Thought for the Day: Work Tracks

Choose the advice you follow carefully.

There are no calluses on the hands of self appointed experts.

©Herb Ratliff

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

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

The First Opener on the North Branch

Thought For The Day

Thirty one years later: August 2008

 back row l to r Paul Stenglein, Dave Stenglein, Jim Trembley, Jim Allerdyce, Me

Front: Jeff Stenglein, Bill Stenglein

During the winter of 1977 Jim Trembley and I had bought a piece of property on the North Branch of the Au Sable. A large section, about sixty acres had been split up into parcels, we had gone to Grayling, MI and got five of them, acres, with a little over two hundred feet of frontage on the river. We couldn't see it very well, it was wooded and pretty steep but it was ours and we were anxiously awaiting a chance to see it in the Spring. So on the Friday before the opener, it was the first official Arbor Day,  we headed north to our new spot to investigate.

The drive north is about two hours. We were pretty worked up about seeing it. We talked of building a place that overlooked the river, teaching our kids how to fly fish, lunkers just waiting for our mighty fishing skills and all the years we would get to fish together. When we finally arrived we were out of the car like a couple of kids going into Disneyland. The land looked absolutely pristine. I felt like the lord of the manner, OK, co lord. It was beautiful. The land sat near the foundations of the halfway house where the road crossed the river. It was a rest stop between Grayling and Mio. The fireplace stood high even though the hotel was long gone.

We wandered down by the river. It was difficult to walk because the ground was knotted up with grass and bog, a minor inconvenience. The stretch of water was straight, flat and deep, a perfect place to watch the surface dimple when the trout were feeding. We were mesmerized. It was getting late and dark and we had to find a place to spend the night. So we headed back toward the car. We were going in a different direction than our trip in and so we ended up passing near a cabin. A man was standing in the doorway. We waved and Jim said, "Let's go introduce ourselves." That shocked me because Jim was not the most social person I knew, especially when we were fishing. But, I said sure and we walked over to the house and met Bill Stenglein, the owner of the cabin.

He invited us into the cabin to have a beer. We said yes. We ended up having a pizza, meeting his sons and some family friends, spending the night and becoming life long friends. Telling you about Bill Stenglein and his family will have to happen another day. They deserve a lot of space. Enjoy the weekend friends, I will miss being there with you.

 And to you Bill, what can I say? I've never met a better fly fisherman or a better man. Thank you, my friend.

Herb Ratliff, April 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Old Friends and Old Habits

Thought For The Day

Jim Trembley

The last Saturday in April is the traditional opening of Trout Season in Michigan, a day that I looked forward to above all others for many years at least for my own benefit. The long, cold, grey winter could not diminish or dilute the longing to enter the river, fly rod in hand to test my skills against the wary trout. It was one of those spiritual moments when I became a part of the water, the environment and the promise of life's goodness. Here began the soft music of the fly line whistling through the air, the soft gurgle of the river, the ambient sounds of birds and insects all arranged in such precision that I felt weightless and intractably immersed in pure harmony.

Sometimes I got immersed in the river. Wading in a stream is an interesting way to spend a day. It is not without problems and surprises.

When I graduated from University of New Mexico and moved to Flint, MI I met a man who would become my closest ally in the world of fly fishing. Jim Trembley had grown up in Flint and in his pursuit of his goal of Eagle Scout had been exposed to nature in the best possible way, through the leadership of men who cared deeply for a good design for living, respect of people and the environment and a love of nature. Jim and I became frequent partners on the ride to the Au Sable  River. We would often take off on Tuesday evenings and drive north to the South Branch and fish the Mason Tract late into the night. We would fish all day Wednesday and return that evening. We rode together, had lively conversations and then fished alone and met at an agreed upon time to discuss our results. Sometimes the results were less about fish and more about how many different kinds of larvae live in the river that you can see quite clearly while sitting on a log by the bank or the richness of bird and animal life in the area.

Jim also ties flies and provides me with an endless supply them. Truth be told, every fish of size and memory that I have ever caught has been deceived by Jim, but he's a lawyer. What can I say?

Saturday I will not be fishing with Jim but I will be thinking about him and all the openers we spent together, I am in Atlanta, GA now and he still lives in Flint. Hopefully we will get together this summer for a fly fishing appreciation day if he isn't too old and tired for it.

Herb Ratliff, April 26, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Let Me Explain.....

Thought For The Day

When I was very young it was normal to ask questions. That's what children do, sometimes to the absolute distraction of the people being asked questions. But, it was expected and joked about and most of the time the questions were answered until the adult involved reached the end of their knowledge base and had to bow out of the discussion gracefully or not. My experience was quite normal in that respect.

