The Hicks Place

High Above the Pacific En-route to Maui.

Friday, June 19, 2009

I was just handed a warm towel for my hands after having been served a warm small cup of nuts with the beverage of my choice, seated in the last row of the first class section of United Airlines flight 89 from LAX to Maui.  For some unknown reason we were upgraded from economy to first class, which we certainly deserve after last night’s traumatic experience, but that was the fault of Frontier Airlines and United had nothing to do with it.

Yesterday we flew out of Indianapolis just after 4 pm on Frontier flight 406 to LA with a stop in Denver.  We decided to pay to check Marcia’s larger bag but I carried on my duffle bag and this computer.  All but only a half dozen passengers including us got off in Denver.  From Indy to Denver we were seated in front of a family whose small child screamingly cried for the first 15 minutes of the flight and then periodically kicked the back of Marcia’s seat.  It was a much quieter crowd from Denver to LA.  Of course the only complimentary service was a small plastic glass of a soft drink or water.  The cabin crew remarked as we landed both in Denver and LA that we were in fact 15 minutes early, as if they deserved some special recognition for that.  We patiently waited at carousel A for Marcia’s bag until all but a couple of the other passengers had left and then realized that for some reason her bag had not made it.  How can that happen on a flight with no plane change?  As we used to say about some inept friend, apparently Frontier could “screw up a one car funeral”. 

Here we were at nearly 8pm, ready to go to our hotel near LAX for dinner and a short night of sleep before boarding this plane which was scheduled to depart LAX at 10:47 this morning, and Frontier had no idea where Marcia’s bag was.  They could only offer that another flight from Denver was scheduled to arrive about 10:30pm and perhaps the bag would show up.  The attendant kept suggesting that maybe our connection hadn’t allowed time for the bag to be transferred and seemed never to comprehend that there wasn’t any connection.  She filled out the missing bag report, gave us little kits with toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, disposal razor, etc. And assured us that the bag would be delivered to our hotel if it arrived and that they would keep us posted via our cell phones. 

(I had to interrupt this writing to eat the kind of lunch that you used to get on airlines.  A small salad, dinner roll, tortellini, sponge cake with lemon icing, a cookie and red wine in a real wine glass.  This served on top of a white cloth on my seat tray, while the movie is showing.)

So we caught the shuttle to the hotel and had dinner in the bar.  At least the food was good for hotel food.  Back in the room I took my usual nighttime pills including the one that helps me sleep 8 hours, brushed my teeth with the flimsy toothbrush and nasty toothpaste from China, and went to bed.  I woke up at midnight to go to the bathroom, Marcia was reading and there had been no news from Frontier.  We called the hotel bellman, then Marcia called Frontier and finally got a person to talk to in LA.  I was beside myself, well not actually but, rather, beside Marcia asking in a very loud voice as she was talking, “What are we supposed to do?  We are to fly to Hawaii in the morning, that’s this morning, June 19th!”  I just had to go into the bathroom and shut the door until the conversation was over, and then went to bed but couldn’t sleep until my blood pressure finally went down a half hour later. 

This morning I learned that Marcia had been told a flight was due in from Denver at 8:30, but that no one had responded to our lost bag report so Frontier still didn’t know where it was.  Our only recourse was to go to the airport, check in at United and then go to the Frontier lost baggage office to see if Marcia’s bag had been found.  Thankfully, United and Frontier are located next to each other at LAX, though in separate buildings.  So we arrived via shuttle at the airport just after 8:30, went to United and showed them that we had done on-line check in, but for some reason we never understood their web site wouldn’t let us get seat assignments.  Told we could go to the gate and seats would be assigned there, we rushed over to Frontier and thank God there sat Marcia’s bag, having just arrived from Denver.  Why or how it was taken off of the plan and left in Denver yesterday we will never know.

So we went back to United, Marcia checked her bag there because I had already paid for it, and then through security to the gate.  Announcements were being made that the gate attendants were working on seat assignments, trying to put families together and that they would call our names when seat assignments were available.  We had an hour before takeoff, but seating was limited in the waiting area and families with children and everyone were just milling around not quite sure what the process was.  Names began to be called, but not ours and I of course was getting antsy.  At the next gate they had already asked for volunteers because that flight had been overbooked.  I could just imagine us getting stuck at LAX because of that.  Finally after many people had already started boarding, our name was called and when Marcia came back with the boarding passes we saw that we were in row 6, seats C and D, in first cabin.  We still weren’t sure of our good fortune until we boarded the plane.  Thank you, United, you made our day.

