Christmas Letter 2013

Welcome to the 9th annual Downing Christmas letter!

The yearly effort to revisit the adventures of past months for the reading pleasure of friends, family, and even strangers is a great delight that is nearly 10 years old. The many twists and turns in life are set on display to help you, the faithful reader get a small glimpse into the joys and sorrows of the life’s path we run down.

 

May your Christmas be filled with cheer and plenty!

"No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently."

~ Agnes de Mille (1909 - 1993)

December 2012 failed to deliver the end of the world, as some thought the Mayan calendar indicated. The grim outlook of that ancient calendar turned out to be the best practical joke EVER!!!  High-five to the Mayans! I wonder if there’s anything I could do today to shake up the world in 4023. Yoda, the wise Jedi Master would say, ‘Do or do not. There is no try’. I will need to learn how to chisel a stone calendar, I think.

Boat

One fine day in June, I walked with my lovely wife and baby through our neighborhood, pleasantly commenting on the wide variety of landscape options and noting some of the homes that topped our list of houses we’d like to live in. As we strolled along, we noted that a neighbor on our street had a small for sale sign on his boat, which I had admired since we moved in. Spotting the owner, Cheryl called out to him to see if a tour would be possible. Not knowing exactly what she intended, I gladly joined her in the tour as the owner proudly displayed his well-maintained, family watercraft. 

Within minutes, Cheryl asked him what his lowest price would be. Surprised by the direct question, he tossed out a partially audible, non-committal response that loosely translated into “Um, I dunno.” Cheryl, in her great wisdom suggested an offer too low for serious consideration. To Cheryl’s delight, he gave the lowest offer he could accept, which proved to be an amazing deal! The warm summer breeze carried her parting words, “Thanks! We’re going to talk about it and get back to you soon.”

 

One short outing set William in the pilot’s seat after getting his boater’s license with an A+ on the exam. During that initial run, which I regret waiting to install the depth finder, I directed William to an area of the river that turned out to be a gravel bar only a couple feet deep. The shocking sensation of the propeller grinding into sharpened nubs where blades used to be proved quite alarming to both of us. Fortunately, I carried all the tools required to install the depth finder as we anchored at the river’s edge. Unfortunately, the river held an average depth of 5 feet! Realizing this outing needed to end immediately, we motored upstream toward the dock, but within seconds we recognized our stubby bladed propeller wasn’t as bad as the smoking engine of a fellow boater that had just zoomed by.

We had a fine pleasure of towing our comrades with our handicapped boat back to the dock, because our engine still worked! I did find out that changing a propeller’s blade pitch by only 2 degrees is the difference between 4 mph and 40 mph on the water. I finally found a propeller that matched the original, and danced happily upon Oregon’s beautiful reservoirs, leaving the rivers to kayaks.

When the neighbor sold us the boat, he eagerly shared these wise words, “The happiest days of a man’s life is when he buys a boat, and when he sells it.” He shared these deep words not just once, but no less than five times, each proclamation presented as if they’d never been heard before, complete with hearty chuckles to emphasize the statement. Turns out, for me, neither are true.  

 

The day I bought the boat, these historic, philosophical words came to mind: “I have a boat.” The day I sold the boat, these words floated into my heart and mind from far beyond this physical reality we know to be true: “I don’t have a boat.” Mind shattering, right? Where my neighbor parted ways with his family’s watercraft under the superpower of Cheryl’s negotiating skills, I stayed fast to the selling price and brought in a nice profit because of it. A pilot from Canada bought the boat and is apparently playing with it at a lake house he owns. Maybe the purchase was the happiest day of his life. 

Salmon

My fishing adventures for several years now have been anything but successful. I am a man that watches water, and others actually catch fish. Yes, I cast my line. No, I don’t catch fish. Cheryl and William, in their well-articulated Neanderthal dialect, say it very straight, “Man go. Look at water.” This statement relieves me of the need to stop by a local market to buy a fish and pretend I caught it, which I appreciate.

 This fall, a friend of mine, who is an expert killer of any fish willing to risk swimming in a river he’s standing near, invited me to go with him to the Alsea River heading toward the coast. The salmon runs were strong this year, and he said if I didn’t catch anything, he would give me some frozen Chinook from his home. The first day out, I broke my years of watching water, and pulled in a young salmon apparently called a Jack. When I say I pulled Jack in, I actually yanked him out of the water, flying over my shoulder, flopping heavily on the sandy river bank where my friend stood with the net in hand. A nearby fellow fisherman exclaimed how unsportsmanlike my technique was, and that I should have more respect for the art of catching fish. Really? If sending a salmon airborne isn’t a work of art, I don’t know what is.

 Proud of my flying catch, I made my way home to set Jack on display for my wife to enjoy. My work pulled me away to several banquets that week, leaving Cheryl to dine with Jack while I sampled a variety of Jack's brothers among my working peers.

A couple weeks later, I returned to the same river with the same friend and continued my successful journey to bear the title ‘fisherman’. This time, I pulled in a big fat Coho salmon, bright and shiny chrome that hardly fought as I slid his great chubbiness into the net. No airborne antics for this guy.

Within an hour, I hooked a fine Chinook that fought like a true champion. The thrills of my day translated into nearly 40 lbs. of fresh salmon!

Front yard

The summer days brought forth another home project to landscape the entire front area. The transition from overgrown rhododendrons and rolling grass areas to concrete pavers and several retaining walls proved to be a rather hefty project after all. The goal to finish the project before September seemed reasonable at the beginning, but time disappears and concrete doesn’t. While I looked upon the deadline with trepidation, an opportunity to achieve the goal came into our sites in the form of a young couple bartering her hubby’s labor for ballroom dance lessons. Through the workings of Cheryl’s renowned negotiating skills, the young couple got their dance-dreams fulfilled, and we had our projects put ahead of schedule!

Several phases of the front yard still remain, including a bubbling water feature using the trunk of the tree that stands in the courtyard, planting, lighting, and Cheryl’s favorite: a French style sitting area in the brick courtyard. OoLaLa!

Babycakes

Babycakes turned one on December 8^th, and what a wonderful year it’s been having her around! The roll of foster parents isn’t an easy one at times, and there are certainly issues we’ve worked through relating to the weekly visits the biological parents continue to engage in, but it is well worth the effort to help little babycakes get the best foot forward in life. At this time, we've promised to keep pictures of Babycakes away from the social media, so if you would like a picture you'll need to ask.

 Having a newborn brought on the pure agony of waking every two hours that couldn't be put behind us fast enough! The simple joy of getting her first laugh caught in a photo, the cheers of her first successful rollover, and the sudden realization that she started rolling over AND crawling within an hour of each other made it all worthwhile. And all the artsy stuff around the house move up or out of her reach in a great hurry as well. Now, our house is littered with stray toys and blocks and a variety of musical toys of happiness.

