Daily Read #38: Santa's Bag of Books

Did you miss me? Probably the hustle and bustle of the holiday hasn't left you much time to visit as it hasn't left me much time to write. But never fear we'll both get caught up as there is much to say, good reads to be read and good deeds to be doned.

If you've been following us for long enough you'll know that we just completed our second Good Reads Mission. It's hard to say if we were even more successful the second time around. Giving the gift of sight is a pretty high bar, but I think we did quite admirable nonetheless.

As a recap, our mission was to raise money for books for families that are part of the Sub for Santa program. They might not be the most glamorous gift but you'd be hard pressed to convince me there was a better way for a Christmas present to have a lasting impact on a child than giving them a book. [If you have a real problem with the money going to something as 'boring' as books start your own blog next year maybe you could call it WiiWiiWii all the way home:]

So the grand total of money raised via good reads was:

........Drum Roll........

or if you are the little drummer boy:

pahrumpabumbum rumpabumbum

$345.91

That's a lot of books. Unless one of them is a first edition Great Expectations...but it's not.

Special thanks to all of our donors all of whom inspired me with their generosity. I know how quickly a budget can be maxed out this time of year and so for you to find a way to put any amount to this very worthwhile additional cause is commendable to say the least.

I hope you thought it was worth it.

I'll be sure to keep you posted on how and where the money went.

For now the plan is to surprise our families with bundles of books on the 28th of December. This was done strategically for a couple of reasons.

1. Any kid is going to think that a Nintendo DSi is better than Pippi Longstocking. But given a few days a second helping of Santa is going to pretty exciting.
2. Money goes further when it's not spent at the last minute. We've been able to expand the area we're spreading joy to by ordering the books on line and not trying to get them here before the 24th.
3. Santa has all year to get ready for the big day, I didn't realize how much time it takes to try and fill his shoes and we only had a week.
4. Other Countries don't try to cram Christmas into a single morning. Think Deutschland rumor has it they have 1st day of Christmas, 2nd day of Christmas and 3rd day of Christmas.
5. This will maximize the number of posts I can make without having to divulge further embarrassing stories of myself.

I'll keep you posted with prose and pics about the culmination of this very good deed. Also stay tuned in: Good Deed #3 is coming right up. As well as some backblogging for the daily reads missed while I was over the river and through the woods.

Merry Christmas Alles.

Daily Read #37: ReGifting of the Magi Part 4.

"Don't make any mistake, Jan," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a pawn or a trade or a barter that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers, nimbly tore at the curling ribbon and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The BOSE noise cancelling headphones, that Jan had worshipped long in a Skymall catalogue. Beautiful headphones, with a soft cushioned around the earfit, in sleek black plastic and brushed aluminum side controls. They were expensive headphones, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the music player that should have employed the coveted peripheral was gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My discman will sound lovely with these, Juddie!"

And them Judson leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Judson had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly with her outstretched palm. The soft cowhide seemed to glow with the reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Juddie? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to check your email a hundred times a day now. Give me your laptop. I want to see how it looks in it."

Instead of obeying, Judson tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Love," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the laptop to get the money to buy your headphones. And now suppose you turn Chopped on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Daily Read #37: ReGifting of the Magi Part 3.

At 7 o'clock dinner was microwaved and the TV was on with the DVR set and ready to watch Chopped.

Judson was nearly never late. Jan rested the calf hide brief case in her lap and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stairway down the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I haven’t gone nutty."

The door opened and Judson stepped in and closed it. He looked worn and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-six--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new softshell and he was without gloves.

Judson stopped inside the door, ears pricked at the sound of Kenny G, which he generously tolerated through the month of December. His eyes flit between Jan, the pocket where the musicman once lived and the discman, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Jan wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Juddie, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had the old thing sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. I’ll live with out it; you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. I’ve still got the library on the computer I can burn to discs. Say `Merry Christmas!' Judson, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've sold your iPod?" asked Judson, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Took it off and sold it," said Jan. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my earbuds, ain't I?"

Judson looked about the room curiously. "You say your iPod is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Jan. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the turns of my favorite playlist were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I push play on Chopped, Judson?"

Out of his trance Judson seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Love. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. One hundred eighty eight dollars a week or 23 billion a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Judson drew a package from his strikingly limp backpack and threw it upon the table.

Daily Read #36: ReGifting of the Magi Part 2.

Now, there were two possessions of the Judson McKay Harts in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Judson's brushed steel-bodied laptop that when new had been the envy of his father’s and his grandfather's. The other was Jan’s iPod touch. Had the queen of Rock herself lived in the flat above the airshaft, Jan would have let her share an earbud some day just to depreciate Her Majesty's platinum records hanging on the wall and self-aggrandizing iTunes library. Had Bill Gates been their neighbor, with all his tech treasures piled up in the next basement, Judson would have pulled out his computer every time he passed, just to see him wipe at his eyeglasses in envy.

So now the thin chords of Jan’s earbuds fell about her rippling and spinning like the silver strings of a spider web. They reached below her knee before looping back to her pocket which enclosed the music man as she called it. And then she pulled them out nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and up the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Big Macs. Tech Goods of All Kinds Buy and Sell." One flight up Jan ran, and collected herself, panting. Mac, large, too white and puffy, heartily looked the part of the popular sandwich.

"Will you buy my iPod Touch 16G 3^rd generation?" asked Jan.

"I buy ipods," said Mac. "Take its cover off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Off was peeled the silicon case.

"One hundred and fifty dollars," said Mac, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Jan.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Judson’s present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Judson and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a calf hide executive hand-crafted briefcase simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Notepad. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Judson’s. It was like him. Softness and strength--the description applied to both. One hundred and 94 dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 8 cents.

With his laptop in that case Judson might be properly anxious about checking his inbox in any company. Grand as the computer was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old worn backpack that he used in place of a proper case.

When Jan reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her old discman and cracked the cases of discs collecting dust on the top shelf of a bookcase and went to work replacing the sound void made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within fourteen minutes the room was filled with Christmas carols being piped through the speakers attached to that spinning discman like it was Christmas 1998 all over. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Judson doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at that discman, he'll say we look like we belong either in a rest home or on Fullhouse . But what could I do--oh! what could I do with forty four dollars and eight cents?"

Daily Read #35: ReGifting of the Magi Part 1.

Gift of the Magi has long been a favorite holiday tale of many of us I'd imagine. Well written over a hundred years ago, it's been a long time coming that somebody with the help of an inflation calculator modernized the heartwarming story. That somebody might as well be me.

It will come in four installments.

---------------------------------------------------

Forty Four dollars and eight cents. That was all the screen said was left in the e-coffers. Pennies saved one and two at a time by joining every coupon group the world wide web had to offer. Three times Jan refreshed the browser thinking that would change it. Forty Four dollars and eight cents And the next day would be Christmas.

With nothing to do but flop down on the second hand microsuede couch and watch someone win money on Wheel of Fortune. Thus she did. Which instigates the moral reflection that in life at least someone in the world has the promise that all of their spinning will result in big money.

