21 December 2011

Merry Christmas Y’all! Another year has galloped by and it’s time for our Christmas Letter/Bethany Hillbillies Update. We’re spending Christmas in Butte this year and have done a little sno-grass sled-boarding impatiently awaiting some major snowfall.

Last year we spent Christmas at the Oregon homestead.

Here was me and ma catching Christmas dinner in the backyard. We returned to Butte this summer for Independence Day.

Attentive viewers will notice us in our protective lawn chairs set up in the middle of the highway waitin’ for the parade to start. Got us good seats! The cars zooming by at speed were not part of the organized festivities. The yellow painted curbs create a perceived impenetrable barrier. (Note the experienced people leaning forward to avoid getting clipped by a side mirror.) We spent the rest of the afternoon playing pin-the-tail-on-the-critter with my mom’s old lawn darts. After dark, we tied sparklers on the darts for safety.

  Arianna (14) still has her love of dance, although she’s narrowing her focus just a bit, spending fewer hours at the studio so she can keep her Bethany residency status. She switched middle schools to Stoller, our neighborhood school. The Health & Science magnet school she was attending wasn’t the opportunity she had hoped for. There was a lot of drama for a school that didn’t even offer drama. She’s very happy at Stoller. She filled the summer with dance camps, the church girl’s camp, Wyldlife camp, then off to Shasta for a week with her friend’s family.

She’s pretty much worn out the keyboard on her phone with the endless texting. LOL J Our carrier discontinued their program awarding sky miles for texting—for obvious reasons. In what little free time remains, she’s been pulling down some coin babysitting.

  Not only has Shaelin (12) been playing soccer year-round, but has developed an income stream refereeing games as well. Currently indoor soccer is in full swing. Her team is dominating this year. Indoor is a little rougher than outdoor, and Shaelin keeps track of how many goals she scores as well as how many players she “takes out”.

There’s something about those high glass walls of the arena (or, the ‘Coliseum’ as she calls it), offering their opponents no chance of escape, that makes it very exciting. The transition to the slower-paced spring soccer will be tough. Probably for the players as well.

Her braces came off this summer and she went to Vegas with friends to celebrate. They had a great time. Never too young to start partying in Vegas I guess. She brought us souvenirs. She continued with jazz and hip hop this fall and started middle school at Stoller and loves it.

 

Isen was baptized on New Year’s Day. What a great way to kick off the year! He also started football training this summer.

He dropped hockey, fall soccer, hip-hop and break-dancing in order to do it, but he just loves being in a sport where he can smash people and get praised for it. I helped coach his team this year…>>>cue gasp<<<…even those of you who hardly know me are saying, "But Burke knows nothing of football!" While that may be true, a firm grasp on the rules, regulations, strategies, shape of the ball, etc. is, apparently, unnecessary. All you gotta do is show up and yell. I excelled at that. Eventually, though, I was replaced by a more sports-oriented parent who, admittedly, knew an awful lot about badminton. The coaching staff felt such knowledge was more applicable to football than Dungeons & Dragons and so I was promoted to filming the games from up in the stands.

It was Isen’s turn to drive our Yukon around the track at Portland International Raceway this year to see the Christmas light displays. None of us really ended up looking at any lights other than the ones outlining the track and the tail lights of the car in front of us. We all were lasered in on those. There was a lot of ”Isen…Isen!..ISEN!!” I’m assuming it was a nice display again this year—at least the parts we didn’t drive over.

My wife Mishelle continues to traverse the Einstein-Rosen bridge in order to accomplish all her responsibilities. 3 jobs+3 kids=never quite enough time. But she always pulls it off. A sincere thank you to those of you who assist with carpools, ER runs, etc. Even those of you who bring our kids home 2 hours late...on a school night (don’t worry Andy, no one knows I’m talking about you.) A beneficial side effect of manipulating time & space is that she doesn’t seem to age. J I, on the other hand, am decaying at a good clip. The contrasting age between us becomes starker each day.

We had the most fantastic vacation this year. My mom wanted to get her kids together one last time before grandkids started taking off for college or the circus, so she dragged us all to the pleasant isle of Maui. What a great time! How can you not have fun in Hawaii? And to be with my mom, brother, sister, nieces and nephews—it really was a special time. Thanks Mom!

