One at a Time

I read an article about multitasking which said that if you think you can do more than one thing a time you are delusional. I tend to agree. Even computers are only capable of alternating activities so quickly that it appears they are doing two different things at the same time. People can’t effectively do that. Another study on the subject of multitasking asked some people who felt they were the exceptions to the rule to participate in a study. What was interesting was the people who were most confident of effective multitasking were proven to be the worst.

There really isn't anything wrong with doing one thing at a time. Do you really think you can talk on the phone, read a book and answer your email at the same time effectively? I even know some people who try to do all of that and add a conversation in with it. Not so good. What they do is irritate anyone attempting to communicate with them equally. Many of those people will even assist you in finishing your sentences and will know what you mean before you even get to the point.

Not a lot in the world has changed that much over the last two or three hundred years when it comes to understanding or giving instructions. There is one source for information and one receptor of information. It takes some time to process the information and some more time to apply the information.

I know, you think you are different and maybe you are, but I doubt it. If you are sitting down for dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steak house and about to cut into a piece of Kobe beef that should be the only thing on your mind. When you put the beef in your mouth experiencing the texture, aroma and taste should occur one at a time and blend into a total experience as you bite into the meat. If you cannot do that you are wasting your money. Have a Big Mac and be done with it.

The great things in life take all of your attention just for a while. If you do not understand that it’s perfectly OK. I’m not talking to you anyway. But, I will offer this well used phrase that I used with my children when they told me a task was too overwhelming to do. I would ask them how they would eat an elephant. You know the answer, "One bite at a time."

Happy New Year!

Herb Ratliff, December 31, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Christmas and the Bliss Park Archer

This year one of my grandson’s got a bow and arrow for Christmas. He was pretty excited. Visions of Robin Hood danced in my head. There I was in the forest of Sherwood eating venison cooked on a spit and laughing at the ineptness of the Sheriff of Nottingham. As I sat by the fire with my merry men I remembered the Christmas I got my first bow and arrows. It was a glorious day.

The Christmas buildup had hit the “molasses lap”, that easing up to Christmas Eve which took so long to accomplish. It was a time that seemed to mire in molasses up to your knees that had cooled to a point that allowed almost no movement. The excitement was nearing a crescendo and it was just out of reach.

With five sisters and me in a one bedroom house with conservative parents we were pretty much a “one gift” operation. Each of us got a fair amount of input regarding the gift but there were no guarantees. And while locating and getting an early look at the gifts was possible it would seal the door on expectation and end speculation that the impossible might happen. I was always caught in a quandary over that one. The few times I gave in to the desire to know ended the magic too soon and so I decided not to give up hope in favor of knowledge.

On Christmas morning I was over the top when I saw the long narrow package. I opened it slowly. When there is just one package it is approached with respect and careful measure of enjoying the moment versus ending the expectation. Even knowing what it was did not change the visions of hunting in the woods or standing bare-chested facing the wind on a butte in the western sky of Montana.

The rush of satisfaction lifted me to new heights. I asked permission to go to Bliss Park, an oak filled recreation area about four blocks from my house. Permission granted but, “Don’t lose the arrows.”

“OK, mom, dad. See you later.”

I saddled my trusty steed, a Schwinn, and put my bow and quiver of arrows on my back. As I rode toward the park I could feel my vision sharpen and my stalking skills awaken. It would be a good day.

After arriving at the park and noting it was empty of other humans I surveyed the area for game. There was a plethora of squirrels. I lashed my ride to the hitching post and strung the bow, then began a stalk that would have made Straight Arrow proud. After seconds, perhaps even a minute I took my first shot at a squirrel about thirty feet up a tree. The arrow lodged in the crotch of the tree and would not touch earth for days. No problem I had more arrows, two to be exact. In less than ten minutes I had lost all three arrows and shattered my dream of bringing home buffalo robes for the entire family.

No matter, there would be more arrows. I could make them myself. What enterprising archer would let a small thing like that slow his enthusiasm for the hunt? Dealing with the pointing fingers of my parents would be another matter. But I could take it.

Christmas from the Loge

Sit beside me for a moment,

Let me hold your hand,

take a breath,

close your eyes,

Smell the pine,

It's Christmastime.

The fire's blaze is softening now

the embers will take over

so while the warmth

caresses us

Let's caress each other.

The train set is another's job

that's not for us to do

we'll watch them play

and scurry fast

That's what is left to do.

I loved each toy I put together

I savored every moment

Well maybe not so much

right then, you know

But now ....

And don't you think I didn't know

how carefully you planned

each moment, every hour

And how your touch

your smile, your voice

Gave Christmas so much power.

Merry Christmas.

©Herb Ratliff, December 14, 2011, All Rights Reserved.

Charity, Christmas and an Angel

I got this from a friend that I have known since I was a child. I have no personal proof of it's truth but I find the story full of truth.
Merry Christmas
Herb

I would like to share with you a Christmas story that was shared in a meeting last week in the Training Zone. The story is written by Tamara Stitt and is an account from the diary of her great grandmother. She presented this account at a  Christmas Party in Rexburg, Idaho in December of 1990. The story is true.

"The true meaning of Christmas is charity. And the true meaning of charity is the unconditional love of Christ, which is the unconditional love of our fellowman. My great-grandmother, Beth, left me this story, which has had a tremendous impact on my life. She kept a detailed journal and this entry took place in the year 1900...

Carl, my great-grandfather was a rough, tough old trapper man who homesteaded what's called Burnscreek, Idaho, which is 15 miles above Heise, above Kelly Canyon. He took a team of horses and a sleigh and he built the road that you travel on today. He trapped furs for a living and sent them back east to Boston every fall, and every fall the fur trader in Boston would send him a check for the furs that he had received, until the year 1896, the fur trader had no money. But he was a man of honor so instead of sending him money, he sent him his 17 year old daughter as a mail-order bride and she was to become my great-grandmother. I think the reason she kept such a detailed journal is that's the only way she kept her sanity, as she wrote how badly she hated Burnscreek, Idaho. What a cultural shock it was from Boston, Massachusetts, and how she never could quite forgive her father for doing this to her.

