Christmas Letter 2014

Merry Christmas 2014!

This is the 10^th annual Downing Christmas letter! What a grand history this has become. Readers around the globe take a few minutes out of their day to enjoy the twisted tales of life, delivered through the eyes of yours truly.

Let me explain how this tradition came about, which may not be what you expect. You see, I received a “normal” Christmas letter from a friend who gave little nuggets of his family’s life over the year. Nuggets such as a recent retirement with a massive bank account and exotic travels; one child at Harvard, another at Yale; a glorious life for all the readers to enjoy or envy or… just realize that life can be perfect for some and not others.

My friend’s letter inspired me to reflect on my own year, and write about the events that transpired and the grand adventures that nearly took my life a time or two (or 20+, truth be told). If you’re so inclined, you’re welcome to step back 10 years and travel through the fantastically crazy events of life that have brought us to the present day.

So, without further delay, I hope you find the 10^th Christmas letter to be enjoyable, inspiring, delightful, and certainly not perfect.

Have a Merry Christmas!

“Ideals are like stars: you will not succeed in touching them with your hands, but like the seafaring man on the ocean desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them, you reach your destiny.”

~ Carl Schurz (1829 - 1906)

Back in the Saddle Again: All Weather, All Year

Once upon a time in 2013, I had a Jeep. The Jeep I came to know as “Nickel & Dime me to death.” Yet, in January of 2014 it applied to have its name changed to “Running out of luck, living on prayer.” Tired of continual repairs, I put it up for sale with the hopes to replace it with something a bit cheaper to maintain. Without a single bite, I nearly gave up on selling it, but then someone invited me to trade it for a motorcycle. I scoffed at the offer until Cheryl asked me to reconsider the offer and see the error of my scoffing.

You see, in the mid-2000’s I had a rather large, very loud, very fast purple motorcycle. Yes, I said purple... a very MANLY purple. You can find that story in my previous letters, but for several years, I’ve sadly been without a motorcycle. That is, until this opportunity came up.

After some negotiation for cash and the motorcycle, I made the trade and turned into a full-time, all-weather biker! The timing couldn’t have been worse, because a massive snow storm hit within a couple weeks that rendered the bike useless, along with nearly everything without 4-wheel drive.

After the snow melted, and Oregon turned back into the typical rainy winter, I cheerfully rode my 650cc Yamaha cruiser around Salem and beyond. The Jeep, now in the hands of a self-proclaimed auto expert faded into my memory, but not for good. One day my insurance agent called to ask about an auto accident in a Eugene parking lot. The new owner of the Jeep not only didn’t transfer the title, but gave my information to the victim of the parking lot incident. DMV records helped prove I sold the vehicle, and I never heard what happened after I gave the guy’s info to the insurance company looking for a claim.

The little 650cc Yamaha was exactly that – Little. Small. Petite. Undersized. Under powered. Muy pequeńa! Très petit! A gorilla-on-a-tricycle, kinda look. So, in June the little bike turned into a 1700cc Yamaha Midnight Silverado! The saddlebags are big enough to hold several small children, and Babycakes MAY have been used to demonstrate this claim. The engine is big enough to take me from zero to… um, the “posted speed limit” with moderate acceleration to match the flow of traffic. My family will sleep better with that description, (but just between you and me, “bat-out-of-hell” is the closer to the truth).

Most people are a bit alarmed to see me wearing a tie and dress clothes beneath the gear, but I don’t have a telephone booth like superman did. The biggest surprise is when it’s storming like crazy, a biker might be out in traffic. It’s assumed that I’m exposed to the elements and I must be soaking wet by the time I ride more than a block, but that’s far from the truth. I’m quite comfortable, even in the low 20’s.

Redwood Trip’n

William graduated from high school this year, and for his final adventure before he moved to Michigan Cheryl came up with a great idea: take a motorcycle trip to the Redwoods! The week before July 4^th took us on a 687 mile round trip over three days of camping and site seeing and several near-death experiences. NEAR DEATH!? Got your attention, eh? Let me explain…

I’ve never been to the Redwoods before, and while the massive trees are quite amazing indeed, I didn’t realize that they produced a magical aura that changes the laws in the state of California. The mysterious magic convinces some folks that driving 15 mph in a 45 mph zone full of blind corners is totally fine. Others are possessed to stop without warning and abandon their vehicle to take a picture of a tree that’s been standing in the same spot for almost 1,000 years. This is obviously critically important, because you know… the tree may not last the five minutes it takes to park the car and walk. Oh, and the solid yellow line found in the center of a road doesn’t REALLY mean you can’t pass another vehicle, but it’s actually preferred, especially when John and Will are in the opposing lane. Three blazing headlights on a dark, two lane road blend well with the surrounding forest, apparently.

