Musings of an Aging Nobody…I Will Praise You in the Storm

Musings of an Aging Nobody…I Will Praise You in the Storm

The final glimmers of light for 2016 over the Kent Narrows

It’s hard to believe that a whole year has gone by since I very nervously clicked the “publish” button on my newly and hastily constructed website sending my first essay “Three Score and Counting” out into cyberspace on New Year’s day 2016.  That was a big leap for me having only ever written publicly for work; or for family and friends with an annual Christmas letter.  Most of what I had written was kept for my own consumption, 30 years of words hidden away in spiral notebooks stacked where only I knew to read them.

And for me being able to share on this website fulfilled at least one of my life’s goals, to get over the fear and worry and just write, and let someone else read it, like it or not.

Now one year later, to repeat a thought from that first writing “Three Score…” I am still alive and breathing and now looking forward to another year.

And I say I am looking forward to it very sincerely, in spite of the fact that I know that this new year will have all the makings of other years gone by and will include many great moments, but since this is real life I am wise enough now to expect some moments that won’t be so celebrated.  And now on this first day of the New Year I have the opportunity to reflect a little on the roller coaster ride that was 2016.  I am sure you have your stories too.

I experienced some things I had never experienced before and some I at least hadn’t experienced in many years.  Some were painful, some were sad.  Some were life changing for me, some were life changing for others.  Some were all too familiar but not always the familiar we look for.  Some were educational, some introspective.  Some were silly and sometimes a needed diversion.  All were personal, all elicited some emotion.  Many times I laughed but more times I cried. And sometimes I laughed and I cried.  I have often said I cry when I write, and I write when I cry, because sometimes for me writing helps the healing.

There were times I was angry. There were times I was scared too.  There were times I was humbled.  But in those times wisdom is born and so there were times of enlightenment too.

And though I try to be creative with my non-fiction, this is real life, and sometimes our non-fiction gets handed to us in a way we couldn’t imagine creating.

Sadly In life we experience loss, but there is always the opportunity to honor those like my friends Lynn, Holly, and Tawanda who all lost their battles with cancer.

But some losses come harder than others.  Some are much more personal, closer to home and continue to be experienced daily.  It’s hard sometimes to keep that contained.

And in May our community’s world was rocked again with the loss of Jimmy McLaughlin, a young man and a good family friend loved by all who knew him.

In these situations the healing continues for many and for some may never end.

Nature’s cross remembering Mr. Hersch

Then in June I was reminded that there are those who don’t always share the same passion for life that most of us have.  And for those, there can be a day when their pain and anguish can take control, if only for a brief moment, and then it’s over.   On Christmas Day I re visited the sunken path where Mr. Hersch took the life of his dog and himself.  I hadn’t been out in that woods since the June evening when my neighbor and I discovered him and his companion.  Nature had appropriately fashioned a cross right in the spot where he lay.

But it wasn’t always sad and painful.

I learned that not everyone shares the same respect I have for French bread.  I learned a new word while I was sheltering in place in a massive snow storm.  I fought the garden wars in the trenches of my back yard and became “The Deer Hunter” unexpectedly and remorsefully doling out some unnecessary revenge.

I battled a great sea monster that left me bloodied and in the urgent care.  I realized growing old isn’t always pretty and I learned that climbing stairs can help generate gray matter making me smarter. I purposely climbed that stairwell to the fifth level of that Reston Hospital parking garage many times after that first struggling effort.  That is, up until August when another not so pleasant life experience occurred and the work that required me to be in that parking garage stopped.  But happily in the last week of the year I would make those five flights of stairs again, now in a new role.

And in that down time I would read Angela Duckworth’s “Grit” for a second time and totally understand her comment in the book that “teaching is the hardest job in the world” after having spent some time substituting for 4th, 5th, and 6th grade teachers.

And who could forget we had a Presidential election in 2016. In my effort to not be controversial, I tried to remain neutral in my writing, but also tried to have a little fun with it as well.

But alas, Mickey didn’t win.

 

The 20th the Bell for our 20th Christmas

In addition to recognizing that lives matter, I particularly began to recognize the priorities of family; of grandchildren, and children, our parents; and of Kim and I; and where I might need to improve.  And thankfully we had opportunities to share some meaningful time together with some short trips, a beautiful wedding, Father’s Day, and of course

Christmas.

And in the end I realized that though there were some painful and sad experiences, there was much to be thankful for as well as we celebrated the holidays.

So I am looking forward to 2017 and to new adventures and more musings in the year to come.

And referencing “Three Score…” from last New Year’s Day one more time, though my lifeline continues to be my wife, it is our spirituality that keeps us lifted.

I had storms in 2016, let’s face it, we all did.  But I remain steadfast.

And I pray for calmer waters for you and your families and for mine.

And as always, I thank you for letting me share.

Happy New Year.

Happy New Year from outside Harris’ Crab House Grasonville MD
The Christmas Letter

The Christmas Letter

Kim and I have sent out a Christmas letter for as long as we have been together.  I have never shared it on the web so this is a first.  If you happen to be one of those folks who got one of these in the mail, make sure you drop to the bottom and read the follow up to the letter.

 

Christmas 2016

The Grinches Who Tried To Steal My Christmas

On the 16th of December, with Christmas Eve just eight short days away, my good friend from childhood, Matt, called me to see how I was doing.  Towards the end of the conversation he asked:

“Well I guess we should be getting your Christmas letter soon?”

“Man,” I said, “I haven’t even written it yet.  With everything that’s been going on I haven’t felt like it.”

