A Morning with Sophia

Two or three days a week we have the privilege of 'watching' Sophia so Tim and Anne can continue to work. This means that on those days, everything Jan and I do takes a back seat to doing what Sophie wants/needs. On just about all of these days, I wind up being thankful that I am retired and can watch each little change that takes place in her. I don't remember spending as much time with Jen and Tim when they were this age, and when Jolie and Jeslyn were babies I was still working. This means some days I stay off the computer, partly because Sophia loves to hammer the keyboard and watch the pictures change. She has her own keyboard on the floor, but tires of it quickly because nothing happens when she hammers that one. I have to be vigilant when she's in my lap hammering on mine, so that I don't miss messages like "do you really want to shut down? you have unsaved material."

This morning was both typical and atypical. She was asleep when I picked her up, and just waking up when I got her home. Normally when she wakes she can't wait to get out of her carseat, but lately she's had times when she wants to sit in the car seat (facing it) and play with the buckles and straps. Today was one of those days, so I wound up carrying her and the seat into the house. Jan and I are sure she's trying to figure out how the latches work, and heaven help us the day she is strong enough to use that knowledge!

She also likes to play with her stroller, especially when the tray is loose so she can open/close it at will. This put her next to our set of 100 markers that actually belong to Jeslyn. She loves to pull all of the markers out of the base, then play the game where she's the tornado and each marker is a mobile home. She doesn't rest until they are strewn all over the living room. If I then come in and line up some markers in orderly fashion, she is quick to come and cure me of that desire.

Eventually she crawls out for some outside/porch time. She's become enamored with steps, climbing up and down, and is pretty careful. But just in case, I'm right there with her ready to catch her if she falls. Because I'm bent that way, I realize this is an object lesson for me. She has no idea I am there protecting her from disaster, and would only notice my absence if she fell and hurt herself. And in an "aha" moment, I realize I have no idea the number of times God is there ready to catch me when I make a misstep. I do notice when he lets me go ahead and finish messing up on my own. Perhaps as an indication she is steadily growing, something happened this morning that had not happened before. We were on the back porch and she was getting close to the steps with her back to them. So I took my hand and rested it in the small of her back. That seemed to bother her, so I took it away. She looked up at me, grabbed my hand, and placed it back in the place it had been. Kind of, "I know you're taking care of me, keep it up." Probably reading too much into that but that's what I'm choosing to believe.

We watched a little of "Bolt" on Disney and it engrossed her for awhile. Of course she got tired of it before I did, so we went for a walk and I missed the ending of the movie! We walked in the stroller for almost an hour, and she examined every person, car and bush along the way. I then handed her over to Jan, because she's in charge of the "feeding and putting her down for her nap" part.

So, it's 11:15 and this is the first time I've had any time to myself. And that suits me just fine. By now you've probably stopped reading because all of the above stuff may be very boring/maudlin to you. Each day I'm with her, though, especially when I feel a little put upon because she's SO demanding of our time, I then become grateful when I consider the alternative. Jen, Jeff, Jolie and Jeslyn live 3 miles away. Tim and Anne are 45 minutes away, but work 15 minutes away. We have been "on call" grandparents for over 12 years now, and sometimes it means we can't go on a few-day getaway. Sometimes our plans change at the last minute because of a crisis of some sort with the parents of our grandchildren. Sometimes Sophia becomes demanding while I'm eating and I wind up eating a cold lunch/dinner. (the same goes for Jan, obviously)(Meaning she sometimes changes plans, eats cold meals, etc,. NOT that she becomes demanding and makes me eat cold food!)

Before I let any of that lead to a pity party, I think of my friends David and Anita. I've known them since I was Jeslyn's age. They live in Central California. Their grandkids currently live in North Carolina. Their 2- or 3- year old grandchild tells her friends that Grandma lives at the airport and sometimes they go pick her up and she stays with them. We had lunch with them recently, and they talked about finding a way to spend 6 months to a year in North Carolina. Even that has some built-in drawbacks. So we are blessed to be able to be on-call grandparents.

Jan sometimes says no to the emergencies because she's just too tired. Being the thinker I am, I keep reminding her that this is not a permanent situation. In fact we will look back on it and realize how fleeting it was. It's already beginning, to a point. Jolie will be in 7th grade this year, is more independent, and has parents of friends who are more than happy to have her around before and after school. So this year we will have no regular "Jolie days." Jeslyn reminds us that she can be alone with just her sister or by herself with no problems. Soon Sophia will be in pre-school and then school, and since her parents live in Riverside we may experience Grandparents Empty Nest sooner than we're ready.

So, whenever physically possible, the answer to "Dad, can you.....?", the answer will be still be yes. "All too soon, the clock will strike midnight...." and Cinderella(s) will be gone. It's been an amazingly blessed run, and I'm going to ride it for as long as I can.

Learning to Trust Matthew 6

I can't count the number of times I have turned to Matthew 6:21-33 when I am beset with worries about my life. Just like I can't count the number of times those worries turned out to be groundless. Having said that, I have been oppressed by two worriesome possibilities the last few months, and try as I might, have not been able to put my trust in the words of Jesus when he says, "Do Not Worry."

The first worry had to do with a test that the IRS is now requiring all tax preparers to pass in order to stay in business. Never mind that I've always loved taking tests, that I've always done well, and the last few years of running my own business tells me I am more knowledgable than most guys out there. The worry started when I took some online sample tests, and did not pass any of them. Now, these sample tests were composed by people who wanted me to pay them to help me pass the test, and I realized that they intentionally created impossible, scary scenarios in order for me to fork over my money to them. 95% of the questions on those things were concerning situations I had NEVER come across in my 10+ years of doing returns, yet the nagging thought was, "What if the test is really that hard?" Jan kept reminding me, "It's an open book test, dummy," and there were two major publications available to me while taking the test. But since I inherited the worry gene from my Mom, and allowed myself to dwell on the "what-ifs?", I worried far more than I should have.

The second had to do with my health. A couple of months ago I was shoveling rocks for the side of my house, picked up a load wrong and tweaked my back severely. Despite trips to the chiropractor, doses of anti-inflammatory medicine, hot tubs, ice, electronic stimulation and ultra-sound, my lower back still felt bruised and the pain would radiate to my hip if I stood up for more than 5 minutes. I told Jan, "I am afraid of getting old and being in constant pain." Our bed is very cushy soft, and often I would get up in the morning hurting worse than when I went to bed.

This morning was the test, and I slept little last night, despite laying off caffeine in the afternoon and retiring early. Got to the test site in Lake Forest about 8:30, put all my belongings in a locker (wouldn't even let me take in my watch) and checked in for the test. This testing center was very nice, and apparently administers all kinds of tests. As far as I could tell, I was the only one taking the IRS test. The test was 120 questions with varying point values, and I needed 350 out of 500 points to pass. I had 2 1/2 hours to take the test. After a short tutorial, I began the test. By question #2, I knew my worries had once again been unfounded. The test indeed was about "basic tax law", and over 90% of the questions dealt with familiar situations. So I went through the 120 questions in about 45 minutes without bothering to check the online reference materials available. The program allows you to "mark" questions if you aren't sure of the answers, and then you can go back and review the marked questions. With over an hour and a half left, I had time to research the anwers to questions I had marked. Some I was not able to find in the resource material, in which case I left my original answer as marked. Though I had probably marked 90 questions, I wound up changing fewer than 10 answers. I finished with about a minute to spare, and knew I had passed. One of the neat things about technology is that I had been told I would be notified of pass or fail before I left the center. I checked out, the proctor printed out my results, and all I saw was the word "congratulations" at the top of the page. As a result, I rewarded myself with one of my favorite lunches at Fuddrucker's, which was across the street from the restaurant.

One final note: As I was walking to the car, I noticed that my back/hip no longer hurt. Matthew 6: 21-33.

Why I'm Not a Republican

I'm fond of saying that presidents are like quarterbacks--they get too much credit when things go well, and too much blame when things go bad. I also have said that regardless of their actions in office, no president has done anything that I can say tangibly affects my life. I've been rethinking that latter statement. In doing so, I've come up with 3 events that directly and negatively affected my life.

The first event occurred in 1969, when the Nixon administration instituted a lottery to determine the order of young men to be drafted into the military. Each birthdate was given a number from 1 to 365, with #1 being the first number drafted. I got number 100, and eventually got drafted 5 months away from college graduation. (My roommate and his twin brother got a number in the 360s and are still Republicans today!) So at 8 months of marriage I was shipped off to New Jersey for 4 months, and I blamed Nixon. It didn't help that he subsequently turned out to be perhaps the morally bankrupt president in history when it came to abuse of the power of the office.

Then in 1981, I was hired to be the baseball coach and basketball assistant at Northwest Nazarene College (now university) in Nampa, Idaho. We had college friends in the area. We sold our house and got ready to move. Just before we moved we discovered that President Reagan had cut the funds for the job I was going to have in the Migrant Education Department, and therefore it was impossible to go to Idaho. We did have to move, rented for a couple of years, a victim of a move that typifies conservative administrations--shrinking government. I have no problem with smaller government, except in this instance I was the job that was shrunk. Fortunately I had not resigned my teaching job in Tustin and had a really good year. Reagan later would perfect the concept of deniability in Iran-Contra, and I realize had become the nostalgic hero of all conservatives, but he hurt me personally at that time.

