A Yule Log

It is that time of year most of us love and love to hate; Christmas season is here! We think back to a time in our youths when Christmas was the most important thing. Although it was often cold outside snow eased the pain and chill. Decorations were aplenty everywhere you looked inside and out. The anticipation of presents was more than most of us could bare. And as we grow older things change.

I remember taking trips to see the lights around the city. Beloved Father would pile us in the '64 Chevy wagon and off we'd go. At that age we couldn't understand why people didn't put up decorations. I know now. It consumes the better part of the day, a precious day off from work taken up by what became a chore. Several years ago I gave up putting lights on the roof and found it is a much more enjoyable experience keeping them low. Simple and classic is a much more pleasing than gaudy and gregarious displays of blazing light. I remember back in the days of the 'energy crisis' there were many who went sans decor to save energy and it took several years to get back into the festivities for many. Christmas lights make everyone's street look better.

Our tree is our centerpiece. My Beloved and I invested in a ten-footer many years ago and it's beautiful when decorated. Ragin' Cage saw it, his first Christmas tree last week. It isn't difficult to make an eight month old's eyes go wide and his did as he saw it lit. I never saw the light of Christmas through my child's eyes. I look forward to seeing Christmas through the eyes of my grandson as he gets older. Christmas is for everyone, presents are for the children with tales of Santa and reindeer. If done properly the deeper meaning will come when it is time.

The season is filled with song and merriment. That being said there are several seasonal songs I can do without. The Christmas Shoes for one is too sad to hear in this season. I immediately turn it off. Nearly anything by Manheim Steamroller, something about the style just isn't for me. There is another song I hear each year that has something to do with a guy meeting an old girlfriend in a grocery store. It mentions the word Christmas once. I dislike it so much I didn't have the interest to look it up and see what it's called. And the 'feed the world song', there is no snow in Africa this Christmas. Well, there's no snow in Guam either, go figure! Lastly, I am so on the fence about the Charlie Brown Christmas song I have never made up my mind if I like it or hate it. My favorite is 'O Holy Night' with two current versions (Josh Groban and Celine Dion). It is the most beautiful song I know for the season.

I don't usually want much for Christmas. I have just about everything I could want. My Beloved and my family count for nearly everything. This year my list will include; peace on Earth, yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever: snow on Christmas day, watching the kids open presents, an Andrea Bocelli CD, warm socks and a nice bottle of 80 proof bourbon. Nothin' says Merry Christmas as well as being toasty inside.

I hope everyone enjoys the season. My favorite day, Christmas Eve is soon approaching. On that night, everything is ready and you can feel the anticipation in the air. Santa's coming.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright

The line is actually "Tyger tyger burning bright" from the poem "The Tyger" by William Blake.

At least, he was burning bright until a "minor" traffic accident broke the dam on what appears to be a duplicitous lifestyle at best, making him a target of the scandal rags and other media outlets. He stands to be one of the biggest hypocrites in recent public memory should the marital unfidelity allegations prove true; it remains to be seen how he will pay for it, both legally and financially, not to mention how this will affect his various endorsements. So far, his companies are standing by him, but as the alleged mistress total has now hit double digits that may change.

Even if you are not a golf fan, you are aware of Tiger Woods, from his endorsement contracts to his own brand, everything has contributed to The Image of Tiger Woods. That image may be tarnished beyond repair, even should he somehow put aside all these "distractions" and resume his assault on Jack Nicklaus' record of most "major" wins as well as attempting to set the record for most tournament victories in a career, which is also within reach. He has always said he wanted to be the best golfer ever, and indeed his talent is sufficient to pull off both those feats.

Unfortunately, for many fans of Tiger Woods, the bloom is now off the rose. Large numbers of people who have looked to him as a role model will stop being fans of Tiger Woods; whether or not they should have used him as a role model is entirely another issue. Will they stop buying his endorsed products, stop watching golf tournaments? The television people certainly hope not, and they must be very nervous to say the least.

Reactions to all this have run the gamut:
- leave his personal life out of this and just let him play golf
- everyone does it
- go Tiger! You da man!
- how could you do that?
- you have a beautiful wife and children (is it different if his family was ugly? apparently so)
- and, quite curiously, the black community, which has not been in his corner because he refuses to call himself black, and because he has married a white woman, now is ripping him not because he possibly cheated on his wife, but because all the women (so far) have been white! Maybe if he had played hide-the-salami with a few sistahs, they would be in his corner?

