Christmas Letter 2018!

Downing’s 2018 Christmas Letter

Is it seriously the end of 2018 already? Sheesh! The end of 2017 is still fresh on my mind, but yet reflecting on the past 12 months makes me realize we went through a lot! New jobs, an unforgettable ride in an ambulance, a cruise, performing minor surgery on my forearm (unsuccessfully, I might add), and walls filled with water are just the beginning of the stories that you’ll read about in the 2018 Downing Christmas letter!

“Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more.”

-          Mark Twain (1835 - 1910)

“The school of hard knocks is an accelerated curriculum.”

-          Menander (342 BC - 292 BC)

Career Shift: A New Beginning

At the end of 2017 I accepted a position with a large global construction company named Skanska, which is headquartered in Sweden with major operations across the U.S. and northern Europe. Depending on who you talk to, it’s pronounced with a long “a” like Skaun-Skaw or the more familiar way us Americans like to twist other languages and sharpen that silly “a” to get Skan-Skah, which I’m sure sounds nasally to the Scandinavian founders.

So, what did I get myself into? My title is the NW Diversity and Outreach Manager for the Building division in the United States. What does that even mean!? Well, one of the four divisions of Skanska build massive, complex, challenging, and sometimes secretive projects like hospitals, schools, entire airports, and high-tech or military facilities. Essentially, I’m an internal consultant to make sure the subcontractors we use include minority, woman and small businesses across Oregon and Washington.

Not-so-fabulous silence

Cheryl is my personal benefits adviser with Aflac. Well, she’s actually a benefits adviser to a lot of people, but I can call her my own, very personal benefits adviser. She’s doing an amazing job and having a lot of fun, even after losing her voice for the last 4 months. That’s right! She’s challenged by a long-term loss of voice, but that’s not all. She loses her breath, too. In fact, she lost her breath to such a degree at the start of December that an ambulance carted her off to the nearest ER! Pretty scary, really. Fortunately, she remembers only bits and pieces. What she does remember though, is when the emergency dispatcher asked Joe (our friend who called 911) how she looked. While gasping for breath, Cheryl said to tell them she looked “fabulous!” Apparently being starved of oxygen and going into shock doesn’t suppress this woman’s wit! The doctors are still trying to figure everything out, but right now they can’t seem to find out what’s up.

Academic Adventures

At the end of 2017 I finished my coursework in my Masters of Business Administration (MBA), and in May of this year I walked across the stage in full cap, gown and even a cape! The graduation marked a significant point for me personally, but also for my family. No longer would Cheryl and Sophia be homework widows as I locked myself into the office every night and on most weekends. To celebrate, we booked a family cruise to Mexico!

Trip’n with the Fam

Cheryl, Sophia, Carole (Cheryl’s mom), and my parents embarked on a four-day cruise to Catalina Island and Ensenada on Carnival Cruise lines. Some highlights include Sophia joining a conga line around the pool, winning the hearts of everyone around the tequila bar as they cheered her on. I joined a hairy chest contest and fortunately did NOT win, although I unquestionably had the most, I did not pander to the crowd’s desire to get in touch with my feminine side. I did get a participation medal and the honor of being called “Wolfman” by some of our fellow inebriated shipmates.

 

Cheryl: Sport Mode

2018 also brought new cars into our lives, surrendering the inefficient full-sized Ford I enjoyed for years and Cheryl’s pickup truck from when she had a painting company. My company gives me a vehicle allowance with an additional incentive for certain vehicles. I went for a Kia gas-electric hybrid and Cheryl got the cutest Mini ever! Mine is surprisingly roomy for me as a driver, even at 6’4”. The Mini, however, isn’t a good fit for me, but Cheryl and Sophia absolutely love it! I told the sales guy to NOT tell Cheryl about the “sport” mode cuz she might actually use it, and when we went on the test drive, that’s the first thing he told her about! Yes, I reprimanded him the very moment she shifted it into sport mode and darted around corners and curves. The intense look in her eye made it clear she was enjoying herself but I suspect she’d forgotten that I was squeezed in the back seat with Sophia. After a couple swift, slingshot style corners better suited for the go-cart track, I reminded her of the precious cargo in the back seat, and to keep the high-risk driving to her solo adventures. There’s no question that this is the perfect car for her.

Back in the Saddle Again!

Late summer, Cheryl started encouraging me to ride again. Riding motorcycle, that is, not bicycle. Yes, having my wife light the spark of getting me on a motorcycle again is a cosmic display that life is good and God loves me. So, I began searching for good Harley’s within a reasonable price range, which is quite difficult. A friend of mine had a Harley sitting in a warm, sheltered barn waiting for someone to take it on the road. I had a chance to ride it, and I realized I was too big for it. Well, that’s an understatement. I looked like a gorilla on a bicycle, and I felt like it too! As you can imagine, I passed on the potential purchase and kept looking for the elusive well-priced, appropriately sized Harley.

In the end I found a 2008 Yamaha Roadliner S “Midnight”, which is a large touring motorcycle designed for long distances and comfortable rides. It’s nimble and powerful with some cool features that make it one of the best rated touring bikes for years. Unfortunately, being used, it wasn’t set up for my long legs. On my ride home from the dealer, Cheryl pointed out that the freeway pegs were positioning my body in a way that made it look like I was getting a gynecological exam rather than being that leather-clad cool dude out for a ride. I fixed the positioning that night, and I am unapologetically NOT a Harley biker, and I rest with confidence that I don’t look like I’m getting a girly check-up when I’m riding.

Gurgling Walls

Our home suffered a serious issue this year, and we finally answered a mystery we questioned all winter: Why do our walls gurgle? Answer: because they were filled with water! Yes, this is a sad reality that was discovered when a contractor poked his small screwdriver into some window trim on our back upper deck. The water didn’t just pour out, though. No, that would be too simple. The water actually jetted out from the hole, launching out no less than five feet, over the railing to the lower deck! Well, homeowner’s insurance helped a little, but the burden on having half of the entire south side of our house removed and replaced due to dry rot and water damage was on our shoulders and wallets. The story is that the flashing was installed backwards on the vinyl windows from 1996, and acted like a conduit to fill our walls with water, causing the gurgling noise.

Flying Deck: Self-Surgery

After most of the south side of the house was replaced, I found part of the upper deck was rotten. It was so rotten that I thrust my hand through one of the deck boards! Yes, I gasped out loud as I rushed back into the house, and I set out to replace deck boards on the upper and lower deck, which was no small feat, as it turns out. The removal and replacement of the entire deck system turned into a family and friends adventure. Sophia helped haul boards, pickup old screws and hand deliver new screws to me and Cheryl for weeks on end.