While riding among spellbound motorists presented several challenges to our lives, apparently the local wildlife had to step in to try to finish us off. I’d like to introduce you to Candice, the 700+ pound Roosevelt Elk that decided she didn't like the look Will gave her.

You see, Candice stood alone on a hiking trail while her herd roamed carefree on the prairie below. The bucks grazed without her, and simply looked at the humans with very little interest. Candice may have gotten into a lover’s quarrel and needed to vent, or maybe she was sent away because of her bad attitude, I’m not sure why she wandered alone, but there she stood on the trail as if waiting for us.

When we first came upon Candice, over 50 yards of dirt trail stood between us… until she got a look at Will. I say Will gave her a stink-eye, because I’m completely innocent and I’m the writer of this tale. Actually, he owned the apparent offense early on and I just didn't argue with the lad.

Back to Candice… While we waited near a regular sized tree with Candice occupying our path in the distance, we chatted about guy-stuff and just hung out, hoping she’d wander away sooner than later. Without warning, she snorted and flicked her snout into the air toward us… and charged! Her heavy hooves pounded the packed dirt, and her massive form moved with alarming speed. Recognizing our precarious situation as being one we could not win, I grabbed Will’s arm and pulled up next to the tree, cowering like any wise men would do. Candice cut hard at the last minute and raced on the opposite side of the tree that protected us. I feared she would fully circle our protective tree and start a fight, but thankfully she stomped away, up a short trail known only to her. She quickly circled back around to the walking trail with only half the distance between us as before.

Candice stood silently looking toward us with evil intentions, and we waited for her next move. We were caught in checkmate without options at hand. I reasoned with Will that wild animals are timid by nature and that loud noises may give her reason to leave… so we yelled like barbarians, and she trotted back to her original spot, 50 yards away. William suggested that I was over reacting and that Candice couldn't actually do us harm. I stood in disbelief at this city dweller son of mine, and thought that if we were going to die, at least he’d not be burdened by fear and adrenaline overload like I would.

While Candice held her spot in the distance, we emerged from behind the tree and lightly jogged away from her with the hope that she wouldn't pursue us if we were clearly no longer a threat. Sadly, I was mistaken and she charged again!

The trail section we ran along failed to have a single tree to hide behind, so when she got close, I pulled Will into a spindly bush that truly offered NO protection from Candice’s terrorizing charge. At the last second, she cut hard off the trail once again and pressed her shoulder into our pretend hiding spot as she ran by. Her shoulder stood taller than mine, and I could have brushed her brown coat as she raced by. She returned to the walking trail again, except this time she didn't head back to her original spot, but rather waited no more than 20 feet from our bush.

Inside, I was getting pretty stressed with the only apparent outcome to this predicament not being in our favor. We clapped and yelled again, but she stood firm amidst our rumblings. I whistled as loud as possible, but she found that to be somewhat attractive and tightened the distance between us. I could hear her heavy breathing, and watched her front foot scratching the dirt just as bulls do before charging (at least on the cartoons that’s what they do). I told Will that if she charged again, he’d have to run away as fast as he could while I took the brunt of Candice’s anger.

Time seemed to crawl as we yelled through the forest 

“HELP! 

..............WE HAVE AN ELK! 

...........................................AND SHE DOESN'T LIKE US!”

She inched forward, clearly intent on taking us to task in hand-to-hoof combat. We clearly had no options, no rescuer, and no hope to win, and I resigned myself to take Candice on. With what I figured might very well be the last words I would ever say, I called out, “God, you've got to get her outta here!” Suddenly, she raised her head as if she heard something, and promptly walked down the ridge to join her herd on the prairie.

As we quickly walked away from our little bush, I fully expected to see bounding baby elk chasing after their mama, but they never appeared. I have no clear reason why Candice took it upon herself to terrorize a couple handsome hikers like us, but I am glad it wasn't a family with small children that were in the situation.

We walked back to our campsite to drink, but sadly we only had water on hand. We rested momentarily before heading to the camp info center to ask about the charging elk. In a very short period of time, the northern region director visited our camp to hear our story and impress upon Will that Candice could have killed us with ease, and that there’s no such thing as ‘over reacting’ in that situation.

We stayed away from that particular trail for the remainder of our stay, but chose trails where the bears and cougars hung out, which seemed like a better option than Candice.

