Nobody really questioned why we'd want to be back here in Illinois for Christmas. After all, Galva is about as close as we can get to smack-dab in the middle between one son's home on the Minnesota prairie near Fargo and the other's address in North Carolina. Our big, barn-like house is a perfect place for a crowd at Christmas. And we were lucky enough to pack them all in for the holidays.
They're all gone now, of course, and few questions and comments have begun filtering our way from friends and neighbors:
"What's the weather like in North Carolina?"
"Have you been thinking of heading back south pretty soon?"
"I thought you'd be gone by now."
"Are you crazy?"
I imagine the recent concern as to the number of bats in my personal belfry has to do with our continued presence here in the midwest during the hit-or-miss weather phenomenon known as winter. As many readers know, my spouse and I have been spending at least half our time in an alternate universe called the North Carolina beachfront for the past year. And while the NC coast is not subtropical, it is generally quite a bit balmier than even the mostly mild winter we've been experiencing in the Land of Lincoln. My youngest grandsons are wondering where their beloved grandma is, and have, surprisingly enough, even indicated some mild interest in the whereabouts of the curmudgeonly coot known simply by the ominous, not-entirely-inaccurate moniker of "grumpa." So, you can understand why I've started, as the James Taylor song says, to have "Carolina on my Mind."
Yes, it's been almost exactly a year since we embarked on the interesting experiment I call "bicoastal" living, whereby we've split time between Galva and a shoreline house on North Topsail Beach, the north end of a skinny, 26-mile barrier island off the coast of the Tarheel State. Since then, we've been either there or here, with a few sidetrips to visit our other kids and grandkids, plus stops along the way in places like Nashville, the Great Smoky Mountains, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and many other points in between.
It's been fun.
It's been interesting.
It is, I think, what we always dreamed about when we thought about the future. And while there are plenty of other ideas on our list of things we'd like to do, a chance to be a part of our young grandsons' lives is well-nigh irresistible for grandma, and even grumpa, too.
So we're going to head that way in a couple of weeks or so, but before we do, we've still got a little stuff on our respective plates. Like a few happy rounds of the sort-and-pitch process that takes place every time we have a day or two to attack the basement-bound bins, bags and boxes filled with pictures, letters, newspaper clippings and other family flotsam that haunts my wife's very being.
She: What are we ever going to do about all that stuff down there?
Me: How about we wall over the door and pretend we don't even have a basement.
We need to take one more trip to northwestern Minnesota, where we plan to deliver a snowblower to son Colin, who, surprisingly enough, hasn't really needed it yet this winter. There are taxes and other paperwork to deal with, plus the ever-changing-but-always-growing list of things we absolutely must take east with us, despite our efforts to keep things in that living space as simple as possible.
Of course, it would be easier to leave if we didn't love it here, too.
Because even when it's cold, our hearts are warmed by the familiar faces and places that abound around here. We love our friends. We love our house. We love our town.
She, apparently, loves the basement, too, while I desperately love my 1994 Isuzu Trooper.
And while "love" is a powerful word to describe Max, the recalcitrant housecat, we're even sort of glad to see him when we return to the Galva half of our back-and-forth schedule.
But we gotta go.
We want to go.
Grandkids await, as do long walks on the beach and oceanside sunsets. The Blue Heron who fishes out back has been wondering where I am. The pelicans who patrol our beachfront need me to watch them as they dip and dive and glide. We're happy and excited to be returning to people we love and a place we consider our second home.
We've missed them. We've missed it.
But we'll miss you, too.
We always do.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
One hundred years from now
I don't know where--or how--my brother finds all this stuff. Though I consider myself a fairly apt searcher and discoverer of fascinating and unique facts and material on the world wide web, he tops me fairly consistently, posting links to a veritable plethora of good and interesting stuff.
Recently, a note via his Facebook page led me to a 1900 Ladies' Home Journal article entitled, "What May Happen in the Next Hundred Years."
The article was written by one John Elfreth Watkins, an engineer, novelist and journalist who, based on his predictions, became known as "the seer of the century."
The beginning of the 20th century was an exciting time, with the world teetering on the brink of technological advances that almost make some of our own big ideas seem a little silly in comparison.
Some of what was new in 1900 included phonographs, light bulbs, typewriters, skyscrapers, diesel fuel, aspirin and the first overseas telephone call. In 1900, a train could cover the same distance in six days that a covered wagon traveled in six months, and the idea of the automobile was just beginning to catch on. Though they traveled twice as fast as horses, only 8,000 cars and about 10 miles of paved roads existed in America in 1900. The 1900 Paris Exposition displayed amazing things like moving sidewalks, a wireless telegraph, powerful telescopes, and the first escalator. And back in the U.S.A., two brothers named Wright made their first trip to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina to begin manned glider experiments.
Given the tone of the times, it's easy to understand how Watkins and his collaborators would come up with some of the ideas listed in the article.
