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Monday, December 24, 2001
Christmas Eve
Somewhere in this country, tonight or tomorrow morning, a child living in a house that would pass as a castle in any other country, a child who has too many material goods but too little in the way of love and attention, will look at a great pile of gifts, and ask "is that all?"
At about the same time, half-way round the world, a small child living in a house with mud walls who has seen too much in the way of horror and death and destruction will turn to his mother after the evening meal and ask "is that all?"
We've an extraordinary opportunity in Afghanistan right now - we need to show a generation of inhabitants who've known nothing but war that peace and prosperity can and do exist in the world. We can show them that we value their membership in a select club of nations that has been through hell and come out the other side much improved. And, in fact, as an ally.
This Christmas Eve, let's remember the kids and others who've suffered in Afghanistan, and let's resolve to make this their worst Christmas from now on. Let's make sure their lives improve.
There's only one way to win the war on terror - show those who would harbor terrorists that they will bring down upon themselves the wrath of the armed might of the combined nations who wish to combat terrorism. And show them that if they're our allies, we can improve their lives and livelihood.
We'll let
the picture to the left here stand for about 20 others. Some brief notes,
now that it's too late; get batteries. Plenty of batteries. Keep
track of your tools, as well.
Other than that, we finished up our shopping, then managed to get everything wrapped and under the tree by this morning - everything we had, of course - the Santa presents haven't arrived yet, of course. ahem.
Of course, there was the inevitable Christmas Eve mass blunders. We got there early, and we got good seats. Of course, it didn't help any, as the seats that weren't occupied any other day of the year were filled, so the kids couldn't see the priest. Which, I guess, might have been a good thing.
Apparently, the young fellow (I think of him as Father Doogie, as he looks to be about seventeen or so) hadn't run into "The Linus Speech" - otherwise known as Luke's account of the birth of Christ. He fumbled a couple times. Although that wasn't the part that just about made me burst a blood vessel - the two older women chattering away in front of me were quite frustrating. I was nearly ready to lean forward and say "Ladies, I know there's no where else in town for you to chat, but I'm trying to teach my eight-year-old not to talk in church - how difficult do you think that is when the lector can't keep her mouth shut?"
Oh well.
Other than that, there's not much going on around here. The weather has finally turned winter-like. After Saturday's thunderstorms with hail, and Sunday's light snow, we got a little more.
And, of course, we've got cold. Not bloody cold yet, but cold.
Other than that, hope your Christmas eve was good.
Tuesday, December 25, 2001
Christmas Day
Well.
I've read Mr. Thompson's diatribe against Christmas, and I can appreciate his frustrations and disgust with the season, et. al.
And he's right. Religion is, quite often, the enemy of reason. But there are reasons for religion, as well. Frankly, I don't expect anyone to believe in my religion. After all, it's mine. It's not yours. I chose to believe, and I'm completely aware that there is little to no valid evidence that would withstand a full scientific exam for the basis of "belief".
Yet, nonetheless, it's there. I'm not so secure in my own superiority and my own ability to conquer all around me that I don't occasionally need help. Much as I'd like to believe I'm going to remain self-sufficient for the remainder of my life, I fall back on the many examples around me.
For example, my father, stuck, this holiday, in bed, with a chipped kneecap. He's stuck, in bed, until some time late tomorrow afternoon, when he'll get out of it for the first extended period since last Friday. Since last Friday evening, he's had to rely on others to help him out.
I look at other examples. I have close friends who tried and tried and tried to have their own children. Couldn't. Ended up emptying out their bank accounts, retirement accounts, and everything else they had to head to Columbia a few years ago and adopt a baby girl. Knowing the ropes, they went back down, and adopted a son. They also helped some other friends adopt their first child.
I look at a close friend of mine. I spent last New Year's Eve with him and his wife in this beautiful home of theirs. Then, last May, his wife announced she wanted a divorce. He, and his three children, moved into a smaller house just blocks from their church and school, and he regularly calls - torn, tossed, and twisted through the ringer that is divorce.
