Christmas Tales, Past & Present

Merry Christmas one and all. Twas the night before Christmas and all that stuff. Thought I'd tell a tale or two for your enjoyment and the perpetuation of family legends. The first goes back to Christmas morning of 1958 when I was 8 (the year before my pickup was made). Grandpa Jones gave me a Gene Autry two holster pistol set and the proverbial dime-novel featuring, you guessed it, Gene Autry. So there I was with Christmas debree surrounding me all over the floor, wear my flannel PJs (sans-booties, I had out grown them so Mom cut the booties off for me) in the big old Lions-Head rocking chair, wearing my dual pistol set, and reading about Gene and his adventures. I kept coming to this one word that I couldn't sound out using those bull-crud phonetics they used to teach. Seemed every time Gene got into trouble or in a fight he used his Wee-Ah-Pons to get out of trouble, and I couldn't figure out what it was. So finally I asked Grandpa: "Grandpa, whats this word here, what is a Wee-Ah-Pon?" Of course Grandpa didn't have any idea what I was talking about, so he had me bring my book over to him so he could see what it was. I pointed it out, and Grandpa started belly-laughing. He says, "Butch, that's his weapons boy, his weapons. You know, his guns and knifes." I had used those damned phonetics rules and sounded out that damn word and instead of weapons had gotten Wee-Ah-Pons. I betcha hes still sitting up there right now laughing about that.

Then there was the Christmas of 1968, just about 10 years later. By then I was enjoying my stay in in Dothan Ala-By-God-Bama as a guest of Uncle Sam. Krista had sent me a Christmas package then written a letter to me telling me it was on the way. Three buddies and I decided that we were going to try to get home for Christmas. We couldn't afford to fly so we were going to car pool. One guy lived in Evanston, Wyoming, two in Salt lake, and them me down in Orem. So we left Ft Rucker on the 22nd of December with a plan to drive diagonally towards the west-north west to Oklahoma City, then North through Kansas, and Nebraska, and catch I-80 west to Evanston. Their were big blizzards predicted for the Rockies so we figured that travel by the shortest route would be problematic. The plan was to drive straight through, trading off driving and riding in a 57 Chevy. All went well through the first long day and afternoon. By evening we were almost through Kansas and approaching the Kansas-Nebraska border. The weather had been getting progressively worse as the day wore on. By mid-afternoon we were driving through interim sleet, and by that night we were in a no kidding plains snow storm. We crossed over into Nebraska near a town called Bothelo (or something like that) and were north of town in a convoy of four or five cars. The lead car was a station wagon, it started to swerve around, did a 360, then ended up sitting perpendicular to the road blocking both lanes. The driver tried to get back in his lane but his tires just spun. So everyone in our car and drivers from a couple of others got out and we pushed this guys wagon back into position. By the time we got him straighted around everyone elses cars were drifted in, no movement possible. Looking off in the distance I saw a farm house with lights on, so my buddy and I started walking though the fields headed for this house. I thought I'd never get there and was frozen solid by the time we arrived. We explained our predicament to the farmer. He called the state roads guys, sat my buddy and I down by the fire place while his wife fed us hot coffee; then he went out and cranked up his big old closed cab tractor and towed everyone into his barn yard. We all sat around drinking coffee and coco until the state roadies arrived. They came out with two huge snow plows and cleared the road to where we were at. Then they escorted us back to town. Turned out that just about the time we left town they closed the road. All of us refugees were housed in the town churches recreation room. Everyone in every vehicle in our little convoy turned out be soldiers or soldiers families trying to get home for Christmas. So now its the 23rd and then the 24th and were stuck in Nebraska, and looked like we were going to be there for Christmas. We had all been able to call home so folks wouldn't worry, but we weren't going anywhere. In the wee-hours of Christmas morning, long before decent folks are up, a guy comes busting into the church wearing a big plaid coat and one of those hats with ear flaps turned down and tied under his chin, and rubber boots up to his knees. He starts asking around and for someone and we finally find out that he's asking for one of the guys traveling with me. This guys wakes all four of us up, gets us to pack our gear out his 4 wheel-drive international, and then he hauls us all to the airport in Omaha and gives each of us an airlines ticket. Turns out that my buddies Daddy is some kind of a wheel in the Masons, and he had pulled some Mason strings and arranged for all of us to fly home. I got home on Christmas Day at about noon. Now hows that for a Christmas miracle. The second half of the miracle is that exactly one year later when I was in sunny southeast Asia, Christmas of 1969, Krista's box of home made divinity candy caught up to me. By then it was rock hard, but everyone loved it. It was like pure hard rock sugar candy that dissolved in your mouth.