This brings us to George W Bush and No Child Left Behind. The irony of this program is that is big government at its worst, yet is championed by conservatives because, well, it was implemented by a Republican president. It imposes impossible demands on the public education system. I know conservatives are the ones who usually see a conspiracy in everything, but in this case, I felt it was a plan designed to insure that public schools would fail, and the classic conservative goal of the privatization of education would be advanced. It made my job so much more of teaching to the test, and less time for the affective part of education which was my strength. I have over 500 former students as facebook friends, and very few became my friend because I helped improve their understanding of Math and/or English. NCLB dehumanizes education and provides incredible pressure, not only on teachers, but on administrators whose job retention depends on test scores and nothing else. I've always said the impact of a teacher cannot be quantified, and it certainly has no relation to test scores. Rather, it's about an e-mail my daughter Jennifer received from a former student a few months ago. Paraphrased it said basically this, "Mrs. Russell, I made some poor choices after I left school, but I'm getting better now. When I hit bottom, I remembered what you and Mr. Lewis would tell me when I misbehaved--'do you really want to be that person you're being right now?' I finally decided I wanted to be the person you believed I could become. I want you to know that without your caring, I would be dead now." I can't tell you how proud that made this Dad. She forwarded the email to an administrator with the note, "does this matter?" Never got a response.

Back to my original point. Three negative events that impacted my life directly, and all came from Republican administrations. Like all people with political views of any kind, I could be using selective memory. In many political arenas my views are such that my ultra-conservative friends say that I'm "not a typical lefty." If this means I use my brain instead of a knee-jerk response along party lines then I agree. I usually voted the opposite of what the NEA recommended, usually because those recommendations served teachers rather than students. I believe abortion is wrong, that we need to control our borders, and we need to find a way to keep criminals out of the country (I like the old idea of a penal colony, which I would guess is a conservative point of view). At the same time, I think the bewst way to destroy the drug cartels is to make drugs legal, have them sold at government stores at 1/10 the price they are now, and thus reduce the market for the cartels to next to nothing. I know that will never happen, but I think we are foolish to think we can eliminate drugs in America and the bloodbath that is Mexico using current methods.

Personal experience aside, I think the part of conservatism that puts me off the most is the "let them eat cake" attitude towards America's poor. To me the most hypocritical thing many of my Christian friends do is give lip service to the concept that "everything I have belongs to God," but let the government try to redistribute a portion through taxation and it suddenly becomes, "this is mine, you can't take it." I've probably said that in a previous blog, but I think it bears repeating.

In closing, I have an uncle who has said in my hearing, "I don't believe you can be a Christian and vote for a Democrat." I wish I had had the courage to say to him (a former teacher), "I don't see how anyone can be in public education and vote for a Republican." My pension is very nice I admit, and better than most, but without Democrats in government, I would STILL be teaching, at probably less than $40,000 a year.

Rocky Mountain High

I think John Denver and Rob Bell would have been great friends. I came to this conclusion during my reading this morning. I was out on my balcony in Vail, reading while watching a rushing stream about 50 yards from my unit. The trees were close enough to hug, if I were so inclined. The sound of the stream was muted somewhat by the sounds of the traffic on I-70 less than 100 yards away. So I thought of John Denver--the things he loved so close to the things he hated.

My reading for the day turned out to be one of those "coincidences" in that it was along an environmental theme. Bell was talking about creation, how God would create something, call it "good" and then give it the power to recreate itself. For example, when he saw that fish were good, he didn't create more fish, he gave fish the means to reproduce themselves. Then he created man, and gave man dominion over the earth, which in Bell's interpretation included the charge to take this "good" thing and make it better. Then he penned the line that stopped me and became the subject of this post : "That's why litter and pollution are spiritual issues."

It was awhile before I read on. I looked out at the stream and realized I hadn't seen an empty beer can or a sandwich wrapper floating along. My thoughts went back to age 6, when we were visiting family in Illinois. On the drive, litter was commonly a foot deep along the side of the road. We got to Illinois and I was excited about going swimming in Lake Michigan. Except that we couldn't even get into the water because there were literally millions of dead fish floating at the shoreline and as far out as we could see. One of the things that amazed me on our family trip to Chicago in 1989 was the beach was as pristine as one would hope it to be. This is not about who was responsible for the cleanup, but that it has taken place. And Denver and Bell would say we are coming closer to doing the job that God gave us to do in Eden.

Why is litter a spiritual issue? In its purist interpretation, I suppose you could say that anything that makes the planet less beautiful is subverting the intent that God had in creation. It's a man saying that his comfort is more important than taking care of God's creation, that the job we have been given to make the planet better isn't worth his time. Even more so, it is showing a disregard for others that God has commanded us to love and make better. The fish that eats the metal thrown into the water and dies. The man that is paid to clean up after us. I have heard people callously say that they are helping people employed by making them clean up after them. Then I was reminded of yesterday when we checked out of our villa in Park City and we had about 4 bags of trash and the dumpsters were 4 floors away. I said to Jan, "Housekeeping's going to be here anyway." Shame on me. (One of the things that was amazing about attending a baseball game in Montreal was that the fans threw away their own trash, not leaving it under their seat for the custodians after!) I suppose if we truly took our responsibilities to heart, hotel housekeeping staffs would never have to do anything but laundry. But in casually tossing away our trash, we are in effect being selfish, expecting others to do what we should do for ourselves, and we know how God feels about selfishness.

Pollution to me is all of the above taken from the individual to the corporate level. It's the pursuit of profit above all, regardless of the means necessary to get there. So we had burning eyes from smog in '60s Los Angeles, companies dumping their waste in the middle of large bodies of water, etc. Largely because they have been forced by legislation, companies now are more accountable for correcting those behaviors.

Now, I don't belong to the Sierra Club, I'm not a vegan, and you will never see me chaining myself to an oak tree marked for cutting. But I will also never toss my can out my car window even if I'm in the middle of the desert with no other cars for miles. I honestly believe we are closer than we were 50 years ago, to becoming the kind of people God intended for us to be.

So I don't long for the good old days. To me they mean a highway with litter piled on the sides. The better new days mean I can enjoy a litter-free mountain stream during my morning read. The good old days meant dead fish in the lake. the better new days mean a pollution-free beach. If I may expand, the good old days meant breathing other people's smoke in public places or workplaces. Finally in the good old days, an African American woman couldn't ride in the front of the bus. In the better new days, an African American woman is the First Lady.

And I promise to work on the whole throwing away my own trash at the ballgame thing.

Think I'll go with John Denver for the closing. In this Rocky Mountain setting, I wish to live out my life so that people can say, "he walks in quiet solitude, the forests and the streams, SEEKING GRACE IN EVERY STEP HE TAKES."

Thoughts on a Churchless Sunday Morning

We are on vacation in Park City, thus our normal Sunday church activities are obviously unavailable to us. I brought Rob Bell's "Velvet Elvis" along with me and, as sometimes happens, a phrase leaped off the page at me this morning. I've always known grace is available to all, but I don't think I've ever heard it expressed the way it way this morning. (Disclaimer #1, I may have heard it before and wasn't in a position to process it the way I did this morning. Disclaimer #2 I ran it by Jan and she wasn't impressed, and she's usually a pretty good sounding board for these things. So feel free to stop reading now.)

Anyway, here's the phrase: "Hell is full of forgiven people God loves, whom Jesus died for." I've always known that God loves all, and Jesus died for all, but somehow the concept that people in Hell are forgiven had never occurred to me. I think most evangelicals have been taught God's forgiveness needs to be asked for and accepted. But pre-conversion forgiveness? That's a new one to me, but it makes sense, for a number of reasons.

First of all, I've always been told and taught that forgiveness needs to take place even if the "offender" doesn't ask for it, even if they are unaware they have wronged me. It's for my benefit that I don't hold on to that hurt and let it turn into bitterness. Forgiveness of others is an important command of Christ, and it doesn't come with the condition that it needs to be requested. So, if that is the standard for us, it makes sense that God has the same standard for Himself. The Bible says Jesus died, "Once for all," which means that all forgiveness for all time took place at that moment.

Secondly, if you think of Christ's words on the cross, "Father, forgive them...", he was at the moment referring to his murderers, who obviously didn't believe they were doing anything that needed to be forgiven. But they were forgiven at that moment, whether they wanted to be or not.

Thirdly, that forgiveness obviously applies to me and to you. One of the sticky things about switching churches is that we switched to a church that was pretty much at the other end of the spectrum in many theological positions. I remember the pastor at our orientation saying, "you've been forgiven for every sin you've committed and every sin you WILL commit." I struggled with that, and asked him about it later. He said it wasn't a blank check to continue sinning, but rather that the provision for any future transgressions was already there. (I suspect Rob Bell's quote wouldn't be that much of a shock for him).

In context of the entire chapter, the quote has even more meaning than can be discussed here, but it was an "aha" moment for me. As I said, we've been brought up to believe that part of the salvation process is asking for forgiveness, and then accepting that forgiveness. This can be a stumbling block for the person that says, "God can never forgive all of the things I've done." Before, I would say something inane like, "Sure he can, he wants to." Now I am going to say, "He already has." I think that was the "it is finished" part on the cross. That may not be a big change in your eyes (or my wife's evidently) but it is a paradigm shift for me.