While the madame of the home is gradually subsiding from a state embittered self-pity to a state of more resolved moroseness, take a look at the home. A basement flat at just over $200 per week. It was no hovel but it also had no view better than the farside of a window well.

In the vestibule below was a welcome mat onto which few feet would tread, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. Judson McKay Hart."

The "Mckay" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $700 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $470, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming M. But whenever Mr. Judson McKay Hart came home and reached his flat below he was called "Juddie" and greatly hugged by Mrs. Judson McKay Hart, already introduced to you as Jan. Which is all very good.

Jan finished her pouting and attended to her matted brown locks with a scrunchie. She stood by the window and looked out dully at the gray gravel soaked by gray rain that fell from the sliver of gray sky that could be seen above. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $44.08 with which to buy Judson a present. She had been saving every dime she could for months, with this result.

A direct deposit just shy of $500 a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $44.08 to buy a present for Judson. Her Juddie. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and techy--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Judson.

There was a desktop computer between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen such a desktop in the house of graduate student. Even a squant and clumsy person may, by observing his reflection in the monitor, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Jan, far from being squant or clumsy, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass monitor. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Brushing it back behind her ears again she saw something truly of value in the reflection of the monitor.

Daily Read #34: Must be Santa

So both my parents are elementary teachers and they along with every teacher in the world (well at least the Western World) deserves your thoughts and prayers today. Take the excitement of a single child multiply it by 28 to the power of 2 because there is definitely a synergy effect when you get 28 7 year olds counting down to Christmas and put them in a box that is roughly 40 feet by 40 feet for the day as it snows out side and oh by the way you're in charge of teaching them to READ. How many of you would rather spend the day in the Hanoi Hilton?

It's unfortunate that we haven't found a way to convert that excitement into energy, as it is likely enough to power an aircraft carrier--even one that has decked its halls with strands of LED lights and space heaters.

The terrible part for my mom is that she knows what it's like to be on the giving end of the carpool and not just the receiving. She knows that she and her colleagues are the sacrificial offering on the yuletide log. For it is better that one teacher's sanity parish than an entire classroom of parents spend two additional days of the advent threatening to cancel Christmas if you don't stop playing dodge ball with the ornaments from the Christmas tree.

Don't even get me started on the fact that school teachers can literally eat their Christmas 'bonus'. Clearly who ever is making that budget decision doesn't do more than drop their kids off at school; actually scratch that, even the parents that drop off and pick up their kids get a sense of the chaos that is December at an elementary school with the average class size of 27 as they pass the riot police that make the protesters at the G8 summit look like A Sunday afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. The kids of these tight wads are probably bussed.

Anyway consider upping the ante a bit on that Christmas gift card for the first grade teacher in your life and make it to here rather than Walmart.

Now that slight soapbox tirade was not the intended direction of this post. I was really going to devote the post to one of the most purely joyful/magical Christmas memories of my childhood. Yes I had both: a childhood and a magical Christmas memory or two. Remember every Scrooge has a Fezziwig.

I probably could have done some fact-finding to better crystallize this memory but it might lose some of its magic. I was no older than 5. We were at a family Christmas party at my Grandparents house in New Castle, UT. Never heard of it? I'm sure you have; you pass it on your way to Beryl or Modena.

Still nothing? Here's a map

So even as a pre-5 year old I knew that very few people in the world knew where New Castle UT was. I grew up 30 minutes west of New Castle and I'd imagine that a good many of my peers had no idea even up through high school. But someone very important knows where New Castle is, give you a few hints.

Think Red.
Think Jolly.
Think Ho,Ho,Ho.

He not only knows where New Castle is but he's been there at least once. The party had been going for quite a while and we had likely been enjoying some of my Grandma's delicious holiday fixings when came a knock at the door. It caught our attention because again this is New Castle and it was snowing. We heard the jingle of the bells on his bag of gifts as he walked in.

Us kids had to pick our jaws up out of the green shag carpet. He was everything Santa should be. This was no creepy mall Santa. This was St. Nicholas incarnate. Every detail was legit. The beard, the belly, the rosy cheeks, black boots, red velvet and fur trimmed coat and pants. He was more Santa than this poser:



We all sat on his lap without having to stand in a line that started in a food court. And I'm pretty sure he brought us presents that we got to open that night. I was a Christmas skeptic from a very young age but this single encounter with Santa Claus was very difficult evidence to discount. I had been thorough in checking to see if any uncle, father, grandfather was missing and they were not.

I would have been no less impressed had he come down the chimney which I think this guy would have had it not been converted to a wood stove.

I don't remember if Santa ever came back like that again, he didn't need to; the magic of that moment has had definite staying power; it's doubtful I could forget it and arguable that I wouldn't want to.

Darn it; I've got to go throw snowballs at carolers before I experience any more thawing of my Christmas heart.

Thanks Santa.

Daily Read #33 - Father Christmas

So I've got an outstanding father. However, if I were to identify one discrete failing of my father it would be that he is an absolute snooze/enigma to shop for. I've heard rumor that this must be some sort of late onset Y-chromosomal related disorder and that I'm not the only one that is at a perennial loss as to what to put under dear old Dad's Christmas tree. To further explain this point let's play a game a la family feud.

Things you buy a fifty year old man;

Survey says:
1-Golf Paraphernalia: I can't imagine my dad on a golf course unless he's watching a cross country race.
2-Power Tools: I'll let my mom answer why this one isn't needed.
3-Grill gear: Don't need to ask where I get it from.
4-Tickets to a game: Dad would like these I think but he lives in Cedar City.
5-A nice watch: he has one that is sufficient for his needs but will not become an heirloom piece.
6-Hobby gear: you know for fishing, hunting, cycling, tennis etc.

Things you buy an eighty-year old man:

Survey says:
1-Mixed nuts
2-Socks
3-A puzzle
4-A book with extra large print
5-A calendar.
6-Sweats
7-Nothing.

This second list is eerily similar to what I've gotten for dad in various combinations for the last 7 Christmases. The lameness of my gift giving was always a source of concern until just this year.

I'm now a father who's recieving gifts from his children. Although my daughter's a little bit young to quite know what gift-giving is all about, she has already given me a gift that I couldn't be happier with: she's potty trained. The fact that increasingly her business is no longer my business is gift enough for the next several Christmases.

And I look back at several other advancements she's made and I consider those gifts too. For example, she feeds herself now (when she chooses to eat). Second she talks even while she's crying. Third she can walk so I don't always have to carry her. Her neck supports her head even. She's given me a lot that makes my life considerably easier that it has been at some point of her existence.

She'll grow out of a car seat eventually (maybe by the time she'll be able to drive herself places) . She'll eventually learn how to make her own money to spend and hopefully govern herself as a fully contributing member to society.

In short I guess I'm trying to say, Dad this isn't just a can of nuts it's a can of nuts from an adult who does most all of the things a good adult should do. Merry Christmas and Thanks for helping me get here.

