Christmas Letter 2014
Merry Christmas 2014!
This is the 10th annual Downing Christmas letter!
What a grand history this has become. Readers around the globe take a few
minutes out of their day to enjoy the twisted tales of life, delivered through
the eyes of yours truly.
Let me explain how this tradition came about, which may not
be what you expect. You see, I received a “normal” Christmas letter from a
friend who gave little nuggets of his family’s life over the year. Nuggets such
as a recent retirement with a massive bank account and exotic travels; one
child at Harvard, another at Yale; a glorious life for all the readers to enjoy
or envy or… just realize that life can be perfect for some and not others.
My friend’s letter inspired me to reflect on my own year,
and write about the events that transpired and the grand adventures that nearly
took my life a time or two (or 20+, truth be told). If you’re so inclined,
you’re welcome to step back 10 years and travel through the fantastically crazy
events of life that have brought us to the present day.
So, without further delay, I hope you find the 10th
Christmas letter to be enjoyable, inspiring, delightful, and certainly not
perfect.
Have a Merry Christmas!
“Ideals are like stars: you will not succeed in touching
them with your hands, but like the seafaring man on the ocean desert of waters,
you choose them as your guides, and following them, you reach your destiny.”
~ Carl Schurz (1829 - 1906)
Back in the Saddle
Again: All Weather, All Year
Once upon a time in 2013, I had a Jeep. The Jeep I came to
know as “Nickel & Dime me to death.” Yet, in January of 2014 it applied to
have its name changed to “Running out of luck, living on prayer.” Tired of
continual repairs, I put it up for sale with the hopes to replace it with something
a bit cheaper to maintain. Without a single bite, I nearly gave up on selling
it, but then someone invited me to trade it for a motorcycle. I scoffed at the
offer until Cheryl asked me to reconsider the offer and see the error of my
scoffing.
You see, in the mid-2000’s I had a rather large, very loud,
very fast purple motorcycle. Yes, I said purple... a very MANLY purple. You can
find that story in my previous letters, but for several years, I’ve sadly been
without a motorcycle. That is, until this opportunity came up.
After some negotiation for cash and the motorcycle, I made
the trade and turned into a full-time, all-weather biker! The timing couldn’t
have been worse, because a massive snow storm hit within a couple weeks that
rendered the bike useless, along with nearly everything without 4-wheel drive.
After the snow melted, and Oregon turned back into the
typical rainy winter, I cheerfully rode my 650cc Yamaha cruiser around Salem
and beyond. The Jeep, now in the hands of a self-proclaimed auto expert faded
into my memory, but not for good. One day my insurance agent called to ask
about an auto accident in a Eugene parking lot. The new owner of the Jeep not
only didn’t transfer the title, but gave my information to the victim of the
parking lot incident. DMV records helped prove I sold the vehicle, and I never
heard what happened after I gave the guy’s info to the insurance company
looking for a claim.
The little 650cc Yamaha was exactly that – Little. Small.
Petite. Undersized. Under powered. Muy pequeńa! Très petit! A
gorilla-on-a-tricycle, kinda look. So, in June the little bike turned into a
1700cc Yamaha Midnight Silverado! The saddlebags are big enough to hold several
small children, and Babycakes MAY have been used to demonstrate this claim. The
engine is big enough to take me from zero to… um, the “posted speed limit” with
moderate acceleration to match the flow of traffic. My family will sleep better
with that description, (but just between you and me, “bat-out-of-hell” is the closer
to the truth).
Most people are a bit alarmed to see me wearing a tie and
dress clothes beneath the gear, but I don’t have a telephone booth like
superman did. The biggest surprise is when it’s storming like crazy, a biker
might be out in traffic. It’s assumed that I’m exposed to the elements and I
must be soaking wet by the time I ride more than a block, but that’s far from
the truth. I’m quite comfortable, even in the low 20’s.
Redwood Trip’n
William graduated from high school this year, and for his
final adventure before he moved to Michigan Cheryl came up with a great idea:
take a motorcycle trip to the Redwoods! The week before July 4th took
us on a 687 mile round trip over three days of camping and site seeing and several
near-death experiences. NEAR DEATH!? Got your attention, eh? Let me explain… 
I’ve never been to the Redwoods before, and while the
massive trees are quite amazing indeed, I didn’t realize that they produced a
magical aura that changes the laws in the state of California. The mysterious
magic convinces some folks that driving 15 mph in a 45 mph zone full of blind
corners is totally fine. Others are possessed to stop without warning and
abandon their vehicle to take a picture of a tree that’s been standing in the
same spot for almost 1,000 years. This is obviously critically important, because you
know… the tree may not last the five minutes it takes to park the car and walk.