So,even though I am 1000 miles away from Huntington Beach today, FCC had a big part in my going to church today. The teaching from day one has been about the marvelous grace that is available to all, and how easy it is to accept. Rob Bell was unknown to me until we started there, and his books were recommended by my friend Don (don't get all that much out of his videos). I love my church.

Of Yvette, Jan and Rick (not me)

Rob Bell tells a story of a young lady named Yvette who came up to him after church one day and told him she disagreed with everything he said and wanted to stand up in her chair during the messages and yell at him. His response: "I immediately liked her." She went on to say she was studying witchcraft and was totally opposed to his entire message. (I know a lot of churches where she would have immediately been escorted from the property). He said, "But you keep coming back," and told her that he hoped she would continue to do so. A few weeks later was the Sunday after the 9/11 attacks, and he preached on the need to forgive and let go of the hatred when people have wronged us. After, he saw Yvette face down on the floor sobbing. She later told him she had been raped years ago and had been carrying around that bitterness and anger and it controlled her entire life. She turned it over to the One who had suffered far more than her. A few months later she handed him a sheet of paper with her contact info on it. Whene he asked why, she started telling stories of witches she had been meeting who now wanted to become Christians, and if I met any, to send them to her.

That's a great story, and I'm using it to justify my claim on the story I'm about to tell. For Rob Bell said "I claim Yvette's story, for Yvette's story is our story and our story is God's story. Faith is a communal experience."

So I'm going to tell you about Jan and Rick (not me). Jan is adopted. A few years ago, through a series of miraculous "coincidences" the Aunt who arranged her adoption found her. We have since met with Aunt Glennis and Aunt Alice and have had conversations with one of Jan's nephews. Jan's mother had three other children, all boys, and two of them have passed away. The third, Rick, is about 18 months younger than Jan, and has basically been out of touch with the family since about 1984. He didn't know he had a sister, and the aunts gave us little hope of finding him. That's where my son Tim came into the picture. Tim has recently gotten really involved in ancestry exploration, and has traced all of our families back hundreds of years.

Now, Tim has had not much use for the institutional church for quite some time, causing his dad quite a bit of soul-searching, but as I get older I realize that Tim's heart is more Christ-like than most of the Christians I know. And this was never more true than in his search for the lost sheep that was his Uncle Rick. In hindsight, I think that was his ulterior purpose in digging into his ancestry. The search has gone on for about 3 years. Finally a couple of weeks ago, he told us he had found a couple of possible addresses for Rick (Trowbridge last name), and was going to write him a letter with our contact information.

Three days ago, Jan was at the dentist and I was home alone when the phone rang. The caller asked for Tim, and when I said Tim didn't live her, he finally got around to saying, "This is Rick Trowbridge." We talked for awhile and he promised to call back later in the evening. I immediately called Tim with the news, and to say he was excited would be a gross understatement. His next facebook post referred to shaking hands and pacing the floor. When queried, his response was simple: "I found my Mom's brother." There were some personal reasons for his quest, but I believe his main reason was that he knew how happy it would make his mother.

When Jan got home, I said it was too bad she hadn't been home, because then she could have taken the call from her brother. She immediately dropped all the mail on the floor, doubled over and began sobbing. She could have been the poster child for tearss of joy.

Rick called back and he and Jan talked for almost an hour. He had gotten Tim's letter the night before, had no idea he even had a sister, was somewhat miffed at Aunt Glennis for never telling him, but mainly it was evident that he was as joyful at having a sister as Jan was at finally talking to her brother.

We went to the movies yesterday, and a voice mail from Rick was waiting for us, the underlying message being, "I want to talk to you again." So Jan called and they spent another 45 minutes or so getting to know each other. His life has been as tragic as Jan's has been blessed, but my wife plans to do whatever she can to make sure the rest of their lives are spent as a family.

That is a great story. And, as Rob Bell did with Yvette, I'm making it my story. It's really Jan's story, Tim's story and Rick Trowbridge's story, but I can't imagine any of them being any more joyful than I am. The brother that was lost has been found. And we're having a banquet in our hearts.

A Cindertiller Weekend

I will never be a fan of dance, and it's probably too late in life to develop an appreciation. But I am (no shock to those who have to listen to me ramble about them) a fan of my grandchildren. And THEY are fans of dance. This past weekend they had their annual recital at Long Beach State, and I set a new personal record by attending 3 of their performances. Each show is about 40 dances, and the girls are in about 3 of those 40. So the in-between is excruciating for me. I am actually beginning to be able to tell the difference between a gifted dancer and the non-gifted one (guess which category my girls are in!), and I'm trying to develop an appreciation, especially since the more times I go, the more dancers I recognize from previous shows and it's kind of fun to watch them grow up.

For example, one thing I notice is that periodically the audience breaks into applause in the middle of a performance. As I analyzed, this usually occurred whenever a dancer was standing on one leg and going in circles. And it seemed like during the course of the weekend, every time I woke up there was a dancer on one leg going in circles. So I began to applaud, by myself. No one joined me. So it must be some special kind of one-legged twirling, like a triple toe loop or double axle or something. But I'm trying. I actually think that only two or three people begin the applause and the rest of the crowd joins in to make people think they know what they are watching.

My first show was Saturday at 1 pm. One of the reasons Jen scheduled me for that hour was that the rest of the day was filled with a Tustin High School runners reunion (hence the "tillers" part of the title of this blog). The theme was "A Day at Disneyland," which did nothing to improve my mood! However, since a few years of these events have taught me what to expect, I had my game face on and was ready to do battle without complaining. Jolie was in a dance in what looked like the Cinderella segment, and also a Pocohantas dance, and Jeslyn was in a 10 Little Indians dance (and, yes, there were 9 other girls). So, Jolie comes out for her first dance, and the music begins, sounding vaguely familiar. Lo and behold it is Stephen Curtis Chapman's "Dance With Cinderella," which as my friend Curtis pointed out is the "Dad Kryptonite" song. If you don't know it, it's about a little girl who asks her daddy to dance with her, starting with an imaginary ball and ending up practicing to dance at her wedding. The first time I heard it was a few years ago when I was, ironically, in the parking lot at HAD waiting to pick up the girls. Jen called me and told me to switch my radio to a particular station, which was playing the song. Given the song's effect on me, I'm glad I wasn't parked. Let's just say that when the girls got in the car their first words were, "Grampa why are you crying?" So that's the real reason Jen got me tix for this show. I'm so thankful that I have a daughter that loves her husband and kids dearly and still goes out of her way to make her Daddy happy.

Jolie's next dance was to "Colors of the Wind" from Pocohantas. Again, I enjoyed it because of her presence. Also, those of you Tustin staffers who may read this will probably remember an infamous inservice when the presenter suddenly broke into this song. So, hopefully, Jolie's performance will help erase that memory.

Jeslyn's performance in 10 Little Indians was as bright and energetic as she is, and even included some one-legged stuff. One of her fellow dancers was Rachel LeTourneau from our church.

Another great thing about the day was that Tim and Anne and Sophie joined us, and we had gone to lunch and then we had a great time of discussion/fellowship on the way home. Again, I am grateful for two grown children who have made good partner choices, and who still love to spend time with Mom and Dad.

Off to Louise's house for the THS runners reunion. There were about 15 of us and it was a great time. Saw Tom Coffey who I coached and taught with for many years, and most of the runners there were from the small window during which I coached cross country. (I love running almost as much as I love dance!) Great fellowship, but even greater were the times when I was able to spend some one-on-one with those who are still so special to me almost 30 years after they were a daily part of my life.

Great sermon Sunday morning. Two takeaways from Bruce's message: "One of these days is none of these days," meaning decide what you want/need to do and then don't put it off, and "My everyday life is not determined by decisions the government makes." I've been preaching that to my doomsday friends throughout this administration and it's nice to have my brilliant pastor agree with me.

Off to the one pm performance on Sunday. In addition to our girls, the recital included the debut of two little ones from our church, Lolly and Roxy Brookhyser. I love the little ones, especially when I have some connection to them, perhaps filling in for the one thing I miss from our previous church--children's programs at Christmas and Easter. Jolie was in a group dance from Mulan and was a card in a queen of hearts Alice in Wonderland dance. Jeslyn was a flamingo with 2 other little girls and a boy. My girls, of course,were great, but my limited dance knowledge/appreciation put it into the "same dance, different costume," category. But it appears to me that in the technical skill and "performance sass" category, my grandgirls are ready for high school dance teams, if those programs still exist when they get there.

The last show on Sunday night is reserved for the girls who are taking private lessons, and most of the dances are solos or duets. I told Jan after that it seems that for most of the older girls, they had chosen "Music to open your veins by." But this program had 3 highlights for me. Jolie was flawless in her solo as a doll come to life. Then the girls performed their dance from "Chicago" called "I just can't do it alone." I had seen it twice before but it was the first time for Jeff and the girls really wanted to surprise him with it. And each performance they got better. It was also special because Jeslyn was the youngest performer in this evening session.

I had thought on Saturday that it would be great to have "Cinderella" done with the dads, and that's what happened Sunday night. Two younger girls came out with their dads, danced on the verses and then their dads picked them up and danced with them on the choruses. My optic faucets opened up again.

