Today was the day that the Christmas tree went up in our house. We alternate between real trees and a fake Christmas tree that we bought several years ago. 2004 is an even year, so this will be a "fake tree" Christmas for us. The kids don't seem to mind at all, and handing mommy the pieces of the tree as she assembles it is apparently a lot of fun for a 3 year old.
The tree decorating ritual remains familiar, with silver tinsel, multicolor lights, the glorious angel shining atop the tree, and hanging precious ornaments from the ghost of Christmas past. This has become a most precious part of Christmas for me: remembering people who have passed by hanging the ornaments they gave us. These days there seems to be more and more people to remember in our family... the past five years I've lost a mother, two grandmothers, an uncle, and a great uncle, and my father in-law. At Christmas time, we remember them all.
There was a time not long ago that I could not fathom owning a fake Christmas tree. I grew up in a "real tree" family. Thirty years ago, fake trees really did look fake, and were found primarily in the homes of the aged. But these days, telling the difference between the real thing and an immitation can be difficult.
Fake trees made inroads into my life while Jane and I were childless apartment dwellers: dragging a real tree into our apartment and violating our lease didn't make sense. So we bought a faker, and learned that breaking this old family taboo wasn't nearly as bad as we thought it would be.
The fake (hereinafter referred to as immitation) tree has its advantages, not the least of which is the cost. I estimate we broke even with our immitation tree the third time we put it up. The immitation tree is always the right size, doesn't need to be trimmed, doesn't have a good side or a bad side. I will not be stepping barefoot on pine needles in January, nor picking pine needles out of the living room carpet in July. I don't have to dispose of the immitation tree.
There are downsides, though.
By having an immitation tree, I am forsaking at least one family ritual.
One of my lingering childhood memories is of the family piling into the station wagon, on a quest to discover the perfect tree. We would visit several outdoor tree lots, sometimes during snow storms or sub zero temperatures. We felt somehow like we were doing the tree a favor, taking it in as a part of our family to share our beloved Christmas holiday. By New Years, though, this guest had over stayed its welcome and would be unceremoniously undressed, and left naked on the boulevard with the week's trash.
The thing I miss most about a real Christmas tree is the smell. There is no substitute for the fragrence of a real Christmas tree, although those little pine trees that I hang from my car's rear view mirror come close.
Here's wishing you and your family many happy memories.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Chloe's Gift
The past couple of weeks have been very busy. Early morning departures from the home and late returns have been the norm. Yesterday I didn't see the kids at all, except for a couple of minutes in the morning. By the time I arrived home at 9:30 pm, they were fast asleep.
This morning as I was having breakfast, I noticed Chloe (almost four years old, my only girl and the middle child) looking at me from around the corner. I have seen this mischievious look on her face before, I thought to myself. I knew she was keeping something from me. I said, "Good morning, Chloe!," trying to draw her out, but she quickly disappeared behind the corner. Beyond my view I could hear a closet door opening, and a rustling of the closet clutter. I was just about to get up from the table to investigate when she reappeared.
"Supwise!" she said excitedly.
She was holding a paper bag that she had decorated herself, and it had my name on it. Inside was my Christmas present. I was glad when she insisted that I open it right now (or rather, that she open it for me). I reached inside the bag and took out a true Chloe original: a gray sweatshirt which she had decorated herself, her handprints making a Christmas tree. She had written her name on the shirt as best she could. She was as proud of the shirt as I am of her.
My wife told me that Chloe had wanted to give me the present last night, but of course I didn't get home early enough. Today I decided to do something special for Chloe. I picked her up from daycare and we had lunch at Hardees, her favorite restaurant. She had her usual: chicken fingers, french fries, hawaiian punch, and a bite of my burger. For dessert, a chocolate chip cookie and the prize gift from the kids meal bag. She loved the little prize that came with her meal, and wondered if she would get lots of "prizes" for Christmas. "I'm sure you will," I replied.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving in the U.S., the day we celebrate our abundance and good fortune with giant meals and time with loved ones. Americans "pig out" on Thursday, sleep it off, and then Friday morning we all rush to the stores to spend our money on Christmas presents. It's the "start of the Christmas season," I'm told, but I know better than that.
Each year, the Christmas season comes earlier and earlier. It was many years ago that Christmas broke through the Thanksgiving barrier. This year I finally noticed that Christmas is now butting right up against Halloween, threatening to overrun yet another holiday. I went to our local KMart the day after Halloween, hoping to buy next year's costumes for our kids at a deep discount. What I found was more Christmas stuff on the floor than Halloween stuff.
I used to joke that we should just cancel Thanksgiving and Christmas, and rename them both the "Thanks for Giving en masse" holiday. But its not a joke any more, is it?
