Christmas Letter 2008

Dear Friends & Family, both new and old…

Merry Christmas!
2008

So begins a story of another year coming to an end… a life in motion… not fluid, but moving nevertheless. Stagnation cannot define my days… for surely the cold, silent path to insanity resides in the darkness of passivity. To sit back and find my history without a tale to tell would be a tragedy indeed.

“Whatever God's dream about man may be, it seems certain it cannot come true unless man cooperates.” - Stella Terrill Mann

“Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.” – Sir Winston Churchill

In the Beginning…

2007 ended and 2008 started with the same project… a sewer pipe replacement from hell! Complications from the ice, snow, and bitter cold were nothing compared to the sad trauma caused from a New Year’s night of drinking and fireworks. The pain… ugh! One unfortunate man hurled his breakfast just before starting work. But we toughed it out to the very end, completing the job and getting the sewer service restored for the misfortunate property owners. The mud didn’t slow our steps. The rain didn’t soak our spirits. The depths didn’t bury our drive, even though I spent some of the time 9-feet deep on my belly, hoping the trench protection would actually hold up the soggy walls… we started the year as CHAMPIONS!

Then we slept… for days.

Sidetrack
Owning a business has been THE most difficult thing I’ve done. And I’ve done some difficult things, many ending with injury to my body and/ or my pride, but this… aye the pain! But the pain isn’t displayed openly like wrapped ribs, arm slings, or gasps of pain with each step… or even a terrible red line creeping up my leg endangering my very life… no, this pain is deep inside and covered in a thick layer of faith, determination and a joy that transcends even my understanding sometimes. Joy, you ask? Yep – Joy. Come to find out, happiness is a fleeting moment that needs to be gazed upon during the time it exists and remembered when convenient, but joy is counted over months and years with its very-personal definition only found through careful reflection. Am I preach’n a little??? Well, it’s my Christmas letter, so why not? Just keep reading…

Back-on-track
I knew 2008 would be notable in several areas, like the 1st year anniversary with my amazing wife, Cheryl! And we still like each other! Although we’ve not had an actual honeymoon, life has been great with her beside me. The stress and pain of starting a small business was usually lessened by her willingness to listen to me talk nearly non-stop about how the company is doing.

She stayed on the sidelines of the business until after I bought a branch of another company. That kind of brought the stress on, but she handled things very well. She eventually took on a variety of administrative rolls in the company beyond what she did already, and now she’s the office manager with an employee and many of the administrative burdens… er, joys, that I don’t have time to deal with. She has been great and I can’t imagine things without her.

By-by Bike
If you recall from my previous Christmas letters, I had a motorcycle I treasured dearly. Yes, I HAD a motorcycle… You see, I needed the cash more than the bike so I put it up for sale on Craigslist. I did that another time and got wrapped up with the death threats from the Nigerian mafia operating in Florida and Canada until the FBI stepped in to make it all mysteriously go away. But even with that history looming in my minds eye, I posted the ad again. I got a couple calls but no takers immediately… until one day…

A guy came to look at the bike with his fiancé and his buddy. The guy was nervous and jittery and couldn’t go more than 2 seconds before he had to say something… anything. The subject didn’t matter either. He appeared to be on something other than caffeine. He tried talking the price down, but I wouldn’t budge. I knew the bike was worth every penny… so him and his entourage went to a local bar and got lit pretty good before they came back and agree to my demands.

The next day a motorcycle rides up with the guy and his buddy. The old Harley they rode in on was ok, but my Yamaha looked and sounded WAY better. Unfortunately, the buyer was a bit small for my bike. I’ll be respectful to the guy, but the bike was disproportionately LARGE for him. He could barely reach the brake and shifter with his feet and he had to stretch to reach the handlebars.

Now, let me note that Cheryl did not agree with the sale of the motorcycle. She enjoyed riding on the back, and we spent many hours cruising around together… so when the guy got on the bike for the first time to drive it away, almost crashed leaving the driveway, almost laid it over by the mailboxes, only to launch himself into the street with the engine roaring in it’s beautiful call to my soul… where he almost met the front of Cheryl’s car. Yes, my bike almost met its death right before my very eyes! The rider swerved hard right, grabbing the front brake and nearly dumping the bike. He managed to keep the bike upright and barrel down the street, running more from the lost pride than enjoying the thrill of the ride.

I stood in the driveway watching this in slow-motion… my lady love nearly taking down the bike she didn’t want me to sell in the first place! How odd would that have been? I suppose I should’ve been concerned about the well-being of the rider… but I wasn’t, so that-is-that.

I could hear the roaring engine erupt onto the highway leaving Corvallis toward Eugene. Never did I hear the accelerator release as it faded away; throttle wide open, gunning for glory. I wondered if the school zone about a half mile away slowed him, but I doubt it. I just hope the bike made it to see another day… unlike my hope for the rider.

It turns out many people had a problem with the sale of my bike. I was a bit surprised by that, because many of those same people were scared for my life. But they knew the joy it brought me to ride… I must say, though I will ride again I am at peace with letting that portion of my history go. This is the way it’s supposed to be… and I’m cool with that.


Another boating adventure
If you’ve read my past stories, you’d find boating adventures woven throughout the last few years. From kayaking rivers & breaking ocean waves, to rafting and crabbing, I have many stories to share… but this one didn’t have me in it at all! What? You ask… well it goes like this:

One sunny day, Cheryl and I jumped into the little blue boat previously called The Happy Hooker to spend some time motoring around a cool little island at the Green Peter Reservoir. While the setting was picturesque, and the time spent together was priceless, the poor little boat motor vibrated and rattled my body to an odd numb-sensation that I think most people receive through illegal substance use. For me, it was free… and took only took an hour or so to recover.

The trip was so nice, even with the numbness, that we planned to do it again in a day or so, and we parked the little boat & trailer at my shop, tucked deep inside the blackberry briars.

Where’s the adventure? Well, I found that the boat and trailer had been STOLEN! Yes, the boat previously known as the Happy Hooker rolled off into the night, presumably never to be seen again. I had a friend put out a notice into the world of the local underground… the unsavory circles few admit connections with… but fortunately, I know a guy who still had some connection to those circles… kind of like a missionary of sorts. Well, the notice didn’t draw any answers and I gave up on the boat…

Until one day…
I noticed a van driving the opposite direction, and what was on top of that decrepit minivan? THE BOAT! I turned around, but I lost their trail in less than a half mile of where it’d been seen. I had a sneaky suspicion that it might be near or in a trailer park but I rarely had time to venture into the area…

Until one day…
I caught sight of the boat again! And this time, I pulled a U-turn and followed them to an Albertsons grocery parking lot. I even parked one spot away and watched the toothless, loving couple secure the straps holding the boat onto the roof of the ancient GMC minivan before he, Mr. Toothless, went shopping (or shop-lifting) while Mrs. Toothless tucked her head inside of her jacket with her hands working beneath the covering as well.

This was the first look at the boat I’d had in about 3 months… and it was trashed! The word ENTERPRISE was stenciled in several locations, and scratched into the side were the words THE BOUNTY. The paint, strange enough, appeared to have been sprayed on and allowed to drip dry down the hull. The only thing that guaranteed the boat was mine was the repair job I did on the forward hull. Yeah, it looked sloppy, but the repair was definitely mine… sloppy or not.

The police arrived in three different cars within 2 minutes of calling 911. I didn’t think it required so many cops, but apparently they were hoping to uncover the underworld of Albany through the return of my little boat.
The people, Mr. & Mrs. Toothless, offered me their clip-on plastic boat seats in place of the ones that were on it when they acquired it from their roommate, but I told them they could keep their seats for the next boat they’d acquire. Well, the officers got my seats back within half an hour, but the recently-ratted-out-roommate ran off down the block, through some bushes, and over a fence, back into the darkness of the Albany underworld…

I haven’t had a chance to get the boat fixed up yet, but I’m going to change the name to the Prodigal Boat after the Bible story of the wandering son who returned home… and like the son, the world had taken a toll to ultimately return to those that care.

A note of interest: The 1963 boat had not seen more abuse than what it had sustained in the 3 months of wandering. A tragedy, really.

Cranial Adventures
Over the last couple years, I got tired of looking at the every-increasing reflective glow emanating off the back of my head. I never denied the fact that my hair was dropping like the stock market, but the fact I continued to pay for hair cuts really became disheartening. Even though the top of my head thinned to fine gossamer, the rest of my hair needed “styling” for acceptable exposure to society. While I didn’t mind shaving my head on the back patio with my beard trimmer and sporting a hat just to save a buck… I found that most of society didn’t really approve of such things. And, to honor my wife and family I decided to take drastic steps to find an acceptable compromise – I shaved my head completely clean.

I am not the wisest guy in the world, but I knew that if I shaved it clean by myself Cheryl would be faced with working through the sudden ‘shock of the shine’ – an emotional rollercoaster would have ensued, to be sure. Rather than put her through that, I put scissors in her hand, leaving her to take the first chunks of hair off. Like a ship being christened, I set sail on the bold adventure of baldness. I have since discovered remarkable sensations like a sharp slice from a dull razor blade; light snow feeling like thin needles piercing my skull as each fluffy flake attacked individual pain receptors; Jack Frost grasping my skull instead of simply ‘nipping at my nose’ (clearly, the song writer wasn’t bald); hot shower water seemingly amplified ten-fold, giving me empathy for all the crabs I’ve boiled… alive. No, I didn’t cry out in pain like I wanted to.

Besides all those remarkable sensations, there are perks to being bald – like being a source of good luck for any kid who vigorously rubs the glowing crown I sport. It’s apparently not good luck for the kid who does the rubbing when there’s a day’s worth of growth… it would be better if the little hand rubbed on industrial sandpaper instead. Oh, I’m told I look good sporting the bald… as long as I’m smiling. Otherwise I look like an angry biker without a bike. Most importantly, I like it. Cheryl likes it. JR and Will like it… so I’ll keep it!

The year to come:
There are thousands of things I could write about, but I’ve found that the longer the story, the less likely people are to read it. Even now, I suspect some may have not gotten this far…

The closing of this year opens the door to the next, filled with hope of great things to come. We look forward to 2009 as a year to expand… not our waist lines (hopefully), but our lives, our businesses, our family… the adventure of life will continue, and in many ways take on a whole new form that will continue to find its place in ‘John’s annual Christmas letter’.

Christmas Letter 2007

Merry Christmas!
2007

Dear Friends & Family… and complete strangers (for now),

Last year ended with a hint of a year of great adventure for 2007… and here it is: The Official 2007 Christmas Letter for your reading pleasure.