Daily Read #32 - Twelve Days of Christmas

So I had intended to post this yesterday as it would have been the official start day of the 12 days of Christmas. As it were the Great Disconnect of 2010 has created a little bit of a good reads bottleneck.

Have you heard of the Twelve Days of Christmas? No not the annoying tune with lords a leaping, drummes drumming, maids a-milking and a menagerie of birds in a pear tree. The Twelve days of Christmas is kind of like secret Santa but you choose who you give to and it's not just a single gift you bring them but twelve days of Christmas cheer often à la edible goods or small Christmas trinkets.

One of our family's traditions was to do one and sometimes two 12 days of Christmas targets a year. We would start on the 13th and finish on Christmas eve.

Almost always we stayed anonymous not an easy feat if the target really wants to know who you are. We got pretty good at running though so it got harder to catch us and growing up one of our favorite targets were widows in our church as they were easy for little kids to do the ring and run part of twelve days.

I think twelve days were a fantastic tradition for a couple of reasons.

First, I think that doing something for others is a great way to not think so much about yourself. Kids need that around the holidays (Adults need it all year round).

Our family was not rich and though I don't think that 12 days was ever a huge monetary commitment* it helped teach us that wealth is not defined by how much you have but how much you give. [Also the product of a mom who planned for it well in advance].

Twelve day's targets were very rarely charity cases in the eyes of the world. Most often we chose people who we wanted to know that someone in the world really cared about them. Hunger and poverty are serious problems but so is loneliness. We may feel more interconnected with family and friends than every before thanks to modern technology, however one of the problems with our increasingly tight knit social web is that it's essentially blindfolded us to those outside of it. Twelve days targets raised our level of social awareness; they helped us to see those people who otherwise would have occupied our blindspot.

Probably the greatest challenge with twelve days is that it requires consistency for a good portion month of December. However anytime you can inject some regularity into the holiday chaos it's a good thing. [This is one of the reasons why I am a Bran-maniac until the new years].

So if you need more details on how your family could do the Twelve Days. Comment below. If not I hope that you are finding some traditions that mean to your kids what Twelve days meant to us.

Daily Read #31: Get your bake on

So I know that I've razzed Christmas enough. This post will only be about one of the few things that I honestly and truly love about Christmas: Cookies. Although I'm not really ready to give the holidays too much credit for baked goods, I eat enough of them year round that it's not like I'm staring at the calendar every year starting in January saying, 'Come on Christmas. Need me some cookies'

I remember being in a church class as a young teen where the instructor had us write down characteristics we would look for in a spouse. Now it might surprise many of you to know that perhaps the most popular response among the boys as the number one trait wanted for Future Mrs. Me to possess was that she could bake.

Now given even a few years there would have likely been a shift in what 12 year olds were looking for in a wife from Betty Crocker to Betty Boop as we stopped thinking that we would like to marry our mothers, but for 12 year olds baked bread was a priority. However at the time baking didn't make my list. That's not to say that it wasn't important to me; contrarily, it was too important to me to leave up to the crap shoot of love.

I knew that baked goods needed to be a part of my life, whether or not they were made with love by a wife.

So I bake.

I'm a man and I bake.

Now I know that men cook but it's most always slanted as a natural extension of our inner hunter. Our gender is not supposed to admit to cooking unless by cooking we're talking about what we have recently killed, gutted and butchered before roasting it before us with its blood splattered on our smock (manspeak for apron).

If you ever show up on my doorstep and I've got blood spattered on me---it's likely a nose bleed not a wildebeest. However on any given day, you may show up and find me splotched with flour. Although our society has 'modernized', if you're a guy and someone opens the door and you've got flour dusted on your cheeks, you're going to have some explaining to do.

Sad though it may be sometimes I like to go with the quick answer and tell them I'm sheet-rocking. No follow-up questions with that response. However, if I happen to confess that I'm actually just doing a little holiday baking most everyone with one eye-brow raised, begins to question me like Barbara Walters

Don't even get me started on taking the finished product to friends and neighbors. I cannot tell you the number of times I've had to just nod in affirmation to phrases like, 'Ooh! She didn't need to make us anything." "I need to get the recipe for these from your wife", or my favorite, "My husband wishes his wife could bake like this too!". Under very rare instances do I correct them, but to all you in the blogosphere be forewarned that if you get Cookies from the Harts. 95% of the time, Jan's contribution was cleaning up not baking.

So suffice it to say, I bake and I bake well.

Here let me show you.



Yep I made these. And actually I've uploaded them with a new blog widget called scratch and sniffer. Go ahead and scratch your screen to get a whiff of how delicious they smell.

I won't tell anyone that you actually tried that.

These are family favorites. I think for a couple of reasons. First they are delicious. Second we are chronic multi-taskers; anytime we can consolidate two great things into one, we'll do it. We eat cookies; we eat candy. At some point someone got the genius idea that we should start putting candy in our cookies.

You've heard of Turducken right? Well I at some point I'm going to bake candy in a cookie which I will then bake in a cupcake and then Freeze, wrap in Ice Cream, freeze again, dip in hardshell and serve with hot fudge--I'll call it Molten Icecupcooken.

As far as I know there is no hex on any of these recipes by one of my foremothers that will make anyone eating the end-product prepared by someone out of the bloodline breakout in hives but let someone you wouldn't mind seeing suffer from boils try the first one just to be sure.

Will you be able to make them as well as me? Probably not, but there is only one way to find out, preheat your oven.

A couple of cookie basics.
Two words: parchment paper; don't bake without it. Get yourself some precut sheets from Orson Gygi. Tell them Judson sent you.

Second, other than your sugar and any mix ins like chocolate chips, always always pre-mix your dry ingredients. Put the flour, baking soda, powder, salt, [cocoa] into a gallon size ziplock bag and give it a few shakes before adding it to your wet ingredients.

Lastly it doesn't apply so much to these featured cookies because you have to form the dough but for your basic drop cookie get a cookie dough scoop. It portions out your dough so you get uniform cookies and you don't end up manhandling all of the dough.

Peanut Butter Cup Cookies:
***Warning these contain traces of peanuts***** [and by traces I mean gobs]
Cream:
1/2 c. margarine
1/2 c. peanut butter (smooth)
1/2 c. white sugar
1/2 c. brown sugar

Beat in:
1 egg
1 t. vanilla

Add dry ingredients:
1-1/4 c flour
1/2 tsp salt
3 t. soda (not a typo you really need 3 teaspoons. It is what makes the cookies rise up so much that you can press the peanut buttercup down into the cookie"

Roll dough into small balls 1 tsp or so place in miniature muffin tins with paper liners.

Bake 10 minutes at 350. Remove from oven.

While still hot press 1 peanut butter cup into each cookie(Generic peanut butter cups like sam's choice or Palmer's work better than Reese's).