 She taught us her own special sign language, which began like an Italian connoisseur waving her right hand above her head, fingertips joined to thumb as if to say “Questa è deliziosa” (this is delicious), which we translated immediately into “MORE MUFFIN!!!” She’s introduced us to another sign that says “I don’t want any more food… AND I’M SERIOUS!” which is essentially displayed by her left hand swatting food to the floor, and anything that comes close to her lips is rejected forcefully. She’s not afraid to let us know how she feels, which may be a challenge as the years pass.

Recently, she’s made progress with her first words, which included ‘hi’, ‘wow’, ‘momma’, and ‘dad’. It’s become startlingly clear that she comprehends far more than she can communicate, which means I need to be VERY careful what I say around her. Cheryl capitalizes on Babycakes' crawling position and chases her around the house like a mother lioness would a cub. Babycakes isn't quite fast enough yet, and is bowled over (in a soft, baby-like manner) as Cheryl pounces! The giggles of both Babycakes and Cheryl can be heard throughout the house, along with wild, animalistic declarations of victory... and that's just Babycakes!

 

As of mid-December, 2013 we’re still working with the State as Foster parents to Babycakes. The first couple months of 2014 will decide the path the State will take with her, whether she returns to the biological parents or transfers to an adoption track. We have no idea what the future holds, but we’re madly in love with little Babycakes and always will be. Of course, if the opportunity to adopt her arises, we’ll be the first to raise our hands.

Sir William 

William entered his senior year of high school this year, and is looking forward to sporting his cap and gown to walk across that stage in June. He is proud to be big brother to Babycakes, and they both light up when he’s comes over. They get along amazingly well, and he’s shown how well he understands the needs of a little baby. If fact, he’s embraced the opportunities to care for her every need, short of bathing her. He’ll be a great dad someday!

Books

My children’s book, Pickle-itis launched throughout the digital world early in 2013. The initial wave proved exciting, and to see it available online in Croatia, New Zealand, India, Australia, and even South Africa made this appear easier than I ever thought. The biggest concern isn’t getting the book out to the world; it’s getting people to actually buy it. Marketing, as with any business venture, is the most difficult thing to do while working full time and restricted to a limited budget.

To help promote the book, I’ve embraced opportunities to read to 97 1^st and 2^nd graders, and to a kindergarten class. I also held a book sale at one of Cheryl’s Zumba Fitness parties. I committed to doing 5 minutes of Zumba for each book sold during the event. To my surprise, I faced 70 minutes of high impact Zumba. The room full of Zumba fanatics held me to my commitment, and I made them proud! I danced salsa, cha-cha, reggaeton, and shook, shimmied, jumped, spun, twirled, and even attempted to sing some utterly incomprehensible Spanish that would’ve gotten me beat up on the streets. In the end, I walked away profitable, but barely breathing.

Then one day, on a short lunch break, my mind brought forth a poetic story that poured from my heart onto six pages of verse and rhyme that made me laugh aloud as it appeared on the pages before me. The story, originally named Princess Flo, held all the makings of the ‘little girl’ story Cheryl asked me to write for Babycakes, save one thing: Flaming Farts!

The first person hearing the story read aloud laughed to the point of tears, which is my greatest reward as a writer. The title, sadly, brought forth connections to menstrual cycles rather than a fragile princess needing to be rescued by a valiant knight.  After much pondering, I changed the title to Stench and Steed: A Valiant Deed, which is the only thing edited from the original creation.

The illustrator is absolutely amazing, and is passionate about making this project a work of art and serious fun. He’s like a little kid with his excitement, but a true professional in his skills and talents. As the book continues to develop, I am promoting the story and bits of art wherever and whenever possible. For example, a men’s retreat invited me to read the story to over 45 guys of all ages, complete with a couple images displayed on a full wall while I read to the group. To my delight, the room filled with manly laughter and promises to buy the book when it’s available. We're hoping to have it available in March, 2014. Oh, visit www.jfdowning.com!

 “Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. “

~ Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898), Alice in Wonderland

The mysteries of the days ahead are delightfully left to the imagination, and my mind’s eye delivers delicious optimism for things to come. I rest in faith, family, peace, and prosperity, and an abundance of dark red wine that slow dances with my soul after every sip. Those things believed to be impossible are showing themselves to be possible, and this coming year, God willing, will be a fantastic journey to tell the tale to those willing to read through the letters each season.

 Merry Christmas!

John, Cheryl and Family

 

 

 

 

Christmas Letter 2012

Last year I ended the Christmas letter with a statement "2012, here we come!" and as exciting as 2011 was, 2012 proved to be even better! We were certainly correct to be excited about this year...

"It is difficult to say what is impossible, for the dream of yesterday is the hope of today and the reality of tomorrow."
Robert H. Goddard (1882 - 1945)

Floods!
In January the entire state was hit with major rain events and melting mountain snow that flooded areas around the state that were not use to flooding. The rising rivers raced down highways and parking lots, destroying vehicles and displacing occupants of homes that have never been touched with flood waters before. I was confident our Corvallis home would not be impacted by the floods, but when the water levels rose dangerously close to the back fence line, you can imagine the concern I had!

This is where I should mention we recently cancelled our flood insurance. To our great pleasure, instead of bridging the property line to wash away our peaceful dwelling, the water purged across the nearby highway and into the neighboring streets. Aside from giving Cheryl a piggy back ride through swift moving, sewage filled river water; it really wasn't too bad at all.

The next day, while I drove two hours south in a state owned car, the parking lot where my personal car sat quietly minding its own business flooded in a great surge of destruction, wreaking havoc on nearly the entire fleet of state vehicles. While other cars in the same parking lot as mine were utterly destroyed, mine only suffered a slightly wet carpet when it was pulled out by a tow truck.

SOLD!
By the time the summer came around, we had our Corvallis house on the market for nearly 18 months. One prospective purchase drew us to put a down payment on a house in Salem, but had to abandon the new house when the Corvallis sale did not work out.

Frustrated, we decided to drop the sale price to avoid realtor fees, and sell it ourselves. Not really knowing how to find potential buyers, Cheryl said to me "see those people across the cul-de-sac? Go ask them if they'd buy our house."

As any sensible man would say, I responded with the clear voice of wisdom: "Absolutely not!"

The ageless wisdom I displayed could not withstand the batting eyelashes, and plea: "come on...for me? I think they own one of the properties, and maybe they need another rental."

I carried my ill-disguised frustrations to the older couple across the way, and simply asked if they'd be interested in buying our house. To our amazement, they toured the house that day, and ultimately bought it! I will forever remember this as one of those ‘too good to be true’ stories. As you’ll find as you continue reading, the timing is perfectly designed for things to come, although we had no clue at that moment.

The mad dash to leave Corvallis left us looking once again for a house in Salem. We thought the house we wanted originally would certainly been snatched up, but odd enough, it waited for our return. We made the same offer they accepted previously, but to our frustrated amazement, they countered our offer and raised the price on us!