So, here we are, well feed and liquored, Marcia dosing off because apparently she’s not that much into the movie, (I think its “He’s just not that into you”), and I am settled down except for the fact that Marcia told me there was a message on our home phone last night that the son of a 92 year old friend of mine had called to say his mother had died.  Myra was a nice lady, we had met when we both worked for Honeywell back in the ’60’s, who sort of took me under her wing after my first divorce and even made soup for me one time when I was sick and living alone in a studio apartment.  I have visited her a few times since she went to a nursing home after her husband died.  The last time I saw her she talked about how she would like to go out for Chinese food, and I promised her we would do that.  But, as too often happens, things kept coming up and I never got around to keeping my promise.  I thought about her just last week, remembering that she wanted Chinese.  She had seemed still strong when I saw her last just before Mother’s day, and her mind was still good, especially about older memories.  I hope she died in peace and without suffering.

The end of a perfect day.

Now at 9:30 pm. it is 74 degrees and 15 minutes ago I could still read a newspaper outside on the patio.  If only every day were like this one, sunny, low humidity, warm enough to be comfortable in a T-shirt but still not sweat.  As I drank the last of Paul's Tullamore Dew Irish Whiskey left over from the Indy 500 Race Weekend, I wondered how many more of these beautiful evenings will God give me? 

Two weeks ago tonight we had our usual group of friends here for the Indy 500 festivities, and we had just finished Dean's wonderful Ossobuco dinner and were enjoying his strawberry tart dessert.  A week ago we were at the Breakers in Palm Beach enjoying the "get acquainted" cocktail and hors d'oeuvres event, with a view of the Atlantic from our table, before Susan and Scott's wedding the next evening.  It has been an exciting and enjoyable two weeks with a lot going on, but I must confess I also enjoy the quiet time, just before sunset, sitting on my patio.  Sounds seem sort of muffled then, only a few birds are still chirping and even they disappear into a nearby tree and settle in for the night.  On our street some neighbors are still out walking their dogs or small children, and down the street, one by one, porch lights come on as the patches of sunlight fade high up on the sides of houses. 

Sixty five years ago today I had completed the third grade, we were living on the Hick's Place, and it was D'day.  I could not have imagined, as few others could have, all of the events and advancements in technology that would effect our lives between then and now.  We can't look forward very far, our time here is minuscule in the grand scheme of things.  I think that may have something to do with our increased interest in genealogy as we grow older.  Looking back we can somehow extend our life experiences by finding out about the lives of those from whom we descended.  I am able to trace back my relatives for 5 generations on both my father's and mother's side; my great, great, great, grandfather's both came to Indiana about 1820 and were born in the 18th century.  They are buried within 50 miles of each other in west-central Indiana, as are most of their descendants.  But they were born, one in Delaware and the other in Virginia.  If only I could hear them tell of the experiences of their youth and the hardships they overcame in traveling from their places of birth to establish new homes here on what was then the western frontier. 

So, I can look back and envision the last 200 years during which my relatives lived.  I have experienced over 70 years of that time myself.  But I cannot imagine, my mind cannot possibly comprehend what the next 70 years will bring, let alone the next two centuries.  One of these days I will come to the end of the road, in fact of course I turned onto that street marked "no through street" the day I was born.  So I marvel at the places I've been privileged to visit here on our small planet in this infinite universe, the beauty of the sights, sounds, and people all around me.  It could have ended long ago.  It did for many not much older than me 65 years ago.      

My Story

Night before last I was young and with a pretty blonde girl.  We had been together, but perhaps in a group of college or high school friends, and she was saying goodbye.  The last thing I remember is she was smiling and  I think trying to tell me that this was more than just I’ll see you later.  But I was happy and she was smiling and I  told whomever it was with me that she liked me and I really liked her, and we would be together again.  But of course we never were. 

