It’s back to the weather my friends.

Way back when, the two weekends before I moved from my college town in the cold northern part of Illinois to just west of Ft. Lauderdale in the sunny southern part of Florida were both close to 20 below zero as I recall.  The wind chill was much worse of course.

I remained exiled but warm and happy in South Florida for quite a length of time and then, inexplicably, decided to return to these parts.  There are no explanations for certain things in life.

Yesterday the temp plummeted to 18 below zero and somewhere south (or would it be north in this particular usage?) of 45 below with the wind.  I drove my wife to work and chided the dogs to hurry up when they needed to use the outdoor facilities.  It was cold my friends, colder then it has been in a long, long time and God forbid one of my dogs wind up getting something stuck to the cold hard ground.

This is a time when you need to stay inside if you are wise but still might need to venture out from time to time to kick off the numerous icicles which invariably and inexorably form at the exhaust point of every combusting appliance that is required by code to be vented outside.  Probably a good idea to pass those exhaust gases outside to the deer and coyotes but a slight nuisance to us humans this time of year nonetheless.

This is a time when you need to raise the indoor humidity levels lest you vaporize yourself after traveling across a synthetic carpet in wool socks and then have the audacity to actually attempt to turn on or turn off a switch on the wall.

The worst shock I ever received was on a cold day years ago when I was visiting here from Florida at Christmas.  I reached to unlock the door of my rental car on a very cold, and obviously very dry, day and produced a zap that felt as if a sledgehammer had struck my funny bone.  That arm was useless to me for about twenty minutes as I operated the rental vehicle with my remaining arm.  Nature’s got some nasty surprises sometimes.

In response, then, if you raise the humidity levels inside in weather like this- extreme cold made colder still by steady and relentless windage- you then face the issue of significant condensation building up on your windows.  You also discover other areas, typically up near the rooflines, where the insulation could have been much better.  Water is a good way to find cold areas, to find breaches, in your home’s structure.  Of course it then invariably turns to frost or ice with some rapidity and then melts later on to flood your sills and start the transition of wood to rotting wood.

But winter builds character.

The night before the deep, deep freeze my wife and I were awakened several times, not by the building winds, but by strange and rather rude noises in the house.  We looked around and found nothing.  When my tired brain resumed a sufficient level of consciousness I realized that it was likely the adjustment of the structure to a set of conditions that it had not previously been exposed to although this is likely not how I expressed the thought.  We get such noises during seasonal changes but they are typically rare and rather subtle and they tend to fade with the passing years as the house and its constituent formative materials assimilate in the various exposures.  Then, thankfully, all is quiet and at peace again.

Such extremes are the times that try houses’ “bone structures” as they are sometimes called.  And if it has been constructed properly and with care and it has been maintained and occupied by caring and somewhat knowledgeable stewards then all can be made well.  If one part of the house expands or contracts at a rate much different than the part adjoining it in response to the outside stimuli then all will not be well.

For as we all know, at least those of us who have been fortunate to enjoy the freedom-with-responsibility that home ownership can bring, a house divided against itself cannot stand.

UPDATE:  A friend and acquaintance read this and reminded me of the number of homes we have seen that were not so much tested from without but, rather, from within.  Lack of proper maintenance, ignorance of warning signs, poor and misinformed home modifications or additions; sometimes just being lazy or oblivious and assuming that the house will “last for as long as I live here at least”.  Houses are not occupied by the same family for nearly as long as they were in the past.

And rarely are they passed on to the children anymore.

I have had the opportunity to help coach two youth baseball teams over the last year.

The first team was made up of new or casual players; the second team was made up of what is often referred to as travel players which are players who are very experienced, knowledgeable, and motivated.  Let’s call the first team the Blues and the second team the Reds.

At the first practice the entire Reds team was in attendance with the majority of parents there as well.  The Blues were missing four players, two more showed up late, and only one parent bothered to attend.

The kids on the Reds listened intently as we explained our backgrounds and qualifications, our baseball approach and philosophy, our team rules, and our playing decisions.  Several asked questions as did the parents who were standing by listening just as closely to all we said.  By the end of that first team meeting the players seemed quite comfortable and confident in what it was we were trying to do. 