The final number was a troupe number performed by all the girls who had been demonstrators for the young ones during the year, and Jolie was part of that.

Then the girls sat down, and they started showing pics on the wall of the girls through the years, including 4 of Jolie. Then the graduating girls were given flowers and a good cry was had by all. I found myself thinking, "this is just list a basketball banquet." It was a time to come together and reflect on the hard work for sure, but even more for the bonded relationships that were forged during the process. For these girls (I might mention there were also 2 boys who were very skilled) dance is every bit as much a part of their growth and life as basketball and baseball were to me and the kids I coached. It was a very special time, and I'm glad I was there. I'm sure the parents of the seniors were thinking, "It's over, already?"

So, really, the entire weekend was tied together. There was the enjoyment of my grandchildren at this stage of their life, the enjoyment of my children at this stage of their life, the enjoyment of my surrogate children in the runner's reunion, the realization that no government decision influenced the events of my weekend, and ultimately life is reduced to relationships. So I found myself thinking of a song that fits the theme of the weekend, sort of...from Jefferson Airplane, who sang "White Rabbit" which is from "Alice in Wonderland," sort of, which was a Disney movie.
"Don't you want somebody to love, don't you need somebody to love? Wouldn't you love somebody to love? You'd better find somebody to love!"

Schooling (with) Grampa

Both of my grandchildren are brilliant (they get that from BOTH sides of the family). They love dancing. That's pretty much where the similarity ends. Jolie is compliant and a pleaser the great majority of the time. So much so that I have to resist the urge to automatically take her side in any disagreement. She just got straight A's again on her final 5th grade report card. Jeslyn's second grade card was all "very good" or "outstanding", which represents a tremendous deal of growth on her part. I'm proud of both of them, love them to death, and feel so fortunate that they live so close, knowing a lot of my contemporaries don't have that luxury.

But (you knew there would be a "but"), Jes spends a lot of her time saying, "I'm sorry," either because we make her do so or she realizes she has crossed the line. Today was one of those times, and I'm realizing it's so much harder for me to be consistent with her than I was with Jen or Tim. They had a sleepover last night and were absolutely perfect. Got up this morning, entertained themselves until we got up, and it was time to go to breakfast. Jan and Jen had decided to meet at 9 at Corner Bakery, to turn over the girls so Jen could take them with her to help at Dream Dinners. Jeslyn, "I just went to Corner Bakery yesterday." Mom and Jan decided that a local diner, Papa Z's would work out best for timing and location. Jeslyn: "I'm not going to Papa Z's," and bullied her way into a trip to Coco's. This while planning what time Grampa would take her swimming when Dream Dinners was over. I decided it would be best if I didn't accompany them to Coco's and decided to ride my bike instead. Past Coco's. After a couple of loops, I decided to join them, not wanting to eat but wanting to spend time with them. First words from Jeslyn, "Sorry, Grampa, will you still take me swimming?" About two minutes later she threw a mini-tantrum about the smell of Jan's spinach omelette. I left.

I worked in the shed for awhile, exchanging winter clothing for summer clothing, and the girls arrived to pick up their stuff before heading for dream dinners. Jeslyn had written an apology. I refused to take it. She put it on the bed and said, "Read it." It was, "Sorry Grampa, will you still take me swimming. I'll promise to do better." Jan, to me: "Don't you give in and take her swimming." She also said, "Be mad at her, but don't stop loving her." Like that could ever happen. I also feel guilty NOT accepting her apology, knowing the limitless times God allows me to say, "I'm sorry." I tell her, "Wouldn't it be nice if you behaved in a way that made it not necessary to say you were sorry?" And God whispers, "Would you listen to yourself?!"

So I told her that as of right now, she wasn't going swimming. That I was going to require her to do something to show how badly she wanted to swim. It may be something as simple as writing 50 times, "I do not make the rules, I'm 7." I may make her read this blog (cruel and unusual punishment, I know). Ultimately my job as a grandparent is not to raise her. That's Jen and Jeff's job, and they are great at it. My job is to love her and try to make my correction in line with what they would do. I'm thankful she's not the type of child to say, "Go ahead and tell them, I don't care." The fear of Daddy is a wonderful thing. But it's tough to live with a perfect older sibling. Ask my son.

So off to Dream Dinners. I was thinking Dr. Dobson would have been proud of me for establishing boundaries. And we both would have been vindicated by her parting shot, which also reminded me who really was in charge: She blew me a kiss.

Moiola's Got (some) Talent

Went to another of my granddaughter's talent shows this week and last, and while I usually publish a tongue-in-cheek review, I won't be reviewing many of the performances this time, in that the programs was at 3 hours and still going when I left. Apparently all one has to do to qualify to perform in the talent show is to fill out an application. And, as I am now a retired teacher, I will take the liberty that many of my friends do, and that's to tell the Principal at Moiola how to run her school.

First of all, as I said, anyone who says they have a talent "tries out" for the final show. We saw the tryouts, and everyone who tried out appeared to have made the show. This included things like a young man dressed in camo who waved a stick in the air and eventually was "killed" by an intruder who was unarmed. Who knew that when we played army as kids we were exhibiting a talent? Two young ladies sang a song that I think was entitled "Across the Universe." I realized the title was actually a metaphor for the distance between their performance and perfect pitch. Three girls got into sleeping bags and their moms threw stuffed animals at them from behind the curtain. That was it. I can imagine them saying, "When I grow up I want to be a target." Or at least work there. It suddenly dawned on me that the reason that we have so many talentless people trying out for American Idol is that their elementary school didn't have the courage to tell them they had no talent.

The program also did something that I thought was impossible: It made me appreciate "Dancing with the Stars." Not for the dancing, of course, but for the fact that the dances have a time limit. One boy, who was very talented, did a break dance to a song that had to be six minutes long. Yes, he was good, yet the kids enjoyed it, but 6 minutes? My reason for this is very personal. First of all, I came to see my granddaughters perform, as I'm sure did many others (their grandchildren, not mine, though I suppose the word has gotten out about my grandchildren by now). The program started at 9 and my girls finally got on about 11:15. Fortunately, I had the time. My son in law did not. He had to get back to cover a final and did not get to watch the girls, neither Jolie's singing or Jolie and Jeslyn's dance, which they had prepared as a surprise for Daddy. Jennifer even went up and asked if the girls could be moved up, but no dice. And, of course, her video camera went belly up in the middle of the girls' dance--I think even a new camera would have died of old age waiting for the performance.

The girls' turns finally came, and for me at least I'm glad I stayed. Jolie sang Taylor Swift's "Love Story" and nailed it even better than she did last week when her voice teacher was there to watch (thanks, Chelsea). Almost all of the other "singers" just did a lip sync to the actual performance, which made Jolie's stand-alone even better, in my unbiased opinion. Then the girls danced a routine to "I Can't Do This Alone," (that's close enough) from "Chicago." So well done, and so sorry dad missed it. They are doing it again at their recital in a couple of weeks, but I know they really wanted to surprise him Monday.

OK, pity party done. I can understand the philosophy of letting everyone experience performing in front of a group, and the reluctance to tell people "you weren't good enough." I wouldn't want to be the one to tell a 5-year-old that nobody really wants to see him balance a big feather on his hand for 4 minutes. (I think I would have been able to tell the trio of girls who danced to Rocky Horror's "Let's Do the Time Warp Again," that performing hip thrusts in front of a bunch of jr hi boys was not a good idea). The Special Olympics has shown us the value of rewarding everyone who participates. So I get that. I'm sure the kids don't mind because a 3-hour performance is 3 hours out of class. So, in my ideal talent show, I probably couldn't tell someone they had no talent, either. So here's what I'd do (I'm sure you were dying to see this).

1) Define categories. What is talent, and more importantly, what isn't. I don't think it's a talent for some 7th grade boys to dunk a basketball into a 4-foot basket. (Tho it was kind of entertaining to watch the kid in the Celtics jersey keep missing at that height. Art imitates life.).

2) Limit the length. Most kids would have the technological capacity to edit out a verse or chorus of a song. Say you can only read 2 of your poems, not 7. Under current "guidelines" a kid could haul up a TV and an x-box and subject us to watching him play a role-playing game for 2 hours. It's definitely a talent, but out of place in this setting.

3) Give the parents a clue when their child (or grandchild) will perform. Even if was just "before recess" or "after recess" would have helped Jeff schedule differently. When I sing in church and friends come to watch (It could happen!), it's good to be able to give them an approximate time so they can either come watch or come up with a credible excuse. The way it's done now almost makes it seem like the show is for the kids' benefits, not ours. How selfish is that?

Every good sermon has 3 points, so I'll stop there.

Joplin Thoughts

My friend Don started blogging again after a two year break. I thought I had gone as long but I realized I wrote a blog after my Mom died last September. Don't know if I'll go another 9 months, but let's see if I remember how to do this.

I got a call a couple of weeks ago from Curtis, who is on our pastoral staff, to see if I was interested in helping drive a load of supplies to Joplin to help with earthquake. After considering for about a minute, I called back and said I was in. We left the Tuesday morning after Memorial Day, about 5 am, with a 26-foot u-haul loaded with supplies that The Bridge in Joplin said they needed. The Bridge is an outreach ministry in Joplin that focuses on junior highers, but had become the HQ for FEMA and the Red Cross, among others, in the city.

