could buy almost anything I want (music, movies, food, the latest news, clothes, flowers, real estate, etc...), or watch the entire 7th season of 24, or play poker or blackjack, or even communicate instantly with people I've never met (whoever reads this, for example), all while sitting in my bed with my computer laying across my lap? Who would have thought that I can call whoever I want, whenever I want, and wherever they are? Who had the foresight to know that I would have over 200 television channels, as well as over 200 radio stations in my car, one of which plays nothing but music from the 80s?

People come and people go, friends enter and then leave our lives, our lives are improved through technological advancements, we become more efficient and accurate in waging war, our tastes in music, movies, television, clothing, and housing have evolved to the point that we need to tune into "I Love the 80s" just to see how far we've come (and if we miss it tonight, that's ok... it will rerun again next week)... and Castle Air Force Base closes down for good. That the way things are supposed to be, I guess.

Time marches on and carries us along with it. Could we stay behind if we really wanted to? I’m pretty sure we can’t. Do we really have a choice? I'm pretty sure we don't. But that doesn't keep me from double clicking on the file icons in the memory banks of my own grapefruit sized circa 1960 computer located conveniently directly between my right and left ears and remembering how it felt to drive from the base to Merced through fog so heavy it could only be described as solid white air... or remembering how eggs and bacon and fried potatoes and biscuits smothered with gravy tasted in the chow hall at midnight... or remembering the ever present smell of onions and jet fuel... or remembering how I stood at the fence and looked across the flight line as the sun came up over the mountains... or remembering the roar of the B-52s climbing to altitude over Merced... or remembering especially those fine men and women with whom I served that I called friends.

I have recently found and contacted a handful of those old friends and am excited at the thought of finding more. There is so much that I'm sure I've forgotten about my time there and look forward to swapping stories. There seems to be something very therapeutic in nostalgia, and I'll willingly stroll down that path from time to time. My two and a half years at Castle Air Force Base was an experience that I will cherish as long as I live.

25 years have gone by since I left Castle Air Force Base and the Merced - Atwater area. A quarter of a century. Oh man... when you say it THAT way, YIKES ! ! ! My daughter Jessica was born at the base hospital while I was stationed there, and she recently got married… as if these little trips down memory lane didn’t make me feel old already. I plan to go back someday soon. I am sure that I will be simultaneously amazed, astonished, and saddened at how things have changed and at what has become of what was once a vital and proud member of our armed forces community of bases.

Oh yeah, it was a different world back then. And sometimes I miss that world…

Sometimes.

Until next time...

Facebook

OK already.

Against my better judgement, I am taking the path of least resistance and giving into increasing pressure to set up a "Facebook" account. I am making this announcement in this manner for several reasons.

1. I know how I am with new things. I remember a short year ago when I started this blog. I wrote almost every day and was consumed with it. I have enough on my plate already without adding another black hole for my time to disappear into.

2. There are already a few "musts" in my life... my work being the biggie, "24" being one, but I have to DVR it and watch it the next weekend because I'm still staying in Halltown during the week. There are others, of course, Sheri, church, my own health (or lack thereof according to Sheri), you know... stuff like that. I'm afraid of what might happen if I really get into this facebook thing and it becomes another "must" that starts eating into my time because of my own lack of self discipline. How's that for a little self-evaluation?

However... that being said, I do recognize the benefits of such a tool to keep in contact with my ever growing circle of friends. I'm not one that has so many friends that I can afford squander this opportunity to "reach out and touch someone."

So the facebook is set up.

Until next time...

The Decline of Saturday Mornings

Saturday mornings just aren't what they used to be.

These days, I like to sleep in on Saturday, but I don't always get to. There are chores to be done, errands to run, other activities which need my attention that prevents me from pulling the covers over my head to block out the rising sun, and just going back to sleep.

It wasn't always that way for Saturday mornings though.

Things used to be different.

I remember vividly waking up on Saturday mornings, (the only morning, as it happens, that I didn't need a cattle prod to separate myself from my bed once I started going to school), and sneaking into the kitchen pantry for my Saturday morning meal of Oreo's, and tuning in my favorite cartoons of Bugs Bunny and the gang, The Road Runner, and my all-time favorite of Heckle & Jeckle.

Remember those cartoons from our childhoods? What happened to them? I mean, I can't find Bugs or Daffy or Elmer or Yosemite Sam anywhere anymore. The few generations that have passed since I was a kid seem to have erased them permanently from the airwaves.

From TVPARTY.com, we learn: 1962 was the first year all three network's began programming Saturday mornings, with a line-up that consisted mostly of reruns of former live-action, prime-time shows like 'The Lone Ranger', 'Circus Boy', 'Roy Rogers', 'Dennis the Menace' and 'Space Patrol' along with original filmed programs like 'Fury' and 'Sky King'. Theatrical cartoons like 'Bugs Bunny', 'Casper', and 'Heckle & Jeckle' were also popular.

I was only 1 year old in 1962 so my interest in Saturday morning cartoons wasn't as developed as it would later become a few years later.

In 1966, when I was 5, (or five and a half if one were to ask me at the time), our family moved into our "Sierra Madre" house. It was there that I truly began to appreciate this wonderful art form. Truth be known, I was always looking for something to make me laugh. The only cartoon I recall before we moved was The Flintstones, and they were on during prime-time, the first animated series to fare well in this time.

I remember Captain Kangaroo, but I wasn't all that into the real people. It was the cartoons that really made me take notice. And they had to be the funny ones too. Johnny Quest wasn't funny, at least it wasn't to me, so I paid it no attention.

In 1966, 95% of American homes had at least one television set . Ours was black and white, but that was ok for two reasons. One, I didn't know any better, and two, most programming was in b&w also. I remember our first remote control too. When you mashed the change channel button, the knob on the front of the set would rotate. That, my friends, was magic!

My father had built shelves on one whole wall of our living room, and our set was right there in the middle. My favorite place on Saturday mornings was in what could best be described as a reclining chair, except it didn't recline. It rocked, and it swiveled, and it was plush (at least it was to my little 5 year old butt), and it was most comfy. On a side note: They say that if one were to stack all of the Oreo's ever sold flat on top of one another, the stack would reach to the moon. I'm sure if one were to ever clean all of the Oreo crumbs I dropped out of the cushions of that chair and stacked them, this stack would reach at least to Cleveland.

So on Saturday mornings I would settle myself into that chair and submerge myself into TV Land and I can't think of a single morning when I was disappointed, by the cookies or the programming.

Heckle and Jeckle was my favorite. Remember those guys?

Although it was on the earliest, that didn't matter... it could have come on at 3:00 in the morning and I would have found a way to be in front of the tube at that time. I wasn't ABOUT to miss their antics. I never really knew at the time, or even cared, which was which, but I've come to learn that Heckle was the magpie with the Brooklyn accent, and Jeckle spoke with an English flair.

Heckle is slightly more cynical than Jeckle. Both of them treat their mutual enemies with threats and rudeness, but Heckle will usually make his intentions clear from the outset, while Jeckle will (at first) treat enemies politely in order to lull them into a false sense of security before unleashing magpie mayhem.

The duo have made recent appearances which seems to have cemented their place in pop culture. They made an unexplained appearance in Homer's vision of his funeral in "The Simpsons" episode of "The Wizard of Evergreen Terrace" and in the very first episode of "Monk", Monk and Sharona have the code names of "Heckle" and "Jeckle" while on a stakeout.

I just think that's as cool as cool can be.

Bugs Bunny was another favorite. Remember when he took over the symphony as "Leopold"? He made that poor tenor hold that note forever. What about the time he had the argument with Daffy Duck about whether it was duck season or rabbit season, and Elmer couldn't figure out who to shoot? My favorite of his antagonists though was Yosemite Sam. Sam had a way of cursing and swearing that was just downright hilarious. One time, Sam was trying to get Bugs to dive off a sky-high diving board into a glass of water, but kept falling himself due to the genius of Bugs. That one still makes me cry laughing.

These cartoons, along with The Road Runner, Tom and Jerry, and others of the time, were full of fun violence, if there is such a thing. Explosions, falling rocks, bombs, brick throwing were the norm for these programs, and I loved every minute of them. I've heard it said that all this violence is not such a good thing for kids to watch on television. Maybe so, but I was always able to differentiate cartoon violence from real violence, animated action from live action, and just because the talking magpies blew up their enemies with the ever ready bomb, I instinctively knew that this was make believe and real people (or real magpies) don't use bombs to get what they want. OK, maybe some terrorist groups do, but are we really about to blame that on the cartoons that I love so much? I hope not.