I hope you can take the time to tour through another year, and maybe even visit previous years if you can. For me, the letter has been very, very difficult to write this year. Not for lack of content, but too much content and not enough time to write! I tried writing instead of sleeping, but my body and brain disagreed with my attempts, leaving nose prints on the keyboard and traces of drool stretched throughout from TAB to ENTER. Sadly, no hidden meanings were found in the chaotic patterns; no lottery numbers; nothing more than an insulting finger pointing at my ego…

So, with a clean keyboard and a couple more hours until tomorrow begins (and without further delay and pleasantries), let’s begin:

The mysteries
clouding my life at the end of 2006 were not fruitless after all. Mysteries known to a select few were revealed slowly in December; with growing numbers increasing as the year began. So here it is… I started my own company.

Actually, I incorporated in October of ’06, which was nothing more than paying well earned cash to an attorney I didn’t know. Suddenly, I held an official title known to the State of Oregon and the Federal Government: Supreme Ruler! Ok, it’s actually President, but it sounds better the other way. I may change it later… stand by.

The end of 2006
came with one of the more stressful times in my life: A test! The State of Oregon Construction Contractors Board requires hopeful contractors to pass a lengthy test, taken in a little room no windows, squeezed in front of a little computer screen, next to another test-taker who felt it necessary to curse with each question and perspire profusely… creating a rather stressful environment for taking a critical test.

The test was further complicated by a severe lack of sleep, intense overload of caffeine, and some sugary, sweet chocolate chip cookies. My brain cells were barely hanging by grey matter, thanks to sugar and caffeine. Not many can appreciate the powerful combination of the two… But I pulled out a 98.5% on the test! You might consider consulting a physician before attempting to overload, as I did. I feel the need to issue a health warning, but will refrain for now.

Christmas time last
year came with a terrifying course of events that started on Dec. 18th at 5:30 AM. I don’t think I’ll soon forget JR’s kidney stone attacks that sent him into so much pain he passed out for a few minutes while I rushed him to the emergency room. I won’t go into the painful details, but guess what??? When the boy is loaded on morphine, he’s the sweetest thing! In fact, he was so nice; he caused a ‘nerves-of-steel’ nurse to get teary-eyed when he thanked her for cleaning his vomit off the floor. Santa came by and got him to dance for a second, but I don’t think he remembers it. Strange enough, his video game skills only got better on the morphine… or mine got worse as I missed nearly 3 days of sleep while with him in the little hospital room. My request for a morphine shot fell on deaf ears (just kidding!).

After the 3rd night of JR’s 5 day hospital stay, I began my ‘official’ dating of an amazing woman named Cheryl. Yes, on December 21st we officially began dating. She’s also my dance teacher! Although when I first met her I didn’t want to be anything other than friends, we started to develop more than a friendship that was instantly solidified by a ‘moment’ where time seemed to stop. She stepped up when I was in the hospital with JR; staying with William for the time. My great friends Chris & Ariane spent some time with William, too. William, as it turns out, can be a ball of energy when he’s the center of attention. While he’s just living life, others are left exhausted at the end of the day.

New Years Eve
delivered me and Cheryl to Eugene’s Opera house to see the Pirates of Penzance. Never have I felt so cultured… kinda like warm yogurt. I must say, it was an amazing performance. Fortunately, it was not in Latin or some other mysterious language but in good ol’ fashion English.

To welcome in the New Year, we gave a cheer at the local bar & grill across the street from the Opera house. Unfortunately, a group of college guys & gals were doing the same, but started several hours prior. They were pretty wasted by the time we pulled up to the bar. Apparently, a game of ‘sneak-up and pile drive your buddy’s butt cheek’ was underway and we didn’t realize it. The first ‘smack’ launched the perpetrator’s beer all over Cheryl’s beautiful gown, into her hair, and even on my brand new blazer!

I’m a pretty calm guy, and even in this situation I held my anger in check, but the offending drunkard didn’t know that. His inebriated, soggy, glazed eyes locked onto mine as I drew up next to him. The expression on his face, although delayed, was indeed priceless. As I towered over him, my one hand covering most of his chest, I eased him back away from Cheryl about five paces. Waves of emotion coursed across his face, but fear is the best description, I’d say.

His four buddies all stood to their feet to come to his rescue if things got real ugly, which was a very noble thing for them to do, really. Fortunately, I’m more of a lover not a fighter, but I can come across pretty intimidating with my deep Darth Vader voice, especially to a drunken college student.

“You WILL stay back!” I stated very clear and direct. My words seemed to sink into his chest as he tried backing further away. It was as close to using The Force as I could get. He gave a slurred apology, but I would’ve rather he bought us a beer for our trouble.

So ended 2006: A business plan, a girl friend, kidney stones, a kiss, and a near bar-fight.

2007 began
with amazing adventures on the slopes, most of which did not include me… but that’s alright. Even though it’s MY letter, I like to include others that participated through some of the year’s events. If you recall my Brother-in-Law Rick and The Dunes of Death from a couple years back; or my great friend Chris flipping upside down on the slope, driving his head into the snow only to flip back onto his board before knowing what happened… I’m rarely alone in some of my adventures and sometimes I’m simply a witness to their woes. Sometimes I’m the voice of wisdom, quickly ignored.

One example takes us to JR (oldest son). ‘Tighten your snowboard bindings’ I repeated many times. ‘If you don’t keep them tight you can get hurt’ I’d say… but alas, my words fell upon the selectively deaf ears of a 12 year old. Apparently the apple didn’t fall too far from the family tree, because the next thing I know he’s grasping his knee in pain, tears streaking down his snow-covered cheeks. In my mind, I said “I told ya so!” Well, I think it was in my mind, at least. Anyhow, who could hear over all the wailing…? A nice ski patrol guy came by and called the snowmobile driver away from courting the girls at the lodge to help the balling boy.

Next thing I know, JR is getting his 2nd snowmobile ride due to an injury, whereas I have yet to have even 1 ride! For all the injuries I’ve had, you’d think I’d get at least a ride out of it…

In the end his knee turned out to be okay. The swelling went down within a day or two and the crying stopped as they gave him hot chocolate. For JR, between kidney stones and a knee injury, he’s had a tough couple months.

This was Cheryl’s first year with snowboarding, and even though she only had one lesson, she picked it up amazingly well. Unfortunately, she picked it up so well, that she became a bit confident, and in her competitiveness crashed fast and hard on her ribs.

It was terrible seeing the pain on her face as she pushed through the agony to keep going. It brought back memories of my first time, including rib injuries and an unwillingness to give up on the challenge… how sweet it is being on the un-injured side of things for once.

I, the voice of wisdom for all ears to ignore, told Cheryl “don’t look at the things that you want to avoid - for example, trees and cliffs. They’ll pull you straight toward them like a great invisible hand.” Well, I didn’t say this because I read it in a book somewhere; I’ve actually felt that terrible invisible hand, smacking me into trees and pulling me to the edge of certain death… but some people want to write their own Christmas letters, it seems.

Cheryl crashed a lot, and suffered several injuries, but refused to give up. Even when her face turned white from pain, she wouldn’t give in.

Cheryl, being a beginner snowboarder, and closer in height to the boys than I, became the only voice the boys could hear on the slopes. William, for example, couldn’t hear me right next to him, but could hear Cheryl from across a broad open slope yelling “Shake Your Booty! Shake Your Booty!” William proceeded to shake his booty to scoot across the slope away from the trees that tried desperately to pull him in.

Getting a business
going proved excruciating to all those willing to hear the stories of my woes. Financing possibilities that seemed like a sure-thing fell to nothing and other possibilities worked out without much stress at all.

One example of a sure-thing that fell through started with a reference by a local Albany banker. He referred me to a Small Business Association specialist in Albany – we’ll call her Brenda. Brenda always called me at work, and clearly wanted to be my best friend, until I asked why she wanted money upfront for her services. She never had a good answer to my questions. She had a Jekyll-and-Hyde thing going on, too. One minute she’d tell me everything was on-track for $250,000, and then she told me I needed to sell everything I owned. Then she drilled me with questions like “what have YOU done to make this business start?” and “Do you REALLY want to do this, ‘cuz I don’t think you do.” She ended up yelling at me and insulting me in a terrible slur of anger, but I’m not sure which of her multiple personalities did the yelling. A terrible way to treat a potential customer, huh?

The month of May
came pretty quick, which brought a Cinco De Mayo! Normally, this is not a holiday I’d celebrate… but when Cheryl asked if I’d teach a birthday party of eleven year old girls how to do the Electric Slide, Salsa, and Merengue, how could I say no? Cheryl coached me with tips like “talk softly” “be effeminate” and “don’t use your loud, booming voice.”

I entered the crowded room of excited little girls, a couple depressed little boys, a mom, and a grandma. Everyone hated the partner dancing, but did it anyway. The Electric Slide was a different story… The girls LOVED it! In fact, they danced until 4AM using the disc I left them after my hour lesson. I tried to follow Cheryl’s tips for approximately 2 minutes and 34 seconds until I realized these girls were totally crazed! I switched to my booming voice, the one that my boys tremble at. My commanding voice got their attention pretty quick, and I had them moving like little dance soldiers. In the memories of the mass of little girls, I will be forever be known as “The Dance Guy”

When June came,
my world changed. I officially resigned from my 8 ½ year position with the City of Albany on June 1st at 5:00 PM. At 5:30 PM I had my first official staff meeting for Atlas Professional Services, Inc. Nothing like hitting the ground running…

One issue that complicated my departure from the City was the terrible fact that I had NO customer base. I had a long list of potential clients, but most of them were contractors I managed on construction projects and inspected their work. Some of the contractors, as I suspected, hated me with a deep burning passion. Others enjoyed the way I handled my position with the City and have elected to use my services exclusively. Trust me when I say this was no picnic. I learned very well how to suppress panic while standing in front of my staff.

July came
with a surprise to a lot of people… I asked Cheryl to marry me. On August, 11th, we were married in a friend’s house with a small group of friends and family. It was a beautiful experience, and I even think she likes me! J Ok, we’ll go with deeply in love. Seeing how she helps me with my books, I guess I married my office manager. Very cool…

After August, the company financial picture started looking a little rough. A new marriage, a new business, a new life… all put under pressure but held together with constant prayer and more than a few sleepless nights of worry.

I must say, Cheryl’s one of the best things that has ever happened to me! I’m not simply saying this because I know she’ll read this, but because she’s taken this wild ride the entire time and stood by me without question.

The wild ride of life changes from week to week, month to month, and this month is completely different than any other month I’ve ever lived.

As of two days ago, I joined a multi-state organization that could launch my business to a whole new level. I’m not sure what next year will bring… I suspect it will be a much different adventure than I’ve ever had before.