Our goals with the Blues were different of course because the skill and experience levels as well as the general knowledge of baseball were likely average at best for kids at that age.  As it turned out average would have been an improvement.  These players mostly looked around with several goofing off and needing to be called out so as to maintain order.  No questions were asked except by one young man who wanted to know if he needed to be at every practice.  The parent stayed back from the huddle and asked no questions.  Only two players made eye contact and seemed interested and engaged.  I felt somehow that they wanted to ask questions but were either afraid or unsure of how to do so.

As the practice season progressed it became apparent that we would need to invest a lot of time with the Blues if we wanted them to improve even a little bit.  They might also get the needed practice and education at home but, in my experience, this was not what usually happened on the so-called rec league teams.  It was my experience that the best rec league teams were formed by a draft process that favored the coaching team with more experience and also, interestingly if not surprisingly, with coaches who were in some way closely involved in the league activities.  We might try to improve the players who needed it most but, as we stood watching one 10-year old player chasing a butterfly around in left field during flyball drills the manager turned to me and said “we just need to get through the season.”  Okay then.

The Reds practices were crisp and mostly intense though executed with a good bit of fun and well-intended competitiveness.  The players got better, the team got better.  The coaches needed to know their stuff if the players were going to respond.  These were smart kids and involved parents.  The coaches needed to work as hard if not harder than the players.

On the Blues it really didn’t matter if the coaches knew their stuff and many in the rec league seemed not to.  Or maybe they just didn’t show it or seem to care too much- it all seemed too laid back, too programmed.  It was puzzling to me.

“Why is this?” I asked each of the head coaches.

“I just want to keep coaching my son” said the Blues manager.  “There is a rating survey at the end of the year so if I keep letting the kids do pretty much what they want and if playing time is doled out equally so the parents stay happy and if I provide free pizza and soda a few times during the season then everyone is happy and I get to manage again next year.  It’s that simple.”

I was pretty shocked.  No talk of making the players better or smarter, no mention of enhancing the expectations of the parents, no discussion of winning as a desired goal, no worries that in the end he- or us, by default- would be held responsible by the league for making sure these kids, these players, at least the ones who wanted to, could compete at the next level, maybe even one day make a travel or high school team.  Just worried about his own son and the boys of families he simply did not wish to alienate.  He had his favorites and my son was not one of them from what I could tell.  He did however gladly accept my help babysitting at the practices.

“We want each and every player to be at his best so the team can be at its best” the Reds manager answered when I asked him the same question.  “It’s hard, and coaches and managers in this league get replaced if they fail in their goals.  We get rated too but it is by players and parents who know a lot, who expect a lot, and, in the end, demand to get what they have invested in- both time and money.  The rec league guys just get to keep coaching and, I have to say, mostly failing their kids.  The worst part is that their kids and parents don’t know or expect any better.  It may seem strange but if they coached better then they might have less of a chance to keep coaching if they or their teams plateau or fail to reach the goals that were promised.  

I looked on in quiet disbelief at what I was hearing.  The Reds manager, a very good coach and man in my opinion, went on.

“I teach at the high school and have to say that the situation there is similar.  Also in politics as well” he said.

“How so?” I asked.

“Well, we came from another community where I was elected as a village trustee for several terms.  No one asked much of me or asked me much- they just liked me because, I guess, they knew me from either coaching or teaching or both.  At the townhall meetings, if the residents even attended, there was little controversy and almost never any questioning of what it was the village board was doing or saying they were doing.  Still, I kept getting elected by the folks no matter what.  I thought I was doing a good job but it turns out that I simply had to go along.  I hate to say it but the reason I kept getting elected to the board was because the folks were not involved and not smart enough to do anything different, even if the choice against me had been a better candidate.”

“And here?”

“I ran and was elected the first time but since my training from our last community was to basically not do much and just keep the folks happy by not rocking the boat and not raising any expectations that is what I did by default.  Another candidate, more qualified I think, came along and I was voted out by a large margin.”

“You lost?”

“Yep.  You might say I was voted out because the people were just too smart.  Better to keep them dumb and happy I guess would be the lesson.  Politicians, teachers, coaches.  Might be true for all of them” he concluded as I pondered all he had so openly shared.

I thanked him for his time and as I gathered up my gear and my son I realized how very likely it was that he was completely right.

At our most base and fundamental level we are simple and simply creatures.  Creatures of God, creatures of Nature, creatures defined or described however you like, but creatures nonetheless.  Have you ever felt like a creature?