Though some of the technical details differ, he was spot-on in predicting technologies very similar to modern-day television, cell phones and digital photography, but missed the boat a tad by promising "peas the size of beets" and strawberries as large as apples. He got it right when he predicted electricity would be used to provide light and heat to speed up the food growing process, and also accurately called for central heating and air conditioning systems, though he thought the hot and cool air would enter homes via "spigots" connected to a centralized HVAC plant. He was a little overcautious when he speculated that the average lifespan would increase to 50 years, but wholly overestimated the energy of folks of the future when he said "everybody will walk 10 miles" daily as part of a lifetime program of exercise and fitness. Water power was his suggested mode for a electricity generating system that would completely replace coal, while automobiles would be cheaper than horses, and "airships" mostly limited to military use.
Watkins also declared an end to flies, mosquitoes, mice and rats by the year 2000, while also predicting near extinction for horses and virtually every sort of wild animal, except those in zoos. And while he might have been wrong about bugs and beasts, he came much closer when he guessed at our dependance on take-out meals, refrigeration and hermetically sealed foods.
But perhaps most interesting to me was his prophecy that spelled an eventual end to the letters C, A and Q.
"They will be abandoned because unnecessary," he stated. "Spelling by sound will have been adopted, first by the newspapers. English will be a language of condensed words expressing condensed ideas."
Gosh, sounds an awful lot like texting to me.
But here's the thing.
What would you say if you were asked to predict the future? What do you think will be going on a hundred years from now?
Some say we'll travel to Mars, and it seems almost certain that there will be increasing climate changes here on earth. Other predictions deemed likely by some sources and/or experts include ocean farming for both fish and algae, communication through thought transmission (synthetic telepathy, yikes!), immortality technology (whatever that means), control over the weather and brains wired to computers for faster, more efficient thinking.
Well, good enough, I guess.
But I'd like to think we will have used those computer-aided brains for a few other reasons, as well.
Like a solution for worldwide hunger and an end to unending war. For universal healthcare, with real breakthroughs in medicine that are available to all. For clean air and water and sustainable, non-polluting forms of energy. And, most of all, for a world society that finally has the good sense to get along.
Seems like maybe that was the plan, all along.
Maybe, in a hundred years or so, we'll get it right.
Recently, a note via his Facebook page led me to a 1900 Ladies' Home Journal article entitled, "What May Happen in the Next Hundred Years."
The article was written by one John Elfreth Watkins, an engineer, novelist and journalist who, based on his predictions, became known as "the seer of the century."
The beginning of the 20th century was an exciting time, with the world teetering on the brink of technological advances that almost make some of our own big ideas seem a little silly in comparison.
Some of what was new in 1900 included phonographs, light bulbs, typewriters, skyscrapers, diesel fuel, aspirin and the first overseas telephone call. In 1900, a train could cover the same distance in six days that a covered wagon traveled in six months, and the idea of the automobile was just beginning to catch on. Though they traveled twice as fast as horses, only 8,000 cars and about 10 miles of paved roads existed in America in 1900. The 1900 Paris Exposition displayed amazing things like moving sidewalks, a wireless telegraph, powerful telescopes, and the first escalator. And back in the U.S.A., two brothers named Wright made their first trip to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina to begin manned glider experiments.
Given the tone of the times, it's easy to understand how Watkins and his collaborators would come up with some of the ideas listed in the article.
Though some of the technical details differ, he was spot-on in predicting technologies very similar to modern-day television, cell phones and digital photography, but missed the boat a tad by promising "peas the size of beets" and strawberries as large as apples. He got it right when he predicted electricity would be used to provide light and heat to speed up the food growing process, and also accurately called for central heating and air conditioning systems, though he thought the hot and cool air would enter homes via "spigots" connected to a centralized HVAC plant. He was a little overcautious when he speculated that the average lifespan would increase to 50 years, but wholly overestimated the energy of folks of the future when he said "everybody will walk 10 miles" daily as part of a lifetime program of exercise and fitness. Water power was his suggested mode for a electricity generating system that would completely replace coal, while automobiles would be cheaper than horses, and "airships" mostly limited to military use.
Watkins also declared an end to flies, mosquitoes, mice and rats by the year 2000, while also predicting near extinction for horses and virtually every sort of wild animal, except those in zoos. And while he might have been wrong about bugs and beasts, he came much closer when he guessed at our dependance on take-out meals, refrigeration and hermetically sealed foods.
But perhaps most interesting to me was his prophecy that spelled an eventual end to the letters C, A and Q.
"They will be abandoned because unnecessary," he stated. "Spelling by sound will have been adopted, first by the newspapers. English will be a language of condensed words expressing condensed ideas."
Gosh, sounds an awful lot like texting to me.
But here's the thing.
What would you say if you were asked to predict the future? What do you think will be going on a hundred years from now?
Some say we'll travel to Mars, and it seems almost certain that there will be increasing climate changes here on earth. Other predictions deemed likely by some sources and/or experts include ocean farming for both fish and algae, communication through thought transmission (synthetic telepathy, yikes!), immortality technology (whatever that means), control over the weather and brains wired to computers for faster, more efficient thinking.
Well, good enough, I guess.
But I'd like to think we will have used those computer-aided brains for a few other reasons, as well.