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

“To accomplish great things, we must dream as well as act.”
Anatole France (1844 - 1924)

John

Lost Souls I

LOST SOULS


Between shadowed night, the dark and light
In a place where dreams begin
A voice will call from where shadows fall
To a boy who’s just turned ten.

To Johnathon (10th B-day)
With Love, Dad




Midnight Shadows
“Will!” John said through the darkness. He stood at the door to his brother’s room. “Will, are you awake?” Hearing only deep, steady breathing coming through the night, he guessed Will was still asleep.

Peering down the dark hallway leading into the dining room and the kitchen beyond, he saw the pale white moon light barely touching the wooden chairs. The light cast eerie shadows against the wall near him, like a ghostly cage waiting to trap him if he ventured too near.

The bathroom door across from his bedroom stood open, the single night light glowing in the darkness dropping even more shadows around the sink and toilet. He quickly stepped into the bathroom, not to find relief from nature, but to find relief from the shadows that lingered down the hall; that slivery white cage that threatened to trap him.

Closing the door gently behind him, he turned on the bright lights that flooded his eyes with instant pain, causing a groan to escape his lips as he shielded his eyes. A moment later he managed to blink the pain away and focus on the mirror.

His eyes were darkened by what little sleep he had gotten. He felt shorter than before; although he noticed his shoulders were hunched over as he leaned against the cold sink. What’s going on? He asked himself. “Ugh,” he replied with a frown.

With one hand he patted down the tuft of hair that sprang up while he had slept. He noticed his hands were trembling. He knew he had been startled awake from a nightmare but he couldn’t remember details.

“I’ll have better dreams this time…I hope.”

He turned out the bathroom light as he launched himself across the dark hallway, completely aware of the cage that still hung on the wall near the dining room; that evil, ghostly cage.

I’m ten, he thought with force. I’m ten now, and I’m not letting anything interrupt my sleep. He slid deep into his warm blankets and pulled them firmly over his head.



The Voice in the Dream
“Johnathon…” a whisper came across the wind. The sweet, soft woman’s voice called to him as it had before; in the dream he couldn’t remember.

“Do not be afraid,” it came again. So soft, so soothing, filled with warmth and trust.

Johnathon looked around to find himself in great field with thick grass reaching to his knees for as far as he could see. The moon overhead cast bright silver beams into the night, which made the wind blown grass across the gentle hills sway as if alive…as if breathing.

The breeze chilled his arms and face, causing a slight shiver from the cold. Another dream? He asked himself. Looking up into the night sky, he realized that besides the moon, there were no other celestial lights to greet him; no stars, no planets…just darkness.

“You must come to me,” said the voice again, riding on the breeze as before. The voice was familiar to him, but only from the previous dream, the dream where…

He struggled to remember the dream; to remember what had happened. The feeling of some tragedy, some horrible event hung deep within his heart. But just the lingering feeling, and the voice, stayed with him.

“Where am I?!” He called out onto the breeze. “What am I doing here?”
No answer came to him. No soft voice. Nothing at all; just cold silence.

Turning to face the cool breeze, he began walking toward the voice. He began to feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and the skin on his arms became tight with goose bumps. He rubbed his arms briskly to stop the goose bumps as they began to tingle slightly, but the cause was lost. It wasn’t the cold that caused the bumps, he realized. It was fear; fear that seemed to stem from the faint memories of the previous dream…the dream that was forgotten.

“Yes, my love,” the voice came to him. “I’m waiting for you. Yes, come to me before it’s too late.”

“Too late?!” Johnathon called. Fear caused trembling in his voice. “What do you mean? Are you in trouble? Is there danger?”

The force of the wind suddenly burst into a fury against him, almost knocking him backward. The change in the wind was more than shear force, he realized, the temperature was much warmer, almost hot. The raging wind ceased as quickly as it had come, leaving him partially paralyzed with fear. His feet refused to move, although he felt the need to run.

“What’s going on?” He called into the openness. His feet remained still.

“Over the hill,” the woman said. The voice was no longer soft, no longer soothing, but assertive and almost demanding. “Go to the leafless oak. There you will find the path you must take. I will lead you and you must trust me.”

“I will,” Johnathon answered. He felt a ball form in his throat, as if his body wanted to cry; to warn him of the dream he could not recall. Something bad is here, he thought. She’s in danger and I’m her only hope. He played these words over in his mind, trying to convince himself the truth of the words, but feeling deep inside that it could not be true.



Visions of Good and Evil
The top of the huge oak slowly appeared to him as he moved up the gentle slope of drifting grass. The oak was indeed barren of leaves and life. The silver moon light seemed to become absorbed by the tree, casting the heavy branches into udder darkness. The trunk, as it came into sight was nothing more than a faint silhouette against the flowing grassy plains that stretched beyond. The darkened shroud that embraced the huge tree caused a single, instantaneous memory flash; a vision from the lost dream:

A shadowed face, features indefinable behind the cloud of darkness appeared within arms reach. The face hung above him, as if it belonged to someone tall, but there was no body formed beneath the head. The specter’s eyes glowed with the same silver light as the moon, but tinted with red as if touched with blood.

The vision sent waves of panic through his body. His hands shook uncontrollably, and his head trembled as a tear rolled down his cheek. This dream he was in, he realized, wasn’t just a dream. The details, the sensations of the cold breeze, the hot burst of wind, the moonlight, the shadows, the salty tear that graced his cheek and the goose bumps covering his quivering arms were much too real. So real, in fact, he was no longer convinced that this was a dream, but in fact reality…somehow. He now remembered the face from before, but who, or what that face was he couldn’t recall. The deep, heart stopping feeling that there was great evil associated with the face was overwhelming. He suddenly wanted to vomit.

Looking out upon tree that he was directed toward, he noticed something else. Something just beyond the hill that rolled off to his left: another tree top. The few branches that waved gently over the grassy crest were brilliant in the moonlight. Each branch filled with vibrant and living leaves which appeared to be made of pure silver in the light that illuminated them. He felt drawn to the tree, drawn to the life that it displayed so eagerly to him.

“Come to me,” her voice called again. This time the breeze did not seem to carry the voice. This time she called from the darkness itself; the darkness that held the leafless oak before him.

“I don’t want to,” he said. “I’m afraid.” He could hear his voice tremble, and he hated it. “There is evil here, I just know it.”

“I need you, my love,” she countered. “I need your help. I need you now.”

He looked back to his left and caught another glimpse of the silvery tree limbs in the distance. That was where he wanted to go. He knew it was safe there, although he didn’t know why.

“What do I do?” He asked.

“Come to the tree,” she said. “Do not be afraid. There at the base of the trunk you’ll find an opening where the trunk was split. Pass into the trunk and follow the path.”

Again, her words were more direct and demanding than the gentle pleading for help she offered before. Even so, he followed her directions and walked down the hill to the edge of darkness where the silvery moonlight ceased to exist. Fear held him at the edge of the shadowed grass. He noticed, as he stood at the edge of dark and light that the grass beyond the shadow’s edge was wilted and dead; curled as if lightly touched by death itself. Each blade, gray and decayed, appeared dry and worn by the very darkness that pressed upon them.



Tortured Souls
Johnathon held his breath as he stepped out of the moon’s soft light. Instantly the moon disappeared and even the cool breeze died around him. The goose bumps that remained on his arms were drawn forth from the fear that gripped him. He pulled his arms around his body hoping for warmth and comfort, but found little from the touch. Slowly he walked toward the tree.

In the darkness he found his eyes growing accustom to the world he had entered. There was no light, but yet his eyes could make sense of what lay ahead. Slowly, he found that he could not only see this new world, but he could see details that were previously hidden from his sight. This new vision he possessed brought a new awareness of the tree that stood before him, and of the life…and death…that it held.

Stopping to examine the ancient oak with all its detail, he found the split in the trunk as was described. He could see that there was indeed a path disappearing through that split, and that a great sense of dread flooded out of it, as if whatever chamber dwelt below could not contain the terrors within.

The thick trunk rose up out of the rotting ground like an ancient obelisk, intricately carved with hundreds of tortured faces. Each face held its pain with unique and very realistic expressions. Each face told its own story, told a tale of agonies eternal and infinite. Too troublesome to gaze upon these many faces, he moved his eyes upward to where the trunk divided into the first of the many branches overhead, and from there to the hundreds of smaller branches that had once teamed with beautiful green leaves and nests for birds and hives for bees. But now the tree was all but dead.

The bark itself, gray and worn, seemed to split and peel away from the body, but somehow could not separate and fall to the ground to become the cycle from life to death, and from death to life, as it was meant to be. But instead, it looked as if millions of dried scabs were glued to the tree in some sort of horrible attempt to keep the tree alive; a horrendous act against nature itself. Unforgivable and evil, he thought.

Suddenly, something shifted above him. He heard a short gasp escape his lips, and felt his heart skip a beat. Squinting his eyes to pierce the darkness, he found a small figure grasping a branch and peering down upon him. Another figure, to his amazement, appeared on another branch; then another, and another, and another. After a few moments, he realized that there were hundreds of these little creatures spread throughout the canopy of decayed branches above him. He found the nearest one and focused with all his might to see what these things were. He guessed chipmunks and that was what his mind attempted to draw out of the darkness. But his mind couldn’t grasp what his eyes had found to be true.

The small creature he focused on had no furry tail or large eyes or fluffy cheeks to hold food. Instead, it had wet leathery skin, bare with each little muscle defined along with the crimson veins coursing along the spindly arms and legs. The hand that could be seen had each finger tipped with blackened nails, long and razor like. The one foot he could see looked as if it was squid-like, with small tentacles stretching out to grasp the branch in all directions. The head that looked down upon him drew back the vision he had remembered earlier when he looked upon the tree for the very first time. The eyes, small slits that stretched out from a blackened hole where the nose should be, glowed with a ghostly silver light. Although he sensed that it wasn’t really light as much as it was the spirit that gave life to the creature. He was gazing upon the soul of this…this thing. The creature then opened its mouth to reveal several short, black teeth that appeared to drip with whatever secretions pressed out of the gums. The open mouth appeared to shift into a grin, almost a smile, if such a thing was possible. Then Johnathon realized with a sudden wave of fear that the creatures above him began moving through the branches toward him. Lowering their gruesome bodies down to the next branches using their razor nails and tentacle feet, their focus upon him became intense and deadly. He could hear their rhythmic breathing, all in unison as if made of one high pitched lung. Silvery eyes beheld him with cold hunger. Johnathon made his choice: run.

