Saturday, December 22, 2007
All Hearts Go Home for Christmas
“All hearts go home for Christmas, for love is always there”
The year that my husband, Bob, joined the Army, our four year old daughter, Gayle, and I joined him at Fort Hood, Texas, shortly after he finished training in November. Ohio had always been home, and I had had no desire to leave. The recession of 1974 had forced Bob out of work, and after almost two years without a job, Bob was glad for the opportunities the Army offered.
We had sold most of our furniture and stored our belongings in our home in Toledo, which was rented to friends. My sister, Kathie, drove with Gayle and me to our new home, a small furnished apartment in the booming military metropolis of Killeen in central Texas. A day or two later when I watched her plane leave from Austin airport, I felt very much alone. Thanksgiving, a holiday which we had celebrated exactly the same every year for as long as I could remember, was three short weeks away. Facing the holidays in a new place without our extended families and no friends was a bleak thought indeed.
Fortunately, Bob did not share my dampened spirit about this new life of ours. His enthusiasm and Gayle’s natural cheerfulness were my lifeline those first months away. We made the best of Thanksgiving. We ate at the Holiday Inn. It certainly wasn’t Aunty Mary’s perennial feast, and having three at the table instead of our usual 10 or 12 was a change, but we had deliberately chosen to make it as different as possible so there would be no comparison.
As Christmas approached, we decided to make the best of that as well. A tiny tree decorated with homemade ornaments stood in one corner of our living room. We purchased a few small gifts for Gayle -- we didn’t have much to spend. It wasn’t so much that we wouldn’t have the usual pile of presents under the tree that bothered me, but that we would be away from “home”.
Bob was a medical lab technician and worked in the blood bank at the post hospital. Just three days before Christmas, he came home with the wonderful news that the chief had arranged work schedules so that everyone in their section would have either Christmas or New Year’s off, and a few extra days besides. Bob was fortunate to have been given Christmas, beginning at 4 PM on the 23rd. It takes 24 hours of driving, including minimal time for fueling, eating, and rest stops. The drive wouldn’t be a problem. Bob has always been an endurance driver. I would help out when he got tired. We could do it…weather permitting. We would do it! We packed the back of our station wagon, tucking Gayle into a sleeping bag between suitcases, and left Killeen just 24 hours before the Christmas festivities would start at my sister’s home in Ohio. We told Kathie we were coming, but she decided not to tell the rest of the family. It would be a surprise. The excitement was delicious.
But perhaps the most memorable part of that Christmas happened very quietly and unexpectedly in the middle of the night somewhere in Arkansas or Missouri. Have you ever had a moment in your life that was etched permanently into your soul? Gayle was asleep in the back of the car, and Bob dozed in the passenger seat as I drove. The night was cold and black, but thousands of stars were twinkling in the heavens. Christmas hymns were playing on the radio. I thought about Christmas -- about what we are really celebrating: the birth of Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world. For the first time in my life, I pondered the meaning of Christmas. An indescribable peace settled over me. I will never forget that feeling.
Joyful tears and hugs were plentiful as Bob, Gayle and I surprised our family at 6:00 on Christmas Eve. Since that Christmas years ago, we have spent many away from Toledo, but we have learned that home is where we are. And our family is whoever is with us. The best part of Christmas for me is the part I found that night -- the peace that comes from knowing.
* * * * * * *
I'm so grateful for the Savior, for his life and for his sacrifice that makes it possible for each of us to repent and to return to our Heavenly Father. Wishing you, your family, and all of those you love a joyful and blessed Christmas and a healthy and happy 2008.
Pam
Friday, December 21, 2007
Winter Solstice
I didn't give much thought to the term "winter solstice" until a few years ago when my eccentric cousin sent me a Winter Solstice card. I didn't know such greeting cards existed. Silly me. Her beliefs contrasted with mine would line up in a similar manner to the Winter and Summer Solstices. I shake my head, and realize that in recognizing our differences, I probably am in need of repentance. Sometimes, it's hard not to judge.