I look all around me, and there are plenty of examples of people needing obvious help. I also look around and see plenty of people depressed, discontented, and in deep despair.
I don't have the answers they need to get out of their "funk". I don't have the answers for my own life, I don't know that my answers would serve to help anyone else, and I don't know that my answers are even right. But the bottom line is that they work for me.
Religion isn't for everyone. Religion has no basis in fact, and quite often, if you look at all seriously at most religions, you will find unbelievable contradictions that make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
But there's faith. Faith that things will get better. Faith that things will improve, not only for you, but your friends, family, and everyone else. Faith is a deep and abiding belief that something, somewhere, will help.
Some people make a "leap of faith". Some people choose not to. There's nothing wrong with those that do. There's nothing wrong with those that don't. There's nothing wrong with those that look a lot but never finally bite. It's a choice. If you choose to believe, fine.
Christmas, however, is something different.
For the last eight years, we've gone out and purchased a toy, age appropriate for Rhiannon, and put it in the Toys for Tots bin. For the last five years, we've done the same for Jack. Every year, except this year. This year, we found someone who needed help. We found someone who wasn't going to apply for a state program, a county aid grant, or anything like that. Someone who was damned determined to do it on their own. And they went ahead and bulled through. We, however, got a list. And we went to work on it.
On December 1, Rhiannon got a Kitty-Kat Barbie - actually, two of them. And the family we decided to help had a little girl who wanted a kitty-kat Barbie. Rhiannon gave up one of hers. Sure, that's not a big thing if you've already got one, but my daughter gave the doll up. No return, no promise of something better. She saw someone who wanted something she had extras of, and decided to give that person what she had.
For me, Christmas isn't about the getting. For years, Christmas was all about getting presents for my sisters, my parents, and then seeing their reaction. And they were usually very, very happy with what we got. We did good.
But that's the point. It's watching them open what I've hunted high and low for. This year, we didn't blow a ton of money on the kids. But there was the joy of watching them rip the paper (yes, my anal-retentive son, just like his mother, started trying to save the paper. At the end, he was ripping and tearing like a mad-man. It was fun to watch). Watching the sheer joy as they opened a package, whether it contained a book, a toy, or even underwear. They were just happy to open up the package and get something.
Christmas, if you believe the religious basis for it, began because God gave us his son. Being a father, I know that there are many, many times where I watch my own son, fearing for his life (a not-unusual occurrence of late), and not knowing how things would come out. I cannot even imagine an all-knowing Father giving up a Son, knowing every step of his life, all the way through the point where he would have to suffer and die.
Sure, it was for a bigger purpose, or so I believe, but I know I'm not man enough to put my little boy through that. I'm just too much of a softie.
And perhaps, in the end, that's what it's all about. Knowing that there's pain and suffering and death and ... well, a whole lot of unhappiness in the world, and knowing that we're going to try to survive it anyway, and try, just a little, to make it better.
So, Bob, I know you're unhappy with Christmas, but I hope you'll accept my best wishes for you, Barbara, and the boys anyway.
Just a few notes - Keri and Matt? Loved the shirt. Absolutely loved it.
Next time, we need to pack batteries. At least a dozen AA. The camera batteries died this morning, and the four we found in the kitchen drawer here at Grandmas were dead. Why she saves dead batteries, I dunno. I'm not sure if it's an Iowa thing or an "old" thing.
Also, bring wire cutters. There's an apparent trend in product packaging that insists on wiring the product into a cardboard container so well that nothing short of a small explosive device will dislodge it. And, likely, destroy it, too.
Other than that, my Christmas Day is ... well, here. After opening gifts and waiting several hours for a dinner guest who didn't show until late, I discovered we've got a flat on the passenger rear tire. Oddly, it's the same tire I suggested that we fill on the way home last night. Of course.