Like a solution for worldwide hunger and an end to unending war. For universal healthcare, with real breakthroughs in medicine that are available to all. For clean air and water and sustainable, non-polluting forms of energy. And, most of all, for a world society that finally has the good sense to get along.
Seems like maybe that was the plan, all along.
Maybe, in a hundred years or so, we'll get it right.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Something about January
The Roadtripper: from Western Illinois Family Magazine
++++++++++
There's something about January.
Christmas is over.
Carefully, regretfully, we take down the holiday decorations that have brightened our homes and pack them away for another year. The house seems bare. The house seems quiet again.
Outside, the north wind blows and it snows and snows.
There is no sign of spring, no chance of it for weeks and weeks, for even a January thaw is merely a brief respite between winter blasts.
But in the midst of the cold, dark January days and nights comes little blessings.
Hot coffee. Warm socks. A car that starts in the morning.
The landscape takes on a shining grey-white sheen that is stark and surreal and splendid all at once.
Children pull on Christmas skates and whirl and fall and laugh and scream on bumpy circles of ice, while grownups toughen to the cold and walk in the frigid air, laughing and talking and remembering snow days and yesterday's sledding thrills down breakneck hills.
Slowly, we awaken to the possibilities.
Places to go, people to see, things to do.
But there's no rush, no holiday deadlines. You are, once again, able to move at a pace more to your liking and do what you want to do.
And if you really do want to do more than gaze out the window and sip hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire, here are a few ideas...
• Build a igloo with the neighborhood kids, making blocks by packing snow into a medium-sized box.
• Help your kids set up a hot cocoa stand on your corner.
• Read the book you got for Christmas.
• Shovel your neighbor's sidewalk.
• Set up a "Birds' Christmas Tree" in your backyard by decorating your discarded tree with strung popcorn and berries, and any stale leftover breads, cakes and cookies from the holidays.
• Make a reasonable New Year's resolution and actually stick to it.
• Organize an all-day "film festival" with friends and family, with each person sharing their favorite movie on DVD.
• Make homemade soup, bake bread, or do both, just for the wonderful way it makes your house smell.
• Invite friends over to share it.
If you're looking for things to do beyond your own hearth and home, it's Children's Month at the Galesburg Civic Art Center, with opportunities for kids to create and display their work. Other Galesburg-area activities for January include a performance by the world-famous Luther College Nordic Choir, a Magic Tea Party and a Toy Story party, the Galesburg Symphony Society's Tenth annual Casino Night Gala & Silent Auction, International Fest at Knox College, and a January Luau at Sandburg Mall. The Galva Arts Council's second-Saturday coffeehouse provides a warm circle of light, music and laughter every month.
Some say January is the longest, coldest month of all. I say, it can only be that way if you let it.
++++++++++
There's something about January.
Christmas is over.
Carefully, regretfully, we take down the holiday decorations that have brightened our homes and pack them away for another year. The house seems bare. The house seems quiet again.
Outside, the north wind blows and it snows and snows.
There is no sign of spring, no chance of it for weeks and weeks, for even a January thaw is merely a brief respite between winter blasts.
But in the midst of the cold, dark January days and nights comes little blessings.
Hot coffee. Warm socks. A car that starts in the morning.
The landscape takes on a shining grey-white sheen that is stark and surreal and splendid all at once.
Children pull on Christmas skates and whirl and fall and laugh and scream on bumpy circles of ice, while grownups toughen to the cold and walk in the frigid air, laughing and talking and remembering snow days and yesterday's sledding thrills down breakneck hills.
Slowly, we awaken to the possibilities.
Places to go, people to see, things to do.
But there's no rush, no holiday deadlines. You are, once again, able to move at a pace more to your liking and do what you want to do.
And if you really do want to do more than gaze out the window and sip hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire, here are a few ideas...
• Build a igloo with the neighborhood kids, making blocks by packing snow into a medium-sized box.
• Help your kids set up a hot cocoa stand on your corner.
• Read the book you got for Christmas.
• Shovel your neighbor's sidewalk.
• Set up a "Birds' Christmas Tree" in your backyard by decorating your discarded tree with strung popcorn and berries, and any stale leftover breads, cakes and cookies from the holidays.
• Make a reasonable New Year's resolution and actually stick to it.
• Organize an all-day "film festival" with friends and family, with each person sharing their favorite movie on DVD.
• Make homemade soup, bake bread, or do both, just for the wonderful way it makes your house smell.
• Invite friends over to share it.
If you're looking for things to do beyond your own hearth and home, it's Children's Month at the Galesburg Civic Art Center, with opportunities for kids to create and display their work. Other Galesburg-area activities for January include a performance by the world-famous Luther College Nordic Choir, a Magic Tea Party and a Toy Story party, the Galesburg Symphony Society's Tenth annual Casino Night Gala & Silent Auction, International Fest at Knox College, and a January Luau at Sandburg Mall. The Galva Arts Council's second-Saturday coffeehouse provides a warm circle of light, music and laughter every month.