Who will want to be known in the future as "the next Tiger Woods"?

Regular Joe Sixpacks and their wives Betty Laundryqueen struggle with their marriages just as Tiger has; many others do not even think of putting themselves into a position where such temptations may occur, and go on quietly living their lives loving each other faithfully, as long as they both shall live.

MI, MO, MA,, ME, MT and the gang

Although I rarely send a letter to anyone using the vaunted postal service of these US of A's, I have often wondered who was the imbecile that decided the postal abbreviations for the various states. They are often difficult to remember for the lay-person who rarely needs to send a letter far off into the hinterlands.

Some are easy to remember and generally are the most often seen outside of 'postal world live' videos. NY, obviously followed by CA, and FL. Many others are evident as well, generally when they contain two words such as North Dakota, ND, South Dakota, SD and the like. Where this system falls completely apart is the lesser known states (unless you live there yourself) and virtually any state that begins with the letter M.

The various offenders are: Montana, Mississippi, Michigan, Maine, Minnesota, Maryland, Massachusetts and Missouri. Their corresponding abbreviations are MT, MS, MI, ME, MN, MD, MA and MO. If you didn't know this don't feel stupid. I'm willing to bet most don't. I propose a foundation shaking change to the postal rules starting with the notations for these states.

Let Maine stay with ME. It is a little more unique than the others and no one sends mail there anyway. Maryland should become MY as no other M state has a Y. The same goes for Michigan, MG. Mississippi likewise would become MP as no other state has a P. The rest become a little more difficult as there are just too many N's, S's and I's in the names. Along those lines Missouri now becomes MR, Massachusetts should be like Maine and just stay as it is. Minnesota now becomes MS as Mississippi has vacated that designation. Montana might as well keep what they have as this state is cold and no one lives there but Ted Turner's buffalo anyway (and maybe some sheep).

But, if all else fails lets change the name of some of these states. There are just way too many that begin with the litter M. And don't even let me get started with the Marshall Islands

We start bombing in five minutes

I read with a slight smile today about a new app for the iPhone. It is devoted to our late president Ronald Reagan. It is intended to be used as a teaching tool and give lessons on history. It includes quotes and such from his library.

I wonder how many will actually make use of this app? I foresee teachers and American history students looking into it but not as a widespread app. And for a very simple reason.

Most who use this type of device, the world of the all-encompassing app phone, have no knowledge of the environment from our fortieth president's heyday. The world was a very different place. There were two behemoths on the field of battle and everything done by one had a direct correlation to what the other might do. The decades of the fifties, sixties, seventies and eighties were a global standoff between the US and USSR. Every move was calculated. Such a world no longer exists.

I recently began re-reading 'Red Storm Rising'. It is Tom Clancy's second book and involves a potential WWIII. It begins with a plot by Muslims against the Soviets drawing them into a desperate state plot. Fittingly it seems this has been a prelude to today's world of global strife. The book is very well written and takes me back to a time when the newspapers were a daily notebook of world events involving the Americans versus the Soviets. The world has certainly changed dramatically since then. I chuckle at the references to a 'telex', something not in existence today that was high-tech back in the day. Even the most sophisticated electronics available to the public back then pale in comparison to what is available on the market today.

I am sceptical that this app will ever get much use as it has no basis for today's social butterflies. However, I am most sure The Great Communicator would be proud.

O Christmas tree! O Christmas tree!

Or: O tannenbaum! O tannenbaum!, to pay homage to our German ancestry.

My memory tells it thus:

When we were young children, the annual selection of the family Christmas tree was a simple process; we pestered Beloved Father and Sainted Mother about when would we get the tree, and about 2 weeks before Christmas we would pile into the Chevrolet (2 doors for 7 people!) for a trip to the tree farm. Actually, the tree farm was a lot at a corner sufficiently away from where we lived to seem like a trip to us. Beloved Father knew the owner of the lot, and his kids went to the same school we did; the lot's owner really did supply the trees from his family's tree farm.