Rollo Cookies:

Cream:
1 cup butter (softened)
1 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar

Add:
2 eggs

Mix together then add to wet ingredients:
1/2 cup cocoa
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp salt
3 cups flour

Mix wet then dry ingridents with creamed butter and sugar. Wrap about 1 tsp of dough around a rolo. Roll in powdered sugar and then Freeze (Absolutely essential). Bake at 350 for 12 minutes. Maybe a little less (hard to tell because the cookie's already brown) once the rollo has flattened out they are pretty much done.

Cool before eating unless you like scorching your taste buds with molten caramel.

Hidden Mint:

These cookies are delightfully minty fresh. Has the Holiday rush left you no time to brush? Don't worry about it--grab one of these on your way out the door and eat it on your way to the next party--you'll be ready for even the most intrusive personal space violators. They apparently also travel very well which I wouldn't know because they usually don't make it far from the oven. [I guess technically I'm still carrying them around everywhere I go so yes they do travel well].

Cream:
1/4 c. butter
1/4 cup shortening
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 c. brown sugar

Add:
1 egg
1 T. water
1 t. vanilla

Mix in dry ingredients
1-1/2 c + 2 T. flour
1/2 t. soda
1/4 t. salt

Form dough around mint (I prefer to use the smallest York peppermint patties I can find). Bake at 400 degrees for 10-12 minutes.
--------------------------------------------
Also pictured were pumpkin cookies and while combining vegetables with butter and sugar is also a strategy our family cookbook frequently employs. You'll have to wait on that one.

Daily Read #30B: Fruits of your labors.

You're being doubly blessed today. Two daily reads in one day does life get any better?

Make sure you check out Andy's read below. Andy is my first cousin once removed if you're a strict pedigreenie. We've always just been friends who happened to run into each other at family reunions. We're about 2 months and about a foot apart.

Andy is 6'6; needless to say I look up to him. [I remember when we both ended up at BYU freshman year I wondered what the soreness in my neck was that first week and then I realized it was from hanging out with Andy.]

Andy graciously offered to contribute to GoodReads which I think you'll soon realize is awesome. He doesn't dangle his modifiers and is precise in his use of their and they're. Those of you bothered by this* if you are still reading will appreciate this especially. [You know who you are]

Well we've obviously got internet back at home. [You would think we were going without heat or running water with how bad we suffered]. We just were so worried that we were falling behind on our indexing....

I've got three posts started but for now I'll leave you with this also guest authored but by Rachel. If you have been with us since last edition you'll know that our blogs readership was one of the contributors to the Palmer Family's victory in the Hoopes Vision Video contest. If you missed out go back and read some of the older posts.

Ryan had the lasik procedure done last Thursday and naturally it was pretty awesome. If only we were still practicing the whole eye for an eye thing anyone who voted could have gotten free lasik too---too bad.

I have to admit I'm a tad bit jealous. But maybe Ryan will give me his old glasses.
----------------------------------------------------------------
My camera has been having some struggles lately (since it took a dive on a hard wood floor) So it literally took days to get it to import our pictures from Ryan's surgery. But luckily I got 'em!

It's now been 3 days since he was 'lasered' and it's going really well. His vision out of his right eye is "crystal clear". His left eye is still adjusting and is slightly blurry, but the doctors said that it will stabilize within the next couple weeks.

I tried to take pictures of everything at Hoopes (and probably succeeded in looking like the crazy 'scrapbooking mormon' in the process).


One last 'glasses' picture together before going into Hoopes. (It's really hard to take self portrait pictures with this big heavy camera.)

A dorky picture of Ryan in the elevator on his way to Hoopes.

Prepping for surgery. Right after this picture they took his glasses off him. We won't be needing those anymore!



This is Dr. Hoopes and his assistants working on Ryan. The waiting room was really cool. I could see everything through the glass wall and they put the surgery up on the tv screens.


Ryan's eyeball! They put the blue marks on his eyeball with a special marker that shows them where 'horizontal' is so they can tell if everything is lined up right. It's a bit freaky to watch it happen, but at the same time you can't look away. We have it on DVD, we'll bring it down for Christmas. We can play a game to see who can watch the video and eat grapes at the same time without gagging.



This is Ryan walking out of the operating room with his new eyes. At this point his vision was "cloudy and milky".


This picture was taken the next morning. Ryan can read the bottom sentence with the smallest print (even while holding it at arms length). When he went in for his preliminary evaluation, he couldn't read anything. Even with the blurriness, he's a pretty solid 20/20.


Doctor Barney took this picture of us at the end of Ryan's follow-up appointment. Weston Barney is from Richfield and knows Ryan. In fact, Ryan 'saran wrapped' Weston's brother to the goal post in High School.



Ryan has to tape these 'eye guards' to his face at night time so he doesn't accidentally rub his eyes while he's sleeping. He only has to do this for a couple more nights. It's a good thing because his eyebrows are getting quite thin. Just Kidding.

It was fun to pick up the girls from school and show them Dad's new eyes!
'
This was such a wonderful experience for Ryan and for our family and we were truly blessed to have it done for free!

Good Read #30: Ring out Wild...Unaccompanied Voices?

This is my first post to "Good Reads for Good Deeds"--thanks to Judson for letting me come aboard. I thought I'd devote my first entry to one of my favorite parts of Christmas: music.

When we arrived at our little hospital branch chapel this morning we found that our old, worn carpet had been replaced with a snazzy new gray and brown weave. Unfortunately, in the process of switching out the carpet the organ had somehow been unplugged/broken/killed. We never quite figured out how the music died, but we never got the organ to work.

I've occasionally conducted the music in church (who doesn't want to see a tall guy in a bow tie wave their arms around?) and the branch president asked me if I could pick out some hymns to sing a capella. Yikes. I decided that our lack of accompaniment was the perfect opportunity to test our congregation's Christmas carol confidence.

I'm here to tell you that while we weren't awarded a grammy, "Away in a Manger," "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," and "The First Noel" sounded beautiful. There's something magical and wonderful about people--lay people, untrained people, confused and lost people--joining their voices together to sing a song about "Peace on earth and mercy mild."

I remembered afterwards that the Puritans didn't use music in their services, and they may have done away with hymnals all together. While I think we'd be in trouble come New Year's, singing from memory and from the heart without the crutch of the organ was pretty special.

I'll close with this video that some of you may have seen. It's been making the internet-rounds, but is a good one. I think things like this should happen more often:

Daily Read #29: Black Friday

Rest your little worried souls. My heart is still beating, and my lungs moving so atleast my cerebellum is still functioning.

What is not functioning is our internet at home which in part explains the no daily read of yesterday. Spare me some of your vast quantities of magnanimity. Because it was Friday. I had plans of doing a post on Black Friday. Even though it wasn't.

Do you Black Friday?

I have once. Last year, with Rachel and our two cousins.

I bought keebler cookies and a cabbage patch baby doll. The checker looked at me like I was nuts and vocalized that thought 'You couldn't wait for the cookies it's 4:15 am and this cabbage patch doll is not on sale.' [Meaning that I could buy it, but it wasn't discounted like the flat screens I had passed in the dairy aisle].