Some say January is the longest, coldest month of all. I say, it can only be that way if you let it.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The new view review
When you leave town for a couple of months, you expect a few things to change while you're gone. Seasons turn, so fields, trees, gardens and lawns appear to be a little different. Maybe there's a house down the street with a new paint job, or a neighbor with a new car. You look at your friends, and maybe someone's got a different haircut or a new pair of glasses.
And usually, that's about it.
After all, two months is really a pretty short span of time in the whole scheme of things.
So even though I knew it was coming, I wasn't really prepared for what's happened to the landscape between and around Galva, Bishop Hill and points west.
I refer, of course, to the fast-growing field of wind turbines that is sprouting throughout the countryside hereabouts.
Now, let me start right off by stating that I'm pro-windpower.
I believe in alternative energy ideas.
I believe in energy sources that will make us less dependent on those who have less than our best interests at heart.
I believe, too, in energy producers that don't pollute the air or water, or threaten to blow us off the map.
And I even kind of like the way the giant windmills look, with their awe-inspiring height and graceful, slow-turning rotors. Admittedly, I might feel differently if I had one in my backyard, and I understand how some Bishop Hill residents might be a trifle concerned about the contrast between the ultra-modern structures and the 19th-century image of the historic village. But even if I wasn't crazy about the new look to the landscape, I'd surely prefer it to some of those other energy producing alternatives, like coal mines, oil wells and nukes. Moreover, Invenergy, the alt-energy company that's building the new wind farms, has recently dropped a cool half-million-dollar "investment" on its home base of Bishop Hill, with the money to be split between the village and groups like the Bishop Hill Heritage Association and Arts Council. Add that to the three million dollars in property taxes the company will pay this year, which will help support important entities like schools and libraries, plus the two-and-a-half million landowners will receive for the land leased for the towers, and you're looking at a much-needed, just-in-time kick in our economic pants.
And, of course, there are the jobs and related activities that have provided a welcome boost to stores, gas stations, hotels and restaurants, with a nice roster of good-paying, full-time jobs on the horizon for the future.
Change is probably inevitable, no matter what. And innovative ideas are often what drive that change, whether we like it or not. But just in case you feel like wind power is a little too new-fangled for your taste, consider a comment made by a well-known Illinois politician when he was running for office.
“Of all the forces of nature, I should think the wind contains the largest amount of motive power … Take any given space of the earth’s surface, for instance, Illinois, and all the power exerted by all the men, beasts, running water and steam over and upon it shall not equal the 100th part of what is exerted by the blowing of the wind over and upon the same place. And yet it has not, so far in the world’s history, become properly valued as motive power. It is applied extensively and advantageously to sail vessels in navigation. Add to this a few windmills and pumps and you have about all. As yet the wind is an untamed, unharnessed force, and quite possibly one of the greatest discoveries hereafter to be made will be the taming and harnessing of it.”
Who said it? You might have heard of him. He was running for president back in 1860, and delivered a lecture titled "Discoveries and Inventions" while on the campaign trail.
His name was Abraham Lincoln.
And usually, that's about it.
After all, two months is really a pretty short span of time in the whole scheme of things.
So even though I knew it was coming, I wasn't really prepared for what's happened to the landscape between and around Galva, Bishop Hill and points west.
I refer, of course, to the fast-growing field of wind turbines that is sprouting throughout the countryside hereabouts.
Now, let me start right off by stating that I'm pro-windpower.
I believe in alternative energy ideas.
I believe in energy sources that will make us less dependent on those who have less than our best interests at heart.
I believe, too, in energy producers that don't pollute the air or water, or threaten to blow us off the map.
And I even kind of like the way the giant windmills look, with their awe-inspiring height and graceful, slow-turning rotors. Admittedly, I might feel differently if I had one in my backyard, and I understand how some Bishop Hill residents might be a trifle concerned about the contrast between the ultra-modern structures and the 19th-century image of the historic village. But even if I wasn't crazy about the new look to the landscape, I'd surely prefer it to some of those other energy producing alternatives, like coal mines, oil wells and nukes. Moreover, Invenergy, the alt-energy company that's building the new wind farms, has recently dropped a cool half-million-dollar "investment" on its home base of Bishop Hill, with the money to be split between the village and groups like the Bishop Hill Heritage Association and Arts Council. Add that to the three million dollars in property taxes the company will pay this year, which will help support important entities like schools and libraries, plus the two-and-a-half million landowners will receive for the land leased for the towers, and you're looking at a much-needed, just-in-time kick in our economic pants.
And, of course, there are the jobs and related activities that have provided a welcome boost to stores, gas stations, hotels and restaurants, with a nice roster of good-paying, full-time jobs on the horizon for the future.
Change is probably inevitable, no matter what. And innovative ideas are often what drive that change, whether we like it or not. But just in case you feel like wind power is a little too new-fangled for your taste, consider a comment made by a well-known Illinois politician when he was running for office.
“Of all the forces of nature, I should think the wind contains the largest amount of motive power … Take any given space of the earth’s surface, for instance, Illinois, and all the power exerted by all the men, beasts, running water and steam over and upon it shall not equal the 100th part of what is exerted by the blowing of the wind over and upon the same place. And yet it has not, so far in the world’s history, become properly valued as motive power. It is applied extensively and advantageously to sail vessels in navigation. Add to this a few windmills and pumps and you have about all. As yet the wind is an untamed, unharnessed force, and quite possibly one of the greatest discoveries hereafter to be made will be the taming and harnessing of it.”