Oh, and the solid yellow line found in the center of a road doesn’t REALLY mean
you can’t pass another vehicle, but it’s actually preferred, especially when
John and Will are in the opposing lane. Three blazing headlights on a dark, two lane road blend well
with the surrounding forest, apparently.
While riding among spellbound motorists presented several
challenges to our lives, apparently the local wildlife had to step in to try to
finish us off. I’d like to introduce you to Candice, the 700+ pound Roosevelt
Elk that decided she didn't like the look Will gave her.
You see, Candice stood alone on a hiking trail while her
herd roamed carefree on the prairie below. The bucks grazed without her, and
simply looked at the humans with very little interest. Candice may have gotten
into a lover’s quarrel and needed to vent, or maybe she was sent away because
of her bad attitude, I’m not sure why she wandered alone, but there she stood
on the trail as if waiting for us.
When we first came upon Candice, over 50 yards of dirt trail
stood between us… until she got a look at Will. I say Will gave her a
stink-eye, because I’m completely innocent and I’m the writer of this tale. Actually,
he owned the apparent offense early on and I just didn't argue with the lad.
Back to Candice… While we waited near a regular sized tree
with Candice occupying our path in the distance, we chatted about guy-stuff and
just hung out, hoping she’d wander away sooner than later. Without warning, she
snorted and flicked her snout into the air toward us… and charged! Her heavy
hooves pounded the packed dirt, and her massive form moved with alarming speed.
Recognizing our precarious situation as being one we could not win, I grabbed
Will’s arm and pulled up next to the tree, cowering like any wise men would do.
Candice cut hard at the last minute and raced on the opposite side of the tree
that protected us. I feared she would fully circle our protective tree and
start a fight, but thankfully she stomped away, up a short trail known only to
her. She quickly circled back around to the walking trail with only half the
distance between us as before.
Candice stood silently looking toward us with evil
intentions, and we waited for her next move. We were caught in checkmate
without options at hand. I reasoned with Will that wild animals are timid by
nature and that loud noises may give her reason to leave… so we yelled like
barbarians, and she trotted back to her original spot, 50 yards away. William
suggested that I was over reacting and that Candice couldn't actually do us
harm. I stood in disbelief at this city dweller son of mine, and thought that
if we were going to die, at least he’d not be burdened by fear and adrenaline
overload like I would.
While Candice held her spot in the distance, we emerged from
behind the tree and lightly jogged away from her with the hope that she
wouldn't pursue us if we were clearly no longer a threat. Sadly, I was mistaken
and she charged again!
The trail section we ran along failed to have a single tree
to hide behind, so when she got close, I pulled Will into a spindly bush that
truly offered NO protection from Candice’s terrorizing charge. At the last second,
she cut hard off the trail once again and pressed her shoulder into our pretend
hiding spot as she ran by. Her shoulder stood taller than mine, and I could have brushed her brown coat as she raced by. She returned to the walking trail again,
except this time she didn't head back to her original spot, but rather waited
no more than 20 feet from our bush.
Inside, I was getting pretty stressed with the only apparent
outcome to this predicament not being in our favor. We clapped and yelled again,
but she stood firm amidst our rumblings. I whistled as loud as possible, but
she found that to be somewhat attractive and tightened the distance between us.
I could hear her heavy breathing, and watched her front foot scratching the
dirt just as bulls do before charging (at least on the cartoons that’s what
they do). I told Will that if she charged again, he’d have to run away as fast
as he could while I took the brunt of Candice’s anger.
Time seemed to crawl as we yelled through the forest
“HELP!
..............WE HAVE AN ELK!
...........................................AND SHE DOESN'T LIKE US!”
She inched forward, clearly intent on taking us to task in
hand-to-hoof combat. We clearly had no options, no rescuer, and no hope to win,
and I resigned myself to take Candice on. With what I figured might very well
be the last words I would ever say, I called out, “God, you've got to get her
outta here!” Suddenly, she raised her head as if she heard something, and
promptly walked down the ridge to join her herd on the prairie.
As we quickly walked away from our little bush, I fully
expected to see bounding baby elk chasing after their mama, but they never
appeared. I have no clear reason why Candice took it upon herself to terrorize
a couple handsome hikers like us, but I am glad it wasn't a family with small
children that were in the situation.