Walk away power proved to win the day when I rejected their insult, I mean counter offer, outright, and started touring other homes, leaving them with nothing but an opportunity squandered by greed. Within a couple hours, they reached out to us with a request to resubmit our offer, which they accepted without hesitation.

We were displaced for a month before we got the keys, but some very nice friends loaned us their home for the entire month! They traveled during our month long occupancy, and returned the very weekend we moved into the new house.

Retro is 'in'? I think not!
The new house was 'new' in 1977, and that's when it stopped changing, leaving us with the glorious yellow, fuzzy, felt wallpaper, which I encourage everyone to rub when they're on the potty. Gold foil wallpaper, the blue vine wallpaper, the black & gold wallpaper... Everywhere... All removed by Cheryl. She conquered the wallpaper and turned into the paint master! Walls and trim board changed the house dramatically, turning the house into a home. Deep red, black, yellow, burnt pumpkin, and blue artistically fashioned to make the home inviting, peaceful and cozy.

During the two month race toward the holiday events, I did not sit idly by, although I often dreamed of such moments... I had the pleasure of transforming the ceilings and floors from their vintage 1977 look to the gorgeous display of Do-It-Yourself craftsmanship. Dark wood floors now compliment the new kitchen counters, new steel range and matching microwave. The 1970’s only exist upstairs for the time being. Soon, the fuzzy wallpaper and yellow tub and toilet will be a memory.

For more details about the adventures of life, visit www.jdDaybyDay.blogspot.com

REWARDS!
We finished the final touches about an hour before our annual tree trimming party. All our efforts, working late almost every day, were rewarded with more than 20 people gathering to decorate our tree, eat our food, and drink from the communal collection of wine and other spirits. A nice reward… Well, we thought the gathering was our reward....

...but God had something else in mind...

On the very day of our annual Christmas tree trimming party, little would we know until two days later, Lily "babycakes" came into the world as a preemie, weighing just about 5 lbs. On her 12th day, she came to stay with us, sweeping our hearts into her tiny palm, and wrapping us around her little fingers. 17 months ago, we were traumatized by poor dealings with the Department of Human Services when two toddlers moved in for a couple months, only to be swept away by the system that failed them. Yet now we reenter the system to care for this beautiful little baby, but with our eyes wide open. The conditions are certainly different, and although we know the facts are leaning toward the hope of adoption, we know the system doesn’t always work the way we hope. Yet as found in the events that transpired over the past year, we have full confidence a plan is woven through time and space, and we are greatly loved by the Creator Himself. Peace is in knowing beyond doubt…

FINAL DAYS?
The final days of 2012 are bearing down, and if the Mayan calendar doomsday believers have it their way, no one will be reading this Christmas letter, which would be a great injustice! Not knowing exactly what waits for us in 2013, there is certainly hope to have another great, adventurous year!

The children’s book will be printed and available for the world to see, and at least two more are in the making. I don’t suspect the books will provide enough income for an early retirement, but as things go for us… it is truly difficult to say what is impossible.

"It is difficult to say what is impossible, for the dream of yesterday is the hope of today and the reality of tomorrow." Robert H. Goddard (1882 - 1945)

Christmas Letter 2011

Merry Christmas to all!

From the life and times of John and Cheryl Downing

I wrote the final chapter of 2010’s Christmas Letter in the early part of December, and noted at the time the promise of change in many areas of our lives, and those promises were certainly fulfilled, as you will soon read.

I reflect on the first Christmas letter I wrote eight years ago… how I committed to writing what life was about; essentially thumbing my nose at a seemingly ‘picture perfect’ Christmas letter I received at the time. If you find this to be the ‘picture perfect’ Christmas letter, then life has gone seriously wrong and I may need medical or psychiatric attention… or intervention!

“It's not that some people have willpower and some don't. It's that some people are ready to change and others are not.”

– James Gordon

Table of Contents

ODOT 1

House for sale 3

Joel & Julia: DHS 3

New Studio 5

Home group, year 2 5

Security at Stephanie’s wedding 6

Book illustration 7

William on the Road 8

ODOT
At the end of 2010, I held high hopes of landing a management position with ODOT. I had two job opportunities to interview for, but only one actually came to pass – the Emerging Small Business Program (ESB) Manager in the Office of Civil Rights. The position drew seven highly qualified contenders to the first round of interviews. They gave me a choice of times: before lunch or after. Well, in my estimation, a full stomach dampens morning memories so I chose the early afternoon to maximize the chance of entertaining a happy panel.

If you’ve read any of my early Christmas letters, you’ll find I ignored many of the ‘signs’ screaming DON’T DO WHAT YOU’RE THINKING TO DO!!! Most of the time, if you read back, I would have successfully avoided injury and trauma if I actually listened to those signs.

Well, some signs came into view when applying and interviewing for the ESB position. The first sign came from an upper level manager who told me to avoid the position like the plague.

“You’re a nice guy, John.” He said. “I’d hate to see you get into a poisonous position like that.”

I heard what he said, but my mind translated it like this: “I have no idea who you are or what you’re like, John, or whatever your name is. That position has problems you probably can’t handle.” To me, this equated to “YAY! A Challenge! Let the game begin!”

Did I ignore warning sign #1? Well, you’ll need to wait and see.

Warning sign #2 came in the form of a tornado! You’d think I’d listen to that one, right? Yeah, not so much…

On the day of the first interview, set for December 14 th , as I made my way north on Interstate 5 toward Salem, I came upon a thick layer of hail blanketing the entire freeway. Cars traveling freeway speeds just seconds before me were planted into guardrails, smashed against the concrete barriers, tangled in chain link fences; airbags fully deployed in every vehicle I passed. Emergency sirens cried through the eerie silence as police and ODOT crews rolled slowly onto the scene.

I slowly slithered through the thin opening between the wrecked vehicles. The ice beads crunched loudly beneath my tires. I looked upon the panic stricken faces, uninjured yet terrifyingly disoriented. My pending interview panel may have been gracious of a delay based on the fact that a tornado just destroyed a small town east of Salem, and that same tornado also caused the freeway to come to a complete standstill. I passed through the only tiny window of time available to me, and I fortunately didn’t have to ask forgiveness. A moment earlier I would have been involved in the wreckage. A moment later, I would have been caught in a traffic jam lasting hours!

The first interview turned out to be such a great time! I thoroughly enjoyed talking through the 11 thought-provoking questions, which they gave me less than 15 minutes to prepare for and 45 minutes to talk through. Good times! I didn’t really know if I would be chosen for round two, but I didn’t really focus on that. I just simply wanted to have fun.