Who said it? You might have heard of him. He was running for president back in 1860, and delivered a lecture titled "Discoveries and Inventions" while on the campaign trail.
His name was Abraham Lincoln.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Happy New Year's Resolution
It's a brand-new year, which, for some, means a brand-new set of rules and resolutions to try and live up to.
I guess the whole concept of a clean slate every January first is pretty darn irresistible to a lot of folks. I confess, though, that I don't often participate in the first-of-the-year race towards personal perfection, but I know that many do. Yes, all around us, people are determinedly dieting, carefully cleaning out dresser drawers and lovingly lacing up the new running shoes they got for Christmas. And that's a good thing, because every little bit helps, even if the selfsame folks find themselves back to eating Snickers for breakfast, vainly searching for socks, and driving two blocks to the post office by the Ides of March.
Oops. Did that sound cynical?
I guess so, but only to the extent that I think that if you truly feel you need to get skinny, organized or in shape, you should just quietly get down to it when the spirit moves you, instead of waiting to make a public pronouncement of your intentions as the ball drops in Times Square. But just in case you really are looking at January first as a starting point for something new and different, here are a few ideas I think we all might pay attention to this year and every year.
•Learn to play well with others
For some reason, we seem to have entered a period when simple civility is entirely passé. My personal theory is that the many remote styles of communications in use--like texting, email and social media sites--have fostered an artificially interactive culture where people seem to feel free to say things that they'd never dream of saying face to face. The many icky examples set on TV and in the political arena just enhance the mean-spirited trend. So, how about taking some advice from a leading American philosopher of the 1940s, Thumper, the Rabbit:
"If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all"
•Bake more bread, make more soup.
Or, in other words, slow down and keep it simple. It's so easy to get caught up in our gadgets and overwhelmed by all the sensory input that surrounds us. So here's an idea: Unplug for a day. Go outside for awhile. Look at the sky. Count the stars. Read a book. Write a letter. Have some soup.
•Have a little faith.
Not to proselytize in the pages of your morning paper, but has it occurred to you that there might just really be a power greater than you out there? A power greater than your Ipod and your Blackberry, even? While it's possible to think that sunsets, snowflakes, babies, wildflowers, music and chocolate chip cookies all came about as a result of some evolutionary accident, it's even more fulfilling to believe that they're all a part of a heavenly master plan put into motion by someone who loves us.
Works for me.
Happy New Year.
I guess the whole concept of a clean slate every January first is pretty darn irresistible to a lot of folks. I confess, though, that I don't often participate in the first-of-the-year race towards personal perfection, but I know that many do. Yes, all around us, people are determinedly dieting, carefully cleaning out dresser drawers and lovingly lacing up the new running shoes they got for Christmas. And that's a good thing, because every little bit helps, even if the selfsame folks find themselves back to eating Snickers for breakfast, vainly searching for socks, and driving two blocks to the post office by the Ides of March.
Oops. Did that sound cynical?
I guess so, but only to the extent that I think that if you truly feel you need to get skinny, organized or in shape, you should just quietly get down to it when the spirit moves you, instead of waiting to make a public pronouncement of your intentions as the ball drops in Times Square. But just in case you really are looking at January first as a starting point for something new and different, here are a few ideas I think we all might pay attention to this year and every year.
•Learn to play well with others
For some reason, we seem to have entered a period when simple civility is entirely passé. My personal theory is that the many remote styles of communications in use--like texting, email and social media sites--have fostered an artificially interactive culture where people seem to feel free to say things that they'd never dream of saying face to face. The many icky examples set on TV and in the political arena just enhance the mean-spirited trend. So, how about taking some advice from a leading American philosopher of the 1940s, Thumper, the Rabbit:
"If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all"
•Bake more bread, make more soup.
Or, in other words, slow down and keep it simple. It's so easy to get caught up in our gadgets and overwhelmed by all the sensory input that surrounds us. So here's an idea: Unplug for a day. Go outside for awhile. Look at the sky. Count the stars. Read a book. Write a letter. Have some soup.
•Have a little faith.
Not to proselytize in the pages of your morning paper, but has it occurred to you that there might just really be a power greater than you out there? A power greater than your Ipod and your Blackberry, even? While it's possible to think that sunsets, snowflakes, babies, wildflowers, music and chocolate chip cookies all came about as a result of some evolutionary accident, it's even more fulfilling to believe that they're all a part of a heavenly master plan put into motion by someone who loves us.
Works for me.
Happy New Year.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Welcome to Holiday Inn
It was a couple of nights before Christmas, and we had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
Though we were both pretty beat from the shopping, cooking, decorating and cleaning folderol that always goes on in the days right before the holiday, we had flipped on the TV that sits across the bedroom on top of a high cabinet. It's an old, tiny, 13-incher, with a picture so small that I really can't see much of what's going on. But it provides sound and semi-seeable pictures to doze by on nights when we're not quite ready to drop off, plus a chance to hear some local news and weather in the morning while we're getting ready for the day.