I said, 'Sam Walton wants me to remind you that your job is to take my money not ask me questions. Now can I pay for my cookies and my cabbage patch doll."

Now I don't think you have lived until you have Black Friday'd in Cedar. In most places you've got stores like Kohl's, Target, Best Buy, Staples to diffuse the masses of crazed consumers, but in Cedar City there is one option for anyone with the more is more approach to gift-giving--Walmart..

I was more than a little amused as I waded through the frenzy. Hottest item I saw? Card table and chairs. I thought, "ooh who's been the good little boy or girl this year?. Bet you can't wait to invite your friends over to share with them this awesomeness." Maybe I'm wrong and bridge is making a resurgence with generation LOL.

Anyway, we were in and out like a hamburger joint that sells terrible fries but apparently has great benefits.

Best part of the morning was when we went across the vacant lot next to Walmart to Home Depot and scored an awesome deal on a shopvac. Did we need a shopvac? No. Has it been the best 18 dollars ever spent? Quite possibly.

We even got that conquest on video, but I can't get it to post. I'll try to update it later.

For now, This will have to do.



So I know there hasn't been a lot of reading to this post but it's Saturday. Who reads on the weekend.

Daily #28: Gifts from a not so good neighbor

Bet you didn't think I was going to make it today. To be honest there were times when I didn't think I was either. Suffice it to say it was a long one. It has been a long couple of ones and more than likely, for the foreseeable future my life is like that poem:

The wood are lovely dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep......

At some point my boss mentioned he was going to spend the night preparing some fairly amazing caramel popcorn for friends and neighbors. Neighborhood gifts bring back many fond memories, I'll have to post again about it, but for now I entertained myself today with thoughts of terrible neighbor gifts. Here's the beginnings of a list. I hope you add to it by commenting below.

What gift would qualify you for the terrible neighbor of the year award?

• Returning their mail...opened...from the last 4 months.
  
• Audio tapes of their last family night fight.
  
• A wreath shaped from treasures their dog has left on your lawn.
  
• A video montage of the birth of all your children set to Cat Stevens
• A door mat with every member of their family's social security number (remember you had their mail).
• A calendar of supreme court justices in their lounging robes.
  
• The product of your new hobby-cheese making-from the milk of your herd of pygmy goats.
• Having a herd of pygmy goats.
• A pygmy goat
  
• Tickets to the next Michael Moore movie
• Ornaments made from your unmatched tupperware and tube socks
• Nancy Pelosi's memoir - Know your power: a message to America's daughters.
  
• Arm & Hammer baking soda toothpaste
• 'Sand' art made from the hair clippings from your electric razor.
• Your own remake of Richard Simmon's 'Sweatin' to the Holidays'.
• Coupons redeemable for the chance to babysit your kids.
  
• Slim-fast: even if you fashion reindeer antlers out of pipe cleaners around the tops of the cans and hot glue a large red pompom to the front of each.
• the plate of cookies they brought you---last year
• Donation in their name to Planned Parenthood
• A Ouija board
• A blanket infected with small pox
• Campaign stationery from your failed run for Stark County treasurer.
• Reusable toilet paper.
• A framed 10X14 picture of your family
  

Daily Read #28: Letters from my Father (and everyone else in the Family)

I could probably write quite a few posts about my Korea Christmases. I finally found my ideal atmosphere for celebrating Christmas in Korea. Naturally as missionaries there is an inherent degree of Christmas spirit all year round, and Christmas became a natural way to increase people's interest in two white missionaries who wanted to share a 'Christmas' message.

Korea was also westernized enough and Christian enough (particularly where I was in Seoul) to have a few touches of Christmas splattered in unexpected places but it wasn't the 80 proof Christmas Spirit that assaults the senses with every step in many places in the US. This meant I could 'gak' about the cold without getting sneers from merrimakers.

Finally for me, Christmas will always be inseparably tied with home. I can't imagine how homesick Christmas in a more traditional Christmas environment would make a missionary. As it were if I didn't want to think about what I was 'missing' by being 10,000 miles from the holiday homefront, I didn't have to fend off reminders on every doorstep.

Leading up to my first Christmas I had been in Korea for only a few months. I was quite a happy and well adjusted missionary. I liked the food, I was seeing some success, satisfied with who I was working with, and in generally learning to be quite fond of being a missionary and being a missionary in Korea. We were teaching a family (Dad, mom, two kids) who would end up setting baptismal dates for Christmas day. With that to look forward too, it was very easy to convince myself that there is no where I would rather spend my Christmas than in Korea.

Overall I was quite impressed by myself. Not even the slightest pang of homesickness, it didn't really register with me despite my holiday advent pocket Christmas tree. The companion I was with came from a non-traditional family background and wasn't overly morose with the idea of spending another Christmas in Korea and because it was just the two of us together we didn't have much to mope over.

There was one moment of that first Christmas when that was for a few minutes changed.

Our mission was geographically small enough that the Mission home was never more than 2 hours of travel time from your area. Consequently we would travel for conferences at the mission home quite frequently. Our December Zone conference was one of those times; we went into the mission home had trainings in the morning and then were invited up to President's home. The mission office and president's home were on the 3rd and 4th floors of a church building.

The climb of a flight of stairs from where we had been recieving training to president's home might as well have been a 10,000 mile transpacific flight. All of my defenses were immediately swept away by the feel of carpet underfoot, the tasteful holiday decorations including a tree, the holiday music playing softly and the smells of holiday baking. I'm not sure if this was the intended effect but suddenly I was dealing with a barrage of emotions that I had been quite content repressing.

Within 20 minutes or so I had my sea legs back on HMS Homesick, and just decided that I would enjoy it till it was over and after that I'd be just fine. We had some testimony sharing and caroling and were hopeful that we'd eat something baked 'Western' style and then be on our way. But nope there was one more 'surprise' from our mission mom, who came out carrying a basket of brown envelopes with bulges of various girths.

Letters from our families for everyone. I thought are you kidding me? Don't get me wrong, I love letters as much as the next guy but I do not want to sit on carpet under a Christmas tree eating Christmas cookies reading glad tidings from my family who I was beginning to really miss. Death by letter was not what I wanted to kill my resolve to embrace a Korean Christmas.

My momentary hopes that I would be the one missionary without letters were dashed when I was handed a considerably more beefy envelope that most of the missionaries around me. With my heart in a figurative tourniquet, I tried to keep myself from being washed over by emotions. My mantra, 'Don't think, Don't feel, Don't think, Don't feel' allowed me to get so far as the seal broken on the first brown envelope. I was relieved by the sight of another envelope that had carried the contents over the Pacific.

All around me missionaries were reading their letters. The few Koreans among us were done and I think were trying to figure out what the big deal was. Inspiration struck as my defense strategy changed to be eerily similar to that of a 14 year old girl: retreat to the bathroom. So I Moaning Myrtled my way back to the bathroom. Once inside I got bold enough to slide open the airmail envelope and pull out a stack of folded letters all on different holiday paper, tied with a gold bow and gift tag that said to Elder Hart love your family. Mom might as well have been there handing them to me.

