Thought for the Day

It was Sisyphus who brought us rock and roll.
And Narcissus found the pool in which beauty doth extol.
But neither could deliver
Cupids missile from his quiver
So love, was sadly eaten by a troll.

©Herb Ratliff - All Rights Reserved

But Echo loved Art Deco

Thought for the Day

Have you ever marveled at the disappointment

you feel when people don't do what you didn't

ask them to do, but expected?

Herb Ratliff

Ever Changing, Ever The Same - Fathers Day

Herb & Wanda Ratliff 1932

There will be a lot of pancakes and eggs prepared with varying degrees of skill for the fathers of the  world today. I have no idea how far the custom reaches out beyond the United States but here in most houses of young families there will be some treasured moments and some very messy kitchens all in the name of fatherhood.

I have noticed within my own family a relationship between fathers and their children that surpasses the kind I had with my father. My son and sons in law are deeply involved in the activities of their children. They show up at most sports events and coach in some cases. There is an easy and friendly interaction with sports, games and school where possible. That's very different from what I experienced.

I have noticed another phenomenon that is often emulated by children. It's the electronic connection. Recently I observed one of my grandsons in a close up encounter for a couple of days and noticed his devotion to an digital game he carried with him most everywhere he went. He even engaged in it's magnetism while watching television, a curious but common behavior.

Developing any kind of verbal interaction with the lad was often protracted and difficult because of the extra time it took to make any kind of noticeable connection with him. Eye contact was nearly nonexistent. His attentions were quite fixed on the small electronic device which provided copious exercises for his thumbs.

While the competition with the electronic box was a bit frustrating, it was not unusual and it jumps age groups with ease. That evening I had a quiet one-on-one dinner with my son and observed the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree.

Later I spoke with one of my daughters who apologized for a lack of attention and made a very wise and accurate observation about the young parents of today's world. She said,

"It seems like everyone and everything is vying for our attention. We are working on our developing careers which demand time, our children which demand all of our time, community, and family - which is you. You want time and I want to give it but I am not a magician. And, in order to be healthy and capable of performing well I have to spend time on exercise and a healthy lifestyle."

She was right. I remember the time well. It's a near impossible situation but we all do it and we survive.

I love being a father. It is noble and sweet and frustrating. I'm fortunate to have very attractive, intelligent and resourceful children who enrich my life in myriad ways. I am fortunate to have had a father who fit no mold but gave what he had to make my life an adventure. Happy Fathers Day Dads, what a honor.

©Herb Ratliff, June 16, 2013, All Rights Reserved

Happy Day Mothers

Stella Wanda Johnson Ratliff

Mom

Mother’s Day

Now this is a day worth remembering. Have you ever considered what it takes to be a Mother? Really! I ask this not to belittle your understanding of the task but to emphasize the breadth of it; this is no mean responsibility.

I am not going to get into the physical part of this. There are some parts of motherhood that, frankly, have left me shaking my head. For example: most females have the physical characteristics required for motherhood somewhere between their 12th and 15^th birthdays. I’m not spending any time here. I don’t know either. Even when you push it up to 18, 19, 20, 21 there is still a lot of responsibility dropped in the lap of the female of our species. This is particularly true when you look at it as a member of Western Culture, America in particular.

If you graduate from High School at 18, go to a four year college and graduate, you are now 22. If you have given any serious thought to taking time to carefully plan your future, children are not likely to be a part of your plans just yet. That would be very true if you were considering a highly skilled career like, Medicine, any science which required a PhD, Politics, Research, in truth almost anything. The exception would be teaching. But if that is your path a Master’s Degree is pretty much required for pay scale and any chance of moving up the food chain in Education. That can be done and has been by many while teaching and being a mom. But, it is not easy.

There is the old biological clock that ticks on and in truth vying for a position in the employment arena that fosters competition, skills development and being active long enough to invite “Luck” into the equation you could easily scratch off another five to ten years. OK, now you are thirty two. If you are skilled, socially adept, competitive, attractive and desirable, you probably don’t want to marry, get pregnant and smear pabulum all over your expensive designer clothing that gets you in the door.

So you could easily be forty before the time would be “right” for a pregnancy break. That is also about the outer limit for most women to take on motherhood. And that may not even be an attractive option at this point. It depends, at least in part on how many children you have been around during your career preparation. And, if you think talking over a belligerent board member in a corporate meeting is difficult, try reasoning with a child three months old with colic.

Look at me. I’m ending my first page and haven’t even gotten to soccer games. This could take a while. And wait until you hear about volunteer time in the food kitchen during games and the driving schedule. Did I mention Band, Scouts, Church, Sports, PTA……..Did I mention nieces and nephews? Oh, and did I ask if you would be doing this as single mom, same sex couple or standard issue straight married couple? Also, are you politically active? And if you are a part of a married couple and fall into what once was called a normal family grouping, will this be a first marriage, an arrangement of convenience or an impregnation with no intended father on premises?