Over the years I have found myself starting to look forward to this midwinter event pretty much beginning the day when we switch back from Daylight Savings Time to standard time. I yearn for longer days, more light. But to get there, we have to get past the shortest day. Hence, today marks the beginning of longer days. Each day between now and June 21, will be just a little longer than the one before it. And on that day, I will revel in the light and try not to think that the days will then be getting shorter.
Several years ago, my husband Bob expressed the desire to be at one of his very favorite places on the Summer Solstice, June 21, to see how long it would be light there. We were living in Maryland at the time, but made the trek to northern Michigan, near Traverse City. Pyramid Point is now part of the Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore (check out Picture #13 which is nearby) which overlooks beautiful blue Lake Michigan, but Bob and his family discovered Pyramid Point long before the federal government did, before there was even a clear path to the top of the dune. With our extended families, we have climbed up that sandy peak on many occasions over three decades. Now, not only is a parking lot provided at the road, but a restroom as well, and the path is graded and marked. Progress. Unfortunately. In the "olden days" we could count on enjoying the serene solitude of the place. Most times we visit now, we will meet others on the path and will have to share the view.
That night in 1997 was no different. We hiked up the trail through the beech and maple trees and arrived at thetop of Pyramid Point probably around 8 PM. It was a beautiful clear warm evening, and the sun was setting over Lake Michigan at the western end of the horizon. Near the other end, we could see a hint of the Manitou Islands, according to legend, representing the cubs of the mama bear (now the sand dunes) who had swam across Lake Michigan to escape a raging forest fire. In front of us the bluff dropped steeply to the water 450 feet below. We took pictures of the sinking sun and the deep blue water. Then we sat in the cooling sand, awaiting the demise of the sun on that longest day of the year. Other vacationers came and left while we kept vigil. One young couple was there to celebrate their anniversary; I took their picture, memorized their address, and mailed it to them later. The firey globe slowly sank behind the horizon as we watched. For a long time after the sun disappeared, its light glowed in the sky. It was almost 11 PM before we felt we could declare the end of day. Mission accomplished. Many times since then Bob and I have talked about the magic of that evening.
Today's winter solstice holds no such magic. This cold dark winter night finds me holed up in the house with a computer in front of me. The sun disappeared approximately 5 PM this evening. But the comforting thought is that each day will be just a little longer now, and we have June 21st to look forward to.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Buns
On Saturday, I was at my daughter's house doing some bookwork for her and checked my email. Lynne had written to see if I wanted to go to J-Dawg's, one of our favorite spur-of-the-moment getaways. I emailed back to say that I would be awhile, and not to wait for me, but that I would call her when I got home.
Being the true, loyal, devoted friend that she is, she didn't go without me, and when I called her an hour later, she laughed and said she hadn't had lunch yet, and that she was definitely ready for a J-Dawg. That's one of the things I like about Lynne: she likes to go. At the drop of a hat.
"Pick you up in a few minutes," I told her.
"Ok, I'm ready."
My mouth was watering. Mmmmmm. I could almost smell the grilled Polish sausage with special sauce, sauerkraut, dill pickle, onions, and banana peppers. Oooooo, I couldn't wait! It was almost 2 and I hadn't had anything to eat since my Dee's cereal breakfast. I was hungry. And the thought of that juicy J-Dawg got the digestive juices flowing.
I picked Lynne up and we headed toward BYU. I mentioned to her that Sheri Dew was at the Deseret Book store at our local mall signing her latest book, God Wants a Powerful People, and that it was 50% off today only. It didn't take us long to put our carnal appetites on hold for more spiritual things, and we decided to take a short detour to the mall. To save time, I dropped Lynne off at the door and drove around the parking lot until she came out. There was no parking. None. I'm sure half of Utah was at that mall on Saturday. She got the books, and despite the long checkout line, was out of the mall in about 15 minutes, maybe less.
Then we headed back over to J-Dawg's, got up to the window and were told THEY WERE OUT OF BUNS!!!
Lynne asked, "Well, did you send someone out for some?"