While we would run up and down the rows of trees trying to pick out the "perfect" tree, Beloved Father would happily chat away with Mr Tree Farm before picking out the tree that he wanted. He always picked out a small Scotch Pine, complete with the requisite wooden "X" stand nailed into the bottom of the trunk. The tree would be roped to the roof of our car, and off home we would go.

Beloved Father further annoyed his brood by putting the tree in the basement for a week before Sainted Mother would allow us to get out the decorations and work our magic. The tree was always smaller than what we wanted, because Beloved Father would place it on a small table to raise it up off the floor, making it seem bigger than it really was. The younger we were the taller it seemed after it was set up. A white sheet would then be draped across the table and tree stand for that "snow" effect, as well as to hide the table.

Large colored bulbs would be strung on the boughs, and multitudes of ornaments would seemingly fill every open space, followed by a large dosing of icicles, or tinsel. A lit and decorated Christmas tree in an otherwise darkened room is still a stirring sight to me.

Eventually, modern technology invaded our lives, and Beloved Father and Sainted Mother went the artificial tree route for the remainder of their lives. It was still fun to decorate the tree, but the thrill of picking out a real tree was gone.

Fortunately for me, Wonderful Wife is not only a Christmas person, she favors a live tree in the family room. We also have 2 artificial trees in other rooms, but the live tree tradition still lives on in our home.

For many years our family has driven out into the country just outside of Granville, a quaint college town a fair distance away, and proceeds to Timbuk Tree Farm where we display our woodsmen skills by chopping down our tree. We make a day of it (several hours, anyway) with neices, nephews, and their children as well, everyone dressed for whatever the weather will bring. We have cut down trees in 70-degree temps, in freezing rain, inches of snow, and ground sloppy from cold rains. You can get out to the fields by walking or riding an old school bus or train car, both pulled by tractors. A platform is attached to the back of each for the erstwhile lumberjacks to pile their tress upon to be carried back to the lodge. There is a choice of Scotch Pine, Canaan Fir, Douglas Fir, Fraser Fir, Concolor Fir, White Pine, Blue Spruce, and others, all variably priced.

After doing our Paul Bunyan impression, we enter the lodge to get our fill of snacks, visit with Mr and Mrs Santa Claus, take pictures, relax, and people watch.

All in all, a fun time is had by all, and new Christmas memories are made each year.

Through the eyes of a child # 2

A telephone conversation from yesterday with World's Greatest Grandson #1:

ME: Do you have your cowboy boots on?
#1: (in his measured, contemplative tone) Umm...no.

ME: Do you have your tennis shoes on?
#1: No.

ME: Do you have your socks on?
#1: No...I just have my feet on, for walking.

The Brass Dome

College football is all about tradition. From the Dome of Notre Dame to the Horseshoe at Ohio State to the Swamp in Florida. But that is a tradition that is an ever-changing landscape. As I left work last night (after my twelve hour day), I flipped on the radio in my truck. Just then, the AD at Notre Dame was announcing the firing of their head coach, Charlie Weis, aka the Big Catfish, (Tuna was already taken).

Even though being Catholic, the Domers were never my school to follow except for the one hour recap on Sunday morning. Beloved Father claimed they were the only school that played real football. He openly rooted against Ohio State but over the years I believe that was more to be a pain-in-the-butt to his children than an actual dislike for the Buckeyes. Every once-in-a-while you could catch him saying something nice during a game. Yes, it wasn't really true.

By the tone of the press conference last night you'd have thought Charlie Weis had died. 'But we must move forward', was the mantra. Charlie had helped strengthen the foundation to build upon. 'But we must move forward'. He sounded as though he felt sorry that he was forced to make the decision. Don't feel too bad for Charlie; you're about to also write him a check for somewhere between eight and twelve million dollas! He will be fine. Don't cry. Charlie doesn't have to work another day in his life if he doesn't want to. Within thirty days he will have a job for next year in the NFL. If you want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for the guy who loses his job that now will only get unemployment. Charlie has security, the other guy doesn't. The next time you fire a janitor or a grounds keeper write him a check for the next six years. That should make you feel better.

College football is now no more than just a business that earns the school prestige and finances all the other sports that don't make money, which is just about everything else.

I salute you Charlie. You had the number one academic football team in America. (But you're supposed to win games).