Another favorite was Scooby Doo. Looking back now, it's truly amazing how those meddling kids were always finding themselves in such predicaments week after week. It was cool though, that they were always the ones to figure out the mystery when no one else could. They became heroes of sort to me.

In 1968, CBS started running The Bugs Bunny / Road Runner Show on Saturday mornings.

Oh man, was I happy. I still remember the opening of the show with all of the Looney Tunes characters marching out on the stage. Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Elmer Fudd, Sylvester, Tweety, Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner, Foghorn Leghorn, Yosemite Sam, Speedy Gonzales, Marvin the Martian, Tasmanian Devil, and Pepé Le Pew, just to name a few.

Sometimes my dad would wake up early, (or was it that I woke him up with my frantic search for Oreos?) and watch cartoons with me. He always enjoyed watching the Road Runner outwit Wile E. Coyote, and he seemed to get as big a kick out of Heckle and Jeckle as I did. As a kid who was often intimidated around my dad, it was always a welcomed pleasure to see him laughing, especially if what he was laughing at was humorous to me as well. Weird, huh?

Following the Bugs Bunny / Road Runner show was The Wacky Races with characters like the Slag brothers in the Boulder-Mobile; the Gruesome Twosome in the Creepy Coupe, with a dragon in its belfry; Prof. Pat Pending (ha ha) in the Convert-a-Car; Red Max in the Crimson Haybailer biplane; Sergeant Blast and Private Meekly in the tank-like Army Surplus Special; the Ant Hill Mob in the Bullitt-Proof Bomb; Lazy Luke and Blubber Bear in the Arkansas Chugga-Bug; Rufus Ruffcut and Sawtooth the beaver in the Buzz Wagon; the Belle of the Brickyard, Penelope Pitstop, in the Compact Pussycat; Peter Perfect in the Turbo Terrific; and our hissable villains, Dick Dastardly and his snickering muttering dog, Muttley ("Sassa frassin'...") in the Mean Machine. More uncontrolled laughter by yours truly.

Many of these cartoons were laced with humor that I didn't understand at the time. Remember the coyote and the sheepdog punching the time clock at the beginning and end of their "shift"? That's really funny, but the humor was lost on me back then, having never really had a job up to that point in my short life. It didn't matter though, I still enjoyed watching the sheepdog get the better of that coyote.

Did these cartoons of my youth have the life lessons that are ever present in the cartoons of my children's time like The Smurfs, or of the cartoons of today like Sponge-Bob Square Pants? Maybe Scooby Doo, but other than that, probably not. They were animated slapstick at it's all time finest.

And anything was possible.

Take The Road Runner cartoons for example.

As in other cartoons, the Road Runner and the coyote follow the laws of cartoon physics. For example, the Road Runner has the ability to enter the painted image of a cave, while the coyote cannot (unless there is an opening through which he can fall). Sometimes, however, this is reversed, and the Road Runner can bust through a painting while the coyote goes through it. Sometimes the coyote is allowed to hang in midair until he realizes that he is about to plummet into a chasm (a process occasionally referred to elsewhere as Road-Runnering). The coyote can overtake rocks (or cannons) which fall before he does, and end up being squashed by them.

In "Chuck Amuck: The Life and Times Of An Animated Cartoonist", it is claimed that Chuck Jones and the artists behind the Road Runner and Wile E. cartoons adhered to some simple but strict rules:

1. Road Runner (Hot-roddicus supersonicus) cannot harm the Coyote (eatibus anythingus) except by going "meep, meep".
2. No outside force can harm the Coyote -- only his own ineptitude or the failure of Acme products.
3. The Coyote could stop anytime -- IF he was not a fanatic. (Repeat: "A fanatic is one who redoubles his effort when he has forgotten his aim." —George Santayana).
4. No dialogue ever, except "meep, meep".
5. Road Runner must stay on the road -- for no other reason than that he's a roadrunner.
6. All action must be confined to the natural environment of the two characters -- the southwest American desert.
7. All tools, weapons, or mechanical conveniences must be obtained from the Acme Corporation.
8. Whenever possible, make gravity the Coyote's greatest enemy.
9. The Coyote is always more humiliated than harmed by his failures.
10.The audience's sympathy must remain with the Coyote.

See? All harmless fun, and no one gets hurt. Well… not REALLY hurt anyway. And a lot of thought went into entertaining me apparently.

Casper, The Banana Splits (not a cartoon per se') and Underdog we also perennial favorites of the times.

Later came The Pink Panther.

This one was a lot of fun, and the fact that no dialogue was ever used (or needed) was pure genius. Watching Pink get around from place to place with that half walk / half skip while that jazzy theme music was funny by itself, but watching him silently get the best of the little man with the white mustache was another example of pure cartoon gold. Other short cartoons that went along with the Pink Panther were the Ant and the Aardvark, and the Texas (or Tijuana) Toads.

These days, Pink is enjoying full time employment as the mascot for Owens Corning's pink fiberglass thermal insulation, as well as for Sweet-N-Low artificial sweetener. Nice work if you can get it, but I miss him on Saturday mornings.

There are many others that came and went over the years, some that I'm sure entertained me at the time, but that I cannot recall just now. I never enjoyed Sesame Street or Mr. Roger's Neighborhood as much as I did my Saturday morning friends. I probably learned more from those shows, but they just weren't as much fun for me, you know?

Cartoons today just aren't the same. Not enough explosions. Not enough animated violence. Not enough falling into deep canyons. Today's cartoons are tame by comparison, probably better for the well being of our children, but I still miss the ones I grew up with. I'm sure I could find them all here on the information super-highway, but I don't think it would be the same.

I know it's just a fantasy, but I would really like to wake up next weekend on Saturday morning about 7:00am, turn on my television, and see several hours of Heckle and Jeckle, The Road Runner and Coyote, Bugs Bunny, The Pink Panther, and all the rest of my favorites, and I'll have a whole box of Oreos next to my chair.

And after all of my cartoons are over, I'll treat myself with a huge bowl of my favorite childhood cereal… either Quisp or Quake, but I'm not sure which just yet.

Until that fantasy happens, I'd sure like to know some of your favorite cartoons from the past. Maybe your favorites will spark a memory for the rest of us and we can all reflect back and give ourselves a smile or two.

Not such a bad thing.

Until next time...

Happy New Year

Well… it's a new year. Out with the old and in with the new, right? It's a good time to reflect on the past year, and then make plans for the new one ahead.

A few things of note about 2008.

First and foremost on my list of new things for the year is this blog. Ben McEvoy got me started when I called him out of the blue one day and we talked for a while. He told me about his blog, and after visiting it (and a few others) I decided that I couldn't sleep one more single night without having one for myself. It started like gangbusters, I wrote nearly every single day. Then life started catching up with me and I discovered that other things around me were being neglected, so I backed off a bit. I don't think I could write every day like I did at first, but the old boy certainly has a few good ones left in him still, so I have resolved to write something here at least once a week. Let that be called resolution #1.

My father and I went on two hunts in 2008, one last February, and one this last month. Both times we went to South Texas, Benevides to be exact, where we hunted quail. Both times weren't exactly what one could call successful if the gauge were solely based on the number of birds we brought home, but we got to spend some really quality time together, and that's the really important thing for me. His health is faltering somewhat and I don't know if we'll have too many more hunts together. I must never pass up a good chance to spend some quality time with Dad (or Mom for that matter) will be resolution #2.

We also went fishing in early March on the Sabine River. My brother-in-law Sam went with us and we only came home with two fish, but it was also some good quality time. You can read about it here if you wish. Go fishing more is always worth a mention in a well thought out list of resolutions, so this is #3.

I started a new business in 2008. It's really the same business, except I'm carrying on without Dad and Sam. Dad wanted to go on and retire, and Sam decided that he wasn't really cut out for the building business. So I'm going on without them. I formed my own company called L & S Custom Homes, LLC and my company has partnered with two other individuals to build a house just outside Springfield. I find myself facing the same old problems with partners that I had to endure with my previous partners, and so I'm not sure if we will continue this partnership after this house. I am not an easy person to be partners with as I expect much from myself and from others. I want to build the way I want to build anyway, so resolution # 4 is to break out and go forward on my own.