Our first day included paying $4.89 a gallon for gas in Needles, then seeing a Love's truck stop about 15 miles into Arizona for about $3.69; lunch at Cracker Barrel in Kingman--one of the best reasons for leaving the state of California; 3 more gas stops, a snack at subway, a lightning show as we entered New Mexico, and finally stopping about 1 am mountain time in Tucumcari, NM. Along with me, there was Curtis Templeton and John Bayhi, and we all got to know each other a lot better and in some cases, more than we needed to know! I now know that Curtis likes Wendy's as much as I do, tho I go for the chili and he goes for the frosties.

After about a 6 hour respite in Tucumcari, we headed out Wednesday morning for what turned out to be the remaining 10-hour drive to Joplin. Our driving shift was basically a tank of gas, and we all drove 3 shifts on the way out. the plan was to drop our supplies, drive the truck back to Tulsa, and fly out on Friday. By the time we got to Joplin it was too late to drop off supplies until the next day, so we drove into town to find our quarters for the night at Ozark Christian College. We were met there by our outreach pastor Mike Ferrulli, who had flown in that day with his wife Danielle. On our way we got our first breath-sapping view of the damage wrought by what turned out to be the first category 5 tornado in modern times. It comes upon you so suddenly as you crest a hill headed into downtown. I brilliantly forgot my camera, but quite a few pictures have been posted on the church's website and facebook page, so just go to FCCHB.com if you want to see them. Roughly a mile wide section of the downtown and residential areas had disappeared. We were there 10 days after the twister, and all they had basically been able to do was clear the streets. We were told not to bring water because they didn't need any, and as we drove down Main street there were pallets of water stacked on just about every block.

To say the accomodations at OCC were spartan would be generous. There were dorm bunks, no bedding, and they really didn't have accomodations for Danielle. We resigned ourselves to rough it there for one night, left the truck there and headed back downtown in the van that Mike had rented in Kansas City. We began driving through the destroyed neighborhoods. John and Curtis had their cameras working feverishly, and we made quite a few stops. I honestly don't remember much, because it was just more than my aging mind could comprehend. But here's what I do remember.

There was a police and military presence, because events like this always bring out the parasites who prey on the misfortune of others. Rather than dodge the officials, the guys went up and made friends with them. Once they realized we were there to help and not help ourselves, they opened up and allowed us to take pictures to show the folks back home why their help was needed. Houses had spray painted signs like "together we will overcome", "God saved us," and "room for rent, nothing down"--on a shell of a house. It was about then that the thought came to me that, paraphrasing the old saw about atheists in foxholes, there are no atheists in Joplin. Throughout our short time there, I did not hear one person blame God, whine about poor me, etc. Once again it was shown in Joplin that the church of God flourishes when times are at their worst, probably because it reminds us that we cannot survive in this world without His help.

We came upon a couple and 3 adolescent girls searching thought the ruins of a house in a way that suggested ownership. We stopped and the boys asked if there was any way they could help. It was at this encounter that I realized that they were so perfectly suited for the job they have been given in the church. It turns out the house belonged to one of the girls, who was staying in the home of the couple while he family sought lodging for all of them. They had brought her to see if there was anything she could find that was salvagable. They had no luck while we were there. The couple was from a small storefront church on Main street. the husband had gone back to work after a week, as their pastor had admonished those who still had jobs to go back to work, "because we are going to be taking care of a lot of people for a long time, and so those of you that can need to start earning money again." I didn't hear the man complaining about redistribution of wealth--which of course is what the church is called to do. Contact information was exchanged, and this church will be a starting point for our team that is scheduled to return in July to provide whatever assistance we can in the rebuilding of Joplin.

The couple told one of those stories that inevitably comes out of events like this, one that defies credibility and suggests a God who is active in such times. They had a couple in their church who was on their honeymoon when the storm hit, and came home to find both of their apartments destroyed, along with all of their wedding presents and pictures. They have friends in Springfield 75 miles away. Their wedding pictures wound up landing in the front lawn of their friends in Springfield.

I heard another story about the twister in Oklahoma City. A lady hid in her bathtub from the approaching storm and "the Good Lord" told her to move into the other bathroom. When the storm passed the second bathroom was all that was left standing. the bathtub was in a nearby tree.

Darkness was approaching and the affected area had a 9 pm curfew, so we prepared to pack it in for the night. though it appeared all hotels were booked, Curtis decided to try anyway because we had decided that OCC was not acceptable for the makeup of our group. After about 3 tries, and no one laughing in his face, Curtis was directed to a Baywood Inn and Suites, which was the designated hotel for emergency workers, and thus could not take advance or multiple-day reservations. We had 3 rooms for the night, a free breakfast, and a rested resolve to face the next day.

When we picked up the truck at 9 the next morning and headed to the Bridge, we were told that they were full up and no longer accepting supplies. We were directed across town to a Title Max, which is a company that floats short term loans, usually in exchange for the title to one's car. They had a distribution center setup, but it basically looked like a garage sale, with discarded clothing and shoes and not much else. So they needed and took everything our church had donated. It took the 4 of us about 4 1/2 hours to empty the truck, with Danielle providing unbelievable leadership inside the building to get the material sorted into some kind of organization. While we were there a few families came in for assistance, and it was the best part of the trip to watch them find new bedding, new supplies for their babies, and food to get them through the next few days. Curtis also handed out some prayer shawls our ladies had knitted, and the receiving ladies were incredibly touched. Our main concern at this point was that the word would get out about what was available. About 2, we were bolstered by the arrival of 6 volunteers from a local church. We left them with the task of sorting the supplies that we had only been able to unload from the truck with no recognizable order. Danielle overheard one of them say, "they finally found something for us to do." I was at this time so struck by the realization that in this country of ours, in the face of unimaginable tragedy, they had more supplies than they needed in the short term, and more volunteers than they knew what to do with.

Went to lunch at Billy Sims barbecue, recommended by the locals. Sims was a Heisman Trophy winner at the University of Oklahoma and I think he's a Joplin native. We found a u-haul place that took the truck and allowed us to van back to Tulsa to spend the night and fly home on Friday. We had a great meal in Tulsa and were treated to one of their Thursday summer concerts which is a huge event. The evening's entertainment was by a 60s cover band called "Midlife Crisis." There's a certain closure to that!

So now I'm home. As always, I am struck by the fact that so few in California have Joplin on their mind. We all bought shirts that say "restore Joplin" on the front, and in Missouri and Oklahoma they were automatic conversation starters. I've worn it a couple of times since getting home, and Californians just looked through it. I've decided that the desciption "America's heartland," has a new meaning for me as I think of the people we met in the midwest. there were times where I was just overwhelmed by the enormity of the task, and the belief that these people are up to it. Nearly every working business marquee had words of thanks, resolve, scripture, prayer, and encouragement.

If you want to help, there are all kinds of websites. The restore joplin site sells the t-shirts, with all of the proceeds staying in Joplin to help with the rebirth.

I've rambled a lot and haven't really said anything, I think. But maybe one reader will get the call to help and make a difference. that makes it worth the effort to put the thoughts down on cyberpaper.

Answered Prayer

Haven't blogged in a couple of months, probably because it's just easier to write a note on facebook and distribute it that way. But thought I would write at least one more, because quite some time ago I blogged about my mother's situation, her failing health, and our prayers that she would be released from this body and this earth.

Well, got a call from the home about 1:45 this morning saying those prayers had finally gotten answered. She passed away in her sleep with apparently no suffering, so that, too was a direct answer to prayer, and I know she's not suffering now. As with any such news, it doesn't matter how much we prayed for this, and how ultimately it is good, when the event finally happens it is a shock and a loss, and I'm hurting a lot more than I expected.

Finally decided to try reaching my sister about an hour later. She is visiting my nephew Jeff in Seattle, and wound up leaving a voice mail. She called right back and we talked for a few minutes. Turns out she normally turns her phone off at night, but for "some reason" had left it on last night. Mom had been treated for a tooth absess (sp?) last month, but otherwise did not appear to be in immediate danger, though Karen said she showed a little less affect every time she visited. I'm feeling a little guilty in that it's been quite a while since I made the trip to see Mom, with travel this summer. We were planning to go sometime this month, but God had other ideas. We probably won't have a service, but will try to get all the grandkids together and have her and Dad's ashes sprinkled somewhere in the mountains.

Left a message for Tim and he called about 5:30. Again, we hadn't seen much of her in the last few years, but it was not an easy conversation for either of us. Still waiting for a call from Jen, and I still think of the essay she wrote in high school about my getting her out of class in 1988 to tell her Dad had died. By the way, Dad would have been 103 two days before Mom died. Wonder if she was aware of that.

So, I'm a 61-year-old orphan. I got to keep my parents a lot longer than many of my childhood friends, and I am happy for that. I'm happy for Mom, too, that she is rid of this body she had come to despise.

I was planning to make a post on Dad's birthday, and wound up forgetting to do that. I was going to send a letter with Mom's share of costs payment this month, and didn't do that, either. Bad son. I want to say one more time that I love (present tense) my Mom and Dad, am thankful that God gave me to them, and that they both lived long enough to enjoy their grandchildren. Jolie and Jeslyn never met Dad, and probably won't remember much of "Grandma GG". But she lived long enough to have moments of joy with them, and I'll always remember 2-year-old Jeslyn helping to feed Mom her eggs when we visited her at the center.