In December 1900, when she made this entry in her journal she was 24 years old and pregnant with her fourth child. She wrote that she had asked Carl to take the remaining furs to the valley and trade them for the things she'd asked for in her Christmas list. She was embarrassed at how much she had wanted that year, for on her list she'd asked for three things: peppermint, chocolate, and a little piece of yard goods to make her only little girl a dress for Christmas.

She wrote that Carl had heartily agreed to take the furs to the valley and to trade them for supplies and for the items on her Christmas list. He told her that he would be home early on Christmas Eve morning and that he would bring with him a tree that he would stop and chop for his children. He left her in fine shape with lots of wood chopped and that the only thing she needed to do every day was to go out to the barn and milk the old cow.

The first day was delightful. They made ornaments for the tree that their father would bring home. They also made Christmas pudding. Late that night a tremendous storm hit the mountain. It snowed and it blowed like nothing she had ever seen before. The storm did not subside until early on Christmas Eve morning. When it finally died down enough that she could hear herself think, the wind was still howling, but she could hear that poor old cow in the barn bellowing to be milked.

She wrote how she tried to get the front door of the cabin open and physically pushed and worked for one hour and ten minutes. She could not get the door open. She knew that something must have frozen on it from the outside. Even though logic told her to stay calm, she panicked and she took the axe from beside the hearth and chopped the hinges off the door to slide the door over. She was faced with a tremendous ice strip that had fallen off the top of the cabin, so she took her axe and shopped a hole through it, big enough that she might step out to the other side. She couldn't believe the devastation that the storm had left, how high the drifts were, and how hard it was still snowing, and how hard the wind was still blowing.

She could hear that poor old cow in the barn bellowing to be milked, what empathy she had for it. She said that she was afraid that she couldn't make it out to the barn herself and back again. So she tied one end of a rope to the doorstop and one to her waist and started out towards the barnyard. She got less than a few yards when she realized that being with child she dare not go any farther because the snow was over waist deep, so she stopped in her tracks and said a silent prayer to her Heavenly Father that Carl would hurry home early that day and that the poor old cow might forgive her.

She spent the rest of the day waiting for Carl in great anticipation...Christmas Eve came and ...went and Carl had not returned home. She was just about to put three cranky children to bed when she heard someone outside the cabin. They all rushed to the door where she slid if off its hinges once again to peer out the little hole of ice.

She anticipated seeing Carl. She wrote how her heart sunk, for there on the other side of her doorstep stood the dirtiest, straggliest old trapper she had ever seen. But to three little children on Christmas Eve, an old man with red long johns, a long white beard, a tree in one hand, and a pack over his back, was a most welcome sight in their home. Those children gleefully explained, "See Mother, Santa did find Burnscreek, Idaho after all!"

She said that he looked at her and must have felt her great anticipation of where her husband was, and felt her hesitation at letting him into her house so he stared her straight in the eye and said, "Beth, don't be afraid. Carl's at Table Rock at Spaulding's trapper cabin with a lame horse." He said, "I was out on snowshoes this night and told him I was going to check my own lines and that I'd stop off and tell you that he was alright, that he'd be home early in the morning and bring you this straggly old tree and this pack that he'd sent from the valley."

So she brought him in the house and fed him stew from her fire. She wrote he helped set up the tree and helped the children decorate it. She judged him to be a man of fine character because he could recite the story of Christ's birth by heart from the Bible. He carried the children to bed and helped her putout her meager Christmas gifts. The old trapper chopped more firewood and milked the cow. he told her he had no family of his own, but  thanked her sincerely for letting him spend such a wonderful Christmas Eve with her family. He asked if it might be all right if he spent the night in the barn and he would leave early in the morning to go on up Black's Canyon to check his traps. She told him only on one condition, that he join them in the morning for Christmas breakfast. He heartily agreed, thanking her once again before retiring to the barn.

She wrote that that was the very first time  she'd had a chance to look inside the old, worn, leather pack that had been sent by Carl. She went to bed a happy woman, for there inside the bag was peppermint, chocolate, and little piece of yard goods. She woke up the next morning to the children's gleeful sounds underneath her tree and it grew late into the morning before she realized that the old trapper had not joined them.

Just as she was going to the barnyard she noticed Carl was coming over the horizon. They all gathered at the front door to welcome their father home in wild anticipation and to tell him, "We have Santa locked in the barn!" Carl looked stern and tired and sent the children into the house. He asked her who was in the barn. She said, "Well, Carl, it was just the old trapper who came last night and brought me the tree and the pack and to tell me that you would be home early this morning."

He said, "I never even made it to the valley. I made it as far as Table Rock when the storm hit, and I went to Spaulding's trapper's cabin and tied my horse to a tree. Another old trapper had tried to water his horse at the river and had fallen through the ice. It took three of us to fish him out, and we could tell he was a goner but we took him into the cabin and rolled him in blankets, and laid him by the fire and stayed with him until early on Christmas Eve when the storm broke. We hesitated and pondered what to do, but all three of us were anxious to get to the valley so that we could return home to our families on Christmas Eve. So we stoked up the fire a little, wrapped him a little tighter, and left him lying in front of the fire.

We saddled up our horses and started down the lane.  I got less than a few hundred yards when a tremendous feeling came over me that I could not leave that old man alone on Christmas Eve to die. I sent the other two trappers on to the valley and I returned to the old boy where I held his head in my lap. Once in a while when he would regain consciousness. I would tell him about you and about my children and how much I loved them and how disappointed you'd be that I never made it to the valley to get the peppermint, the chocolate or the little piece of yard goods that you'd so desperately wanted for Christmas. Early on Christmas Eve night the old boy died in my arms, but it was too late for me to come home so I waited until today."

She said right at this particular moment she couldn't understand what was happening to her as she ran to the barn to show Carl that there was an old boy in the barn. So Carl followed her out, showing her that there was no man in the barn and there were no snowshoe tracks. She stopped, she pondered, and she prayed, and she got a wonderful peaceful feeling as she said to Carl, "I read in the Bible once that when you show charity to a fellow man, Heavenly Father sometimes lets you entertain an angel in your home. (Hebrews 13: 1-2) Carl, I think I had a blessing last night to entertain an angel underneath your roof."