Jane, my wife wants to talk to me about a book she is reading: Unplugging the Christmas Machine. It has something to do with putting the meaning back into Christmas, and avoiding the commercialization of the holiday. I've thought for years now that Christmas is becoming more of an inconvenience than a celebration. From stringing lights on the house, to dragging an expensive tree into the house, to picking pine needles out of the carpet, there are elements of Christmas that I could probably do without. I'm looking forward to Jane's review of this book.
This morning, my little girl embodied the best of the Christmas spirit: she gave willingly and enthusiastically, with no expectation of receiving something in return. Making me happy was all she wanted to do, and she did that grandly.
From my family to yours, have a happy Thanksgiving holiday. May you be surrounded by people who care about you.
Todays lesson: make time for what (and who) is important
This morning as I was having breakfast, I noticed Chloe (almost four years old, my only girl and the middle child) looking at me from around the corner. I have seen this mischievious look on her face before, I thought to myself. I knew she was keeping something from me. I said, "Good morning, Chloe!," trying to draw her out, but she quickly disappeared behind the corner. Beyond my view I could hear a closet door opening, and a rustling of the closet clutter. I was just about to get up from the table to investigate when she reappeared.
"Supwise!" she said excitedly.
She was holding a paper bag that she had decorated herself, and it had my name on it. Inside was my Christmas present. I was glad when she insisted that I open it right now (or rather, that she open it for me). I reached inside the bag and took out a true Chloe original: a gray sweatshirt which she had decorated herself, her handprints making a Christmas tree. She had written her name on the shirt as best she could. She was as proud of the shirt as I am of her.
My wife told me that Chloe had wanted to give me the present last night, but of course I didn't get home early enough. Today I decided to do something special for Chloe. I picked her up from daycare and we had lunch at Hardees, her favorite restaurant. She had her usual: chicken fingers, french fries, hawaiian punch, and a bite of my burger. For dessert, a chocolate chip cookie and the prize gift from the kids meal bag. She loved the little prize that came with her meal, and wondered if she would get lots of "prizes" for Christmas. "I'm sure you will," I replied.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving in the U.S., the day we celebrate our abundance and good fortune with giant meals and time with loved ones. Americans "pig out" on Thursday, sleep it off, and then Friday morning we all rush to the stores to spend our money on Christmas presents. It's the "start of the Christmas season," I'm told, but I know better than that.
Each year, the Christmas season comes earlier and earlier. It was many years ago that Christmas broke through the Thanksgiving barrier. This year I finally noticed that Christmas is now butting right up against Halloween, threatening to overrun yet another holiday. I went to our local KMart the day after Halloween, hoping to buy next year's costumes for our kids at a deep discount. What I found was more Christmas stuff on the floor than Halloween stuff.
I used to joke that we should just cancel Thanksgiving and Christmas, and rename them both the "Thanks for Giving en masse" holiday. But its not a joke any more, is it?
Jane, my wife wants to talk to me about a book she is reading: Unplugging the Christmas Machine. It has something to do with putting the meaning back into Christmas, and avoiding the commercialization of the holiday. I've thought for years now that Christmas is becoming more of an inconvenience than a celebration. From stringing lights on the house, to dragging an expensive tree into the house, to picking pine needles out of the carpet, there are elements of Christmas that I could probably do without. I'm looking forward to Jane's review of this book.
This morning, my little girl embodied the best of the Christmas spirit: she gave willingly and enthusiastically, with no expectation of receiving something in return. Making me happy was all she wanted to do, and she did that grandly.
From my family to yours, have a happy Thanksgiving holiday. May you be surrounded by people who care about you.
Todays lesson: make time for what (and who) is important
Thursday, November 18, 2004
The Jones' Syndrome
On my way to the office this morning, I had to stop at a railroad crossing. Trains are ever present in this community, and waiting at crossing gates is a numbing part of my daily life. A good opportunity to work on my anger management skills.
I sat in my little 94 VW Jetta and watched train cars speed past about 15 feet in front of me until I become dizzy. Glancing around to break the spell, I noticed to my left a brand spankin' new Hemi powered Chrysler 300C, all shiny and decked out. The 300c has been catching my eye for awhile.
My old Jetta, supposedly a temporary transportation solution for me, has become more permanent than I had hoped. It was previously my wife's car, but last year we bought a minivan to celebrate the arrival of the third child. Suddenly we had too many cars. The 95 Jetta was much more reliable than the 94 Jeep I had been driving. The Jeep also needed some work, had more miles on it, was more expensive to insure, and got lousey gas mileage.