The levees broke and I'm hopeful that no one heard the guttural sound I made that likely sounded like I'd been disemboweled. I think at this point my guardian angel intervened with the thought that far outstripped the genius of the first--Operation Toiletpaper--just don't read them now. When my mind processed this, the relief was instant.

My emotions in check I exited the bathroom and went back out to enjoy brownies and ice cream with the other missionaries. My brown envelope bulging out my from the inside of my jacket [at the time it was the only bulge under my jacket]. I would read the letters but it would be at time when I could unabashedly enjoy them and now was not that time.

That time was early the next morning before my companion had woken up and I had some alone time. I did cry but my emotions were back to normal well before the missionary day began. I was in a healthier emotional state after this event. I could more fully experience joy when I had acknowledged certain aspects of sorrow and longing inherent with my circumstances.

Looking back at this memory I have two thoughts, first there are missionaries that I should write, they appreciate Christmas letters the most.

Second nothing evokes a stronger desire to be with loved ones than the Christmas season. While in a perfect world we would be able to gather those we love the most in one place to share a cup of cheer, circumstance and even mortality, both often meaner than the Grinch, create some vacancies around the Christmas tree. We need not be ashamed to experience the grief, sorrow and longing created by these gaps just because there isn't a Christmas song that heralds the duality of emotion inherent with Christmas.

Sorrow and joy are often two sides of the same coin--love. Heads or Tails the coin remains a coin and loses no value. Life was meant to be an emotionally rich journey we shouldn't try to mute it. Create spaces that allow you to experience an appropriate range of emotions of this holiday season, they are all a part of your inner who.

Daily Read #27: Nothing says Christmas like A Sing Along.

So it seems like every year the ACLU is suing at least one school organization around Christmas time for infringing on some student's personal right to have a personal space free from all religious influences or innuendos.

No I don't intend this to be a post related to whether or not such sterility should be tenet of a free society rather to tell you that I grew up at the waning stages of a very different era.

Not only did our school calendars indicate not a Winter Break or Holiday Break but a straight up Christmas Break, 'Merry Christmas'es were passed around like the flu; we didn't just say it--we sang it.

At South El mentary [we lost the 'E' in 76 and must not have had the budget to replace it] We had a ginormous Christmas tree in our school's gym [we may or may not have had a nativity too, I don't remember] and we would gather daily throughout December for singing round the Christmas Tree. Until 2nd grade or so I'm quite certain we sang for several hours a day. The older students who already knew the songs would just come in for the last hour. So we had 2nd graders who probably couldn't read yet but knew all 5 verses of Silent Night with Sign Language.

I'm not certain if they still do 'Singin' round the Christmas Tree'. I would estimate there is a good chance that even South Elementary has contracted a little 'pc'. If so, it's now Singing round the Picea pungens.'

However, they'll have to go through a lot of the songs that we used to sing and shape 'em up or ship 'em out.

There are some that can stay:

• Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer: highlights the damaging effects of bullying.
• Rocking around the Christmas Tree: seems to praise holiday hedonism and early experimentation both of which are okay for public schools particularly if you change it to 'Rocking around the Xmas tree.'
• Feliz Navidad: Bilingual education is hot right now.
• 'Don we now our gay apparel.': It gets to stay because it would be a hate crime if we tried to take it out. Not to mention it gives one of the lunchladies a shout out with, 'Troll the ancient yuletide Carol'.
• Must Be Santa: The only thing wrong with this song is the title. Grammatically it's quite confusing. It gives me visions of children with blank stares repeating over and over must be Santa. Must be Santa.
  
• All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth: Every parents dream is for this Christmas list.
• Crazy Frog Christmas Songs: Yep the ACLU should have no problem with this one. Might be animal exploitation but they'll leave that to PETA. [Can you exploit animated animals?]
• I'll be home for Christmas: The teachers are all singing this strong while thinking more importantly 'You'll be home for Christmas'; nothing promotes Teacher appreciation like a long period without school. Teachers would get a larger christmas gift if they asked there students to bring them after the break.
  
• Jingle Bells: but only the first verse. I don't know who Ms Fanny bright is and what the other sheninagans are all about; other than I don't know that they are appropriate for children.

Acceptable with Revisions:

• I'm dreaming of a White Christmas will need to become 'I'm dreaming of a diverse winter break'.
  
• 'We three kings of Israel' would have to be 'We three kings (and 3 Queens) of Israel' Although the Obama administration would like us to temper the pro Israel Agenda in this country so maybe we should move this down a couple of notches.
  
• Frosty shouldn't be smoking so he'll have to find something else to do with that corn cob.
  
• 'Oh little town of Bethlehem,' Little is such a pejorative--so is town.
• 'We wish you a Contented Solstice' fits as equally well to the tune of 'We wish you a merry Christmas'

There are some that are acceptably PC but strike out for other reasons,

• Twelve Days of Christmas: Counting is tough. Learning should always be fun. Math can be outsourced.
• I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus: Would strike a tender chord for anyone from a broken home.
  
• Oh Christmas Tree: A. nobody knows what 'verdant' means. B. I'm pretty sure it promotes putting flammable items on Christmas tree's which is never a good thing for fake or real trees.
  
• Grandma should not be drinking too much of anything and hit and runs are no joke.
• Chestnuts Roasting: Elementary students will have a hard time singing about 'chestnuts' without a loss of 'maturity'; they're not quite sure if they have them or if they are waiting to have them but they're quite sure they don't want them on an open fire.
• Santa Baby: I might be misreading the lyrics but I'm pretty sure this one promotes teenage pregnancy. I mean a convertible, the deed, a duplex and a ring. Might as well be the theme song for a holiday version of Sixteen and Pregnant.
  
• Suzy Snowflake: Again I think that someone's getting exploited here. Suzy needs a shelter not a theme song.
• All I want for Christmas is You: I don't think we sang this one but just in case. Stalking should be taken seriously and this song screams creeper to me.

Striken/Strucken: No need revising they are DOA.

• Angels we have heard on high and Hark the Herald Angels Sing: No explanation should be neede. Great Songs but not in the pc hymnal.
• Away in a Manger: Yep difficult to take a more secular approach with this one.
• God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman: A resting man is the result of a working woman and there is nothing in the song that conveys that.
• What Child is this? The title here is fine and in fact would be quite an appropriate question to ask when one of the little ones on the front row has an instance of Yuletide enthusiasm out matching his bladder control. [Everything else is entirely too overtly proselytic]
• As are Silent Night, Oh Come all Ye Faithful, and the Hallelujah Chorus......
  

Political Correctness is exhausting and has left me with one song that doesn't fit into any of these categories but matches the summative theme quite well.

Daily #26: Taking a Stand for Traditions

So what do you do when you can't sleep?

Well I just degemed a pomegranate, and I'm eating it right now. Figure I'll blog till I bore myself to sleep...you'd be surprised how long that can take some nights.