Carl scoffed at her and told her there had been no angel in his home, until she took him by the hand and led him into their home. She showed him the tree and underneath the tree she pulled out an old worn leather saddle bag, and inside showed him a small bit of peppermint, chocolate and a little piece of yard goods.

Sixty years later, in 1960, great-grandmother was at my parents house when she died on Christmas Day. I was just a little girl and my great-grandmother left me her diary, this story, and a little piece of yard goods wrapped in white tissue paper with a note, 'This is never to be used.' It was fabric from an angel and a reminder that true charity and the true love of Christ was to be shown 365 days a year."

Herb Ratliff, December 21. 2012

Ed Ricketts - On Gifts

The real gift in life sometimes is how we accept the bounty of others. That is often why children are the favorite targets for gifts, they receive them well. And so for Christmas let us remember how to accept the gifts others have so carefully selected for us.

In this excerpt, John Steinbeck eulogizes his recently deceased friend, Ed Ricketts, who was the real-life model for the character Doc in Steinbeck's novel, Cannery Row:

"I have tried to isolate and inspect the great talent that was in Ed Ricketts, that made him so loved and needed and makes him so missed now that he is dead. Certainly he was an interesting and charming man, but there was some other quality that far exceeded these. I have thought that it might be his ability to receive, to receive anything from anyone, to receive gracefully and thankfully, and to make the gift seem very fine. Because of this everyone felt good in giving to Ed--a present, a thought, anything.

"Perhaps the most overrated virtue in our list of shoddy virtues is that of giving. Giving builds up the ego of the giver, makes him superior and higher and larger than the receiver. ... It is so easy to
give, so exquisitely rewarding. Receiving, on the other hand, if it is well-done, requires a fine balance of self-knowledge and kindness. It requires humility and tact and great understanding of relationships. In receiving, you cannot appear, even to yourself, better or stronger or wiser than the giver, although you must be wiser to do it well.

"It requires self-esteem to receive--not self-love but just a pleasant acquaintance and liking for oneself."

John Steinbeck, The Log from the Sea of Cortez, Appendix, "About Ed Ricketts", Penguin Books, 1951, pp. 272-3.

Herb Ratliff, December 20, 2012

Kith and Kin

I love my children as much as I am capable of loving. I have watched them from the time they were born to the time they became parents and began to feel a love for someone else the way I did when they were born. Being a parent is a gift as well as a responsibility. Nothing can lift you or take you to your knees faster than a child. I wouldn't trade that privilege for anything.

Yesterday I had an attack of parental pride and thanks that surprised me. It just seemed like all at once I missed them the same way I did the first time they went away for a couple of days. Having them out of reach was a consummate thought; just being able to feel them in the same space would have made me feel complete.

As I went through those thoughts and feelings I knew that my parents felt that way about me at some point. I knew that when they did I had no idea what they were feeling. I also knew that I when they were missing me, I was laying the groundwork for me to miss my own in a few years.  My focus was on my family and my children. That is where it belonged.

There is no perfect way to manage the relationships we have with our families. Some families seem like they have it down to a fine science. Some seem happy and delightful all of the time. I think sometimes all of that supposed happiness others have is a wish that I have and not a reality. Even so, there is nothing quite as joyous as being with kith and kin during this magical time of the year.

I have four children: Dora, Bud, Julie and Lindsay. I have twelve grandchildren: Corey, Nick, Lindsay, Kirkland, Skylar, Logan, Keaton, Brayden, Joshua, Zachary, Xander and Zoe, ten boys and two sweet girls. Now that is a bunch and they are all beautiful, handsome, intelligent, clever, talented and a part of me. I love them all. I won’t see all of them during this holiday season but I will feel the joy of knowing them and the time I have spent with them. I can also say that for my parents and siblings. I know you can too.

Merry Christmas everyone.

©Herb Ratliff, December 19, 2012, All Rights Reserved

All I Want for Christmas

One Christmas many years ago, I was thirteen; the world was firmly in the grips of a budding love affair with Elvis Presley. A lot of presents on Christmas lists had something to do with this new icon, for me it was blue suede shoes.

I come from a large family by some standards. There were two parents and six offspring. One of the offspring was a boy, that was me. The other five were girls, that was a lot of people interested in the use of our single bathroom. That’s not really what this story is about but I thought I’d acknowledge the obvious.

Planning for Christmas presents must have been an interesting operation in the executive offices of our house. Dad worked two jobs to support our financial requirements and mother ran the outfit from her home office. A request for particular presents was standard procedure. Acquiring said requests was another matter.

Santa Claus was always an option if writing was your strength but persuading the purchasing agent typically would yield better results. Laying the proper foundation for requests was critical. Timing was very important and so was one’s most recent history of behavior. Dropping hints to mom after doing something noteworthy was good and so was carrying out regular chores in a timely manner.

If you wanted something special it was useful to perform some act that would ingratiate you with the purser. So when the request was made for blue suede shoes all of the surrounding niceties had been accomplished. The request was granted but there was a caveat. The price of the shoes was a bit beyond the budgeted per child expenditure, so it would have to be the only item in Santa’s bag. I agreed and the negotiation was successful.

Christmas morning felt pretty lean as I sat by the tree with only one gift but the gift was definitely a winner.

When friends asked what I got for Christmas I would say, “Blue Suede Shoes”.

When they asked what else I said, “You know, just the regular stuff.”

The implication was other less important stuff. That was true, in a way. Anyway, I got the shoes and I added a little cool to my resume. At least, I thought I had. I hope you get what you want for Christmas. I hope what you give isn’t limited to what can be bought. The gifts you have to share with friends and family are priceless, be generous.