As I continued to grow up and entered into relationships with others a good deal of my experiences still created questions, but the willingness to answer questions seemed to diminish. Sometimes the reason for the change in willingness was connected to religion. Let's face it, "Because God said so." is a real conversation stopper when you are a child. Add to it, "Do you want to go to hell?" and here ends the curiosity for most. However, there is always school and there in the halls of learning questions and dialogue are welcomed, right?

I will admit that I may have had more questions than the average kid, if not more questions, more persistence than most in pursuing clarification. This often led to a most frustrating condition for me and most likely for the teachers. They ran out of interest in my questions before I got my answers. Now, leaving a student with more questions is not a bad thing. Seeking information is the milieu of the student. But, asking the student to perform tasks when information has nothing to adhere to is likely to leave both student and teacher in confused state, one about the purpose of this information, the other about the teachability of this student. In this arena, both fail to accomplish their objective.

My curiosity was never sufficiently stunted to leave me without questions. It created some problems for me in the classroom but who doesn't have a problem or two to deal with anyway? What it did to me was sow a seed of passion for explaining things to people, never to leave a person with an incomplete set of reasons for anything I could explain and it drove my kids loony. As loving and caring as I was in my quest to never leave a question unanswered, my children lived in a world that existed on the hope that they would never have to ask me why.

And so the loves you have and promises you make to create a better life for your children can, on occasion, be the bane of their existence. But, that's why they make chocolate and vanilla, right? You can love, you can love deeply, passionately and selflessly the sweet children who enter your world as your babies but how well you love them will be decided by them. Just because your intentions are honorable does not mean they are successful. And in the final analysis isn't the real job of a parent to teach his offspring to be independent anyway?

Herb Ratliff, April 24, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Differences

Thought For The Day

When friends and family gather 

it's rather like a late Spring field 

filling with wild flowers, 

many and various colors, 

tall and short,

full and sparse 

but 

splendid in their variations.

The perfect bouquet.

Herb Ratliff, April 19, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Baby, The Rain Must Fall

Even the bird songs drip.

The rain, ceaselessly saturates the ground, the air, my thoughts.

There is no sunshine, no wind, just wet.

Can you imagine forty days and nights?

What is gopher wood anyway?

And what is a cubit?

The sun is waiting,  like me

for a better day,

for a bluer sky,

fly away.

Herb Ratliff, January 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Gratitude

This picture is from 1993. Left to right back:Bud, me
Front: L to R:Julie, Lindsay, Dora holding Nick, Cory holding Lindsay.
There are now ten more grandchildren:Lindsey,Kirkland, Joshua, Skylar, Zachary, Logan, Keaton, Xander, Zoe, Brayden.

Have you ever thought carefully about the things you are most grateful for? 

I'm very visual and so my eyes are at the top of the list. Ears that function reasonably well, taste, touch, smell and a little esp now and again. I have enough athletic ability to engage in most sports and compete at a better than average level if I choose. I am teachable. That is what I may be most thankful for on another level. Second chances are high on the list too. If it weren't for second chances no one would ever see this blog. Good health, the ability to heal: physically, mentally and spiritually.

I've had numerous opportunities to apply my skills in a work environment that provided rich rewards. Sometimes I did it with a high level of competence and creativity and provided exceptional service to my employer and clients. Sometimes I did not and that's where some of those second chances I spoke of come into play.

I have met and been befriended by some of the finest people in the world. Many of them have taught me about life. All of them have given something special to me: their time, their experience, their forgiveness in some cases, their disdain in others. Most everything I have received has been as a direct result of my actions and attitude. I must add here that while complaining about results that were less than complimentary to me I was complaining to a friend about things not being "fair or just" and he looked me in the eye and said, "Herb, of all the people I know, you are the last who should be asking for justice. You should be praying for mercy." He was right and I hope I never forget it. I also hope I never forget there are a lot of people out there just like me.

Some parts of my life have been a train wreck. There just isn't any other way to express it. I have fallen hard and often on this journey but, I have never laid there and quit. I have hurt other people, sometimes on purpose, sometimes without intent and sometimes from just being too fixed on my own interests to care about anything else.

Most of my life has been a miracle. More good has come into my life from the generosity of others than I can begin to list. But I cannot continue without acknowledging the best part of my life, my children. They are smart, thoughtful, generous, forgiving. They are wonderful parents. They are dependable friends and they are good neighbors. I hope you get a chance to meet them someday.