I feel that my health has improved this past year, though I still have some weight to lose. My energy level is up again and I can put in the long days that are needed to accomplish the things I want to do. I am still taking meds for my diabetes, but if I can lose about 40 pounds (and I certainly have it to lose), I might be able to stop taking those pills. Weight loss… there's a unique resolution, eh? # 5.

I read an article in the Ensign about caffeine possibly contributing to restless leg syndrome, a condition that aggravates me to the point where I take medicine for that too. I have been away from home and forgotten my RLS meds a few times and those were totally sleepless nights. Sometimes the meds don't even work, especially if I don't time the taking of them with my bedtime just right. Anyway, caffeine is thought to add to the problem so I have resolved to stop drinking my Diet Mt. Dews. This one is going to be tough, tougher even than when I quit smoking. I can easily go through 2 or 3 six packs of the 24 ounce bottles in a single week. I actually started this one a couple of weeks ago right after I read that article. The first few days were really rough because of the caffeine withdrawal headaches. So lots of water and lemonade and juice is resolution # 6.

Resolution # 7 has to do with church. I have been teaching the Elder's Quorum for a little over two years now, 3 Sundays a month, and I've gotten a little lazy about it. I find myself losing interest in the lessons and dreading class. I shouldn't be feeling this way, because I know that when I am eventually released, I will miss it. So I'm going to start missing it now and start applying myself and preparing that way I did when I was first called and start enjoying that time again... for me and for the brethren.

Our annual July 4th BBQ was bigger this year. My daughter Jessica and her husband Brandon flew in for the event, but Rebecca and Justin couldn't make it. Still, it was a wonderful day and we hope that it will grow bigger and bigger every year, to include more family and friends from all over. All of my children in attendance for the 2009 BBQ will be resolution # 8.

Someone (a friend of Sheri's) suggested that I print all of my blog stories and entries and put them in a binder to give to my parents for Christmas. I resisted the idea thinking that no one would really be interested and it seemed a little self-promoting and presumptuous to think anyone would really want such a gift. I just felt a little uneasy about it. Sheri talked me into it though, and it turned out to be a great hit with Mom and Dad. Well, Dad at least. He's still reading it and won't let Mom have it until he's done. I think those kinds of gifts are cool, even though I balked at this particular idea in the beginning. I hope that I will be able to give them (and everyone else, for that matter) something meaningful that I created myself and put myself into. Not really a resolution I guess, but still something I want to do.

Sheri's father had a pretty massive stroke back in the Spring of 2008. Sheri went to see him right away, but I had to wait until late Summer. We both went during the Olympics and stayed at their lakeside condo and got to spend some quality time with her side of the family. It was a most enjoyable week. My nieces Taylor and Megan and my nephew Jake are a joy to be around and we had lots of fun with them, and with their parents (Sheri's brother B.J. and his wife Jackie). We also had dinner at Sheri's mom's house, visited her Dad in the recovery center, did our share of sightseeing, and still had time for lots of rest and relaxation.

While we were there, we ate a couple of times at a sandwich shop called "Mancino's". One wall in the hallway leading back to the restrooms was all chalk board and there was a bucket of chalk on the floor at the entry to that hallway. I took a piece of chalk and wrote about my first date with Sheri after she picked me up from the airport for our first face to face visit. It was at another Mancino's closer to where Sheri was living at the time, but it was our first date. I want to go back and see if my note is still on that chalk board. I doubt it, but wouldn't that be a hoot?

Anyway, I promised Sheri's Dad that I would make sure she got back there several times a year to visit him. Not a "New Year's Resolution", but a resolution just the same. Besides, I can't wait to go back there myself.

We finished the nightmare of a remodel job in 2008. Well, almost. There are a few odds and ends that remain, and I'm sure there always will be with that project. But it's done for the most part and we survived it. That's the good news. The financial outcome wasn't nearly a rosy. We took a big hit on that one, and none of us could really afford a big hit. So... do I really need to tell you what the next resolution is? I didn't think so.

There are other resolutions of course, books to be read, people to treat better, and so on, but those are of a more personal nature and I'll keep them to myself, at least for the time being. I'm normally not a "New Year's Resolutions" kind of guy, but a few tweaks and adjustments are needed every now and again. I'll start with these and see where the last day of 2009 finds me.

In the meantime, I'll be in touch. At least once a week, right?

Until next time...

Lynn's "True Meaning of Christmas"

Starting just after Thanksgiving (and getting earlier and earlier every year), strange things start happening all around us.

Colored lights decorate many town centers and shops, the shiny decorations, and artificial snow painted on shop windows. Street lights are transformed into giant candy canes.

Evergreen trees with colorful blinking lights and other decorations sprout up all over the place, even in our own living rooms.

Cards and letters from friends and relatives with whom we haven’t had much contact in the last 12 months start finding their way into our mailboxes and then up on the walls or refrigerators inside our houses.

Bells start ringing outside places where parking lots are getting fuller and fuller every day.

All of a sudden people’s fashion senses begin to focus on the color red.

Shopping centers become busier and often stay open later than usual. Shopping center speaker systems will play different music than at other times of the year.

Front doors are adorned with wreathes of holly.

We start seeing stars in windows, red bows on the fronts of cars, we get the urge to go out and purchase things for our loved ones.

Our children inexplicably begin taking out the garbage and washing the dishes without being asked. Then they start telling us how good they’ve been this year, and telling us what they would really enjoy having in their arsenal of gadgets and playthings.

Radio and television programming is different.

Small groups of people wander up and down the streets aimlessly it seems singing songs to people they don’t even know.

A parade might roll through town with some big guy in a funny looking red suit perched atop a wagon drawn by a tractor… and later he’ll let children climb upon his lap and tell him the same things they’ve recently been telling their parents.

Homes start being decorated with colorful lights and ribbons and greenery, and the front yards start filling up with Homer Simpson, Snoopy, giant snow globes, and other inflatables.

Can you imagine what we look like to someone who doesn’t know what is going on here???

A bunch of beings just on the brink of self imposed extinction, I would think. We of course know these as the signs of the coming of Christmas.

So just why do we do these things? Is this really what Christmas is all about??? And what is the true meaning of Christmas anyway?

In searching for the true meaning of Christmas, I went on a strange yet really fun journey, one I’d like to share with you.

Let’s start with some of those signs and symbols that we see all about us and try to find the true meaning of Christmas.

The Candy Cane

The Candy Cane represents shepherd's crook to keep sheep from straying. Reminds us we are our brother's keeper.

The Bell

Rings out glad tidings of birth of Jesus. Also, sheep had a bell tied round neck so shepherd could hear where it was, and if in danger. Jesus always knows where we are and will help us when life gets difficult.

The Tree

Remains green all year round and is a symbol of everlasting life.

The Bow

Tied on gifts, shows we are all tied to each other with love as the family of mankind.

Gifts

Reminds us of the gifts given to Jesus by the wise men, and the gift of everlasting life given to the whole world through the atonement of Jesus Christ, and the gift of eternal life with our Heavenly Father available to us, if we so desire it, and keep His commandments.

The Star

The star reminds us of the bright star that shone at the time of Jesus' birth.

The Wreath

Its circle shape shows that, just like love, it has no end, and never stops.

And the Candle

Gives light to a dark world. Jesus is the Light of the world.

OK... Did we find the true meaning of Christmas in those signs? Maybe, but let’s keep looking.

Maybe the true meaning of Christmas is in the Christmas carols that make us feel the Christmas spirit and remind us of the birth of our Lord and Savior when we sing or hear them. Silent Night! Holy Night! All is calm, all is bright… It Came upon a Midnight Clear, That glorious song of old… Joy to the world, the Lord is come; Let earth receive her King… or my own personal favorite Christmas song that I’ll come back to later.

And what about the other Christmas songs that don’t really have anything to do with our Savior, but are still fun to sing? Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way… Frosty the Snowman… Rudolph the red nosed reindeer… We wish you a Merry Christmas, We wish you a Merry Christmas, We wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year… or the song that was the top selling single of all time for decades until about 10 years ago, Bing Crosby’s I'm dreaming of a white Christmas… Just like the ones I used to know… Where the treetops glisten, and children listen… To hear sleigh bells in the snow.

Maybe it’s those other songs… and you all know the ones I’m talking about… Grandma got run over by a reindeer… Jingle Bells as sung (barked) by those dogs… Santa Claus Is Comin (In A Boogie Woogie Choo Choo Train)… that Cheech and Chong thing about Santa Claus and the magic dust… or any number of versions of The 12 days of Christmas, including the redneck 12 days of Christmas by that “you might be a redneck” guy. Maybe the true meaning of Christmas is hidden in there somewhere.

