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.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
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?
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
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
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:
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.
- 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'
- 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.
- 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......
Monday, December 6, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
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.
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.
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