Here’s the point. Mothers are stars, angels, friends, mentors, disciplinarians, coaches, teachers and they do it with love and magic. I miss my mom, admire my daughters for the terrific moms they are and hope you love and honor the women in your lives who hold the title. 

Happy Day Mothers.

©Herb Ratliff May 12, 2013, All Rights Reserved

Kathleen, Will and Secrets of the Desert Stones

The Promise

When the old man gave Kathleen the stone he called a “geode” Will was a bit jealous of the attention she got and wondered why he had not received a “geode” too. Will didn't know what a geode was. He thought it looked like any other rock lying on the desert floor just outside Big Bend National Park but when it was given to his sister with so much ceremony he felt cheated so he grabbed the rock and kept her from enjoying her moment.

Then, the old man came to him and said he would find something special for him the next day. Will wasn't sure the old man could deliver on his promise, but he felt like he was special too at that moment and surrendered the geode back to Kathleen.

 Now as he neared the RV camp at Stillwell Ranch he began to wonder if there would be something special waiting for him. He couldn't possibly know how special the gift would be and that was just as well. Will would have to wait a long time before he could understand the significance of the gift he would receive.

 Earlier that day the old man had been making good on his promise to find something special for Will. But what he would find was beyond anything even the old man expected.

 It was beginning to heat up. It would be very hot today but the old man and his dog Charley were showing no haste as they walked along the arroyo following what the old man called “the scent of a promise”.

 Many years before Soaring Hawk, the young man, had been under the care of Red Bear, his teacher. It was Red Bear who had taught him the lore of the Indians who inhabited this land long before the white man came here. And it was Red Bear who had shown Soaring Hawk how all of the inhabitants of the desert spoke to those who would listen. 

That was how Red Bear knew that he had been called to meet this young man who needed a guide to learn the secrets of leadership from one who had gone before. And, it was how the old man knew he must teach the secrets of the desert stones to Kathleen and Will.

The Stone

Early in the evening while sitting around the campfire listening to the dry Mesquite snap from the fire, Will was wondering when the old man might show up. His dad wouldn't let him knock on the door to get him and Will was not a patient boy. But, just a few moments before Will was ready to give up on the whole thing the old man seemed to come out of nowhere and sit by him and his dad. He was pretty excited now and wanted to quickly get his gift but his dad told him to be patient. Will didn't like that. He started to get angry that things were not moving fast enough for him.

The old man smiled at Will and said,

"I have a gift for you."

 Will shot out his hand. 

"Not so fast." Said the old man. 

"First, I have to tell you and your dad what I have for you and what it means."

"I just want a special stone." said Will, pushing his hand toward the old man again.

"And that is exactly what I have for you, Will."  said the old man, but there is some information that comes with it.

"You, want to no why it is special, don't you?"

"Yes, but can I hold it?"

"If you take it in your hand, you agree to follow the rules that go with it. You wouldn't want to make a promise with someone before you knew what they wanted you to promise, would you?"

Will said no, but he was getting a little angry again. The old man could see it and offered some words of consolation to Will. 

"What I have for you is something that comes along very rarely, Will.  And since I have been chosen to be the messenger, I want to make sure you get everything that has been sent to you. Do you understand?"

Will scowled.

"Perhaps this is something that needs to be saved for later." said the old man.

" I'll tell you what I will do. I am going to give the stone to you but, only for you to hold and examine for a little while. Then, I am going to have you give it to your dad. I will then tell you the first part of the story of the stone and each year on your birthday I will send you a note explaining  more about the stone. How's that?"

"O.K.", said Will, who, at that moment would have agreed to anything just to get his hands on the stone.

Out came Will's hand and the old man gave him the Triangle Stone.

"This is The Triangle Stone, Will. I have only seen one other stone like this and that was many years ago. I won't be able to tell you what it is for until you hear the explanation of the promises you must keep in order to have the stone. I will only tell you that it is a great honor to be chosen to have this stone and when it is in your hands you will have the power to do great things for many people. You must be kind and thoughtful to your family and friends. You must strive for excellence in your work. You must learn to control anger and nurture patience. Treat your sister with special kindness for she may be your best friend some day."

The last thing the old man said made Kathleen and Will think.

"What the two of you can do together will always exceed what you can do alone."

The old man left and promised to tell them more when the time came. 

To be continued.........

©Herb Ratliff, March 15, 2013, All Rights Reserved

Fishing With Bill

You won’t see him wading anymore,

he stopped doing that a while ago.

He was getting a bit unsteady for surprises

on the bottom of an ever changing riverscape.

I have never stepped into a stream

without thinking of him; sometimes I even

think I smell his favorite pipe blend when

the evening stillness comes to the North Branch.

I can hear the soft cut of his line pass

through the prescient air and know it will land

exactly where he intended.

He was a poet, you know.

His were not words placed exactly where

they should be, but colors and sometimes, dry flies,

or perfectly selected spices and seasonings.

He shined most at inviting new friends into his delightful world

of conversation, hearty meals, a fine cigar

and a glass of wine.

