2014 Ends On A Personal High Note. It Extends To You.

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My year end wrap up is sparse this year. I made it through, no major hospital stays. A few injuries and boo-boos that linger. Santa made it to all his gigs. My agents kept me busy with auditions and voice over work. My literary agent got me a contract, let me reject the contract, helped me find two more publishers who are interested. My dog loves me more every day and my wife hasn’t locked me out of the house on purpose. All good things.

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That’s kind of how the nation wraps up 2014 as well. No big devastation. No plague – well, other than Ebola. But we’re promised that can’t be a problem. Trust them, they’re from the government.

I have a personal take on how 2014 wraps and 2015 begins. Read it below, think on it, and pray for it.

Oscar is The United States of America. So is Metaka. Throw in Mark, and Svetlana. They’re the crew at my local Sam’s club. All sorts of races, all sorts of religions. All sorts of different histories. But all of them working hard to serve the customer. They don’t care if that customer is a guy who came on a boat from Vietnam in 1977, or if he’s the 17th generation in this country. They don’t care if you drive a Ford or a Volvo, only that you drive it to their store.

This crew gave me hope for our country on Monday. They hustled, found product that I’d missed, fed me a soda, and thanked me for my service. They all smiled: genuine smiles, not that fakey one I give coworkers when I wish they’d go into the cornfield. None of them seemed to mind taking orders from, or giving orders to, another coworker of a different gender/race/socio-economic class/religion/hair color, or sexual orientation. That’s how I remember my place in this joint: I’m just another guy.

There is a push to divide us in this country. Since I’m a straight, white, male I am supposed to oppress and hate others. Nah. It’s way more fun being friends with them. I like other people’s food, clothing styles, accents (I’m a linguist – I love accents) and perceptions. If you take the time to listen to, and look at, the people you deal with in your day you might just find something nice to take home with you. Good restaurant names, new ways to cook that turkey, or just a picture of their children playing some game you never saw before.

Americans are the best people in the world. Yes, we are better than all the others. Why? Because we’re the ones who got kidnapped from our ancestral homes, got booted out of places where we were riff-raff, escaped starvation and fled here on the hope we might improve our lot in life, and managed to do it with people so different from us that it boggles the mind. We invented/perfected aviation, telephony, military weaponry, stable farming and food supplies, roads second to none, education that still manages to give everyone the basics (ok, if you go to a charter school or are home schooled in some places,) and a government that knows it’s in trouble with its bosses.

We’ve managed to do that for over 200 years without any coups, no political assassinations by competing politicians, and a modicum of civility compared to others. I don’t leave the house in the morning wondering if the other tribe in my city will attack my home with machetes while I’m at work.

We have it good in The United States. But we have to keep working on it every day.

For 2015, remember that. Quit your whining. Quit assessing blame for your failings on others. Try harder to see the other side. Give a little when it doesn’t matter so that all of us win. Educate the young on how to be a productive member of this club. Love your mother.

The list goes on from there, almost to infinity. But if you just remember to work with each other like Oscar, Metaka, and Svetlana we’ll be fine down the road. Put down that rock, pick up that shovel. Let’s improve the neighborhood.

I’ve been blessed to grow this blog by a huge amount this year. I would ask that in 2015 you share it on Facebook, tell your friends at work about it, and subscribe. I’d like to reach more people this year. The growth is wonderful, but with your help my messages will go mainstream. Don’t you think that might help in our world.

Meantime, Thanks, Oscar, for great leadership at the checkouts on Monday. You gave me hope.

Happy New Year!

Until You Acknowledge You’re A (fill in the blank) You Can’t Talk About It. Nonsense.

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I’ve been so good lately that I needed to get in one more note of outrage to balance the scales before the year ended.

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The title statement makes my head explode. It’s in the same category as, “When did you stop beating your wife, Mr. Courtemanche?” You can’t respond to that kind of logic in any way or you give some validity to those who spout gibberish like unto it. (Always liked that turn of phrase…)

Let’s end the year with a promise to do the following things in 2015:

Think for more than ten minutes before posting on social media when you’re angry. If you take the time to actually read the story that set you off, you will frequently find that it lacks any validity, it is more than a month old, it has some dark political purpose, or it’s an utter fabrication designed to make you look stupid.

Take off your race glasses. Yes, I know I’m not supposed to say this kind of thing on a blog: people might remember that I have an opinion. But all of you have a moral obligation to think, evaluate people as people, and ignore their skin-tone when talking about current events. It doesn’t mean you don’t note pigment, ethnic background, social status, or sexual orientation. It means that it’s noted, not the factor that decides whether or not the person is telling the truth. I have a horrible thing to tell you: people lie and tarnish others based on their race just to promote their political agenda. Yup, honest. It’s a flaw all groups of humans seem to share regardless of who they are. So take note of facts, not groups.

