Christmas letter 2006

Christmas Letter 2006

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

Merry Christmas!
(another long letter… sorry )

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, until we meet again… Merry Christmas!

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