Though I didn't spend much time with her the last couple of years, I'm thankful my sister found Sierra View home in Reedley. If a loved one has to be put into assisted living, I can think of no place better than this one. They all obviously loved my Mom, even when most of her time was spent being cranky! The nurse that called this morning was personally upset, and she said she had been working there when Mom was admitted many years ago.

Jen just called and I broke the news to her, so the hardest part is over. She could tell I was having a hard time, but her "I love you, Daddy," was just what I needed to get through that phone call.

So, a new life for Mom, and a release for me that hasn't quite come yet, but I know that it will. Now with what time I have left I want to continue to be the man that they taught me to be. They loved me, they loved Jan, they loved my kids, and the best part is that I will see them again.

As An Athlete, Getting Old

I suppose if it were possible to determine such a number, I would be in the upper 25% of men my age as it relates to physical fitness and health. I can still bowl in the 190s rather consistently, can shoot low 90s and occasionally high 80s in golf. My life has pretty much centered around athletics, specifically baseball and basketball, since I was 9 years old. However, at age 61 I am no longer able to do the things I used to do, partly because of deteriorating skills and partly because of limited opportunities. And I find I'm not going gently into that part of my life.

Part of my current problem is due to the fact that I was a pretty good athlete at one time. Baseball paid for a large part of my education, and I enjoyed quite a bit of success. I was able to play competitive fast pitch softball into my 40s, and had a string of about 4 years where I never took a swing and missed the pitch entirely. Haven't swung at a pitch competitively in almost 20 years, but I doubt I could continue that streak at that point. James Michener, in his work "Sports in America," written in the late 70s, devotes a chapter to the athlete past his prime. Some psychologists have noted a trend that boys who are successful athletes in their early years tend to never grow past adolescence--at least socially. There is a great movie with that theme, "Everybody's All American," starring Dennis Quaid, where he is a football player, Heisman trophy winner, who plays well past his prime because he still revels in the glory years. He and his best friend, played by John Goodman, get together at bars and still talk about their Glory Days. I have friends who still talk about specific high school contests whenever we meet for reunions. I'm kind of dealing with that now, because those outlets are no longer available to me. When it comes to physical activity, the greatest joy in my life is still throwing a baseball. The ending scene of Field of Dreams still gets to me, when Kevin Costner gets to play catch with his Dad. I used to be a pretty good outside shooter with a basketball, yet now if I make 2 out of 10 it's a good day. For a long time I was about to vicariously experience the thrill of athletic competition through coaching, and I enjoyed more than my share of success at that. But that fire eventually went out, and I am faced with replacing those joys for the rest of my life.
Which brings us to the main outlet available to me these days--running/walking. Even when I was a good athlete, I hated those things!! Now I try to get out and walk/jog nearly every day, because my sedentary life has also added to my waistline. I played at under 140 pounds in college, and these days I fight to stay under 190. And in addition to not enjoying running, I don't have the gifts for it. I have friends in church who ran their first 5k today, and finished together as a family in 34 minutes. When I was running regularly about 10 years ago, I don't think I could have broken 30 minutes. And, because I'm so competitive, if I can't be good at something, I don't want to do it--that's the adolescent in me, I think. I truly enjoyed competing at a high level, but I also enjoyed talking about it. And I know it's healthy for me to exercise, but that's not why I do it. I do it in hopes of hearing someone say, "Man, you looking goooooooooood!"
I know there is a "runner's high" that serious runners achieve and can't do without. I don't ever expect to experience that high!! But I probably know what it feels like--kind of like when I hit a 2-run single for a walkoff win against LaVerne in college. Or being the only pitcher in the nation to shut out Grand Canyon College in 1970. Or my girls basketball team overcoming a 10-point deficit in the 4th quarter against Ventura to reach the CIF finals in 1992. See, there's that adolescent glory thing again--the one redeeming factor in this is that if you are among my new friends at FCC that's probably the first you've ever heard of those achievements.
So I'm not so much worried about living in the past as much as I am worried about how to continue to try to fill that void in the future. Coaching high school kids isn't much fun any more--they either don't care enough or they think they know more than I do. I don't think I have the patience to coach the little ones. I don't have high school baseball teams knocking down my door to pitch batting practice to them--and I'd probably have to do it from 40 feet instead of 60.
I don't do tennis, weights, ski on any surface. I suppose it would be easier if I found someone else in the same situation and we could be miserable together!!

A Night at the Ballet--again

Went to the girls annual year-end ballet recital last Saturday and Sunday, so I thought I would share my annual thoughts with you. As the girls get older, they get a little more involved, which makes it easier for this dance-challenged grampa to get through the evening. This year Jeslyn had 3 different dances, tho 2 of them were on Saturday afternoon before the performance I attended. Jolie actually had one of the leading parts. The theme for the evening was “Night at the Museum,” and she was one of the 3 who simulated dancing through the various exhibits at the museum as a bridge between dance numbers.

The Saturday performances were primarily group numbers, and it started with one called Modern Girls. I found nothing to ridicule in this number.

Next was little ones called “Little Romans.” The little ones have a demonstrator and they are to mimic the demonstrator, which helps them remember their routines. This number could probably have been renamed “Little Romans Around the Rosey.”

Then there was “Walk Like an Egyptian,” which made me realize how much I had underestimated the dance skills of Steve Martin, though Jolie and friends did the head-bob very well when they were done.

Then there was “Women of Sparta,” and things began to spice up a little. I kind of expected them to ask for John the Baptist’s head on a platter after their number.

That whole set, by the way, was grouped under the heading “Museum of Ancient Times.” The next set was grouped as “Museum of Natural History.”

The first number was “Jungle Animals” which consisted of about a dozen girls in leopard costumes dancing to Guns 'n' Roses', “Welcome to the Jungle.” The music was great.

Next came Jeslyn’s number. She was dressed as a mermaid for the number “Under the Sea.” I’ve always enjoyed fish doing the bunny hop. There was also a time where Jeslyn was channeling her Uncle Tim, as some of the girls in her group were a little lazy on their spacing. Jeslyn thought that to be egregious enough to stop point out to each girl where they should be dancing, while continuing to dance herself. I must say she pulled it off quite well while managing to ensure that everyone in the audience knew who was really in charge. (We have movies of Tim in church plays mouthing everyone’s lines in addition to his own).

Next was a song called “3 little fishes”—although all 9 of them looked little. They had fish hats and tried to make fish lips. This was also one with a demonstrator, and had the added feature of one little fish who considered herself an echo—her movements were about two measures behind everyone else, as if to say, “if you missed it the first time…”

Then came Jolie’s dance, and again grampa was not quite ready for this. The number was DINO, and my 10-year-old princess came out in a very grownup outfit and performed a very grownup routine that would have made many high school cheer/dance advisors proud. She was on-beat, shaking things I wasn’t ready for her to shake, and loving every minute of it.

There was then 5 toddlers with their parents, “performing” a number called “We are the dinosaurs.” Very cute. Our friend Chelsea did much the same with her daughter Evie last year.

Then the advanced dancers did a number called “Museum Painting” and while dance lovers I’m sure were thrilled, it was formal enough to help me remember why these programs are not at the top of my excitement list.

The “Museum of Modern Music” section included 3 dances that I liked very much. The music was The King’s “Jailhouse Rock,” Billy Joel’s “Still Rock and Roll,” and something called “Smooth Criminal’” which, if it wasn’t Michael Jackson, it should have been. There are only about 3 boys in the program, and two of them were in the Elvis number. I hope if they ever are incarcerated, they wear different uniforms. I just think the ones covered with glitter are going to get them all kinds of unwelcome attention. It was during this segment that I began to notice something I hadn’t paid attention enough to notice before. While everyone in the program could be correctly called a dancer, there are a few that are elevated enough to be called “performers”. It’s not enough for them to remember the dance moves, they are able to express the joy they feel in being in front of the crowd. There was one girl in the MJ number that I fully expected to break out her moonwalk before the number was over.

There was then a number called “Unstoppable,” where we went back to Tutus, and was rather formal, though the choreography reminded me of a Jets-Sharks dance from West Side Story.

Then there was a dance to something that has a formal name I’m sure, but someone of my age and musical taste thinks of it only as Allen Sherman’s, “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah.” They never got to the “take me home” part, though.

There was a finishing segment that was more formal again, the motif being Monet paintings. Again, I was able to distinguish dancers from performers.

The last demonstrator number was called “flowers” about 10 little girls, one of whom did absolutely nothing. She played with her fingers, she played with her dress. When it was time to go, she was still on stage right when everyone was exiting stage left. Finally the demonstrator came to get her, led her over to the dad who was playing Monet, and the little one performed the most perfect curtsy one could imagine. So, rather than being a misfit, she was obviously a specialist!!

Then one of the dance academy graduates performed the only solo of the night, called “Dying Swan,” which of course we all know was originally created in 1905 by Michel Fokine for Anna Pavlova. Again, with my expertise, the number could have been called, “Stand on your tiptoes for 3 minutes.”