So, tomorrow morning before I head out to do the myriad things I need to do (I'm sure there are some, I just don't know what they are other than getting batteries), I've got to swap a tire. What it is about Iowa and my vehicle? Oh well.
See ya tomorrow, after I change that damned tire...
Wednesday,
December 26, 2001
Here we go again. Dumbo (that would be me) goes outside to change the tire.
Bad News: It's really flat.
Worse News: The full spare we thought we had turned out to be a toy
spare.
Really Bad News: The "tire iron" that comes with the Eagle
looks like it sucks.
Getting Better News: The "tire iron" actually works pretty
good.
Getting Still Better: I can remove and replace a tire in about ten
minutes. Not too shabby.
Just Plain News: Patching's not too spendy - a new tire most definitely
is.
Better Still News: Theisen's patches for about $8.
Really Good News Though It Doesn't Seem Like It: When they put the tires
on the rim last January, they didn't get rid of the corrosion.
Oh, all right, I'll stop that. Basically, the flat tire was because there was corrosion all along the rim of the wheel - the tire never sealed properly to the rim, which means that it never fully sealed. Which is why the tire leaked. The guy at Theisen's took the tire off the rim, buffed up the rim, roughed up the edge of the tire a bit to get it to seal better, and popped it back on.
When I was ready to throw the tire into the trunk, the fellow put the car on the lift instead, and replaced it. According to Ann, she says it took the fellow less time to put the repaired tire on than it did for me to put the spare back into the trunk.
On the DVD front, we spent $29.64 at Wal-Mart (saved a couple cents over Radio Shack's $29.99) and got the Phillips Video Modulator. I plug the video composite connector from the DVD player into the modulator's connection, I plug the antenna connection into the antenna in, and plug the antenna out into the back of the VCR where the antenna in came out of. Now, we can watch DVDs. Pretty slick setup, I guess.
And I would be remiss if I forgot to update you on Jack's latest escapade. On Monday, Ann and her mother were discussing how Jack had, to date, shown little to no interest in shaving. Didn't want to play at it or anything. So, yesterday, when Rhiannon yells "Jack's got a bloody nose" I hopped up to deal with it. After some brief cleaning of the area, I determined that the blood flow wasn't coming from the nose. It was, in fact, coming from a fairly straight line right across his upper lip.
So, after a fair amount of mental/emotional abuse (we laughed at him - hard), he ended up with what Ann calls "The Tweety Mustache" - a Tweety-bird Bandaid across the upper lip, and about an hour later, things were cool again. And he knows not to touch Dad's razors, the little putz...
Other than that, not a whole heck of a lot going on. A little running around, a little resting. Hopefully, tomorrow we'll get out to Tabor's and get some shopping there, plus Ice Cream at Happy Joe's.
And yes, we've got batteries. Haven't put them into the noisy toys yet, but we'll get there.
Thursday, December 27, 2001
I believe that, at birth, we're all born as a mostly-blank slate. Some things, skills and such, are built in there, but the rest is a blank tablet, on which our parents, friends, and most importantly, our selves, create the persons we are.
On last Sunday night, as I was relaxing down here, two days after we arrived, at least one of those blank slates broke into the home of two others, well-written, and closed their final chapter. Unfortunately, the closed chapters belonged to an aunt and uncle of a friend of mine, and their murder is the last thing he needs this year.
But murder is what the police are calling it.
I don't care how you wake up in the morning - there's few things worse than "there's been a murder."