The Voice in the Darkness
Johnathon passed through the opening in the trunk easily, as if designed for a ten year old body. The tunnel that he followed smelled of wet earth and rotten wood. There was another stench that pressed against him, one that he knew only from the dream that he forgot: the smell of evil. Could evil have a smell? He wondered. Must have, because this was it and it was awful!

He looked back through the tunnel and did not see or sense that he was being followed. The creatures, he figured, would be waiting for him to come out of the tree before they had their meal.

“Johnathon,” the voice called. Her tone was soft and sweet once again. He stopped in his tracks, waiting without a breath.

“My love,” she continued. “My love, come to me. This is the way. Do not be afraid. I need you to be brave. You, my darling Johnathon, can set me free.”

“You’re trapped!?” He asked. “Where are you? What am I to do? It’s so very dark and I am so scared.”

“Come to me, free me, help this pain go away. I can bear it no more.” She said with soft agony that penetrated into Johnathon’s heart.

“I’m coming,” he called out. “I’ll save you from this dark evil.”

He began moving through the tunnel again. Each step became stronger and more determined; he had to save her. He could sense that he was moving deeper below the surface with every turn. The floor seemed to drop slowly, almost unperceivable, as he moved on.

After what seemed like an eternity, the tunnel suddenly opened up into a vast chamber that stretched out before him. The walls to his left and right opened up from the tunnel to form an enormous V, with the tunnel at the point.

“I am here,” the voice said from the darkness beyond his vision.

“Where are you?” He said. “I can’t see. Tell me where you are.”

“I am here. Walk into the darkness. This is where you will find me. This is where you will see me.”

Slowly, he walked away from the tunnels walls and into the opening of the great chamber. He could feel a coldness drop upon him as a wave upon his skin. Goose bumps instantly washed over him, and a shudder ran down his spine.
I shouldn’t be here, he thought, fighting the panic that threatened his sanity.

“That’s it…come closer,” the voice said.

Johnathon continued slowly into the darkness. He could no longer see the great expanse of the cavern. He tried to see his hand stretched out before him, but there was only darkness. The cold the surrounded him felt like ice. His breath caused moisture to build upon his lips. He knew that he was at the heart of the evil here, but he continued on. The woman, the voice…it was here. She had to be found.

“Yes, my love,” she whispered from the emptiness that engulfed him. “You have walked into the darkness. You have found me. Now you shall see me, and you will understand fully.”
The Face of Evil
The vision that he recalled from the lost dream became reality as silvery, blood tinted eyes slowly appeared before him. The bodiless head took shape and hung in the darkness as it had in the vision. His heart pounded with such force, he could feel his shirt pulsing with each beat. His hands trembled and he felt his legs begin to loose their strength. He fought to remain standing; to remain conscious in the face of this evil.

“Wh-where,” he stammered. “Where is she? Where’s the woman.”

The ghastly face stretched its mouth wide to form a thin smile. He realized that the features of the strange creatures hanging in the tree were very similar to this thing before him. The eyes, the mouth, the skeletal void in place of a nose, it was disgusting and horrifying.

“But my love,” the face said. “My darling, I said that you would see me.” The voice did indeed come from this specter, this phantasm that smiled to reveal thin razor teeth, black and covered with thick bloody saliva. “And here I am to be freed from this suffering of mine.”

“No…you…this is evil…you are evil,” he said. “I must get out.” He tried to turn. He tried to run, but his legs, weakened from fear, dropped him to his hands and knees. Behind him he felt the demon move.

“You, my boy, are perfect,” the voice, once warm and soft, was now vicious and venomous, full of hate. “Fresh, ten years old. Still a boy, but you’ve shown such braveness and determination. You are the final piece of the puzzle I have waited so long for. So many years I’ve been gathering those that I needed, and now I have you, Johnathon, the final sacrifice that will set me free.”

“No…” He managed to say through his weakened lips. His body felt weighted down with the pure evil that hung over him. The dirt beneath his hands felt warm against his skin and soft against his knees. He felt a tear pool in his left eye as hope passed away from him. This was the end, and this wasn’t a dream. He would not wake up tomorrow.

As the darkness closed down upon him, he could hear the soft cruel laughter coming from the demon that was about to devour him. He could feel its movement again. The icy air shifted and pressed against his side. He knew that this thing was now directly to his right.

Help me, Johnathon cried out from his very soul.

Suddenly a shape took form before him. He felt the shift in the air before it fully formed, but when it did he gasped, energy surged through him as if to fill his lungs with air for the very first time.

The shape knelt down on one knee, and leaned close to his face.

“William,” Johnathon whispered.

The soft, transparent vision of his brother smiled with deep, knowing wisdom and nodded. The clear eyes looked down to focus on the hand that reached out. Johnathon followed and looked down. William’s ghostly hand held a single seed in the center of the palm. The seed was silver, almost metallic, and very solid; very real. Johnathon pinched the seed from his brother’s hand and clenched it tight.

Deep concern came across William’s face. His eyes drawn heavy by the evil Johnathon faced. “Use it well,” William whispered, and vanished without a trace.
Johnathon opened his hand and looked upon the seed with some confusion. The seed felt warm and alive. It brought strength and hope to every part of his being. He just didn’t know what to do with the seed.

Beside him the demon released a deep growl and the icy air shifted again. Johnathon knew this thing was going to put an end to him this very moment. Turning sharply away from the monster, he narrowly missed being bitten by the razor teeth this thing bore down upon him with. A great scream bellowed from the specter as its prey move at the last second; its feast stolen away for the moment.

With one swift, decisive throw, Johnathon hurled the slivery seed toward the demon. To his amazement the seed seemed to shift in the air, adjusting its flight to pierce the left eye of the monster. He watched as the seed vanished into the blood tinted silvery eye.

The demon held quick for a moment, trying to grasp what had just happened. Its nightmarish eyes shifted to meet its prey. A short burst of laughter assaulted Johnathon’s ears, striking fear into his heart.

What happened? He thought. I’m going to die now. The seed…I shouldn’t have thrown it.

The monster smiled its evil smile and dropped slowly down to the dirt floor. Their eyes met; their faces within inches of each other. The blood within the eyes seemed to move, to pulse to a chaotic rhythm that must have been this creature’s life force; its heartbeat, if that was possible.

“Do you understand the meaning of your life, my child?” The womanly voice came out of the mouth before him. The horrid stench that filled this chamber and flowed through the tunnel came directly from this creature. The evil smell was created from the very breath of his attacker.

The strength that he been given by the living, silver seed still flowed through him in spite of the evil pressing into him from all sides. Straightening his back, he rested on his feet beneath him while still kneeling. He lightly brushed his hands together, removing the wet soil from his palms. He refused to give in again. Thrusting his chest out in defiance he said, “My life is not yours to have.”

“But you don’t understand,” it countered. “I’ve been waiting for you. You are the last that I’ll need. You can set me free.”

“Free from what!?” He demanded, his fear quickly turning to anger.

The eyes of the creature shifted slightly, although the living blood within the silvery light still moved. A new expression appeared on the ghostly face. Was it sadness…despair? He wondered.

“I’ve been cursed, you see, my love,” it began. “And now it must end. For years I have been gaining strength from the souls of children such as you. For years I’ve been forced to lure my children to this place through the dreams I give.”

“Why me?” he demanded. “Why now?”

“You are now ten years old. Your spirit has strength and great energy, as do all ten year olds. You might say that you have ripened as a fine peach.” The face shifted again. Despair turned to thirst and hunger. “Yes, a fine peach.”

“You can’t have me,” he said.
“My boy, I do love you. You are the strongest, bravest, most noble soul to come to me. It is almost a pity such a strong one need perish. But your strength, your life will be of great use to me. And I love you for what you will give me. You cannot fight this. It is…inevitable.”

The eyes, he noticed, shifted again. The left eye, where the seed had passed, began to quiver. The flowing blood became slow, without the chaotic rhythm as before.

“What have you done!?” It demanded. The ghostly face shifted again.

Fear, he recognized. The icy air pushed against him as the demon moved away, back into the thick darkness.

“My boy! My love! You cannot do this to me. I need you. Save me!”

Johnathon rose to his feet. He could feel the strength in his legs as never before: his arms, his chest, his mind, all alert and strong.

From the dark depths the evil face rushed toward him, thrusting the thick icy air toward him as an ocean wave. The face, it seemed, was covered with metallic veins that grew out of the thing’s left eye, which no longer could be seen fully. The razor teeth that had filled the vicious mouth were broken and no longer dripped blood as before. The right eye that remained held a faint glimmer of crimson but the pulse that drove the chaotic blood no longer moved.

Johnathon spun to his left to avoid the dying creature’s assault. He watched the specter drop onto the floor, writhing in agony and fear as the last of its life faded before him. Within moments, the dark shape was engulfed by the sliver veins that quickly began to resemble a metallic root system. The speed of the growth was astonishing, and the light that was produced was full of life and energy. He stood in awe as the roots pushed across the cavern floor, reaching into the darkness, bringing light where none had existed before.

Run, a voice came to him. The voice, a child’s voice, seemed to come from his own mind, rather than the air around him. He knew in his heart that this voice was to be trusted. And so he ran.

Quickly he found the tunnel, which was illuminated by the silver roots that reached out along the tunnel walls faster than his legs could carry him. He knew that he too could be engulfed and trapped by these overpowering roots if he delayed.

The tunnel opened at the split in the trunk, and as he burst into the darkness, he suddenly remembered the tiny evil creatures that were waiting for his return. Looking into the branches over head, he found the hundreds of silvery eyes glaring down upon him. He could hear the high pitched rhythmic breathing they produced in unison become quick with excitement. The little bodies began to shift and sway and pulse in excitement.

Turning to look at the tree’s trunk, he found that the silvery roots had surrounded the large mass, completely covering the many carved faces of agony and despair. The trunk it seemed became solid silver. He watched as the metallic veins coursed across the limbs, reaching to the very tips of the highest branches. The scab-like bark no longer could be seen, and the living metal appeared to become solid as if shaped by an unseen craftsman. The beauty was scarred only by the creatures clinging to the silvery branches.

As he watched in wonder, he noticed that the creatures above him became subject to the flowing metallic veins. Each little body was quickly covered to resemble small statuettes, with only the silvery eyes glowing through small holes. Suddenly, the tiny creatures, one by one, began to transform into figures of jello, swaying gently side to side. Then each body melted away before his very eyes, becoming part of the tree as if they had never existed.

Johnathon found himself saddened by the annihilation of the entire mass of creatures, even though they appeared gruesome and evil. This colony absorbed into silvery nothingness brought a wave of tears to his cheeks. Beneath the silver tree that once was death, but now was life, he wept.