©Herb Ratliff, December 18, 2012, All Rights Reserved

The Messiah

I have had a long love affair with Handel's Messiah. Going to see it performed during the holidays is a standard objective every year. Typically it is an objective I meet, but for the last two years I have fallen short and unless something happens very soon I am about to miss it for the third year and it makes me very sad to go that long without having a chance to lift my untrained voice with the trained ones and rejoice aloud in an explosion of gratitude for being alive and in good health.

I am fascinated by the effect of the music. There is nothing else that so resonates with me the purest form of communion with God. I set aside all of my religious prejudices and attitudes for the chance to achieve an unparalleled harmony that lifts me into a heightened awareness of the remarkable gift of life.
It is not a surprise to me that Handel composed the Messiah in 24 days. If he felt what I do listening to it, when he was writing it, the sheer force of ecstasy would have consumed him if it had been a long, drawn out process.

I had an opportunity, that is a story all by itself, to sit with The Mormon Tabernacle Choir when they performed  The Messiah a long time ago. I was not a member of the choir but they told me to sing if I wished and believe me, I did. I can't imagine how you could avoid singing under such circumstances. I will never forget that. So, I suppose that may explain some of my enthusiasm for the music.

I do wish all of you a Merry Christmas. This is a magical time. Give and receive gifts generously and give thanks often. Enjoy! Thank you, Herr Handel.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_VARtvgGBY&feature=related

Herb Ratliff, December 23, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Delta is Ready When You are

In my work I used to travel a lot by air. This time of year the traveling was problematic. There were inevitably those who were completely out of control with the idea of getting their stuff and their offspring from point a to point b without losing anything or anyone. There were always many business travelers who were trying to finish their work and get home to help with the last minute details. The senior members of the airline staff were usually on leave and so many of the employees who rested on lower rungs of the ladder were called to duty. And, as you would expect, there were travelers with the joy and spirit of Christmas and those who could find a way to have a bad day at Disneyland. Part of the way I kept my heavy travel schedule manageable was by finding a way to enjoy what I was doing when I did it.

I remember a late flight one year close to Christmas when I had been the happy recipient of plate full of beautifully decorated Christmas cookies at the last minute. I had no way of putting them in any of my luggage so they were in my hands when I boarded. The lines were long and slow so there was a lot of standing and waiting while boarding. At one point I found myself standing in front of the flight attendant that stands in front of the cockpit and greets the oncoming passengers. I offered her a cookie and she accepted it so quickly I could see she was very hungry, so I offered the whole plate to her and said she could share them with the other staff. She beamed and accepted without hesitation.

When the plane was fully boarded, we taxied off to our runway, took off and reached altitude. The pilot announced the seat belt sign had been turned off and we could walk about the cabin. After he had finished the flight attendant I had given the cookies to came to me and asked me to follow her. She took me to first class, went and got my carry on and brought it to me and said. "Merry Christmas, Sir. You have no idea how nice it is to have a passenger who is giving instead of demanding. Have a nice flight and if there is anything I can do to make your flight more comfortable please just ask."

There is a lot of power in cookies

Herb Ratliff, December 22, 2011, All Rights Reserved

My First Poem

To you I’d send a dew dropped rose

That glistens in its quiet repose,

The fragrance of a piney forest,

The singing from a thrushes nest.

To you I’d send a winter’s day,

The dawning at the break of day,

The fluffy down from a Robin’s breast,

The silence of a fawn at rest.

The softness of a summer rain

To all but us is naught, in vain.

We see the beauty in these things

To all the rest they’re tarnished rings.

Your beauty‘s in your lovely smile

The purity that can’t beguile

Your honest heart will not betray

The things we do and share today.

©Herb Ratliff, December 26, 196?, All Rights Reserved

Author's Note: 

The poem was written in response to what I thought was an original poem from a college sweetheart. It was handwritten inside a Christmas Card. It turned out the poem she sent had been copied. There was no intention of deception. She simply found a beautiful poem to send that she thought communicated her feelings. I felt compelled to write an original back to her and this poem was the poem, the first I ever wrote. It served to stimulate my inclination to write original prose and poetry. I'm grateful I misunderstood. Without this misunderstanding I doubt I would have been inclined to write. So, it's my favorite poem, but I have never titled it. Any suggestions? Herb

Yuletide Turbulence

That's the magnificent seven three years ago.

Monday and Tuesday evening I heard three of my grandsons perform in concerts with their school bands. The music was remarkable. Two of the boys, Zachary and Logan are in the seventh grade. They play in the same band. The music was outstanding. The skill level of the participants is far superior to band members of my era and the music selections were well designed to showcase their talent. They played on Monday.

Tuesday evening two more grandsons had concerts. Kirkland, who is in High School, had a concert I missed because of a lack of communication and a conflict. He played at the same time Joshua played. I only heard of Kirkland’s concert the night before and had already committed to attending Joshua’s concert. It takes some planning to work out a schedule and in the rush, information about dates, which is critical to a plan never reached me in time to make a more inclusive plan.

I went to Joshua’s concert. It was outstanding. He attends a Magnet School and has a concert band that is performing at a near professional level. The quality of the performance was so much better than I expected, I was overwhelmed.

That accounts for four of seven grandsons who live in the immediate environs. Lindsay, my daughter and mother to five of them spurted out something about more activities Monday night, but it was lost in the noise and confusion of the aftermath of the concert. So I still don’t know what or when the other three do their performances.

I have three more grandchildren in Seattle that are not in the scurry because of logistics. My eldest child, Dora is their mother and she is currently starring as, Mary in a stage production of “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

My son lives in Midway, Kentucky, near Lexington. His children, Xander and Zoe’s activities are unknown to me and they are inaccessible as well logistically. So there you have it, the tale of twelve grandchildren in various states of communication, confusion and comedy.

We are less than two weeks away from Christmas. Let’s not forget that so much of what we do in preparation for the holidays is for our family. In our haste sometimes we run over the top of them getting it done. Slow down and enjoy those beautiful people and enjoy the beautiful person you are too.

