And So This Is Christmas

I find it amazing that it has been almost a month since my last post. (Time flies, and at an increasing rate. I once heard a theory that this phenomenon is related the the apparent length of a year compared to ones total years, an increasingly smaller percentage as one ages.) It is now December 25th, Christmas Day. I got some gifts, and gave some gifts. I ate too much and spent too little time (21 hours of the last 24) with family and friends. All in all, a good holiday in a low key way.


Gone are the days of hectic hours spent at the mall and Toys R Us, thanks to the internet and that my children are grown. No more Christmas Eves spent, until the wee hours of Christmas Day itself, wrapping presents after they went to bed. I sleep as late as I want, unawakened by others' desire to see "if Santa had come." Golly, I miss it.


Yes I'm serious. This, and more, was and is still part of the magic that is Christmas for me. Surely, we can rant about the commercialization, the crowds, the crass materialism that comes with the season. But I refuse to let these things ruin it. There is a truer spirit of Christmas that runs deeper in many of us, even if we don't admit it, even to ourselves.




One of my favorite Christmas movies is "Scrooged" (1988) starring Bill Murray. He plays a quintesstially cynical TV executive that, true to the original story by Dickens, has an epihany enabled by several ghosts. At the end of the movie, he expresses his rediscovered feelings for Christmas: "It's Christmas Eve. It's the one night of the year when we all act a little nicer, we smile a little easier, we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of the whole year we are the people that we always hoped we would be."

And yes, Virginia, those people do exist. Last week a local newspaper columnist reported the effort to raise funds so that the members of a local National Guard unit could be home for Christmas. It seems they had leave, but no transportation back here from their pre-deployment training site in the deep south. 2 buses were procured at a substantial discount and more than enough money was donated. Standard human interest holiday fare, you say?


No, not by a long shot. For he published the message that came with one donation. It read: "Your story hit me like a ton of bricks. I am an unemployed medical receptionist. I have been out of work for a year. I have gone on a lot of interviews, but no one wants someone in their 40s in their front office apparently. I have earned a paycheck since I was 14. I attended LCC and have kept up with the medical clerical field while looking for employment....This has been a real self confidence killer. My son, a former scout in the U S Army, was nearly killed in Afghanistan seven years ago. The American Red Cross military services helped us tremendously. My unemployment extension barely covers rent and utilities, but I am going to send $50 to help a soldier come home - a drop in the bucket compared to what some are giving."


I personally feel humbled. This, if nothing else, is proof that the spirit of Christmas is alive and well.

'Tis the Season

Well here we are at the top of the first hill of the roller coaster that is the "holiday season." (I love metaphors, similies not so much, go figure.) Anyway, Halloween is but a distant memory and Thanksgiving is over but for the few leftovers, already forgotten in the back of the refrigerator, awaiting their appointment with the disposal. I have not forgotten, however, those things for which I am personally thankful.

First would be my family and friends, especially those who are like family to me (you know who you are). Next would be a comfortable life, made possible by continuing employment and a fairly simple lifestyle. I have been relatively healthy (see previous "simple lifestyle") and have no major concerns in that area. The last "big" thanks would be for my freedom to do, say and believe what I wish (within the bounds of personal ethics and the law) and to come and go as I please (within the bounds of actually being employed). There are many more things on my "thanks" list, but I will not enumerate them, just a quick "shout out" for: A Bell's Oberon with a medium rare steak; a summer day with no schedule except an appointment with a fishing rod and a small mouth bass; and a cup of coffee with a friend.

But as my thoughts turn to these things I cannot help but think of those who lack these very same pleasures. Those who are hungry, the homeless, those who, through chance or circumstance, have lost hope. And their numbers, in these turbulent economic times, are growing. The N.Y. Times just reported that 1 in 8 Americans ( and 1 in 4 children) are using food stamps to help feed themselves.

I do not presume to tell other people (at least unsolicited) what to do. But as for myself, I have decided that I have more than enough "stuff" (see earlier blog entry). Starting last year, I have asked my friends with whom I exchange presents to give me nothing, save a small "stocking stuffer" for Christmas. I would rather that they make a contribution to their local food bank or hunger program. It is a small contribution ( I have no wealthy friends) but I think it can make a difference in somebody's life. I know it has in mine.

Old Soldiers

"Old soldiers .....just fade away," is a phrase made famous in Gen. Douglas MacArthur's farewell address to Congress. There is a kernel of truth in this old aphorism. They "fade away" from our collective consciousness, except every November 11th. Once a year they don their uniforms, at least the parts that still fit, and remind us of who they are and what they did. The other days of the year they blend in with everyone else, "fading away" in plain sight.

