Getting in Touch with Your Inner Village Idiot

Rash words seem to plague our dialog. Other than taking a vow of silence, resistance seems futile. Besides that, a vow of silence is way too easy to break. Go figure.

It seems to me that promises we make fall into three broad categories. The solemn vow, the random promise, and the pinky promise. It would stand to reason that those promises are fulfilled in the order which they are listed. I'm not so sure that is the case. A poorly thought out promise can push one across the fine line between inspiration and affliction.

Personally, I want to avoid afflictions.

A solemn vow can be the ultimate catalyst that motivates an individual to a life of epic greatness. A vow like that is generally taken before a roomful of witnesses and often invokes Divine accountability. I would suggest Mother Theresa as a glowing example of this. Some may find such a vow arduous and would be advised against making such a commitment without deep soul searching.

Then there is the random promise. It is often vocalized without much consideration. Once upon a time a person's word was as good as a contract. Nowadays, that may still be the case, but the contract isn't worth anything either. This is a particularly sad change in our culture.

When we come to the pinky promise, we think of children and silliness. But, search as I might, I can recall no instances of someone breaking a pinky promise. Maybe I'm missing something here.

Which brings me to the point of this post. The mighty New Year's resolution. It can be made with all the solemnity of marital vows, but is rarely fulfilled. It seems to be the low IQ version of a life-vow. Or maybe we are just getting in touch with our inner village idiot when we make such promises. A New Year resolution is generally not attended with any accountability, because it is commonly made to oneself. That annual tradition of speaking before one thinks is generally worn out before February, just for the record.

Still, we are drawn to such self-promises, partly because the new year gives us a clean break from the past. It doesn't really, but it seems that way. I think another reason we inflict ourselves with resolutions is most people recognize their shortcomings and have a desire to improve themselves. That is honorable. Too bad it rarely works.

So, is the problem in the promises we make, or in our commitment to a given lifestyle change? Or, maybe it is in the accountability. Maybe the accountability factor is why pinky promises are more successful than New Year's resolutions. Hmmm.

I don't have great answers here, but time is running out to make New Year's resolutions for 2015. So, if you decide to make a resolution, be sure to pinky promise with someone. Or, I suppose you could think it through carefully. Whichever method you choose, I hope you are able to accomplish it.

That hardly seems fair!

I have this Christmas tradition of hiding gifts for my kids and leaving them a series of cryptic clues as a treasure hunt. On Christmas day when the rest of the western world is celebrating instant gratification by ripping open thinly wrapped gifts … my kids are deciphering clues. It may sound like a cruel trick, but they seem to enjoy it.

The intention was never to cause angst or withhold the fun. In fact, the intention is always to draw out the fun into a longer time span. We tend to be modest on the quantity of gifts we exchange. That fact is driven home each year by the many facebook posts of Christmas trees protruding from gift mountains. But, I digress. Our practice of modest gift exchange is rooted deeply in our family's experiences. I've written enough on that subject in the past.

Each year I have to raise the bar a little higher. My kids and their spouses are all smarter than me, so it has become somewhat of a personal challenge as well. It takes me, on average, eight times as long to make a treasure hunt as it does for them to accomplish it. This year it took them a bit over an hour to find their presents. You can do the math on the preparation time.

This year's hunt included a field trip off the homestead. That was a first. This year we had a couple of relatives along for the ride which was also a first. They readily engaged in the hunt, but they may think we are all crazy by now. Verum, notum est.

The part about the Christmas treasure hunt that brings the most pleasure to me is seeing the kids pooling their cooperative knowledge and wit. It is an exercise that builds the family bond in a fun, low stress way. It also breaks up the predictability of Christmas morning.

So, I have included a picture of their first clue for your pleasure here. You may enjoy it, or you may think I'm a borderline Grinch. The best case scenario is, you may get some fresh ideas for your own family. Who knows, you may have some latent crazy in your system that just needed an outlet.

In all, I am wishing each of you a Merry Christmas. Yes, I know it's the day after, but it should linger if it is real in your heart.

Therefore we must be normal!

My family has been accused of being normal from time to time. I don't recall anyone actually making that accusation of me personally. At our house normal equals dull and that is an insult.

I understand that people who use that term on us do so in innocence. They see us as a family with all adult kids excitedly doing things together. The automatic association is with some iconic 1950's family television show. Hence the association with normal. That is forgivable.

Please allow me to set the record straight.

On Christmas Eve, when normal people are out in droves getting gifts for that hard to buy for person on their list, we are home having Reuben sandwiches and competing in our annual Night Before Christmas poetry contest!