To economize, we dumped the Jeep and I started driving the fire-engine red Jetta. I told myself that this was just a temporary solution, that I would get a new car later in the year (i/e, about now). As gas prices broke $2 per gallon, I was feeling like a pretty smart cookie driving the miserly Jetta.
But now, sitting at the crossing gate waiting for the train, I'm thinking to myself, "I'd sure look good behind the wheel of that 300c!" The driver in the 300c must have seen me staring. He just sort of looked over at me with his shades on, not giving anything away by his expression. Then he looked away, uninterested in my old ride.
At that moment I felt, well, sort of bad that I was driving an old car. I wanted to get out of the car, go over to his 300c and explain that I, too, could be driving a nice car, if I really wanted to. I just didn't want to, not today anyway. But that would have been a lie, so I stayed in my car.
I struggled to cling to my senses: I knew that I could go to the bank and take out that $15,000 settlement I received a couple of months ago after my classic El Dorado burned up (See the October 14, 2004 Post: The Car Fire), run down to the Chrysler dealer and take home a 300c this afternoon.
"This must be the Jones Syndrome I'm experiencing," I rationalized. This is the point at which many families get themselves into financial trouble; they capitulate to the feeling of inadequacy and low self worth because they are seemingly not keeping up with their neighbors. To compensate, they buy expensive cars that depreciate faster than they can drive them off the lot, trying to keep up with the proverbial Jones'. By the time they get the new car paid off, its already an old car, and the cycle starts all over again.
"I don't need to keep up with the Joneses," I coached myself. I tried to remind myself that as long as my family loves me, that's all I really need. And every month I drive this old Jetta is $350 saved from lease or loan payments. Driving the Jetta is the logical decision. Logical, not fun.
But try as I might to convince myself of all the good that I'm doing for my family and the environment by driving the old Jetta, I really want that damn car.
Todays lesson: Resist impulse purchases.
I sat in my little 94 VW Jetta and watched train cars speed past about 15 feet in front of me until I become dizzy. Glancing around to break the spell, I noticed to my left a brand spankin' new Hemi powered Chrysler 300C, all shiny and decked out. The 300c has been catching my eye for awhile.
My old Jetta, supposedly a temporary transportation solution for me, has become more permanent than I had hoped. It was previously my wife's car, but last year we bought a minivan to celebrate the arrival of the third child. Suddenly we had too many cars. The 95 Jetta was much more reliable than the 94 Jeep I had been driving. The Jeep also needed some work, had more miles on it, was more expensive to insure, and got lousey gas mileage.
To economize, we dumped the Jeep and I started driving the fire-engine red Jetta. I told myself that this was just a temporary solution, that I would get a new car later in the year (i/e, about now). As gas prices broke $2 per gallon, I was feeling like a pretty smart cookie driving the miserly Jetta.
But now, sitting at the crossing gate waiting for the train, I'm thinking to myself, "I'd sure look good behind the wheel of that 300c!" The driver in the 300c must have seen me staring. He just sort of looked over at me with his shades on, not giving anything away by his expression. Then he looked away, uninterested in my old ride.
At that moment I felt, well, sort of bad that I was driving an old car. I wanted to get out of the car, go over to his 300c and explain that I, too, could be driving a nice car, if I really wanted to. I just didn't want to, not today anyway. But that would have been a lie, so I stayed in my car.
I struggled to cling to my senses: I knew that I could go to the bank and take out that $15,000 settlement I received a couple of months ago after my classic El Dorado burned up (See the October 14, 2004 Post: The Car Fire), run down to the Chrysler dealer and take home a 300c this afternoon.
"This must be the Jones Syndrome I'm experiencing," I rationalized. This is the point at which many families get themselves into financial trouble; they capitulate to the feeling of inadequacy and low self worth because they are seemingly not keeping up with their neighbors. To compensate, they buy expensive cars that depreciate faster than they can drive them off the lot, trying to keep up with the proverbial Jones'. By the time they get the new car paid off, its already an old car, and the cycle starts all over again.
"I don't need to keep up with the Joneses," I coached myself. I tried to remind myself that as long as my family loves me, that's all I really need. And every month I drive this old Jetta is $350 saved from lease or loan payments. Driving the Jetta is the logical decision. Logical, not fun.
But try as I might to convince myself of all the good that I'm doing for my family and the environment by driving the old Jetta, I really want that damn car.
Todays lesson: Resist impulse purchases.
Monday, November 15, 2004
The Cutting Edge
Being a working dad over age 40, I don't make the time to keep up with the latest pop music. I say that proudly. Music for young people seems to repeat many of the various "boy meets girl, boy loses girl" and "nobody understands me" themes that have been on the radio for the past forty years. We just can't get enough songs about lost love and rejection, can we? And when we're young, every rejection is taken so darn hard. We'll never find another love as good as the one we just lost. Once rejected, we're doomed to walk the planet as a lonely, rejected, unredeemable, unwanted person forever.