©Herb Ratliff, December 12, 2012, All Rights Reserved

The Gift Challenge

I remember working my way into a corner one Christmas. I had a specific item that I wanted above all and made it clear that nothing else would do. There was a strange look on my parents faces when I confronted them with this ultimatum and ended it with the closing argument of: "If I cannot have that, I want nothing at all." There was some short, gentle persuasion from them asking me to reconsider my position but,  I would not budge. Finally, they conceded the argument and there it was, a line drawn in the sand not to be challenged. I doubt I will ever forget Christmas morning that year. After all the gifts had been distributed, opened and clean up was under way, I still was without a gift. I had younger sisters and so there was no forum for argument. There was only the clear message that my ultimatum had been honored. I had nothing.


If we are diligent in our measure of things it will become evident that we are among the most blessed people on the planet and live in a kind of favorable bubble of generosity. Many will find areas to complain about, others will find injustice, still more will find inequity and so there will be sour attitudes in abundance. But, do not be deluded into believing that you are an unfortunate beggar of alms in the town square. What we have as members of a free society is priceless.

As you consider your lot this Christmas, exercise caution in your demands, both spoken and whispered. You may get what you say you must have. I wish you bounty, blessings, and enough to share with others less fortunate. It costs nothing to look with kindness on another, a squeeze of the hand, a hug perhaps would lift someone's spirits or your undivided attention for a few minutes. Be generous in your giving and your receiving.

Herb Ratliff, December 16, 2011 - All Rights Reserved

Hiding Christmas Cookies

My mother would begin baking cookies for Christmas not too long after Thanksgiving. She baked them during the day when Dad was working and the rest of us were at school. She left no evidence of her activities and made no comments that would alert us. And, she hid them. She hid them all over the place and she must have really enjoyed it too because she did it for many years including the years that I was gone to college.

Somewhere along the way I discovered this activity and would systematically purloin the cached bounty but did it carefully so as not to alert anyone looking at the goods by moving the cookies around to suggest an untouched appearance. It was a good job but not good enough to fool the baker. And so began a cat and mouse game of hiding and snitching that lasted until after I was married. It was even mentioned during visits to the nursing facility where mom spent her last few years.

Last night I made some Christmas cookies and since I live alone there was no reason to hide any of them. They  sit willfully tempting in tin containers in the kitchen. But as I made them, frosted them and tucked them into the tins for later enjoyment I thought of mom and the Christmases past when she would make them for me and hide them and hope that I would find them.

©Herb Ratliff, December 8, 2011, All Rights Reserved

A Christmas Reminder

There’s an elf in the closet, reindeer on the roof,

Wreathes are on door ways, and candles, it’s proof

That Christmas is coming right now on a sleigh

So you’d better get ready before it goes away.

No, it doesn't matter how children reach bed,

whether nestled or wrestled in pink or in red

cuz Santa is coming to bring us some joy:

an apple, some candy, maybe even a toy.

But you have to be good, put a smile on your face

When the Jolly old fellow, without soot, not a trace

Slides down the chimney, with giggles and grins

knows without question which house he is in.

Did you put out some cookies, milk or cocoa?

A wee little bribe cannot hurt, don’t you know?

And besides, it’s much better ere he goes out of sight

that his Christmas and yours are both a good night.

Merry Christmas to all, it's a sight.

©Herb Ratliff, December, 7, 2012, All Rights Reserved

little tree

Even though this blog is by design an effort in original discourse, sometimes I get tired of the sound of my own voice even though it's written not spoken. When that happens there are plenty of authors whose work I deeply appreciate. e.e. cummings is one of them. So today I offer his lovely little poem, "little tree". Enjoy!

Herb

by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

little tree

little silent Christmas tree

you are so little

you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest

and were you very sorry to come away?

see i will comfort you

because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark

and hug you safe and tight

just as your mother would,

only don't be afraid

look the spangles

that sleep all the year in a dark box

dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,

the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms

and i'll give them all to you to hold

every finger shall have its ring

and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you're quite dressed

you'll stand in the window for everyone to see

and how they'll stare!

oh but you'll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands

and looking up at our beautiful tree

we'll dance and sing

"Noel Noel"

"little tree" was originally published in The Dial Vol. LXVIII, No. 1 (Jan. 1920). New York: The Dial Publishing Company, Inc.


--
Herb Ratliff,
whathappenedtosports.blogspot.com

The Most Unselfish Gift

The Christmas this year would not be very memorable, I thought as I considered the serious lack of funds to supply the lavish things I wanted for my family. Christmas is not about expensive gifts, I countered, but I didn't believe it. All I could think of were packages under the tree, gleeful children and a grateful wife looking at me with admiration for being such a wonderful provider. The truth was I had not been a wonderful provider; there would not be an endless supply of richly decorated gifts for those I loved. There was scarcely enough to meet our daily needs let alone excessive indulgences to satisfy my selfish ambition.

I had seriously limited the Christmas budget for my wife. I held out a little for myself to give her a small gift but insisted there was not enough for us to exchange gifts. So I insisted she not spend any on a gift for me. Since she was not working, she had no means of income and was unable to argue. I didn’t realize the selfishness of that maneuver for years, when I think of it now I am ashamed of my self serving attitude. Youth and ego is a clumsy pair at times.

I found a way to ignore the unhappy situation and moved through the pre Christmas days as well as I could. We attended holiday parties with friends, did some caroling and planned family activities. There is a magical quality during this season that seems to be able to amplify the smallest acts of kindness and muffle the most thoughtless ones. On Christmas eve during the day I went to a jeweler and bought a gold bracelet for my wife. I still remember not feeling good about it. Not that it was something she wouldn’t want; it was that even then I knew she would have rather had the money to use for the children.

I’ll never forget Christmas morning that year. The children were happy. They didn’t care what they got. What they loved was the excitement of the tree, the lights, expectations and an endless supply of gifts from family and friends. When I gave my lady her gift she opened it with a questioning face. When she saw the gold bracelet there were instantly tears in her eyes, not from joy but from being deceived. Tears for being mislead, tears because we had not joined together in this moment, tears because she had found a way to keep our agreement and not give up the right to offer me a gift and I had not. I would soon find a deeper lesson in this exchange.