New Beginnings
The tears that wetted his cheeks felt the first wave of the cool breeze that danced across the grassy plains. The moonlight began penetrating the dying shadows and lifted his spirits. He looked out upon the hills that lifted the swaying grass toward the horizon. The moon, full and bright, rested before him as if to guide the way home. He began walking toward the moon, up the hill that he knew would lead to the silver tipped tree that caught his eye earlier.

As he reached the top of the hill, he looked back to the tree that was to be his tomb. He remembered the little creatures and the sadness for their lost lives which still weighed upon his heart. Then, as if waiting for him to look back, a host of small silvery lights erupted from the very tips of the branches that reached to the starless sky. He could hear faint cries of excitement as these lights scattered in all directions. The lights, he realized, were each of the little creatures being set free. They were released from the confines of the tree that absorbed them, to return to wherever they had come.

Johnathon felt his heart wash clean of the sorrow he had felt, and was overjoyed for these souls escape. He wondered if he were to have been a victim of the evil beneath that tree, would that too have become his fate? To become a trapped soul within an evil frame clinging to that decaying ancient oak?

He stood atop that gentle hill with great silvery oaks on either side of him. He loved the feel of the moon beams on his chilled skin. He loved the warmth emanating from both trees. This is heaven, he thought. I could spend a life time right here.

“No,” said a child’s voice. “Not heaven.”

He recognized this voice as the same child that instructed him to run. The voice sounded so very familiar, but he wasn’t able to identify its owner.
“Who are you?” Johnathon asked into the air.

“You must return now,” the child said. “You will remember…everything.”

“I don’t want to go. I want to stay forever.” He pleaded.

“You have brought peace and life to so many. You are a peace maker, and you will be blessed.”

The world around him began to fade as his lids became heavy against his eyes. He could feel his body rising above the swaying grass, toward the moon that waited for him.

Morning Light
Thud

Johnathon awoke to the bathroom door being closed across the hall. The sunlight pierced through his curtains, shooting thin streaks of pain into his eyes.

“Ugh,” he moaned, shielding his eyes. “What time is it, anyway?”

7:45 AM

“William,” he heard his Mom call down the hall. “A little quieter with the door, please, John’s still sleeping.”

“Not any more,” he mumbled to himself. Crawling out of his warm blankets, he pulled on his slippers and made his way out into the hallway. He could hear the television in the living room; breakfast was cooking in the kitchen. A wash of French toast greeted his nose along with the beginnings of bacon.

His head felt heavy as if he hadn’t slept at all. He moved his feet sluggishly down the hall where he found his Mom flipping the French toast, dancing in her strange ‘mom’ kind of dance to some Latin music playing from the other end of the kitchen.

“Hey!” She greeted him with an energy level that should be outlawed before 10 AM. “Want to dance?”

“Ugh!” He grunted toward her, feeling what little energy he had was being sapped just watching her. He moved into the living room and dropped onto the sofa. He loved the fullness of the cushions and was grateful that it was Saturday. He panned the living room for the remote, but was nowhere in sight.

A figure moved into the living room, slowly dragging each step as if still asleep. He looked up to find William drifting toward him. His brother’s eyes half closed, arms dropped to his side as he too dropped onto the sofa.

The television caught their eyes as the screen flashed blue.

SPECIAL REPORT

“This is a special report. I am Rick Knight,” the news man began. “This morning something has happened that has medical experts in shock. It appears that hundreds of people have suddenly awaked from their comas. Reports started coming in from across the country from hospitals in every state and almost every city. What is more bizarre is the connection that each of these individuals had with one another.”

The man paused, drawing a big gulp of air before he continued.

“Each of these individuals began their comatose state just after turning ten years old. These people currently range in age from twelve to fifty years old. Doctors across the country cannot comprehend this mass awakening, but families are overjoyed as their loved ones return to them. We’ll bring you more as this story develops.”

Suddenly, the television flashed off; the black screen crackling with static. Johnathon turned to meet his brother’s eyes. He was stunned to find the same deep, knowing wisdom upon William’s face that he had in the dream. With a blink of an eye the expression was gone, replaced with the same dreary-eyed look he wore before. William dropped the remote onto the coffee table.

“What do you remember?” Johnathon asked.

“Huh?” William responded, confusion crossing his face.

“Nothing, never mind,” Johnathon said.

William shrugged and made his way toward the kitchen. He moved with more energy than he had just moments ago, and with a slight dance in his step, Johnathon heard his brother sing:

“He used it well, so very well…oh yeah!”


THE END

Range Pains

Range Pains

By John Downing

Not too long ago
I was ride’n on the range
Deep inside my stomach,
I was feel’n kinda strange

Could’ve been the steak & eggs
Or the moonshine from last night
Whatever it was, I had to stop
‘cause thing’s weren’t feel’n right

I bound down from my horse
And headed for a bush
With cactus here and thistles there
It was too dangerous for my tush

One hand upon my stomach
I wasn’t mov’n very fast
Oh, the pain was com’n on too quick
How long could I last?

Then at last I found my prize
A group of flowered trees
But in those trees, to my dismay
Were nests of nasty bees

I could have run to save my life
And I’d live another day
But my stomach wouldn’t have this do
I blew them all away

And to this day the story’s told
Of the blasted bees I slew
And if you ever ride the range
I’d recommend the stew.

Christmas letter 2006

Christmas Letter 2006

To all my family, friends, associates, strangers, drunken wandering drug dealers, my personal FBI agent, and the entire Nigerian mafia:

Merry Christmas!
(another long letter… sorry )

Another exciting year has passed; now taking the form of my 3rd annual Christmas letter for all to enjoy, grieve, learn from, and shake their heads at. A trip down memory lane… a simple way to look at life and realize it’s okay to not be normal or perfect, because who wants to be like that, anyway? Not ME! As with my previous Christmas letters, I realize the length of the letter may seem a little long, but I trust you’ll enjoy the reading, so don’t tossed it aside as just any ‘ol Christmas letter. Before I get started down memory lane, I’d like to thank those who’ve had the guts (or insanity) to join me throughout the year. To some: a high-five! To others: my deepest apologies…

In the beginning,
there was January. That cold, dreary month with post-Christmas blues and nothing to really look forward to… unless you snowboard! If you recall my 2005 Christmas letter, my snowboarding skills stepped up to a whole new level in December. I found new skills that just ‘clicked’ in my brain. The new skills enflamed my desire for the slopes – landing me on five different mountains with nearly a dozen trips between January and the end of April. Crystal Mountain near Seattle was the furthest I traveled to play… and I’m definitely going back!

I found myself willingly dropping into tree wells, taking small jumps and even a couple black diamond runs. Well, my first black diamond run wasn’t something I really wanted to do. My buddy Chris decided my introduction to a black diamond run would be best served at night, in fog too thick to see more than a couple feet, and without warming up with some smaller runs. He just said, “It’s a bit steep, so keep cut’n hard and you’ll be fine.”

Excruciating leg pain and terrible crashes with terrifying polar bear slides filling my coat with snow does little justice to describe that grand event. I met him at the lift at the bottom, barely able to keep upright… “That was your first black diamond,” he said in a cheerful tone terribly offensive to my condition, so I punched him in the chest. Punk! No, I didn’t hurt him, but I got my point across… so we did it a second time. Perspective is everything when snow boarding. The first time down – “I’m going to die!!!” Second time down – “What the hell was I thinking doing this twice!?”

I know going to the mountain alone is typically something frowned upon, especially after nearly breaking my wrist on my second attempt way back in January, 2005 – alone. But hey, that was last season… I’m a whole new snowboarder, right? Besides, when schedules don’t work out, why wait? So I didn’t. I tried to get my snow boarding compadres, Chris & Ariane to go to Mt. Hood Meadows with me, but they had other things they needed to do… as if there are more important things in life. Sheesh! They eventually gave in to my finely executed peer pressure and said they’d join me for night skiing at Ski Bowl (on Mt. Hood).

The two of them, in their great understanding of the injuries I’ve suffered in the past, and care for my personal wellbeing, advised me to wait for them. Yeah, right… I launched off early to spend a full day to at Mt. Hood Meadows, but a little thing got in the way called a blizzard! Snow drifts enjoyed erupting violently in front of me, apparently trying to devour the Jeep in the blinding flurry. Sliding sideways was pretty exciting, but not being able to see anything beyond my windshield turned the thrill ride into a white-knuckled trip-of-terror.

Ever find yourself praying out loud without realizing you were doing it? This was one of those times. And that’s before I found out Mt. Hood Meadows was closed. I guess 60+ mph winds were a bit too much if people are meant to actually stay ON the ski lift. Details, details. So, in the blinding blizzard, I crept / slid my way around the mountain searching for someplace to play. I’d gone to the far side of the mountain and I refused to leave without some serious play time.

I had to ask myself: was this a sign that I shouldn’t be on the mountain alone??? I mean, a Jeep-eating blizzard would be a pretty big sign, I suppose. You see, in the past I’ve ignored signs that warned of terrible, tough times ahead… so I ignored this one, too.

Not being inclined to give up easily, I used Chris as my cell phone reference guide to find available ski lifts. So, I made my way to Ski Bowl, where Chris and Ariane were going to meet me for night skiing later that evening. In sheer delight, I shredded my happy snowboarding self all over that mountain for more than 5 hours straight! Then I crashed hard. Crashed, as in ‘fell asleep in my Jeep’ for an hour or so before going back for more.

Before long, the happy couple arrived, turning me into the ever-present third-wheel. The great thing about these two is that even though they are perfect together (like Ying & Yang), they each connect with me on various levels… which means I don’t mind being a third-wheel at all. Now, if you recall the injuries from my previous experiences, you’ll be surprised to find out that I was not the one to get hurt this year AT ALL. But instead, that gorgeous night at Ski Bowl resulted in both Ying & Yang getting injured. Like this…

Ariane (who seems to always lead the run down the mountain), dropped over a hill out of sight, only to be found at the bottom of that hill cradling her hand … turns out she nearly broke her thumb! For a massage therapist, that equals disaster. Not too long after, Chris went flying down the slope toward a rather large jump that he’s landed pretty consistently, but he wanted to make it BIG this time. I’ve landed it a couple times, but usually ended up on my stomach, arms spread wide in my famous polar bear slide.
Occasionally I accompany my patented slide technique with a barbarian war-cry and claw marks dug deep into the snow… until I stop, that is. Then I just brush off the snow, gather up what’s left of my pride and keep going. But this is about Chris… let’s continue.

I waited with Ariane down the slope anticipating The Great Jump. She was armed with the digital camera, ready to capture his amazing flight. Me, I just sat there cheering him on as he picked up some serious speed approaching this monster jump.

