That question was posed at my house as we celebrated on Easter Sunday.
I heard a story recently about a local physician who every year on Good Friday, instead of the typical white lab coat look he normally wears, will put on a dark suit instead. His patients, used to him looking medical like, would ask why he was wearing a suit, are you going to a wedding or going to a funeral?
“A funeral” he would answer.
“Well who died?”
“Jesus.”
This was his way of reminding people.
Kim and I went to church on Good Friday. The service is always moving and somber. It is, well, like a funeral.
When I was a kid growing up in New Jersey I didn’t go to church on Good Friday, only on Easter Sunday. After church, my parents would pack us all into the Corvair and we would make the drive north through Little Silver and Red Bank to the McDonald’s in Middletown. This was one of the few times we would go out to eat at any restaurant so it was a real event. Our Easter dinner would be hamburgers or cheeseburgers, French fries, and milk shakes because that is all they served back then. You just drove up, parked, walked up to the window and got your food and ate it in the car. No indoor playrooms or sitting at a table. It was great.
Easter was also, other than maybe Christmas or the start of the new school year, one of the few times we got new clothes. My sister would get a frilly dress and the rest of us little suits and maybe a hat.
In our new clothes, we would visit with the extended family and that was about it, but it was always a nice day.
Easter traditions change. The suits and hats are now replaced by Hawaiian shirts and khakis. There is nothing really special about McDonald’s anymore so thankfully home cooking is a better option. And they don’t make Corvairs anymore, maybe we should be thankful for that too.
I got up this past Saturday morning and did the usual; I paid a couple of bills and ran some errands. Like other holidays, now that the kids are older, they have their own obligations so I was expecting to see them and feed them more in shifts this year and had to plan accordingly.
In the afternoon we did what we have always done this time of the year for the last almost 15 years, we took our dirt and our tools and some potted flowers and went up to the cemetery to plant new at Donny’s grave site. Cameron helped this year getting the water and unloading the truck.
We cooked dinner on grill and then sat outside on the patio. When it got a little later we put Cameron to bed. Kim always says prayers with Cameron before bed and on this evening he thanked God for the nice day and for planting flowers for Uncle Donny.
He made a comment to Kim that Uncle Donny was “as tall as the world” or “taller than the world” and when she asked him to explain he just said that Uncle Donny “was in Heaven with Jesus.”
“Cameron how do you know that?” she asked.
“I just know” he said.
Church on Sunday was awesome. To our surprise we had the whole local family with us at church and we filled a pew. The preacher’s sermon was great.
Who will roll away the stone? The question asked by Mary and Mary in Mark 16 verse 3 on their way to the tomb early on that Sunday morning.
The stone.
The stone of great weight blocking their way to Jesus in the tomb.
In our sermon the preacher explained that the stone represented all those hard times in our lives. Those times of tragedy, divorce, loss of a job, an unexpected diagnosis. All things tough.
It spoke to all of those sitting in my pew.
Just as I am sure it spoke to all of those in the pews surrounding me.
We all have had those stones. Some have been heavier and harder to move than others. Many we still feel the weight of.
Sometimes we even plant flowers around them.
What did Jesus do on Saturday?
Maybe it was meant to be that way, to have that day in between.
Maybe Jesus, like us, needed a day of contemplation.
A day of reflection.
Maybe he was focusing on the weight of that stone and what was to be.
Maybe he was even starting to move that stone, as the world and life beyond it became clearer.
I think so.
How do I know?
“I just know.”
One of our heavier stones on the Saturday before Easter
Daylight Savings Time, time to start working out again.
After a gluttonous six days of traveling we returned from our trip to Florida on Sunday. Our excursion included an unexpected drive and a night in Richmond as a result of the one inch snowmageddon that cancelled our Tuesday Southwest Airlines flight out of Baltimore causing us to be unable to reschedule a flight out of a DC area airport until Friday at the earliest.