Quit slamming the police as some monolithic white machine out to exterminate minorities. For those of you in Rio Linda, the NYPD is 60% minority. That’s a stupid statement: they’re all blue. But 60% of them aren’t from Norway, Iceland, Germany, etc. I had to wrap my head in duct tape the last few weeks with what’s going on in this country. For those of you who like to fly off the handle I have another secret: you’re being played. People are selectively pulling one or two photos out of thousands on the internet and saying that “this is how it always is…” when dealing with law enforcement. Saturday’s funeral in NY was a good example. I won’t tear into that mess but to say that there were no white or black cops that day if you talked to them. They were all blue. Emotionally, racially, uniformly, and spiritually. Don’t try to turn their sadness to your political advantage. They’re men and women sworn to protect and serve. They don’t like bad cops either: and bad cops are a very small minority. So lay off the cops and give them a break. They are not the enemy.

Try to remember that flags are planted to claim territory. The Marines planted a flag on Surabachi to claim their victory over the Japanese forces on that island. Neil Armstrong planted a flag on the moon for the peaceful exploration of space on behalf of mankind. What are you claiming if you plant your flag on the top of a mound of smouldering trash? Before you plant a flag, make sure it’s soil you wish to claim. You’re all smart people, you will quickly see that I have no flags planted with David Duke, Adolph Hitler, or Vidkun Quisling. They may look like me, but they’re scum and I want nothing to do with them. The politics of racial identity are in direct opposition to the rule of Jesus Christ: treat your brother as you would treat Him. That ought to make it simple: we are all brothers.

Spend more time with your family and less time on the internet. Same with television. Speaking as an addict, I have already changed my habits to spend more time with my wife in 2014. I will push that even further in 2015. Do you love your family, or your internet domain? (But don’t stop coming here, I love having you read this drivel!)

Serve the community. Instead of making a lot of racket about change, make it happen. Feed the homeless. Mow the lawn of the little old man with arthritis down the block. Pick up the trash in the park instead of walking past it tomorrow morning. Be nice to strangers for no particular reason. It can be as simple as saying hello to a stranger.

Evaluate your works and words before they take place. Most of the things that make you crazy, and make you look crazy to others, are things you don’t need to say or do. Stop and think on that for a minute and you’ll likely agree.

Go forth into 2015 with a resolve to bless others as you have been blessed. I have been blessed. I am going to work on all of this myself.

Thank you for your support and loyalty in 2014. You are one of over 3,000 people visiting this site today and I’m proud to host you.

Happy Anniversary, Stormy!

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Two years ago a very shy, frightened, Shetland Sheepdog named Stormy came to live with us in Saint Paul. That has changed. This is an image from an hour or two ago, when we had our “morning snuggle.”

stormy, shetland sheepdog, rescue dog

Stormy’s second anniversary portrait

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Two years and a month ago, my heart shriveled to a small rock when my dog Maisie passed away. Old, arthritic, and frail. She’d had a tough run, but was a loving friend who was always at my side, sleeping on my bed, and looking for a pet. What a dramatic change when Stormy came to our house: she wouldn’t even be in the same room with me for the first three months. I only touched her when I closed all the doors and bribed her with food. She was truly fearful of me.

Over the past two years we’ve made a new life for her, and for us. There are special considerations in loving a rescue dog, the largest of which is the urge to flee. Open doors mean escape from fear, and the risk is that even after two years she will get spooked by something and keep on running. The fact that she’s loved, and loves us, will not stop that instinct from kicking in and causing us to lose her. There are days and weeks where she just makes herself scarce, hiding in the bathroom upstairs. At first we looked for a pattern, but then realized that it was just her way of dealing with some stress trigger that we’d never recognize. We call her, ask her to join us, and laugh at her peering down from the top of the stairs. It’s okay.

The biggest change (aside from her weight – bribery is fattening) in the girl is her interest in affection. After about three months we were able to give her brief stomach rubs. A year went by and there was more casual contact, pats on the head, rump rubs, etc. Then about six months ago we moved to a new level: seeking love and delivering the same.

She regularly comes over when I’m at the computer and levitates to put her paws on the arm of the chair or my thigh. She will perch there for long periods just letting me rub her back and head. The love in her eyes is quite clear. No doubt in my skeptical mind that this dog is in love with us as well.

In the last three months the morning snuggle has developed into a ritual. Once I brush my teeth, I go back to the bedroom to grab my stuff and there she is: on the edge of the bed, grin on her face, waiting for me to kneel down and bury my face in her chest while I massage her belly and back. She would stay there for hours if I had the time. If I’m in a rush she’s upset: that time is now important to her as well. So I carve out a few minutes no matter what and give her the proper love and affection.