From where I was sitting, I watched my comrade launch his body into the air in near perfect form – like a cruise missile wearing a helmet. Ariane mumbled that the camera batteries died as her airborne hubby flew through the air and into the shadows. To our shock and dismay, he ended up crashing like an old Iraqi scud missile. Ka-Thud! Fortunately, just like most scud missiles, he didn’t explode. He recovered enough to slide out of the shadows, down to where we waited for him. He didn’t want to admit it at the time, but he hit his head pretty hard. By the time we rode the lift to the top again, he finally admitted the severity of the head trauma – a concussion blacking out the sight in one eye. Yep, time to go. The two left the mountain with their injuries and I came out unscathed! I mean… uh, er… sorry they got hurt and all that…

Chris and I
found the perfect opportunity to hit the slopes one last time on April 29th – Ariane was out of state! Not that we wouldn’t have wanted her to join us, mind you. We took off to play at Mt. Hood Meadows for the day, and what a day it was! A storm was approaching; scheduled to hit the mountain around 2pm, so it was a race against time, really. Remember the last storm I ran into on Mt. Hood? See page 2.

Before the storm hit, the clear blue skies warmed up the slopes, turning them to slush and our faces red and blistered. Chris got the worst of the burn, but we had matching lines on our foreheads from the skull cap/ bandanas we sported. Yep. Two guys with matching sunburns… a bonding experience? Uh, no.

Chris lead us to a black diamond run called Powder Keg, and I watched him fight his way through slushy moguls… which didn’t look fun to me – too much work! So, I let the crazy child side of my brain take over, and I slid down that mogul monster on my butt with my board stretched out in front of me… I flew over the mounds of moguls, launching slush and snow into huge plumes in front of me, leaving a butt-print scar down the face of Powder Keg. Chris just about died laughing at me as I passed him like a 6’4” eight year old (his description) having the time of his life!

Well, not to be outdone by my beautiful slide down Powder Keg, Chris had to display his own acrobatic skill, which would have been pretty amazing if he actually planned it! So here it is from my perspective: He was cruising down a wide gentle slope, nothing too exciting… until he did a perfect cartwheel right in front of me! Well, not exactly perfect, he didn’t use his hands; he used his head and shoulders instead. The ‘perfect cartwheel’ planted his head deep into the snow, leaving a watermelon-shaped hole in the snow with indentions where his shoulders hit on either side. Remarkably, he flipped right back up onto his board and kept going for nearly 20 feet before dropping to his butt looking at me with a quizzical expression!

I think his words were “Uh, what just happened?” And as a true friend concerned for the health and wellbeing of his fellow snowboarder I said “That was AMAZING!!!” Within an hour, the storm front moved in catching us on the ski lift, trying to rip us to pieces. When the lift feels like a Magic Mountain ride gone bad, it’s time to go. They closed the place shortly after...

So snowboarding season ended with a new love for the sport and zero injuries! Well, for me no injuries, at least… I thought the tides had turned in my favor this year. I was sadly mistaken.

Keeping things
as chronologically accurate as possible, I should mention a couple other things about this year. I got a tattoo in February – an angel and a demon fighting it out. 4 hours of pain! It’s very detailed and intricate. I didn’t throw up, I didn’t pass out, and I kept breathing just like the guy said I should do. Oh, it was on a blind date, too. I’ll leave that one alone, k?I picked up partner dancing in April or May… I don’t remember exactly, could’ve been March. I started with triple-time, East Coast swing. I took three attempts before my body figured out what my brain wanted it to do! Unfortunately, the Albany / Corvallis areas do not cater to East Coast swing, so I went with West Coast Swing, which is very technical, and nothing like East Coast swing. I was warned not to try it until I’ve done other dances for a while. HA! Don’t tell me I can’t do something. West Coast swing is probably my favorite dance style. And I can now say I have a little experience in waltz, night club 2-step, and Lindy Hop. I even sampled some meringue, cha-cha, single time swing, foxtrot, and tango; and now I’m diving into Latin dance with Salsa! Who would’ve thought….? Yeah, I get a little grief from my friends. They play basketball and volleyball while I run off to dance with a bunch of girls. I think their perspectives are a bit skewed.

Oh yeah,
I graduated in May with my Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration: Management & Communication. Seven years of nearly non-stop school finally came to an end! (Please stand by for a bit-o-brag’n): I managed to pull off a GPA of 3.96! Not bad for a guy who barely passed high school with a D+ / C- average, eh? Will I get a MBA? The jury’s out on that one. I want to experience life without school; enjoy some freedom from self-imposed duties and responsibilities… But I accidentally filled my schedule up pretty quick and now I don’t know how I even fit school into my life!

In June
I went kayaking with Chris and Ariane on the North Santiam River, which is always a blast of scary fun… and on this particular trip, the injuries I avoided on the slopes caught up with me on the river. The area known as Fisherman’s Bend tried taking my life last year, and saw me coming down the river this time; waiting to strike… and it did.

I bounced through the mass of shifting, boiling, surging, curling currents-of-chaos and almost made it through – almost. The final bend curled suddenly, and I couldn’t react to the changes fast enough and I flipped upside down instantly! One thing I’ve learned is that I’m top-heavy while sitting in a kayak, which means I’m upside down a lot more I should be. Chris, for example might flip once for every six of mine! I also learned to patiently wait upside down… with no air… with the fishes… and the rocks… in the bitter, cold darkness. It’s a very difficult place to find patience.

In this particular instance, patience decided to abandon me in my time of need. I think it had something to do with the fact that my helmet smashed against a rock, feeling like I’d just been attacked by a river monster wielding a huge aluminum baseball bat! With patience nowhere to be found, I panicked, using sheer force to roll back up instead of technique. Yes, you can muscle your way to the surface, but the technique is where the art of the roll comes in – it doesn’t really use too much muscle when you do it right. But for me, I really wanted more air and less head beatings, so I muscled my way up and paddled straight for the shore.

After pulling my fear-drained body out of my little blue boat, I found the wind was taken out of my sails and a small chunk was taken out of my helmet. For more than a few minutes, I surrendered to the river. It won that battle this time. Getting back on the river was a bit tough at first, but necessary. I tell my boys to get back on their bike when they crash; I had to treat myself with the same wisdom, right? I was shaken, but eventually came out of it, with the pleasure of the rapids returning in no time.

A short time later, I realized the muscles around my right shoulder blade didn’t like me abusing it while attempting to save my brains from getting smashed into goo. The constant paddling for the remainder of the trip aggravated the injury, and the muscles retaliated by taking nearly two months to heal! My doctor was wondering when I’d be back to see her. The best thing about that shoulder injury is that I finally got to use my AFLAC. That little duck really paid off! *quack!*

You might
think I enjoy putting myself in harms way, but that’s not completely true. You see, I had a couple months where I wasn’t putting myself in harms way, someone else felt the need to… the Nigerian Mafia! Wait… don’t wave this off as a joke. It wouldn’t be in my Christmas letter if it weren’t true, right? Right.

Well, I advertised my motorcycle for sale in July and found myself facing a London based, Canadian supported fraud extortionist group that told me I’m to cash a bad check and send them the money… or else. Of course, I said no, No, NO! Let’s see – cash a bad check = go to jail to find new ‘friends’ giving my Christmas letters a whole different slant, or risk actual violence by an unknown foe. I chose the latter. A series of emails escalated to specific threats on my life, and I didn’t like that all too well. Sure, I’ll slide down mountains on a freshly waxed board; bash my head against rocks on a river, and ride nearly anywhere on my motorcycle, but when I’m someone’s target – that’s not cool.

It finally got to a point of extreme discomfort, and I contacted the local police department, seeking understanding, empathy, sympathy… whatever, I found none.

“Give us the emails and the bad check. We’ll file it and if anything happens, let us know.” The very nice lady said.
“Ma’am, did you hear me say they’ve got my home address and have stated very clearly that my life is in danger?” I suppressed my frustration.
“Well, you can call the Fed’s if you want,” she said very matter-of-fact.
“Hey! That’s a great idea. Thanks.” I said with mocked excitement. Click.

So my call to the Salem FBI went like this:
Ring, ring, ring…
“Special Agent Dan McLoughlin.” A statement. That was it. Nothing like “please hold for 3 years” or “your call is important, please don’t die yet.” Nope. This was a real guy with a real title, and clearly no sense of joy hidden anywhere in his tone – all business.
“I, uh… what did you say?”
He repeated his statement… a little slower this time. I explained what was going on and he acted immediately. No messing around with this guy. He gave me his direct line, his email… and a warning: “This sounds like the Nigerian mafia that operates on the east coast, mostly Florida. Don’t panic about this, but disappearances and attacks have happened. They haven’t done anything in Oregon, so you’d be the first.”

Gasp! What the…!? A little unnerving, to say the least.

“Just don’t cash the check, whatever you do…” he made this very clear.

Well, the threats continued and even became more direct. My personal Special Agent was never out of the loop. He started emailing on my behalf. Very official email, too. “You have threatened the life of an American citizen…..” He mentioned his personal contacts in Scotland Yard and the Canadian version (not sure who they are… Mounties, I guess). He assured me that the internet routes can be traced, although it takes some time and resources. They can hide, but they’ll be found.

After a short while “Joy,” the lady representing the Nigerian Mafia, began emailing both me and my Special Agent, mocking us and threatening to snuff me out right under the nose of the FBI. I think that’s what finally got to him, because a couple of days later he called me up.
“You won’t be hearing from them again.” Another statement. No pleasantries. Nothing like ‘yay! We got ‘em!’ Nope. A statement. And he was right. I’ve not heard a word since. I do wonder what ever happened to “Joy.” Such good times we had together…

The summer
held a few more adventures I’ll touch on just briefly. The theme for summer vacation with the boys – Caves! Dark, cold, spooky ones! The Lava River Cave near Bend was pretty cool until it came time for ‘ol Dad here to belly crawl to get to the end. Yeah, right! I put a stop to that pretty quick. I don’t think the boys will ever let me live that one down. They snatched up the lights and scooted to the very end with a couple other kids to take pictures of each other. I wasn’t alone though. The other parents refused to belly crawl, too!

Later in the summer we made it to the Oregon Caves, where the boys stayed up near the cave ranger asking all sorts of great questions, and commenting about how some of the cave formations resembled certain body parts… they even got a very bitter old woman to chuckle as she waddled along with the group.

My buddy Manny treated a small group of us on a guys-only wake boarding adventure this late summer on the most beautiful reservoir around – Green Peter. The last time I tried wake boarding, I nearly broke my back trying to stand up on the board. The witnesses said my wake was just as big as the boat pulling me. That was before the boat engine seized and we were towed back to the dock. That was last year… But this year, I got up after only a few attempts. AC/DC’s Hells Bells seemed to do the trick for some reason.