When I tossed the last rotten board off the upper deck, sending it flying gracefully through the air to land on the pile below, a large chunk caught my left forearm, breaking off as it buried itself into my muscle. The shard broke into one larger piece and a scattering of shrapnel in a localized area of my arm. I couldn’t simply stop working, though. While I didn’t know the severity of the injury at the time, I figured I could keep working for a few hours to get the new boards installed before I dig into the splinter over a dirty martini, three olives, shaken, not stirred.

Believe it or not, I’ve done this before. I’m not a doctor and I don’t play one on TV, but I’ve dug large slivers and splinters from my body before, so I thought this would be no different. When I began cutting into my forearm with a sterilized razor blade and tweezers, I came to realize this was a bit more serious than simply a chunk of wood beneath the flesh. I cut, I pulled, I bled, and I dabbed with alcohol and hydrogen peroxide… while I wet my whistle with a tasty martini, of course. I managed to remove a few pieces, but when Cheryl came home from her outing with a friend, she expressed a distinct dissatisfaction at my surgical savvy. Her grimacing features and paled complexion told me more of her dissatisfaction than anything she could say. I thought for a moment she might get sick, which is when I finally agreed that a doctor should get involved. Begrudgingly, I acquiesced to her request and committed to going to urgent care the next day, which was Sunday.

I told the doctor the tale, and how my wife’s loving wisdom overcame my drive to perform self-surgery. The doctor apparently admired my determination and allowed me to assist in the minor surgery. The doctor had to cut deeper than we originally planned, and we’re pretty sure most of the shards were removed. While I didn’t get stitches, I do have a pretty cool scar.

The Traveling Fam

Aside from the cruise mentioned earlier, we did travel a little bit, although separately. Cheryl and Sophia flew the friendly skies to visit Cheryl’s sister and mom in northern California, and her brother in Orange County. My job sent me to Cleveland, OH for a conference, where I toured the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and a fantastic museum free to the public. The final night at the conference finished at roof-top bar where the waiter decided I needed to pay for food and drink for 15 people I never met before. I suddenly found myself in a position to meet new people and ask them to pay a tab I was being charged for! Sure, I was a bit frustrated, but in the end, I made new friends, and my nickname began spreading throughout the conference…. “The Governor” is how I’m known.

Hi-Yah!

Sophia is excelling at swimming and just started taking taekwondo lessons, which are helping her with “black belt respect”. For a petite six-year-old, she’s got a serious side-chop strike! The girl can put the hurt on! We’ve enrolled her into 2x/week classes, so she’ll find her stride just like swimming, and she’ll advance quickly without a doubt.

Overgrown Christmas Tree

The final weeks of 2018 brought the biggest Christmas tree we’ve had yet. The monster took three strapping men to move it into the house and tether it to the wall with heavy eye-bolts. In preparation for our annual tree trimming party, I had to place ornaments to the top third because it was too high for anyone without a tall step ladder, and we thought it would be wise to eliminate any potential for fall injuries during a Christmas party.

The coming year is going to be exciting, without a doubt! We’ve made plans for a few adventures I’m excited to write about, and I’m confident our future is looking up!

Hope you all have a Merry Christmas and an amazing New Year!

Cheers from the Downing’s!

Christmas Letter 2017

The Downing’s 2017 Christmas Letter!

I didn’t expect the twists of 2017, and I’m going to guess you didn’t either! So, hold onto the ride as we capture and explore the Downing’s adventures of 2017. Merry Christmas to you and yours!

“You don’t have to specialize - do everything that you love and then, at some time, the future will come together for you in some form.” - Francis Ford Coppola (1939 - )

The closing thought of the 2016 Downing Christmas letter speculated on a year of change for 2017, and boy was I right! Whew! Hold on for the ride, because the 2017 Downing Christmas letter begins now!


We’ll start with Cheryl’s wrist, which was seriously hurt when the stand mixer caught her wedding ring on December 1, 2016. The initial prognosis was that it was a serious sprain, and that physical therapy would cure what ails her… NOT! After a couple months of pain and suffering, they finally sent her to the best surgeon around. This doctor quickly discovered that the ligament along her outer wrist/forearm was not only stretched, but torn as well! Well, that explains the ongoing agony she endured, and that physical therapy would have NEVER helped her recover.

In March, she went under the knife and had a pin stuck completely through one bone and partially into another. Yes, this was by design, and not an accident. The six weeks sporting around a pin brought a temporary infection, and even a time when the short hook on the pin slipped under her skin instead of hanging out in its protected little bundle. When it came time to have the pin removed, the doctor said to Cheryl, “you’ll feel a little tug, but it won’t hurt.” The doctor stole a quick glance at me and shook his head, brow furrowed in all seriousness, which said “I just lied to your wife and this is going to seriously suck, so hold on!”

When the pliers came out, the doctor made sure I had a good grip with Cheryl’s hand before yanking the pin out in one quick pull. Cheryl’s pain level skyrocketed, but she brought me along for the ride as her long, freshly painted fingernails dug into my hand with a grip that gouged my flesh, and I couldn’t pull away! Her exclamations included “Oh Freak!” and “Fudge, fudge, fudge!” and the eternal classic, “Owwww!!!” The doctor disregarded her pain and simply worked to bandage her backup and send her to get a new brace down the hall. Now, you might be thinking “Cheryl certainly stopped painting houses after all the pain!” Well, you don’t know my wife! She kept painting, moving and climbing ladders, hauling equipment, and conquering the world of residential painters in Salem and surrounding areas. That is, until she made a change later in the year. Stay tuned! I’ll get to that in just a moment.


My work gave me an opportunity to travel to Washington D.C. and Nashville, TN this year. My D.C. trip included tours of Ford Theater, the International Spy Museum, National Art and Portrait Museum, and a guided tour of the Nation’s Capital. The Capital tour was courtesy of Senator Merkley’s staff who took a liking to me, and tucked me into a tour group at the last minute.

The Art and Portrait museum was interesting once I got past the first floor, which was pretty lame. As Sophia would say “I do-not-like-this... no-tank-too” (each word very clearly enunciated, except for No Thank You). In my opinion, if it looks like a toddler painted something, it’s not art. Of course, naked people are everywhere! No, not real people… paintings, sculptures, figurines… so many naked people! I wouldn’t want to be a nude model of such artists, as they apparently only work with men when it’s really cold.