Now back, with the extra daylight, extra few degrees, and the some extra pounds, I parked my truck and headed out at my favorite mile marker on the W & OD trail and began my second run of the week.
“Warm up for five minutes” a woman’s voice said.
(Wait, who is talking to me? Wait…it’s my watch?)
“Three minutes left until the main exercise starts”
(Main exercise? I am dying here, this isn’t the main exercise?)
“Walk briskly during the warm up”
(But I am running, I can’t get any more warmed up!)
“You’ve reached the next stage, speed up”
(Next stage? What next stage? Should I fire up the booster rockets?)
“Slow down, you’re going too fast”
(So I slow down)
“Looking good”
(Hey…Looking good!)
“Great pace”
(Great Pace?)
“Slow down you are going to fast”
(So I slow down more but I am walking now, and I don’t want to walk, so I start running again)
“Speed up for 4.0 miles per hour”
(Wait, I am at my fast pace and I am only doing 15 minute miles?)
“Slow down a little”
(My wife bought me one of those Samsung S3 Smart Watches…)
“Speed up for 3.8 miles per hour”
(This is the first time I am wearing it on one of my runs…)
“You are running too fast”
(Can you make up your mind?)
“Try a little harder”
(Okay that’s it! I am walking out the rest…she’ll probably call me a wimp next)
“You have reached your target”
(No, actually I think I may have found my target, and I will hit it as soon as I find my hammer!)
Don’t get me wrong, I love my Samsung S3 Classic Smart watch. When I was growing up, the only person who had a watch that you could talk through was Dick Tracy, so this is the stuff of comic books and imagination. And, when someone sends you a text message, it provides you with really short to the point responses so you don’t have to fuss over it.
Kim text message: Can youpick up the dry cleaning.
Me and my watch responding with canned response: Roger that
And it’s done.
But can you imagine it’s a Saturday in July and you have a laundry list of things to do, and the watch on your wrist keeps reminding you:
“Hey that garage isn’t going to get any cleaner with you sitting here on the deck.”
Or…
“Move faster, we still need to cut the grass.”
Or…
“Slow down, take it easy, you are hot, maybe have a cold beer.” (Well, that might be okay)
But seriously, who wants to be prompted and reminded of what you are doing or not doing in real time, especially while zoning out on a nice run?
So I have a great idea.
Since I love to run and I love the relaxation that running brings to me;
And,
I love my new watch, that bought for me by wife, who I also love;
I think I am just going to be old fashioned and keep my new watch for communicating like Dick Tracy did, and use my Fitbit for running!
February 2, 2012 was the birthday of American Pharoah, thoroughbred horse racing’s last Triple Crown winner. American Pharaoh, in 2015, was the first Triple Crown winner (i.e., winner of the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont Stakes) since Affirmed in 1978. There have only been twelve Triple Crown winners since Sir Barton did it in 1919 and so, for a brief moment in time, the eyes of our country were once again watching a horse in a sport longing for the days when it truly did capture the attention of a nation.
In Laura Hillenbrand’s book Seabiscuit, An American Legend, Seabiscuit was described as “a runty little thing” whose favorite pastime was sleeping and was “inclined toward portliness.”
Yet Seabiscuit had already started fifty races, many more than horses now a days will run in a lifetime, before it is said, that he finally figured it out.
It was the mid to late 1930’s, a time when a country needed a good diversion. Still in the grips of the Great Depression, Americans found something else to capture their attention. It was funny looking Cinderella of a horse named Seabiscuit who became…a national obsession.
In the early 1960’s, with the ever looming threat of a nuclear bomb attack during the Cold War that was way beyond our ability to comprehend at such a young age, an entire elementary school of kids and their teachers made the trek from the thought to be not safe environment of our school building to the massive Monmouth Park Race course facility. The large track building would provide us a better bomb shelter in the nuclear bomb attack we were practicing to survive. At the end of the drill the fire department would use their fire trucks to help transport some of the kids back to the school. I got my picture in the newspaper that day, as I was returned to Wolf Hill School on the back of a fire truck.
