I read an interesting article this morning about Halloween, by Amity Schlaes.


Gleaned the following quotes to pique your interest. I found the article to be worth reading.


"In the U.S., we’ve been vigorously scrubbing our schools and other public spaces of traces of monotheistic religion for many decades now. Such scrubbing leaves a vacuum. The great self-deception of modern life is that nothing will be pulled into that vacuum."

"Parents can keep children away from religion, but they can’t stop children from believing in something."

Tell me, fellow clingers-on to monotheistic faith traditions, what do you do with Halloween?

A HALLOWEEN COSTUME FOR SOME LITTLE TATERS

My friend, Connie, e-mailed me this picture of a costume (the one on the right, not on the left)  because it would be perfect for a little Tater-Tot to wear. Now I just need answers to the following questions-where do I buy it? How much? ...and does it come in my size? (The one on the right, not on the left)

TATER!!!

IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!!

Happy Day is almost upon us, and I am soooooo excited.

Monday Night Football, September 26th!!!

Redskins vs. Cowboys

SUMMER SOLSTICE

Here's my summer solstice joke. Ya ready? You might want to sit down first. When people ask me, "How are you doing?" I say, "It's just been a really long day!" Hahaha! Get it? Because it's the summer solstice? The longest day of the year? That's funny, right?

Oh...I see. It's more nerdy than funny. Well, that's your opinion. You know what? You're a nerd! Forget you! It's funny.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

MARK YOUR CALENDARS

With the release of the 2011 schedule by the National Football League I am finally able to set a date for "Happy Day," which is a holiday celebrated annually among the greater Tate confederacy on the occasion of the first nationally televised Redskins game. This year Happy Day comes early, during week 3, when the Skins fly to Big D to take on their arch rivals, the Cowboys, in a Monday night showdown under the lights. The game is scheduled for September 26th at 8:30 EST. Both the Redskins and the Cowboys had a disappointing season in 2010 so I think they'll both show up with a lot to prove. I better start looking in the woods for a Happy Day Tree.

I can't wait. Go Skins!

HE IS RISEN!

ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!

I remember once in Junior High I overheard a classmate of Irish descent explain to a teacher why she celebrates St. Patrick's day. "St. Patrick was Irish," she said "So we really celebrate the holiday more than most families do. We're really Irish!" She was dressed all in green with lick-on shamrock tattoos on both cheeks.

The teacher was smiling and nodding her head, when I interrupted, "Actually, St. Patrick was from England," I said. "He was brought to Ireland as a slave, but he escaped, and after coming to Christianity he voluntarily returned to Ireland to introduce them to Christianity."

That's not an exact quote I'm sure. It has been a long time since this exchange took place, but I remember some of the words I chose, because I was careful back then about how I talked about my faith in the public arena. "Introduce them to Christianity" sounds like he gave them a disease or something. Here I was speaking their secular language to describe the event, which in my heart of hearts I would have preferred to describe in more personal language. Had I described this summary of St. Patrick's life to sympathetic Christian ears it would have sounded more like, "After he came to know the Lord, he voluntarily returned to Ireland to tell them about Christ." As a boy I felt weird and different for being a Christian, and I was a tad bullied by the disapproval of my peers into avoiding any direct, naked discussions about my faith so I generally talked about it as though I were a detached observer and not as the participant that I truly was. I regret that.

(Confession- In truth, I was enjoying this moment a little too much. Pride gave birth to this exchange. I was an obnoxious, little, know-it-all sort of kid in Jr. High, and I wasn't primarily concerned with confronting their secular notions with the unsanitized truth of the holiday's religious beginnings, but with simply showing off a little of my knowledge. I'm sure it rubbed them both the wrong way, and they can't be blamed for that. I am still trying to shed my contentious nature. I share this so that you will know that I am not exactly proud of this story.)

The teacher looked at me puzzled for a second, her head cocked to the side and hands on her hips. The girl looked at me like I had just said that the capital of the United States was actually Cleveland, Ohio. After a moment the teacher said, "Is that right? Well, we'll have to look that up." She went over to an encyclopedia, which was nearby because we were in the library, and after a few minutes came back confirming that St. Patrick was, in fact, a Briton.

Victory!

Although, like most American mongrels, I can never be exhaustively or exactly sure of my ancestry, there is not a strong Irish presence in my family tree. If anything it tends to lean more heavily towards other portions of the British Isles. But I do celebrate St. Patrick's day, but not because he was a Briton (as were my ancestors actually! Isn't that word "ACTUALLY" an obnoxious sort of word?) but because we are brothers in the same family and in the same cause. The family being that of Christ, and the cause being that of Christ also.