Since the first Christmas that Kim and I spent together, we’ve been committed to always making Christmas special.  We created new traditions as a new family.  Even when it seemed like it would be impossible to enjoy even a moment of Christmas, like the Christmas of 2002, we did everything we could to make it enjoyable.  And it was memorable, as were the rest.

But let’s face it sometimes life throws you a few curve balls.  On top of that, kids grow up, have their own families, and begin to start their own traditions.

And the next thing you know, you are taking down all those boxes and containers with Christmas decorations, taking a look inside,  then putting the lids back on and taking them back up to the attic.

Because this is the year you decide to make Christmas simpler and only put up a few decorations.  You leave that big artificial tree that needed to be assembled and disassembled in the box; and you put up a real tree that you can throw out on the curb right after Christmas.

And instead of the elaborate outside lighting scheme you have traditionally done with the LED lights you bought from Sam’s Club and the iron tripod garden thingies you made to look like Christmas trees; you opt to just purchase a laser projection light so that you can project on the side of your garage with hardly any set up time or effort.

Then you come home one evening to find the reason that your new laser projector isn’t working properly is that there is no longer a new laser projection light at the end of your extension cord! Because, just like in How the Grinch Stole Christmas, someone has stolen your Christmas decorations!

Then you laugh to yourself as you realize that this is just the perfect event to cap off an already less than perfect Christmas.

And let’s be real here, there is a point where your now 28, 30, and 34 year old daughters have got to be sick of wearing the matching Christmas pajamas you have made them wear the last 16 or so years.

Yeah that’s right, what’s the point?

Maybe you shouldn’t write that Christmas letter…who is going to want to read about what a lousy Christmas season you are having anyway?

Then…from out of the blue…

You get a call from a member of your church family who just decided on his way home from work to call you to see how things were going.

Then the next week you get a call from that good childhood friend who also just wanted to see how you were doing.

And on top of that, you get that call while driving home after having just finished your second week of your new job.

Then once at home, you take a good look at the Christmas photo on your new Christmas cards that just got delivered the evening before because you didn’t feel like ordering them either.

And you see your three daughters all grown up and how beautiful they are;

And that you now have a son-in-law in the photo too;

And you see their kids…your grandchildren.

And you see your wife and how timelessly beautiful she is…

And you realize just how lucky you are:

To have friends who care enough about you to call;

To have a new work family;

To have beautiful daughters who have grown up and have started to build their own families;

To have a son in heaven waiting;

To have two wonderful grandsons and maybe a new granddaughter next July;

And last but not least,

To know that you were lucky to meet and marry a woman who you still think was an angel sent from heaven.

And all of a sudden you realize that maybe those Grinches didn’t steal your Christmas after all.

Maybe that person who took your new laser projector needed it more than you did and right now it is projecting on the front of his house with his beautiful children inside warm and making their own memories.

And you helped make that happen.

Yeah that’s right, maybe this Christmas is going to be just as memorable as all the rest that you have celebrated.

Because maybe you really do have “So Much to Be Thankful for This Holiday Season” after all, like your card says!

And maybe it was YOU who was the Grinch all along!

 

So, from ME and the rest of my beautiful family, we hope your Christmas is just as memorable as ours.

 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Kim, Curt, Savannah, Cameron, Hayley, Alexa, Namaan, Christian, and Donny too!

 

PS: Thanks to my friend Matt for providing the inspiration and kick I needed to write my Christmas letter; and thanks to Jesus for the rest.

(End of Letter)

Follow up:

I tried to mail most of our cards and letters out on Sunday the 18th.  On Thursday evening I was sitting on the couch reading while Kim was finishing up some work when the doorbell rang twice very quickly.  Thinking it was the UPS guy I walked to the front door and peeked out the window expecting to see the UPS truck idling in the street out front but when I saw no truck I realized someone must actually be at the door.  I opened the door to find no one on the porch, but there was wrapped gift sitting squarely at the top of the steps.  I went out on the porch and retrieved the gift, giving one more look around the yard and down the street, seeing no one I went back in explained what had just happened to Kim.

I unwrapped the gift to find someone had gifted us a new laser light.

With a brief moment of winkage, I thought to myself how amazing it was that the spirit of this Christmas continues.

I don’t know who out there made that thoughtful gesture but if you happen to be reading this, I thank you.

I set the new light up yesterday in the front yard.  But this time I thought I would make it a little harder to steal by attaching it to a cinder block with a heavy gauge bicycle lock.

It surely has been a memorable Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all!

You can steal this one if you want, but you are going to be moving a little slower
The Ghost of a Christmas Past … or the Year the Tannenbaum Bombed

The Ghost of a Christmas Past … or the Year the Tannenbaum Bombed

Our Danish Blue Ice Christmas Tree
Our Danish Blue Ice Christmas Tree

Last week on the day after Thanksgiving, as is my family’s tradition, we put up our Christmas tree.

This year was a little different however because after many years of having an artificial tree, we went back to a live tree.  On the way home from having Thanksgiving dinner with the family in Western Pennsylvania, we stopped at the Moose Apple Christmas Tree Farm in Berryville, Virginia and cut down an unusual Danish Blue Ice Christmas tree.

We made a second stop along the way home to buy a new tree stand because I had thrown out the old one vindictively years ago.

And once that awesome tree was up in the living room I couldn’t help but think about the last time we had a live tree.

And why we had changed to an artificial tree.

And why I had thrown out that tree stand in disgust one day many years ago.