As I was going to the bathroom my leg was hurting and so I ran my right hand along the dresser top and kept my left on the footboard rail.  The stiffness lessened slightly with each step until I got to the little step, up to the toilet, and then I really felt the pain in my right knee.  It almost felt, across the middle of my knee cap, like it would give away.  As I sat there I rubbed my hand along the muscle and it felt cold and tight, what little feeling there was because the nerves were not connecting normally.  There was a lack of feeling.  When I got to bed and lay on my left side with the hurt knee on the bed in front of me; a sharp pain and the ache was worse.  I got up and went back to the medicine cabinet for two Tylenol. 

Day before yesterday I was cutting the grass.  It was 6 to 8 inches tall, due to the spring rains and our being away in Roanoke for a dozen days.  In fact it was raining when we got off the train at 4:30 that morning and was still raining when I picked up the mail just before noontime.  But the wind was blowing and the sun came out and by 3, they were qualifying at the track.  An hour later I decided it was dry enough to cut the grass.  I had to go slow, even with the mower set as high as it would go, but had no trouble and was finished in an hour.  I put the mower in the garage and was coming up the walk when something happened in my right knee, it felt like it was going out from under me but it didn’t, but I hurt and was limping then as I came into the house.  I took two Tylenol, fixed my evening martini, put on a light jacket and went out on the front patio to enjoy the late evening sun.

As we drove out of the driveway yesterday morning, on the way to our usual Sunday morning breakfast, Andy our young neighbor was standing at the gate likely getting ready to take his morning run.  He was saying something to his wife who was sitting on their back porch.  Marcia exclaimed, “She is wearing glasses!”  We had never seen her in glasses before.  I smiled to myself and a saying from my youth popped into my head, so as we turned out into the street I said, “Guys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.”  With that, she, my wife, was mad.  “Why are you upset?”  “I wear glasses!”  “So?, I was just saying a phrase I heard in my youth, it had nothing to do with you.”  “But it means that women who wear glasses are ugly.”  “Well, but that isn’t what I meant, Krista isn’t ugly.”  (We have often commented to each other about how handsome and pretty our young neighbors are.)  That comment didn’t help, so it took me at least ten blocks to convince her that it was just a random thought like my strange brain often comes up with and it didn’t represent how I felt about her, my wife.

Yesterday evening we went to a Chinese restaurant, she likes Chinese.

It turned cool Saturday evening and last night the temperature got down to about 40.  At first I was with some people and there was snow on the ground and we were walking around a semi-trailer.  Then we were in a small tent which had a stove and a rug on the floor and it seemed to be home to someone.  As we walked out of that tent we were in a huge tent which had lots of people walking around and there were groupings of furniture where you could sit ant talk, it seemed like a hotel lobby and apparently there were several of these small tents attached to it.  I got up to go to the bathroom again, still hobbling on my knee.  When I came back, I pulled the bedspread up for more warmth and went back to sleep.

 

Rejuvenated

This has been an unusually refreshing and rejuvenating day for me.  Beside the fact that May is here and we finally got some sunshine after several days of rain, the events of the day have lifted my spirit and renewed my hope for the future.  Even while suffering from a shooting pain below my right shoulder blade which strikes me at unexpected times, I find myself thankful for having come in contact with people whom I consider privileged to know and call friends.  Sure, part of it may be the martinis speaking, but it goes deeper than that.

A very close friend of our son Mike lost his father a few days ago.  Today, we attended a memorial service for Abs' dad.  It was not a typical funeral, at least from my experience, but it seemed such an appropriate occasion to me.  I never really knew the deceased, but after having heard his two sons, their mother, and several close friends recall their special times with him, I came away with the feeling that he was a guy I wish I would have known.  A man who loved books, who would take the opposing side in most discussions just for the sake of argument, who liked to party and saw the subtle absurdities of situations, a thinker. 

No minister spoke about the deceased, his devotion to family, community or church.  But first his eldest and then youngest sons shared their experiences, memories, and thoughts about their dad.  As most dads are, he was obviously so influential in their lives, but they were able to talk about their father in ways that I could never have spoken about my dad.  I'm sure it wasn't easy for them, but it was obvious that they are "chips off of the old block" and their love for their dad compelled them to convey in some way the fact that they were privileged to be his sons.  Several friends of the deceased then rose to relate their fond memories of special occasions, so at the end I felt that this man had had a significant and positive influence on the lives of all of those who knew him.  What more could one want to be remembered for. 