The other trip for work sent me to Nashville, Tennessee. A coworker mentioned she was going on a guided “ghost tour” walking around the old buildings in downtown, and I couldn’t resist! The tour was informative and filled with local folklore, but the ghosts didn’t appear until the next day. I stayed in one of the oldest sections of the Gaylord Opryland hotel, and during the conference I took a break around 3pm to do some work in my room. Minutes after my arrival, however, the smoke alarm in the room went crazy! I quickly gathered my important belongings and stepped into the vacant hallway. The fact that no one else was around didn’t alarm me, but the only alarm going off was exclusively in my room! I used the phone at the end of the hallway, beside the stairway, to call the hotel. I asked if we were to evacuate the building, but the lady immediately asked “why in the world would you do that?”

I explained the alarm in my room, and the fact that other rooms were completely silent of their alarms. She looked into the networked emergency systems and determined that the alarm in my room was actually NOT going off. I extended the phone down the hall for a moment, making sure she could hear the pulsing, screeching alarm from my room. She said she’d send up the maintenance engineers to investigate, and to wait in the hall.

I asked her if this had anything to do with local ghosts, because my television mysteriously turned itself on at 11:00pm my first night in the room. Cheryl can confirm this claim because we were chatting on the phone when it came on. She hesitated briefly before covering her mouth against her phone to explain that there’s a local ghost people see called the Black Lady, dating back to the 1830’s. The hotel lady asked me to call her back to tell her if any more ghosts appear in my room. When the engineers arrived, the alarm had stopped, and there was nothing wrong with the alarm at all! They asked if I’d been smoking in the room, which I denied, of course. So, in turn, I asked them if it was the ghost called the Black Lady, which they just stared at me blankly in response. Whatever! It was a ghost, whether they admit it or not.

In August, 2016 I embarked on a mission to acquire my M.B.A. at Corban University in Salem. The intense journey finally concluded on December 16, 2017, which was not easy, but definitely worth it! I would like to pat myself on the back for a moment, and mention that I finished the program with the highest GPA I’ve ever earned, nearing very, very close to a 4.0! This was due, in a very real sense, to the patient support of Cheryl and Sophia. They were “homework widows” as I tucked myself into my office after a full day of work, and even occasionally on weekends.

The online classes changed every five weeks in a rush toward completion, and yet through it all life did not completely come to a stand still. To illustrate this, my 1-week spring break was consumed by a kitchen remodel! We removed all the counter tops, moved a section of the cabinetry almost two feet, installed another cabinet, repainted all the cabinets, and even reconstructed a portion of the hardwood floor! We even removed the counters in the downstairs guest bathroom and the upstairs hall bathroom. We had a local company install the new granite counter tops and backslash in each location, but we did all the work ourselves otherwise. You can see that the list of work wasn’t a small undertaking, and my 1-week spring break project ultimately took almost a month. This was mostly because the counter top contractors delayed their part of the project, but it looks amazing!!!

In the final stretch of summer, we decided to paint the exterior of our house, turning it from the classic, neighbor friendly “baby poop” yellow/orange/tan color to a dark gray with very light gray trim. I think the previous color is neighbor friendly because it made everyone else’s house look great comparatively! Now the neighbors’ just look okay, whereas ours really looks fashionable!

My birthday present (in June) brought me a fantastic Traeger grill, 12 lbs of pork (YES! 12 LBS!), and three large racks of baby back ribs. Cheryl felt guilty for the extra effort I suffered through to take care of her, the house, and Sophia while still working full time and doing my M.B.A. school work. I immediately sold my other grill and began smoking any type of meat I could get my hands on! Where Cheryl used to fear the dry, charcoaled meat from my past grilling techniques, the Traeger has delivered nothing but perfection for our now-refined tastebuds!

As I entered the very last M.B.A. class., I had a mutual departure from my employment, leaving me to help transition Cheryl’s company, Time to Paint LLC, to the new owner. This included such things as bidding and painting houses, educating the new owner on the intricate details of business ownership, administration, and operations. Where did Cheryl go, you ask? Well, she studied hard and got her Oregon Insurance Agent license! She’s now an Aflac agent, ready to help the world live in financial peace through supplemental insurances in the case of accidents, hospital stays, disability, and even (God forbid) cancer.

Where is Sophia in all this? Well, she started kindergarten this year! She “graduated” preschool/daycare wearing a pink cap and gown, which was the absolute cutest thing EVER! She’s taking swimming lessons at the local fitness club, and violin lessons after school, but they had to get her the smallest, legitimate violin made because she’s a petite little girl still. She’s reading and comprehending at an accelerated pace, and we love watching her grow into a pretty awesome little girl who loves excessive amounts of pink while launching Hot Wheel cars and Nerf bullets around the house. A nice blend, don’t you think!?

At the last few weeks of 2017, I not only finished my M.B.A. program, but I also accepted a new job that will take me into a global construction corporation that has its home base where my Scandinavian heritage originates! I’ll be working in both Oregon and Washington, which will make a very interesting 2018.

Looking forward

I’m reluctant to speculate on the changes of 2018, but here it is: I think we’re going to have a fantastic year of growth and success like never before! I dare not say my hair will grow back into a gorgeous plum of wavy awesomeness, so I’ll simply say the baldness works and I’m happy to keep it. The coming year is going to be fun, interesting, adventurous, healthy, and exciting! I know we’re looking forward to it, and we hope you are too!

Merry Christmas with all our love,

The Downing Family

Christmas Letter 2016

The Downing’s 2016 Christmas Letter!

Merry Christmas! The 2016 Downing Christmas letter is finally finished! It’s been a pretty fun year, but a pretty busy one, too. So, take a few minutes and enjoy the ongoing adventures of The Downing Family!

“We must not allow the clock and the calendar to blind us to the fact that each moment of life is a miracle and mystery.”

-          H. G. Wells (1866 - 1946)

Sick Secret Service Surprise!

2016 started with a work conference sending me to Washington D.C. for the first ever. I was excited, to be sure… but as it turns out I was also sick! How sick, you ask? Well, I spent more time cooling my face against the porcelain throne than in my bed. I found out that getting the stomach flu helps you get over the time change in a hurry, although I don’t recommend it! Turns out that my family back home got the same terrible bug at the same time, so even though we were roughly 2,371.22 miles apart, we were together in our misery.