One of Bowden's teachers at school was struggling recently to explain to him and some of his classmates why St Patrick's day is a holiday and told him that St Patrick is somebody we celebrate because he freed slaves in Ireland. At breakfast this morning, Bowden told Sarah that this is why we celebrate St Patrick's day. I was outraged. A paid educator taking such pains to avoid any endorsement of Christianity (perceived or otherwise) that she completely misrepresented the holiday's beginnings and the man, St Patrick. Maybe she was just bullied by the disapproval of her peers, I don't know, but I wanted to go to school, seek this teacher out and have an actually-filled conversation with her. In fact, I might. As I think about it that teacher wasn't so far from the truth after all if she meant that Patrick helped to free men from their slavery to sin and death by introducing them to Christ, but I doubt that's what she meant.. St. Patrick did come to Ireland to free slaves. I have to own that is true.

So, unlike some,  I won't be pretending that I'm Irish today, but then again I don't need to. For I am a Briton (by ancestry), as was the good St. Patrick, but more importantly I am a Christian, which was St. Patrick's raison d'etre, and, actually, it's mine also.

I ALSO HATE THIS RED BACKGROUND...

...but I've decided to stand pat, and see this hideous background through until after Valentine's day. I'm increasingly convinced that a man should finish what he sets out to do, and I have purposed in my heart to keep it red until then in honor of the holiday.

I know that red is the color of love, but that is an artificial construct. In my mind, red is not truly the color of the love that Sarah and I enjoy. I think if I could reassign a new color to love I would probably say that love is as gold as a bright tomorrow, as green as money in the bank, as purple as an easy, comfortable silence, or perhaps even as brown as a rich soil from which four beautiful trees would grow. 

Red is the color of anger and injury. It also invokes memories for me of papers returned all marked up by a teacher's pen, and of communist revolutions. For those of you who are spiritually minded, I'm aware of the significance of Christ's blood ( and by extension the color red) as the purest expression of love, but I write without an ounce of concern for theological correctness. My mind can embrace that thought, and I do agree with it of course, but my heart won't follow suit. I reject red on a gut level as the color of love. It just doesn't sit right with me. Red has too much baggage.

(It also doesn't feel right as the BFZ's background. The black background gave the feel of entering a 24-hour diner for some midnight pie. It felt right. This feels wrong. Don't worry, on Tuesday everything will be back to normal. Anyone up for some midnight pie?)

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

Outside are the storms and strangers: we-
Oh close, safe, warm sleep I and she,
-I and she!
Robert Browning

"Love does not consist
In gazing at each other,
But in looking outward
In the same direction."
Antoine de Saint-Exupery



STINKER THE TINKER

Stinker the Tinker is an elf whose job it is to slip down the chimney ahead of Santa on the night before Christmas and case the joint to make sure that no naughty boys or girls are still awake trying to catch a glimpse of the jolly old elf. He creeps through the house peeking into every bed and if everyone is asleep he gives the all clear to Santa.

But before Stinker the Tinker scurries back up the chimney he always drops a deuce in the toilet. Elves poop gumdrops. Did you know that? Well, now you do.

Stinker the Tinker,
That mischievous elf,
Left a gift in the toilet,
He made it himself!

I'm pretty proud of Stinker the Tinker. I hope this goes down as my contribution to Christmas lore. Perhaps years from now supermarkets will sell little bags of Elf poo at the end of their aisles.

"Honey, did you buy Stinker the Tinker's gumdrops?"


"No. I thought you got them! That's alright I think I have some jelly beans around here somewhere.."


"Jelly beans! What's wrong with you. Everyone knows that elves poop gumdrops! NOT JELLY BEANS!!! You'll just have to drive out to the store and get a bag."


"Really?"


"Yes, really, it wouldn't be Christmas without a visit from Stinker the Tinker."

And perhaps someday someone will research the obscure origins of Stinker the Tinker and will find this very post as the very first reference ever made to his existence. This is the birth of an exciting new tradition. Embrace it America! Embrace it!

THE 10th ANNUAL GINGERBREAD CASTLE PARTY

THE SPONTANEOUS BEGINNING OF A NEW CHRISTMAS TRADITION

Yesterday afternoon, Sarah and I left the kids behind in the capable hands of Nanny and drove down to Palm Springs to do some Christmas shopping.