So, at the risk of losing my man card, I can say I kind of enjoyed this year’s recital, and not just when my grandgirls were dancing. I have a greater level of appreciation and expertise than when they first began dancing (a lesser level would have been impossible!!) So, I think I could now make an informed vote on who should win Dancing With The Stars. If I watched it. Like that’s going to happen.

Best Father's Day Ever

There are so many ways to end the sentence, "When I get to Heaven...." Well, I've added another: When I get to Heaven, if watching videos of my life is an option, today will be one I watch over and over.

My children both still like to spend time with me, so we were planning on lunch today. As usual, the "where" was a big discussion, and we finally settled on Joe's Crab Shack in Newport. I didn't have much input in that, and that's OK, because I knew I would be with the whole family. We might not have as many "family traditions" as some families, but whenever possible we get together to eat and celebrate the milestone days. One Father's Day tradition that we had for a few years was that Jen would take, first Jolie and then both girls, to have pictures taken, and then she would use one of the prints to get me a Father's Day tie tesselated with the picture of the girls. I think I have six or seven of those. I was disappointed when that little tradition stopped, partly because annual sittings for the girls stopped happening, plus I think the place that did them went out of business. But I was looking forward to the lunch and observing my children interact with each other and my grandchildren.

The day started, as many do, with a facebook posting, and mine for the day was "blessed to have two children who celebrate their Dad pretty much all year long." Got a couple of affirming comments from a couple of my "other" girls who are a big part of my life, tho far away geographically. (North Carolina and Bakersfield).

Sunday School has become a real highlight and we had an enjoyable time affirming each other and discussing Bob's 60-mile walk yesterday (see the link on my FB page if you haven't already done so).

Met the kids for lunch, had an enjoyable time watching them and watching the wide variety of boats enjoying Newport (or Balboa) Bay while we were eating. When we were done, Jen set a gift bag in front of me, and I could see a couple of cards. This has also become a tradition, one card from Jen and Jeff and one from the girls.

I opened the one addressed to "Grandpa Rick" first-- they were going to see Grandpa Chuck and Grandpa Woody later. Here's what the card said: "Grandpa, if the wishing star offered to give us either a million dollars or the greatest grandpa in the world, we'd take the million dollars...pause...'cause we've already got the greatest grandpa in the world." Jeslyn added, "I love you grandpa Rick. You are the best grandpa ever." So what if it was redundant, one can't hear that too much! Jolie, now 10, wrote, "I love ya, gramps. You're awesome. Happy Father's Day. Jolie". Now that was cool on so many levels. I don't think she's ever called me gramps, or spelled "you" as "ya". Just reminding me we're both getting older. Note also that she said "you're" instead of "your". This puts her ahead of about 75% of high school America in proper grammar usage. Then of course there is also the recognition that her grampa is awesome.

Then came the one addressed to Dad. "Dad, every year you say something like, 'Oh, I don't want anything for Father's Day,' or "don't go spending any money on me.' Well, I just have one thing to say.....no problem. (by the way, could you reimburse me for this card? Also, the card shop was next to a shoe store, so I'll need a little extra.) Happy Father's Day from your daughter." Then Jen added, "A little funny this year, but the real message is you're always there for us and we love you, Jeff and Jen." Note first of all, again the correct use of the words "your" and "you're". I learned her good!! She managed to say with humor the message she sends me often--she can count on me. For this Dad, nothing greater in the world can be said to me.

I then noticed there was something still in the bag---and teared up when I saw a tie with the current edition of Jolie and Jeslyn's faces on it. No matter that I very rarely have occasion to wear a tie any more. No matter that I see the girls almost every day. What matters is that this was my daughter acknowledging that special bond that she and I share, and that making her daddy happy is still important to her after all these years. And this she has done. Again. We have to attend at least one formal dinner on our cruise in August, and part of my wardrobe for the evening has been established.

I've left out Tim and Anne so far, but they are a big part of my life and were a big part of my day. Again, it doesn't matter that I only saw them yesterday--I went out there for lunch and to patch some drywall for them. But they wanted to be there for the traditional lunch today, and I looked forward to their being there. So much of Tim's life is his love for movies, and we have shared many a special occasion together in the theatre. So off the 4 of us went to see Toy Story 3--Jen and the girls had seen it Friday. What a wonderful "dessert" for the feast day that was Father's Day for me. Jen called it a perfect movie on Friday, and I couldn't agree more. It really isn't a children's movie in the sense that children can't see beyond the plot to the core values that are preached in the movie--loyalty, family, friendship, and so many others. So, as my daughter's tie gift brought me to tears, so did this movie that I attended with my son and surrogate daughter. One of the added traditions and joys we have is the ritual of "debriefing" after watching a movie together. This time, there were not many critical comments from any of us (unlike the last Indiana Jones!) and I was left to marvel at the depth of my son's knowledge of roles, characters, background, etc, that is the result of his lifelong love for the movies.

So today was another, "Why me, Lord?" day. Why am I blessed with such great friends, a great wife, great kids and grandkids, and life experiences? Don't have an answer, but it's a great ride.

Command performance at Moiola

After deciding not to sub in middle school today, I set out to be a dad for my kids. First, I took Tim's car in to my local shop, trying to figure out why it won't pass the smog test.

Then Jen called about 9:15 and asked if I could run down and pick up their video camera so she could tape Jeslyn's performance at the Moiola variety show today.

Since I am such a lover of the arts, I decided to allow you to vicariously enjoy the variety show through my eyes.

The first performance was a jump-rope duet. Now you don't see those every day. These two girls jumped to the tunes of the Village People's "Y.M.C.A." I don't think Bruno would have many good things to say about it. Don't understand why he wasn't there since DWTS ended last night (don't get me started on that). Unless it was their plan to hit their foot on every third jump, they could have used a bit more practice. The positives were that they correctly spelled YMCA correctly both times, and they didn't break their jumpropes.

Next was a young man, aided by his father, who demonstrated what he had learned in his self-defense. Unlike dance, voice and jumprope I know little about self-defense, so I wouldn't presume to critique his performance, except to say his dad's in a lot of trouble when the kid gets bigger.

Next was a little girl who sang. I forget the name of the song. For awhile, I was afraid she did, too. I'm going to give her Chelsea's (voice teacher friend of mine) number.

Then a sister duet of "Mammie's little baby loves shortnin bread." They were pretty good, as were their costumes. The little sister did an excellent job in her role of mammie's little baby.

Then came a couple of girls in cheerleader uniforms. They had a "W" on the chest, so either they weren't Moiola outfits or they put them on upside down. They did a routine to the "Macarena". (Where was SB 1070 when the Macarena came across the border?) The nice thing about the Macarena is that we could have guessed the song even if the CD player stopped working.

Then came a pair of sisters who were apparently the stars of the last 2 shows. They did a dance/hula hoop routine, and would have been the stars of this year's show except for the performer that followed them.

The little first grader did a solo dance routine the "My Friend the Witch Doctor." The choreography was impeccable, her energy level was so contagious that the audience got caught up and began to clap in time with the music. I won't bore you with the technical names of all her dance steps. Let's just say her walla walla was full of bing bang. Standing ovation at the end (OK I made that part up). Did I mention this performer was my granddaughter Jeslyn?

After that I, and much of the audience, lost interest. There were still a few acts to go, but like a good Angel fan I left with the program about 70% completed. I vaguely remember a 5 year old boy doing karate and another playing the piano, but they were so depressed at having to follow Jeslyn that you could tell their little hearts were not in their performance.

Back to other child, Tim's car still wasn't fixed, still didn't pass smog so I took it to a GM dealer in town. This was 2.8 miles from home, so I disdained their shuttle and walked home to help prepare me to watch my friend Bob walk 60 miles on his 60th birthday, and many of my friends run the July 4th 5k in Huntington Beach.

All in all, a good Daddy Day.

A Day at the North Shore

Today worked best for our jaunt to the North Shore, and for once all of the things we wanted to do we got to do.

Started with a stop at the Dole Plantation. Not a big whoopee for me, but Jan and Karen (my sister) have a great time there. Jan loves the two quilt booths, and bought a pillow slip for our living room--turtles, I think.

We then went into Haliewa and introduced them to Giovanni's Shrimp Shack. For those of you not familiar, it is a side-of-the-street stepvan, that sells shrimp in 3 styles--lemon butter, hot and spicy, and scampi. This is one of two locations, and it has become quite popular without any advertising that I know of. When Jeff is with us, I eat a few of the hot ones, but they are VERY hot and so I got the scampi, which is full of garlic and makes everyone in the car uncomfortable but me. Don't think it was my sister's kind of place--sitting at picnic tables with "icky" spots on them, peeling the shrimp with many napkins at the ready, pepsi out of a can, etc. There are now about 4 other vendors at the same location, most of whom have plenty of time to watch the people eat at Gio's.

We went then to our favorite place to shop, which includes my favorite mexican place in the islands, Cholo's. We actually saw an advertisement for them on TV this year. Might actually miss eating there this year, unless we make another trip north before we leave Sunday. I went instead to the Aloha General Store, which is my spot for shave ice. This year I opted for blue raspberry with blue vanilla, and it was a good choice. Jan also found the wind chimes she was looking for in this store, wooden ones cut and painted with a "turtle" motif. Jay bought Karen some jewelry at the Black Pearl store, which apparently uses up her gift allotment for the rest of the year.