Think about it: if youthful disaffection was so rare, if their experience was so unique from earlier generations, there wouldn't be an entire entertainment and music industry feeding off our youth. Their "unique" experiences wouldn't be fed back to them through the lyrics of every other song that you hear.
Now that I have some distance from the rejections of my youth and my hormonal activity has moderated, youthful suffering now seems, well, a little over-the-top, especially as its portrayed on the TV and radio. I don't mean to diminish anyone's angst, but I am pleased to report that things got better for me. If nothing else, aging provided a perspective: it has shown me that I am less of an individual that I used to think I was, that I am fairly predictable, measurable, and quantifiable. It's not as bad as it seems, and I take comfort in knowing that many of my experiences as a human being can be shared with other people who may understand what I am going through. They may not care, but at least they'll understand.
Just how far I've fallen from the cutting edge of pop music struck me this weekend. I watched a few minutes of the American Music Awards on TV, and I soon realized that I didn't recognize anyone! Then Rod Stewart came on. Try as he might, even Stewart's rendition couldn't ruin Louis Armstrong's "Beautiful World."
This morning while taking the oldest son to Kindergarten, a pledge drive dislodged me from my local National Public Radio (NPR) station. For the first time in years, I hit the SCAN button and the radio locked in on a rock format station that was playing a song by Weird Al Yankovic. I don't know the name of the song, but it had something to do with someone who was trapped in 1985, whose kids thought she wasn't cool any more. Yeah, that's me, I thought.
Today I take my music as it comes, and that's usually through NPR. I can't sit still for the commercials on regular radio stations these days. Anyway, NPR turned me on to my current favorite singer, Kevin Johansen, and I invite you to check out my man, Kev. He has some of his songs on the web for everyone to taste. Try this one, and if you like it, then go here for more, and then buy his CD. Not bad for a guy from Alaska who grew in Argentina.
Adios, Amigos.
Think about it: if youthful disaffection was so rare, if their experience was so unique from earlier generations, there wouldn't be an entire entertainment and music industry feeding off our youth. Their "unique" experiences wouldn't be fed back to them through the lyrics of every other song that you hear.
Now that I have some distance from the rejections of my youth and my hormonal activity has moderated, youthful suffering now seems, well, a little over-the-top, especially as its portrayed on the TV and radio. I don't mean to diminish anyone's angst, but I am pleased to report that things got better for me. If nothing else, aging provided a perspective: it has shown me that I am less of an individual that I used to think I was, that I am fairly predictable, measurable, and quantifiable. It's not as bad as it seems, and I take comfort in knowing that many of my experiences as a human being can be shared with other people who may understand what I am going through. They may not care, but at least they'll understand.
Just how far I've fallen from the cutting edge of pop music struck me this weekend. I watched a few minutes of the American Music Awards on TV, and I soon realized that I didn't recognize anyone! Then Rod Stewart came on. Try as he might, even Stewart's rendition couldn't ruin Louis Armstrong's "Beautiful World."
This morning while taking the oldest son to Kindergarten, a pledge drive dislodged me from my local National Public Radio (NPR) station. For the first time in years, I hit the SCAN button and the radio locked in on a rock format station that was playing a song by Weird Al Yankovic. I don't know the name of the song, but it had something to do with someone who was trapped in 1985, whose kids thought she wasn't cool any more. Yeah, that's me, I thought.
Today I take my music as it comes, and that's usually through NPR. I can't sit still for the commercials on regular radio stations these days. Anyway, NPR turned me on to my current favorite singer, Kevin Johansen, and I invite you to check out my man, Kev. He has some of his songs on the web for everyone to taste. Try this one, and if you like it, then go here for more, and then buy his CD. Not bad for a guy from Alaska who grew in Argentina.
Adios, Amigos.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Date Night
This has been one of those crazy weeks that keeps me running from one appointment to the next. Thursday I drove to Minneapolis to write an insurance policy: 500 miles round trip, but I made a thousand dollars and helped some people, so it was worth it. Some weeks I don't know where the next dollar is going to come from, so I'm scrambling to and fro to make something happen. This was such a week.
Although I often work evenings, I almost never work Friday nights. Jane and I have "date night" every Friday, and I look forward to it. After the kids are quietly asleep in bed, we head for the sofa to watch a couple of episodes of East Enders, a British soap opera with lots of screwed up characters. Being a Brit, this is a way she can connect to her past and her country. We've been doing this for awhile (ok, about 4 years) and I'm hooked! I gotta have my EastEnders.