What drives us, what makes us get out of bed in the morning?  We wake up without much choice but getting up is something we choose to do.  Then, further, we get ready for our day and get moving with doing the things we need to do.  True, some do nothing as illness or depression overcomes them, but most of us do something in an effort to get something done.  What is it that you do?

Often, when convinced at how tough I have it sometimes I realize from watching others, from thinking back on life and looking like I do at history, that I really have it quite easy.  My kids have it a heckuva lot easier than I did but I still don’t know if their having so many opportunities that I never did is a good thing or a bad thing.  Maybe it’s just a thing.

I can handle being a creature but when I look at my still-somewhat-innocent-looking progeny I find it hard to think of them as creatures despite the fact that a good bit of what they are they got from me.  So if I am a creature then surely they must have some creature blood running through them.  Now I’m getting concerned as the truth begins to overtake me.

And my wife?  Well, I don’t want to get into trouble here.

As I roam this earth though there are many creatures that I do see indeed.  They are everywhere: some more creaturish than the others, others becoming more creatured over time.

Creatures do not often think or consider things for a very long period of time.  They usually just react based upon many thousands of years of major release programing and the more recent patches that define them.  Eat, run, make noise or stay silent, attack, lay down, jump, sleep, drink,- all just pre-programmed reactions that are usually, but not always, the correct responses.  Creatures react without thinking; humans think but sometimes, it is true, without reacting.  Which is better?  Which is you?

This is the year for reaction my friends.  The time to think and do nothing has passed.

Creatures are also a good bit less lazy than humans.  They react, they react to survive and propagate the species.  It doesn’t get more basic than that.

So you can choose as a human to be more human, to think more and do less, or be more like the creature we all know that you are, that, indeed, we all are.  It’s not wrong.   In the final analysis it is simply just natural.

Humans wise up; creatures rise up.

I will accept the argument that neither should be done at the exclusion of the other.

“Grandpa, what do you know about the ‘pile’?” Natty asked while her grandfather toiled with the broken plow and stubborn mule.  The dry dust from the hardened earth rose and blew swiftly away with the hot, dry summer wind.

“From whom did you hear anything of the pile child?” he responded with his own question, the mule still refusing his directions.

“I saw a book in the old library, in the basement there while I was helping them to clean.  The woman nearest me snatched the book away as soon as she saw what it was and told me to never mind about such things, that they were old and likely false and anyway none of my business.  Have you heard of it?” the girl, almost now a young woman, inquired innocently.

“She was correct, you should not pay mind to it as it was just a story from the old people who lived here long ago.”

“Please grandpa, please tell me what you know.  I promise I won’t tell anyone in case it’s a secret or something” Natty pleaded.

“Not a secret dear, just something that is no longer spoken of and that for a reason no one can truly recall.  Still, these are our ways.  It should not be spoken of or even told as a story in the present times.”

“Please grandpa, please!” she countered, her voice now filled with excitement, her interest building to an even greater level than before now that she understood that her grandfather likely knew the story, or at least a part of it.

Natty had always been grandpa’s favorite, a sweet girl with a kind heart and a fierce determination that seemed much out of place these days but was something that he respected and greatly admired.  He knew that, as always, he would yield to her requests.  She was so much like her mother and her looks were nearly identical, often bringing him to tears as he struggled to not remember all that had happened in those dark times.

“I will tell it as it had been told to me.  You cannot ask questions for I would have no answers beyond what I will have told you.  Do you understand my dear Natty?” the aging man asked.

“Yes, yes of course, of course.”

“You must also never mention this again- to me, to anyone.  Do you understand Natty?”

“Yes grandfather, I do.   Thank you paw-paw, I do want to know what it is” Natty said softly and with loving devotion to the man who had protected her and brought her up through all of the very hard times, through the dark times and to the present times.

“All right, sit down now and listen.  There, no there.  Good.  I will sit and rest as I tell it” the old man said.

“I am ready paw-paw” Natty said with all seriousness.

“There was a time when the harvests were plentiful and food for all in abundance.  They called this the Time of Plenty and all, weak and strong, wise and average, short and tall, man and woman, adult and child, rich and poor, king and commoner, all of the human creatures shared in the bounty and had more than their fair share to eat.   All prospered and all rejoiced.  It was due to the pile that this was made possible” the grandfather began.

