In the Bleak Midwinter

Winter solstice. The longest night of the year.

I love the Christmas season: light and laughter push back the dark and cold outside, and the music … ah, the music … fills hearts with warmth and minds with a sense of wonder.

Years ago, my mother put it this way in a letter to one of my brothers, who spent Christmas that year far from home:

“As the years have gone by, Christmas has taken on new and deeper meanings. At this stage, the significance of the Savior’s birth and atonement grows … For me, the most enduring part of Christmas as we celebrate it is in the sacred carols. They carry the joy and awe of his birth. I also cherish the sweet feelings I have toward all the family as I try to think of things that would delight each one--and the pain that accompanies knowing I can’t give every delight. Mixed into that is the memory of Christmases past--mostly the feeling of gathering near the tree with loved ones, playing games, enjoying gifts, listening to sweet music, enjoying life together.”

I remember well those Christmas Eves spent around the Christmas tree. We always had a pinion pine: lumpy looking trees that smelled wonderful, we ate good food, and we sang carols for hours on end.

Like my mother, it seems that the older I get, the more I appreciate the Christmas carols. I’ve come to love one in particular that that we didn’t sing growing up: “In the Bleak Midwinter,” a poem written in the late 1800s by the English poet Christina Rossetti and first put to music in 1906. (Sarah McLachlan does a particularly good version of it, which you can listen to here: http://music.aol.com/video/in-the-bleak-midwinter-aol-sessions/sarah-mclachlan/1778450.)

The beautiful lyrics dwell on the contrasts that make the season so mysterious and magical:

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold him,
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When he comes to reign;
In the bleak midwinter
A stable place sufficed
The Lord God incarnate,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for him, whom Cherubim
Worship night and day
A breast full of milk
And a manger full of hay.
Enough for him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But his mother only,
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him —
Give my heart.

(Photo courtesy of Sam Knox on Flickr; available at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/swampy_bogtrotter/3052022793/in/set-72157604324308880/.)

End of Season Tomato Review

The frost killed all my heirloom tomatoes over a month ago. It was a sad day.

But all good things must come to an end, and so it's time to offer my .02 on which tomatoes are worth planting again, and which ones are not. Opinions have changed somewhat since the mid-season review, and so we're due for an update anyway.

Let's start with the losers:

Moonglow (yellow/orange) - Like a few girls I knew growing up: pretty, but (sadly) without substance.

Yellow Brandywine - Same.

Sophie's Choice - Not my choice. All the charm of a grocery store tomato in December: bland and listless.

Red Brandywine - This is a popular heirloom variety, so I think I must've got a bad or diseased plant. What can I say? These pinkish, triangular tomatoes tasted like barf.

Best cherry tomato? I like the Chadwick Cherry: bright, round, and flavorful. We also planted Elfin: cute (sold in the store as "Santa Claus" tomatoes, or something like that), but not as good as the Chadwick.

And the winners?

Ananas Noir - I changed my opinion on this "black pineapple" tomato by season's end. Great color, and the flavor seemed to improve over the summer.

Black from Tula - Solid tomato. Good size. Nice color. Great flavor.

Nyagous - Far and away the most robust tomato I planted. Huge plant with an endless supply of tennis ball sized "black" tomatoes: sweet, but not too acidic.

Cherokee Purple - My favorite. Big, beautiful purple/black tomatoes with great flavor. My plant didn't produce a ton, but we loved every one it did.

I'll probably replant these next year and experiment with a few more. I realize that one season doesn't prove much of anything, but that's the view from where I sit. Now, if only I can hold out until next June ...

A Bottomless Pit

This past spring, I bought a Lifetime Products' compost tumbler at Costco, thinking to myself, "Cool, this will be a great way to recycle yard waste and improve the garden. Mom would be proud."

While my wife has been a little restrained in her enthusiasm (shall we say?) and my neighbor likes to give me grief about "lowering property values," I've been impressed. It's easy to use, relatively inconspicuous (honestly, does it look that bad?), and here's the kicker: it eats EVERYTHING.

The thing has a "capacity" of 75 gallons, but I feel like I've put 10 times that volume of yard clippings, paper bags, sawdust, watermelon rinds and the like into that little black hole over the past several months, and there's still plenty of room. Pretty odd, really. It's like a reverse magicians hat: insert rabbit, presto! nothing. Open lid, put lots of stuff in, come back later, stuff gone, and what appears to be the same little bit of brown/black dirt keeps tumbling around in the bottom. I kept hoping I'd fill it several times over the course of a season, but no such luck. Not enough stuff around to "complete the batch."

But I guess that's the point of composting. All that junk--which would normally go to the landfill--gets boiled down into some kinda supercharged soil packed with every nutrient imaginable. Not bad, not bad at all, and maybe worth a bit of grief from the Mrs. and the neighbors.