It took a bit for her to gather herself but she did. Then, she looked at me with something that contained sorrow, anger and a lot of hurt. She reached under the tree and took several small packages in her hands. She looked deeply in my eyes when she handed them to me.

I opened the first package. It was a small tin that had contained tea. The tin had been covered with pictures taken from a National Geographic magazine article. The other packages were of various sizes but with the same theme. I have always been fascinated with spiders. My wife had always been terrified by them. That Christmas she gave me the gift of a lifetime. She subdued her fear to give me a gift that I shall never forget. She spent no money but hours of her precious time to make me happy.

As the day of gifts grows more near it would be wise to remember that exchange of gifts. There is still time to use your love, your imagination and your creativity to make a gift for someone you love. And when you give it to them you can both stand on equal footing with the knowledge that you are giving from the same place and that is the real gift.

©Herb Ratliff, December 5, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Christmas Eve Memories

In the corner of the closet

by some shoes that have no laces

sits a pair of golden slippers

and a picture with eight faces

There’s the mommy and the daddy

sisters Jo and Lyn and Judy

In the background is the kitchen,

Then, there’s Bev and Pam and me.

In the hands of our good father

is the bible turned to Matthew

Mother holds a burning candle

Givng light for Dad to read

It’s the story of a couple and a child

that have no shelter, who need a bed

and some cattle gently lowing

But there’s no fear, not here, no dread.

There are people gathered round them

dressed in clothes of finest silk

bearing gifts of gold and myrrh

But the babe drinks mothers milk.

There’s a part about some taxes,

and a reference to a star.

There’s a choir of holy angels

singing carols where they are.

This is Christmas and the Christ child

come to save this crazy world

bringing hope and love and laughter

that’s what the season’s for.

Merry Christmas every body

May your every dream come true.

May the love that you pass out

be redoubled back to you.

©Herb Ratliff, December 4, 2012, All Rights Reserved

One Little Tree

When it comes, I’m not ready, too early,

 it’s just commercial hype.

Where are the Wise Men?

Where is the star?

The babe in the manger

must be awake from all the noise.

There’s no lowing in Walmart

and sleeping on hay,

at least here in Georgia,

would invite an

infestation of ticks.

Silent Night, Holy Night

were the words

and the buildup was more gradual,

a bit of a pause after Thanksgiving,

then, slowly, ever so slowly,

Christmas would ease

its way to our homes.

Gaudy isn’t Godly

and this is about

a savior being born,

remember?

If you are a kid

you can be lost in the letters to Santa

that’s OK.

But, don’t forget the

Magi

or

The Gift Of The Magi.

We all are

getting something special,

don’t worry about

whether batteries are included

worry about the energy

you give off.

Worry about those

who continue to

need

while the rest of us

exceed.

You

can be

a little

Christmas Tree

with only one light

but shine brightly, shine big.

©Herb Ratliff, December 3, 2012, All Rights Reserved

A Fable - Chapter 4

It took months for the king to recover from his injuries. During his recovery the queen was distracted from her normal activities with her son. In her place was a man considerably older and not nearly as attractive a countenance. His name was Tark Mees. But his years of life experiences had dressed him in patience, tolerance and humility. That was how he lived and what he taught.

Youth is impetuous and impatient. The prince was anxious to find answers to his questions. But anxious is the home of anxiety and what is quickly found is quickly forgotten. The old teacher taught the prince the power taking things in slowly, thoughtfully and thoroughly.

As the prince studied the teachings offered by the old man, he began to form questions of his own. One of the questions he asked nearly every day was, “Where is my mother?”  And the old man would answer, “She is managing the affairs of the kingdom. She will return when she is able. We have much to do during her absence. That is what you should be considering.”

Under the tutelage of the old man the prince grew taller and seemed to stand straighter. Each morning and each evening they would repeat the same words and physical exercises designed to help the prince reach the full potential of his capabilities. They would study the classic languages and letters, music, science and the spiritual teachings of Jesus, Buddha and other great teachers. But Tark Mees knew that the real growth of the prince had to be in the crucible of a public life.

Tark Mees went to the queen and asked her if she would allow him to take the prince into the kingdom anonymously as his own charge to face life on its own terms. He needed to take what he had learned in his safe environment and apply it in the theater of real life. He needed to face the world as he really was if he ever hoped to know true freedom. And, most importantly, he had to face the world as a free man who knew his strengths and weaknesses. He needed to deal with how he looked, how he behaved, what he knew and what he needed to know before he could ever find his voice and his direction.

The queen’s face showed the terrible fear in her heart when she heard the mentor ask the question. But, she knew it was the truth. With a heavy heart, but with a rock solid faith in the things her son had been taught and trust in the character she knew he had, the queen assented. She knew, if he were to be all that he could, his weaknesses as well as his promise had to stand the test of assault, unfairness, ignorance and prejudice before he could know the power of agreement and a following of like minded cohorts.

With the queens permission Tark Mees went back to the castle to tell the prince about their new adventure. He knew there would be fear but he believed there would be excitement as well.  What they were about to do was the essence of life itself. Is it not what we all do? We take what we have been taught along with the prejudice of our family of our superior qualities and potential and launch out into the world with what we have to see what we are. There we find those who agree and those who do not. What matters most, perhaps, is that we never stop learning, and the words that Tark Mees and the prince repeated each morning and each evening, "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he."

 The Beginning

 ©Herb Ratliff, November 30, 2012, All Rights Reserved

A Fable - Chapter 3

To the prince this was adventure of the highest order. He knew it was not right for him to be in his mother’s apartments, but the idea of seeing a completely new part of the world was too much for him to contain.  The room was tastefully appointed with all of the appropriate accoutrements for a queen. Even though the accommodations of the prince were lavish by any standard, his mother’s apartments reached a new level of grandeur. And, in the eyes of the prince, it was as it should be.

His exploration continued from one room to the next until he entered a room that contained a terrible and frightening sight. There on the opposite wall stood a menacing, gnomish creature, bent and twisted with a frightful face. It so startled the prince that he gasped and then screamed. He turned and ran as fast as he could back to his apartments into the arms of his waiting mother.