You ever get the feeling you're not 18 anymore? I get it a lot lately. It’s not just from the various doctors upbraiding me while patching me up, it’s also that I’m losing hair where there is supposed to be hair and growing hair where there shouldn't be hair. I get these thick black ones that I have to yank out like noxious weeds, it’s like I’m morphing into the Fly. Many of the ones that haven’t fallen out are turning…umm, what’s a comforting synonym for grey? And without asking, my body began hoarding calcium oxalate in my kidney, forming a ‘stone’. Sounds benign, but this ‘stone’ isn’t some microscopic remnant of a well-weathered river rock, it’s actually a razor-sharp, jagged crystal just a shade larger than the various passages through which it must squeeze on its journey from the center of Burke. They say the pain of passing one is the closest thing to the pain a man might feel as he transforms into a werewolf. I believe it. I also believe Tom Stoppard when he said, “Age is a very high price to pay for maturity.”

Isen and I learned to surf this year. Some of you may remember the skateboarding incident of 2010...while Doctor “Broken Record” Richardson reminded me, yet again, that I wasn't 18 any longer, he didn't specifically forbid surfing, which, in surfing lingo, is known as a loophole. Anyway, Isen and I, along with my nephew Tanner, grabbed our longboards and hit the waves. Knowing my fortunes in extreme sports, “How is it,” you may ask, “he’s alive to write this letter?” Well, multiple instructors, life guards, shallow breakers and a waist-high water depth took the edge off “extreme”. Still, we learned to surf. Some of us quicker than others. Being the natural athlete, Isen just popped up like he’d been surfing since birth, as if he hang-tenned right out of the womb, so on his second run, our surf instructor, JB—the best instructor on Maui by the way—decided regular surfing was too amateur and had him doing this jump/spin/switch your feet to goofy stance while surfing. Others were clinging to their boards for dear life and did no intentional jumping, spinning, or switching—goofy or otherwise. I was gripping my board like it was the last piece of flotsam from the Titanic.

I'm sure you all remember our mechanical recliner couches we acquired in '99? The "if they're heavy, they must be good" ones? That became the "if we can ever get rid of these, our next furniture will be bean bags"? The ones we should've had craned in, instead of enlisting the help of my friend Herb, who, to this day, regales the story of having to lift them to anyone who will listen as if it happened yesterday? Well, still they stand. More importantly, I'm certain you remember how our (FREE) state-of-the-art Harmony One universal remote went missing in '08, thanks again to those who helped in the search. After a couple years in mourning, we replaced it last Christmas with a significantly-less-than-free one.

Well, when the kittens arrived, (oh, by the way, we got kittens—replacement kittens for the ones the coyotes consumed. We’re trying to keep these ones outside the coyote’s stomachs, so they stay inside the house), they immediately jumped through the recliner openings into the couches, at which time our children immediately began shrieking that they would be forever lost in "The Hole" as our comfy furniture has become known. Many a precious possession has disappeared into the maw of those things. IPods, phones, anything you want to see again, etc., all have to be securely tethered to an appendage before you venture close. Yeah, there's a reason we call it the Hole. Anyway, the kittens are scrambling around in there like it’s McDonalds Playland, and we couldn’t open the recliner parts because of the scissoring action of the mechanism—we already had two cats and we didn't need four, so I'm wrestling a couch over onto it's back like a rodeo steer, tearing off the bottom fabric, groping around for anything furry and moving, finding all manner of prizes: silverware—"But we never eat in here…", crayons, game pieces, car parts, humidifier, etc…and…a Harmony One universal remote. Now, my wife ‘claims’ she looked in the couch back in that dark time. In her defense, I wasn't much help in the search, being too depressed over the loss to do anything, and poking around through all the levers, pistons, and whirling gears inside of the couch, you start to feel like Optimus Prime's proctologist. So, if she says she "looked" we'll have to take her word on that. Thankfully, the screen on the remote was in pristine condition due to a protective coating of melted milk duds and mac & cheese. One less Christmas present I need to buy this year.

