Christmas Letter 2008

Dear Friends & Family, both new and old…

Merry Christmas!
2008

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

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

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

In the Beginning…

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

Then we slept… for days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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