The prince was sobbing and shaking. His heart was beating so hard it could almost be heard. The attendants began to circle around mother and son as if it were a protective wall. The queen simply held the boy and let him calm in his own time. Gradually his breathing returned to its normal rhythm and his sobbing ceased. When he looked up into his mother’s eyes, she could see in his, both terror and confusion. She determined at this moment, as only the wise are inclined to do, that her best guide was to listen. She began with a question.

“What has frightened you so, my prince?”

“There is a terrible creature in your room!”

“In my room, how is it you know this?”

“I saw it in your dressing room.”

“You entered my apartments without my permission and found something frightening?”

“Yes, mother, I am so sorry. I shall never go in there again.”

“See that you do not. You must respect the privacy of others.”

“But, what was that mother?”

“We will discuss that later. Now, I want you to remember this: When I give you instructions that limit you, it is not to restrict you, but to give you time to prepare for the responsibility of knowledge when you receive it.”

The queen began a much more stringent schedule for her son. His education and spiritual growth needed some attention if he was to be ready to deal with the truth of his encounter with the frightening visage in his mother’s apartments. She began with a regimen of stretching to improve his posture which was noticeably being affected by his hunched back. She also brought in teachers of voice and instruments to give him access to the harmonies of life. Blended into this mix was a spiritual guide who offered the wisdom of ages past and books of scripture offering a good design for living.

What was most powerful to the son of course was the example set by his mother with her attributes of kindness, listening, sharing and teaching freely and openly.

The king had paid little attention to his son in person. However, from a distance he had watched the prince’s growth and observed his character. What struck the king most of all was how much his son’s character mirrored that of his mother. The king had even come to see a difference in the physical attributes of his son. Somehow the deficiencies of symmetry and reflections of other physical characteristics of members of the court seemed to diminish. What showed through were the sweetness of his disposition and the respectful nature of his behavior.

But, a kingdom is not without its politics. A small cadre of ambitious dukes began to plan an expansion of their duchies into another kingdom. When word leaked and found its way to the king he gathered his advisers and it was decided that a confrontation would be necessary to quell this ambitious enterprise. 

With a carefully developed plan, outlined to the most minute detail, the king gathered his forces and led them to end this plan to divide the kingdom. But even in the most ideal of kingdoms, there are those who for power or money would sell their soul. A traitor had leaked the plan to the dukes and they had a plan of their own.

The king led his forces into a trap which very nearly cost him his life.

To be continued…

©Herb Ratliff, November 28, 2012, All Rights Reserved

A Fable - Chapter 2

What had upset and confused the king was indeed the birth of a child. The child was a son and under normal circumstances that fact alone would be enough to bring joy to the king and to his subjects. But the son who was born was not the child the king expected. This child had a deformed body and an unspeakable countenance. The king wanted to love his son but his physical ugliness was more than the king could bear. He had the child taken to a private chamber to be cared for out of his sight until he could muster the courage to accept him as he was.

The queen was deeply hurt and surprised by the king’s attitude. She did not understand how the king could judge his child only by his features. Did he not carry the same blood as the king? Was he not the son of the king? But the king would not relent. He kept his son in private quarters and ignored him.

As an infant this fatherly rejection made no impact on the child for he had the love and attention of his mother and loving attendants. And so he grew at the rate of any child. Since he had no means of comparison the somewhat insular conditions of his existence had no particular impact on him nor did the absence of his father. The prince’s apartments and courtyard were furnished with spectacular resources for his care, entertainment and education. He never noticed the absence of a mirror and since his mother was beautiful, he assumed he was beautiful too.

His mother had an apartment next to his, but it was understood that it was private and not to be entered. He took no complaint with that arrangement as a small child but we are gifted or cursed with curiosity as children depending on your point of view and the prince began to wonder about the room his mother went to when she left him.

The queen had long since learned to love her child as he was. There was no consideration of his differences. This led to a comfortable and happy relationship. Her only worry was that he would discover his differences and be injured by the knowledge that he was different. With that in mind special attention was given to keeping him ignorant of his looks even though those around him were charmed by his personality to the point of forgetting his unhappy countenance.

The beauty of the human condition is such that if there is beauty in our actions our looks take on less importance at first and then are magically changed to match our behavior. Perhaps never by all, but certainly, by those who know us. And so it was that the prince was to his retinue, a most beautiful child until one sad day when a happy, but careless chamber maid left his mother’s apartment door ajar.

To the prince, who had been left for a rest period, it was an open invitation for an adventure into a new world. And he could do no less than accept the invitation; he was after all a happy, healthy and normal little boy with natural curiosities. So even though he had been schooled on the importance of privacy and the courtesy of allowing his mother to have her own space, the door was open and he had never seen inside the room.

Reluctantly at first and then with great intensity he moved toward the open door and the promise of adventure. He looked inside and there across the room was a strange object hanging on the wall that looked like a pool of water. He walked toward it to see what secrets it held.  

To be continued…

©Herb Ratliff, November 28, 2012, All Rights Reserved

A Fable

There was a king in a far away land whose good will and kindness to his subjects was legendary. He was tall, intelligent and had a strikingly handsome face. His queen was equally dedicated to her subjects and she was as beautiful as the morning star. Their union lifted the spirits of the kingdom and with it the promise of a new prosperity.

For years the king and queen built the kingdom into a paradise with new roads, farm houses, hunting grounds and markets. The people waited for the announcement of a new member of the royal family but as each year passed no such announcement was made. There was speculation among the court and in the fields that the queen was barren. How could this kingdom be sustained if there was no heir to maintain the promises of the king?

Then, word began to trickle out of corners of the kitchen and stables that there was indeed a child, but not the child that was expected. The workers were steadfast in their love for their masters and little more information ever came out to the general population. Of course the people began to speculate about this mysterious child. First, the people thought the child was so beautiful and delicate that it needed protecting from the eyes of the general population. Then, some said the child was being prepared for the duties of royalty and was not yet ready to make a public appearance.