            When I finally recovered, I had missed the conference but I did manage to go visit some of Oregon’s elected officials and even ride a trolley car under the Capitol building. When the visits with elected officials finished, I found time to tour a couple museums within walking distance. The National Archives was pretty amazing, but when security asked if I was a secret agent, I KNEW it would make my Christmas letter! Ha! I look pretty official in my business suit, apparently.J If you’re wondering, I simply shook my head, declining the opportunity to impersonate a federal agent and enjoy five lovely years in a federal prison.

            Arlington Cemetery proved to be a sobering experience, and I would certainly return to pay tribute to those who sacrificed everything for our country and my freedom. But let’s take a look at the craziness of commuting around D.C., shall we?

            Let me say first that when Cheryl shared her stories of the fast paced, merciless madness of east coast mass transit, I only appeared to be not listening. In fact, I thankfully absorbed details that I put to use from the time I arrived at Ronald Reagan Airport that kept me out of harm’s way. I related the mass movement of hopefully happy hordes to cruising in the fast lane along the interstate. The main stream flow running fast and furious, stays to the left and slow pokes stay to the right, and for goodness sakes DON’T STOP… EVER! Well, that’s not exactly true, but almost. Finding a wall, post, garbage can, small child or alcove is the only place you’ll be safe. I did watch someone come to a full stop in the fast flow, and no less than three people collided with the person in a rather intimate “rear-ending” that created a lot of frustrated easterners. I’m glad I wasn’t involved! I’d have some explaining to do back home.

            Another bit of advice Cheryl shared was escalator etiquette. Similar to the interstate flow described earlier, the fast lane is on the left. I watched someone actually stand on the left side of an escalator, and the confused, frustrated easterners weren’t too polite to that particular individual, and I sensed a serious conflict emerging before my eyes. I did take the liberty of pulling the person to the right by the bicep, which may have very well saved me from being on the witness stand at an assault trial. I can hear the judge now: “Wait a minute… the victim stood on the left side? Who does that!? Case dismissed!” The east coast commuters take their mass transit VERY seriously.

           

Happy Honeymoon!

            When we were married in August, 2007 I’d just started my construction company and Cheryl still ran her ballroom dance business, so we never had an official honeymoon. I did promise her, however that we’d take a honeymoon before our tenth year. Things tend to move rather quickly in life, and suddenly we had our eighth year flying by without any honeymoon in sight! After much thought, we decided that an all-inclusive resort in Puerto Vallarta was just what we needed. We lined up a couple excursion ahead of time but nothing so intensive that we couldn’t enjoy the one thing Cheryl wanted: a hot sandy beach!

            Our adventures included a zip line tour over a beautiful ravine and a horseback ride complete with a short swim at the base of a waterfall that was said to restore 10 years to those who dared to swim into the waterfall. First, the zip line was so much fun! We swam in the cool waters flowing through the ravine after the zipping 300 feet overhead between the trees. Second, the 6-hour horseback ride held two completely different experiences between me and Cheryl. Cheryl’s horse fell in love with her! The horse even pushed through all the other horses just to snuggle with her at one point. They were great pals by the mid-point break! Cheryl knows enough Spanish to make simple, but loving phrases that swooned the horse into a short-term relationship that all others envied.

            My horse was simply a jerk. There, I said it – a jerk. He bullied other horses for going slower than he wanted and provoked a couple kicks toward his head because of his bad attitude. No, I didn’t kick at him, other horses in the pack did. At one point, he turned back toward me and gave me an intimidating “evil eye” that I’m certain worked on other tourists to establish control. I’d like to say I gained the upper hand during the adventure, but I’d be lying to myself and all my readers. The horse fought me all the way back to the ranch, and gave me no warm goodbye when we parted company. Not like Cheryl’s horse did…. Remember, they were enamored with each other, whereas my horse was a bully through and through. Oh, I did swim under the magical waterfall! I certainly had years washed away from my features, but letting a 30-foot-high waterfall smack against my bald head added those years right back on, and probably even more. Ouch!

            One thing we did regularly was take to the dance floor in the little cantina at the hotel almost every night! The live music and free drinks were outstanding, and we got to dance Salsa, Cha-cha, rumba, swing, and probably more that I don’t quite remember. We did pretty well, I’d say, until I found the tequila buffet… yep, you got that right A TEUILA BUFFET!!! Woo Hoo! Well, my care free imbibing didn’t do any favors for my dance moves, and I had to stop once I sent Cheryl into a fantastic triple spin… and, well…. almost forgot to catch her! Cheryl is simply fantastic on the dance floor, and got some great attention during our meals and when hanging out by the pool. Simply put, she’s pretty awesome! She’d tell you that they noticed me, too, which is to say that a 6’4” bald gringo on the dance floor with a highly skilled and playfully artistic Latin dancer just isn’t a common sight to behold.

Quick Draw

            This year we introduced Cheryl to her very first weapon, which does not include her potentially lethal fingernails. She bought a Ruger .22 caliber semi-automatic handgun early in 2016, and she was initially scared to even hold it, let alone shoot it. It was so cute! J Well, with careful, patient introduction and training she got pretty good with it and even learned how to break it down for cleaning and reassembly with ease. A police officer at the practice range advised her to upgrade for personal defense and challenged her to fire one full magazine using my 9mm Ruger. She grimaced but accepted the challenge. 12 rounds into the 17 rounds the weapon holds proved to be tiring, even to the point of her calling my gun a “clown gun” for the seemingly never ending ammunition it held. She finished the 17 rounds and found herself suddenly inspired to upgrade to her own, smaller 9mm. We now both enjoy the benefit of several 9mm semi-automatic handguns in our arsenal, along with licenses to carry concealed.

            We’ve invested in several different types of holsters, and practice drawing and firing on targets in life-like settings. Turns out that Cheryl can not only draw quicker than I can, but she’s more accurate on the quick draw, too! I didn’t know I married a Special Forces marksman until that very moment. I’m good on the quick draw, but if I have a moment to steady myself, I’m accurate well beyond the typical range of a handgun. I would like to note that Cheryl grew comfortable with her .22 caliber so fast before she upgraded to a 9mm, I’m anticipating she’ll want an AR-15 in a couple months and possibly a stinger missile, bazooka or even a truck-mounted 50-caliber machine gun for her birthday.