I kind of missed out on the roster of December TV specials this year, so I was glad to hear the opening strains of one of my favorite Christmastime classics.
"Holiday Inn" is a 1942 Irving Berlin musical featuring Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire that introduced the song, "White Christmas."
For those who have somehow dodged the chance to view this festive standard, it goes something like this:
An unlucky-in-love crooner, Crosby, leaves show business with a plan to move to a farm in Connecticut. After discovering that farmwork is a little more than he bargained for, he decides to turn the place into an entertainment venue that's only open on holidays, called Holiday Inn.
"Hey, that's me." I said.
"No, that's us," she muttered sleepily before drifting into the deep, righteous sleep of a woman who has spent an entire day baking and decorating Christmas cookies with a sugar-charged band of grandkids and friends.
And she was right, in a way, because it's only at major holidays that this big barn of a place on Galva's Wiley Park truly fills up to its proper capacity. The contingency this year included the Fargo crew, with a pair of adults, two teenagers and a girlfriend, who probably wondered why the heck she agreed to leave the relative quiet of the great white North for our own special brand of noise and confusion. The North Carolinians were mom and dad, plus five and three year olds, whose major focus has been the proper communication with and cultivation of a certain chubby gentleman from above the Arctic Circle. Also present were one lively visiting dog and Max, the surly, homeboy cat who hated both him for being here, and us for allowing it.
Of course, it's just what we want, and something we look forward to all year. And if it means a little extra effort from time to time to make it all come together, it's easily balanced by the memorable moments that occur the whole time its going on.
Like the first Sunday we were back in town, a week before Christmas. As word was out that we were present and available for duty, we were both enlisted for some last-minute assistance at church. She would be the lector that morning, while I was to provide the music for Mass. We were also in charge of the youngest grandsons while their parents were in Peoria for the aftermath of a joyful wedding reception we had all attended earlier.
I conveniently forgot that fact and left for the church early to prepare the music, while she dealt with the old/new task of getting a pair of lively boys scrubbed and ready for pubic viewing. Things were about ready to roll at 10 a.m. Mass, with the always-prompt Father John Burns poised for action, when grandma rushed in with her charges.
"Whew," I thought. "She made it."
Meanwhile, in the distance, I heard a sudden clamor.
beep-beep-beep-beep
I knew that noise.
It was a car alarm.
And it sounded familiar.
A fellow parishioner hustled up to me and whispered in my ear, just as I was about to play the first few notes of the processional.
FP: Hey, Megan's car is going nuts out there. I think she hit the wrong button.
Me: Help. Please. Quick.
He leapt to the task, grabbing the keys and quelling the din just in time. We're used to being lead characters in our own sort of "I Love Lucy" episodes, so we deal humorously, if not gracefully, with situations that might be embarrassing to others.
Me: Nice entrance, Lucy.
She: Right-o, Ricky.
We had a great time with everyone home, despite a total lack of winter weather that had my younger grandsons and I calling heavy frost, "snow" just to keep our spirits bright. There have been abundant meals and wonderful visits with many of our hometown friends and family members, with a plethora of activities ranging from heavily hectic to really relaxing.
Most of all, It was fun.
But things turned serious for at least two of us as the big day finally approached.
Despite son Patrick's efforts to keep the real reason for the season uppermost in his young sons' minds, there comes an inevitable time when Santa Claus, reindeer and presents under a tree overwhelm any other thoughts and beliefs.
It was finally Christmas Eve.
He was finally coming.
A couple of days before, I had introduced the boys to the NORAD Santa Tracker, an online service provided by the North American Aerospace Defense Command (!) that lets interested watchers know how the Jolly One is progressing on his yearly trip around the world. On December 23rd, they were mildly interested and amused. By the time we had been to Christmas Eve Mass and they had picked at a couple of meatballs, they were staring at the computer screen as ardently as if they were watching for an enemy invasion, rather than a friendly visit from St. Nick.
"He's in Nova Scotia," exclaimed five-year-old Cyrus. "He's almost here!"
A good grandfather would have rightfully explained that the Maritime Provinces are actually quite a ways off, but I chose to capitalize on his sudden angst by reminding him that Santa only comes when little boys are in bed. Problem is, he had just heard the same admonishment from every adult in the house, plus even the cat, I think.
Suddenly, he had a mission.
Get to sleep. Quick.
But before the little ones were trundled off to bed, Paddy gave it one more try. As we all sat in our darkened living room in front of a flickering fire, he read the Christmas Story, the real one, to all of us.
The boys seemed engrossed, absorbing the beautiful tale and its meaning.
"Play the Mary song," whispered grandma to me. And I did, launching into a rendition of "Mary, Did You Know?" a contemporary Christmas song with great meaning and considerable beauty.
All was calm. All was quiet.
It was a magic moment, filled with the faith and love that truly defines the Christmas season.
Well, kind of.
Little John Patrick gave me a look that seemed to say, "Who does grandpa think he is, Andy Williams?"