The wondering about the child and the speculation about it began to erode the confidence of the subjects. And, as is the tendency in such matters, the more the confidence in the king weakened, the more blame found its way to the supposed child. The king and queen were not without knowledge of this growing discontent, but they had a problem.

Royalty is not without its downside. Many of us suppose the life of grandeur and privilege, but always manage to leave out the responsibility of such a life. The king and queen had carefully built a world of harmony and equanimity in their kingdom by being open and inclusive with their subjects. In return the subjects were trusting and constructive in their behavior. This new element of what seemed to be secrecy and separation had begun to alienate the common folk. But, because the king had waited so long to tell his people about the situation he had created a difficult and complicated problem. This would require consultation with the queen and his inner circle of advisers.

Now the king was an honest man with great integrity and so was his queen. But, as is so often the case, honesty is more easily applied if there is no negative impact on our own life. That is why honesty seems so much clearer in cases involving someone other than ourselves. It is also far easier to apply honesty as early as possible since waiting seems to introduce additional elements that grow out of control in a hurry. The king wanted to right this growing dissonance that was permeating his kingdom but he kept thinking of reasons the simple truth would be harmful to his subjects.

So after hours of discussing the problem and against the will of his queen and counselors the king decided he would take matters in his own hands and under the veil of secrecy make a move that utterly confused and unsettled his beautiful queen and his capable and faithful counselors. 

To be continued…

©Herb Ratliff, November 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Eight Legs

When your two year old son wakes you up at three o’clock in the morning there had better be a very good reason, and as it turned out, there was.

There is no challenge that even comes close to that of parenting a first child. There is a natural fascination to be sure but just because they are diminutive does not mean they are without will or wile. Far too much value has been placed on size. There are many compensating qualities that can be used to even the contest or perhaps stack it to the advantage of the smaller of the two.

I grew up with younger sisters and so infants and small children were not unfamiliar to me. However, being a brother and being a father are vastly different conditions. The time I spent with my new son was not always filled with harps and violins. There was a completely new condition of inconvenience that had to be shouldered from time to time. But, to be sure, it was a very small part of the equation.

Infancy is not the part I enjoyed most. But, I will be quick to say that infancy is a magical time too. There is a spiritual relationship that is introduced which can be as exhilarating as anything you will ever do. All you need do to experience it is to sit and hold an infant in your arms with no agenda but to be there. If you do not feel God embrace you both, you are thinking too much.

Let’s get back to the two year old waking me at three in the morning. First let me just note a natural tendency for a new parent to do too much. I was guilty of that. I tried to teach my son everything I knew in the first year. I wanted to give him a head start. I explained things to him. Sometimes his eyes were so filled with wonder that I should have known I was pushing beyond reason, but I didn’t stop. We talked about music, science, politics and sports. Most of what we talked about was nature and words.

One of the things that have always fascinated me is spiders. So we explored nature for spiders in their natural setting. We looked at the spiders, their features and webs. We looked in nature, at home and in the yard. I told him that spiders were ubiquitous creatures and could be found in every setting imaginable. I instructed him about their anatomy. We even discussed their parenting skills. Spiders are not the only things we talked about but they got a considerable amount of attention.

Bud, my son’s sobriquet, was also a talented artist for his age. We would often use the large brown bags that groceries were packaged in for his canvas. We would cut the bag along its folds until it was completely opened. The artist would then be able to imagine in full size. Now you have the necessary building blocks for this story.

Bud was given to night time wanderings. His sleep patterns varied away from the convenient. On the night I opened this narrative with, he had gotten out of bed at some point…. let me just recall the event as it happened.

My wife and I were happily asleep in our comfy bed as was most of the world at three o’clock in the morning in the Flint, Michigan area in 1972. There was a tug at my arm. It would take more than a little tug to unhook me from a sound sleep so I’m sure there were several tugs and finally a strong enough tug to loose me from Morpheus’s grasp. There in his full splendor was Bud with a rather large smile on his face with his most intense look which could only mean something needed tending. As I slowly came to life I noticed a lot of light coming from outside the bedroom. I questioned my son and he could do no more than insist I come with him.

I turned to see if my wife was awake. I think I saw her eyes close quickly as I turned. I looked back at my child who was anxious and focused. I knew the jig was up. I got out of bed and hand in hand we walked through the house which I easily noticed had every light in it turned on. Our destination was the kitchen. When we arrived I saw brown paper bags cut to artist requirements on the floor along with crayons and magic markers.

Now Bud was excited! He took me directly to one of the paper bag canvasses. I knelt down and he said in his most enthusiastic voice, “pider”. And there on the brown paper bag were dozens of spiders drawn by this two year old, each with exactly eight legs. I was astounded. I was proud. I was amazed. And, truth be told, I haven’t stopped being amazed by him or any of my children. What a gift to be a parent who can make it a gift to be a child. Celebrate life, celebrate learning, celebrate children.

©Herb Ratliff, November 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Thanksgiving Morning

Thanksgiving morning was announced by aromas from the kitchen not a part of daily fare. The turkey, although early in its temptations offered promises not smelled since the year before. Pies, baked late at night, sat in unusual locations tempting us in unfair ways knowing full well they would be the last to delight our anticipations. The king of all the smells was mince meat pie.

Somehow a bowl of oatmeal or cheerios lost its luster in those surroundings. But mother’s eagle eye saw all attempts of unauthorized tasting. The most difficult wait for me was rolls. The yeasty scent of rising rolls sat three hours and teased out taste buds. And if that was not enough there was also a batch of frosted cinnamon rolls in the works as well.

The kitchen was small in size but large in promise in those days. Mothers unceasing efforts at preparation began days before and would reach culmination later on this day. The last items would be rolls out of the oven, marshmallow covered sweet potatoes and the twenty four hour fruit salad in the middle of the table, made only twice a year on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Remember that gratitude is the aristocrat of all emotions and whatever you have is probably more than what 90% of the world’s population has.

Happy Thanksgiving.

©Herb Ratliff, November 21, 2012, All Rights Reserved