So our family has quite the bushel of Christmas traditions. Some of them were perennial favorites--some of them not so much. Many of them were edible and I'll be highlighting some of those soon enough. This one, well, you'll quickly discover that I had a tenuous relationship with this tradition.

Every first Sunday of December the presidency of our church hosts a Christmas devotional where they share messages of the birth of Christ and the real reason for the season. The Mormon Tabernacle choir sings Christmas music. It's a lovely production. Check it out here.

There are far worse ways to spend an hour of the season. Unless you're a teenager whose Christmas attitude is more 'el no than it is Noel.

So the devotional is recorded live from Temple Square, our church's headquarters and then broadcast to meeting houses around the world. If you live within the broadcast region of BYU's public television it's rebroadcast a view hours after. And now it's published to the website. While even growing up there was these alternative viewing methods, there was only one for our family we would watch the broadcast tele-streamed to a local meeting house live.

Now I think that every year I would have embraced the tradition (well more the infamous Hart one armed side hugged the tradition) if it had included sipping cocoa in our christmas pajamas next to the Christmas tree via our television. But as it was, it meant an extra hour in a meeting house, an extra hour in church clothes, the loss of an hour of the three hours a week we had access to cable television at my Grandma's house, and being afraid people there were assuming that a) you didn't have a TV b) you were dumb enough not to know that could watch it on TV c) you were lame enough or swept up in yuletide superiority to disregard a & b and watch it at the meeting house anyways.

Has my conjouring of my pubescent self conveyed an adequate picture of the statistical probabilities that at any one of these broadcasts I was likely very far from enthused to be walking into the devotional Family Von Trapp style.

Here's the most shameful account.

It's Winter.
It's Christmas.
It's the day of the Christmas devotional.
Which means it's been a Fast Sunday (Our Church does a collective fast the first Sunday of every month for two meals read more here)[now by the time of the broadcast we would have eaten dinner but I'm sure my electrolytes hadn't quite balanced out.]
I'm back in a shirt and tie.
I'm back in a meeting house.
I'm somewhere between the ages of 13-17.

The scales are pretty stacked in favor of Grumpy Gus.

Sealing the balance: I had positioned myself at the back of the line of our family in hopes of two things. First, my funeral procession cadence will convey to the few peers in attendance that I'm cool enough to not think that it's cool to be here. Second, and most important, as my family files into the bench I will likely take my place on the end seat of the pew with an arm rest.

The end seat is not just the place to rest your elbows. It's the power seat. Best seat for a quick exit and the arm rest does afford you two options for sleeping. Crink Necked leaning sleep which would have been a nice change of position from my usually Forehead on Forward Pew that I had already used that day I'm sure.

However my plan of action was foiled by someone further up the line of ducks with the same objective/different approach who instead of sliding down parked immediately next to the endseat and let everyone else file past. I caboose in to find they are in 'my' seat. I motion for them to move down. They motion back--not on your life.

Now I could have done the usual Gruff 'n tuff pass making sure to knee them first before I step on both their feet stumbling and then catching myself on their sternum. But I decided to take a noble MLK/Ghandi passive resistance approach by staging a sit over.

And by a 'sit over'. I mean a sit over there where there is an empty row/endseat.

So I sit down opposite of the rest of my family across the aisle disregarding the inevitable silent snap, finger over, finger down motions of my mother by pretending to be engrossed in MoTab's medley of Christmas Carols. I've left them with few options. The program started before we even arrived which I think means will limit my parents ambition to direct further attention to the cold war I have just initiated.

A formidable foe my mother. She did what she does best and ante's up very diplomatically. If Judson won't sit with us we'll sit with him. The family stands exits the pew they have just sat in and crosses the aisle to where I'm sitting.

I'm surprised by the overtness of the gesture but let the row of ducks file past with minimal nudging. Once they are seated, I raise the stakes by following their lead. I stand up and cross the divide again to sit where the family had just warmed the seats.

The ball back in Mom's court, she did what good parents do--let the air out of the ball.

The family sat on their side. I sat on my side. More than likely adrenalin rushing sleep I did not. I knew that I only had an hour to construct a compelling argument to explain my public display of defiance. I don't think I ever got a chance to use what ever pitiful piece of rhetoric I had fashioned.

We may have shared short words of displeasure but it diffused pretty quickly.

I may have won the battle but I had lost the war; the incident has been fodder for family teasing and stereotyping ever since--Grizzly bear is a pretty hard reputation to shake.

Besides sharing this as an explanation as to why I'll send my mom increasingly large mother's day bouquets as I become more educated as to how hard her job was I offer one other take-away point

Establishing family traditions is far from easy. The more meaningful the tradition is the more opposition, internal and external, you will face in maintaining it. While there needs to be some give and take as your family modifies traditions to better meet the traits and temperaments of the family, you can't take down the barn everytime the wind blows.

You have to be willing to accept the unperfect version of your perfect way to spend the holiday as part of the cost of spending it with the people you love the most. Kids even teenagers will learn to appreciate what well-intentioned traditions represent, even if they never fully appreciate the tradition its self.

Thanks for thinking I was worth putting up with me.

Daily #25: Do you remember the 5th of December?

Okay so if you know me you already know but if you don't you might as well know now.

I hate winter.

Just so there is no question:

I hate winter.

In fact I think the primary reason I have some reputation for not oozing Christmas cheer is that I just project my dislike for winter onto everything in winter's path. Not to mention the whole holly jolly cheery pockets full of mirth attitude that runs rampant this time of year stands in such sharp contrast to my internal state because of the cold and the snow and the short days that it makes me kind of angry.

Not helping the situation is the realization that the reason for the season didn't happen in this season at all. It's some arbitrary dropping of what could be a fantastic holiday if it say happened in June or August onto pretty much the worst place on a calendar it could fall.

Would Bing Crosby's baritone sound any less romantic if he was singing

"I'm dreaming of a bright Christmas."

Or

"T-bones roasting on an open grill"

Okay so I think you get the point and I've found that there is no converting Winter people. [With my inlaws I often feel like an atheist who's stumbled into a Southern Baptist Revival, I just don't get the jubilation but sure pass me a tamborine I'd hate to dampen the mood]

There has been one very good thing to happen in the winter. Arguably the best thing that ever happened to me in the winter or any season for that matter. I think there is some divine irony that can be credited for that. Any guesses?

Five years ago today I met my wife and as my cell phone will tell you 'My best friend'. [She set the ringtone as this to make it awkward for everyone around me when she calls and I push ignore rather than interrupt the conversation. Judge not lest ye be Judged'

The easiest one liner response with how I met my wife is the 'We met at BYU'. Not a huge fan of this response because it conjures up images of star struck lovers at Helaman Halls, a eager beaver American Heritage TA and a freshman that just needs to pass, and the FHE Mom and Dad who decided to extend their current calling into the eternities.

The only reason the 'we met at BYU' response holds any value is that we were both enrolled there when we met. But that was about it.

It was a blind date actually; a classmate of hers a neighbor/friend/former girlfriends cousin of mine set us up.