No, they hadn't. Talk about disappointment!
I suddenly realized that we had missed the last bun by mere seconds. The guy ahead of us was getting his dawg, bun and all. Maybe if we hadn't gone to the mall, I thought. But I quickly checked that thought, knowing we had "chosen the better part".
After we gathered our wits about us after such a horrific shock, we decided to try a hot dog place Lynne had seen in Orem. The menu showed promise -- probably 30 different varieties of hotdog combinations (four basic kinds of individual dogs with all manner of toppings). The proprietor was a hoot -- calling out to us from behind the counter to greet us when we walked in and accommodating us as only a small business owner can. A bit of a character. The price for a hot dog and drink was about $5.00, a dollar and a quarter more than the same thing at J-Dawg. And the dogs weren't really so great.
But that's ok, I'm stashing a package of hot dog buns in my car for our next trip to J-Dawg, just to be sure.
Oh, for a Tony Packo hot dog...
Another story for another time.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Marina's Story...Think about it
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
Winter Storm Warning
Maybe while we're just hanging around here, snuggled up with hot chocolate in front of the fire watching White Christmas or It's a Wonderful Life, I'll take a break and see if I can't finish "Marina's Story".
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Marina's Story...Think about it.
Aunty Mary's story
My great-Aunty Mary lived to be 101 years old. After she married at the age of 27, she became a homemaker and did not work outside of their home after that, despite never having children. My great uncle worked for an engineering firm and made decent wages. They put money into savings for their retirement (no 401-K's in those days). When the time came, he retired and they lived well within their means on Social Security. Uncle Gordon passed away in 1981; Aunty Mary lived another 21 years. She continued to receive social security benefits but she also had her "nest-egg" to provide a safety-net for unexpected emergencies.
Aunty Mary's emergency came when she was 99 years old. She was still living in a second story apartment by herself, extremely self sufficient. In fact, she shoveled snow for her landlord until she was into her 90's, and planted flowers in the back yard until she was 99. On Christmas Eve when she was 99, she fell from a stepladder in her kitchen and broke her hip. With the loving encouragement of our family, she went -- figuratively speaking, but almost not figuratively -- kicking and screaming into a wonderful assisted living home operated by the Masons.
I took her to the home to see it, to meet the people who ran it and the staff who would be helping her. She was concerned about the expense, and what would happen when her savings ran out, althought she certainly didn't expect to live long enough for that to happen. They assured her she would cared for regardless of her financial situation. She did not have to pay them anything "up front". Almost two years later, she beat the actuarial odds, and outlived her savings. She was absolutely horrified that she would be living "on charity". That almost killed her. A few months later, she fell again, and died as a result of a broken hip.
I have to add here that the people of the Masonic organization treated each person in that community with dignity and respect. None of the other residents ever knew Aunty Mary's situation, and of course, she did not know theirs either. I have the highest regard for the Masons, though neither I nor any of my immediate family have had membership in their organizations.
Self sufficiency has been ingrained in me by the example of my family. Not just Aunty Mary, but all of my family.
Why am I telling you this?
As I've watched and pondered the politics of our country, I see that many people feel that the government is there to "take care" of us. In the name of "compassion", many feel that the government is the instrument through which "poor people" should be helped -- i.e., given money, health care, housing, whatever else they "need". I, too, believe there are many people who genuinely need help, and that I have a moral obligation to help them. But there are many ways to do that, that don't put a goverment bureaucracy in the position of being the caretaker.
Families come first. We should take care of our own. Churches and charities also provide assistance to members who are in need. The church to which I belong teaches provident living, and also provides assistance to those in need while offering them the opportunity to serve others. The basic premise of church welfare is and should be to help people help themselves. Giving someone something for nothing is not helpful, with very few exceptions.I'm not eloquent, and I don't have an advanced education in economics, politics, government, or social order. But I'm also a thinking person, and I've given much thought to what I have heard in the news and have seen happening to our country over several decades. We're losing our freedom. It's that simple. And if today's generation of young adults doesn't give some serious thought to the things that are happening around them, and consider the ultimate consequences, and then get involved, their children will be like Marina. But they will have nowhere to go.