Jury of Peers

I received a special jury summons this spring, along with 600 of my peers in Marion County. After several waves of sorting and thinning the potential jurors, I found myself on a death sentencing trial for a psychopath who killed several people in the late 1980’s. He proved very skilled at traumatizing and victimizing anyone he could first charm with his magnetic and chameleon-like character. You’d think a killer wouldn't be so charming as to gain a following, but this guy had men and women alike infatuated by his spell. One lady, being so deeply mesmerized, she couldn't take her eyes off him while she testified. In fact, she supervised him during his inmate work release program, and she even allowed him to be temporarily released to “work” in the middle of the night to do terrible things to innocent and not-so-innocent people. Not knowing anything about the 25 year history about the case, we, the jury unanimously sentenced to him to death. Turns out, he’s received the same unanimous decision from four previous juries over the course of time.

This grim, 6-week experience troubled me for nine days after the verdict before I regained my center. This experience reinforced my dislike for ‘true crime’ TV shows, and a lower opinion of a Governor who chooses to disregard his legal obligation to carry out sentences approved by a statewide vote years ago. Fortunately, I am exempt from jury duty for two years, and I hope the next one is white collar crime or maybe petty theft or even a legal fight about a cat… that swallowed a bird… that swallowed spider… that swallowed a fly.

Fireplace Wall

Just about the time I started my jury duty, we decided to demolish and rebuild our front living room’s fireplace wall. The heavy rock facade looked very cave-like, which I didn't really mind because it appealed to the core of my inner Neanderthal’s need to crouch down and make FIRE! The open fireplace was a waste of firewood, and didn't heat the house at all. Besides that, it was a bit... ugly. 

The wall slowly came down, and the effort to rebuild became a struggle to fit into our schedules unless we planned well in advance. Cheryl had hoped that it would be done in a month, just like the Do It Yourself TV shows, but our commercial breaks were longer than normal, and the fact is that we did everything ourselves, even when the camera wasn't rolling. Minor scope creep from the wall included canned lighting and flush mounted surround sound, which was all Cheryl's idea! Yeah, she's pretty awesome. 

The reward of our efforts finally came to the first week in December. If anyone would care to count; that’s eight months to finish the project! Was it worth it? Beyond a doubt, it certainly was worth it.

On a side note, I've come a long way since my 6^th grade wood shop fish swam "against the flow of the other fish". In 12^th grade, I attempted to make a simple box in wood shop while others were making beautiful end tables and cabinets. My box decided to lean heavily to one side, and eventually had a tragic ‘accident’ against the shop floor. I passed my wood shop class only because I could beat everyone in the class at arm wrestling, except for the 6’6” teacher. I think I could take him now, though.

Babycakes

Babycakes turned two on December 8^th, and it’s awesome how she’s grown! She and Cheryl are the best of friends! They cook together, dance together, wrestle together, sing together, and even attack me together. She’s definitely a girly-girl that loves her fashionable boots and fluffy coats, but also growls like a bear and thinks farts are pretty hilarious. The courts and Human Services have not yet decided her fate, but we’re putting up a fight to make her our own, hopefully sooner than later.

Stench and Steed!

This year I released my second book for the world to enjoy: Stench and Steed, A Valiant Deed! The story is an epic poem about a princess hoping to get rescued by the knight of her dreams. To her dismay, a different knight arrives on a horse with flaming farts to smite the beast holding her captive. Her not-so-shiny knight delivers a surprise of his own that blasts her back to the castle, where she “waits for another mate that won’t blow her far away.”

The illustrations are truly amazing, and the characters come to life on each page. The eyes, for example look like wet orbs! I’ve been selling and signing books for only a short time now, and it seems that the majority of books are intended for little girls, which is not what I anticipated at all! I’m chasing down book stores such as Powell’s Books and Barnes & Noble, and possibly Costco to carry the books on their shelves. The adventure is grand and I’m excited to see where this might take me. If you want a copy for only $11.99 (+S&H typically is $3 per book), you can simply send me an email john@jfdowning.com or visit my website www.jfdowning.com or find it on Amazon.com

Veteran’s Speech

In October I had the opportunity to be the morning keynote speaker at the Veteran Owned Business Opportunity Showcase (VOBOS) event in Portland. I shared my story as a US Navy veteran, and how I started my own business just prior to the sudden and tragic economic avalanche. I shared some of the lessons I learned, and my subsequent rise from the ashes, that gleaned many appreciative handshakes from fellow veterans.

Just prior to stepping to the podium, the director of the Oregon Department of Veterans Affairs mistakenly introduced me as working for his department, although he quickly corrected his error. With this mistake presenting an opportunity for my opening statement, I started off with “I believe I just received a job offer!”