We walked back to our campsite to drink, but sadly we only
had water on hand. We rested momentarily before heading to the camp info center
to ask about the charging elk. In a very short period of time, the northern
region director visited our camp to hear our story and impress upon Will that Candice
could have killed us with ease, and that there’s no such thing as ‘over
reacting’ in that situation.
We stayed away from that particular trail for the remainder
of our stay, but chose trails where the bears and cougars hung out, which
seemed like a better option than Candice.
Jury of Peers
I received a special jury summons this spring, along with
600 of my peers in Marion County. After several waves of sorting and thinning
the potential jurors, I found myself on a death sentencing trial for a
psychopath who killed several people in the late 1980’s. He proved very skilled
at traumatizing and victimizing anyone he could first charm with his magnetic
and chameleon-like character. You’d think a killer wouldn't be so charming as
to gain a following, but this guy had men and women alike infatuated by his
spell. One lady, being so deeply mesmerized, she couldn't take her eyes off him
while she testified. In fact, she supervised him during his inmate work release
program, and she even allowed him to be temporarily released to “work” in the
middle of the night to do terrible things to innocent and not-so-innocent people.
Not knowing anything about the 25 year history about the case, we, the jury unanimously
sentenced to him to death. Turns out, he’s received the same unanimous decision
from four previous juries over the course of time.
This grim, 6-week experience troubled me for nine days after
the verdict before I regained my center. This experience reinforced my dislike
for ‘true crime’ TV shows, and a lower opinion of a Governor who chooses to
disregard his legal obligation to carry out sentences approved by a statewide
vote years ago. Fortunately, I am exempt from jury duty for two years, and I
hope the next one is white collar crime or maybe petty theft or even a legal
fight about a cat… that swallowed a bird… that swallowed spider… that swallowed
a fly.
Fireplace Wall
Just about the time I started my jury duty, we decided to
demolish and rebuild our front living room’s fireplace wall. The heavy rock
facade looked very cave-like, which I didn't really mind because it appealed to
the core of my inner Neanderthal’s need to crouch down and make FIRE! The open fireplace was a waste of firewood, and didn't heat the house at all. Besides that, it was a bit... ugly. 
The wall slowly came down, and the effort to rebuild became
a struggle to fit into our schedules unless we planned well in advance. Cheryl
had hoped that it would be done in a month, just like the Do It Yourself TV
shows, but our commercial breaks were longer than normal, and the fact is that we
did everything ourselves, even when the camera wasn't rolling. Minor scope creep from the wall included canned lighting and flush mounted surround sound, which was all Cheryl's idea! Yeah, she's pretty awesome.
The reward of our
efforts finally came to the first week in December. If anyone would care to
count; that’s eight months to finish the project! Was it worth it? Beyond a
doubt, it certainly was worth it.
On a side note, I've come a long way since my 6th
grade wood shop fish swam "against the flow of the other fish". In 12th
grade, I attempted to make a simple box in wood shop while others were making
beautiful end tables and cabinets. My box decided to lean heavily to one side,
and eventually had a tragic ‘accident’ against the shop floor. I passed my
wood shop class only because I could beat everyone in the class at arm
wrestling, except for the 6’6” teacher. I think I could take him now, though.
Babycakes
Babycakes turned two on December 8th, and it’s
awesome how she’s grown! She and Cheryl are the best of friends! They cook
together, dance together, wrestle together, sing together, and even attack me
together. She’s definitely a girly-girl that loves her fashionable boots and
fluffy coats, but also growls like a bear and thinks farts are pretty
hilarious. The courts and Human Services have not yet decided her fate, but
we’re putting up a fight to make her our own, hopefully sooner than later.
Stench and Steed!
This year I released my second book for the world to enjoy:
Stench and Steed, A Valiant Deed! The story is an epic poem about a princess
hoping to get rescued by the knight of her dreams. To her dismay, a different
knight arrives on a horse with flaming farts to smite the beast holding her
captive. Her not-so-shiny knight delivers a surprise of his own that blasts her
back to the castle, where she “waits for another mate that won’t blow her far
away.”
The illustrations are truly amazing, and the characters come
to life on each page. The eyes, for example look like wet orbs! I’ve been
selling and signing books for only a short time now, and it seems that the
majority of books are intended for little girls, which is not what I
anticipated at all! I’m chasing down book stores such as Powell’s Books and
Barnes & Noble, and possibly Costco to carry the books on their shelves. The
adventure is grand and I’m excited to see where this might take me. If you want a copy for only $11.99 (+S&H typically is $3 per book), you can simply send me an email john@jfdowning.com or visit my website www.jfdowning.com or find it on Amazon.com
Veteran’s Speech
In October I had the opportunity to be the morning keynote
speaker at the Veteran Owned Business Opportunity Showcase (VOBOS) event in
Portland. I shared my story as a US Navy veteran, and how I started my
own business just prior to the sudden and tragic economic avalanche. I shared some of the lessons I learned, and my subsequent
rise from the ashes, that gleaned many appreciative handshakes from fellow
veterans.