As mentioned in an earlier entry, I never had the opportunity to serve in the military. This was not due to a lack of desire or ability. A minor, but chronic, medical condition precluded any chance of that happening. Had that not been the case, I most probably would have served during the tail end of the Viet Nam War, and may or may not have been sent there. No matter, it didn't happen, so what is my point?

My point is that while I did not serve, many others did, and still do. They made it possible for me to live my life of relative ease by their service. For this I am both thankful and envious. There was always something in the military life that appealed to me, even as a boy. I'm sure that in my early years it was mostly visions of honor and glory, waving flags and blaring bugles. Those juvenile fantasies were later supplanted with those ideals best expressed by the famous motto of West Point: Duty, Honor, Country. But those fantasies and dreams did not come to pass.

As a result, the best that I can do is to express my gratitude to those who lived my dream which, for some, was more akin to a nightmare. Whether it was upon the frozen fields of Bastogne or the Chosin Resevoir, the steaming jungles of Guadalcanal or the A Shau Valley, the burning sands of Iraq or Tunisia, or the desolate isolation of Greenland or the DEW line, in both peace and war they made sacrifices that I can not even begin to comprehend. I give to them, no matter how or where they served, a heartfelt thank you as I raise my hand to salute and wish them Godspeed in their journey through life.

America's Best Idea

Last week I viewed the PBS mini-series on the US National Parks and enjoyed it thoroughly. The photography was stunning, the commentary insightful and the history fascinating. It never occurred to me that there was no such concept as a "national park" anywhere in the world until Yellowstone was established by Congress and approved by President Grant in 1872. There are many sources that tell the history of the parks and the park service and it is not my intent to relate that story.

What struck me, however, was that, in many cases, the establishment of individual parks, or the philosophy of the park system in general, was the result of the efforts of one or two individuals. If not for the efforts of John Muir, for example, there would be no Yosemite National Park. His vision for this "Cathedral of Nature" became his personal crusade and he did not rest until the valley and its environs were protected.

Similarly, the Great Smoky Mountain National Park was the result of the efforts of people such as Horace Kephart and George Masa. Their vision, and a public appeal for the funds to do so, led to the preservation of some of the last old growth forest in the Appalachian Mountains. What a loss it would have been to the nation if these peaks were clear cut as so many were in the past.

What would the parks be like if Stephen Mather had not spent untold amounts of his own money to protect and enlarge the system, and even to pay the salary of Horace Albright as his "right hand" man?

There were others, of course, that came to share the vision of these trailblazers. they were sometimes rich, like John D. Rockefeller, or powerful, like Theodore Roosevelt. But they had to be convinced, by a Muir or a Mather or an Albright. So I guess my point is, when you are asked the question," What can one person do?", point at Half Dome, or Mount Kephart, or any of the natural wonders contained in our National Parks and say,"That!"

What a Weekend

Normally, like many others, I lead a rather munduane life. I go to work, return home, eat, sleep etc. in a pretty regular pattern. For relaxation I might read (both from this LCD screen and the printed page), watch a little TV (not more than 10 hrs / week) , listen to music or pursue one of my hobbies. The days glide by (the weekends faster than the weekdays - go figure) and life is generally good. This past weekend was different, but in a good way.

First there was ( and is continuing) a 4+ day visit from my older daughter. Since she lives in Texas and I only get to see her about twice a year, this is a big deal. She arrived early Friday evening and her mother and I shared a pizza with her for dinner. Her BFF (Best Friend Forever for the unenlightened) came over and visited for a while, then the two of them went off to do other things. I watched the last installment of the PBS series on our National Parks (about which I intend to write another entry).

Saturday morning arrived wet and gloomy, but did not dissuade us from our planned trip to the cider mill (http://www.ujcidermill.com/). My younger daughter came over from where she lives on the west side of the state and the five of us (Mom, daughters, BFF and I) drove up to St. Johns, MI. We were met there by my goddaughter (who grew up, as much as a 4' 11 1/2" person can grow up, with my kids) and her boyfriend. We had a good time, drank cider, ate donuts, browsed the gift shop (which had, among other kitsch and tchotchkes, an anatomically correct gummi heart!) , did some wine tasting / purchasing and bought some baked goods. We left monetarily poorer, but enriched in spirit. The rain held off and the sun even peeked out once or twice. Hopefully the others enjoyed themselves as much as I did, even if it meant that I missed the first half of The Game.