"I'm going to bed," fumed Cyrus, who had finally endured all the delaying tactics he could take.
But we weren't through tormenting the young lads with our unconscionable ways.
They were still snug in their beds when we, along with older son, Colin and his wife, arose at five in the morning for our annual trip to Julotta, the traditional Swedish worship service held in the Old Colony Church at Bishop Hill.
The youngest boys sleep in the sitting room just off our bedroom, so Cyrus, who was, no doubt dozing with one ear cocked for the sound of sleigh bells, was awakened when grandma made her way through in search of coffee.
"Where are you going?" he exclaimed in horror. He had been firmly warned that Santa needed the entire night to do his work, and knew that little boys--or grandmas--who got up before dawn were in danger of spoiling everything.
She patiently explained that we always go to early church and that Santa always understood.
He mulled it over until she returned.
"What were you doing down there?" he said, obviously fearing the worst.
It was O.K., she explained. Santa would still come.
And he did.
They're all gone now, on their respective ways to Fargo and North Carolina. The house--and we--are slowly recovering from the kind of happy onslaught we are truly made for. Another family Christmas is something we'll remember, as we hope to see it happen again and again.
Happy New Year.
Though we were both pretty beat from the shopping, cooking, decorating and cleaning folderol that always goes on in the days right before the holiday, we had flipped on the TV that sits across the bedroom on top of a high cabinet. It's an old, tiny, 13-incher, with a picture so small that I really can't see much of what's going on. But it provides sound and semi-seeable pictures to doze by on nights when we're not quite ready to drop off, plus a chance to hear some local news and weather in the morning while we're getting ready for the day.
I kind of missed out on the roster of December TV specials this year, so I was glad to hear the opening strains of one of my favorite Christmastime classics.
"Holiday Inn" is a 1942 Irving Berlin musical featuring Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire that introduced the song, "White Christmas."
For those who have somehow dodged the chance to view this festive standard, it goes something like this:
An unlucky-in-love crooner, Crosby, leaves show business with a plan to move to a farm in Connecticut. After discovering that farmwork is a little more than he bargained for, he decides to turn the place into an entertainment venue that's only open on holidays, called Holiday Inn.
"Hey, that's me." I said.
"No, that's us," she muttered sleepily before drifting into the deep, righteous sleep of a woman who has spent an entire day baking and decorating Christmas cookies with a sugar-charged band of grandkids and friends.
And she was right, in a way, because it's only at major holidays that this big barn of a place on Galva's Wiley Park truly fills up to its proper capacity. The contingency this year included the Fargo crew, with a pair of adults, two teenagers and a girlfriend, who probably wondered why the heck she agreed to leave the relative quiet of the great white North for our own special brand of noise and confusion. The North Carolinians were mom and dad, plus five and three year olds, whose major focus has been the proper communication with and cultivation of a certain chubby gentleman from above the Arctic Circle. Also present were one lively visiting dog and Max, the surly, homeboy cat who hated both him for being here, and us for allowing it.
Of course, it's just what we want, and something we look forward to all year. And if it means a little extra effort from time to time to make it all come together, it's easily balanced by the memorable moments that occur the whole time its going on.
Like the first Sunday we were back in town, a week before Christmas. As word was out that we were present and available for duty, we were both enlisted for some last-minute assistance at church. She would be the lector that morning, while I was to provide the music for Mass. We were also in charge of the youngest grandsons while their parents were in Peoria for the aftermath of a joyful wedding reception we had all attended earlier.
I conveniently forgot that fact and left for the church early to prepare the music, while she dealt with the old/new task of getting a pair of lively boys scrubbed and ready for pubic viewing. Things were about ready to roll at 10 a.m. Mass, with the always-prompt Father John Burns poised for action, when grandma rushed in with her charges.
"Whew," I thought. "She made it."
Meanwhile, in the distance, I heard a sudden clamor.
beep-beep-beep-beep
I knew that noise.
It was a car alarm.
And it sounded familiar.
A fellow parishioner hustled up to me and whispered in my ear, just as I was about to play the first few notes of the processional.
FP: Hey, Megan's car is going nuts out there. I think she hit the wrong button.
Me: Help. Please. Quick.
He leapt to the task, grabbing the keys and quelling the din just in time. We're used to being lead characters in our own sort of "I Love Lucy" episodes, so we deal humorously, if not gracefully, with situations that might be embarrassing to others.
Me: Nice entrance, Lucy.
She: Right-o, Ricky.
We had a great time with everyone home, despite a total lack of winter weather that had my younger grandsons and I calling heavy frost, "snow" just to keep our spirits bright. There have been abundant meals and wonderful visits with many of our hometown friends and family members, with a plethora of activities ranging from heavily hectic to really relaxing.
Most of all, It was fun.
But things turned serious for at least two of us as the big day finally approached.
Despite son Patrick's efforts to keep the real reason for the season uppermost in his young sons' minds, there comes an inevitable time when Santa Claus, reindeer and presents under a tree overwhelm any other thoughts and beliefs.
It was finally Christmas Eve.
He was finally coming.