Then I remembered I had written about the events of that last live Christmas tree at the time, and went back in my files to find it.

So here is an edited version of the events of the day that ended the live Christmas trees in my house until last week.

Twas the weeks before Christmas… and here we go…

 

(The following was written December 2007 and edited December 2016)

 

The following story is something that was forwarded to my wife in her email that she shared with me:

Saying Grace in a Restaurant

 Last week, I took my children to a restaurant.

 My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace.

 As we bowed our heads he said, “God is good, God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert.  And Liberty and justice for all!  Amen!”

 Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard a woman remark, “That’s what’s wrong with this country.  Kids today don’t even know how to pray.  Asking God for ice cream! Why, I never!”

 Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, “Did I do it wrong?  Is God mad at me?”

 As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job, and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table.

He winked at my son and said, “I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer.”

 “Really?” my son asked.

 “Cross my heart,” the man replied.

 Then, in a theatrical whisper, he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), “Too bad she never asks God for ice cream.  A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes.”

 Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal.  My son stared at his for a moment, and then did something I will remember the rest of my life.

 He picked up his sundae and, without a word, walked over and placed it in front of the woman.  With a big smile he told her, “Here, this is for you.  Ice Cream is good for the soul sometimes; and my soul is good already.”

 (Source unknown)

 

I have always been taught that when you pray, you should ask for whatever you want.  So what is wrong with asking for ice cream?

December 4th (2007) was an interesting day.   I had a meeting at 2:00 pm in Fairfax (Virginia) and since this put me closer to home, I decided to finish working out the day at my house.

This particular day was very windy.  As I arrived at my house I was greeted by my relatively new, $350.00, full glass storm door hanging by one hinge, bent, and swinging back and forth in the strong winds.  Angry over the loss of my new door, I removed it from the door frame, carried it around back, and leaned it on its side against the deck.

Now in the back yard, I see that the Christmas tree  I had put up in the garden next to the Koi Pond, with all its decorations and lights, was also laying on its side; with half the tree, the lights and star top, in the Koi pond. Cold and discouraged, I went inside to finish my work.

Around 4:30 pm I received a frantic call from my youngest daughter Savannah on my cell phone.  She was coming home from her second day of working in the Merrifield (Virginia) area and got on the Beltway heading south towards the Wilson Bridge and Maryland, instead of getting on the inner loop heading north as she should have.  While I was trying to talk her through getting turned around on the Beltway, my wife calls me on the house phone also frantic, because neither Savannah nor I am picking up her calls.  So I am now standing in the kitchen with the house phone to one ear with Kim, and my cell phone to the other ear with Savannah, when the cats begin to fight with each other.

The cats zoom by me into the living room and get up under the Christmas tree that we had just set up and decorated over Thanksgiving weekend.

There I stand, in the kitchen with a phone to each ear, having two conversations at once, while I watch in horror as the cats topple over the Christmas tree.  To make matters worse, this year I had found the “the bomb” Christmas tree stand… The one that cost a bunch of money; the one with the foot operated ratcheting jaws that allows you to stand holding the tree straight while you ratchet down the jaws around the tree trunk with your foot.

The tree stand that in addition to all those other cool things holds four gallons of water and like the Titanic, is “untopple-overable.”

Now I am the one who is frantic, so I told my wife I had to get off the phone while I righted the tree, but I still had to get Savannah turned around on the Beltway.

Now in the living room with the Christmas tree in one hand and the cell phone to my ear in the other, the doorbell rings.  Then it rings again.

It’s the UPS guy.

He is persistent because his delivery requires a signature.  After some initial hesitation, I lean the tree against wall, I tell Savannah to call me back in couple of minutes, and I answer the door.

The UPS guy is a nice guy, but he likes to talk.   As we stood in the doorway now without a storm door, I told him about the door, and the cats, and the Christmas tree. I was trying to get him to realize that it was bad timing and I was in a hurry.  Of course he wanted to share his cat stories too, and told me he thought he remembered a storm door on the house; then he laughed a little.  Me, not finding anything funny, and Savannah now calling back, I finally just told him I had to go.

With Savannah now heading in the right direction on the Beltway, I get a call on my cell phone from someone from work needing to discuss some important work stuff.  While on that call, still concerned about Savannah, the house phone rings again and thinking it might be her I answer it while still on the cell with my co-worker.  Now for the second time today, I am in the kitchen with a phone to each ear.  This time it is not Savannah however, it is Alexa (oldest daughter,  and I can tell by the sound of her voice that she has a problem, or maybe better said, thinks she has a problem).

“Alexa can I call you back,” I asked hurriedly.

“Well ooookaay” she said obviously not happy.

Feeling bad, I said, “Look Alexa; the Christmas tree fell down,  I have 4 gallons of water in the carpet, the storm door blew off,  and I am on the phone with somebody from work…Is there something really wrong?”

“Yes” she said. “I have a big problem!”

“Is it an emergency? Are you bleeding?  Can it wait a few minutes???” I pleaded.

“Noooo, it’s not an emergency” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Okay please let me call you back”

Having heard all that, my co-worker realizes it’s probably not the best time to be talking to me about work problems and she hangs up the phone too.

Now I have a moment with no one on the phone.  I begin to clean up the busted antique ornaments, the keepsakes from the kids’ first Christmas’s, the shattered Steelers ornaments and the other colored balls, when my wife comes home.

Seeing that I am all worked up and dramatic, she acts like it’s no big deal and says just what I didn’t need to hear:

“Honey, it’s just a Christmas tree, they are just some ornaments, and it’s just a door that I didn’t like anyway, so get over it!”