It has been a growth experience for all of us in coming to terms with loss; hers and ours. She’d lost two homes and we’d lost two dogs in a year. All of us needed some time to heal and gain trust. There are rarely harsh words with her: she’s very smart. A simple no and a gentle brush on the nose to pull her away from her obsessive chewing usually work. Sometimes she just looks at me like I’m an idiot for even suggesting she change her course. Maybe I am.

But now that Stormy has been here two years today, I’m an idiot for her. The girl has captured my heart.

Thanks, Stormy. You’re a great family member.

Friday Was Exceptional.

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My weeks between November 15th and December 26th often become a blur of activity, sleep deprivation, and lots of miles on the road. By sheer happenstance, I lucked out and enjoyed a rare day off, no Santa performance at Midtown Global Market until dinner-time. No work at the day job either.

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To make the most of it, I headed off and ate an enormous plate of eggs, sausage, hollandaise sauce, toast, etc., at T&T Galley in South Saint Paul, Mn. The place is one of the best little diners you will ever experience. I love going there, I love the food, and it got me fired up for the rest of the day.

Sam’s Club beckoned next, there was a gigantic block of soap bars with my name on it. And gas. And cherries. What can’t you find at Sam’s?

The answer is custom Christmas cookies. My friends at P.J. Murphy’s bakery do the best job I’ve ever seen. I escaped with only a dozen or two to add to my waist.

http://pjmurphybakery.com/

Best cookies around!

Having rounded up victuals, fed myself, and annoyed many motorists in multiple parking lots, I headed home to watch some videos and get ready for the world of children and photos.

First up tonight was a little boy from Haiti. His mom and I sat and talked about our missions there, and then did something that overjoyed me: we prayed for Haiti, the children, and the turmoil in the country. There was an instant bond with the woman and her child. God filled my heart and allowed me that connection that others may not have felt.

At that point, we were off to the races. I tried something new: I thanked everyone for making me a part of their Christmas. It’s strange when you think about it, but I get sent shares on Facebook posts where I am in the picture and the family is including me in their world. I’ve walked into homes where I am on the wall but have never met the people before: a Christmas card on a refrigerator, grandchildren, friends, it’s amazing. I do appreciate the fact that I’m allowed to cuddle infants, have dad’s and mom’s sit on my knee, and be part of a family tradition. Many people on Friday had been there to visit me several times over the last few years, others were just starting the journey of growing children. All honored me by allowing me a spot in the photograph.

Santa's secret elf

Santa’s secret elf

One especially gracious friend brought toys for me to give out to some children in need this week. Three trash bags full of top-shelf stuff. I am so blessed to have elves like this one: a heart of gold.

Not only do I get to be in lots of pictures, but I meet neat people. One of them is Shelly Boyum-Breen who has written an excellent series of books about Shelly Bean the Sports Queen. These books are for children, and revolve on the theme of girls being sports stars. Well illustrated, nice message, well written, she was fun to talk to while we waited for our various customers. Turns out we have friends in common as well. It’s a pretty small world when you really think about it.

Shelly Boyum-Breen

Shelly Boyum-Breen

Santa occasionally sings as well, and Friday was one of those times: nobody died as a result. That is largely due to the charming people from the Roe Family Singers. I’ve had the joy of sharing the venue with them before, and I heartily endorse their musical stylings as well as their family-friendly lyrics. They can get anyone to dance and sing with them: including me. I only hope that the youtube.com videos are kind to an guy in a red pair of pants who blew out the microphone singing Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. Go hit their Facebook page for a quick like, they’ll appreciate it I’m sure.

I’m rambling. That happens when your heart is full of love and joy at the exceptional gift that God has given me in being Santa. I spent three hours tonight enjoying the company of my fellow man. I spoke to children and adults of all flavors. I drank in the love and warmth that can only come from a small child’s smile. I prayed, I felt blessed. I’ll leave it at that: I am blessed.

Final Christmas Video Friday Of The Season.

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Which, obviously, means there may be more coming out after Christmas. Yeah, funny that way am I.

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First up, Johnny Cash and an eclectic group of back up singers who were apparently instructed not to show any emotion or they’d be shot and left on the stage for vultures to consume. Never have I seen such a dead group of superstars in my life. In 1977 they were all very famous. Not a one of them moved a facial muscle, except Roy Orbison – and I think he just had gas.

Next up, Johnny Cash again! (Trend alert) Singing the Little Drummer Boy this time.

It’s not a video Friday without some ABBA.. or, Bjorn Again. So here’s their take on Little Drummer Boy.

How about The Jersey Boys doing Little Drummer Boy?

Not to be outdone, Bob Seger And The Silver Bullet Band doing The Little Drummer Boy.

My favorite version is the final one today. The late Don Vogel did a great Howard Cosell impression in his day. Here’s the Little Drummer Boy as Don did it for Howard.

Have a great weekend.