“Yes, child, the pile.  For deposited at the mouth of the deep valley for all those who worked the land to share was a pile of the  richest, most moist soil ever seen and ever worked.  Each Spring there was a new deposit made though no one knew from where it came.  The land workers would take from the fertile pile all the new soil needed and spread it all across the growing lands.  The seeds would then be planted in this soil- no one knew either what made this soil so dark and rich or so thick and moist; no one knew how the soil stayed so moist no matter how much the sun would beat upon it.  The seeds would germinate and the plants would grow even if there had been no rain in months.  It was magical, nothing less could be said” he continued as Natty looked at him with her eyes wide and sparkling, her ears attuned to his every word.

“Now all was in order and all worked so well for so long.  The deposits were made, somehow and in some way.  The withdrawals were made according to the specific needs of the population and the conditions brought upon the land in the spring by the ravages of the preceding winter.  All that was needed was made to be available.  The magical soil was taken and spread as needed and always, without fail, yielded the harvests that served to feed and nourish all of the people.  These were good times, they say the best of times”  Natty heard as her grandfather paused to cough and take a small drink of water.

“But grandpa, where did it go?  What happened to leave us where we are now with our sterile, stagnant soil and meager autumn yields?  We are poor and we are, we are all, so very hungry so very often.  What happened?” Natty asked, her curiosity spilling out as she shifted closer to hear.

“No more questions young one.  I will tell you the rest of what it is I know.  One year, and no one seemed to remember what year, the pile began to shrink in the early springtime before the land workers had made their assessments and then the just and necessary withdrawals.  At first it was thought that those who had provided had simply not provided enough but this was later found to be untrue.  It was determined that there must be those who were taking from the pile in a manner not consistent with what had always been done before.  They were taking it for a different use, a use that was not in keeping with the age-old method, a use that many said was wasteful and not in support of a bountiful autumn harvest for all” he related as he looked around with some concern.  Speaking of such things was not strictly forbidden but was seen as a possibly radical and therefore punishable act.  He rather wished he had not started the story and now wished only to finish it quickly.

“Added then to those who made the deposits and those who made the traditional withdrawals were those who made off with such soil as they felt they needed for their own uses.  It was forbidden to monitor or guard the pile so it could not be determined who exactly was responsible for the thievery, for that is what it was at bottom, and it could not be prevented.  Every year the pile got smaller and the choice had to be made whether to continue to support the needs of the bountiful harvest and risk the ultimate depletion of the pile or to hold back on the amount of the withdrawals for the normal and age-old application and hope that either the depositors would have more to give or that the takers could somehow be made to understand that there would not be anything left to take if they continued taking unfairly and unwisely as they had been doing in an increasing fashion with each new season.  But since no one knew who these takers really were or even what they were using the magical soil for it was not possible to prevent the pile from being finally and completely depleted.  This is how the pile went away and left neither the land workers nor the takers with anything left to withdraw.  It was the end of the pile; it was the end of the bountiful harvest and the Time of Plenty.  It was the beginning of the long, dark times.  And that is all that I have to say on this my young and beautiful one” Natty’s grandfather managed to conclude in a sad and softening, even fading, voice as he sighed and left the story to be told no more.

My first New Year’s Day entry.  Happy New Year to everyone.

We were up late last night, celebrating in our own family way- party at a local skating rink for the kids, dinner and movie for me and my wife, then ringing in the New Year at home on the couch.  Got to bed around 2:00 A.M.  Kind of different from what I used to do, what we used to do, when we were younger.  Still, very special in its own special way.

What did you do?  Did you have fun?

Drove home from the skating rink in a mini-blizzard.   Got home and went out to shovel enough snow for the dogs to go out.  Did the same thing this morning.  Have to go out in awhile and do the heavy snow removal.  I have a machine to help with that.

While I’m out throwing snow my wife will be frantic to get the Christmas  decorations taken down and packed away for another year.  I have no idea when we’ll be able to get the outside stuff taken in- a lot of that is staked to the ground and maybe also wire-tied to a tree (we have a lot of wind where we live).  Sad time of year when it all gets packed away.