Manny stunned us all with his ability to leap over the entire wake! Paul, his brother-in-law, stunned us all with his ability to throw his body into the air, twisting and turning like a great feline in flight. The difference was that Manny landed on the board and kept going, and Paul… well, he didn’t really land as much as explode upon impact. Really, I can’t believe his arms and legs are still attached to his torso!

Speaking of boats,
I have a little, blue 11-foot aluminum boat from 1963 passed down from my step-dad to my brother to me. This little blue boat with its 7 ½ horse power motor was mentioned in my 2004 letter as I ventured not once, but twice into Yaquina Bay at Newport to do some crabbing. Well, this year that little boat was put to use again…

Waldport, just south of Newport, became the focus of the crabbing adventures this year, but before I could head out to the bay I had to do a test run – safety first, right? Well the test run was done on a Friday with my boys. Crabbing was planned for the next day with Chris and Ariane.

The testing ground for the year’s maiden voyage was held at the Freeway Lakes near Albany. The lakes come with a warning from the locals – don’t eat anything you catch, and don’t swim in the stuff that looks like water. Ok, fair enough. So us three boys suited up in our life vests and pushed off to tour the lakes before the boys went back to their mom’s. Now, what could go wrong with a short jaunt around a lake, you ask? Well, if it went smooth it wouldn’t be in the letter, right? Right.

By the time we reached the lake furthest from the dock, the boys alerted me to the fact that water was coming into the boat near the front.
“How fast is it coming in?” I asked.
“It’s shooting up about this far,” fingers spread about 3-inches.
Gasp!
“Are you saying it’s a little geyser up there?” I suppressed my anxiety very well.
“Yep! Are we gonna sink, Dad?” Innocent faces wrought with fear…
“Uh, no. We’re not gonna sink, just start bailing… quick.”

I turned us around and pushed that little motor as fast as it’d go… until it hit a log, breaking a gear pin.

“What happened, Dad?”
“I think we hit something. Just keep bailing!”

The boat barely moved through the water, but we made it to the dock and I fixed the sheared gear pin for the next day’s adventure in Waldport bay, putting Chris on the front of the little boat… poor guy.

Crabbing
On the bay, there were waves and wakes and wind chop that liked to pop up just over the top of the boat… where Chris just happened to be sitting. I had such a good time! Chris was left shivering, wet and cold… oops! My bad. The delight I found was a bit demented, I suppose. I mean, poor Chris was suffering from the wet & cold, pulling crab baskets from the bottom of the bay, and wrestling with some vicious and ferocious crab claws, while I gleefully drove the boat into waves just to watch them erupt onto my friend’s back. He warmed up eventually, and we got some great crab! I seem to recall some choice words he had for me… not suitable for a Christmas letter.

Off the docks of Waldport one night with the boys and Chris & Arianne proved to be mildly successful, but we stayed out until almost 2AM on a work night! Well, a work night for Chris, anyhow. The boys were pretty excited to get to the cleaning station… until they watched Chris slam a living crab against the table edge, splitting it clean in half on the first blow. Their excitement was extinguished instantly! They walked back to the Jeep where Ariane waited; their heads drooped with the grim face of reality carved into their minds. No nightmares, but they lost the thrill of crabbing knowing the fate of each crab caught. As a Dad, I felt some piece of their innocence had been torn away. Fortunately, that feeling lasted just long enough to smash my own crab, and then it was gone. This, by the way, turned into some awesome crab cakes!

My friend Manny decided to use one of my Franken-Tomatoes in making his homemade salsa. A mistake that almost cost him his life! Now, when reading this, don’t automatically start thinking that my recipes are to be feared. Let it sink in for a bit, then fear.

Manny discovered a little known fact outside of the science department of OSU: Franken-Tomatoes foam and sizzle and bubble and stink really bad if they sit in a jar for more than a year. Funny thing is that he almost used some for salsa even after the eruption of enraged bacteria! I called him with the bacteria alert before he used it… so in a way, I saved his life.

Once upon
an afternoon driving through a little one-horse town called Scio (Sigh-O) I realized a couple things. One, there’s a bar. Two, there’s apparently a girl who wears a skirt to the aforementioned bar. Three, there’s a full size Chevy pickup whose owner decided to stare at the skirt-wearing girl going into said bar… while turning in front of me, hanging out his window looking behind him at said girl. Smack! He took off part of the front end of the Jeep. Thankfully the airbag didn’t go off, and he simply said “Hyuck! I was jus’ cruz’n thru town, check’n out da ladies. Sorry ‘bout hit’n ya.”

Gasp! There’s one girl in the town, probably his niece or ex-wife (maybe one-in-the-same). Sick-o freak. Anyhow, my Jeep is fixed but not without some frustrations. So, the moral of the story: stay out of Scio unless you’re wearing a skirt going into the bar.

Thanksgiving
had a special event that just HAD to go into the letter. Let me explain… I visited with my Rick & Connie & family (sister & brother-in-law *more like a brother*) for the holiday. At around 9 PM, Connie and I visited Rick at the 911 center where he dispatches. It was great! He gave me an in-depth tour of his work life, which I truly enjoyed seeing, but probably wouldn’t enjoy doing. He’s amazing at it, though. Anyone who calls 911 in his district will be fortunate to have him on the other end of the phone. Like Connie experienced after we left his work that night.

You see, Connie was driving along the dark, lonely HWY 99E when we stumbled upon a car nose-down in a ditch planted on a telephone pole. A few hundred yards later, we noticed a dark figure stumbling on the roadside. We circled around to check out the car again, when a low-rider Chevy with flames gracing the front came along, pausing for a brief moment only to take off real fast without their stumbling amigo.

Connie stopped the car a couple hundred feet ahead of the stumbler and called 911. That’s when Rick answered in his official capacity. I said “lock your doors, I’ll check on the guy.” (remember this… it comes up again)

I found the guy (Felice was his name) covered in blood and vomit, reeking hard alcohol. The mix was putrid, but sweet… in a disgusting sort of way. Anyhow, I told him to rest at the back of the car; that he needed medical attention. Connie rolled down her window to talk to me (Rick was still on the phone with her), and before we knew it the guy opened the passenger door and sat down! “Oh crap! [not her word exactly] Rick, he’s in the car!”

I hurriedly escorted the guy out of the car, but we both got a clear look at the damage done to the guys face. Felice had a HUGE open wound on his left eyebrow. A role of quarters would’ve fit in the gash! Not kidding. He found out that the cops were coming to help and he didn’t want anything to do with that… so he decided it’d be better to race away toward the Chevy-driving buddies of his that abandoned him a while ago.

Felice probably thought he was running at a pretty good pace, but he really hardly moved much more than stumble, stumble, sway… stumble, sway. I tried to reason with him with hopes of slowing down his amazing blast of speed.

“Hey man,” I used my calm, soothing voice. “You’re seriously injured. You’re hurt and need help.”

“You’re hurt?” He slurred with a quizzical, unfocused look across my face.

“Uh, no,” I tried not to laugh or push him into roadside the creek. “You’re the one that’s hurt.”

Before long, the police showed up and took care of Felice. Without going into details, Felice will be doing a long tour of the state penitentiary for an impressive list of offenses. If there’s a reward, Connie and I agreed to send Felice a ‘thank you’ card from some tropical destination.

The end of the year brought two little babies into the world: Chris and Ariane now have a little bubbly boy named Elijah. And if you visit my previous letters you’ll find my friend Corrie woven through some of the stories. She just had a bubbly little boy named John, nicknamed Jack. I’m an uncle again not once, but twice, and within just a couple weeks of each other!

I’m sure some things were missed in the writing of this ten page adventure, so if you or anyone or anything was left out, please take this apology and stand by for next year.

A glimpse
into the 2007 year gives promise of an amazing story that will be a great adventure on many fronts! I can’t wait for 2007 to develop. I wish I could share what I see coming, but I can’t – for security reasons, of course!

So, until we meet again… Merry Christmas!

“Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.”
Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900)

Christmas letter 2005

Dear Family & Friends,

Merry Christmas!

(It’s a little long again…sorry)

2005....

If you were not subjected to the five-page Christmas letter/ rollercoaster ride of the year commonly referred to as 2004, then just understand that I knocked on Death's door many times and lived to tell the tales... it just took five pages to do it. This year is a tale of a different sort, and I hope you can take the time to ride through 2005 and find some enjoyment in my little adventures…

Allow me to preface by stating that the following events are all very true, with all the details… in fact, there are some details and some people I left out, for no other reason than to keep the letter shorter than it could be. So, with that in mind, hope you’re reading goes well and you have a very Merry Christmas!

This year I decided to pick up a couple new hobbies to fill those few seconds of peace I should have used to extend my life, but who wants to sit still, really? Isn't it enough that we have to sleep? I know... 'Sleep is what our bodies need to recharge'... it becomes inconvenient, in my opinion. Some would say 'that's where you dream and escape reality'. But my life has been strange enough; I think my dreams may be having trouble keeping up.

I began the year with a commitment to learn how to snowboard. After suffering bruised ribs from my first trip, and then a badly sprained wrist on my second trip, both of which resulted in visits to urgent care, I decided crashing violently should be avoided as much as possible. This philosophy changed my approach to the slopes. Primarily, I decided that the controlled 'drop – recover’ technique is not a crash necessarily, but can hurt all the same. 'Drops' tend to bruise the butt, but leave the ego intact along with the bones. The funny-factor was reduced greatly as well. I suspected several people were stopping on the slopes simply to find humor in my crashing. Those same people haven’t been seen on the slopes since. Curious coincidence or fact? You decide.

In my quest for advancing my snowboarding skills, I found a couple other people to leech tips from. Basically, I’m a scrooge and didn’t want to spend the money for real lessons. My friend Corrie gave me some great tips and shared great bits of wisdom, like: "don't be afraid of speed" and "don't run into trees", she had experience with both, as it turns out. At that time and for many months beyond, I recognized that high speed snowboarding actually results in high speed crashes, which then reduce the possibility of a controlled 'drop', turning it quickly into an uncontrolled, body thrashing I had already been subject to in my early trials.

Corrie had a lot of patience with my inexperience, and took the opportunity (during my 'drop - recover' process) to amaze me with a series of flat spins, which I'd not seen before. And after seeing her skill, I began to suspect she may be from another planet... Pluto, maybe; where there's plenty of ice to play on.

My snowboarding adventures ended the 2004-2005 season with 5 trips to the mountain. The beginning of this 2005-2006 season started a little different in that I made 4 trips by the 3rd week in December with 2 more planned before the end of the month. What's different this year?