The second interview came without a tornado, chaos, or destruction and it turned out to be even more enjoyable than the first. I got the call offering me the position while sitting at my desk in Springfield, and of course I eagerly accepted the offer. I finally landed a job in management, and now I wear a tie and shiny shoes every day while I walk by the golden statue on top of the state capitol. As strange as it is, I very much enjoy the pubic speaking part of my job, and touring the state delivering good news to the contracting community and ODOT staff. I have the pleasure of delivering good news when the economy really stinks; I get to be the light during dark times. Pretty cool, huh!?

I am, as it turns out, an oddity in the public sector. I can relate to small contractors struggling through difficult times, and if you’ve read the last few years of my Christmas letters you’ll see the truth of the struggles I can relate to. I knew I was accepted by ODOT upper management when, during a meeting with a high-level committee I report to, someone asked why I seem so comfortable in an environment where most people would be very intimidated by people of such authority. Before I had a chance to answer, the person to my left pulled me close and rubbed my bald head! “You’re gonna fit in just fine, John!”

I’m told I have a bright future with ODOT, and as of writing this letter I just temporarily absorbed my recently retired coworker’s duties. I’ve been asked several times if I’m handling the stress okay, but what people don’t realize is the amount of stress I’ve already weathered during the fall of my company. This “stressful time” is actually pretty enjoyable! Yes, I am indeed an oddity in the public sector…

I can’t wait to see what 2012 has in store! I’ve already mentioned I would love a position like Deputy Director, Director, or… ready for this?... Governor! At least let us live in the mansion! That would be pretty sweet.
House for sale
In January we put our house on the market with hopes of moving to Salem where the market dropped quite a bit lower than Corvallis, and we could buy a bigger house for less money. After one offer backed out in March, we haven’t had a single offer since. The excitement and hope to sell has faded, but we will continue to list the house. So, if you know anyone in the market… send them our way!

Joel & Julia: DHS
In 2010 we finally achieved our hope of being certified to adopt through the Department of Human Services (DHS). We put our names on lists for all sorts of little children, and we came close to being presented to a committee for a little girl but it didn’t come to pass. Then, one day in June of this year, Cheryl got a call from our adoption case worker, Sara.

We were brought into DHS to meet Sara and a foster care worker to hear about a unique case about a brother and sister, Joel and Julia, ages 2 and 3. The case we were presented with seemed perfectly fit for our situation! Joel and Julia needed a home immediately, but they were not yet enrolled in the foster system. Presented as being an “open & shut” case, with adoption 95% certain, we accepted the foster care situation and pulled our names off the other children’s lists. Within a few days, Joel and Julia came home with us.

During the two months they were with us, we helped develop Joel’s vocabulary from one word, “BAH” to over 20. He started using about seven regularly, and he ventured away from BAH for the most part. His expressions were priceless, and we carry ‘Joel-isms’ to this day. He loved to be silly and only rarely did he express unhappiness.

The one priceless expression of unhappiness came in the middle of the night when he wanted to sleep on the couch. He wanted the comfort like he did while he suffered through an illness where Cheryl stayed with him in the living room to allow everyone else to sleep. Joel started the night off by gently attempting to get our attention, but it didn’t take long to elevate his frustration level when I put him back in his bed. Every time he’d get out of bed, I would return him while he did his best to burst my eardrums with his screeching fit of tears and drama.

Some might say ‘spank the boy!’ but I towered 4 ½ feet above the stout little dude and figured I would win in the end, so spanking didn’t seem right. Instead, I directed him to his bed with a simple point of a firm finger (not the middle one), and a very parental look that said ‘You better move it, boy!”

His limited vocabulary was compensated by an amazingly high level of comprehension. He clearly understood much of what we said, and in the case of the night in question, I used it to my advantage. Julia, strange enough continued to sleep through the entire dramatic demonstration of will power and stubbornness. Cheryl on the other hand didn’t do so well. Her wonderful heart heard the cries from the gentle child, and longed to relieve him of his woes. I saw it as a battle of wills I refused to lose.

Out of bed; into bed. Out of bed; into bed. This repeated many times, and at the end, as I swung the door just enough where he couldn’t see my face any longer, he jumped out of his bed with a heavy thump on the wooden floor. His typical pitter-patter of little feet suddenly turned into the sound of a crazed, wild miniature rhino! He ran to the door and slammed it hard in a final act of defiance sure to make King Leonidas, Spartan warrior par excellence proud. If he could talk, I’m sure he would have growled through the darkened room “This… is… SPARTA!”

The next morning, everything appeared in order and right with the boy warrior. His soft heart returned and never again did we have a problem like that.

Julia had her own little quirks we came to enjoy, along with more frequent and somewhat destructive acts of defiance that I’d rather not write about. One thing she absolutely loved was going to Zumba fitness classes with Momma Cheryl. Julia would dance and dance and dance! She memorized some of the moves, complete with Cheryl’s body roll (tin man style). I found that she would hold her own Zumba classes in the living room as long as the music played. In her mind, she looked EXACTLY like Cheryl! One thing that made Zumba real… her pony tail! Couldn’t do Zumba without the pony tail… ever!

When DHS finally got their day in court, they lost the battle. I got the call from the foster case worker after 5pm on August 10 th , the eve of our 4 th wedding anniversary. The worker said they negotiated with the courts to let the kids stay one more night with us before giving them back to the mom. We had one final night with them and made it the best night ever, but not bending from the schedule and rules of the house they knew very well.

Cheryl dropped them off to DHS the next morning. Joel knew something was up, and gave Cheryl one last emotional hug that would bring anyone to tears. Contrary to Joel, Julia was eager to head back to the freedom of her mother’s care and basically said “See ya!” What more can be expressed but to say Cheryl had the worst anniversary a woman could imagine.

One thing we introduced the kids to is meal time and night time prayer, which they came to do without fail. So when all is said and done, we can look back and know that we planted a seed in their hearts and pointed them to Jesus… and now that our work is done, we wish them the best in life, confident God’s hand is on them.

New Studio
Just prior to Joel and Julia leaving us, Cheryl came to a crossroads in her contract with the City of Albany Parks & Recreation department. She’d been teaching ballroom and Latin dance classes, and Zumba classes through the City for over five years, and just as seasons change, she had to make a choice to stay and have her income drastically cut or to move into the drama of having a studio of her own.

After some promises were made and broken by someone she trusted, she signed a lease in August and ultimately launched her own studio at the middle of September. The month long chore of turning a warehouse into a dance studio was no small feat! With help from my mom and dad, William, and occasionally a few friends, we tore down an office structure inside the warehouse, demolished and reconstructed a bathroom, laid 2,000 square feet of laminate hardwood floor, hung drapes and even painted the entire place!

I have to give special note to my parents, who became such a crucial part of making our scheduled opening date. Absolutely wonderful, giving, loving, patient and kind! And they brought beer, which is always a plus!