            It’s Time to Paint

            You might recall that Cheryl started a residential interior/ exterior / cabinet painting company in the summer of 2015. Well, 2016 proved to be a fantastic year for her fledgling business, leaving happy customers in her wake as she paints the city and surrounding communities any shade of color they like. In fact, online rankings place her the 2^nd highest rated painter in Salem, not that I’m bragging on her J. Don’t let the long fancy nails, red-striped hair or high heels fool you, either! She is skilled and directly engaged on every part of the projects, and you’ll be hard pressed to find her idle at any given moment of the day. Most likely, you’ll find her comfortably climbing ladders and scaling roof tops to heights that make me dizzy even thinking about!

Want to see some projects she’s done? Check out http://timetopaint.biz/gallery 

            Back to school!

            One of the primary reasons we pushed for our honeymoon this year was because I entered my intensive MBA program in August of this year. The fact that I would need to focus on school for almost 18 months straight stood as a stark reminder that the 10-year commitment of our honeymoon needed to be fulfilled or might easily be pushed off as collateral damage of my educational pursuit. The first series of classes is now finished, and I’m enjoying a short Christmas break before starting again in January, but it’s interesting that each class directly related to events in the world or my work. Specifically, the presidential elections and economic policies, and even the human resources management class. I’m happy to say that I’m holding a rather high grade point average while working full time and managing to not abandon my family too much. It’s not easy but I know it’ll be worth it, and it’s actually pretty fun!

            Blasted Bees!

            This summer I found out that I’m still allergic to stings. Yep, my left shoulder was the target of a particularly nasty one that was sent to defend its queen from my hammering while I stood at the top of an extension ladder against the back of the house. I fortunately kept my balance as I swatted the beast away, making it safely down the ladder and into the house. Within minutes, I felt my left arm and shoulder start to turn numb and swell as I raced to find my Epi-Pen. I nonchalantly called Cheryl to tell her I was injecting myself with epinephrine in the thigh before driving myself to the ER.

As I drove the 15 minutes or so to the hospital, I found my heart racing like mad and just as I got out of my car I began feeling dizzy and a bit sick. The ER was busy and I was told that if I went into shock or had a heart attack in the waiting areas I should let someone know. REALLY!? More than two hours later I was brought into the back where they concluded that my system went crazy when the venom mixed with the epinephrine. They said it was a pretty rough ride on my heart and to get looked at later. In the end, my heart stood strong but those bees just won’t die! The exterminators made four attempts, and though they killed many of their clan I think the queen may still be alive… somewhere… waiting… watching… to rebuild once again.

            A Tree of Generous Proportions

            Every year that we head out get a Christmas tree I mentally brace myself for a series of negotiations with Cheryl. You see, the year I met her she got a Christmas tree that was so tall it scratched the vaulted ceilings in her third-floor apartment, and it almost sent her over the railing as we muscled it up the three flights of stairs, too. It was so tall that when Christmas was over, I cut it into pieces before throwing it off her patio instead of wrestling it again. I counted myself fortunate that we had a structural height restriction in the houses we’ve owned since we got married, but our current house has a rather tall ceiling and I knew Cheryl would want to maximize every bit of space available. That’s where the negotiations would be focused.

            When we made our way across the local tree farm, I began to take note of the challenges I would most likely face while dragging her prize back to the truck. It started with a long meadow, across a walking bridge, over another long meadow that rose to an asphalt road before beginning the sharp incline where the trees waited for the lottery system of being chosen to die that day to fit into a random family’s Christmas décor.

            When we made it to the road, I pointed to the nearest group of well-shaped trees and suggested we look at the beautiful grand nobles at our fingertips. Without pause, Cheryl, Sophia and Sophia’s friend simply politely declined and started their march up the hillside to where the old-growth trees stood. Cheryl’s eye for extra-large, super-sized trees never ceases to amaze and trouble me, and my one successful attempt at negotiating simply fell to the fact that the trunk was far too big to fit in our tree stand. I made a note of my success, hoping to use it several more times, but to my dismay she and the girls continued their march up the hillside toward even older, larger trees.

            Cheryl and the girls found a massive tree with a trunk that was a bit smaller than the one earlier rejected, and my ace-in-the-hole failed to steer them away from the brute. As I began the never-ending labor of sawing the gargantuan grand noble, Cheryl pushed against the trunk until we managed to topple it to the ground. I knew this would be the easy part, and I dreaded the long haul back.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Cheryl found a nearby family to negotiate a labor trade on behalf of the husbands. He would help me and I would help him, and both families would have their trees manhandled to their respective vehicles in a jiffy.

            There weren’t that many people looking for trees that rainy day, but I wished she would’ve looked for the biggest dad possible to make labor deals with because my new labor buddy was about half my size. You’d think dragging the tree downhill would be easy, but through the mud and over severed trunks, dragging the thing was a huge ordeal! I should mention that this tree easily weighs 400 pounds, if not more.

            We fought it down the hill, over the road, through the meadow, over the foot bridge and into the final meadow before heaving it into Cheryl’s truck. We took no less than six breaks along the way to catch our breath and grieve the position we were in. When we returned up the hill to fetch his tree, I delighted in the fact that his tree was dainty and weighed almost nothing compared to Cheryl’s tree. Unabashedly, I told him I envied his tree and was greatly jealous of him at the moment we picked it up and began our quick march to his car.

            When we got back to our house, we wrestled the thing out of the truck and gave it a good bath before leaning it under our covered porch for the night to dry. It was so large there was no way to actually reach the front door! Cheryl expressed a concern that the tree might get stolen overnight as we waited for it to dry, and I figured that if someone decided to try to nab this prized possession, they’d be laid out on the lawn with any number of back injuries so they’re welcome to give it a try. The next morning, I looked around hoping to find some over ambitious criminals trapped beneath the behemoth, but alas the tree stood silent and alone.

I found out the base was indeed too big for our tree stand and I cut the trunk down to pound the stand into place. We pulled the beast through the front door and stood it in the front room, and we even added restraining wire and high-strength fishing line to keep it straight. The glorious grand noble stood nearly 12 feet tall!

That night, a very large, very angry hornet erupted out of the tree and sent Cheryl and Sophia running to a safe hiding spot while I pulled out my hornet spray and marched confidently into battle for glory and honor. My opponent sized me up with a couple close fly-by’s, but I managed to catch it in mid-air with a stream of death from my trusty spray can. In an attempt to evade my spray, it landed on top of a tall window sill to plan its next attack. Recognizing that I had my enemy in a vulnerable position, I drenched it and the entire surrounding area in my poisonous spray. To my surprise and respect, the hornet reared back on its hind legs to flare its mighty wings and reach out toward me with its front legs. This worthy opponent, despite the pain it endured, continued to fight until the bitter end! Finally, it dropped to the floor where I pummeled it do death. No, I didn’t crush it… nor did it die of poison overload… it went out in a blaze of glory like a true warrior of its kind. Well done, my mighty foe… well done.