Sarah and I absolutely adore our kids. We love them, and we love life with them, but there is something intoxicating about leaving the kids behind. We had told Nanny we would be back that night, but once we were down there, away from the kids and drunk on being alone together, it became a concrete plan. We got a room.


What?!?!

I know.

It was spontaneous. We hadn't planned to do it exactly. Sarah had been joking around about it earlier in the day, but I don't think either of us was sure the other was serious.

I had been saving money secretly for months- furtively depositing my "Walking Around Money" into a hidden envelope. After tithing and bills, we take ten percent of whatever is left and split it evenly between ourselves. That way we have a little in our pockets if we want to go get coffee with a friend or something. We call it "Walking Around Money." It's not usually much money, but I decided I would save mine up and take Sarah out on a date sometime. I had collected enough in my pocket for a room at a clean enough looking hotel and dinner at Chipotle. It was totally spontaneous. I have to give credit where credit is due. It was sarah's idea. Sarah is fun like that.

It was raining buckets and buckets in Palm Springs. (Southern California has been going through kind of a Seattle phase recently.) Fog hung around everything like the hazy edges of an old memory. Sheets of cold, fat raindrops fell through the mist, flowing off the roofs and across the parking lots. We left our room, room 145, and walked through the rain to the hotel's hot tub. She was barefoot. I wore my shoes.

It was an oversized, tear-shaped spa, which sat in a courtyard in the middle of the complex. Rain drops plipped and splashed across its steaming surface. It looked very inviting. It glowed blue and sent out trails of steam, but thanks to the rain it was totally abandoned.

It rained and rained, sometimes drizzling and sometimes torrential. The mountains above us were socked in. The mist was being driven through the palm trees. It was really pouring, but we just smiled, giggled, and soaked deeper into the hot tub- playing hooky.

Best Christmas tradition ever.

Christmas lights shine brighter when I am alone with you, Sarah.

(Special thanks to Nanny who instantly and graciously agreed to extend her babysitting responsibilities until the next morning.)

MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS

 Every year, sarah does this thing where she hangs Christmas balls from the ceiling clustered in front of the windows in our living room.

 It's kind of like a Christmas ball asteroid field.

 I love the effect. It's very festive, and colorful, and really very striking. It also makes me want to get my B.B. gun and shoot 'em out from the opposite side of the room.

It's beautiful. I love Christmas.

AN HONEST TREE

We're gonna go get a Christmas tree!
We're gonna go get a Christmas tree!
We're gonna go get a Christmas tree!
And bring it home tonight!

There is something magical about a Christmas tree lot, isn't there? The spacious aisles, the neat rows of trees, the lights, the festive atmosphere. My kids were amped up like chimps on cocaine as the van's tires bit into the gravel parking lot and came to a stop. No sooner were we parked then Bowden and Lucy were out of their seat belts and screaming to be freed from the confines of their Astro Van prison. With so many "Stay close to us's," and "Don't go where we can't see you's" dropped on their deaf ears we finally slid the door and watched as they ran scatter shot into the miniature forest. Pretty soon calls of "Daddy, over here, this one!" and "Mommy, check this one out" could be heard from one corner of the lot to the other.

Miles was watched like a hawk, and, unlike his slippery siblings, failed to elude our supervision. He was completely non-plussed by the Christmas trees though and fell to work eating the wood chips.

Sarah and I did our annual groaning over the price of Christmas trees, which was followed by our annual shrugging of the shoulders. What can you do?

We hadn't been inside the lot more than 10 minutes when Jack began conspicuously grabbing his wee little manhood, which is a red flag Sarah and I have learned not to ignore. So as soon as Sarah alerted me to the impending disaster I snatched him up and escorted him to the most evil looking porta-potty you have ever seen (or smelled) out by the parking lot. Jack would have none of it. So I took him behind the porta-potty and down an embankment where we found some bushes, but Jack claimed that his need to pee had mysteriously disappeared. My stubborn attempts to convince him that he did indeed still need to pee produced tears but no urine. So I pulled his pants up and we went back to the Christmas tree lot where he miraculously kept his pants dry. It was a Christmas miracle!

Finally, the decision was made and this fine speciment of a Noble Fir was netted, payed for and lashed to the top of our van.

Ouch!

"Miles, with a big fistful of wood chips.

Bowden is such a stud. He clambered up onto the van to help the lady tie it down. He was actually very helpful. The boy has good instincts.

Then we changed the kids into their pajamas and set a course for home. The kids fell right to sleep.

It's pretty, no?