Now lets jump forward to Christmas 1973, Leora and I had been married about a year and half and Little Leora was about six months old. the plan was to go to the Tingeys for Christmas. I had to work on the 24th so we were going to make the 3-4 hour drive on Christmas morning. So away we go, in my 69 Firebird 400. the going was great from Orem up Provo Canyon through Heber, but it turned out real foul as we headed up Daniels Canyon. Some where between Strawberry and Duchesne I had to give up, I was literally pushing snow with the front end of my Firebird, the snow was rolling up over my headlights and off the sides of my fenders. I told Leora that I simply wasn't pushing it any further, so we turned around and headed back home. Leora kind a cried off and on all the way home. I decided to treat her dinner before taking her home, so went to the only restaurant open in Provo-Orem on Christmas day, it was that Chinese place that used to sit at the bottom of the Provo-Orem hill. Both Leora and Little Leora boo-hooed all the way through dinner. In all the years after that we never went back to that Chinese place, Leora just didn't want to go.

Saving other stories for other times, lets jump forward to now. We're doing fine. All of you are each in your homes this year, and that's OK. I hope that you each have wonderful Christmas full of memories for future tales. My main event was getting my 59 Chevy today. Here's a few pictures. My buddies tell me that sounds better than my Harley. It definitely has throaty rumble.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year, Happy Quanza, or what ever it is that your celebrating.

Love, Dad :-)

On the Lighter Side

Today we stopped in at Wally World for the very last item we needed to procure for Christmas. It was around noon so the crowds weren't too bad. Many would be shoppers were packed into the surrounding eateries. We found our gift and move to check out and actually found a check-out counter that was totally empty and moved right in. I unloaded our single item from the cart and my lovely Bride bellies right up to the card scanner, whips out her card and gives it a good swipe and then ....
It was rejected!
The scanner told her that her debit card was no good. So she masterfully swipes it again ... with the same results. So she brings her problem with the machine to the attention of the checker, who accepts her card and attempts a swipe herself, like the third time is the charm, While waiting for the pending reject message shes turning the card over in her hands and then smiling and in a very sweet and helpful voice she says, "excuse me Mame, but I believe this is your Safeway Discount Card, We don't honor those here at Walmart".
My Lady Fair was trying to use her Safeway Discount Card as a Debit card. The checker said, "Now I think this is a first." So now me lady digs out the real debit card and pays for our goods.
Merry Christmas! :-)

An American Christmas Tale

This morning was a learning morning for me. I always get a kick out of the chance to learn something from the past, some tidbit of history that jumps up and teaches me a principle, a concept, or an idea. Today started out like most any other Sunday. I woke-up, got a hug from my Lady Fair, scratched the dog behind his ears, took care of my daily constitutional, broke-out the ironing board and a white shirt, and turned on the TV to “Music and the Spoken Word”. Of course the order varies according to the specific urgency of the day, but that’s generally the first few minutes of my Sunday morning.
And yes Virginia, he does iron his own shirts. Don’t ask me how a manly-man of my stature comes to a point in life where he finds himself ironing his own shirts because I simply don’t know. If I were honest with myself about it I would likely come to the conclusion that my Lady is smarter and craftier than I give her credit for. But ones manly ego does not allow ones thoughts to travel in such spheres, so lets just say that I find its something I prefer doing for myslf.
Today, while listening to “Music and the Spoken Word” I was treated to some of American History that bears contemplation in today’s world (… conflict and strife) and our seasonal situation (i.e., most corporations drawing to a close their fiscal accounting, celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, and contemplation of next years resolutions). There’s cosmic irony in the relationships and influences that these three impose on each other. The older I get the more important and worthy of contemplation this seasonal period merits on all three counts. Today was an inch-stone event, as verses a mile-stone event. Minor from the perspective of ones totality, but well worthy of mention.
As I’m sitting there listening and ensuring that the cuff pleats of my shirt sleeves are “just-so” I hear the narrator (not the normal host) telling a personal history of one of our nations greats from circa 1860. He explains that our nation was embroiled in an unpopular conflict that had resorted to military action. One that pitted brothers and cousins against each other, even Fathers against Sons, both physically and mentally. The financial burden of the military conflict was immense, a burden felt by all citizens throughout our nation. Many thought it to be at an irrevocable cost that could not be born by the nation. It seemed that not everyone fully understood the true issue that was being tested by the conflict of arms; this issue being what price would American citizens be willing to pay to help define “freedom” on both a national and international basis?
Its curious to me that this issue must be defined and redefined at least once in every generation; some of us get the opportunity to hold true and participate in the definition of Freedom twice, and sometimes three times in their lifetime (i.e., the Civil War, Indian Wars, WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Boznia-Hertzgovina, Gulf War I and Gulf War II, dare I say Afghanistan).
In our hero’s era we learn that in 1860 he looses his house to a fire. While the house is in flames he is severely burned in an attempt to safe his beloved wife Fanny; he succeeds in retrieving her mortal body from the fire, but not her life. He is bedridden for a very long time due to the burns he received in the rescue attempt. His wife is buried three days later on the anniversary of their wedding while he lays in his bed critically ill due his burns. Our hero recovers but is melancholy, and is finding it hard to face life and continue on as the sole surviving parent to his children.
In 1861 he must endure another loss. He receives notification that his eldest son Charles, a soldier in the war, has been critically wounded. He travels to Washington D.C. to be near his son and to bring him home for recovery if possible. It takes him several days once he arrives at Washington to locate his son; and when he does he finds that he has arrived in time to be near his son for the last few hours of his life. In his grief he utters the now well known phrase… “There is no peace on earth, for hate is strong and mocks the song, of Peace on earth, good will to men."
Our hero moves through life a sad and pitiful sole that puts on brave face for the sake of his remaining family, but feels the loss of his wife and son to the marrow of his bones. Then on Christmas morning of 1863 he awakes and tells us that he felt the physical presence of his wife in each and every room of the house. He came to realize that even after death she remained with him, and would be there for him throughout all time and eternity. As he sat there basking in his new found zest for life he heard the bells tolling in the church’s throughout his town and his heart swelled with happiness and understanding. His feelings of warmth, happiness, family, and a fullness of life inspired him to pull out a clean sheet of paper and capture his feelings in prose. Today we know these words as the lyrics to “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”; the hero of our story is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Here’s the timeless words of inspiration that Henry had to say:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old familiar carols play.And wild and sweet the words repeat Of Peace on earth, good will to men. I thought how as the day had come The belfries of all Christendom Had roll'd along th' unbroken song Of Peace on earth, good will to men. And in despair, I bow'd my head: "There is no peace on earth," I said,"For hate is strong and mocks the song, Of Peace on earth, good will to men." Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound the carols drowned Of peace on earth, good will to men. It was as if an earthquake rent The hearthstones of a continent, And made forlorn, the households born Of peace on earth, good will to men. Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, With Peace on earth, good will to men."