“I hate it when she says stuff like that…she wasn’t here…she doesn’t know…you don’t just get over it,”  I said to myself dejectedly.

Feeling defeated, I get out the wet vac, pull up the carpet, suck up the water, start blowing air under the carpet, vacuum the rest of the mess, and move the tree to the other end of the room.

Then, on top of all that, I make dinner, because Savannah, who is now finally home from her Beltway adventure… is hungry.

Sitting down at the table ready to eat, I ask my wife to say The Blessing because I am too beaten and broken and apparently way to dramatic to be thanking anyone for anything.

And her prayer went like this:

“Dear God,

Thank you for this food we are about to eat.

Thank you for getting us all home safely from work.

Thank you for caring for all those who we know who are sick.

Thank you for the wind that blew the door off the house because I didn’t like that door any way and now I can get a new one.

Thank you for the cats who knocked over the Christmas tree and spilled the water and ruined the carpet because now I can get the wooden floors I want.

Thank you for everything.

In your name we pray,

Amen”

 

“Amen” …I said…

The End

 

And that is how it happened now nine years ago today.

Like the little boy praying for ice cream in the opening story I am sure God wasn’t mad at Kim for her prayer (though He may have been a little mad at me for my behavior).

Though Kim never got her wooden floors in that room, she did get her new door.

And like my wife said nine years ago, “it’s just a Christmas tree, they are just some ornaments;” I guess that is not what Christmas is all about anyway.

Because like a little ice cream, Christmas is good for the soul too.

And  it doesn’t really matter whether it’s a live tree or an artificial tree at all.

And I suppose I still need to get over that…because I don’t really know if my soul is good already!

I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas!

I just cut my tree down at the Moose Apple Christmas Tree Farm in Berryville, VA
Pulling my tree on a sled after cutting it down at the Moose Apple Christmas Tree Farm in Berryville, VA

 

 

Hope

Hope

My brother-in-law Kerry driving the combine with me riding shotgun
My brother-in-law Kerry driving the combine with me riding shotgun

The heavy iron ladder is swung out and locked into place allowing me to climb up to the cab of this odd shaped monster of a vehicle.  Like something out of a Mad Max movie, the behemoth is now in motion and the pointed jaws lowered into position lining up with the rows of corn in the field.

It’s the harvest.

The race to bring in the crops has begun.  That race to beat the winter weather that can, at the very least complicate and delay the process or in the worst case, damage the crops that have been worked so hard since the spring.

On this day only 91 acres of corn and 65 acres of beans (soybeans) remain.  The soybeans are more fragile and are the more urgent concern.  If the snow comes early (and in the Laurel Highlands of western Pennsylvania early could be any day now since in my experience, it has been very common to have snow on the ground by Thanksgiving) it could pose a problem.

View of the front of the combine as we approach the end of the row.
View of the front of the combine as we approach the end of the row.

But this morning, though the weather is beautiful, the soybean storage bin is full.  The truck that will pick up a load of beans and create more space in the storage bin, has just exited the Pennsylvania Turnpike and is on its way now from Somerset.

So in the meantime, the focus is on the corn.

The “behemoth” is the combine.  This morning I am riding shotgun with my brother-in-law Kerry and getting an education.  I never experienced anything like this growing up on the Jersey shore.

The combine will take the ear of corn off the stalk, remove and save the corn kernels,  then spit out the now naked cob and husk. The corn kernels are then transferred to a large “dump truck” like vehicle and moved to the grain dryer where the remaining moisture is removed; then stored until sold, transferred, and transported to the buyer’s facility for use as feed.

It’s hard work, requiring long days, but in the words of my brother-in-law Kerry, he’s “loving every minute of it.”

My other brother-in-law Keith has been manning the grain dryer since 6 AM this morning.

They are working the same land their father worked and his father before him.

 

 

I am in western Pennsylvania again.  At the Geiger Church of the Brethren on Sunday, the message was about hope and service was opened with us singing America the Beautiful.

O Beautiful for Patriot dream

That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam,

Undimmed by human tears!

America! America! God shed its grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!

 

Hope.

People without hope are people without a future, the message said.

I thought about that and the song we had just sung.

Hope…in dreams that see beyond the years.

Hope…undimmed by human tears.

 

I haven’t worked since the middle of August, other than writing and occasionally substitute teaching.

I am learning what it is to be sixty years old searching for a new career.  I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.  I can’t commit to that vacation or plan for that retirement date.  I am experiencing change once again in my life.

So does that mean I am a person without hope?  And therefore, a person without a future?

Absolutely not!

It is true there is some uncertainty in my future for sure.  But that does not mean I am without hope.

God has not revealed what is in store for me.  But I expect when He does, it will be bigger than I can imagine.  I expect my future will be my reward for everything I worked hard for in my life to get to this point.

And what if I am living my reward already?

What if being able to work with elementary and high school students, the future leaders of this country; is part of my reward.

What if having the opportunity to climb into the cab of a combine and harvest corn that will help feed this great country of ours is part of the plan for me also.

And surely being able to express myself when I want, any way I want, through words and these musings is a reward I also cherish.

And regardless of what happens today and what changes we will wake up to tomorrow in our country, my brother-in-law Keith will still be at the grain dryer at 6 am; Kerry will be in the cab of that combine, and along with millions of others,  whatever it takes to  keep this country moving will continue.  And at least I can say,  my brothers-in law will still be enjoying every minute of it.