The episodes that air on our local PBS station are exactly 5 years old. Sometimes, if something really big is about to happen on the show, she'll call her mom in England and try to figure it out in advance. Jane was in the UK in September and she watched a couple of current episodes. It is interesting to watch the show, and to know just a smattering of what the future holds for the characters. For example "Mark" is still alive in our world, but over in England, he's already dead from aids. Too bad for Mark -- he's pretty happy right now in the episodes that we're watching.
So why do we waste our time on five year old soap operas from a land far, far away? EastEnders on a Friday night is like eating comfort food. Its an oasis at the end of a turbulent week. It signals that we've made it through the week. Getting to EastEnders is a goal, something to look forward to. Its sort of like our secret code: no else in this town that we know follows the show. It's our reward. An Oreo cookie for adults. You get the drift.
And if anyone knows how Grant Mitchel dies, please send me an email.
Although I often work evenings, I almost never work Friday nights. Jane and I have "date night" every Friday, and I look forward to it. After the kids are quietly asleep in bed, we head for the sofa to watch a couple of episodes of East Enders, a British soap opera with lots of screwed up characters. Being a Brit, this is a way she can connect to her past and her country. We've been doing this for awhile (ok, about 4 years) and I'm hooked! I gotta have my EastEnders.
The episodes that air on our local PBS station are exactly 5 years old. Sometimes, if something really big is about to happen on the show, she'll call her mom in England and try to figure it out in advance. Jane was in the UK in September and she watched a couple of current episodes. It is interesting to watch the show, and to know just a smattering of what the future holds for the characters. For example "Mark" is still alive in our world, but over in England, he's already dead from aids. Too bad for Mark -- he's pretty happy right now in the episodes that we're watching.
So why do we waste our time on five year old soap operas from a land far, far away? EastEnders on a Friday night is like eating comfort food. Its an oasis at the end of a turbulent week. It signals that we've made it through the week. Getting to EastEnders is a goal, something to look forward to. Its sort of like our secret code: no else in this town that we know follows the show. It's our reward. An Oreo cookie for adults. You get the drift.
And if anyone knows how Grant Mitchel dies, please send me an email.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Burning of fossil fuels threatens to overwhelm Arctic environment
SignOnSanDiego.com > News > Science -- Burning of fossil fuels threatens to overwhelm Arctic environment: "It's a problem now, new study concludes
By Bruce Lieberman
UNION-TRIBUNE STAFF WRITER
November 9, 2004
The burning of fossil fuels has contributed to warming in the Arctic that is much faster and more dramatic than scientists previously believed at nearly twice the rate of the rest of the world, a new international report concludes.
Melting sea ice and thawing permafrost is rapidly altering the Arctic environment. The changes could drive seals, polar bears and other animals toward extinction, said the report issued yesterday. "
This is a bummer. My kids love polar bears and seals. I guess no one will really care, since how many of us have ever seen the artic wilderness anyway? Would we really miss it if it were gone? Can we be satisifed with old reruns of National Geographic TV specials if we want to see polar bears in their native habitat?
By Bruce Lieberman
UNION-TRIBUNE STAFF WRITER
November 9, 2004
The burning of fossil fuels has contributed to warming in the Arctic that is much faster and more dramatic than scientists previously believed at nearly twice the rate of the rest of the world, a new international report concludes.
Melting sea ice and thawing permafrost is rapidly altering the Arctic environment. The changes could drive seals, polar bears and other animals toward extinction, said the report issued yesterday. "
This is a bummer. My kids love polar bears and seals. I guess no one will really care, since how many of us have ever seen the artic wilderness anyway? Would we really miss it if it were gone? Can we be satisifed with old reruns of National Geographic TV specials if we want to see polar bears in their native habitat?
Monday, November 08, 2004
The Morning Sky
Three weeks ago, I was in the middle of the State of North Dakota to hunt geese. North Dakota is a place famous for its low population, cold winters and great outdoors. Its a place where waterfowl hunting is an annual ritual that occurs this time of the year when the Canadian geese begin their migration south. In my youth, my father would take me goose hunting most years. After several years away from the sport, I only recently took it up again.
I don't know how you feel about hunting; I love it. But allow me to try and steer clear of any controversy around hunting in this article: not because I'm afraid of defending responsible hunters, but mostly because... well, I didn't get a goose on this trip and hunting isn't the point of today's story anyway. Its more of an excuse for the story. Besides, the safest place for a goose to be during hunting season is within range of my gun.
For me hunting is an excuse to get out into the natural environment, and see things that I never get to see in my regular structured life. If I don't come home with anything, I'm usually not very disappointed, and neither is Jane because she doesn't like the taste of wild goose anyway.