Drove up and stopped at what I think is Sunset Beach, where we hope each year to find sea turtles sunning themselves. We hit the jackpot this year, with one already on the beach and 3 more that crawled up while we were there. There are always a couple of volunteers to spread a rope cordon around the turtles to keep humans away. This rest is very important for the life expectancy of the turtles, so the volunteers make sure they are not disturbed.

Stopped at Dole again on the way home so that Jay could buy some chocolate-coconut-covered macadamia nuts, which he very unselfishly shared with me.

The only downside was my stop at a little golf shop just across from Schofield barracks. With the airlines charging $100 per flight to ship golf clubs, I've decided to buy a simple set and just find a place to leave them in Hawaii since we try to play every year, and would play more were it not for the shipping and/or rental fees. Well, this guy had a used set of irons that were off brand and wanted $700 for them, which is twice what I paid for my Callaway Big Bertha's at Roger Dunn. So I guess I'll find a cheap set on the mainland, pay to have them shipped once and then have a set over here all the time.

Came home and made leftover tacos with some of my favorite salsa--mine! Lakers beat the Suns, so all was well. Then the Dodgers had to go and lose to San Diego, the first time they've lost since we've been here, which means Dodger fans will probably not pay now to keep me here. Bummer.

Confessions of a Spoiled Man

The last few days have served, among other things, how spoiled I have become, and how much I take for granted. The above picture is the front of our first stopping place in Hawaii, the Waiohai Beach Club by Marriott in Poipu. Our beach is below. It is our second time there, and it was much better this time, mainly because our view included a part of the beach instead of the corner of a building.

It's kind of blurry (as are others) because I didn't enlarge them BEFORE downloading, and am too lazy to find them again, but you get the idea.

Marriott is in the process of opening their latest Hawaii project, called Kauai Lagoons, and we agreed to attend a preview, mainly for the $100 in gift certificates, and to see what was in store for us when we tried to trade into it.


Here is the outside of the building, and as we were driving up, it was nice, but we've come to expect that from Marriott. Then, we walked into the unit and were greeted by the view below. The pictures don't really do it justice, and if you go to vacationclub.com and do a resort search for Kauai Lagoons, you will get better pictures.

This is the view from the living room. What you can't see from this picture is that the sliding doors are accordion-like, so basically the ocean front becomes part of your living room. It is 61 feet above the harbor, overlooks the golf course. We were both pretty much overwhelmed and had decided that if the price was right, we were going to go for it. Well, the incentives were unbelievable--I'd list them, but Jan wants to tell the kids in person when we get home, so let's just say it was a relatively easy decision to make. We both decided that if it came down to being able to keep only one timeshare, this would be the one.

That's where the spoiled part comes in--unlike our first timeshare purchases, we are going to have to finance this one. So, for the first time in 5 years, we have a payment other than our mortgage. It means I'll probably have to sub a few more days than I had originally planned, and we probably won't have the mortgage paid off as soon as we would like, so I had a bit of buyer's remorse the next morning. We've come up with a way to make it more palatable, but it's still an area of our finances we haven't had to deal with in awhile. But, spoiled that we are, we wanted it and went for it.
So then we came over to Ko Olina, where we have owned for about 5 years, and then next part of our spoiled lives was brought into focus. We were excited because they have opened a new building, closer to the water, and we had requested the new building. Well, apparently our wording wasn't complete enough, and we were put into a building we don't really like. Poor us.

Have to put up with sunsets like this, though we have to walk all the way out to the water to get a shot like this this time of the year. Poor us.


The view from our room is sort of like this, only better. The lanai is in the shade for most of the day, so Jan can park her fair-skinned self out there without fear of sun poisoning. But, still, it's not the building we wanted so we are still kind of snippy--especially since we had to call housekeeping to finish cleaning our unit, and I'm sure that never happens in the NEW building.




What else do we have lined up for the week, to keep our minds off of how miserably we've been treated? Well, Thursday morning one of my former runners who lives here is coming over, and we will have a blessed time discussing the last 25 years of our lives. One evening a fraternity brother who lives here is taking us out to dinner.

Sometime this week we will visit Giovanni's shrimp shack. Which is what we lovingly call a "roach coach" permanently parked on the North Shore. They cook 3 awesome flavors of shrimp, and it's become a staple for our visits.



This is our favorite mexican restaurant on the island, again on the north shore in Haleiwa, and I can't wait to go there.

My friend Don told us of this place, and we ate there last year and plan to go again if we have time this year.

A little past Haleiwa Joe's is Sunset Beach, where we can usually find at least one turtle sunning himself on the beach, surrounded by his protective lifeguards.

So, how can someone have all of these experiences crammed into a 2-week stay, and still whine about the "injustice" of his non-preferred room location? It's simple--I'm spoiled. My facebook pages are full of status reports of people that are still grinding away at their jobs, I'm in paradise, and complaining.

Jan had the perfect remedy for our malaise--she called Jennifer. She talked to her for awhile and handed me the phone. We had a 5 minute conversation, which helped remind me she still needs her Daddy from time to time, and I felt better. For the rest of the day, I

1) made salsa 2) watched the Lakers, 3) followed the Dodgers on the internet 4) made tacos.

I'm fine now.

Gloatin-free vacation.

My wife says I'm mean when I adopt my "I'm in Hawaii and you're not," attitude so I will try to be nicer. We've always looked forward to the days of retirement when we could travel in "off-peak times" and so far, so good. There was the 27-day road trip to Canada in October, and yesterday we flew to Hawaii for the second test of that philosophy. Thanks to Jeff for getting up before dawn to drive us to the airport.

Off-season benefit number one was taking only 18 minutes from car to gate. We had gotten our boarding passes online, but still had to check bags and go through security.

Delta flights are now like Jet Blue in that each seat has an individual monitor. The down side is that since we were flying over water, no satellite TV was available. The good thing is that, because of that, all of the on-demand movies were free. I started off with "Invictus", which turned out to be one of the best movies I"ve ever seen. Of course I'm a sucker for sports movies, but this was more about the rebuilding of a nation than it was about rugby--and I know about as much about rugby as the people I often sit next to at Angels games know about baseball. I was near tears for most of the movie, mainly because, like most good sports stories, I knew this had really happened. It was a storyline that probably would have been panned as being unrealistic if it hadn't been a true story (see "Victory," a late 70s Stallone movie which pits war prisoners against the German national soccer team!!) I came away thinking that it's too bad Nelson Mandela was not available to become an advisor to President Obama.

I then watched "What About the Morgans?" Not quite in the same class, but I felt I needed an escapist chick-flick after the heaviness of "Invictus". "Morgans" indeed delivered that. Since I didn't have enough time for another movie, I watched much of Robin Williams "Weapons of Self-Destruction" and laughed for the rest of the trip (this show not recommended for conservatives).

Landed in Honolulu, had about a 3-hour layover before our flight to Kauai. Since there were 2 Kauai flights before us, our luggage was waiting for us when we got off the plane. Benefit #2--no one in front of me at the Hertz counter, and I was back to pick up the girls and the luggage in about 10 minutes.

Arrived at the Marriott Waiohai in Poipu right at the 4 pm check-in time. This is our second stay here, and since we traded in and are not owners, we were kind of apprehensive about our lodging location. Last time, we were in the main building, far from the water, with a view of the corner of our building. I called last week, explained that while we weren't Waiohai owners, we DID own 2 Marriott properties, and would appreciate the best view that was available. Well, we have a partial ocean view, facing the southeast away from the courtyard noise and can see the public Poipu beach from the balcony. Made a point of going back to the check-in desk to let her know how pleased we were.

Since we hadn't yet been to the grocery store, we headed to the local hangouts for dinner. Our original plan was to go to Poipu Tropical burgers because we knew it was good, but we also knew there was a Roy's in the same center. We decided to see how crowded they were: Benefit number 3, they had an immediate table. Since (a) it was Mother's Day and (b) I hadn't gotten Jan a card and (c) it's her favorite place to eat in all the world, Jay (my brother-in-law) and I decided that Roy's would be a great idea.

Got up just before 6 Hawaiian time--a lot later than I expected to sleep given the time change. Went out on the balcony to watch the sunrise and listen to the roosters. Took a walk on the beach--tide was out so there was a dry-land path to the rocks and tidepools and I visited them.
Came back towards the room and spent about 10 minutes in the hammock stretched between two palm trees right below our room. Getting ready to go get groceries, go to the Farmer's Market, and other than that relax and enjoy. Karen and Jay have been to Kauai before, so guided tours will not be necessary.

The downside of off-peak travel? My kids and grandkids are not here since they have jobs and school. We thought of skipping Hawaii next year, but Jolie was so disappointed about not going this year we promised to book next year at a time when they could come. Jeff didn't really want to come this year (he hates flying) but as he let us off he told Jan, "Now that I'm here at the airport, I wish we were going."

So I tried to keep the bragging out as much as possible. I am amazed at the blessings of God that have allowed me to spend my "golden years" in such never-dreamed-of luxury. I DID miss my church family this weekend, and I suppose the final benefit (for now) that I can think of is that when we get back in 2 weeks it will be too early for all of them to have started their vacations and I will be able to see them all right away.