"Which game is this?", you might ask, but only if you do not live in Michigan. It was the big one, the annual slugfest of a football game between Michigan State University (hereafter known as MSU or, alternatively, the good guys) and the University of Michigan (aka the Wolverines, a disgusting carrion eating (well, they are omnivorous) relative of the badger, referred to from now on as the evil enemy). This is the rivalry game for both teams, even if those other guys try to downplay it by saying "Our real rivalry game is with OSU" ( which is someplace way south of here - I've been close to there "once or twice"). I will grant that they hold the edge in the series, but that goes back to when U of M was a national powerhouse and MSU (then known as MAC - Michigan Agricultural College) was a dinky little land grant school populated with future farmers and, yes, cows.

In recent years the series has been pretty even, with them holding a slight edge. Most games are decided by a touchdown or less and not until the final moments of the game. This year was no exception. MSU ground out a 20 - 6 lead going into the final quarter, but that lead evaporated as they roared back to tie the game with 2 seconds left on the clock. (Aside to Rich Rodriguez, U of M Head Coach - Is your middle name Ara?*) Needless to say, this turn of events left me on the downhill side of an emotional rollercoaster. Real coasters I love, emotional ones not so much! The good guys, however, prevailed in the overtime as MSU turned them back with an improbable interception in the end zone, and then scored a touchdown on a running play that was called to merely get the ball in a better position to kick a winning field goal. Pandemonium ensued, both on the field and in front of my TV. You do not want to be in the house with me for this game, as the levels of "verbal encouragement" and "mocking derision" follow the ebb and flow of the contest and the volume of same becomes proportional to the closeness of the score.
(*semi obscure reference to 1966 MSU - Notre Dame "Game of the Century")

The emotional exhaustion from this ordeal led to my doing little of note that evening, other than comisserating with a friend, over dinner and later, about blown calls by the refs and missed opportunities by MSU to stretch their lead sufficiently. I dragged my weary but satisfied self to bed and slept well.

Sunday I awoke and gleaned the news from the 2 papers we receive while drinking coffee and enjoying a fresh cider mill donut. I've always been an avid newspaper reader, even as a child. There is nothing better (well, almost nothing) than a morning spent in a comfy chair with a paper in my hands and a fresh cup of coffee by my side. I mourn the decline of the newspaper industry in the USA. And no, reading it on my monitor is just not the same, nor as satisfying.

Most of Sunday afternoon was consumed by my going to a friend's place to watch NASCAR (that's "stock car" racing for those of you living under rocks) on a big HD (high definition - ditto the rocks etc.) TV. After the race my visiting daughter and I went out for a "Dad & daughter only" dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, which I understand is an extremely popular place with certain younger people I know that live near Toledo. Steaks were consumed and conversation flowed easily. We returned home and talked some more until her aforementioned BFF arrived and they went out.

I read for a while, then went to bed. I was tired but satisfied, physically, emotionally and, in the broadest sense, spiritually. For when I am with my children, and the friends that they have chosen, I see the adults that they have become. And I am happy.

Mini Mania

I've had my new Mini Cooper S for 2 weeks now and I love it. We are still in "break in" mode so I have not yet exercised its true potential as far as the "speed and quickness" part of the performance equation, but the handling is fantastic! It is easily the most agile and responsive car that I have ever driven, including my 2 Triumphs and my Sprite. Driving has become fun again, rather than a chore to be endured. I could go on and on with cliches containing the words "go kart" and "on rails" but I won't. And let's not forget the "creature comforts" that were (or are) lacking in the aforementioned sports cars. AC that works, power mirrors, sound deadening, cruise control etc. make for a more pleasant driving environment, especially on a long trip. Yeah, I admit it, I've "gone soft" (and not just around the middle) but at this point spartan (unless you're talking about MSU) is not superior. What is superior is the amount of fun I have behind the wheel of this little rocket. So as the Mini motto says, Let's Motor!

I Remember

I remember when we all thought we lived in the greatest, strongest country in the world, a colossus astride the globe, second to none. I remember watching the news or reading the paper and thinking how lucky I was to be here, and not where the facade of civilized society had been torn yet again by senseless violence. I remember when many of us thought that firefighters had a pretty cushy job with all that time off in exchange for spraying water on burning buildings. I remember when my biggest worry when flying was if there would be room in the overhead bin. I remember a Manhattan skyline, viewed from across the Hudson River, that ended with an improbable double exclamation point. I remember a morning with an azure blue sky...