Give some thought to making a list of your own. I think you will find that life is good, hope enriches it and experience can be the catalyst for change or plunging you deeper into the denial that life isn't fair. Thanks for stopping by, I'm grateful for you too.

Herb Ratliff, January 24, 2011, All Rights Reserved

After The Party

After The Party

When I walked away from you on that warm summer night,

 I was thinking of when we were somewhere between 12 and 18.

Yes, I knew it was a 50 year anniversary.

Yes, I knew how old I was.

But, I wasn’t ready for you to die.

There was more to do, more to see,

More to feel, more to be, but I didn’t know

There was no more time.

And, I didn’t know there was an imminent epidemic 

of exits.

I don’t want to go, but, I am afraid of standing here

alone.

Herb Ratliff, January 6, 2011, All Rights Reserved

What Color Are You?

So I wake up in the morning and the first thing I see is the red light. At least it isn't that really white, white, bright light that is like the search light at the airport, you know the kind they used during world war two when there were air raids and all of that noise. It's softer than that and thank goodness for that.
If it were that bright, I don't think I could function.

And it could be all blinky, blinky like some Christmas trees that are pre-packaged with lights.

It could have been green and you know, it's not easy being green. So, for that I am grateful too.

Orange, I don't think so. Orange, what like a Popsicle maybe? Nah, that just wouldn't work.

For a regal touch it might be purple, but Barney's purple and that's enough, don't you think?

Yellow? You mean like sunshine yellow? Whoever said that should be removed from the lighting board. That would make everything look jaundiced and ill.

Blue, the house of blue lights. That was a song wasn't it? Anyway blue is a nice color but it's kind of a sad color and all melancholy. I don't think that would be such a good thing. I'm not at all against melancholy, but not for all the time.

So what does that leave? We've done red, green, orange, purple, yellow, and  blue. It reminds me of the song, the rainbow song:

Red and yellow and pink and green,
Purple and orange and blue,
I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow
I can sing a rainbow too.

I remember that song from a movie called "Pete Kelly's Blues". It starred Jack Webb (the original Dragnet guy) and the female lead was Peggy Lee, a jazz singer. But I digress, we were talking about colors.

Anyway, I see red and that's OK with me. I like the red and you all recognize me because of it, so how bad can it be. The first thing I see in the morning is the very thing that makes me special so I think I will celebrate it.

Your friend,

Rudolph.

Up on the Housetop

Up on the Housetop

I went to my grandson’s concert last night; he, Joshua Kingsley’s in the eighth grade. Thirteen, do you remember? Wow. There were several groups of musicians showing off their new skills, sixth, seventh and eighth graders. They did such a good job. I was great fun. The finale was a little horse-play entertainment around the reading of “T’was the Night Before Christmas”.  I’m a big fan of band experiences for kids. It’s one of the finest places for building character, cooperating, showing off, and experiencing the power of being better by joining together with others who share your same point of view.

The music was traditional and predictable except for a very nice version of “Il est ne, Le Divine Enfant”, He is born, the Divine Child. But what I enjoyed most were the traditional songs. One that resonated with me last night was “Up on the Housetop”. I swear I could hear my mother and dad and sisters singing it.  I particularly remember the phrase, “First comes the stocking of Little Nell , Oh, dear Santa, fill it well.” My mother had a sister whose name was Nell and I thought they were talking about her and I wondered how she got to be in a Christmas song. There is a lot of magic in the air this time of year if you are open to it.

There is a lot of difficulty in the world these days, serious difficulty. There is a woeful lack of leadership in this country. There is a staggering focus on filling our own stockings and a lot of anger with the scams and greed that show up day after day. But, there is beauty too. There is charitable giving at record levels and as American as apple pie hope that still gets us from one day to the next.

This is a picture of George and Mary from a stage production of "It's a Wonderful Life". That's my daughter, Dora Watson, who portrayed Mary. Isn't she adorable? No pun intended.

When the days dwindle down to a precious few

and chestnuts roast on and open fire.

When the sleigh of St Nick is covered with dew

and music is sung by a heavenly choir.

When children are nestled all snug in their bed

and fires are doused for Santa's arrival.

When  visions of sugar plums dance in your head

And all disagreement is naught but a trifle.