In An Instant ...

Everything can change in an instant, a point driven home with particular force this past Labor Day weekend when I stopped concentrating on a narrow trail for a split second and rolled my father-in-law’s heaviest and most expensive four-wheeler off the trail and down a hill.

It all happened so fast: the left tire caught a steep embankment, wrenched the steering wheel (and both front tires) into the hillside, and I found myself, in a kind of surreal slow motion, thrown over the handle bars and onto the trail. The four wheeler flipped over on top of me. I felt its weight run down the length of my right leg, and then lift off. Dazed, I rose to a sitting position, only to watch the four-wheeler slowly careen off the trail and begin rolling down the hill, gathering speed as it went. Eventually it came to rest at the bottom of the hill, maybe 100 yards away, and, after a few minutes spent recovering from the shock, I was able to limp down and turn off the engine.

I was lucky. Every year, people are killed, paralyzed, or seriously injured in OHV accidents like that one. By rights, any of those things could’ve happened to me—once the tire caught, the consequences were entirely out of my control—but they didn’t, and I walked away with nothing worse than a scraped and bruised right knee.

Sobering. I still can’t shake that “lack of control” feeling. In that split second, a relatively innocent mistake could’ve ended my life or changed it (and the lives of those near and dear to me) permanently and dramatically.

I feel deeply blessed that it didn’t, and I’m thankful, in an odd sort of way, for such a stark reminder of how fragile life can be and how quickly it can change. And if the experience taught me to be a little more careful, I also hope that it reminds me to savor each moment, each breath, each minute spent with a loved one, a little more deeply, because we can take nothing for granted.

Uncivil Discourse

The recent debates over health care reform have brought out the best and worst in American politics. On the one hand, we have a citizenry engaged like never before, discussing a critical issue in forums ranging from Facebook to the family dinner table. On the other, people on both sides of the debate have resorted to name-calling, personal attacks, over-heated rhetoric, and shouting down opponents and elected officials.

I was particularly disturbed by a recent Facebook post that featured a poster with the face of President Obama painted like the Joker from the Batman movie “The Dark Knight” and the words “Obamacare: the Final Solution,” a ridiculous attempt to draw a line between proposed health care legislation and Hitler’s efforts to exterminate the Jews. President Obama is frequently described as a “socialist” or worse, and a democractic congressman from Texas was greeted at a recent health care forum with pictures of a headstone with his name on it.

But vicious, personal attacks and name calling aren’t confined to the Republican right. Left-leaning voters loved to question the intelligence of President George W. Bush, some labeled him a “fascist,” and others frequently invoked the term “jack-booted thugs” as a criticism—yet another disingenuous attempt to brand a political opponent with a symbol from Nazi Germany.

A pox on both our houses. Uncontrolled anger, overblown rhetoric, attacking people rather than policies—none of this serves our democracy well: at best, it distorts the debate; at worst, it feeds the lunatic fringe: guys like Timothy McVeigh and Ted Kaczynski, who shed innocent blood without remorse because, well, the “others” are wicked enough to justify any act against them, no matter how cruel or violent.

According to a recent survey by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public life, over three-quarters of Americans identify themselves as “Christians.” If so, how can so many of us forget the single most important lesson of the New Testament: the Golden Rule? (Last time I checked, Jesus made no exception for political debates.)

I was struck by a phrase uttered by Ted Kennedy Jr. in a eulogy he gave at his father’s funeral. He said that his father once told him: “Republicans love America as much as I do.” Can we say the same for our political adversaries? As a Republican (and I am one), can I say with conviction that “Democrats love America as much as I do?” ”

Fortunately, I can. It’s a lesson learned long ago from a deeply conservative friend and mentor, Woody West, a long-time associate editor at Insight Magazine and the Washington Times. When I wrote him a letter to praise one of his columns and condemn those who disagreed, he graciously invited me to lunch, and gently took me to task (to paraphrase): “Never forget that ‘those people’ are people too.”

So, please: let’s stop the name calling, the virulent emails, the Facebook rants filled with hateful or politically charged terms that shed more heat than light. Left, right, and center, we owe it to ourselves and to our country to elevate the dialog and to engage in a more civil discourse. The Framers of the Constitution began their debates with prayer, and we would do well to remember that example. My prayer is that we debate ideas—from health care to abortion to the War in Iraq--openly and honestly, and with a sense of humility, gratitude, and mutual respect. “Gratitude?” you ask? Yes, gratitude. Gratitude for this great Nation, gratitude for the freedom to speak our minds and have our voices heard, and, yes, even gratitude for people who happen to disagree with us.