While the boiling frog allegory has no basis in reality, it paints the picture that what we would never buy into in one giant leap, we may accept one tiny step at a time until it is too late to extricate ourselves from the mess we've landed in.
Here's what you can do
We don't have time to wait for this generation to finish raising their children before they open their eyes to what is happening to our country. The time is now. The person to make a difference is you, and me. The way to do it is to listen to the news and commentary -- a variety of it from many sources. I've linked a few good websites that offer other individuals' viewpoints. You won't agree with everyone you listen to or read. But you will begin to see a pattern. You'll begin to understand why I am writing this blog entry.
Vote. But not unless you really understand what or who it is that you're voting for. Don't be like another woman I worked with who voted for Bill Clinton because -- and this is a direct quote -- "He's soooooo cute!" You only have to listen to the "man in the street" type of interviews on the Glenn Beck program or Jay Leno to see how really uninformed a large percentage of the population is about our government.Find out who your representatives are in Congress, then hold their feet to the fire on important issues. Make sure they know who you are. It really doesn't take too much time to zip off an email or letter to them. Yours added to many others who do the same does influence them. I've seen it happen. I'll post links.
Set an example and teach your children. Teach them to respect their country, its flag, and its leaders. Peaceful, respectful disagreement is part of the process. Dissing our country is not. There's a right way and a wrong way to get things done. Be part of the right way.
Encourage your friends to get involved.
If you love the life you're living, please take time to consider these things carefully. What Marina gained by coming to the United States we stand to lose if we continue to give up our freedom by putting the government in charge of the details of our lives. They'll take the money we've worked hard for and give it to people who are capable of doing the same, but who just don't want to and are using government-provided loopholes to avoid it. They'll make laws to tell you how to raise your children, and if you don't obey those laws, they will take your children from you.
Think about it.
Marina's Story
I was also impressed with Marina's ability to speak and understand English. She had taken English in her Russian school, but said that most of her language skills had come as a result of signing up for classes at the local community college there in Maryland. Wasn't it hard, I asked her, to take classes having only a very basic understanding of our language. Well, yes, she said, it was, but she caught on quickly. And she was getting good grades, despite this handicap. Each new revelation about what she had been through amazed me further.
I asked her what some of the things were that she enjoyed here that she didn't have in Russia.
Gum.
Gum?
Yes, gum.
Didn't you have gum in Russia?
No.
Why not?
Well, the government didn't think it was necessary.
Strange, I thought. Something that I wouldn't even think of as significant, this girl thought was a treat. And what's up with that -- the government didn't think it was necessary?
What has been the hardest thing to get used to in the United States, I asked her.
The freedom, she replied without hesitation.
She went on to explain that her father had taken a job in another community when they first arrived here. After a short time, he realized that the job was not a good match for him. He wanted to change jobs. In Russia, she explained, they had little, if any, choice where they worked or where they lived. If they wanted to change jobs, they applied to the government which, if it decided was a valid request, would find the individual a new job and different living arrangements if the job was in a different area. Here, her father had to apply to various companies, go for interviews, decide which job to take, find a new place to live when he accepted a position with a large company in our area, make arrangements to move his family, and follow through. It was a daunting process to one who had never experienced this way of doing things.
I don't remember the rest of our conversation on these lines. I do know the things I've just written gave me much reason for thought and consideration for a long time.
More later...
Monday, December 3, 2007
Hi, How Are You Today?
Jeff Moss
I'm feeling very horrible,
And low and mean and mad,
And dreadful and deplorable,
And rotten, sick, and sad,
And nasty and unbearable,
And hateful, vile, and blue
But thanks a lot for asking,
And please tell me. . .
How are you?
****************************
Found that cute little ditty on a website and it hit home. Sometimes I just feel like that.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Hearty/Hardy Souls Snow Camping
Do you notice anything strange in this picture?