Maybe the true meaning of Christmas is how we feel when we get together with friends and family and go out into some cold night and sing these songs, usually off key, and yes, sometimes even the grandma or redneck song, to other friends or even strangers, for no other reason than to make someone smile and feel some Christmas spirit. Maybe, but let’s press on.

Can the true meaning of Christmas be found in any or maybe even all of the Christmas specials on television?

What about that movie about Ralphie. Maybe he thought that he could shoot down and capture the true meaning of Christmas with an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle, only to be told time and time again “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid”

A recent commercial on television states the following: (Television announcer voice) “TNT viewers will have a whole day to check out Bob Clark and Jean Sheperd's holiday touchstone when it airs 24 Hours of A Christmas Story, beginning at 8 p.m. ET on December 24 and running continuously through the next day, concluding with a final showing at 6 p.m. ET on Christmas Day.”

Not really about the true meaning of Christmas, although I will admit that I still love it when father and son are changing the tire and the lug nuts go flying. And just so you know, I plan to love that part again this year.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas really does have a nice little message. “And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

Do you think perhaps, that in that very moment, the Grinch discovered the true meaning of Christmas?

And then there’s Good ol’ Charlie Brown. Remember how dismayed he was by the behavior of his friends preparing (or NOT preparing) for the Christmas play? Remember his anguish when his little sister Sally asked him to write her letter to Santa? And remember his disgust when his beloved Snoopy was decorating his doghouse in anticipation of winning the big bucks for the first prize in the Christmas decoration contest? When he finally has enough, he shouted “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”

Those Christmas songs and specials on TV are but a small sample of the Christmas traditions that surround us all this time of year. One tradition we have in my own little family is that we take turns from year to year decoration the Christmas tree, and my girls are rarely satisfied with my own efforts.

Spending time with family is another tradition many people look forward to at Christmastime, watching football with Uncle Joe, seeing the excited look on the faces of the children as they open their presents, Grandmas and Aunts in the kitchen preparing that huge Christmas meal of turkey, or ham, or both… potatos, mashed just right or perhaps scalloped or sweet potatos… maybe a green bean casserole or two… some kind of geletin fruit salad… hot rolls fresh from the oven with lots of butter and possibly honey to spread on them… Hot apple cider or punch or egg-nog or hot cocoa to drink… and dessert, it’s waiting just in the other room, teasing everyone with those wonderful fragerances… pumpkin pie with whipped topping… that pink fluffy stuff…and Christmas cookies that look like snowmen and bells and Christmas trees. Known around these part as “The laying on of Christmas Dinner” And I couldn’t wait when I was a kid to be big enough to get to sit at the adult table. Now that I’m all growed up, I’m back at the kids’ table again, mostly by my own choice because there I can get away with teaching all the young ones how to hang spoons from their noses. Ya can’t do THAT at the big table.

Maybe the tradition that holds the true meaning of Christmas is the tradional Christmas stories that are read to children. Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”… Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Match-Seller”… or the story that my own mother read when she was much younger than I am now sitting in a small rocking chair in the middle of my grandparents’ sitting room where the Christmas tree was… Clement Clarke Moore’s “Twas the Night before Christmas” to a group of children who were too busy opening presents and could not therefore be bothered or even pretend to pay attention. Sorry Mom.

Maybe we can locate the true meaning of Christmas in a non-traditional story like this one called…

A Brother Like That

Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.

"Is this your car, Mister?" he asked.

Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas." The boy was astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn't cost you nothing? Boy, I wish..." He hesitated. Of course Paul knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.

"I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that."

Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, "Would you like to take a ride in my automobile?"

"Oh yes, I'd love that."

After a short ride, the boy turned and with his eyes aglow, said, "Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?" Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again.

"Will you stop where those two steps are?" the boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car. "There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas and it didn't cost him a cent. And some day I'm gonna give you one just like it...then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I've been trying to tell you about."

Paul got out and lifted the lad to the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.

That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when he had said: "It is more blessed to give..."

And just what about all that giving? Can we really measure the true meaning of Christmas by the number of dollars we spend during this time of year? Does it help us find that meaning if we fret and worry because we are unable for one reason or another to buy everything we want to for everyone we want to? It most certainly is more blessed to give than to receive, but ask yourself if you can really buy the true meaning of Christmas and wrap it up and give it to someone else. I’ve never been able to, but maybe that’s just me.

Another tradition many of us enjoy is driving around as a family and looking at all the Christmas lights on people’s houses. I remember doing that with my mom and dad when my two sisters and I were kids. I don’t remember very many of the lights, but I remember that we once saw a guy dressed up like Santa Claus… and he was wearing tennis shoes. We all thought that was just a hoot and a half. The things we remember from our childhood.

And speaking of that big jolly guy with… and I quote “His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry” It may sound like it, but no, I’m not talking about my father… (sorry dad). I’m talking about that OTHER jolly guy. Maybe Santa Claus will bring us the true meaning of Christmas. You know, a lot has been said about Santa Claus, and he is known throughout the world by different names… Father Christmas… Kris Kringle… St. Nicholas… In Brazil he’s known as Papai Noel… in Italy they call him Babbo Natale… In the Dutch language he’s Sinter Klaas… In the Netherlands the children wait for Kerstman… In France he’s called Pere’ Noelle… and even in Hawaii he’s known by the different name of Kanakaloka. No matter what we call him, we all know that he lives at the North Pole, travels in a sleigh drawn by eight tiny reindeer, and Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas to so many children of the world without him.

There are those however, who in seeking the true meaning of Christmas, will say awful nasty things about the reality or validity of Santa. I would refer them to the editorial page of the New York Sun, from a long time ago. Children and adults alike pay attention and listen to this excerpt from that page.

Editorial Page, New York Sun, 1897 (111 years ago)

Dear Editor---

I am 8 years old. Some of my friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, and no romance to make tolerable this existence.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to have men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

No Santa Claus! Well thank goodness he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Well… that certainly answers that question once and for all doesn't it? But does that explain what the true meaning of Christmas is? Let’s continue, shall we?

What if it’s found in the memories we make and then recall each Christmas? I remember many happy Christmases from my childhood. The best were when there was lots of extended family with us… not that this in itself didn’t bring its own set of challenges.

I remember that almost without fail, on Christmas morning there was always that one toy that was the envy of all the other brothers and sisters and cousins. There was one toy that made us ignore for the time being all the other toys, and if that toy wasn’t mine, I was most unhappy. Didn’t stop me from playing with that toy though, and if it was mine, well I sure knew how to be stingy. Our parents saw an opportunity for a lesson in life and would try to teach us all about sharing and being happy with what we got. Sure ! ! ! Right lesson, way wrong time to try to enforce it though.

One year my cousin Kevin got a table-top hockey game, similar to the foosball games but it was hockey. Hours upon hours we spent working those hockey players up and down the ice trying to score on each other. The girls of course didn’t get it, but that was ok with Kevin and me. This was serious Stanley Cup playoffs time.

Another time he got a Rock ‘em Sock ‘em robot game and I got a tape recorder. We were in one of the back bedrooms at my grandparent’s house, trying to knock the block off of each other’s robot while I was recording the events from ringside under the stage name of “Friendly Ed” with commercials between each round of boxing complete with jingles like “MMMMM good, MMMMM good, that’s what Campbell’s soups are, MMMMM good” and “You can trust your car to the man who wears the star, the big bright Texaco star.” To this day I don’t know which was more fun… trying to knock each other’s block off and recording the events for unseen listeners, or listening to the recording afterward. Either way, it was hilarious to us. Yes, I actually did sing those jingles and I will deny to my deathbed that it was me if any of you ever get your hands on a copy of that tape.

One year I got a tent. It was a little blue tent that my father set up out in our front yard in Austin, Texas. Before I could even get into the thing to test my skills as a true outdoorsman, my sister Linda and my cousin Kevin turned the side of it into some sort of vertical trampoline. I was mature though and in a forgiving mood because the two of them were having so much fun and decided then and there to remember the real meaning of Christmas by throwing what they call these days… a real conniption fit. OK, so that one’s not the happiest of Christmas memories, but when I recall all those Christmas memories, I really do even think about that one and have to smile.