A couple of days before, I had introduced the boys to the NORAD Santa Tracker, an online service provided by the North American Aerospace Defense Command (!) that lets interested watchers know how the Jolly One is progressing on his yearly trip around the world. On December 23rd, they were mildly interested and amused. By the time we had been to Christmas Eve Mass and they had picked at a couple of meatballs, they were staring at the computer screen as ardently as if they were watching for an enemy invasion, rather than a friendly visit from St. Nick.
"He's in Nova Scotia," exclaimed five-year-old Cyrus. "He's almost here!"
A good grandfather would have rightfully explained that the Maritime Provinces are actually quite a ways off, but I chose to capitalize on his sudden angst by reminding him that Santa only comes when little boys are in bed. Problem is, he had just heard the same admonishment from every adult in the house, plus even the cat, I think.
Suddenly, he had a mission.
Get to sleep. Quick.
But before the little ones were trundled off to bed, Paddy gave it one more try. As we all sat in our darkened living room in front of a flickering fire, he read the Christmas Story, the real one, to all of us.
The boys seemed engrossed, absorbing the beautiful tale and its meaning.
"Play the Mary song," whispered grandma to me. And I did, launching into a rendition of "Mary, Did You Know?" a contemporary Christmas song with great meaning and considerable beauty.
All was calm. All was quiet.
It was a magic moment, filled with the faith and love that truly defines the Christmas season.
Well, kind of.
Little John Patrick gave me a look that seemed to say, "Who does grandpa think he is, Andy Williams?"
"I'm going to bed," fumed Cyrus, who had finally endured all the delaying tactics he could take.
But we weren't through tormenting the young lads with our unconscionable ways.
They were still snug in their beds when we, along with older son, Colin and his wife, arose at five in the morning for our annual trip to Julotta, the traditional Swedish worship service held in the Old Colony Church at Bishop Hill.
The youngest boys sleep in the sitting room just off our bedroom, so Cyrus, who was, no doubt dozing with one ear cocked for the sound of sleigh bells, was awakened when grandma made her way through in search of coffee.
"Where are you going?" he exclaimed in horror. He had been firmly warned that Santa needed the entire night to do his work, and knew that little boys--or grandmas--who got up before dawn were in danger of spoiling everything.
She patiently explained that we always go to early church and that Santa always understood.
He mulled it over until she returned.
"What were you doing down there?" he said, obviously fearing the worst.
It was O.K., she explained. Santa would still come.
And he did.
They're all gone now, on their respective ways to Fargo and North Carolina. The house--and we--are slowly recovering from the kind of happy onslaught we are truly made for. Another family Christmas is something we'll remember, as we hope to see it happen again and again.
Happy New Year.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
A love story
She was going to be married.
Things were probably going along as they generally do in the weeks and months before a wedding. She was a little nervous. Her mother was probably excited. Maybe her father was wondering just how he would pay for everything.
Then something happened.
Something kind of strange.
Something kind of confusing.
She didn't know what to think at first.
Then she did.
And she waited.
He was a nice guy.
A hard worker. A good provider.
Everybody thought he would be a good husband, and a good father, too.
But the news she had really shook him up.
She was going to have a baby.
Not his.
He didn't know what to think.
He didn't know what to do.
But he was kind. He could have made a real fuss over what had happened, but he decided to keep quiet, even though he didn't think he could marry her anymore.
Then he had a strange dream.
And his act of kindness became an even greater act of faith.
He married her.
He would raise the child as his own.
But just before the baby was due, they had to go on a long journey together.
It was a hard trip. And once they got there, they had no place to stay, even though it was almost time for the child to come.
It seemed like nothing was going right for the young couple.
Then everything did.
Their baby boy was born.
Our baby boy was born.
Two thousand years later, here we are.
We hustle and buy and cook and clean just to celebrate his birthday.
We string lights and sing songs and give each other gifts.
And we tell the story. The love story.
And we still believe.
Things were probably going along as they generally do in the weeks and months before a wedding. She was a little nervous. Her mother was probably excited. Maybe her father was wondering just how he would pay for everything.
Then something happened.
Something kind of strange.
Something kind of confusing.
She didn't know what to think at first.
Then she did.
And she waited.
He was a nice guy.
A hard worker. A good provider.
Everybody thought he would be a good husband, and a good father, too.
But the news she had really shook him up.
She was going to have a baby.
Not his.
He didn't know what to think.
He didn't know what to do.
But he was kind. He could have made a real fuss over what had happened, but he decided to keep quiet, even though he didn't think he could marry her anymore.
Then he had a strange dream.
And his act of kindness became an even greater act of faith.
He married her.
He would raise the child as his own.
But just before the baby was due, they had to go on a long journey together.
It was a hard trip. And once they got there, they had no place to stay, even though it was almost time for the child to come.
It seemed like nothing was going right for the young couple.
Then everything did.
Their baby boy was born.
Our baby boy was born.
Two thousand years later, here we are.
We hustle and buy and cook and clean just to celebrate his birthday.
We string lights and sing songs and give each other gifts.
And we tell the story. The love story.
And we still believe.
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