This morning Isen woke us with the report that it was “pouring snow” outside, so all is well. We hope our greeting finds you well this season.

The Padburys

Christmas Letter 2007

Greetings Friends & Family—God rest ye merry!
They say, ‘When happiness shows up, give it a comfortable seat.’ So we’ve filled our living room with throw pillows, rockers, and bean bag chairs. We are very grateful for the happiness that has found us this year.

As parents stumbling along, we’d like to express our gratitude for our parents for making it all possible. We are attempting to conduct ourselves in an honorable manner as well. My wife, Mishelle, certainly is the good parent. Now that the kids are all in school it frees my wife up to spend more time…at school.
She’s a class helper at Isen’s preschool and at the grade school and at the dance school. She continues to immerse herself in the lives of our children—and they are fortunate for it. This summer she was bulking up at the local Fitness Club. A trying time for me—all she wanted to do is arm wrestle…”Come on!...What, are ya chicken?” Or having to try and convince my friends that all those free weights lying around our house were mine. And what could be more humbling than trying to lift something and having your wife say, “Here, let me help you with that…” When she’s not pumping iron she finds time for canning and, of late, candy-making—Grandma Hanna’s Glass Candy, Divinity, and Knox Dainties.

 Arianna (10) continues to be a champion for animals. Her dream is to be a veterinarian. She has her father’s love and knack for organized sports. An avid reader and writer. I wish I could showcase some of her work here, but spatial considerations and ego limit what I can…oh wait, here she is now— “Hi everyone! I’d just like to say how great my Dad is….” Well, thank you Arianna for that unsolicited bit of writing. She loves school— history, technology, music, and plays the piano. She is becoming quite a little lady. Thankfully she’s begun to narrow her field of activities—dropping cheer, tumbling, Brownies, and focusing much of her time to dance— Ballet, Acro, Company, Trio, Stardust, Tap, MSAF(it might be easier to list off what she’s not taking…) She’s also started sitting for us. Hooah! The sitters we’ve had in the past have all either moved with no forwarding address, or are in some protection program. 

Shaelin (8) has her Uncle Craig’s love and knack for sports. Soccer, basketball, softball, and TaeKwon-Do. She’s dabbled in the dance arts—jazz & ballet which, as you can imagine, has helped immeasurably with the martial arts. Shaelin’s a very sweet person and still believes (in spite of her father’s indoctrinations) that life is fair (or at least should be). I recently read an article about if we get our feelings hurt, not letting that or other anger fester inside us and create a ‘hidden wedge’ within us that will eventually split us asunder. That’s not exactly the advice Grandma used to give me. She said to take that anger and hurt and put it in a little box inside my heart. And when that box started to feel full and I didn’t think it could take any more, to just keep cramming it in there…Tick, tick, tick…. So maybe there was something to this article. Anyway, I asked our kids if they knew what a wedge was. (Is your forehead beginning to sweat too?) Dear Shaelin began describing something she’d witnessed at school which sounded quite unwelcome and uncomfortable. So much for a teaching moment.

For quite some time, Shaelin has been inquiring as to Jesus’ ETA. She’s quite serious about it—so much so that she’s considering asking Santa to ask Jesus to return to the earth. How do you respond to that? “Sweety, I know Santa has a lot of clout, but I seem to remember the scriptures hinting that Christ will return in a like manner to the way he left—and I don’t remember Him leaving in a sleigh.” On the other hand, faith can move mountains, and if faith doesn’t do it then my daughter’s dogged questioning just might, so if there’s anything you haven’t squared away yet or something you’ve been putting off—I’m just sayin’…Christmas could be a bit more eventful this year than usual—just a little notification/disclaimer here. 

Speaking of disclaimers, Isen’s grandparents gave him a pair of Heelys for his birthday. These are those shoes with the wheels hidden in the bottom and you see kids effortlessly gliding through the isles of stores while the rest of us stare and start to loose our balance. Anyway, there’s a sticker on the bottom of the shoe that states: ‘By removing this sticker, you forfeit your right to sue the Heeley Corp.’—Nice. Just to be clear, Mishelle’s parents constitute the responsible party proffering said item. My involvement is limited through some arcane marriage vow. Just to be safe, Mishelle ran the shoe with the sticker through her laminator*, so technically the sticker hasn’t been removed.  In other Isen (5) news, he loves school (finally), and at home continues honing his riding skills—bikes, scooters, cats, and now litigious footwear. His social shyness continues to fade as he readily ventures forth, out from within arms reach of his mother. Bonus: he now willingly stays with a sitter—did I mention Arianna sits for us now? Hooah! These are glorious times. * For other laminating feats, see Christmas Letter 2002.