Other, more recent, memories came to me while I was searching for the true meaning of Christmas. I remember a few years ago when my wife and I had a paper route, we handed out Christmas cards to every one of our customers. We got many back in the mail… maybe upwards of a hundred and added them to our Christmas card wall. There must have been 150 cards up there and I remember looking at that wall and thinking to myself something like “Look how many people care enough for us to send these cards. We must really be great people”. But while I was mentally patting myself on the back for being so wonderful, did I miss the true meaning of Christmas up there on that wall?

And speaking of cards, what about all those cards and letters we send through the mail? Do we really expect someday to open one of those cards or letters and find right there in written form the true meaning of Christmas? I don’t know if we will or not, but we send them anyway… and send them… and send them… listen to this excerpt from a news release by the US Postal Service two days before Thanksgiving a couple of years ago.

Dated Nov. 20, 2007
WASHINGTON, DC — In two short days, the U.S. Postal Service begins to deliver 20 billion pieces of mail across the country and around the world, a task that requires more than 200,000 trucks, a 30 percent increase in air cargo transport, 37,000 Post Offices and 700,000 employees.

All to make sure that holiday cheer arrives on time.

The Postal Service expects to deliver 20 billion pieces of mail between Thanksgiving and Christmas this year. Total mail volume (cards, letters, catalogs, packages, magazines) for the busiest day should approach 1 billion.

WOW ! ! !

With that kind of volume, maybe that’s where we should look in our search for the true meaning of Christmas.

Or maybe we should look to the event itself… the birth of the baby Jesus. We spend the rest of the year thinking about the life of Christ, but it seems to me that the birth itself is a part of that life. Why do we reserve thinking about that event for those few days between Thanksgiving and December 25th?

Was Bruce R McConkie talking about the true meaning of Christmas when he explained to us that Jesus Christ is the only person ever to be born in the world who had power to bring to pass the resurrection of himself or anyone else and to atone for the sins of any living being? The atonement came by the power of God and not of man, and to really understand it, one must understand that our Lord was literally the Son of God (an immortal personage) and of Mary (a mortal woman). From his mother he inherited mortality, the power to lay down his life, to die, to permit the body and spirit to separate. From his Father he inherited the power of immortality, the power to keep the body and spirit together, or if he chooses, allow them to separate, the power to unite them again in the resurrected state. This is something that He has given to each and every one of us.

What a wonderful gift, and there was no one else who could give it to us. The power over physical death, the power over spiritual death. Isn’t that gift (and how the giver of that gift was born) worthy of our thoughts all year long and not just at Christmas? The true meaning of Christmas might be in the miracle of the birth of our savior.

The true meaning of Christmas. What is it? Where do we find it? Where do we look? Who do we ask? Can we touch it? Can we taste it or smell it? Can we feel it with our fingertips, or must we open up our souls to let the feeling in there? Can we buy the true meaning of Christmas? Can we sell it? Give it away? Can we sing it out loud or can we only hear it in our hearts when block out everything else that is going on around us? Do our families bring it to us? Does Santa? If we try hard enough, can we find the true meaning of Christmas in all the Christmas lights, shining and blinking and twinkling for all to see… or on the Christmas trees, beautifully decorated with lights and tinsel and ornaments, some of which have been handed from generation to generation to generation… or in the presents all wrapped with care with pretty ribbons and fancy bows… or beneath the wreaths hung on doors… Families being together… fighting for parking spaces at the malls and the hustle and bustle of Christmas shopping. Is the true meaning of Christmas explained to us in the Christmas plays and pageants and television specials… during parades or at parties… Can we spread it with Christmas carols and Christmas caroling… Do we ever write it out in the millions and millions of cards and letters sent to family, friends, and loved ones… Is it possible to discover it by spending a quiet Christmas eve with our loved ones reading from the second chapter of Luke.

I have been asked in the past to give talks on the true meaning of Christmas, and in preparation, I went on this quest to find it. I thank you all for letting me take you to some of the places I searched, and we’ve had some fun and a few laughs along the way… but what I found in my search for the true meaning of Christmas may surprise you. What I found could possibly shock you. My discovery may even disappoint you after having read this far.

What did I find in my search for the true meaning of Christmas?

I do not know.

The truth of the matter is simply that I do not have a clue what the one true meaning of Christmas is.

Because what I found out is that for each person, the true meaning of Christmas can be very different. And for each one of us, the true meaning of Christmas can change vastly depending on what we’re doing at the moment, who we’re with, what song we’re singing, what special we’re watching on television, or what gift we are wrapping. The true meaning of Christmas might be one thing while we’re hanging lights on the house or decorating the tree… and something different while we’re shopping… and something different while we’re sitting around on Christmas morning opening presents… and still something completely different when we’re listening to the words of my own personal favorite Christmas song…

O Holy night, the stars are brightly shining.
It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh hear the angel voices!
Oh night divine! Oh night when Christ was born!

For me, part of the true meaning of Christmas is somewhere in those lyrics and the music that goes with them. The lights, the Christmas trees, the Christmas hymns, being with family, being with friends, the smiles on our faces… all add to the true meaning of Christmas for me.

For me, it’s easy to find the true meaning of Christmas in the following poem that I remember Grandpa Jones reciting back when I was a kid…

The Christmas Guest

It happened one day near December's end,
Two neighbors called on an old time friend.
And they found his shop so meager and mean
Made gay with a thousand bows of green.
And Conrad was sitting with face ashine,
When he suddenly stopped as he stitched a twine,
and he said, "old friends, at dawn today
when the rooster was crowing the night away
The lord appeared in a dream to me,
And said, "I am coming your guest to be."
"So I've been busy with feet astir,
Strewing my shop with branches of fir.
The table is spread and the kittle is shined,
And over the rafters the holly is twined.
And now I'll wait for my Lord to appear
And listen closely so I will hear
his step as he nears my humble place
And I open the door and look on his face.
So his friends went home and left Conrad alone
For this is the happiest day he had known,
For long since, his family had passed away
and Conrad had spend many a sad Christmas day.
But he knew with the Lord as his Christmas guest,
This Christmas would be the dearest and best
So he listened with only joy in his heart,
And with every sound he would rise with a start
and look for the Lord to be at his door,
Like the vision he had a few hours before.
So he ran to the window after hearing a sound,
But all he could see on the snow covered ground
was a shabby beggar whose shoes were torn
and all his clothes were ragged and worn.
But Conrad was touched as he went to the door
And he said, "Your feet must be frozen and sore.
I have some shoes in my shop for you,
and a coat that will keep you warmer too."
So with grateful heart the man went away,
But Conrad noticed the time of day
And he wondered what made the Lord so late,
and how much longer he'd have to wait?
When he heard a knock; he ran to the door
But it was only a stranger once more.
A bent old lady with a shawl of black,
With a bundle of kindling piled on her back.
She asked for only a place to rest,
but that was reserved for Conrad's great guest,
But her voice seemed to plead, "Don't send me away.
Let me rest for a while on Christmas day.
So Conrad brewed her a steaming cup,
And told her to sit at the table and sup.
But after she left he was filled with dismay
For he saw that the hours were slipping away,
And the Lord hadn't come as he said he would
And Conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.
When out of the stillness he heard a cry,
"Please help me and tell me where am I?"
So again he opened his friendly door,
And stood disappointed as twice before.
It was only a child who had wandered away
And was lost from her family on Christmas day.
Again Conrad's heart was heavy and sad,
but he knew he should make the little girl glad
So he called her in and wiped her tears
And quieted all her childish fears
Then he led her back to her home once more,
But as he entered his own darkened door,
he new that the lord was not coming today,
For the hours of Christmas had passed away.
So he went to his room and knelt down to pray,
And he said, "Dear Lord, why did you delay?
What kept you from coming to call on me?
For I wanted so much your face to see.
When soft in the silence a voice he heard,
"Lift up your head for I kept my word.
Three times my shadow crossed your floor.
Three times I came to your lowly door.
For I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet.
I was the woman you gave something to eat.
And I was the child on the homeless street.
Three times I knocked, Three times I came in,
And each time I found the warmth of a friend.
Of all the gifts, love is the best.
I was honored to be your Christmas guest."

“Of all the gifts, love is the best”

There it is… There is the true meaning of Christmas… for me anyway. That doesn’t mean that it has to be the same for you… or for ANYONE else.

Like our own personal testimonies of the divine nature of Jesus Christ, it’s different for everyone. And like our own personal testimonies, it changes as we grow and experience more things in this life. Like our own personal testimonies, the true meaning of Christmas lies within our own hearts… it has a special and personal meaning to us. And like our testimonies, sometimes we can struggle with finding it, and then struggle even more when attempting to explain it to someone else. So, that having been said, I don’t know how to explain what the true meaning of Christmas is. I know what it is to me, but… and I quote:

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them--words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to where your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear.