America will still be Beautiful.

Our dreams will continue undimmed by change, tragedy, conflict, and those tears that may be shed as a result.

Brotherhood must and will continue from sea to sea.

And we will still have hope in a future that like my own, may seem a little uncertain today.

Because, like the song says, God shed its grace on thee.

And I too will enjoy every minute of it.

 

I voted!
I voted!

 

This Is Bigly Folks!

This Is Bigly Folks!

Christian posing with his candidate a couple weeks before the election
Christian posing with his candidate a couple weeks before the election

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Listening to the reading at church this Sunday, I couldn’t help thinking about the upcoming election.  This is from 1 Kings 3:7-9 and is young King Solomon talking to God about his new position:

7“Now, Lord my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David. But I am only a little child and do not know how to carry out my duties.  8 Your servant is here among the people you have chosen, a great people, too numerous to count or number. 9 So give your servant a discerning heart to govern your people and to distinguish between right and wrong.  For who is able to govern this great people of yours?”

A servant…

A great people…

A discerning heart…

According to my study Bible this phrase “a discerning heart” indicates the ability to listen patiently to all sides of an issue in order to come to true and wise decisions.

 

Kim and I hadn’t planned on watching the last debate.  But, in the end I couldn’t resist and there we were, popcorn in hand, expecting to be entertained.

I knew we had succeeded when my wife turned to me and said,

“Is bigly really a word?”

“I think he is trying to say Big League but he is saying it so fast it sounds like bigly,” I responded.

Big League…

Big Time…

Bigly…

 

We are just two weeks away from having to make a decision based on the reality TV we have enjoyed the last nine months or so.  I found myself back in the same place I was before the Florida Primary.  Yup, “Presidential Politics, I Am Mad As Hell and Can’t Take It Anymore” deja vu.  So I thought maybe my proposal from March was worth taking another last minute look at.  Just to refresh, from March 14, 2016:

 

I told myself when I started this website I was going to stay away from anything controversial; nothing that would offend people and especially no politics.

But I can’t take it anymore. I now think I need to weigh in on the subject. If this offends you I am truly sorry.

We are on the eve of the Florida Primary (or in our case now, the Presidential election) and this idea needs to be vetted.

I think, without a doubt if I surveyed a sampling of our younger generation, those that we will be leaving our legacy to; a sampling like my two grandsons, Cameron and Christian, I would unanimously come up with a viable candidate. And who would that candidate would be?

Mickey Mouse.

Yes, that’s right, Mickey Mouse.

He has all the qualifications we need in a President.

He doesn’t lie.

He loves ALL boys and girls.

He manages a small country otherwise known as “Mickey’s Clubhouse.”

He is an excellent problem solver.

He has fiscal experience proven by the fact that he can round up and lasso numbers 1 through 10 and place them in a corral.

He surrounds himself with a team of loyal followers that include a female mouse, male duck, a couple of dogs, a cow, and another duck who is a professor, a big cat, and a couple of chipmunks. Oh, and a Giant.

And that is just his inner circle, his cabinet; that I would speculate looking this way:
Donald Duck – Vice President
Minnie Mouse – Secretary of State
Daisy – Interior
Goofy – Secretary of the Treasury
Willie the Giant – Secretary of Defense
Clara Bell – Labor
Professor Von Drake – Health and Human Services
Pete the Cat – definitely Homeland Security
Chip – Agriculture
Dale – Education
And I am sure Mickey can find a few more to fill in the rest.

But that is not the best of it.

Most importantly, Mickey Mouse has Mouseketools!

Can you imagine how much stronger our already fine military would be with the help of a Mouseketool?

National Security? Hurricane relief? No problem!

Just think about it.

North Korean President Kim Jong-un swinging his hydrogen bomb around again?

“Oh Toodles…………..Oh Toodles………… ”

That’s it, done. Go have another cup of coffee.

And what about vacation White Houses? Who needs Camp David; we’d have Disney World and Disneyland!

And how about those State Dinners? They would be like character breakfasts at the Contemporary Resort! How fun would that be?

And can’t you just picture Vladimir Putin doing the “Hot Dog Dance?”

I am telling you, I think I am on to something here…

Who’s with me?

Well that’s it then!

It’s unanimouse…!

I mean it’s unanimous!

Thank you my fellow Americans!

 

Somehow this sounds more appropriate now than it did in March.

We are a great people.

In a very short time we will be tasked with choosing a servant.

“Who will be able to govern this great people of yours?”

This is bigly folks…

Unlike Solomon, our servant candidates are not children, though one might argue that they behave like children (heck, Mickey will be 88 next month!).

Solomon asked God to give him a discerning heart, to be able to distinguish between right and wrong, to give him the wisdom to carry out his duties.

We are a great people, we deserve great leaders.  Could either one or both of these servants be great leaders?  Anything is possible.

However also, unlike Solomon I am not expecting our candidates to ask God for the strength and the wisdom to be great leaders.

Therefore I feel I just might need to do that for them.

Yup, I think I am just going to pray about it.

Christian consulting with his future Secretary of State: "How many times do I have to tell you, you have to do a nose check before you go out in public!"
Christian consulting with his future Secretary of State prior to the election:
“C’mon Min, how many times do I have to tell you, you have to do a nose check before you go out in public! Mom, get me tissue,  quick”
The Beauty of an October Day

The Beauty of an October Day

You arose as something special from a world most us never knew,

At a time and place when life wasn’t always easy, and opportunities far too few.

A time when so many were overlooked and nothing seemed to be right.