Well, let me tell you…

I teamed up with my friends Chris and Ariane. You may recall their names from the 2004 Christmas letter, and I haven’t decided if they’re a good or a bad influence on me yet... They too have great patience for my 'drop - recover' method of snowboarding, and gave me tips to improve just a little. Until one day....

I treated my boys to snowboarding lessons just after Thanksgiving. Us three boys stayed with Chris & Ariane at the Eagle Crest resort in Redmond for a couple days and made it to Mt. Bachelor for the boys’ lessons. As the boys learned the ‘right’ way of snowboarding, I beat myself up, as usual, until the very last run. Something clicked for me... suddenly, something started to make sense. But, the day was over and I didn't have a chance to understand it fully. Meanwhile, my boys' lessons resulted in the following analysis of snowboarding (in their words):

"It’s fun to go really fast and crash really hard." - Both boys. (It helps when you're less than 5 ft tall, I guess)

And

"It hurts really bad when the instructor bashes your knee with his snowboard" - JR (he got to ride down the hill on a snowmobile, which I have yet to do)

And

"That was fun, Dad… now, where are the jumps?" - Will

So I realized what I'm faced with: two boys that will quickly exceed my snowboarding skills unless I never take them snowboarding again, or I figure this snowboarding-thing out pretty quick. I chose the latter of the two.

Then it happened: My life changed drastically. Chris and Ariane passed along a tip that enabled me to turn better, fly faster, and do things I had only seen people do... like thoroughly enjoy themselves. The flat spin thing still eludes me, but it seems plausible. I just need to take a vacation on Pluto, I think.

My last trip (just prior to writing this) with Chris and Ariane to Mt. Bachelor proved to be the most fun I’ve ever had in the snow. Yeah, I crashed a couple times. Yeah, I used the ‘drop – recover’ method a small handful of times… BUT I went fast and dodged trees, just like Corrie recommended. I found out later that Chris had us going down a slope that isn’t even defined on the trail maps! My questioning of him later regarding this issue brought a sheepish grin and a comment a lot like ‘yeah, but you made it a couple times, didn’t you? I’d call that a black run.’

So that's the adventures of the mountains, now allow me to regress to the beginning of 2005. You see, I had enrolled in an Adult-degree completion program at Corban College. It's an online course that is very intense, with very few breaks, and is very fast paced. In May of 2006, if all goes well, I will graduate with a Bachelor degree in Business Administration -Management & Communication. It turns out that I can't limit myself to an overload of school work, and snowboarding, I need to fill my life with other things, which brings me to my next little adventure added to my life.

After experiencing the river adventure of last year with Chris and Ariane; nearly losing my leg from infection and coming within a few feet of being launched over a diversion dam, how could I resist the opportunity to learn to hard-shell kayak? I met a guy in Newport who attempted to teach me the famous “Eskimo Roll”, which wasn’t as easy as people make it look. Looking back, I think it was a big mistake for him not to teach me how to get out of the kayak if I couldn't roll it back upright. Breathing apparently is important for staying alive.

So I abandoned the Newport guy and teamed up with Chris to teach ourselves. It eventually worked after about 5 pool sessions and some serious frustration, and we began tackling rivers, such as the one that tried to kill me in 2004; the North Santiam River. I had a bone to pick with that river....

I found out that rolling a kayak in a pool is just a little different than rolling in a river raging through twisted trees and jagged rocks. The first trip down the river proved most difficult. I had to eject from my kayak several times because the river remembered me and found out that I was still alive, and used the opportunity to try and remedy that.

That first trip made it clear: helmets and rocks DO meet underwater, and they don’t like each other; and freezing cold water sucks the energy through your very pores. Another thing became clear to me... my birthday present to me needed to be a dry suit. Now I'm always cozy and warm and occasionally puff up like a marshmallow if the suit still has air in it.

In my new found adventure of kayaking, I've encountered many river-runners that love to swap stories, and I was invited to join a river tour put on by the North Santiam River Guides Association. I agreed to accept the invitation even though I KNEW my skill level was far below what was needed to run the section of the river they targeted. This was the upper section of the same river that kept trying to kill me; a section I had been warned about by a book Chris owned.

Planning for that event caused great fear to well up inside of me. Yet, I did not back down. Sadly, I did not have Chris to help me through with his encouraging words like, "Holy Schnykies!" and "Look what that rock did to my helmet!" and "I just threw up in my mouth". Nope, I had no friends to lend such comforts. Chris did contribute to the event by leaving me phone messages that went like this:

“Yeah, hope you’re having fun… while I’m working.” Click
And
“Chris again… (Frustrated pause)… wanted to let you know I’m still working while you’re on the river.” Click
And
“Hey… thinking you didn’t survive… (Heavy sigh)… told you not to go.” Click

Chris has a couple different moods that have been skillfully identified by Ariane. One of which is referred to as “River Chris”; a happy, bubbly Chris… his messages were NOT the “River Chris”.

The trip had about 24 drift boats, which are like gigantic barges on the river; 3 pontoon boats, which catch a lot of air when they flip; and one enormous raft. I was the token kayaker for their entertainment, it seemed.

In my limited kayaking experience, I had only traveled with fellow kayakers. The river trip taught me many things about playing with others. First, drift boaters drink a lot of beer, and the boats (and some of the people) tend to be really, really slow, like large WWII bombers a couple bombs short of a payload. The caravan of boaters stretched for as far as the eye could see, and I ran into just about every single one of them.

My kayak, as it turns out, is by nature extremely fast and maneuverable; completely opposite of the great behemoth drift boats. Early on in the day I apologized for my collisions more times than I can remember. I even apologized when my paddle got in the way of a drift boater’s oar trying to take my teeth out. After being yelled and cursed at by semi-intoxicated drift boaters and their companions, I decided to launch through the herd toward the front of the line, find a nice rock to hide behind, and watch the passing parade of pickle-brained people. Drift boaters are indeed a breed in themselves. Possibly even inbred, but studies haven't been completed yet.

The river tried and tried to take my life that day, but I came through victorious albeit worn out and suffering from an injured right thumb. To this day, I’m not 100% certain how the injury occurred, except that I know when it occurred. You see, the river has several points of interest along the way with nifty names such as The Boulder Gardens, Carnivore, Spencer’s Hole and Mill City Falls… allow me to explain.

The Boulder Gardens were actually a beautiful stretch of large rocks; each about the size of a dump truck or bigger. They provided a lot of opportunities and challenges to stay upright and for ramming my fellow boaters. Carnivore was avoided for very, very good reasons, like the fact that it will destroy anything that wanders into the swirling mists of death. Spencer’s Hole can be avoided, but who would give up a chance to fly through a river section that gets squeezed from 70 feet wide to 22 feet wide?

You might take this opportunity to visualize what happens to a garden hose when you block the water with a thumb… it gets really fast, really powerful, and really quick. Now, imagine a river doing the same thing (minus a giant thumb); throw in some large boulders and walls of rock on either side, and drop the river by a couple feet. What this creates is a whitewater chute that launches drift boats vertical, spits pontoon boats straight up into the air, and my little kayak…. Well, this is where I hurt my thumb.

Me in my little kayak launched over the first crest, dropping down into a hole that stood higher than I could see out of; we then ripped right through the wall of water before us, only to be hammered and flipped upside down by a side wave that towered over my left shoulder. I didn’t have to depart from my little kayak, thankfully. The entire group of drinking drift boaters was waiting along the banks for my passage and cheered me on as I rolled upright between them all.

The river held one last trial for my tour: Mill City Falls. During that particular time of year, the falls are about 6-8 feet high, and as I watched the drift boats drop over the edge, I heard their hulls smack the rocks with loud clunks. I won’t mention the specific words I was using to express my anxiety… kids may be reading this, but let me say I was very, very apprehensive about going over the falls. But alas, I could wait no more. I was the final soul to throw their lives to the mercy of the river.

I aimed just to the left of the whitewater rooster tail, as the river guide instructed, and paddled my little heart out. What I found was that the water’s path to the left of the rooster tail formed an off-set V that, as I dropped down, hit me first from the right and then from the left, causing a violent whip-action and sending me upside down into the large group below. I was so worn out and exhausted, I actually risked my life by hitching a ride with a drift boater, who smelled like beer, coffee, sweat and cigarettes.

I made several trips down the North Santiam and the South Santiam rivers this summer, and even gave a couple shots at ocean surfing in my kayak, and loved every bit of it. Yes, it scares me… but what else am I suppose to do with my time, right? Well, as you may have guessed (because I’m not ending the story yet) I came up with something else to fill my time….

Early September, I had the flame of my youth reignited: motorcycles. I found myself riding on the back of a street bike a couple of times, and realized I would never be content to stay on the back. Within 2 weeks of that re-ignition, I successfully completed a motorcycle endorsement class, got my license and even bought a motorcycle. Actually, the motorcycle came before the official license. I am now the proud owner of a 2000 Yamaha Roadstar Silverado. It’s a deep, dark purple, chromed to the hilt, modified front to back, is very, very loud and yes, it goes really, really fast. For the benefit of my sister Connie’s heart, I will say that I am very safe and rarely exceed the posted speed limit… if it’s in view.

As soon as people heard about my intentions to ride, I was assaulted with terrible stories from concerned co-workers, friends and family. It seems that everyone on motorcycles die instantaneously when the bike moves into traffic. Connie’s fear was so evident, I thought she was going to hurl when she saw me for the first time; which, by the way, was the very first day of my license! I rode with some other bikers over 130 miles after work… into the late evening, and didn’t set a key to my car for over 2 weeks! How incredible is that?

Ok, Connie was pretty stressed out, so for her I bought a couple dog tags naming her as the emergency contact. One tag is on my life vest for kayaking, the other on my saddle bags for riding. I’ve ridden in all sorts of conditions now, and have had the dreams of my youth realized. Yet the fact that I’m dressed in black leather, and have the appearance of one you’d rather not tangle with, admittedly has come with a close call or two, which is probably from drivers attempting to rid the road of biker-trash more than complete unawareness of their surroundings.

The adventure of riding comes with rewards such as participation in the Veteran’s Day parade and a toy-run for a local charity. It also comes with flying debris, awful smells, and blissful escapes from hoards of traffic. Long, lonely stretches of winding roads are indeed some of the best parts of riding; the call of the open road has beckoned for far too long.

So as I head to the mountains, the rivers, the beaches, and roads, allow me a quote in closing:

“There are risks and costs to a program of action. But they are far less than the long-range risks and costs of comfortable inaction.”
~John F. Kennedy



Hope you have a great Christmas, and a wonderful, safe and eventful coming year!


Merry Christmas!