            One final note about the tree is that it started falling over during our annual tree trimming party! The powerful angel on top held it initially in place against the ceiling until a team of quick responders helped me get it lassoed to the wall once and for all. Cheryl agreed that the tree was just a tad bit too big, and that next year we’ll be sure to look for one more reasonably sized. I would like to note that I know my wife quite well and we’ll most certainly be involved in a series of negotiations where she will confidently proclaim that I tend to exaggerate things and that it couldn’t be that bad…

            Ring around the Mixer

            As the Christmas season approached, I found myself taking a day off from work one day to focus on a rather large school assignment. I stopped for a few minutes to chat with Cheryl as she mixed up a batch of amazingly delicious chocolate cookies in her Kitchen-Aid power mixer. I turned my back for a moment, only to hear the mixer motor come to a dramatic stop followed by words that sounded something like “HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP!!!” I turned to find Cheryl’s wedding ring had caught on the mixer paddle, pulling her hand and forearm into the mixer like she was hugging the cookie dough paddle. I managed to release her ring from the paddle, but the damage to her arm was obvious. Urgent care said the bones weren’t broken, although she tore up everything else in her wrist and forearm pretty good. On a positive note, the mixer didn’t break the skin and the cookie dough was saved!

            While it was indeed fortunate I was standing by her, she was suddenly and painfully reduced to one arm as she raced to finish the final stages of food and decorating for our annual tree trimming party. I would like to thank those who stopped by to help her make the annual party a great success! As the year comes to a close, her arm is still giving her grief but we’re hopeful for a speedy recovery in the New Year.

            Looking forward

            I suspect 2017 has some change in the winds, although what it is I do not know. I do know that 2016 was a pretty good year and we’ll cherish the memories we made and look forward to building new ones as time rolls on. Sophia, who just turned four will continue growing smarter, taller and more wonderful every day, even when she’s exercising her feisty independence. Cheers to all our friends, new and old! Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!  J

With all our love,

The Downing’s

Christmas Letter 2015

Christmas letter 2015

Merry Christmas friends and family!

The end of 2014 gave us a glimpse into 2015, filled with future home remodel projects and a do-it-yourself backyard. Our Salem home emerged from the fashions of 1977 into current trends by pure sweat and tenacity. Cheryl prepared our backyard for the transformation in 2014 by clear cutting decades of overgrowth, and figured our backyard project would take about an hour to transform into the envy of the neighborhood! The cursed home remodel TV shows do it, so we can, too! That’s how we thought 2015 would shape up, but life held other plans... so, welcome to the 2015 addition to the Downing Christmas letter saga, stretching back to 2003!

The future guarantees nothing, but we can usually count on stories to share as the rivers of life continue to flow in chaotic and beautiful currents and eddies that will certainly never be dull.

“History never looks like history when you are living through it.”

~ John W. Gardner (1912-2002)

From Babycakes to Sophia

Let’s flashback to December 2012 when we were blessed with the introduction of our 10 day old, 5 lb little girl we nicknamed Babycakes. A little baby that would fall immediately into our arms and hearts, but held by the strings of the state’s foster care system. Since the day we met our little Babycakes, we weathered the stormy, chaotic workings of the Department of Human Services (DHS). The almighty “system”, as we discovered is a bi-polar, disconnected world of mini-dictatorships within a great, untouchable empire. On one side of the coin, our foster home certifier proved to be quite trustworthy, professional and yes, even empathetic to our struggles with the case management side (the dark side of the same coin).

2015 started with the residual yuck we hadn’t yet finished with from 2014, but at least we had some semblance of hope to adopt our Babycakes. We were told an adoption may be early spring or possibly summer. When the documents were finally initiated, we felt like things were finally going our way.

Among a variety of hang ups and unforeseen delays, the final step, the feared “Black Hole of Central Office” delayed the process even further. The Washington County judge overseeing the case frustratingly issued an ultimatum to the state: “Get this done quickly or Central Office will hear from me!”

As springtime transitioned into summer, each prospective date moved further away while DHS put the full force of their misguided agency into this bureaucratic messiness.

Then one day we got the call. Suddenly, the clouds cleared and the sunshine fell upon a precious date: October 22nd! A ceremony with the judge fit nicely into our calendars and my parents joined as well. Nearly three years passed since we first met our daughter, and she officially became Sophia Monet Downing at 8:15 AM on October 22, 2015!

Just before the judge officially signed the documents, he invited Sophia to step behind his tall bench and sit in his big, leather chair. She hesitated but eventually moved to the encouraging words flowing from the adults around her. Standing on the edge of the raised platform, she decided that sitting in the judge’s chair fell outside of her comfort zone.

As a gift, the judge’s assistant gave her a choice of handcrafted pens from a small collection presented to her. Choosing a large, purple pen Sophia turned to say “thank you” in her very polite manner she’s accustomed to. As she turned toward the judge’s assistant, Sophia lost her footing on the landing’s edge, tumbling in a blur to the floor below. Her twisting fall brought her head hard against the doorframe leading to the judge’s private chambers, complete with a “THUMP” instantly followed by the terrified screams of our little girl.

Cheryl, filled with motherly instincts and superhuman speed, swept her up in a blur of motion to comfort the wailing toddler. The ceremony that should have been filled with joyous cheers and good tidings for all turned quickly into a gathering of adults trying to attend to a traumatized little girl. The judge felt partially responsible, and even teared up a bit until the terrified toddler started smiling once again.

I would like to say I had a hand in calming Sophia, but it truly was the magic of Cheryl and my parents who win that particular prize. Baa-Pa, known to others as Grandpa Downing held the key to her little heart and wiped the tears from her little cheeks.

The crafty assistant who offered Sophia the purple pen also made a wide variety of handcrafted pillowcases, which she spread out across the bench for Sophia to choose from. The choices covered the spectrum for both boys and girls, and when Sophia chose the police car/ firetruck laden pillowcase, the assistant got a bit emotional. We were a bit alarmed by the emotion, but it turns out the assistant’s daughter had just been sworn in as a police officer and it touched her heart to see Sophia follow the same direction.

The judge signed the documents and we left as a forever family, although Sophia wore a temporary bump on the side of her head. The judge’s assistant did call us later that day to check in on Sophia’s wellbeing, which was actually very thoughtful.