Frodo lives! (Frodo is our dog.) Pookey (our cat), unfortunately, does not. Old age or perhaps the incessant arrivals of more children, a dog, hamsters, guinea pig, and fish, cleverly protected, just out of reach, behind 5/8” thick glass, was all too much for her. So my mom helped us pick out a new kitten. But why get one, when you can get two for twice the cost? And why buy domestic when you can ‘rescue’ feral? So our kittens— Sadie and Bagheera—having been raised in the jungles of the pacific northwest, quickly grew into small horse-like creatures galloping through the house after one another.

Our zoological paradise was recently disturbed when one of the feline-equines came up missing for a few days—not a good sign. Bagheera had always managed to escape from his collar in a matter of seconds (and yes, we even tried staples), so even if he was found, he would be unreturnable. We were sad. His third day gone, my wife was leaving our neighborhood to go pick up Isen after school and pulled up behind someone who had just hit a cat. My wife got out and saw all the distinct markings of our cat—it was Bagheera. No signs of life. My wife was distraught, the man in the other car was distraught. She wrapped him (the cat) in a blanket and put him in the back. She then called me. “Should I drop him at the vet on my way to the school?” (Of course, I’m thinking $$$ for “Yep, he’s dead.”) “Well, is he dead?” I ask. “I think so…” the reply. (“I think so?!”—here’s my concern—my wife and son are driving along and our mangled cat pops up in the back and begins clawing its way over the seats toward my shrieking family and my SUV ends up parked in someone’s living room.) “I think it would best for the vet to take a look,” I say. $$$. Diagnosis: Dead. $$$ Autopsy — Cause of Death: massive trauma—‘most likely’ due to impact from car. Uh…thanks Doc…you saved the CSI unit a trip. $$$ Disposal fee. $$$—not having to remodel someone’s living room: priceless. So it was a very traumatic day for all. Later that afternoon, Mishelle is sitting at home, staring out the window, sorting out the day, when, what to her watering eyes should appear, but Bagheera, sitting on the porch, nary a scratch on him. Now, does my sweet wife run out and scoop him up in her loving arms? Noooo…we all saw Pet Sematary. She’s dialing me on one phone, 911 on the other, whilst rummaging through the closet for the shotgun. In the end, it was a Bagheera look-alike that got run over, some poor man will go to his grave thinking he killed the hysterical woman’s cat, and, as it turns out, 911 doesn’t respond to undead pet situations. 

For those of you who were expecting more than just this letter, we’ve gone green this year and in lieu of gifts, you can take some consolation, nay pride, in the fact that a number of carbon credits have been purchased in your name, freeing up our betters to jet around the world chastising us about wasting energy and do it with a clear conscience. Oh, we live in interesting times, don’t we?—Men of cunning device and many flattering words seeking to destroy the foundation of liberty which God has granted unto them. They would do well to remember that this land is ‘choice above all other lands’ and this struggle for liberty and freedom is one of the greatest battles of our time. I’d like to share with you some comfort and solace I’ve found from good books: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

 “You also shall hear of wars, and rumors of wars; see that ye be not troubled, for all I have told you must come to pass; but the end is not yet.”

 "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him." I understand it’s on us to actually open the door; it is also on us to turn down the volume of all the racket in our lives so we might hear His inquiry, but sometimes I wish He might knock a little harder…or use the doorbell…or, in our case, maybe a door ram. We’d like to join with Old Navy in wishing everyone a pleasant ‘Holiday Morning’ while you’re all circled around your Holiday Trees. And for you normal people—a hearty Merry Christmas!

The Padburys (north) — Burke, Mishelle, Arianna, Shaelin, Isen & other assorted wildlife