You refused to be lost in the blank faces that were only seen in black and white.

From out of the darkness you walked on your own. 

Emerging from the shadows bright and strong, insisting to be seen and heard.

 

 Still others saw you only in gray, not me, I saw you as beautiful, your colors vivid.

And though there were days your eyes were sad and tired, your smile was always bright.

As the sun filled your heart and the days got longer, your will grew ever stronger.

I shared your tears and your laughter and looked forward to each day’s beginning.

Sometimes struggling to make the words sound right, we talked of the good and the bad in our life.  

And I always knew just what you meant, because it came directly from your heart.

 

And then that day I saw you lying there broken in that bed.

Hanging on courageously so that others could see that your time had finally come.

A time to be free from all the pain, a time to be rewarded for all you had done.

We talked of God and of going home, and fought through the sadness and managed to smile.

We both knew He was coming to guide you to the place we knew of only as Love.

Home, where no one knows of black or white and where there are no shadows, only light.

No room for sadness, just tears of joy, and the promise to live for evermore.

 

Memories of you will still burn bright, as I watch the sun rise and feel the warmth in its light.

I will see your face in the beauty of an October day and cherish those words you had to say.

And smile a little each time, as you said them in your own special way.

You were wise and you had the resolve to rise above the world around you as yourself.

And you carried those with you that you loved and that you helped. 

And those whose hearts were filled by you will never ever forget,

The love you showed them every day and the smile that you kept.

 

And this world became a better place for those of us who knew you.

 

 

October 15, 2011 was a beautiful sunny fall day on the James River in Williamsburg, Virginia where Kim and I were spending the weekend.  On that beautiful Saturday morning, my friend and co-worker Tawanda Hackley lost her battle to beat the cancer that had grown in her breast and spread through her body.

I got used to Tawanda coming in to work each morning and making her first stop my office where we talked about our jobs, our kids and grandkids, our lives in general, and God.

One morning she shared with me the axillary pain she had been experiencing.

I visited her in the hospital the Thursday evening before I left for the weekend.  We talked openly about what was coming.  She was at peace.

In life, she was a survivor.  In death she was brave.

In so many happy memories, she lives on.

 

My friend Tawanda Hackley and that smile

 

Reminders

Reminders

20160911_160041_001“IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL SEPTEMBER MORNING WITH A BLUE SKY…JUST A NORMAL DAY.”

Joy Knepp, Teacher, Shanksville –Stoneycreek School from the display at the Flight 93 Memorial Visitor Center

On an early New England morning in 1775, on the common green in Lexington Massachusetts, a small group of patriots prepared to square off against a large invading British force of about 700 troops. Moments later a shot was fired, and the first battle of the war to establish our nation’s freedom had begun.

Two hundred and twenty six years later, on “a beautiful September morning with a blue sky…just a normal day” over the green mountains and hills of western Pennsylvania, another small group of brave Patriots waged the first battle of a new war to protect those freedoms fought so hard for many years ago.

“…a beautiful September morning with a blue sky…”

Much like today I thought,  as I left the Flight 93 Visitor Center and began the walk down the tree lined path to the impact site below.   Though the morning was cool, the now mid to late afternoon sun caused me to remove my Harley Davidson of Somerset PA sweatshirt and tie it around my waist.  Kim did the same with her Steelers sweatshirt.  The occasional large dark cloud loomed almost symbolically right over the Flight 93 Memorial Visitor Center, so low it looked like you could almost reach up and touch it.  I guess something in the sky had to be there to remind us of the darkness of that day, joining the reminders on the grounds around me.  Though it was a beautiful day, this day, September 11th would never again be just a normal one.

 

Needing to decompress a little, Kim and I decided to make a trip up to see the family on the farm in Markleton, Pennsylvania in Somerset County. It was a weekend of reminders.

I got my first reminder on Friday while still at home. I got an email via my website from Jimmy P. McLaughlin.  I stared at that email for long time before realizing that this Jimmy was a Jimmy P, so I opened it up.  Jimmy it turns out is a blogger who stumbled upon my website and sent me the following message:

I just discovered this–thanks for introducing me to a kindred spirit… see my blog at stateoflubbock.blogspot.com. Thanks, Jimmy P. McLaughlin  

Thanks Jimmy for helping me to remember your kindred spirit, another patriot, on this day.

By early Saturday morning we were in Western Pennsylvania. I have been to Somerset County many times over the last almost 20 years and thought I was fairly well versed in the farm community life and history.  I got my eyes opened on Saturday by attending the New Centerville Volunteer Fire Company Farmer’s and Threshermens Jubilee.  Another reminder for me, this time of the hard work and sacrifice it took our forefathers to build and feed this great country of ours.

Sunday was church at the Geiger Church of the Brethren. The Sunday school message that morning was about death; how do we prepare? Are we ready?  What in our lives can complicate that preparation? And another reminder…we don’t always get the opportunity to prepare.

After church we had lunch with Kim’s parents at the Eat’n Park Restaurant in Somerset and decided we would just jump on the Pennsylvania Turnpike to go home. As I was waiting to leave the manager at the Eat’n Park asked if I had come from the Flight 93 Memorial.  I explained we were here visiting family. The restaurant is next to the Harley-Davidson of Somerset motorcycle shop.  I told her about the photo my sister had sent me a few weeks earlier of that same spot as she and my brother-in-law participated in the 2016 America’s 9/11 Motorcycle Ride.

“Oh yeah” she said, “the motorcycles.” She then expressed her disappointment that this year’s ride was to be the last.