Taekwando

One of my birthday presents this year came in the form of a one-month membership to try out Taekwando at a local facility in Salem. I had always wanted to try out martial arts, so I was pretty excited about getting started.

My first class placed me next to two high school guys that had been practicing for a while, and the dojo owner invited her brother to help with the class. After being exposed to the introductory white belt form and a session of front kicks and high kicks against bags and paddles, the instructor decided to have a contest based on Sumo wrestling. The goal of the contest was to move your opponent out of the colored square with only a few rules: no punches, no kicks, and no head or neck attacks. Seemed reasonable, but compared to everyone else in the class, I was gargantuan. Side note: I like the word, gargantuan. I just never get a chance to use it much.

With the size difference so drastic among the students, the instructor’s brother decided to step into the square against me. He stood about 6 foot tall, and wasn't overly thin so things weren't too far out of balance. He also wore a black and red striped belt around his waist, so I believe that gave him a definite edge over a novice fighter like me.

Round 1 began with our eyes locked and our hands ready for any sudden movements. He waited for my first move, and I did what seemed within the boundaries of the rules – I charged! I’m sure Candice, the Roosevelt Elk would've been proud. Anyway, in a sudden and surprising launch, I bulldozed him out of the arena, leaving him with a red nose from the impact against my forehead. The inside of my left knee met his knee as he was pushed out, which left me limping in my glorious victory.

Round 2 began like the last, and we faced each other again. The look in his eye wavered as he clearly had no idea what the heck I was going to do as a brawling amateur. This time we collided at the same moment, but I instantly pulled him forward, pushing his shoulders down and wrapping his left arm into a secure lock behind his back. He braced his right hand against the mat to maintain his balance, and I heard the room gasp in unison. Without a moment to spare, I swept his right arm into a half-nelson and walked him out of the arena in a gentle, but very controlled manner. His sister said he’d never been beaten before, and though he was a good sport, he never once came back to help with the class while I was there.

During the month of classes, I managed to wrench my back doing kicks they asked me to do but never taught me how to deliver. Another time I jammed my big toe so badly I got an x-ray to show it wasn't broken. The class agreed that my front kick should be feared by any opponent, because it was like “a tree trunk on a massive hydraulic cylinder”. Overall, I had a great experience and would love to pick up some type of martial arts in the coming year. I think I’ll look into a different style such as Shao Lin Kempo, which brings back memories of David Caradine’s role in Kung Fu; the series that captivated the youth of the 1970’s. I might even invest in a wooden whistle and walk around in a flowing man-shawl.

Cheryl chops… she’s a chopper! She chops everything!

Once upon a time this summer, Cheryl asked to use the little chainsaw we’re borrowing from my parents. Her focus: The entire back fence line filled with overgrown shrubs and trees that hadn't seen light for years. She sported her working gloves that covered her beautifully painted, long fingernails. She wrapped her head in bandanna and protected her eyes with goggles, and aggressively attacked the vegetation (living and dead) to expose the decrepit fence that was so nicely blocked from view long before we moved in.

Her hard labor produced a mountain of debris that was hauled away by a guy we found on Craigslist. Next spring we’re looking at tackling the backyard to make it easier on the eyes. I suspect we’ll look to the Do It Yourself TV shows and think we can get it done in one hour with commercial breaks.

In closing…

The next year holds more projects around the house, more adventures to share, more friends, and more of life to live and reflect on. After 10 years of writing my annual Christmas letters, I realize I can never foresee what’s in store for the year to come, but I can certainly see that whatever comes will be something to write home about.

“Whenever you are asked if you can do a job, tell 'em, 'Certainly I can!' Then get busy and find out how to do it.”

~ Theodore Roosevelt (1858 - 1919)

Merry Christmas!

Christmas Letter 2013

Welcome to the 9th annual Downing Christmas letter!

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

 

May your Christmas be filled with cheer and plenty!

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

~ Agnes de Mille (1909 - 1993)

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

Boat

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

Salmon

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

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

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

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

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

Front yard

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

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

Babycakes

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

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

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

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

 

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

Sir William 

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

Books

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Merry Christmas!

John, Cheryl and Family

 

 

 

 

Christmas Letter 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas Letter 2011

Merry Christmas to all!

From the life and times of John and Cheryl Downing

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

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

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

– James Gordon

Table of Contents

ODOT 1

House for sale 3

Joel & Julia: DHS 3

New Studio 5

Home group, year 2 5

Security at Stephanie’s wedding 6

Book illustration 7

William on the Road 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2012 HERE WE COME!!! WooHoo!!!