Also, if anyone would think Cheryl is just a pretty face, think again. She’s MUCH more than just a pretty face! She put down about 80% of the floor all by herself! Then, come opening week she had such a huge turnout that we had to add another 1,000 feet of flooring to completely cover the warehouse area. A new business owners dream come true, right!? RIGHT!!!

I love the fact that every time her class cycle starts over, she gets into a panic mode of ‘where’s the money!?’ Well, she may not like the panic mode, but her creativity is sparked and the flow of ingenuity is amazing to witness. I am, after all, her advisor and witness to much of the behind the scenes development of CJ’s Dance. To mark her high level of commitment, I hold photo proof of her personal drive for excellence: In our living room, she launched herself into a new Zumba routine… at MIDNIGHT! She does it for the love of her clients, which makes me very proud of her. I love it!

Home group, year 2
December 2011 marks the completion of our second year of leading and hosting a home church group, which is pretty awesome, really. Most home groups fizzle away after a period of time, but as it turns out the core group has become as close as any family we could hope for. The best part of all is that every week God tells us what to bring up, and I get to watch His work unfold with the notes He gives me. It’s a bit like being the teacher’s pet! No question about who is in “leading” every week – Him, not me… it’s just a great honor to be a part of it.

Security at Stephanie’s wedding
My niece Stephanie got married this summer to a pretty cool guy named Chris. The outdoor wedding took place east of Portland at a picture-perfect setting complete with gazebo and brilliantly green grass surrounded by a wide array of flowers and trees. White seating and beautifully adorned bridesmaids and groomsmen stood at the sides of the happy couple and could certainly make the cover to any wedding magazine. The ceremony itself went pretty quick, and it was good to see Stephanie beaming with joy.

The evening shadows dropped on the festivities and the reception brought the crowd into a large banquet room with gorgeous table settings and a well polished dance floor waiting for the happy couple’s first dance. The traditional toasts brought tears to most of the crowd, and then the night kicked off with food, music, and drinks for all.

You would think the night would be flawless, but if it were it wouldn’t be in my Christmas letter, right? Right!

As the evening moved on and the alcohol made its way into the happy participants, a guy walked into the reception hall with a backpack over his shoulder and a t-shirt displaying a local fire district logo. I passed him by, but made note of his assertive path as he walked to a table to sit down.

At this time, I really thought he simply arrived late and must be one of the hundreds of people I didn’t know. Cheryl asked me to step out to see if my mom was doing alright as my parents made their way to the parking lot to leave, which I did with ninja-like ability. You wouldn’t think a big bald guy could sneak along very well with the dimmest of light shining brightly on a freshly shaved head, but my black blazer helped me blend into the shadows nicely.

After my parental pursuit was satisfied regarding their wellbeing, I made my way back along the shadowed walkway to find a group of Chris’s friends gathered around the guest that arrived late. As they came into focus, I realized the clan did not have the best of intentions for the dude. The guy stammered on about needing his backpack before he left, and it appeared nobody really believed him.

I quickly returned to the reception hall to find the backpack sitting on a chair, just as the guy claimed. I brought the backpack with me as I pressed my way through the increasingly impatient group of young men gathered around the party crasher.

Mustering my well practiced Darth Vader voice and drill sergeant demeanor, I stepped in close to remove the offender from the scene, which startled most of mob. I gently requested (using “The Force”) that Chris depart; advising the well dressed groom to return to his guests, leaving me to take care of our visitor. Begrudgingly, Chris complied along with all but two of his offensive linemen.

I returned the backpack to the guy and “escorted” him toward the gate probably about 100 yards away. The two remaining protectors followed by about 20 feet, which I did appreciate. As I walked with the guy along the dark gravel drive, I engaged him in conversation which quickly revealed two things: 1) He was wasted out of his brain on more than just alcohol. 2) He mourned the loss of a friend who recently took his own life at a nearby river.

Empathizing with him, I returned him to the property entrance and advised him to cross the street to catch a cab at an upscale restaurant. The road home was without a shoulder to walk on and the speeding traffic along the tight corners would most likely prove fatal, although I question his ability to feel anything at that moment.

He made his way across the road and I began walking back with the two gentlemen who followed us. We didn’t say much, but as I reentered the banquet hall, Cheryl said most of the mob referred to me as security: “It’s a good thing security showed up, or I woulda…” blah blah blah.

About half an hour later, when we started driving along that unlit winding road, we found the trespasser walking in the middle of the lanes! Well, maybe he had a death wish, but not by the hood of my vehicle if I could help it! I was satisfied with my good deed for the day, but Cheryl took compassion on the guy and asked me to pick him up.

At this point, doesn’t this have all the makings of a scary movie or a terrible 11 o’clock news report? Yeah, my thought exactly.

But, I suppose not letting the guy turn into a hood ornament would be easier on my conscience than dealing with a potentially dangerous situation, so I turned around and picked him up. Cheryl sat in the back, and I took his backpack away from him to have her hold it. In my mind, I knew exactly what metal object I had available to drive into his intoxicated brain if required. Let’s just say I was on high alert.

Fortunately, Cheryl engaged him in conversations that went all over creation! He laughed. He cried. He mourned the loss of his friend and shared the details of what drew him to the river and kept him past night fall. We dropped him to his house in Portland, and wished him well, and as far as we’re aware, the guy is alive to this day. His stomach, brain and liver are probably taxed heavily, but at least he’s breathing and upright. Whew!

Book illustration
One of my hopes of 2011 came to pass when my new manager connected me with a recently graduated art student in Salem who had yet to find a full time job. I negotiated payment terms with her, and she will start working on the children’s book pretty close to Christmas. The book, which I wrote in 2000, received countless recommendations to get it published, yet most publishers are not accepting work from unknown people like me. So, after meeting someone who successfully self-published a children’s book, and after doing a lot of research to prepare myself, the book entitled “Pickle-itis” is on its way to become a reality with the help of a truly gifted artist, and of course God’s undeniable, and inarguable plan I’ve eagerly said ‘yes’ to. Stand by in 2012! It’s going to be awesome!

William on the Road
In November William passed his driver’s permit knowledge test at the ripe old age of 15 ¾. His first test didn’t fare too well, which is typical for most teenagers, actually. Before he sat for the second test, I used text messaging to help him study. My assistance was not quite orthodox, but very effective as it turns out. I presented the following questions to stimulate his success:

“Ok, I have terrible gas from 3 spicy burritos I really shouldn’t have eaten. I’m on the interstate driving 65mph. If I need a rest stop, what color sign am I looking for? If I can’t make it, and I have to poop in a ditch near a sleeping deer, how many feet do I need to stop before I drop my load in my new boxer briefs?”

“While traveling in an old pickup truck with a hangover, and a dog named Earl… which side of the lane should the yellow line be?”

“If driving through a residential neighborhood, and you accidentally find yourself on a beach… how fast were you going and how fast should you go, now that you’re on the beach?”

“To effectively make faces at people riding the Max train, how far away do you park if there is no line painted on the ground?”