End quote

The true meaning of Christmas, along with our own personal testimonies is one of the most important things that we can search for and find. What you do with yours when you do find them, is up to you. For me, I feel that I fall extremely short when I try to explain, so I’ll have to rely on help from some little friends…

Remember when Charlie Brown shouted “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” Personally, I think the best explanation I’ve ever heard was the one Linus gave to Charlie Brown when he said:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Straight from Luke, chapter 2: verses 8-14.

For me, the true meaning of Christmas doesn’t get any better than that.

My hope during this wonderful season, my Christmas prayer, is that each one of you who have taken the time to read this message, and all of your families and friends, and all of their families and friends…find your own true meaning of Christmas… and when you find it, don’t let go of it. Hang it on your wall at home… Carry it with you… put it in your wallet or purse or pocket or hide it in your scriptures and then take it out to peek at it once in a while and not just at Christmas either. Sing your favorite Christmas carol out loud in the middle of your own home town during the month of June and see what happens. Share your true meaning of Christmas with everyone and ask them to do the same. Love one another, love yourself, know that I love you, be happy all year long, but especially during this wonderful season of love and happiness, and a very safe and wonderful and Merry Christmas to you all… is my hope and my prayer.

Until next time…

This Old Road

I was walking down the road the other day, walking stick firmly in hand, when I stopped and took in the scenery along the way. Off to my left were cows grazing in a really pretty little pasture, and to the right was an old house down another road, this one made of dirt and gravel. As I stopped to ponder the sights and sounds and smells, I began to reflect upon my journey down this old road. Where did it begin, and where will it end. This is an old road I’m on, and the real wonder of it all is that this old road I’m on is the same road upon which I’ve always been.

Sometimes this old road I’m on is nothing more than a footpath through some wooded landscape where the only sounds are birds chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze, and water flowing across rocks and stumps as it travels down its own road that we know as a creek bed, and the smell of leaves freshly crumbled under my foot fills the air. The yellows and golds and reds and browns of the leaves and the blue and purple and orange and pink of the sky as dusk approaches and many different colors of the various flowers and other plant life are near impossible to take in all at once.

Other times, this old road I’m on is a massive six-lane freeway, where I find myself helplessly trapped in one of the middle lanes. Six lanes of traffic seem to be going in the same direction as I, but all of those shiny cars with their drivers seemingly oblivious to one another while talking on their cell phones and changing radio stations are heading not to the same place I’m going, but to destinations unknown, and I, in the midst of all this random activity, walk along and take in the din of traffic, tires screeching, horns blaring, radios booming that deep bass thump, thump, thump, and all of the other beautiful noises of city life.

At any given moment, this old road I’m on has been any type of road in between that footpath and the freeway. Avenues, streets, highways and byways, boulevards, cul-de-sacs, drives, sidewalks, runways, creek beds, beaches, lakesides, parking lots, lanes, alleys, expressways, turnpikes, railroads, and all manner of trails where I could walk along, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time.

This old road I’m on took me and my boyhood friends to adventures in Austin that were wondrous to behold. We walked down the paved road that passed in front of our house until it went left around a corner and eventually turned into a dirt road and then nothing more than a couple of ruts through the grass. We took the turn to the left that led us downhill to a creek where we became explorers, adventurers, pirates on occasion, Native American Indians looking for and finding arrowheads, and eventually young little men learning how to learn hard lessons along this old road.

This old road I’m on took me almost all the way through school, but I took an early exit ramp and it was some time later that I was able to find my way back from that other side road and finish my journey along that particular stretch of road.

This old road I’m on led me to San Antonio in 1980 where I found myself enlisted in the United States Air Force. Then it took me to Illinois where I met Kelley who became my first wife a year or so later. It took me to Ohio for a year and then on to California. We took this old road back to Texas for a year, and then backtracked our way back to California, where Kelley decided to take a different road than the one I’m on.

This old road took me to the Rio Grande Valley where I tried to find myself, but only found myself alone in a strange and unwelcoming environment. It took me to Virginia where I eventually did find my real self and somehow attracted the attention of Sheri who graciously joined me on this old road and has helped me navigate some of the more difficult sections as we walk together.

This old road runs in front of our little farm house in Good Hope, Missouri where we live a happy life with my family just down the road and where our pets rule the abode. A half mile down the road is a small store that I like to walk to with Jaz the Beagle.

This old road I’m on has been fraught with dangers. I have walked past so many of the posted warning signs along the way, Signals to the traveler that unknown and unwanted perils await just ahead and around that bend. The signs were there but I didn’t always see them, sometimes not even venturing a passing glance, but rather walking past with blinders on, so arrogantly confident in my own self-importance that a road map would be nothing more than wasted effort. Directions surely would only slow me down in my haste to get where I thought I was going, where I thought I should be going, and where I thought I would ultimately arrive. Well, I’m still on this old road, but nowhere near where I thought I would be.

There are also handwritten notes nailed to trees along the sides of this old road I’m on with one word and a scribbled arrow at the bottom that pointed down a path lined with great trees and I could hear the silence spilling out onto the road and feel the wonderful warmth in my bosom as I neared that path. The smell of warm bread or chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven or some such other pleasing fragrance was floating on the clean and fresh and pristine breeze. The aroma of jasmine and roses and honeysuckle came wafting out to greet me like an old friend I haven’t seen in years. I could see light down this path even though no sunlight could possibly get through the rows of mighty oaks or elms or black walnut trees. Sometimes I saw this sign with the arrow and its one handwritten word of “peace”, and sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes I saw it and turned to go down that path, and sometimes I just ignored the message and went on my way. I can’t think of a single time, however, when I stumbled upon that pathway to peace without either looking for the sign, or spotting it accidentally out of the corner of my eye. Something more inviting must have caught my attention perhaps.

There were flashing beacons that foretold of different happiness’s if I would but take the next ramp and follow this road wherever it would lead. They were signals to me that my health, wealth, spirituality, relationships, time, and other freedoms would improve and grow as I made my way down this road. Sometimes I heeded, and sometimes I thought I knew a better way to go.

There are signs along this old road that caution against high speeds, making me aware that it’s ok to slow down and take in the scenery, smell the roses, take notice of where I’ve been, where I am at the moment, and where I’m going.

There are signs of caution, signs of warning and dangers ahead, signs to slow down or speed up. There are big and colorful and bright signs, and there are signs that I had to nearly run into before I noticed them. There was a sign written by Jerry Garcia that simply stated the obvious for most of us, “What a Long Strange Trip it’s Been!”

There were also great big billboards along this old road. One in particular gave me cause to reflect. It was a large white billboard out in the middle of what seemed to be nowhere, unassuming except for its size, and it was erected by Rolling Thunder, an American Indian medicine man. His message to whomever passed by was simple yet powerful: “People have to be responsible for their thoughts, so they have to learn to control them. It may not be easy, but it can be done. First of all, if we don’t want to think certain things we don’t say them. We don’t have to eat everything we see, and we don’t have to say everything we think. So we begin by watching our words and speaking with good purpose only.” I think I went the rest of the day without uttering a single syllable.

My journey has been one of complex twists and turns. This old road I’m on has taken me through and to some of the most beautiful scenery that this country has to offer. Parts of this old road has run alongside fields of bluebonnets in Texas where no green could be seen, only the blue that stretched to the horizon where it was difficult to distinguish the field from the blue sky. It has taken me by the impressive skylines of our major (and not-so-major) cities in this great land of ours. This old road has wound its way down steep hillsides, across rustic iron bridges, through tunnels carved through mountains. It has turned slowly though the buttes and plateaus of New Mexico, and twisted wildly from side to side and up and down through the City by the Bay. I’ve seen this old road where it just went as straight as my own eyesight and then disappeared into the sunset as I walked through West Texas. I’ve walked down this old road through the Mojave Desert in stunned amazement at how the Joshua Trees can all look so much alike but at the same time be so different, each having its own shape and size and individuality.

There were times as I wandered down this old road that I’m on when I thought I would never see daylight again, where I found myself in darkness even at noontime on a cloudless day. Those were the times when I thought I was truly alone, and forgotten, and yes, those were the times when I was frightened because I thought I was lost and perhaps even on the wrong road. I know better now, because there were also those times when I could see clearly down the road in the dead of night when there was no moonlight to illuminate the way before me and I knew that this is the road upon which I belong, in any weathers, and in every condition.