We live next door to an attractive young couple, 40 years my junior.  They have a young, 20 month old son who keeps us entertained when he plays in our shared driveway, on the sidewalk or in their yard.  These neighbors had a party tonight.  We were privileged to be included with their other guests who were mostly friends from their recent college days.  Their friends actually talked to us and seemed interested in what we had to say.  The fact that I supplied a few martinis for the party might have helped, but I don't think that was a deciding factor.  Maybe they were just being nice, but it certainly was a delight for me to have the opportunity to share an actual substantive conversation with nubile, handsome young people!  Granted, we didn't get into deep, philosophical or political conversations (on which we might not have agreed), but the topics were current, relevant, and not just fluff, and my take was that our country may actually survive after people my age are gone from the scene.  

Finally, the fact that I enjoyed myself today is a positive.  I was able to interact with other persons on this planet whom I respect and with whom I consider myself fortunate to have come in contact.  They enriched my life and pleased me.  Not that it is all about me, but whom else am I really qualified to speak for?

You Make Your Own Happiness

A few days ago I visited a 93 year old friend of mine in a nursing home.  Her 88 year old husband died a year ago last November.  She has had various health problems, some with her legs and she fell a few times at her house.  Her doctor put her in the home a year ago because she really wasn't able to take care of herself and there was no family or anyone nearby to look after her.

She was sitting on the side of her bed when I walked into her room, dressed in a blouse, slacks, a sweater with a sheep skin like collar, and sensible flat slippers, all in coordinated shades of green.  Her walker was within reach and she was reading some small pamphlet; the daily paper was piled at the foot of the bed, obviously read.  She looked up and smiled when she recognized me.  I gave her a hug and she said "Sit there", pointing to the recliner by her night stand, "or here".  I asked where she would like me to sit and she patted the bed beside her. 

We began to talk.  Usually our conversations kind of wonder around over past shared experiences or stories about our lives.  I noticed some new pictures on the wall and she went through them all, pointing out her children, grandchildren and a recently new great grandson.  One granddaughter is a doctor whom I had baby sat with while her parents went out for the evening, way back in the late '60's when I was divorced and living in a little apartment on the west side.  A calender her son had made and given her for Christmas hung over the bed.  He had put family pictures on it for each month.  It still was showing January, so I took it down and we looked through it.  There were pictures taken at her husbands wake on a few pages.

"I always thought I would die first", she said.  "It all seems a blur to me", as she pointed out herself sitting with various family members receiving condolences.  The funeral was over and she just didn't remember much about what went on.  Her granddaughter who lives in Evansville and nearer than any of her other relatives had visited her last fall and taken her out to the grave site.  I put the calender back up on the wall with April showing.

We talked about her sons, the oldest one lives in South Dakota and the other in Atlanta.  Her oldest had been a missionary in Africa when I first met her back in the early '60's.  She had visited him and his wife there, stayed about 21 days as she recalled in Liberia.  "Looks just like Florida with palm trees and all" she said with a little chuckle which is her habit.  Her daughter-in-law came back home with her she remembered.  Then she talked about how that woman had, she thought, been having an affair with the family doctor and later left her son to marry the doctor.  The doctor is now dead, but the former daughter-in-law who lives an hour away, "She always calls me mom", comes to family get togethers and was there for the wake and funeral. 

I have heard some of these stories over the years, about the sons and their family problems, the oldest remarried and has a second family, the other son finally divorced his wife, who always seemed to be on some kind of medication and probably would have died of a drug overdose at some point if it hadn't been for the care of her daughter who later became the doctor. 

But Myra told me a new story this time.  She and Gerald were married by a judge they knew at midnight in the town where she lived and he grew up.  She said Gerald wanted to get married, but she wasn't so sure.  She was four years his senior and he was only 19.  In fact, he had been her pupil in school, though he never graduated.  When she had been younger, her mother had a dream and always said Myra would get married on Friday.  It was a Friday night and they had been out on a date and Gerald said lets call the judge and get married.  Myra didn't think the judge would want to get out of bed and marry them, but he did and didn't seem to mind. 