It must be Christmas, I'll tell you right now,

Let your eyes lift to heaven let joy take a bow.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Be joyful if you can

Happy will be OK

Thankful isn't bad either

If you are still having trouble

Try a little gratitude

To put you in the mood

If you've been misunderstood'

Herb Ratliff, Decmber 13, 2011, All Rights Reserved

The Magic of Believing (Part II)

This behavior, some might call it “expectation”, and what it does, lays the groundwork for later actions. Sooner than later, there is a minor shift created by parents, television and the community at large. (It is that early work with fictional characters: The Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, Leprechauns, Gold at the end of the rainbow, The Great Pumpkin and I won’t even say it but, you know who I am thinking of. (The business Anne Rice started with Vampires a few years back and now the Zombie thing has left me speechless on those issues.) It all creates a theater which asks us to withhold judgment, go with the flow and buy into the commerce and creativity associated with holidays. But hold on, there is a lovely side to this world of imagination.

There are things that happen in this world that are often not of it. The stories of these events emerge from real life and imaginary circumstances. My favorite Christmas Story is “The Gift of the Magi” by O. Henry. It is my favorite because it represents love so unselfish that what is given to one another is the most important material possession each of them have and it is given because each of them can see that and wish to honor it. You’ll have to read it if you want more than that.

The Saginaw News, the local newspaper in my home town, would run a serial story during the season that culminated on Christmas Day. My sister, Jo Ann read it to me before I could read it myself. Sometimes it took her an awfully long time to get around to it but, she read it. Each segment would take you to a cliff of expectation and leave you hanging on it till the next day and then the same thing would happen again. Following the crescendo of expectation the little boy or the little girl would have a magical experience that had seemed out of range before that.

There are many stories that come from believing so sincerely that the event occurs as a manifestation of that belief.  The magic is the believing. Call it faith, trust, or hope, it doesn’t matter. When you are fortunate enough to have a small child to hold in your arms during the Christmas holiday season, do it. Then, as you are holding them sit in a chair and rock and remember your childhood, your children’s childhood and your grandchildren. Now, believe that their lives will be filled with wonder and beauty and work as hard as you can to make it possible. That is the magic of believing.

Herb Ratliff, December 11, 2011, All Rights Reserved

The Magic Of Believing

In many ways life is a lot simpler when you are very young. You know who is in control. You have a pretty clear idea of what they want you to do. You have a strong sense of self and a pressing desire to meet your wants and needs.  The difficulty begins when you come to an impasse built of your needs coming into conflict with your providers belief that they know more about the importance of satisfying those needs than you. Here begins the seed of misrepresentation for self benefit. For example: Crying.

Crying is useful, necessary and conditional. It is communication that works when vocabulary is limited and need is high. There are, of course, a lot of different forms of this emotional display of dissatisfaction. We are familiar with most of them through personal experience. The problem is the action occurs without labeling. There is not a distinct cry for "I'm hungry" or "I'm thirsty" or "Ouch, I hurt myself". What crying elicits in parents is an immediate response, attention and some cuddling, warm milk or both. The satisfaction derived from this activity persuades us that crying is a very useful tool indeed. In a fairly short period of time we find that it is useful for any number of manipulations that result in cuddles and warm milk. O.K., we say, this is worth remembering.

So, crying is great until we are found out and while even being found out does not lessen the overall effectiveness of crying it does grow tiresome and can result in some distressing behavior from the tall people who bring the milk.

As we grow older, begin to wander around the house and participate in activities in our small community we discover the art and magic of believing. This is something that comes from training. We are conditioned to peak out appetites at certain times of the day for convenience and order. When we do that we expect food to magically arrive when the desire for it arises. Television soon finds it's way into the scheme of things and we are presented with a whole new world of desirable things that are made for us which can be delivered to us by the same people who bring the cuddles and milk. And you get them by being adorable or crying or both.

(So here is the problem. I meant to write a short piece on this but I find I am already over the self imposed limit I set for myself so rather that make this too long to conveniently read in one sitting. I'll finish it tomorrow. O.K.?  I hope you aren't disappointed.)  Don't cry!

Herb Ratliff, December 9, 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

River Magic

River Magic

You'll find me sitting by the water,

staring in it or around

watching all that starts

or ends there,

with or without any sound.

In the Spring it's mayfly hatches,

rising off the placid surface

while the trout's now lurking shadow

waits to dine, his only purpose.

Then the summer's rich delivery

when fish and insects do abound

I'll seek the shadows haunts to sleep in

hearing only water's sound.

Fall begets the tiny midges,

dragon flies and water sprites

then I fear that winter's coming

shorter days and longer nights.

Bundled up in downy vestments,

mesmerized by bluest skies

I think of all the trout engagements

ending in a sweet good bye.

©Herb Ratliff, December 5, 2011, All Rights Reserved.