There were times when I was walking down this old road I’m on when it was cold and raining and I could find no tree to huddle up against for shelter. There were times when I was hungry but the restaurant was on the other side and the median was lined with a tall fence that rendered it impassable. There were times when I thought I was intentionally run off the road and into the wilderness, and there were times when friendly passers-by offered companionship, directions, helpful warnings or advice. Maybe they just waved and smiled as they went by. I always liked those people.

This old road I’m on has seen me running down it for a purpose known only to myself, and also for no reason at all. Not that I ever ran for 3 years, 2 months, 14 days and 16 hours like Forrest Gump did, but I have been known to step lively when the urge struck me. This old road has also seen me stumble and fall off into the ditch where I was torn up rather handily by the briars and the brambles growing wild there. It has witnessed as I strutted with pride, strolled leisurely, limped in agony, crawled in humility, marched militarily, ambled aimlessly, and trudged along against my will when I wanted to just stop and sleep.

I have skipped, jumped, jogged, advanced, ambulated, padded, hit the road, strutted, knocked about, lead, followed, gotten out of the way, shuffled, marched, hiked, meandered, paced, strode, plodded, limped, pranced (but not too often), traversed, promenaded, raced, traipsed, run, walked, crawled, ambled, paraded, sauntered, scuffed, shambled, slogged, hoofed it, stalked, stepped, lumbered, strolled, legged, stumped, toddled, moseyed, toured, roamed, tramped, patrolled, traveled, treaded, escorted, trekked, trooped, cantered, trudged, wandered, lumbered, and wended my way down this old road I’m on.

This old road I’m on has taken me through some areas of bitter contradictories. Places where on one side of the road are parents rejoicing the birth of a child and right across the avenue are children mourning the loss of a parent whose mortal life was cut too short by disease, an automobile accident, or the evil actions of another person.

On one side of this old road I have witnessed our youth without a care in the world playing marbles or jumping rope or involved in a highly contested game of sandlot baseball, while on the other side stood hospitals filled with children bravely fighting for life against muscular dystrophy, leukemia or some other form of cancer, abuse and neglect, and loneliness.

I have been a witness to some of the most horrific hate-driven tragedies that persons of a so-called civil society have perpetrated on one another, shaking my very faith in humanity to the core, and then strolled on another few feet ahead as an old homeless man resting by the way receives a hot meal, a few bucks, and some encouraging kind words of hope that lift his spirits enough to take up his travels along this old road again. Walking along for a spell with this old man renews my faith and reminds me that those others are truly the exception, and not the rule.

This old road I’m on has been at times brand new, with a solid and flat and smooth surface on which to meander. Other sections have been in dire need of some serious attention, causing me (when I happen to notice) to take care in my stride, placing each foot down carefully, avoiding the pitfalls that may cause me to stumble and fall. I have tripped more than a few times along this old road, but I’ve always managed to get back up and continue this amazing expedition.

I have met some amazing people while walking down this old road I’m on. Friends who have touched me in ways that they cannot realize. Friends whom I’ve not spoken with in years but still have a special place in my heart and of whom I have many fond memories as I stop and turn around and look back down this old road I’ve traveled. There are friends who have picked up their own walking sticks and joined me for a season, friends who have waved as I hustled on by, and friends who have been with me for many years, traveling within me in my heart and mind instead of beside me on the road itself. Of all of these friends, there is neither a favorite nor a “bottom of the list.” Each is unique in his or her own way, and all are the same in that they have helped me find my way down this old road that I’m on, while adding value to my journey.

So here I am, walking down this old road and I wonder what wonders I will behold around the next bend or what hazards lie just over the next hill. My journey has been long and short at the same time; it has been an uphill climb and difficult to navigate at times; it has been a downhill coast easy and delightful at times; and I have been able to see both sides of the road, the good and the evil, the easy and the difficult, the exciting and the mundane, the joys that come from walking on one side of the road and the pain that comes from walking on the other side.


At the beginning of this old road were my parents, caring for me and nurturing me until I could take my first steps. But even before I took that first step putting one foot in front of the other, even before I could crawl on my hands and knees, and even before I could muster enough strength to hold my own head upright, or roll from my belly to my back, I began my journey down this old road… a journey that I’m still walking today.

Sometimes I want to get off this road, but that urge never lasts very long. This old road I’m on lays out long before me, and when I finally reach the end, I hope to find many of my friends and family there to be with me as I step off and begin my new adventure.

All in all, this old road that I’ve been on and continue to journey along was and is a good road, and the trip was worth every step I’ve taken and I’m fairly confident it will remain so in where ever my future endeavors take me.

I’m walking down this old road, and I love this old road I’m on. Come walk with me and let’s find out together where it leads… I’ll even let you use my walking stick if you need it.

Until next time…

Bringing Home the Bread

I probably wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t actually performed the task myself.

I have, on occasion, surprised even myself by surpassing my own self-imposed limits, trying to obtain a goal that I truly thought to be beyond my reach, but giving it the ol’ college try anyway just to (if for no other reason) see what might happen.

This is what transpired and this is how it happened.

A few weeks ago my sister (the one who irrationally despises goats) and my mom safely deposited my niece Mary Ann at BYU to begin her 4 (or so) year career as a student of higher education. While they were in or about Provo, or maybe they were in Salt Lake City, they were able to purchase several 45 pound buckets of whole white wheat, and some active dry yeast.

When my mom gave me a bucket, the first thing I thought of was a Finnish bread that was made by several members of my former wife’s family. My daughter Jessica even made it on at least one occasion.

Since I was unable to obtain the recipe from the former family, I happily skipped along the information super-highway until I found what I was looking for… Finnish Cardamom Bread, also known as Nisua… or Nisu for short.

The following is my account of how the experiment took place. I thought about changing names to protect innocents and all that, but since I was the only one involved and I’m the one writing the story, it just didn’t make a whole lot of sense to do so.

We begin with the whole wheat. The bucket looked like this…

And the grain looked like this…

I had borrowed my mom’s spare copy of a wheat grinder…

and began to grind away at the wheat right there on the kitchen counter. I have since learned that wheat grinding should take place on the back porch. Everything in the kitchen was covered in a fine layer of wheat flour, and the floor turned into a sticky mess that I can only refer to as “nasty”.

After the grinding (and the subsequent mandatory clean-up before the wife got home) I set about making the dough. Now those of you who know me well know of my distain for anything sticky (or raw meat) to come in contact with my bare hands. I tried to mix the dough with a wire wisk at first until that became impossible… kind of like trying to cut firewood with a dull butter knife. Then I tried it by hand with latex gloves, (this is how I get around the sticky and raw meat thing), but that didn’t last long either. I finally broke down and finished kneading the dough with my (ack) bare hands.

This is the result…

After the rising and the required punching down of the dough, I divided it in half, divided each half into thirds, rolled each third into something that resembled a doughy snake, and then I began to braid. I vaguely recalled from my youth how to braid hair, but this was not hair, it was doughy snakes, so it took a few braidings and unbraidings before I got it to look like I thought braided doughy snakes should look.

Then I put each loaf on a cookie sheet and let them rise again. This is what they looked like at this point.

Then into the oven went the fattened braided doughy snakes. After 25 minutes in the oven and a light butter brushing, this is what I ended up with.

All in all… not a bad effort. I’m told that they tasted even better than they look, even though I think they look pretty darned good. The fact that all the bread disappeared quickly leads me to believe that my family and friends weren’t just being polite.

For those with an adventurous spirit, here is the recipe as I have used it several times now since my first excursion into bread-making.

Ingredients:

2 pkgs active dry yeast (this equates to 4½ teaspoons of the stuff)

¼ cup warm water (110 to 115 degrees - be careful here, you can kill the yeast if the water is too hot)

2 cups of warm milk (110 to 115 degrees)

¾ cup sugar

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted sweet butter – softened (about 1o seconds in the microwave does it for me)

1½ teaspoon salt

¾ teaspoon ground cardamom

2 eggs

7 – 8 cups bread flour
Directions:
In a mixing bowl, dissolve yeast in the warm water. Add the milk, sugar, butter, salt, cardamom, eggs, and 3 cups of the flour, beat until smooth. Stir in enough of the remaining flour to form a soft dough.