Many lyricists have modified the lyrics over the years. However, I believe that when you understand the history of the original version you’ll love it best. I find this Christmas Tale to be moving and full of inspiration and hope for each of us today. The circumstances that we find ourselves in are very much a parallel to Henry’s. We're a nation that is having a hard time redefining ourselves to fit the era we’re living in. We’re not sure as nation the price we are willing to pay for the Freedom of Mankind; and many of us have forgotten, if we ever knew, that the freedom of choice for man kind is the crux, the heart and sole of all Christendom. We’re in a financial crisis that only in part was brought about by the cost of war, but mainly has to deal with the shifting of the entire finical structure on an international basis. Many Americans are so wrapped up in “me firstism’s”, the concept of entitlements (ergo, I am entitled to…(add the term dujor)…) that they can’t see their own demise on the horizon.
Both temporal and theological history teaches us that if any of us attempt to carry this accumulative burden individually, by our self, we are doomed to fail. The saving grace, the lesson to be learned, is that collectively we can endure, and through endurance succeed where others fail.
So as you face the new era, the new year, or simply the new day, remember that you are not alone. You have brothers, sisters, cousins, parents,….”Family”….., that you can rely on in. Remember that your family extends beyond blood lines to your Spiritual Family and from there to your National Family. And most of all keep the concept of Freedom and individual choice as a guiding principal in your life, and listen to that small still voice when making your choices. After all, isn’t that what Christendom is all about, Family and freedom of Choice? And that to me is why we celebrate Christmas.

Merry Christmas!

Gettin Ready

Today after church we broke out the Christmas decorations, lite-up the house and trimmed the tree. The boys and I took on the outside while the Ladies took care of the inside. Just thought I'd share a little Christmas Arizona style. The first two pictures are of the house. The third is last years christmas tree. For the last several years we've done the live tree thing then planted it outside afterwards. We had a couple of strings of lights left over so the boys lit-up last years tree again. The last two are of the living room after the ladies decorated it. Enjoy! And Merry Christmas.

Triple Dunker

Today was a red letter day here in the sunny southwest. Today Corbin became Brother Martinez. That's right, it was baptism time. To make it even better the other Brother Martinez gave the Holy Ghost talk right after the baptism and before the Stake President spoke. He did a stand up job; better than I can report for his Grandfather. We had a "triple dunker" and not because of unforeseen floaters, but because Grandpa kept messing up the words: forgot "Amen" the first time; used commissioned "by" in lieu of the correct commissioned "of" on the second attempt, and got it right finally on the third. But Corbin hung in there like a real trooper. The irony of it all is that just before we left Corbin asked if anyone in the family that had to be dunked more than once. We now know the answer is yes, and he holds the record. Grandma tells me the confirmation blessing was beautiful, I couldn't say, I don't really remember what he was blessed with. But then, that's the way its supposed be isn't it. Here's a few pictures of this memorable day.

BTW, Corbin has to talk in Primary tomorrow. Naturally he will recylce portions of his brothers talk and tell the other kids how he felt about today. He's got some tall shoes to fill after the fine job that Sky Buddie did today. We'll find out if he to is a gifted speaker like his brother and his cousin Caitie.

Like the fat man said, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!