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