If Iohan can pedal around the world, why can’t I get a blog post up before the day is over?

Seems kind of hard to figure out somehow.

Here, our intrepid traveller is down in South America still….pedaling and seeing new sights…..recording it all for our benefit as he goes along.

(Remember the carousels of slides that we used to endure, “slide shows” of action packed holidays, static re-creation of our more active recreations? That was a while ago. I guess that some of us had 8 and 16mm movies, but the days of the GoPro were far in the future. I’m glad that we can make movies like this these days….it’s more interesting than watching a slide show.)

I am nearing the end of a 7 day vacation….and, other than relaxing and hanging out with my family, I don’t know what I used the time for.

“Relaxing….and hanging out with my family”…..that should be enough.

All this pedaling looks pretty amazing.

All these movies make me feel like Andy Griffith….looking at National Geographic with Floyd in the barber shop, dreaming of a bigger world outside of Mayberry.

I have enough on my plate right here….but it sure is fun to travel.

I would love to get back out on the road again.

Someday…..

Good stuff about a guy named Joe.

Art….commitment….the choices we make….the desires we have….this short film covers a lot of ground.

Joe covers a lot of ground.

This is a good short film.

I got a copy of Tim Ferris’ new book, “Tools of Titans”, for Christmas, and one of the things that he mentioned that many of the people he’d interviewed in the book recommended was this speech by Neil Gaiman.

Art is hard, I guess.

That’s true, right?

Art must be hard.

I work for the Post Office now….driving a rural route….and I’m so very thankful that I have the opportunity to make a living and keep my family relatively financially stable.

That’s a real blessing to have that job.

It’s a perfect job, too….short periods of indirect supervision followed by a longer period of driving around and listening to the radio, putting mail in black boxes along the way, running packages to porches, talking to dogs….talking to people…..every day.

Every…..single….day.  46+ hours a week.

That’s a lot of life to trade for “making a living”.

I couldn’t ask for better, really.

Still, I chafe.

I chafe at the reins because, maybe, it isn’t “art”, whatever that means.

I’m not willing (or brave enough) to sacrifice my families stability for some dream that I didn’t work at developing before I was married and we had our children.

Maybe it’s just something else to complain about? Maybe the perceived loss of freedom is something that I’d be too scared or too lazy to act on….if I had the freedom to do it?

If I haven’t done it already, what makes me think that I’d do it if I wasn’t employed?

Good grief, though….there is something pretty enticing and noble about creating art.

It’s the thing that’s just beyond the tether….just out of reach of the junk yard dog….stretched to the limit, reaching….knowing that he’ll never taste what can’t be attained because of the thing that’s “holding him back”….that looks like the best thing he’ll never have.

My life is good….what more could I want?

Everything good.

That’s what I want…everything good.

Even if everything I have is pretty great….I want more …and better of it.

That’s pretty wacky, huh?

We went to see this tonight….the “boys” did, at least.

(My oldest daughter had seen it earlier in the week….and my wife and youngest daughter had no interest in it.)

We saw the movie in 3-D in a good theater with a great sound system, so the experience was about as good as it gets.

It’s a beautiful movie….beautiful special effects….but….I really didn’t mind when it was over.

I won’t miss any of the characters.

Of course, it wasn’t really set up for any sequels.

When you see it, you’ll know what I mean.

The chance of seeing most of these characters again is pretty slim.

It’s fun to go to the movies with my sons.

This was a good one to see with them (Nate is swinging a light saber behind my head as I type this)….but I don’t know if my high expectations were met by this one.

It’s a prequel to the whole story….so it has its place in the legend that Star Wars has developed over the years….but I don’t know that it’s one of my favorites.

Maybe it will grow on me?

What a pleasure to be able to bring this fine post back around for another Christmas Eve!

A friend in Alaska, Rod Perry, wrote this a couple of years ago, and has allowed me to use it as a Christmas post for a number of years on my own blog.

That’s a big deal to me.

Read the post….it puts things in a good perspective during a busy “holiday season”….and is a great reminder of what Christmas is really about.

Thanks again, Rod!

Merry Christmas, everybody!

My mother spent her last years here with us near the old Iditarod Trail. But she grew up in a sod house and half dugout on a land claim in New Mexico Territory. She was born at a time when Pancho Villa’s raiding was keeping things lively thereabouts, before the territory became our forty-seventh state.

Among the frontier folk who scratched out a bare living scattered about the arid, sparsely-grassed country were many that were hardly schooled. Once a good little wife and mother walked five rough miles across the plains (then five back home) to borrow from my grandmother some “ingredients.” When questioned what ingredients in particular she sought, the poor dear looked puzzled. She explained that she had flour, salt, baking powder, and everything else called for except the item, “ingredients” she saw mentioned in the recipe.

My mother happened to be in the general store when a little girl came in to pick up an order. “I came to get wipin’ paper. Ma said put it on our bill.” The store keeper, not recognizing which family the girl belonged to, asked, “Little Lady, who is this for?” To which she answered, “All of us.”

Parents on a distant claim sent word around that they would be holding a birthday party for their son. A social event of such rarity drew every kid within walking or riding distance. My mother went, as did three sisters who came as they did each day to school, astride Ol’ Silas, their mule. Upon arrival each guest paid respects to the birthday boy then joined in the festivities honoring him as the center of attention. That is, until a young chap, getting there late, burst through the door. With not so much as a look in the direction of the one whose birthday was the sole reason for the entire gathering, he loudly proclaimed, “I come for ice cream and lemonade!”

Now, looking around during the Christmas season, I see parties, celebrations, plays and performances, going home for the holidays, family, children and friends. I see Santa and traditions, gift giving and benevolence to the needy. Center Jesus in his rightful place and it’s all so rich. But those celebrants who leave out the Savior, never stopping to so much as acknowledge God’s greatest gift as the very reason for the season, well, they are as crudely off the mark as that boorish late-arriving boy at the party on the plains almost a century ago. Leave Jesus out and even the highest and best of the rest is only, “I come for ice cream and lemonade!”

A “Happy Holidays” kind of Christless Christmas season, one that ignores, circumvents, or purposely shuts out both the Christ and the mass (celebration of his birth) might best be summed up using words of the famous trailsman, gold rush dog driver, Old Ben Atwater. “Whagh! Why, it’s all worth no more than a cold half pinch of last years’ bear scat!”

If even that.