Turn onto a floured surface, and knead until smooth and elastic, about 6 to 8 minutes. Place in a greased bowl, turning once to grease the top, cover with a towel and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 hour.

Note: While I am kneading the dough, I turn the oven on the lowest temperature bake setting, then when it’s time to let it rise, I turn off the oven, open the door for a minute or so, and put the bowl of dough in the oven on an overturned cake pan with a towel on top, and close the oven door. The oven should stay warm, but not hot enough to actually cook the bread at this time)

After the dough has risen, punch it down and turn onto a lightly floured surface, and divide in have. Then divide each half into thirds and shape each third into a 13 inch rope (or snake). Place three ropes onto a greased baking sheet and braid, pinching the ends and tucking them under to seal. Do the same with the other three ropes.

Cover and let rise in a warm place (see above note) until doubled, this time about 45 minutes.

When they have risen again, remove from the oven, pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees, and bake 25 – 30 minutes, or until golden brown.

Remove from baking sheets and onto wire racks for cooling. (Before cooling, I like to brush them with butter, and this last time I mixed just a few drops of honey with the butter before brushing)

Enjoy,

Until next time...

Here a Little, There a Little

I know, I know… It's been a while.

First it was a couple of days gone by, then a week and then a month. I never set out to go so long between posts, but that’s how things happen.

A few months ago back in the spring of this year, there was a lot of rain around here. It seems as though we were in the national news quite a bit, although we only really knew how bad the floods were when we had to cross the streams to get around. Yes, some of our journeys take us down dirt roads, through fields, and across running waters. Some were literally impassable, and even the mighty Jeep couldn't handle some of the raging waters, as difficult as that may be to believe.

As a result of the flooding, our water supply was contaminated and began to run brown out of the faucets. Yuck. It only lasted a couple of days and then things were back to normal.

Some time later, maybe a month or so, I noticed that the water pressure wasn't what I thought it should be. It wasn't a drastic or sudden change like it was there yesterday and today it’s not, but I just happened to notice it for some reason. I asked Sheri about it and then she noticed it too.

After doing some maintenance on the well pressure tank and changing all of the filters (which really should have been done right after the brown water had cleared up), we had our water pressure back. That first shower was delightful too, I might add.

I thought about that and made a mental note to myself to jot down some thoughts on why this seemingly insignificant and minor inconvenience was such a big deal to me. Like most of my mental notes though, this one got lost for a while in the mental mess that clutters up my mental desk.

The thing that really struck me is that this decrease in water pressure didn't happen all at once. It happened very slowly and over a period of time so that it went unnoticed until one day we said "Hey, wait just a dingdangcottonpickin’ minute..." and there we were with a problem that had really started some time back and had been constantly building in the meantime.

OK, so that's how things happen with me. Here a little and there a little until something is noticed, right? I would guess that I’m not alone in this either.

I am neither young enough nor do I shave often enough to be considered by any stretch of the imagination a clean cut young man. I don’t intentionally set out to grow a beard most of the time. I just don’t shave one morning, and again the next morning and so on until someone (usually Sheri) asks me if I’m growing a beard again and why didn’t I just keep the last one I had. I have no answer for that. It just happened because I wasn’t paying enough attention to my own face. (Have you seen my face and is this really a great surprise to anyone?)

My weight is the same. I don’t notice the pounds accumulating one by one, but here I am a good 50 pounds or so heavier than where I should be (according to those know-it-all-smarty-pants doctors.)

The length of my hair, the ever-dwindling pile of firewood in the winter that never replenishes itself, the ever-increasing pile of ash in the bottom of the wood stove, the pile of dishes, the state of the litter box, the amount in the bank account, the length of time since the last birthday card was sent or the last anniversary remembered (Happy 1st anniversary to my daughter Jessica and her husband Brandon), other important dates that have come and gone, the time that’s elapsed since we noticed that our kids are growing up, realizing that our families are growing apart, the frequency of visits to the in-laws, the last time “I love you” was said with real feeling, the visiting of friends that used to be almost every day but now doesn’t happen at all, the time that goes by between phoning loved ones, checking on each other, the regularity of reading our scriptures or getting down on our knees to give thanks, how long it’s been since we took the time to remember what’s important, the accumulation of dirt on the mighty Jeep, the growth of the lawn … all change at a pace that we don’t notice until we find ourselves at a place where it can no longer be ignored or unnoticed.

I’m not trying to be a downer here. The truth of the matter is that this is how things happen. Here a little and there a little.

We don’t expect our children to be born ready to enter the business world and fend for themselves. We expect them to learn things, yes. But we don’t expect them to absorb everything that we would like to shove down their little throats just because we want them to know that fire is hot and gravity can be their enemy when they’ve climbed to the highest branch in that tree. We know that they learn what they need to know when they need to know it, and then they build upon that previous knowledge until one day they realize that they have mastered something that was previously thought to be impossible.

I am thankful that I was raised in an atmosphere where my imagination was allowed to run wild. Sometimes it got me in trouble, sometimes it spawned great ideas, and sometimes it was just fun to dream about stuff.

I am about to embark upon an adventure that began somewhere in my past with an idea that I can’t even really remember. I didn’t set out to be a home builder. I never thought that this is where fate (if you want to call it that) would take me. I’ve done so many other totally unrelated things and I’ve been so many other totally unrelated things. Building homes just snuck up on me. I guess if I had been paying close enough attention, I would have seen this coming somewhere in my past. But that’s how things go… here a little, there a little until I look up and notice what I’ve become, and have the audacity to be surprised.

Things happen like that spiritually also. I never made a conscious effort to fall away from my beliefs, it just happened while I wasn’t paying attention. And when I finally noticed where I was, I thought that I was too far gone to ever be able to find my way back. And then while I wasn’t paying attention, my core beliefs found their way back to the forefront of my everyday thoughts, the standards that I had set for myself years earlier began to manifest themselves in my daily behavior, and I found that hitting my knees to give thanks was a lot harder then I remembered only because it had been so long.

Have you ever found yourself face to face with someone that you used to be really close to but had just stopped making contact with for no apparent reason? Awkward, huh? All of those things that you used to share together are no longer part of your daily lives and so you struggle to find any commonality until you give up and go your separate ways. Sometimes we get lucky and find that common ground before the awkwardness becomes too great to bear, but sometimes we let the moment slip by and give up because that’s easier than actually working to rekindle a relationship.

That’s what happened with me. It was just easier to go about my daily life and avoid discussions with God because it had been too long and I didn’t really know what to say anymore. That relation ship was gone and I didn’t know how to get it back, you know. It was easier to avoid reading scriptures than to do the work involved in applying the lessons therein to my own life.

But you know what? I began to read, and then reading became easier. I began to pray and praying wasn’t so difficult after a few times. I went to church one time, and then going to church was something I looked forward to instead of dreading because I hadn’t been for so long.

Just as easily as we can develop bad habits, we can develop good habits. Just as we can forget to do the important things, we can remember to make them a daily part of our lives. Wouldn’t it be great if we could automatically hold on to the things that make our lives great while not having to work to keep them? Wouldn’t it be so much easier if we could decide what and who we want to be and then become that person and just stay that way without any effort? Doesn’t work that way though.

After our adventure with the water pressure and the investigation into the problem and the numerous trips into town for filters and filter wrenches and the effort it took to make things right again so that we have sufficient water pressure with clean water, I’m a little more in tune with what is coming out of the faucet. And after the effort it took to relearn what I had forgotten, I’m paying a little more attention to the state of my own spirituality.

I don’t want to take any more weak showers, and I don’t want to have to fight my way back from the dark and dreary places that I’ve found myself.

I really do enjoy writing these thoughts of mine on this blog. I don’t know who reads them and that’s really not why I write. These posts help me to clear off that mentally cluttered mental desk of mine. When I started this blog, I wrote every day. Little by little though, I slowed down until one day I looked up and found that I hadn’t added anything in quite a while. I almost screamed out loud when I made a visit to that mental desk and saw what had piled up there.

I was tempted to set fire to the whole thing and just start over, but I decided to write this instead. I said from the very beginning that I write for myself and that remains as true today as it was when I first said it. So I’ll work a little harder on clearing off that cluttered up mental desk of mine, here a little and there a little. I hope it never gets completely clean though… what would I do then?

I’m pretty sure that I’m going in the right direction now, but I’m not that much different that most things that go in this world… I go a little at a time, working on things here a little and there a little until I look up one day and notice that I like where I am, and I’m really kinda surprised that I’m here.

Until next time…