Just prior to stepping to the podium, the director of the
Oregon Department of Veterans Affairs mistakenly introduced me as working for
his department, although he quickly corrected his error. With this mistake
presenting an opportunity for my opening statement, I started off with “I
believe I just received a job offer!”
Taekwando
One of my birthday presents this year came in the form of a
one-month membership to try out Taekwando at a local facility in Salem. I had
always wanted to try out martial arts, so I was pretty excited about getting
started.
My first class placed me next to two high school guys that
had been practicing for a while, and the dojo owner invited her
brother to help with the class. After being exposed to the introductory white
belt form and a session of front kicks and high kicks against bags and paddles,
the instructor decided to have a contest based on Sumo wrestling. The goal of
the contest was to move your opponent out of the colored square with only a few
rules: no punches, no kicks, and no head or neck attacks. Seemed reasonable,
but compared to everyone else in the class, I was gargantuan. Side note: I like
the word, gargantuan. I just never get a chance to use it much.
With the size difference so drastic among the students, the
instructor’s brother decided to step into the square against me. He stood about
6 foot tall, and wasn't overly thin so things weren't too far out of balance.
He also wore a black and red striped belt around his waist, so I believe that
gave him a definite edge over a novice fighter like me.
Round 1 began with our eyes locked and our hands ready for
any sudden movements. He waited for my first move, and I did what seemed within
the boundaries of the rules – I charged! I’m sure Candice, the Roosevelt Elk
would've been proud. Anyway, in a sudden and surprising launch, I bulldozed him
out of the arena, leaving him with a red nose from the impact against my
forehead. The inside of my left knee met his knee as he was pushed out, which
left me limping in my glorious victory.
Round 2 began like the last, and we faced each other again.
The look in his eye wavered as he clearly had no idea what the heck I was going
to do as a brawling amateur. This time we collided at the same moment, but I
instantly pulled him forward, pushing his shoulders down and wrapping his left
arm into a secure lock behind his back. He braced his right hand against the
mat to maintain his balance, and I heard the room gasp in unison. Without a
moment to spare, I swept his right arm into a half-nelson and walked him out of
the arena in a gentle, but very controlled manner. His sister said he’d never
been beaten before, and though he was a good sport, he never once came back to
help with the class while I was there.
During the month of classes, I managed to wrench my back
doing kicks they asked me to do but never taught me how to deliver. Another
time I jammed my big toe so badly I got an x-ray to show it wasn't broken. The
class agreed that my front kick should be feared by any opponent, because it
was like “a tree trunk on a massive hydraulic cylinder”. Overall, I had a great
experience and would love to pick up some type of martial arts in the coming
year. I think I’ll look into a different style such as Shao Lin Kempo, which
brings back memories of David Caradine’s role in Kung Fu; the series that
captivated the youth of the 1970’s. I might even invest in a wooden whistle and
walk around in a flowing man-shawl.
Cheryl chops… she’s a
chopper! She chops everything!
Once upon a time this summer, Cheryl asked to use the little
chainsaw we’re borrowing from my parents. Her focus: The entire back fence line
filled with overgrown shrubs and trees that hadn't seen light for years. She
sported her working gloves that covered her beautifully painted, long
fingernails. She wrapped her head in bandanna and protected her eyes with goggles,
and aggressively attacked the vegetation (living and dead) to expose the
decrepit fence that was so nicely blocked from view long before we moved in.
Her hard labor produced a mountain of debris that was hauled
away by a guy we found on Craigslist. Next spring we’re looking at tackling the
backyard to make it easier on the eyes. I suspect we’ll look to the Do It
Yourself TV shows and think we can get it done in one hour with commercial
breaks.
In closing…
The next year holds more projects around the house, more
adventures to share, more friends, and more of life to live and reflect on.
After 10 years of writing my annual Christmas letters, I realize I can never
foresee what’s in store for the year to come, but I can certainly see that
whatever comes will be something to write home about.
“Whenever you are asked if you can do a job, tell 'em,
'Certainly I can!' Then get busy and find out how to do it.”
~ Theodore Roosevelt (1858 - 1919)
Merry Christmas!