“They donated an ambulance you know.”

Now in the truck ready to go home, the idea of visiting the Flight 93 Memorial on this day in particular seemed like the appropriate thing to do. I had never been there.  We were directed to park in an overflow parking lot since the visitors were many and walked the paths up to the Memorial Visitor Center.  All around the grounds you could see what remained of the ceremonies that took place that morning or the evening before; the wreaths, the tents, the temporary bleachers, and stacks of chairs.

We waited in line almost an hour to enter the Visitor Center. Once inside it didn’t take long to be transported back to that day with a rush of emotion.  I lifted the “phone” receiver and listened to their voices, those final calls and goodbyes; I viewed their names and faces on the wall and read the stories as the video of the World Trade Center attacks played over and over.  Everyone was quiet and solemn.

We walked down to the site of the impact. The large hemlock gate to the path where the boulder marks the impact site was open today. Only open once a year on this day according to the Park Ranger stationed at the gate.

We stood at The Wall of Names where fresh wreaths, flowers, and notes lay at the base of each stone panel honoring those that perished.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, God Bless You” read one note.

“Your sacrifice saved hundreds, Thank You!” read another.

I read the names again. The names of those patriots, who maybe with make-shift weapons of boiling water, a fire extinguisher, and who knows what else; made the ultimate sacrifice in what was the first battle of the new war threatening our freedoms.

They left their homes and their loved ones and boarded a jet not knowing how complicated their lives would be in a short while. How complicated their deaths would be.  They soon knew they were going to die; they had no time to prepare.

But they acted.

And they acted on our behalf.

And I was reminded once more.

And I will remember.

We should all remember.

 

“Are you guys ready? Let’s roll.” (Flight 93 passenger and patriot Todd Beamer)

Items left for flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw at the Wall of Names
Items left for flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw at the Wall of Names

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My Prayer For Hayley

My Prayer For Hayley

Early one morning the sun was shinin’
I was layin’ in bed
Wond’rin’ if she’d changed at all
If her hair was still red
Her folks they said our lives together
Sure was gonna be rough
They never did like Mama’s homemade dress
Papa’s bankbook wasn’t big enough

And I was standin’ on the side of the road
Rain fallin’ on my shoes
Heading out for the East Coast
Lord knows I’ve paid some dues gettin’ through
Tangled up in blue

(Bob Dylan, Tangled Up in Blue)

 

On a day like today, it’s hard not to think about my own life, my own marriage.

I always thought this Dylan verse was cool having married a red head who changed it all on me one day.  And like in Bob’s song, our bankbook wasn’t very big either; at our wedding we had cold cuts from the deli at the local grocery store, a keg of beer, and a box of wine in the garage.

But it was beautiful.

And Kim, she was beautiful too.

 

My daughter Hayley gets married today.

That is no small undertaking as many of you know.  These days getting married the statistical odds are against you.   They say 48% end in separation or divorce.  Those might be great odds at the racetrack, not so good for planning the rest of your life.

I know that as well as anyone, because I make up part of that statistic.  I had one that didn’t cross the finish line and one that is like Secretariat winning the Belmont, going down the stretch ahead by 31 lengths and never having to look back.

My wife always says that marriage is like an egg, it’s fragile, you have got to cradle it in your hands.  That’s the truth because like Bob described in the song, lives together sure can be rough.  But not every day has to be rough, if you get all four hands holding that egg you can get through those hard times.  And life can be wonderful.

But today is about Hayley, not me.

I have great memories with all my kids. Since I love music, often those memories involved music.  The last thing Donny and I did together was go to Wolftrap for his one and only concert;  a Shania Twain adventure with Savannah where I would like to have a “do over”;  and Alexa, who was spoon fed Bruce from infancy and also shared a love of the Beach Boys and John Sebastian.

But I will say I have some distinct memories with Hayley.

Having beer poured on her head at a Jimmy Buffet show when the server couldn’t see her standing in front of the table because she was that little; front row seats at the Barns where the Subdudes dedicated a song, Sugar Pie,  to Hayley and after the show signed a CD for her; and I can’t forget the old Birchmere, where I was the only guy whose date was ten years old watching Lowen and Navarro who Hayley loved as much as I did.  They opened with “Constant as the Night” and I remember she was excited because that was one of her favorites.

And Hayley and I created some other memories as well.  We took some trips together; like the time Hayley and I went to Orlando for a vacation that still today remains one of my best; a trip to Gettysburg to dig into some history together (Hayley is a history teacher); but nothing tops the time Hayley and I drove the rental truck from Des Moines, Iowa to Fort Lauderdale moving Alexa to her new job with the Public Defender’s office, complete with a cowboy hat, truck stops, and non-stop country music.  George Strait’s Wrapped had just been released and we must have heard it a hundred times.  By the time we got to Fort Lauderdale we knew every word to that song.

That was a hoot.

When I was charged with picking a Father-Daughter dance song, of course I went to Google to search and I got the top 20 this and the top 50 that…somehow however Butterfly Kisses didn’t seem right for Hayley and me.

I got discouraged.

So I busted out the iPod and over a period of days I just listened.

Then one evening sitting on the deck all alone listening to my iPod,  something happened.

I got a tear.

Then I moved on to some more iPod songs, but getting no reaction, I went back to that same song.

And guess what?  I got some more winkage.

So that was that.

I will admit we are going to have a heck of time trying to dance to it, but you can be sure I will have a tissue handy just in case.