Flip’n old house

In January, we spontaneously decided to put our house on the market. A wild thought on New Year’s Day we decided to chase immediately. The economy shifted to a buyer's market, at least that's the story we ran with when we put our house on the market. After the first month, we found it advantageous to make some quick internal and external changes to help increase the “awesome” factor for potential buyers, but that didn’t really do much. After the 3rd month, while other homes in the area were selling rather fast, we decided to attack the front landscape for the curb appeal. We were finally at a point to say “if this doesn’t do it, then nothing will!”

The unique Jack-and-Jill bathroom upstairs proved to be a hurdle we didn’t really expect. A Jack-and-Jill bathroom is a single full bathroom nestled between two bedrooms with a door into each room. Many of the homes in the area had the highly coveted master suite, and without a significant remodel effort, we just couldn’t compete in the market. When we bought the house, we didn’t have kids and we viewed the entire upper story as an awesome master suite! While others apparently didn’t share our original perspective, the thought of another major remodel made my stomach turn.

After a long weekend of unresponsive visitors, we decided to pull it off the market that following Monday. As it turns out, we had a bite Sunday night! A doctor from the east coast gave us an acceptable offer, driving us into a home-searching frenzy that following week! Within a few days, we made an offer on a house, but after the siding proved to be a crumbling reject from the 1990’s we recoiled from the home. Our recoil proved timely because the east coast doctor recoiled from ours. So, within a week we were back to the terrible land of discouragement, flowing with frustration and covered in unanswerable questions like why? And what the heck?

We quickly recovered from our home selling woes after a better offer landed in our hands that very next week. The dash to find our next home carried Cheryl and Sophia across two counties and two cities. A highlight of the tour of homes was that Sophia found great joy in using every toilet in every house visited, and how can you say no to a potty training toddler!?

After sorting through the available homes, we finally found one we fell in love with in a nice neighborhood and with a very, very small yard. In fact, to my great pleasure there’s no backyard at all! We finally sold our Jack-and-Jill home and scheduled our move for mid-July, but not without an added hurdle (a.k.a. difficult personality) that delayed our move by four days. Yes, four days!

This wouldn’t have been terrible, except that we had our moving truck loaded and almost nothing left in the house we wanted to desperately leave! The seller of our home-to-be decided to delay the handoff, even after everything had been signed and processed except for the official wire transfer. Nothing would stop the transaction, but a bad attitude delayed our move without consequence. The grumpy seller didn’t care that the decision to delay displaced three families during the transition as buyers and sellers were caught in a sudden loss of momentum, costing each both time and money, along with discomfort and frustrations.

It seemed like an eternity, but the day finally arrived to move in. The keys finally made it into our hands and we raced hard to unload everything and return the truck. The truck rental place was patient for the first couple days, but grew increasingly less patient as they were forced to contend with other customers who already reserved the truck. They gave me no well-wishes upon return of their truck.

Move’n up, move’n out

The month of July held another adventure for me; one I’d been pursuing for a while. Even during the chaos of selling and buying houses, my professional life took a wonderful twist. I made it to the final interview process of a Deputy Director position with the Oregon Small Business Development Center Network.

As part of the process, I faced a three hour interview in Eugene. I chose to be the last of the five chosen candidates, and studied hard in preparation to compete against those with Master’s degrees and years of industry related experience. My Bachelor’s degree didn’t get me into the interview, but my years of experience with Department of Transportation did. Comparatively, I felt like David against four Goliaths wielding weapons of credentials and experience that I just didn’t have.

I arrived to Eugene early for the interview, and promptly found a local coffee house to study and focus. My caffeine levels were already dangerously high, so I decided to grab a locally made, 100% organic, vitamin and juice blend from the glass display case next to the barista. Eugene is a hippie town, I thought, so it must be good for you, right? Turns out that “being good for you” is a matter of perspective in Eugene.

The first cause for alarm came in the form of a fermented, over ripened apple odor when I popped the cap. “Near spoiled” registered in my mind as the strange odor assaulted my senses. The bottle had been sealed, and the little metal cap even gave that reassuring POP sound that said it should be safe, so of course I took a mouthful of this strange blend I just spent $3 on.

The taste hit me hard, like a nasty blend of medicine and a spoiled fruit medley. A quick moment passed to reveal the hidden gem inside this grotesque cacophony. A gem that could have been a redeeming factor, if it wasn’t so nasty tasting overall. My zealous gulp, followed by a closer sniff of the contents, and a review of the finely printed label brought the truth into full understanding - this morning juice blend contained 5.7% alcohol!

Did I mention I had an interview coming up!? Yeah, an interview. I promptly disposed of the nasty, deceptive drink and attacked the entire packet of gum in my pocket while walking to the interview. After the three hour, multi-phase interview process, I felt energized and very hopeful (possibly induced by the kombucha I drank earlier) that I would float to the top of the highly qualified professionals that interviewed before me. As I drove back to Salem, my energy subsided and I found time for a delightfully delicious nap. I looked back on the day and said “it is good”.

Just over a week before finally signing for the house, the official job offer came. Salary negotiations delayed the final acceptance, but not by much. The new job, based in Eugene challenged the institution’s senior management at first. They finally embraced my Salem residence as a strategic perk due to my close proximity to the state capitol, and my willingness to build on a variety of relationships I’ve formed over the past five years.

My new role as Deputy State Director with the Oregon Small Business Development Center Network is positioned to manage a large agency, providing fantastic opportunities to help build Oregon’s businesses across the state and at all levels: from tiny solo-entrepreneurs to multi-million dollar companies with fingers stretching firmly across the globe. I’m in a system designed to create jobs, wealth and success for those brave enough to own a business in a post-recession economy. My professional world now reaches to a national level with connections across the states and into Washington D.C., which I’m excited about visiting in the very near future.

Two to Four

The transition to the new job brought the commitment to wear suits and travel to meet with those of social and political influence, so I made the tough decision to sell my single mode of transportation: My Midnight Star Silverado, 1700 cubic centimeters of motorcycle riding mayhem. The silver studded, over-sized touring bike just had to find someone else to love. We couldn’t even be friends anymore! After 19 months of riding through rain, heat, hail, fog, below freezing temperatures, and anything else nature threw my way (except for snow), I gave up my ride. I gave up the gear. I gave up the joy of commuting on two wheels, and found a good looking car to fuel my manly testosterone needs, just a lot safer.