He loved the precision of art

and the randomness of humanity

with equal fervor.

He loved the people he shared time and wine with

not the time and the wine.

He acted more the steward of his possessions than their owner.

He measured value in the friends he shared them with.

And now, as always, he goes ahead, to check
the larder for the morning meal of

Slab cut bacon, fried potatoes,
toast from Ruth’s home made bread
and her freezer strawberry jam,
eggs basted in bacon drippings
and strong coffee.

All the while whining vehemently
about never winning at cards.

There was the beginning
to a perfect day
of fishing
with Bill

©Herb Ratliff - March 1, 2013

The Side You See

If you look at a trout from overhead you may not even be able to see him. The finely tuned coloration causes him to merge seamlessly with the reflections of the water and the stones and sands on the bottom of the river.

If you look at him from the side which is a most difficult thing to do unless you are a denizen of the river and can swim parallel to the crafty fellow, you will see brilliant colors shapes and textures.

Slide for a moment underneath this well-designed aquanaut and there is little more than the flat, dull-white to ivory coloration of the belly, unflattering to say the least. Further, there is no protection from predatory observation which has the effect of a diminished life cycle.

Why the fascination with the trout’s color, attractiveness, and vulnerability, just this: Are we not much the same as the lovely trout?  From overlords and higher-ups who look down on me, there is little notice, perhaps a quick look at my balding pate. But short of that I blend quite easily into the environment which I inhabit. I cause no stress, no curiosity, no fervor.

If those around me see me as a fellow of equal value, from the side, I may have interesting colors, tints, shades and an occasional brilliant splash of color. So there I am a common man with special interests for some and commonality with many.

Slide down low and there you find a less attractive fellow, dull of color and plain or cold to view. There is little there to attract and little to dwell on of value.

So whether man or trout it isn’t always how you present yourself that captures the attention of others but often how you are perceived by them, the one thing you can do little to modify. So swim on my friend, I know there is beauty and good in, on or around you if only I take the time to look for it.

©Herb Ratliff, February 26, 2013, All Rights Reserved

Why Not Dance?

If we’re kept within a prison

there’s no lock can make us stay.

Lest our hapless, weary posture

simply let’s us waste away.

And if songs are sung around us

in the Winter or the Spring

But our voice is deathly silent

It’s not the fault of quieting.

When the wren darts to the sill plate

of the window we look out

And the song bursts from his small heart

lauding life and love, no doubt.

Dare we not release the handcuffs

which lock us down each day

And find somewhere within us

Something good or kind to say?

Reach out farther, oh my brother,

give your heart and mind a chance

Lift your spirit and your heels

It is your life, so why not dance?

Herb Ratliff, January 4, 2013, All Rights Reserved

Teach Your Children

In the morning, before the sunrise

When my eyes are still at rest

I see visions of the changes and

confusion masked as winning or success.

It’s as if I have been scouting

for the danger on the road that lies ahead

To foreworn those I have mentored

to prevent unwanted dread.

But my voice goes mute, I’m silenced

by some wicked, heartless sprite

So that all that I have garnered

has no substance, weight or light.

In the struggle they encounter

I have eyes and memories wise

That I scream from silenced heartbreak

but my voice is compromised.

It’s not wisdom that can aid them

When the sword is coming down

It’s the life that I have lived out

that’s the one they’ve copied down.

So the wisdom in my satchel

which I carry and would share

has no value to my warriors

who’ve become the life I’ve bared.

But by grace and fortunes blessing

many changes have been made

And the children I have tutored

Learned the value of a trade.

So the things they valued were protected

and the scary stuff they left alone

What is here is what they live for

sweet their minds and sweet their tone.

Herb Ratliff, January 3, 2013, All Rights Reserved

It's in Your Brain

One of the reasons you are sensitive to change and the health and welfare of friends and relatives is the same reason you are not a serial killer or CEO. If we watched your amygdala through an MRI machine we could see a virtual fireworks display when your decision process went from impersonal to personal. In a psychopath or CEO you would see darkness. They are driven by objective alone, how they achieve it is incidental. Is this oversimplified, to be sure. I mention this primarily because of the pangs we suffer sometimes because of our hardwired behavior.

In the newness of this doorway to 2013 remember that only part of you is malleable. We are not all executive material any more than we are all psychopaths. Fortunately we are all very different, very human examples of the possibilities of life as a human being. So do not be too quick to compare your insides with other people’s outsides. It’s a losing proposition, you can’t win. And most of the time you will be incorrect in your observations anyway.

If you are looking for ways to improve yourself, select things that you can control. For most of us weight can be controlled and exercise.  Improving our mind with more and better reading is ours to manage. Giving freely and often to those around us and in need is a choice unless you are among those who find emotion to be entropy. Politicians are often gifted with that characteristic. It isn't that they don’t care what happens. They just don’t care what happens to you.

Happy New Year!

Herb Ratliff, January 2, 2013, All Rights Reserved  

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