 

The truth is that all the joy and excitement of today will soon dim somewhat and the day to day challenges of making a life together will become the reality.  There will be many rough spots, some tough times even… some maybe unbelievably tough.  But those times can be overcome and made good and relationships made stronger in fact, if you have all four hands cradling that egg.

You see, marriage can be an answered prayer.

And so my prayer for Hayley is that God answers my prayer for Hayley the same way He answered my prayer for myself some years ago.

And may she never look back.

Hayley and I on the King Kong ride on one of my best vacations ever.
Hayley and I on the King Kong ride on one of my best vacations ever.
I think I might be getting a Butterfly Kiss here
I think I might be getting a Butterfly Kiss here
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I ripped this off from Hayley’s Facebook.

 

 

The Parable of the Yeast

The Parable of the Yeast

Matthew 13:33

He told them still another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough.”

I was the Liturgist again this morning at church.  I don’t know why, but being the Liturgist at church seems to inspire me.

Part of my reading this morning was The Parable of the Yeast.

According to my New International Version Study Bible, the yeast in this parable:

…is a symbol of growth.  As yeast permeates a batch of dough, so the kingdom of heaven spreads through a person’s life.  Or it may signify the growth of the kingdom by the inner working of the Holy Spirit.

A symbol of growth.

I like the thought of that.

After reading my scripture this morning, I was tasked with saying a prayer.

So I borrowed from a prayer I had read earlier in the week that meant something to me.  It was part of a longer prayer written by Leanne at #LifeFilledWithLaughter in her piece titled Unhinged.

It went like this:

God, please help me to remember my life; the life You’ve given me. To remember every part and role. Help me to not get wrapped up in small portions and to trust that everything is a part of Your plan for me. Please help me to leave things in Your hands and to enjoy the little things in life. God please help me to show appreciation, to shine Your light, and to be the person other people need. Thank You for planning my life and walking me through it. Thank You for Your unconditional love, when I very rarely deserve it. Thank You for the people in my life- an abundance of people who I can turn to and rely on.  (Leanne’s)

We ask these things in Your name

Amen.

 

Thanks Leanne, I needed to hear that.

I have spent some time the last couple of weeks re-evaluating my priorities.  Enjoying, quite literally, some of the littler things in my life.

Realizing I have been blessed.

And it’s all part of the plan.

Amen

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He’s Guilty, He’s Guilty Send that Boy to Jail!

He’s Guilty, He’s Guilty Send that Boy to Jail!

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One of the Fallen on the Battlefield

I suppose the story could have gone something like this:

Bailiff:  State your name please.

Curtis Christiansen.

Bailiff:  Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

I Do.

Prosecutor:  Mr. Christiansen is it true you like to garden?

Yes that is true.

Prosecutor:  And is it also true that in the past you have referred to animals in your gardens as “the enemy?”

Yes I have.

Prosecutor:  And is it also true that in the past you have admitted that those animals in your gardens have made you angry, “Pissed” I believe was how you put it?

Yes that Is true.

"The Glove"
“The Glove”

Prosecutor:  Mr. Christiansen is this your garden glove?

I am not sure.

Prosecutor:  Would you mind trying on this glove for the court please, to be sure?

Maybe…if it doesn’t fit do you acquit?

Prosecutor:  Nice try Mr. Christiansen but that never works!  And can you tell me what you found in your gardens  when you came home from work on the Tuesday of the incident in question?

Yes sir, most of our Beefsteak, Roma, and Big Boy tomatoes were gone, and all of our peppers including most of the pepper plants entirely.

Prosecutor:  And how did you feel after you found your tomatoes and peppers had been decimated.

I was pissed

Prosecutor: I am sure you were Mr. Christiansen, “pissed” enough to commit murder?

I did not, could not, and would not have committed this crime. 

I have made my mistakes.

I am not a crook.

Prosecutor:  Okay Mr. Christiansen what did you do then?

My wife and I went to Home Depot to buy some Deer and Rabbit Repellent spray.

Prosecutor:  And didn’t your route home take you on the same road as the incident in question at about the time the crime was committed?

Maybe

The Victim
The Victim

Prosecutor:  Do you recognize this animal, this dead animal?

No, he is not dead, he is resting.

Prosecutor:  He is dead!  And isn’t it true Mr. Christiansen that your vehicle suffered front end damage that evening?

I…did not have…vehicular relations…with that animal!

These allegations are totally false!

Prosecutor: Mr. Christiansen I would like to propose that on said evening after finding your tomatoes and peppers missing that you were very angry… “Pissed,” to use your word.

And in that rage of anger you carried out this dastardly crime murdering this helpless animal.  An animal you previously referred to as “The Enemy.”

Isn’t that what happened Mr. Christiansen?

Okay, okay!

Of all the vegetable gardens in the world, she had to walk into mine.

You got me, yeah I did it, see….

Those dirty rats!

They got my vegetables and I got one of them.

And I would do it again see…those dirty rats!

Prosecutor: Your Honor the prosecution rests.

 

Yeah, I suppose it could have happened like that.

Footnote:

On Tuesday evening we drove to the Home Depot where we purchased a gallon of Deer and Rabbit Repellent spray because we thought deer had wiped out a good portion of our garden.  On the way home a deer jumped out in front my vehicle and I hit it.

I am not without remorse for plagiarizing, misquoting, referring to tomatoes and peppers as vegetables, or killing this animal; but not only did deer rob us of most of our tomatoes and peppers and pepper plants, the one I hit cost me my $250 deductible!

Needless to say, I am “pissed.”