I turned the lights of the tree on a final time just to look and remember.  When I was younger, in  high school I believe, I used to lay in front of the tree by myself, late at night, staring at the lights and just thinking or maybe not thinking at all.  There was always some sort of music playing- maybe some Christmas songs, maybe a radio station, maybe a new album spinning on the turntable.  It was such a somber, private time.  These lights on this tree remind me a bit of those long-ago moments.

I have no particular predictions for this coming year, only hopes and prayers.  The ones for me and my family I will keep to myself at least for now.

I hope and pray that this will be the year of the American Spirit, the year when we finally all, or at least many of us, wake up and realize what trouble we are really in.  I pray that the people will again focus on what is right and what is needed to somehow get us at least started toward getting back on track.

It seems to me that where all this needs to come from is local in nature- in the home, with the family, at our schools, in our churches, at our gathering places, wherever we meet to discuss what is important to us as individuals and as free and proud Americans.  For me this means to write as much as possible to get my feelings, my messages out to at least a few folks- they can hopefully take it from there.  I can’t do much but I can do a little and maybe help to effect a little bit of a change in the hearts and minds of others elsewhere who are perhaps ready to do something but just don’t know what. 

I want a better America, one that gets back a lot closer to its constitutional and founding roots, for my family, for my kids and their generation.

America- first we need to learn what’s what, we need to wise up; then we need to decide what needs to be done and then get to work getting it done.  We need to get up from our couches and get to work.  Once we have managed to wise up then we need to rise up and inspire others to do the same.  Are we up to the task?  Think that we really can’t lose our country?  Think that pernicious even if well-intended socialism cannot happen or, if it does, cannot destroy us?  Better check your history my friends, better get wise in a hurry.

This needs to be the year.  Make 2014 the year.  Do it for your kids, do it for your grandkids, do it for your forebears who never, ever, wanted any of this for the country they loved.  In then end though, at least do it for yourself.  Make 2014 the year. 

And please stay tuned.

Happy New Year to you and those you love.

It’s early morning on almost the last day of the year and here I sit, having been up already for hours, tired and watching the slow but inevitable breaking of dawn. 

I am very tired as I didn’t sleep much last night.  Noises in the house; weird and un-locatable noises.  Plus just lots and lots on my mind as the year crawls to an end.

I am here with the darkened Christmas Tree.  It has done its job yet again this year.  Not a real tree- haven’t had one of those in over ten years though I do still much prefer them over the artificial ones- but a nice and functional tree nonetheless. 

The tree goes up, the lights are hooked up and checked.  The ornaments come up in their box from the basement and then come out of their box and get hung upon the tree by all of us.  In this house our old Santa topper does not fit on the tree without getting jammed into the ceiling so we leave old Santa off and place him elsewhere.  The skirt goes around the tree and, on Christmas Eve, the presents get placed underneath and we usually get to bed late.

Christmas morning comes and we usually eat and then open presents.  It is a very enjoyable time for all of us I think. 

The tree gets lit a few more times before New Year’s Day, when we remember to do so.  Then, sometime shortly after, the ornaments are removed and placed back into their box and the tree taken apart and placed into its box.

All of the decorations, including the ones outside, are returned to their place in the basement storage room to wait in silence for another year until we pull them out again and do it all, all over again.

There will come a day when our boys are grown and gone and it all just won’t be the same.  There are the times when you are young when this time of year is so magical.  That then fades but reappears if you are one day later in life blessed with children of your own.  That then also fades but I understand it reappears then to a degree if you are furthermore blessed with grandkids.  And so it goes.

Right now the light of early morning breaks brighter.  It is cold, below zero.  The Christmas Tree and a few other decorations are within eyesight but darkened in contrast to the morning which shines now cold and bright outside the windows of this room.  They loom darkened as obvious reminders of the season that was.  In a week I believe they will all be gone.

Long gone now are the presents and reminders of what it was like as we prepared to make each other a bit happier with our gifts- just a week ago I was still shopping with my boys.  This morning when I took our dogs out through the garage I found a tiny strip of wrapping paper on the floor.  A tiny reminder of what was, just a week ago.

I remember the attic at my grandmother’s house where we kept all of the Christmas decorations including her box of used bows.  It seemed frozen in time, seldom visited, and somewhat sad between Decembers.  Much like our simple basement storage room will be not too long from now.

I am so very tired and it is a very cold day, almost at the end of another year.