I arrived the night before, expecting an early start to the day. At 6:00 am, I was dressed in my camo jacket and pants. In my excitement I had awaken too early and now had some time on my hands. It was cold that morning, about 16 degrees F., but since I was wrapped up nice and warm, I decided to go outside. I might as well get acclimated to the temperature while I was waiting for my cousin to pick me up.
It was a perfectly cloudless, pitch black, moonless morning, with no yardlights, and no city light pollution. I sat in a chair and looked up at the stars, amazed at my luck! As my eyes adjusted to the light, the sky changed from pitch black to the gray illumination that comes from the ancient light of billions of stars. What a splendid and amazing sight! I had forgotten just how many stars there are in the sky, and how small my place is in the universe.
In the eastern sky, I noticed two bright objects which I presumed Venus and Mercury. I don't think I had ever seen Mercury before, but it was a bright and the perfect companion for Venus, portending the sunrise.
Suddenly a meteor shot out of the east. It was a bright green light with a long trail arcing across the sky. Exhilorated, I was now looking specifically for meteors. I actually saw several, though most were very dim, with short trails almost difficult to notice.
As I studied the sky for meteors, I saw a satellite cutting across the sky, when it burst into a very bright flare before continuing on dimly and then vanishing. Soon after I saw another satellite. And another satellite, until pretty soon, about all I am noticing are these dang satellites moving through the night.
I remember the first time I saw an orbiting satellite in the sky. I must have been about 11 years old, sleeping beneath the stars to earn a scout badge. It was so interesting to me then, and it was the only one we saw that night. Nearly 30 years later, the night sky is full of them, and on this day I judged them to be much less interesting, less mysterious, one more sign of man's continuing encroachment on the environment.
I was wondering why NASA couldn't invent some kind of anti-reflectant for satellites to preserve the tranquility of the night sky, when bright headlights burst into the yard. My wide open pupils closed tightly in response, and my star gazing was done. It was my cousin's pick up truck, complete with goose decoys in the back. I walked over and greeted my cousin, placed my Browning shotgun in the back, and I was off on my next adventure.
Todays lesson: There are amazing things to be seen if we will only open our eyes.
I don't know how you feel about hunting; I love it. But allow me to try and steer clear of any controversy around hunting in this article: not because I'm afraid of defending responsible hunters, but mostly because... well, I didn't get a goose on this trip and hunting isn't the point of today's story anyway. Its more of an excuse for the story. Besides, the safest place for a goose to be during hunting season is within range of my gun.
For me hunting is an excuse to get out into the natural environment, and see things that I never get to see in my regular structured life. If I don't come home with anything, I'm usually not very disappointed, and neither is Jane because she doesn't like the taste of wild goose anyway.
I arrived the night before, expecting an early start to the day. At 6:00 am, I was dressed in my camo jacket and pants. In my excitement I had awaken too early and now had some time on my hands. It was cold that morning, about 16 degrees F., but since I was wrapped up nice and warm, I decided to go outside. I might as well get acclimated to the temperature while I was waiting for my cousin to pick me up.
It was a perfectly cloudless, pitch black, moonless morning, with no yardlights, and no city light pollution. I sat in a chair and looked up at the stars, amazed at my luck! As my eyes adjusted to the light, the sky changed from pitch black to the gray illumination that comes from the ancient light of billions of stars. What a splendid and amazing sight! I had forgotten just how many stars there are in the sky, and how small my place is in the universe.
In the eastern sky, I noticed two bright objects which I presumed Venus and Mercury. I don't think I had ever seen Mercury before, but it was a bright and the perfect companion for Venus, portending the sunrise.
Suddenly a meteor shot out of the east. It was a bright green light with a long trail arcing across the sky. Exhilorated, I was now looking specifically for meteors. I actually saw several, though most were very dim, with short trails almost difficult to notice.
As I studied the sky for meteors, I saw a satellite cutting across the sky, when it burst into a very bright flare before continuing on dimly and then vanishing. Soon after I saw another satellite. And another satellite, until pretty soon, about all I am noticing are these dang satellites moving through the night.
I remember the first time I saw an orbiting satellite in the sky. I must have been about 11 years old, sleeping beneath the stars to earn a scout badge. It was so interesting to me then, and it was the only one we saw that night. Nearly 30 years later, the night sky is full of them, and on this day I judged them to be much less interesting, less mysterious, one more sign of man's continuing encroachment on the environment.
I was wondering why NASA couldn't invent some kind of anti-reflectant for satellites to preserve the tranquility of the night sky, when bright headlights burst into the yard. My wide open pupils closed tightly in response, and my star gazing was done. It was my cousin's pick up truck, complete with goose decoys in the back. I walked over and greeted my cousin, placed my Browning shotgun in the back, and I was off on my next adventure.