On November 22 nd , he passed his test and drives with me whenever possible. He’s doing a great job, too! His first time out, we drove past nightfall without a single accident or incident outside of normal stuff. Well, he did put the entire passenger side of the car half way onto a sidewalk, but that was my fault with telling him to go right instead of clearly articulating my request for him to stop. All is well, and I look forward to William being my chauffeur for several years to come!

As this year comes to a close, and a new year begins to come into view, we wish all our friends, known and yet-to-be-known, a very merry Christmas!

2012 HERE WE COME!!! WooHoo!!!

Christmas Letter 2010

Merry Christmas to all!
From the life and times of John and Cheryl Downing


2010 is almost over… so here is my annual Christmas letter for a merry little trip into some of the adventures of our life. I hope the outline below will make the letter a bit easier to get through. Yes, I know my previous letters had a tendency to stretch out a bit, but now I’ve broken the year into a short outline for easy reading! Can’t beat that, can you?

Have a great New Year!

John & Cheryl Downing


“Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death.”
~Harold Wilson (1916 - 1995)


Outline

Bonnie and Clyde: Starting off the New Year 2 - 3


Home Group – Adventures with God 3


New Neighbors = New Paint and New Chores 3 - 4


3rd Annual Block Party 4


Snowboarding into nothingness! 4 - 5


Drifting in the Fog and Rain 5 - 6


Final Debt – The Axe of Atlas Falls 6 - 8


Thanksgiving Bobcat 8 - 9


Adoption Process 9


The End with New Beginnings? 9



Bonnie and Clyde: Starting off the New Year
The beginning of the year came with two visitors that arrive just as a wave of icy artic air hit the northwest. The visitors came to be known as Bonnie and Clyde – the notorious criminals, also known as Dirty Rats. Yes, two rats invaded our humble home. The first one, Bonnie found herself trapped in less than a couple hours in an undersized, every day mouse trap. The metal bar snapped closed around her neck, but she wasn’t hurt. Not at all! In fact, she just tired out trying to find a place to hide with the stockade prison shackled around her neck preventing her from squeezing into the best hiding spots. She just gave up when I found her. No attempt at negotiating her release; not a squeak, not a peep… nothing. She left immediately by way of the local garbage service.

Clyde, unfortunately decided to take up residence under our kitchen cabinets, dishwasher, and refrigerator. He could be heard chewing his way through the wall studs at all times of the day, which freaked us all out. Then one Sunday, I stood my ground in the kitchen with Cheryl and William watching from the apparent safety of the living room, which we had blocked off in preparation for the battle. The battle blasted into action once I upset his little home with a broom stick. As he blazed into motion, my barefoot lashed out, meeting Clyde’s side with a vengeance. To my surprise, he attempted a double back flip with a one-quarter rotation to land in a ninja-like battle stance! My kick, delivered with intense ferocity, threw him off balance but his exceptional combat skills brought him darting around me in a full sprint, allowing him to escape unharmed through the only hole I didn’t see during my pre-battle preparation. Disappearing into the counters again, I found my lovely wife completely traumatized by the interaction.

“You’re NOT going back to work until that thing is GONE!” Cheryl proclaimed with her index finger pointing upward. It’s good to know she chose the correct finger to display at that moment; the situation deserved another finger with a whole different meaning added to it… And I knew this had to end. At this time, Clyde had successfully trespassed for nearly a month.

That night came with a pre-bed time prayer: “God,” I asked while standing alone in the kitchen. “Deliver this rat to me… Old Testament style!” Strange to pray a prayer like that… and sincerely mean it.

4 AM the next morning (a Monday of all days), Cheryl woke up to scratching in the room next to ours. After scouting the whereabouts of my enemy among the scattered furniture and bed frames stored in the neighboring room, I retrieved my weapons of war to deal with Clyde… Old Testament style, just like I prayed for.

I closed the door behind me, and after piercing the walls with several badly aimed thrusts with a BBQ fork taped onto a broom handle, I finally trapped Clyde in a boxed area where it pleaded with me: whimpers, whines, pouting black eyes, and even bowing its head in submission. I discarded the tiny bit of empathy bubbling into my heart and regained my composure. One thrust of my BBQ fork/ spear pinned it against the wall, but the aim proved poor and Clyde remained alive, crying out in terrible pain. My contacts are not part of my battle gear, hence my poor aim. The gruesome details are inappropriate for a Christmas letter; just know the whole thing was a mess! After my alarm rang in my bedroom, I found the one thing to bring this ordeal to an end: A long metal bed frame that became the final instrument of death. While I held the beast skewered against the wall, I hammered away, pummeling it straight to rat-hell… or rat-heaven, if that makes you feel better. I cleaned up the mess, and as it sank into the garbage bag grave, I verified Clyde indeed was a male. Strangely, this intimate inquiry came at Cheryl’s request! You see, if Clyde proved to be a female, we might need to chase down a bunch of little rats…Cheryl is very wise!

Home Group – Adventures with God
Early in January, we decided that a church home group would be great to attend, but sadly our schedules were conflicting with the active home group schedules. After a short discussion with Cheryl, we agreed that if a current home group leader in Albany walked halfway across the church, stood directly in front of me and looked me in the face, then we’d consider it a clear clue to ask if we could host a group in Corvallis. The details we agreed upon were such that no coincidence could be questioned – no gray, just black or white.

Within minutes, the guy’s little girl bolted across the sanctuary to stand right at my feet! The guy ran after the little lady, scooping her up to look right into my face. “Hi!” I said to the guy. “Got a minute?”

As it turns out, not only did the guy want to start a home group in Corvallis, he wanted to transfer the leadership to the host and hostess… meaning us! Well, this wasn’t exactly what we were looking to get into, but we said “what the heck!?” After about two months, the leadership transferred to us, and we’ve been leading ever since. The amazing thing, believe it or not, is that every week before home group we ask God what HE wants to do… and He tells us! Every week is different and it has become clear that we are simply the messengers and ambassadors to those who attend. The group has become family to us, and has been with us through some of the most difficult times of the year. Keep reading for the drama!

New Neighbors = New Paint and New Chores
The attached condo/home sold this year, and is now occupied by the actual owners. This change brought up the question of the exterior color… the existing color was UGLY and Cheryl hated it! Well, after living there for four years, I got used to it and really didn’t care too much. Yes, the sea-foam green/ teal gutters and trim carried a vintage 1978 look, and it probably had not been painted since the day it was built, but who the heck wanted to paint a house!? Not this guy!