Then she went on to tell about them coming to Indianapolis as newlyweds from Kentucky.  Her mother-in-law had told Gerald he could get a job in his brother's garage here, but when they got here there was no job.  It was 1939, but Gerald got a factory job and soon their oldest son was born.  Gerald was finally drafted, went into the Navy and to Norfolk, Virginia.  Myra wasn't working and had a small child to raise.  Gerald would send her letters from the ship he was on asking her to get him out, he didn't like it.  He said he hid out on the ship to keep from having to mop and clean.  She didn't remember who or what agencies she talked to but she did try, explaining their condition.  The war ended and Gerald came home. 

Gerald didn't like being bossed around.  Myra has told me about his independence.  He eventually started his own company and was last in the vinyl siding business.  We had him put the siding on our house back in the '80's.  That business allowed him to go off to Florida and play golf during the winter, leaving Myra at home.  One of the pictures on the calender showed the Masonic rites for Gerald at the funeral home.  Myra said he joined but she didn't remember him going to many meetings.  "If they had played poker, he would have been there every time" she said giving another little chuckle.

During our talk Myra said her sons had sold her house, so she guessed "this is going to be my home."  She said the food was good.  They had been entertained earlier that day by a fourth grade class from a nearby school.  The 4th graders are paired with residents at the home, and Myra had waved at her friend while the group was performing.  Occasionally Myra gets letters from some of the younger women she worked with over the years, but since her family is scattered, she seldom has visitors. She says she does get lonely and she guessed depressed at times.  But then she said, "I've learned that you make your own happiness, others don't do it for you." 

I met Myra when we both worked for the same company many years ago.  For some reason, one Spring day as I was going into the office I stopped and picked a dandelion, and I gave it to Myra as I walked by her desk.  She reminded me of that, and I guess that may have had something to do with our becoming friends.  I watched my mother die in a nursing home.  It is not easy to walk through those halls and see people in various stages of decline, waiting to die.  But I enjoyed my talk with Myra.  Maybe the hour I was there meant as much to her as it did to me.     

It Happens in Indiana

I'm not sure it made the national news, but two people recently died here in Indianapolis as the result of a sword fight.  A 39 year old man was visiting his 77 year old grandmother and her brother-in-law.  After several drinks some dispute occurred between the two men resulting in one of them brandishing a ceremonial sword, whereupon the other took up another sword which happened to be about and the two started to fight.  Trying to break up the fracas, the grandmother suffered a fatal injury.  The older man was stabbed and died several days later in the hospital. The grandson is now in prison charged with murder, but displayed a slash on his arm as he was being taken away to jail.  Police and the prosecutor are trying to sort out the details.  When was the last time a serious sword fight occurred in your town?

Sarah Palin fled some recent criticism in Alaska this last week to come to Indiana.  She spoke at a Right to Life banquet in Evansville attended by some 3,500 persons, reportedly the largest such event in the country.  She has been feuding with her State's democrats over whom she should appoint to fill a vacant democrat seat in the legislature.  Indiana conservatives gave her a warm welcome. 

Our own legislature, split with democrats in control of the House and Republicans holding the Senate, is having a hard time deciding anything.   They are however about to pass laws that would increase the age required to obtain a drivers license by 6 months to 16 and 1/2 years, and to make it illegal for teens under 18 to use a cell phone while driving.  Some States have already passed laws against cell phone use by teenage drivers, but how officers can determine whether a driver is 17, 18, or 19 is next to impossible and such laws go mostly unenforced.  In my own humble experience, it seems that hockey moms are equally guilty of talking on the phone while driving, and they are more likely to be behind the wheel of a big SUV which is a greater menace to those around them.  I agree with one of the legislators who said she favors a ban on cell phone use by drivers, but would vote against the law because it was hypocritical to single out just teenagers.  After all, kids are likely to do what their parents do.