My grandparent’s house sat adjacent to the outer parking areas of the track in a part of Oceanport, New Jersey called Hillcrest. As kids we would go out into the parking lots and pick up the discarded racing programs that littered the ground and became absorbed in all the unusual horse names and the odd cryptic pencil markings of the patrons.
In spite of having grown up listening to the race announcer and the bugler from my back yard, the nuclear bomb drill that day was the only time I had ever entered the Monmouth Park Grandstand and Clubhouse facility until I got a job with the racetrack Fire Department at the age of 20. For the next couple years and three racing seasons, I would ride an ambulance picking up jockeys and patrons track side or from the Firehouse in the stable area, referred to as the “backside.”
The thoroughbred horse racing industry is a world all its own and my brief experience of working at Monmouth Park was all it took, I was hooked.
From the rich and famous to the transient circus like nature of the backside community, the firehouse was the hub of activity for the stable area. It had frequent visitors, including track owners and owners of the football Jets in Leon Hess and Sonny Werblin; famous trainers like Jimmy Jones of Calumet Farms and 1948 Triple Crown winner Citation fame; low level gangsters; and many, many other colorful characters. One evening, I walked into the bowling alley located just outside the stable (backside) gate and found a kid I knew from high school on the floor with two bullet holes in his face, a victim of an argument over a game of pool with a member of the stable community, a reminder that in spite of the outward appearance of money and fortune, the racing industry had its dark side too.
I have stood in the paddock of Churchill Downs on Derby Day, cigar in hand; and on the infield rail next to the winners circle and watched Bob Baffert lend a helping lift to Victor Espinoza with “riders up” on American Pharoah just before the skies opened up with a torrential rain and American Pharoah romped to victory in his second leg of the Triple Crown.
I have learned a little about how to pour over figures and attempt to find the winner out of the Racing Form, racing’s past performances newspaper; and I have learned a lot about restraint and moderation after losing my entire paycheck one day while working at Monmouth. I made twenty five dollars a day at the time and had to borrow money from my brother to pay my auto insurance bill. That was good lesson and one never forgotten.
I have used Secretariat’s stretch run winning the Belmont by 31 lengths and never looking back to describe my marriage.
Secretariat winning the Belmont
My experience and the story of Sir Sidney, who was my vote for 2014 Horse of the Year, California Chrome, and the 2014 Preakness, still makes me laugh.
So you see for me, the whole industry is fascinating, very entertaining and has served as a good diversion for me in my life.
That is why this time of the year when all two year old horses become three year old horses regardless of their actual birth dates, and the prep races for the Triple Crown begin once again, I get excited. Could this be the year that we may be watching the 13th Triple Crown winner develop before our eyes and grab the attention of not only the die-hards but the nation’s masses as well?
I understand the allure. It’s like sitting in that movie theater, having the house lights go down and for the next couple of hours you are transported to another world. I can recall some really bad days in my life when I found myself standing at the rail at Laurel or Monmouth just to escape. I understand why in 1937 and 1938 a small, unlikely looking race horse could represent something positive in a time filled with hardship and draw a hundred thousand people to a race course with hundreds of thousands more glued to their radios.
On November 1, 1938 forty thousand people showed up to watch a match race between Seabiscuit and War Admiral. The official capacity of Pimilico Racecourse at the time was 16,000. War Admiral had won the Triple Crown the year before and was thought to be the best horse in the world. Fans hung from the rafters as they watched Seabiscuit and War Admiral neck and neck at the turn coming into the stretch. The race would end with Seabiscuit crossing the finish line four lengths ahead.
Because in 1938 as Hillenbrand explains in the Preface of her book, though the country was still suffering from the effects of the Depression and the struggle for world power was beginning; the year’s number one newsmaker was not FDR, or Hitler, or Mussolini, or Lou Gehrig, or Clark Gable. It was remarkably this horse, Seabiscuit, who had captured a nation.