Todays lesson: There are amazing things to be seen if we will only open our eyes.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Day Off
Yesterday was an unexpected day off. After a laptop computer malfunction shut down my office, I experienced something that I do not experience very often: time on my hands. I decided to take full advantage of the opportunity. I rescheduled my appointments, then called my wife Jane and told her that I would be able to make the ENT appointment that we had scheduled that afternoon for the oldest child, number 1. aka Jorgen. He has been complaining about a buzzing sound in his ear, so we had set up this appointment to check his hearing (this, coming off of a similar appointment last week with the youngest).
At the hospital the ENT tested his hearing and found some fluid in his right ear, but nothing to worry about. He said that there's not much that can be done for buzzing/ringing sounds in the ear. But his nerves do not seem to be damaged.
After the appointment I dropped Jorgen back off at daycare, and went home. Home is an eerie place when I'm there alone. Its too quiet. I noticed noises in the house that I had never noticed before. I spent an hour cleaning, picking up toys, vaccuming, and scrubbing down sticky furniture. As working parents with three kids, we struggle to keep a clean house. The kids seem to mess it up as fast as we can clean it. We'll need to work on this more as a family.
Next came the yard. I fired up the riding lawn mower and mulched the leaves. I expect his will be the last opportunity I have to care for the lawn this year. It's late in the season, and we had an unseasonably warm temperature yesterday, 55 F.
The lawn looks better, the house is cleaner, and the oldest boys ears appear to be ok. All in all a successful day, except that I didn't make any money.
Today's lesson: each day presents its unique opportunites and challenges, so be ready to adapt.
At the hospital the ENT tested his hearing and found some fluid in his right ear, but nothing to worry about. He said that there's not much that can be done for buzzing/ringing sounds in the ear. But his nerves do not seem to be damaged.
After the appointment I dropped Jorgen back off at daycare, and went home. Home is an eerie place when I'm there alone. Its too quiet. I noticed noises in the house that I had never noticed before. I spent an hour cleaning, picking up toys, vaccuming, and scrubbing down sticky furniture. As working parents with three kids, we struggle to keep a clean house. The kids seem to mess it up as fast as we can clean it. We'll need to work on this more as a family.
Next came the yard. I fired up the riding lawn mower and mulched the leaves. I expect his will be the last opportunity I have to care for the lawn this year. It's late in the season, and we had an unseasonably warm temperature yesterday, 55 F.
The lawn looks better, the house is cleaner, and the oldest boys ears appear to be ok. All in all a successful day, except that I didn't make any money.
Today's lesson: each day presents its unique opportunites and challenges, so be ready to adapt.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
The Summer Boy
Here in the north, sunlight quickly evaporates into darkness at this time of the year. Now that the clocks have been set back darkness settles in by 5 pm, and the days are still getting shorter.
The leaves are now off of the trees and travel about at the whim of the wind. Rake your yard at your peril; tomorrow the leaves could be blown right back. This time of the year the flowers have been killed off by frost. Its a time of the year when color is banished, the emotional equivalent of sitting in the dark and watching an old black and white movie that you've seen too many times before. Here in the north, when the snow comes, it comes to stay for a long time. Soon the snow will fly.
Here in the north, a sense of inevitability sets in at this time of the year. All of the hard work we did in our yard during the summer must begin again in the spring. The coming of the snow is inevitable, and with it comes the inevitable but necessary physical exertion to move it about. Like the leaves, the snow moves at the whimsy of the wind; shovel it today, and then shovel it tomorrow. The bitter cold temperatures are not far off, and inevitably bring the scraping of car windshields and the jumping of car batteries.
This time of the year can be melancholy. The transition from fall to winter is hard on my kids, especially the oldest boy. He does so like to wear shorts. He reminds me frequently, "I'm a summer boy, not a winter boy." Try as I might to create an exciting seasonal picture for him of downhill sledding and sleigh rides, skiing and ice fishing, at this time of the year the proposed excitement falls of deaf ears. We resist the coming of winter, holding out for the possibility of one more warm day in much the same way that we root for the rally of a losing sports team. We resist winter until it is totally and completely upon us.
The arrival of winter is not as difficult as the anticipation of winter, at least to me. The transition from color to no color, from warm to cold, from outside to inside, from day to night, from shorts to long pants, is difficult at first. But soon the anticipation of spring will set in and that will help pull us through the coldest days of the winter.
Spring is coming, we will say to ourselves. It won't be much longer now.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/1242982_c6bc4fe261_m.jpg
The leaves are now off of the trees and travel about at the whim of the wind. Rake your yard at your peril; tomorrow the leaves could be blown right back. This time of the year the flowers have been killed off by frost. Its a time of the year when color is banished, the emotional equivalent of sitting in the dark and watching an old black and white movie that you've seen too many times before. Here in the north, when the snow comes, it comes to stay for a long time. Soon the snow will fly.