The assertive neighbors, plus my adorable wife, brought this task into my life but it became unavoidable. Any procrastinator would be proud of everything I did to petition the hiring a painting contractor rather than attempting the work ourselves. The savings-through-sweat were too great to pass up, and we ventured away from the professionals and targeted a weekend in July – the hottest weekend up to that date! Oh, did I mention I sincerely DO NOT like heights!? The two story house extended more than 20 feet above the ground, and that barely reaches the underside of the eves. Ugh! I’d rather be 20 feet down a sewer manhole! While the neighbors had three experienced assistants, we hired an Army National Guard soldier who LOVED climbing ladders in extreme heat. Cheryl ran off to teach Zumba while the soldier and I sprayed our half of the entire structure, leaving the trim for me and Cheryl. Even with the heat, my parents drove from Portland to help with the trim. The soldier came back the following Monday to do the upper trim and all the upper gutters for us and the neighbors. The guy was GOOD! He saved us time, sweat, energy, and heart complications from the heights I would have had to deal with.

The neighbors also inspired Cheryl to remove ALL the blackberries growing on the backside of the fence. She proved very aggressive and dealt a huge blow to the vines. Sadly, removing the vines illustrated one terrible fact – the vines held the fence in place! So, William helped me remove and replace several sections of fencing; some of which simply fell to pieces without even touching it. The old fence proved useful for one last purpose – FIRE! Additionally, Cheryl helped cut the deck down, leaving about ¼ of what it used to be. Currently, grass is trying to grow where the deck stood.

And as of the writing of this letter… we just finished repainting nearly the entire interior of the house!

3rd Annual Block Party
The old fence once securely held in place by blackberries burned extremely well during the block party, but using it came with an awful consequence. The smoke from the fire held something that found its way into my left eye, causing an infection to develop, complete with the gooey, yuck and nasty swelling typical to pink eye. After nearly a week of eye drops, the infection finally faded but the timeless warning remained: “Put face in smoke, get gunk in eye”

Snowboarding into nothingness!
I had the opportunity to head up to Ski Bowl on Mt. Hood for spring snowboarding in near-perfect conditions. Light, fluffy, fresh snow hit the mountain the night before with blue sky unfolding over the mountain just for me and my snowboarding buddy, Chris.

We spent several hours on the groomed slopes, dancing down medium and difficult runs (blue and black) with terrain parks woven into the fun. He asked if we could go find a gorgeous stretch of black diamond terrain that appeared untouched by those skiers who love to turn a perfectly powdered slope into a terrible, nasty chopped collection of mounds difficult for most snowboarders. Of course, I agreed to the pursuit of perfect snow, so up to the top we went.

“I think it’s this way,” he said as he cruised past a set of parallel posts missing the official signage designating the location as an actual ski area. At first, the slope proved to be absolutely wonderful! We shred through the thick, fresh snow under a brilliantly blue sky with a light breeze flowing through the trees. But our dreamy conditions faded as the trail ended in a hard-cut slab of snow resting precariously above a dense forest of dark trees. To my left, the top third of the terrifying trees shadowed an unknown drop into trapped silence where no one would ever think to look. To my right, the cut edge of the trees above appeared ready to slide at any moment. This was NOT a good place to be!

The horizontal curve around the face of the mountain proved exceedingly difficult for me. Snowboards are not really suited to go sideways without momentum, and the thick snow stole every bit of forward movement, along with every ounce of energy I could muster. Taking my board off to walk through the snow crossed my mind, but when I would use my hands to push myself across the snow, my arms would sink to the shoulder without resistance. Stepping into the fluff would have trapped me for sure, so I scooted and scooted and scooted across the snow, praying for an actual trail to open up for us.

Just when I thought I had no more energy, I encountered tops of trees stabbing up through the snow, creating sunken wells I had to drop down into and then pop out of just to keep working my way to safety. Realize that tree wells can actually be large voids beneath the layer of snow. Fortunate for me, Chris went through first! Without momentum, strength, endurance, or sweat left inside of my body, my hopes dwindled thin. I made it through the tree wells, most of the time climbing on my stomach rather than sliding on my board. After half a dozen or more tree wells, I followed Chris up a sharp slope waiting for me. To my great satisfaction, he had found a defined trail on the other side of a wide grove of large trees. The trees were spread apart enough where he danced through seemingly without effort.

As for me, I sat exhausted on the side of the mountain watching him cruise down to the trail below. Not to leave this area without some pleasant memory, I hopped into the air, kicking my board out to land on my butt 15 to 20 feet down the tree littered slope. I knew this would be the last trip of the season, and I had to redeem this trip from the misery I’d just experienced. So, I hopped and hopped and hopped my way down through the trees to find my friend laughing and shaking his head at me. I was a six year old again! Now THAT is entertainment!

As we cruised on our boards down to the well-used black diamond slope, a ski patrol medic turned in shock when he saw us emerge out of the area where we’d just come. He didn’t say anything… he didn’t need to. His expression told me everything I already knew – we had no business being in that area!

The final drop down the slope brought some fun, but it wasn’t the slope we were targeting. The untouched face remained out of our grasp as we walked back to the car completely exhausted.

Drifting in the Fog and Rain
Another friend of mine has a drift boat, and I asked if I could help him practice running a river. William, now age 14 came along due to the day being proclaimed as “Forced Family Fun Day” rather than any desire he had to be on the river.

The North Santiam River is one I know pretty well from my kayaking days, and I felt comfortable enough for an adventure in a drift boat. My friend piloted the South Santiam River several times, but the North Santiam is much more technical and difficult. At my request, we were going to launch just upstream from the Mill City falls to start the adventure off with a drop and a bang. My friend was a bit concerned about running his boat over the water fall, but I assured him that all would be well. You see, I’d been over the falls nearly a dozen times in a kayak, and had watched drift boats as they dropped over it, so what could the problem be!? Turns out the boat launches in the area had all been removed, maybe for good reasons! The only other boat launch was located up stream and guaranteed passage through areas like Carnivore, Boulder Gardens, The Swirlies, and Spencer’s Hole far before we ever reached the water fall. We agreed that those areas were far above our piloting skills and we launched downstream at a much safer place called Fisherman’s Bend. You can read about my experiences through those treacherous areas in previous Christmas letters.

At this time, I’d like to note that I had mentioned several times that I’d NEVER piloted a drift boat before, and all my skills were related to running white water – simply to have fun, not to fish or spend time in any one location. After hitting rock after rock in the low water, barely maneuvering through the twisting crazy currents, taking water over the bow several times, and even spinning completely around while running around a large boulder, we finally determined that MY concept of running a river is NOT my friend’s concept… or any other self-respecting drift boater, as it turns out. Close to the end of the trip he asked why in the world I would purposefully aim for the rollercoaster wave trains and curling white-crested waves when every other drift boater on the planet strains to avoid all of that! I understood his words, but didn’t really grasp the meaning…

Until it finally hit me that drift boating isn’t a sport to play through wonderful white water; it is a tool to work down a river to find suitable fishing spots. Huh! My bad! In my defense, I did the 360 degree spin around the monster boulder on purpose, and we avoided a potentially disastrous situation because of the maneuver. Yes, it was a scary but a very effective technique no matter what craft you’re running. Looking back upstream to peer at the massive obstacles we successfully avoided (by the skin of our teeth) brought thanksgivings like “Oh, praise Jesus!” and “Oh, dear Lord…dear Lord!”