(Photo by Steve Hopson on Flickr; available at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevehopson/3802497362/.)

Mid-Season Tomato Review

So, my experiment in heirloom tomatoes is about half-way through, and I've learned a few things. First, most indeterminate tomato plants really do need 36" between plants. I have too many mature plants in too small of a space. But that's just a side show, the real question is: which tomatoes are worth planting again next year?

Biggest and most robust plant: the Black Nyagous. Incredible plant. Huge and full of fruit. So big it's hard to control. Tomatoes are roughly the size of a tennis ball and a blackish red. Sweet, but not very acidic.

Biggest disappointment: Annanas Noire. The name of this plant mystifies me, as there is nothing remotely "black" about the plant or its fruit, which are big--baseball to softball size--and an odd yellow green color with a touch of pink. Flavor and texture both nothing to write home about.

Best conversation piece: A smaller plant called a Green Zebra. Fruit is small--ping pong ball sized--but beautifully striped: yellow on green. Flavor is good, but I'd plant this one again mostly for its looks.

And the mid-season award for best all round tomato goes to ... drumroll please ... a beefsteak tomato called Cherokee Purple. Smoky purple-red fruit, large, easy to slice, sweet and tangy. A terrific tomato in my book, and you can bet I'll plant several next year. I've also been happy with a similar tomato with an odd and un-original name: Black from Tula, Indiana (what? as opposed to "Black from Timbuktu?"). A little less acidic than the Cherokee purple, but I like acidic tomotoes, which is why Cherokee Purple takes the cake.

That's the view from the tomato patch ...

(The photo above is of a Cherokee Purple I picked and sliced a few days ago. MMmm!)

Investments Good and Not-So-Good

The other day found me weeding in the garden and thinking about investments, as in "Geez, if I calculated all the time, money, and effort that went into these tomatoes, I suspect they'd start to look pretty expensive." But worth it, mind you, definitely worth it.

That got me thinking about other investments I've made over the years: some good, some not-so-good.

Let's start with the not-so-good. Exhibit A: e-Toys. After I finished law school and started working for a firm, we managed to set aside a little money ($500) to invest, even as we struggled to pay off all our accumulated debt from law school. This was the dot.com boom era, and so, when I asked a successful investor friend for his recommendation, he said, "Rambus." I looked up the stock, and was appalled to see that Rambus stock cost $75/share and had held steady at $75/share for a couple of years. I looked at e-Toys, and visions of e-commerce sugar plums danced in my head. What's more, eToys was trading at $6/share, meaning I could buy a lot more eToys shares for my $500, and more is better, right? Wrong. Within a few months, eToys had gone bankrupt, my shares were worthless and Rambus was trading at $500/share. The moral of this story: indexed mutual funds. That, or "I should've gone to Vegas."

Bad contractors. 'Nuff said.

Corners we tried to cut when we built our house. Anything we went cheap on, we regret: from toilets to double doors to "functional" sinks. If the price sounded to good to be true ... it was.

Annuals. You buy them, they look nice for a little while, then they die. (See previous post.)

Pets.

Okay, so how about the good investments?

(1) Good knives. Sounds a little morbid, I know, but if you cook even a tinesy bit, a good knife is worth its weight in gold. The only downside is that good knives spoil you forever, so you can't stand using a bad one. We received a set of high end J.A. Henckels for our wedding, and we still use them 14 years later.

(2) Good pans. Same thing. I've decided that if it's something we at least once a day, it's well worth investing in quality. We currently use a Calphalon non-stick set. It's about worn out after something like five-years worth of use. Cost us $350, but we've used it thousands of times.

(3) Quality outdoor gear. Rain gear, fishing gear.

(4) Travel. This may be a personal thing, but we've never, ever regretted money we've spent to travel as a couple or as a family. Okay, so we may regret the occasional bad hotel or restaurant, but travel, broadly speaking, has been a terrific investment. Along with this one, I've learned to appreciate the value of quality souvenirs. Not junk stuff, but quality art work or crafstmanship that reflects a particular culture or locale. Becky's had to prod me on this, since I hate shopping, but a lot of the stuff we've collected--from Japanese pottery to Lombok masks--serves as a reminder and memento of some great trips to fascinating places.

(5) Chocolate.

(6) Real ice cream. Real gelato.

(7) Time spent with friends and family. Okay, sorry to go all mushy on ya, but seriously. This isn't something that comes naturally to me. I'm a bit of an introvert, and I always have a million things to occupy my time and attentions, so I have to make a conscious effort to make time for, say, a one-on-one trip with the kids or a date night with Becky, but I never, ever, regret that effort. Best investment. Ever.

Feel free to chime in with your own investments, good or bad, but don't ask me for stock tips ...