Here in the north, a sense of inevitability sets in at this time of the year. All of the hard work we did in our yard during the summer must begin again in the spring. The coming of the snow is inevitable, and with it comes the inevitable but necessary physical exertion to move it about. Like the leaves, the snow moves at the whimsy of the wind; shovel it today, and then shovel it tomorrow. The bitter cold temperatures are not far off, and inevitably bring the scraping of car windshields and the jumping of car batteries.
This time of the year can be melancholy. The transition from fall to winter is hard on my kids, especially the oldest boy. He does so like to wear shorts. He reminds me frequently, "I'm a summer boy, not a winter boy." Try as I might to create an exciting seasonal picture for him of downhill sledding and sleigh rides, skiing and ice fishing, at this time of the year the proposed excitement falls of deaf ears. We resist the coming of winter, holding out for the possibility of one more warm day in much the same way that we root for the rally of a losing sports team. We resist winter until it is totally and completely upon us.
The arrival of winter is not as difficult as the anticipation of winter, at least to me. The transition from color to no color, from warm to cold, from outside to inside, from day to night, from shorts to long pants, is difficult at first. But soon the anticipation of spring will set in and that will help pull us through the coldest days of the winter.
Spring is coming, we will say to ourselves. It won't be much longer now.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/1242982_c6bc4fe261_m.jpg
Monday, November 01, 2004
Election Day Thoughts
Nothing has changed my politics as much as having children. After witnessing the arrival of three young souls into this world, it was impossible for me not to take a hard look at the world and how I relate to it. Issues that had been grey to me suddenly became black and white. Here is a glimpse of how this father's politics have change since having kids:
I had always opposed the death penalty, but since having kids I've moved solidly in favor of it, particularly in cases where children are hurt.
I had always opposed higher taxes, but now I'm willing to pay more in order to help children get medical care and a good education.
I had always been pro-choice in abortion matters, but after feeling my children moving in my wife's womb, I have moved to the right of this issue. Although I still respect the right to choose, it should only be a last option. There should be more options for women who are contemplating abortion, a better support structure to help reduce the incidence of abortion.
My interest in a clean environment and renewable fuels also changed after the kids came. More than ever I want our legacy to my kids to be a land with fresh water streams with edible fish, and a country less dependent upon oil. I know we can do this if only the political will to do it existed.
As an undecided voter in a "battle ground" state, I've decided today to lock in my vote.
I will vote for John Kerry.
I'm not voting so much for John Kerry as I am against President Bush. This is hard for me to accept, because I voted for Bush. There is much I admire about Bush and many areas with which I agree with him on. I even agree that Kerry is a "flip flopper." But enough is enough.
I feel that I've been lied to about the urgency to invade Iraq, even as recently as last week Condoleeza Rice was saying that there is a link between Al Qaida and Saddam, even after the 9/11 commission report flatly stated that there was no link. How can they just keep on lying? It boggles my mind. Even if Bush has us headed in the right direction, I want to get there a different way.
Thats my opinion, and I'm sure you have yours. God bless you, and Americans, don't forget to vote Nov. 2.
I had always opposed the death penalty, but since having kids I've moved solidly in favor of it, particularly in cases where children are hurt.
I had always opposed higher taxes, but now I'm willing to pay more in order to help children get medical care and a good education.
I had always been pro-choice in abortion matters, but after feeling my children moving in my wife's womb, I have moved to the right of this issue. Although I still respect the right to choose, it should only be a last option. There should be more options for women who are contemplating abortion, a better support structure to help reduce the incidence of abortion.
My interest in a clean environment and renewable fuels also changed after the kids came. More than ever I want our legacy to my kids to be a land with fresh water streams with edible fish, and a country less dependent upon oil. I know we can do this if only the political will to do it existed.
As an undecided voter in a "battle ground" state, I've decided today to lock in my vote.
I will vote for John Kerry.
I'm not voting so much for John Kerry as I am against President Bush. This is hard for me to accept, because I voted for Bush. There is much I admire about Bush and many areas with which I agree with him on. I even agree that Kerry is a "flip flopper." But enough is enough.
I feel that I've been lied to about the urgency to invade Iraq, even as recently as last week Condoleeza Rice was saying that there is a link between Al Qaida and Saddam, even after the 9/11 commission report flatly stated that there was no link. How can they just keep on lying? It boggles my mind. Even if Bush has us headed in the right direction, I want to get there a different way.
Thats my opinion, and I'm sure you have yours. God bless you, and Americans, don't forget to vote Nov. 2.
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