On a positive note, my friend demonstrated skills he wouldn’t have known he possessed otherwise. Now the South Santiam River is an easy trip for him in comparison. Oh, did I mention it was POURING rain during most of the trip? And the fog was so thick at times we could barely see the rocks ahead of us? And only one other boat was seen on the river? And that we had the pleasure of getting photographed in the background of a newly married couple? Yes… overall it proved to be a great experience! One last note: I’ve not been in a boat with my friend since that trip… coincidence? Maybe so… maybe so.



Final Debt – The Axe of Atlas Falls
This year marks my first full year working for the Oregon Dept of Transportation. This also marks the year when Atlas officially died… finally. The IRS and County Tax Assessor still seem to be in denial, though. This year brought some of the most stressful times I’ve weathered with the company, and I thought I’d dealt with some pretty serious issues previously!

The story spans seven months, but I’ll try to compact the details for you. We tried to make payment arrangements with all of the vendors and debtors for the remaining balances the company owed, and for the most part the attempts were welcome and workable. Until one company, we’ll call it US Bank, refused payment arrangements and as soon as they kicked the debt to another department they threatened to take everything I owned – no questions, no mercy, no negotiating payments. You see, I’d spent months trying to work on a feasible pay-down schedule and put out a lot of effort to make sure everyone would get their money, and when US Bank dropped the axe I suddenly realized how long I’d living in the executioner’s shadow, and I just KNEW the end of our financial wellbeing neared the end. US Bank gave me two weeks to get them a HUGE amount of money or the axe would fall.

The other debtors started getting impatient as well, and I had to resign to the fact that bankruptcy and foreclosure would pour into our lives like molten lava. If you’ve read any of my other Christmas stories, especially last year, then you’ll know that God got me into the company and He got me out of the company. Yet I faced the terrifying reality that ‘getting out’ physically didn’t remove the impending doom of debt ready to break down my door and give me a good beating.

During those stressful days leading up to the expiration of all I owned, I had some pretty fierce discussions with God, most of which I apologized for eventually. I’m glad He loves me and is patient with me, because I really didn’t hold anything back. He brought me into the company and now I could only see one solution – bankruptcy. Along with bankruptcy would come the inability to adopt a child, which carved the wound deeper into the heart. Cheryl’s mom offered to help, but the idea of using a rental house to get a loan against proved impossible. The hope of navigating this disaster faded to almost nothing. Failure is rarely an option for me, but at that time I could only try to face my failure and try to remain upright and breathing until I could see light at the end of the tunnel. ‘Broken’ does not do justice to what I felt… I was crushed.

Two days before the axe fell, Cheryl’s mom had a bond mature for the EXACT amount needed to contain and clear ALL of the debt drawing us deep into the pit of despair. The not-so-nice representative with US Bank changed the payment requirement expiration without warning. It moved from 1pm to 11am as Cheryl’s mom raced toward the goal to make the payment on our behalf. The payment successfully transferred with less than 37 minutes to spare! Nearly all of the debtors were paid in less than a couple days, and the world suddenly looked like a different place.

The light began to reemerge into my life, and as I drove to work the next day, I gasped at the most amazing sight I’d seen in a very long time: A sunrise JUST FOR ME! Brilliant orange streams of sunlight blazing over the mountains spread into a perfect fan displayed like nothing I’ve ever seen. Absolutely amazing! Cruise control and a camera phone helped save the image for the rest of my life.

That day, July 30th, 2010 began a new season for us. I felt like a man set free from the gallows! Now we’re making payments to Cheryl’s mom with interest close to what she would have gotten from investing it. She is amazing to help us out! And God is amazing to have delivered us through this entire thing, and holding executioner’s axe at bay! God ROCKS!


Thanksgiving Bobcat
We had the pleasure of spending Thanksgiving week in Costa Mesa, California with Cheryl’s brother and his family. I found time to play in the calm surf in Newport Beach, but the surf was pretty tame and aside from another guy who dipped into the water for less than 30 seconds, I swam alone. Cheryl sat on the beach while I played for a while in the 55 degree water. The locals thought sunny and 60-ish degrees to be so frigid that parkas, mittens, hats, scarves, and fluffy boots were required! Everything was the most current designer fashions, of course.

On Thanksgiving Day, we walked along a path beside a wild life reservation known as The Back Bay. The warm sun and cool breeze was delicious! As we walked along, I pointed out a large dark shape that darted through the bush ahead of us, but a ways off the trail. I told Cheryl that I thought it was a coyote… and she froze in her tracks! I tried coxing her forward, and she actually moved up with trail with me for a short bit until an oversized house cat jumped playfully onto the trail ahead of us. The tips of its ears had the thin wisps of hair typical to wild cats, but we weren’t sure what it was exactly.

Cheryl’s tight grip, coupled with the fact her nails are long & strong, helped convince me to turn back down the trail and leave the wildlife alone. Once she started breathing again, she explained that the only place for coyotes and wild cats are in cartoons like Madagascar and the Jungle Book. A County employee working on that day told us that the cat was actually one of three kittens belonging to a much larger Bobcat named Babe. Babe, a local celebrity of sorts, made the papers several times because she liked to walk down the center of crowded boardwalks or simply sunbathe on the side of a busy walking trail. My question is this: where is the male bobcat!?

Adoption Process
Most people know we have worked through the many hoops to get qualified to adopt through the State Foster Care System. We were selected with one other family to adopt a 3 year old little girl, but the State chose the other family before we could really get our hopes up.

About a month later, we were selected to be considered to adopt twins (1 ½ year old boy & girl) but again we were not selected. We actually had some hopes building for the twins, and we did grieve a bit after the notice, but we’re continually putting our hand in the air for other kids, so we’re confident that next year’s Christmas letter will hold another grand adventure on the road of life!

The End with New Beginnings?
I wanted to finish this Christmas letter with an announcement introducing a new job I’m in the running for… but process in the government doesn’t move that fast, as the final round of interviews were on the 21st of December and it’s the season to disappear and go be jolly… just not at work. So, the year ends with a huge question waiting until the new year – will I break into management with the State of Oregon Dept of Transportation or sit quietly in a local district office in Eugene/ Springfield? The end of one invites the start of another… a year, a job, a way of life… stand by for change, again!

We have high hopes for the year to come. Cheryl’s aerobic classes are getting bigger every session and she simply just loves all of her ladies attending the classes. I’m busy trying to land a management position within the Department of Transportation and have some important applications in process waiting to hear from the hiring managers. I have a book I’ve been working on I hope to have published, and a unique creation I hope to begin to market soon. I think 2011 is going to be a great year in many different ways!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Happy New Year!