When I stumbled upon the car, I immediately fell in love! The price and fuel economy fell within the parameters I’d hoped for, so when I called Cheryl to talk it over she didn’t hesitate a moment to simply ask if I liked it. My enthusiastic “yes!” spoke volumes and she immediately said “go for it!”

I’ll keep my motorcycle endorsement, because it’s with great confidence I say to you, I will ride again!

Harrowing heights

The summer brought an opportunity to help an acquaintance paint the exterior of his house, including trim and gutters. The physical challenge of reaching the intimidating heights drove his estimates far beyond his budget, so of course we agreed to help. Apparently, we didn’t have enough to do as we had our house on the market at that time.

The house rested on a slope that crossed his property leaving the lower side nearly 40 feet off the ground. The footing for the massive extension ladder he provided pressed against the neighbor’s foundation in order to clear a tall fence and lean at a relatively safe angle, although a bit bouncy while climbing. The springing sensation of a very tall, fully extended aluminum ladder is troubling, especially when the wind picks up.

Now, some of you may question why this landed in my Christmas letter. What’s notable about helping someone paint their house with excessive heights and bouncy, springy ladders? That’s actually a good question! You see, I’m rather…. concerned…. cautious…. hesitant… mildly freaked out when it comes to heights. Heights that don’t promise a quick death kinda freak me out a bit, whereas a guaranteed big splat suites me just fine, strange enough.

A movie I’d seen earlier that summer held a quote that really changed the way I worked through the precarious heights. After Earth, starring Will Smith held the following line I embraced:

“Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts of the future. It is a product of our imagination, causing us to fear things that do not at present and may not ever exist. That is near insanity. Do not misunderstand me danger is very real but fear is a choice.”

I held firm to this quote as I climbed, stretched, taped, sprayed, brushed and rolled my way to finish the project. Dizzying heights on hot summer days gave me a fantastic farmer’s tan, and gave my acquaintance a nicely painted house. Cheryl and I spent some time working together on the project, and it turns out she has quite a knack at such things!

 Cheryl’s Next Adventure

As the summer launched, Cheryl decided that being a licensed contractor would be pretty awesome. She studied hard and scored amazingly high on the contractor’s exam, giving her the first step into the competitive and challenging world of being a contractor for hire.

 

Her business, Time to Paint launched into the world of interior and exterior painting, complete with all the joys and woes of spraying, rolling, brushing and paperwork that comes with such an endeavor. She’s got the hootspa to excel at anything she puts her mind to, and I know 2016 will be an amazing year for her in many, many ways.

Will Wandered West

The summer of 2014 started William on a journey to experience the pleasures that only Southeast Michigan can provide, and a year later he returned to Oregon as a tenant in our new home. Getting one’s feet underneath them sometimes doesn’t come easy, and with the pressure of living as a full-fledged adult looming on the near horizon, he’s getting an opportunity to exercise his wings before taking flight.

Youth in Transition

During the spring of 2015, I volunteered to speak to K-12 classes around the Salem-Keizer school district. What would I have to say to kids that they’d actually care about? The schools brought me in as a working professional, but the leadership didn’t really investigate my background or even ask what I would talk about. Apparently, they were a bit desperate to find working adults willing to enter the lion’s den of today’s youth, but I rarely step away from a challenge, so of course I jumped in with both feet.

The first class I visited filled with nearly 25 sixth graders. Their youthful faces not quite matured yet, and their eyes still held the childlike wonder artfully captured by painters such as Norman Rockwell. As I entered their world, the class gave me a warm and very professional welcome. Their practiced greeting, confident and respectful, stood in stark contrast to their small framed bodies and pudgy, baby fat, rosy cheeks.

I had an outline prepared for my speaking points, but quickly abandoned the list as I felt the interest wane, particularly at my professional duties with the Department of Transportation. Frankly, I agreed with their disinterest in the subject, so I shifted toward the engaging subject of entrepreneurship and making a buck while thoughtfully chasing a dream.

Having untethered control of the class hour, I shifted the subject toward my two books: Pickle-itis and Stench & Steed A Valiant Deed. I read the two books to the class, wandering between smiling students with open books to display the fantastic illustrations. The roaring laughter, by both students and teacher made the entire time worthwhile. Immediately following the readings, small hands politely fluttered about the room. Question after question flew at me from every subject possible. I answered most of the questions directly, although several were alarmingly intimate and inappropriate to answer. I don’t recall the specific questions, but I can say when I was that age I would ask questions simply for the shock value. Fortunately, the teacher spoke up several times to quickly shoot down some of the questions before I could respond.

Sixth graders were so inviting and engaging, I couldn’t not have foreseen or prepared for the bizarre and disturbing transformational season better known as 7th grade. If compared to a caterpillar's cocooned transition into a mature butterfly, 7th grade is the gooey, slimy, alien form that exists inside the cocoon that, quite frankly, nobody really wants to see.

Sleeping, smirking, and texting, complete with an “I’m too cool for school” attitude made the second class on my tour the most uncomfortable thing I’d done in a long time. Part of my mind cried out to demand attention and compliance from the 7^th grade class, to raise my Darth Vader/ Drill Sergeant voice asking the question weighing heavily upon my mind: “What the heck happened to you!? 6^th graders are awesome, and you’re a bit rude!”

The other part of my mind, the logical and somewhat optimistic side looked upon these strange changelings and thought it might be a singularity in the specific time of the day. As the months moved forward, I came to realize the fallacy of this thought, and resigned to the fact that all 7th graders are indeed butterflies in transition. A truly odd transitional time in life, to be sure.

When the school year finally came to an end, I’d visited nearly 20 classes. The 6th graders never failed to be the highlight, and the 7th graders… well, they can’t be judged while in transition, but nevertheless they fell to the bottom of the nice and naughty list.

Forward glimpse?

The end of 2015 appears to be shining a pretty nice light toward 2016, and I would like to say my intuition speaks very positively of the coming year… but let’s be honest: I have absolutely NO clue what’s coming up. I’m grateful for family and friends; for laughs and love and life; for the tough times that made me who I am today, and for the times of peace I enjoy. I trust 2016 will hold a blend of all these things, and I’m excited to live the adventure just around the corner, whatever that may be.

I believe it’s entirely possible to remain an optimist while fully admitting complete ignorance of the times ahead. After all, I find that the moments along the journey make life truly fulfilling.

“No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars or sailed an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit.”

~Helen Keller (1880-1968)

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

John and Cheryl Downing