A big local issue is how to pay for the annual operation and maintenance of our recently new professional sports facilities, Lucas Oil Stadium for the Colts and Conseco Fieldhouse for the Pacers.  After building these monsters with taxpayer money, it now turns out the teams can't afford to maintain and heat them, so who else is going to do it?  Furthermore, the cost can't all be paid out of ticket sales, so people who don't go to the games wind up bearing much of the cost.  I think the value of having a professional sports team in the city is much overstated.  Of course, this is a common problem in cities with a major league team, but that doesn't mean that that is the way it should be. 

Finally, the Archbishop of Indianapolis wrote a "scathing" letter to the University of Notre Dame objecting to the school's invitation to President Obama to speak at its commencement and receive an honorary degree.  The Archbishop reportedly used such words as appalled, embarrassed, stunned and angered by the invitation because of the President's positions on abortion and use of embryonic stem-cells.   No one seems to remember the Archbishop writing a letter to GWB against the war in Iraq, or against capital punishment when George was the Governor of Texas.  And maybe this line of reasoning doesn't make much sense to you, but what about all of those babies that might have been born if celibacy were not required of Catholic priests?  (Abstinence is a form of birth control.)  I won't even mention another argument that might be made regarding Priests and celebacy.

Random Thoughts

Woke up at 3 am to go to the bathroom and noticed a car parked facing into the driveway across the street with its headlights on.  There appeared to be an object sitting on the roof, which on closer inspection later turned out to be a pizza delivery sign.  When I came back to bed the car was still there; I didn't see any light on in the house across the street so went to the window for a closer look.  About that time another car drove up and a tall young man got out of the passenger side.  He went up to the driver side of the first car and appeared to maybe try a key in the door.  Then he came around to the trunk and seemed to do the same thing.  Then he got back in the second car, I could see the driver was a woman when the dome light came on, and they drove away.  I went back to bed.  Lying there awake after a few minutes the lighting on the ceiling changed so I had to get up and take another look.  A police car had pulled in behind the first car and I could see the pizza delivery sign on its roof.  The trunk was up on the police car, another car was parked by the curb with its lights on, and a pickup truck was stopped in the middle of the street.  Three uniformed police were beside the pizza car with another man and they were trying to fish something through the driver side window to open a door.  After a few minutes they succeeded, the cops drove away and the pizza delivery guy backed out and drove off too.  How long the pizza guy's car had been there before I woke up I'll never know.  I couldn't go back to sleep because I didn't take my benadryl last night, so now I'm writing about it.

Been awhile since I posted.  We've been to Kansas and to Roanoke since then. Gloria, Marcia's best friend from high school, lives in the City of Baldwin City KS and we spent 3 days bothering them.  Her husband Lew likes to drive us around to local points of interest and we were well entertained.  One day we went up to Atchison, Kansas and went through Amelia Earhart's birthplace which was the home of her grandparents.  It sits high on a hill overlooking the Missouri river and it was a warm, sunny spring day (Amelia Earhart Birthplace Museum ).   Another day we drove over to Weston, Missouri which also borders the river and is the home of the McCormick Distilling Co., Inc.  Weston is across the river from Leavenworth, KS and the founder of the distillery also developed the Pony Express, so there is a lot of history associated with this area.  The town has several interesting shops along its main street including antique stores which we like to browse.  We had a very pleasant visit with Gloria and Lew.

We also had a wonderful time in Roanoke.  We stripped the kitchen wallpaper and painted the walls and cabinets, and spent some quality time with grandson Nathan and his parents.   I put myself to sleep on the train ride to and from by listening to my iPod Nano, and always enjoy the scenery along the route through West Virginia.

Tomorrow, April 12, is Easter.  It is also the day my mother was born in 1913 and the day Franklin Roosevelt died in 1945, and is the day on which the formal surrender ceremony of Lee's army took place at Appomattox in 1865.  He and Grant had met and agreed to terms on the 9th.

My View, not that Anyone Wants It!

I'll begin with sports.  Just about 2 years ago this time, I walked over to Hinkle Fieldhouse on the Butler campus to see a boys high school basketball game between local teams North Central and Franklin Central.  Both teams were highly touted and North Central would later be runner-up in the Indiana State Championship game.  North Central had Eric Gordon, a 6-3 guard who was recognized as one of the best prospects in the country, and he was committed to play college ball at IU.  Franklin Central had the less widely acclaimed JeJuan Johnson, 6-10 center/forward who was committed to Purdue.  