I was on a kick of okay nothing's really working out for me here so let's do everything different.

Which meant I would take a blind date to a company Christmas party--when I was working at a call center. Yep really deft move, I know. Because nothing impresses a girl more than your position at the bottom of a call center chain of command.

Don't worry I get more impressive. Script from first call. I was in the BYU library.

Me: Hi is Jan Burn-HAM there? [It's /burn/um/- Got that a while later; also dork marking me the number I had was her cell phone so of course Jan Burnham was there. I figured that after probably 30 calls which of course started with 'Hi! Is Jan there?' Always her responding Hi Judson. Oh Hi, Jan. Do you just sit in your apartment by the phone waiting for my call?']

Jan: This is Jan.

Me: [Call Center tenor] Hi, Jan this is Judson* Hart Camille's friend [well articulated 'Judson' because people have a hard time with that]

Jan: Oh hi.

Me: So Camille said you might be available to go out next week. [I don't know for sure but I would guess I was this abrupt].

Jan: Um yeah. What day was that?

Me: Next Monday night. It's this Christmas work thing.

Jan: (Darn the only thing I have Monday is FHE with four foot Paul) Yeah I think that would work.

Me: Great, and actually I have a friend who needs a date so if you have a roommate or friend that wants to come too that would be awesome.

Jan: (relief, well he at least has one friend). Yeah I think I could find someone that would go. I'll let you know if not.

Me: (the line that will live in marital infamy) Thanks and I know that it's finals and I respect your time so we'll pick you up at 7 and bring you back by 9.

Jan: (who says things like that) Oh okay. Thanks.

Me: See you then.

------------------------------------
So in keeping with the 'let's do things differently' theme. I bought an entire new outfit. Well it started out as just a shirt and then it snowed so I bought a jacket and then I worried that jeans were not going to be dressy enough to wear to a call center dinner at the then UVSC ballroom so I bought a pair of khaki's at the BYU bookstore before I cleaned my car on my way to pick my friend and then her and her friend up.

Get to her apartment. There is still a pumpkin outside her door from Halloween. I take this as a good omen having grown pumpkins for a good part of my life.

Ring the door. She answers looking even better than the pictures I was shown earlier [Always a good thing]. We exchange awkward introductions and walk to the car.

I turn my wit up a couple of notches as we drive to UVSC which means that it was likely hovering right around the conversational equivalent of Gene Kelly. I may make that look easy but it does require some cognitive resources which I withdrew from those allocated for driving. Not to fear that it increased my recklessness contrarily I just went from driving like a 50 year old man to driving like an 80 year old woman taking her driver's ed test.

40 minutes later we reach UVU and park. 30 minutes later the four of us find the Ballroom [UVU is about as navigable as the Parisian sewer] We get to the door only to realize I left our tickets in my car. That allows Jan and I some time alone as we go back to the car to get our tickets.

There were lots of things that I immediately liked about Jan but three in particular that stand out.

First her laugh. Jan's laugh had this quality of sincerity to it. You know that laugh that some people pull out in awkward initial situations. Not that what's being said isn't kind of funny but it isn't THAT funny. I wasn't a 100% percent sure if she was laughing at what I was saying or laughing at me for saying it but either way her laugh said that which ever it was she geniunely thought it was funny.

The second was that she came across as completely grounded; she had a very clear picture of who she was and what she was doing at the time and she was completely secure in it. Contrasted with me at the same point and time and this was a very enviable trait. I craved that security and from our initial interaction wondered if it was transferable.

Third the ease of conversation. Perhaps it's a combination of one and two but the interaction between us was effortless. Have you ever had a dream where you are running between two points that you know are well beyond your current fitness level but you aren't winded in the slightest? It was kind of like that and left me thinking I could do this forever.

So the date will live in infamy for being second rate in most respects, the food, the comedy act, the very long speech from the CEO but what we wouldn't give to live the night again. Actually I know what we would give---an entire six months. I left the job shortly after the Christmas party but then I would pick it up six months later right before we got married. The motivation was in large part because of how romantic I thought it would be to go to the Christmas party one year later. Imagine my disgust when in lieu of a Christmas party we got 20 dollar gift cards to Walmart.

Best decision I ever made was sending an email the next day as a follow up Thank you. This was also part of the 'do it different' campaign and one of the take away points from a Young Men's Courtship fireside. I like to think that introducing a writing element to our relationship was about the same as Mario Lopez getting his shirt snagged in the closing doors of a subway and ripped off as the train pulls away--a subtle way of putting one of the more attractive parts of your person right out there. The rest is history.

Thanks, Love. Here's to five on 12/5.

Daily Read #24: Do you countdown?

So at what age did you stop counting down to Christmas? Maybe you haven't stopped. But at some point I did. Sure I still count down other things---days until that paper is due, hours until bedtime but days until Christmas...nope.

Unfortunate because we've had some really good ways to count down too.

Paper chains in early elementary school. Alternating red loops and green loops strung until they made it up to the golden bell. Grad School should do that too except instead of golden bell they could have a skull and cross bones.


[pict actually came from this blog; the author has on each loop a Christmasish activity that they then do as a family; kind of fun if you can tolerate that much holiday cheer :]

One year we had a long chain made of saran saran wrap; every few inches there was a pouch of cinnamon bears or maybe Hershey's kisses. We'd unwrap one pouch an evening until the big night.

Then there is the classic Christmas chocolate window advent. We each were given one one year. I'm surprised I ever had that kind of will power. Maybe I didn't and that's why they were a one time treat.

The wonderous fabric of felt gave our family two unique advents. One that looked a little bit like this with an ornament you would pin on for every day leading up to Christmas.


The other was for when we were on our missions. The internet failed to give me a picture and I'll do a bad job of describing it maybe I'll get a picture later. It had a dowel that went up from a stand and there were twenty four pockets made out of green felt that made up the Christmas tree for twenty four little individually wrapped presents. It was the envy of all other missionaries well except when I had it in my luggage in the MTC...in June. One particularly memorable gift was these little single serve squeeze packets of skippy peanut butter. To a missionary in Korea it was like a prisoner getting a little packet of freedom.

Well lame post I know, but I think this is close to the 20,000th word I've written today. You got the last couple I could massage out of my finger tips [I'm afraid the cream got splattered elsewhere].

The reason for the countdown theme is that I've obviously added one because tomorrow is the first day your view matters (well to someone besides me) No it's not a countdown till Christmas but one to get to the end of the Pledge date for Santa's Bag of Books. So far we have $1.35 per view in pledges but of course we could always use more--click the picture of the 'Change' and see what you can do (if you can't do more than a penny, it will be appreciated nonetheless). You can see what the traffic for this week looked like at the bottom of the blog to see what your pledge would translate too [Monday kind of inflated the numbers a bit].

And if nothing else come back daily and don't forget to bring a friend. Probably one of the best ways to get them here is to add our button to your blog's sidebar. They'll click through out of curiosity and my wit and charm will keep them coming back for more :)