 Tabor Winery in Winter...  That Dam, and both kids this time...  The dam, uncluttered with children. | Today, we went out to the Tabor Winery again. As the Good Doctor's now on the floor, rolling and laughing, I'll tell you we picked up six bottles, and spent way, way too much. But it's good wine. At least, I think so. We picked up a "merlot-like" wine for a friend of mine as a belated Christmas Present. We also picked up a couple bottles of "Daring Cranberry" wine - really sweet stuff which we like. Hopefully, the Belands like the bottle we sent back with them when they were visiting in Minnesota. We got a couple other bottles, I don't remember what. That's the problem with a combined tasting and buying trip. The tastes are good, but they make you silly. I know, I know, you should swish and spit, not swallow, but the only one I was tempted to spit on was the Catawba blends. Yeesh. At least to my palette. Though one of these days, I'm going to get one of those times which says "Wine maketh glad the heart of men... (and maketh women giggle)." Then we hit Wal-Mart for another round of "we really can't live without" stuff - socks and stuff, mostly. Though we also got a couple phone cards, which really boosted the total. Hey, $5 an hour for long distance time isn't too bad a rate sometimes. Well, I'm off to bed early, for a change. G'nite. |
Friday!, December 28, 2001
We'll do today backwards, and start off with my impressions of Lord of the Rings.
As I told Ann while we were getting ready to go, I've been waiting for this movie for about 25 years (I first read LOTR and The Hobbit in fifth grade - along with the rest of the lunkheads in my class who were looking for a reason to keep reading - we'd read all of the war books and both space books in the school library, and my folks didn't often get the chance to take five rowdy kids into St. Cloud to the original Carnegie Library they still used until the early 1980s).
We went to The Voy - which is a smaller version of the huge monstrosities growing up now. Three screens, and we saw LOTR in the biggest - which had a screen I'd estimate at about 30 feet, diagonally. We were four rows back, just off-center.
So much for ambience.
When it comes to the movie, I guess I'd be in that group of people who had "extraordinarily high expectations" of it. Unfairly, I suppose? But these things happen. So, after eight (yes, EIGHT) previews (Ann was in Preview Heaven), the movie kicked in.
First up, I thought the rather odd prologue with Kate Blanchette/Galadriel orating was helpful for Ann. I thought it gave up a bit too much, but then again, I'd guess most of the people the movie is aiming for don't know the background.
After that, I was a bit disappointed at Hobbiton, but very, very impressed at the continuity they showed in keeping the character's heights relative. Beyond that, the movie was quite well done. I would invest a couple bucks to see it again. I know Ann wouldn't, but that's her choice.
Before that, we went to Dubuque to return Jack's Underoos that didn't have the underpants in them. As I told the lady at the counter, Superman's got a problem flying without his underpants. Jack, of course, has no problems with that flying thing.
Otherwise, that was about it. I'm going to bed now, G'nite.
Saturday, December 29, 2001
Yup.
The end of the vacation. Got up early, and headed downtown for the
Bakery... Which was closed from Dec. 25 through Jan 1. Their
loss. So we went to the Cottage, which is one of about six different soup
and sandwich shops on Main Street here in Maquoketa. Apparently they all
do a pretty good business. So after that, we worked our way down Main
Street, in single-digit temps, and made it to the bookstore, where we blew more
money than was good for us, then back to Grandma's to do laundry.
Chinese/Subway for dinner (no, they're actually on different ends of town, Ann
was feeling generous, and did both. I think the plan for her is to hit the
bars one last time for a girls' night out, and I'll knock the kids out at bed
time. I hope I don't need to make it literal.
A wild, exciting time was had by all. Or something like that. G'nite.
Oh, yeah. Tomorrow's update will be from home, from my soft bed. I, for one, can't wait. Home. And it is damned disconcerting when one is working in the kitchen and realizes, after about 8 minutes of silence, that the television is on mute, and one's mother-in-law is watching old Warner Brothers Looney Toons cartoons with the sound off. Or, rather, she's fallen asleep with her thumb on the mute button, from the sounds of the snores.
Tis a weird world I inhabit, indeed. It's not my perspective, skewed though it might be. I keep hoping someone will pop out of a cupboard and say "that's a wrap, here's your check, thanks Mr. Truman." Oh well. G'nite, this time for real.
Sunday, December 30, 2001
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P. Dominik. All rights reserved. No reproduction without express
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