I was by myself sitting in a crowd of guys and listening to their talk about the players, mostly about Gordon and how great IU would be once he got there.  As the game progressed I noted Gordon's individual play and shooting ability, but was impressed by Johnson's team play, rebounding, and inside shooting.  Sometime during the second half Johnson scored at our end of the court and I turned to the guys next to me and said "I wish he were going to IU instead of Gordon."  Well, of course they said "oh no" and thought I was crazy. 

If you watched Purdue beat Michigan State last night you know that JaJuan Johnson is a major reason Purdue is likely to be one of the final 16 teams in the NCAA tournament this year.  Where is Gordon?  A star in the NBA after scoring a lot as a freshman at IU.  But IU would now be a lot better off if they had recruited JaJuan Johnson.

Now for IU.  Of course I'm an IU grad and was fortunate to have been on campus and watch Branch McCracken's team with Don Schlundt and Slick Leonard the year after they won the NCAA title in 1953.  I played basketball in high school, though for a very small school that won few games, and I've been a fan of high school and college ball all my life.  I'm sorry to say that I am disappointed in IU Coach Crean.  I know people say we couldn't expect much this, his first, year because he didn't have the "material".  I'm not so much disappointed in the team's record as I am in Crean's demeanor.  He is too frenetic.  He paces the sideline, often with his back to the action, and even blocks the view of his players on the bench.  He needs to sit down!  He acts so nervous that he can't possibly instill a sense of confidence and patience in his players.  He should not be a cheer leader, but conduct himself with some self control and respect.  I wish Crean's  contract were for 3 years instead of 8, because the way he acts on the sidelines now does not impress me.

So, I guess you could say I wish IU had Purdue's coach also.

Now for politics.  I would find it amusing if it weren't so aggravating to see all of these republicans complaining about the stimulus package.  After having control of Congress from 1994 to 2006 and the Presidency from 2001 to 2008, with all the deficit spending and increasing National debt during their time in control, now all of a sudden they become fiscally responsible.  Do they think that the stimulus package was designed without any input from respected economists?  They essentially vote as a block, have now become anti-pork barrel, contend the answer to all problems is lower taxes, and that the free market will solve everything if just left alone.  It's the SOP, same old party, that believes that whatever is good for the rich will eventually help the poor.  They can't be bi-partisan because they are so partisan.  If their policies had been successful we wouldn't be in the mess we are in now!  Wasn't it Dick Cheney who said, "...Reagan proved deficits don't matter"?  Yes, its SOP with them, standard operating procedure.  Don't worry about the unemployed, people just have to tighten their belts, realize there is going to be some pain, and muddle through this.  We should never expect more from the SOP.

 

So Far This Year

After driving to Chicago Christmas Day and having dinner with friends Dean, Nora, and Dean's parents; visiting with them for 3 days and staying a couple of nights in their getaway downtown condo love nest; we've been traveling.  We took the train to Clifton Forge and celebrated  New Year's eve and day in Roanoke and our condo; flew to Orlando and visited sons Steve, Greg, their families and friends for a warm week; flew back to Roanoke for another week and saw son Mike and family; and then came back to Indy on the train in time for the Inauguration.  During that time I did a lot of reading (see books added at the top of the list to the left), and enjoyed playing with my Flip (take the link to my Facebook videos at right). 

Unfortunately, while we were in Florida we were saddened to learn that our good friend Herb Wilson had died.  We missed being here with his wife Lynn and his family to celebrate the many memories of Herb's life.   And since our return, another friend whom I worked with at IPS for many years, James Mosby, has also died.  Herb was 76, James 85.

Otherwise, life is good, we are happy and healthy though cold this dreary January morning in Indianapolis.  Like, I think I can say, most Americans we are hopeful that the next few years in our country will see us come out of this depression, both economic and mental, with renewed spirit, pride and energy.  This is an historic and exciting time, and to me the future looks bright.