Great stuff huh?
This year, as I break out the hawaiian shirt with the race horses on it and begin watching the prep races that will qualify the entrants with enough points to make it to the Kentucky Derby, I am hoping for another Seabiscuit, or another Secretariat, or another American Pharoah, or another War Admiral.
For I think that if there ever was time when we needed a new National Obsession I think now might be that time. I would love to see a magnificent animal with a colorful cast of characters behind him or her, capture the attention and imagination of a nation, populating my Facebook feed with dramatic stories of great efforts, and hope, and winning.
And having it all be positive and uplifting.
Yup, that is my hope.
“C’mon Seabiscuit!”
Seabiscuit coming down the Pimlico stretch beating War Admiral
I was in the bathroom. My hand knocked the toilet paper roll off its perch on the antique iron carriage step mounted on the wall.
Panic began to set in as I watched it roll across the floor to the other side of the bathroom.
Out of reach…
Great, I thought, it’s going to be one of those days.
Church was good. The service was called “What is In Your Hand,” a reference to the staff a reluctant Moses was holding when God spoke to him at the burning bush and pressed Moses into service to lead His people out of Egypt. For this morning however, the message was directed at our calling and those of us listening being pressed into service with mission work that our church was involved in. It was a good message, but as I listened I had to acknowledge to myself there have been times in my church life I was much better at participating. Sometimes life gets in the way even with church and helping others. I decided there would be a time when would get better at this again.
After church it was time to get some physical activity in. Yesterday (Saturday) at Cameron’s urging he and I went for a three mile run/walk. He was tough and hard on the old man (me). We vowed we would take on a 5K together in the Spring when the weather got better. But in the mean time we would train.
Don’t bother us, we are in training!
So on Sunday after church, we went out again, this time taking Kim. It was a great bonding time on both days and I am looking forward to that Spring 5K.
It was a Steelers weekend as well.
Savannah and Kim spent the better part of Saturday making halupki (aka stuffed cabbage or aka in Western Pennsylvania, Pigs in a Blanket) and pierogis, a ravioli kind of thing, but this one is stuffed with mashed potatoes. At the end of the afternoon, by my estimate, we had enough halupki and pierogies to feed the population of Pittsburgh on a game day.
But now on Sunday, with the Steelers game moved to an 8:20 pm start, we had some time to kill. We spent the rest of the afternoon looking at old photos including some of past playoff game get-togethers; some new photos; writing a little; and eating a lot as we half paid attention to the Packers as they beat the Cowboys.
Our newest grandchild!
One of those new photos was one sent by Alexa. It was one of those ultrasound photos of my newest grandson or granddaughter, since I don’t know yet whether it’s a boy or a girl.
I am always amazed by these images.
I messaged Alexa to ask, how many weeks this wonderful little baby was?
Twelve, she texted back.
Wow I thought, twelve weeks…unbelievable…as I got a little winkage.
Now getting later, we put Cameron to bed with our usual ritual and I went in to his room to say goodnight to him. I rubbed his back, said goodnight and he said to me:
“I had a nice weekend Pop Pop.”
“Me too buddy,” I replied, “me too.”
More winkage.
Then, as I have done the last two weekends, I put on my new Antonio Brown jersey that my wife bought me and settled down to watch the game, nervously eating my Utz pretzels one after another (like I needed more food).
Late into the night I watched.
And in the end, once again, my new AB jersey came through with another win.
The Steelers are three for three with me in my new jersey, I thought as I put my halupki laden, pierogie bulging belly to bed finally.
Like Cameron said, it was a nice weekend.
And it just goes to show you.
Even on a day that starts with your toilet paper roll leaving you stranded,
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
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
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
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 hateit 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!
Pulling my tree on a sled after cutting it down at the Moose Apple Christmas Tree Farm in Berryville, VA
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.
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.
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 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”
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.