Christmas Traditions

The first Christmas tree I remember in our house had all blue lights.  It sat in front of the west window in the living room of the house on the Hicks Place.  I don't know how old I was, but I would have had to be at least six.  We moved to the Hicks Place about 1937 when I was two, and the house had no electricity.  The poles and wiring were completed one summer and we were looking forward to having electric lights with great anticipation. 

I came home from school one afternoon and mom said the lights were on but not to tell dad.  It was his birthday, October 23rd, and she wanted to surprise him that night at supper.  Dad was unloading the 2nd wagon load of corn he had shucked from our field that day.  I ran out to the double crib and climbed up on the back of the wagon.  I was all excited, had a big grin on my face, and he knew right away something was up.  I couldn't contain myself and soon the secret was out.  But whether that was my first year in school (1941) or later I don't know.

Dad always cut our tree from one growing on the property where we lived.  He might chop down one out in the woods, or he had no qualms about topping one of the big cedars which were part of the landscaping around the house.  In later years he moved to multi-colored lights, but the source of the cedar tree didn't change. 

Christmas was always a happy time at our house.  We kids were always thrilled with the gifts we received; our wants were modest because those were different times, but also because we knew the means were limited.  Our parents were tenant farmers until 1946 when they bought their own small farm.   

My dad was a lover of Earl Stanley Gardner mystery novels.  While his dad was still living I don't remember a Christmas that he didn't give Granddad an Earl Stanley Gardner book and a box of chocolates.  That was all Dad gave Granddad, and I must admit that more often than not Dad would read the book before wrapping it. 

One advantage of growing up on a farm is that, if the fall was not too rainy or snowy, the corn husking would be finished by Christmas.  Then there was time during the day, between morning and evening chores of cow milking and livestock feeding for Dad to be in the warm house for relaxation with the family.  

Around Christmas time, the card table would come out and the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle would be strewn across it.  Dad loved to work those puzzles, and as the years went by my two younger brothers and I would be seated on the other three sides of the table, each vying with him to see who could find the most pieces.  After we left home, we boys would often give a puzzle to dad and mom at Christmas, until they finally had to tell us to stop because their eyes were not so good and it made them nervous to try to work them anymore.  

Dad loved fudge.  His favorite was probably peanut butter, which he could make better than about anyone, though chocolate would do too.  So Christmas at our house included making and eating fudge, and Dad did his share of both.  

During Christmas vacation and on winter weekends and evenings, Dad would often challenge us boys to a carrom tournament.  Carrom is a great game which can be played in a small space on a game board about the size of a card table.  The old man was a champion; he loved the game and always won, giving no quarter to his young rivals.  We finally developed enough skill to give him a good game, thanks to his competitive spirit which he instilled in us.

Besides the Christmas tree, our living room was ensconced with other traditional items.  My mom always hung all of the Christmas cards we received with scotch tape around the door frames of the room.  And there was this amazing thing of red cardboard and crape paper that opened like an accordion to make a large bell that hung from the electric light fixture which in those days was always in the center of the ceiling.  And my parents would hang this red rope of velvet-like material from the bell out to the corners of the room. 

Christmas Eve, a kitchen chair would be placed in front of the Christmas tree and a pair of each of us boy's long winter socks would be fastened together with a safety pin and hung over the back.  A glass of milk and a plate with a couple of cookies would be placed on the seat of the chair.  Christmas morning, when we got up, the milk and cookies would be gone and the stockings filled.  The toe of each sock would be filled with peanuts in the shell, on top of them would be an orange and then in the top there would be a candy cane and some small toys.  

I guess our Christmases were like those of most families at that time.  Children, unless very poor or missing a parent off at war or sick tend to be happy at Christmas.  At least in those days, before television, we really were not aware that some kids in other places got a lot more toys and things than we did. 

What amazes me is that my parents always seemed happy and a peace at Christmas. You see, the day after Christmas the year before I was born my older brother died of pneumonia.  He was a year and four months old.  In later years I became aware of what a blow that was to them.  How hard it must have been each Christmas for them to keep a happy face and celebrate the joy of Christmas, while remembering the sorrowful loss of their first born, so young and so precious.  But wait, when I was five my little brother was born on Christmas Day!  Maybe God felt their sorrow, so he gave them a special gift which made Christmas a happy time too!