There is deep meaning and symbolism associated with the Reubens. First they are yummy! Second, we like them. Third, it is a fairly easy, fun way to feed a big group without spending a lot of time. Okay, so maybe deep and symbolic were overstatements. We do Reubens because they are fun and easy.

The Night Before Christmas poetry contest, however, is, well, is not really deep either. In fact, it's not a contest at all. And it doesn't have to be poems. We simply set that time as the end of preparation and the beginning of celebrating the birth of our Savior.

I started this tradition several years back, because it was far too easy to fill up all our time with cooking, and baking, and putzing about with random, endless preparations. No more! When the Reubens hit the skillet, the Eagles gather like … well, like vultures. (Now, there's a lovely metaphor!) It is like the bell at the beginning of the prize fight, the shot to start a race, the lines being thrown from the dock to launch the ship … Well, you get the picture.

After we feast on Reuben sandwiches, we crowd into the living room and share our poetic creations. Some of which are not poems at all. Rumor has it, this year will include a fire poi show. (outdoors, of course) Take that on the nose, Normal!

So, for clarity I am including a submission of mine from a couple of years back.

Bethlehem Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas in Bethlehem town, the villagers were clueless to what was going down

Too busy to reach out, unwitting decline, they missed their own meeting with the Divine

That town was abustle with relatives aplenty, the homes were all full the Inns held too many

The town square was packed with travelers from afar, 'Cause for taxes a census was forced by Caesar

The travelers and towns folks with great consternation, were oppressed by the Roman army occupation

Yet one traveler was troubled beyond all the others, a pregnant young girl far from midwife or mother

They'd traveled too far all the lodgings were proffered, a cave hewn from stone was best they were offered

A shelter for cattle 'cause all else was taken, there history was made and creation was shaken

The Word became flesh, reaching out to His own, redemption was offered from God's Holy Throne

Eternal life freely to all has been given, the humble receive, repenting, are forgiven

Some history repeats it is said by the wise, tonight looks like it could be one of those times

Tis the night before Christmas in this little town, so many are clueless to what's going down

Too busy to reach out, unwitting decline, they missed their own meeting with the Divine

- RV Hodge   2012

 

Soup with chopsticks! Where's the hidden camera?

Ahh, yes! That … was part of our Christmas in Japan.

The memory gate is opened and my emotions are suddenly flooded. They come like waves, one after the other, crashing into my mind and overwhelming my senses. We were in Japan: Okinawa, Japan, to be precise. And the trip was everything and more than we had ever expected. It was two years ago, and we were in Okinawa for eighteen days of adventure with the family!

As Hodge adventures rank, it was fairly low key, in that we did not intentionally plan anything that would put us at imminent risk of life or limb. As our travel experiences go, it was nothing short of amazing.

In our time there, we tried all manner of unfamiliar foods, eating at local establishments where English was not spoken and the menu was semi-mysterious. Then came the Udon Noodle Soup place.

Chopsticks for eating soup looked like a great way to prank Americans. Seriously, the operation looked impossible. But a quick look around the room revealed many locals happily eating their soup with chopsticks. It's no wonder they don't have a problem with their weight there.

My wife wisely ceded defeat and grabbed a spoon. I, on the other hand, stubbornly used the chopsticks. It was war from the beginning. Chopsticks make perfect soup stir sticks. I pretended to be getting the upper hand while chasing the little bits around the bowl. Microscopic quantities made it to my mouth. It smelled wonderful … maddeningly wonderful. I suddenly realized what the great krill-eating whales must feel like. Satisfaction seemed impossible.

My kids, between jokes about my skill level, offered that it would be okay to use a spoon. I must have looked pathetic. I don't normally growl at my food, but that seemed like an appropriate response. I think that part did not happen out loud, otherwise the normally very polite Japanese people may have responded with alarm.

With each frustrating technique attempt, the bowl crept closer to my face. Then at last I had a breakthrough. The victory was mine! With each sortie of those thin bamboo sticks I got flavor, texture, and volume! That soup tasted every bit as wonderful as it smelled. I mentally rode in the victory parade and with each successful scoop came another metaphorical shower of ticker tape confetti! That lasted about five bites.

Then, daughter Rochelle, who lived in Okinawa at the time, indicated a table near ours. She glibly pointed out that I was doing it just like one of the locals. My pleasure was checked only barely by the laughter of the kids. I was indeed using the same technique as the girl at that table. She was about four. I happily pointed out that she had a four year head start on me and I had already caught up!

Our Okinawa Christmas was indeed a wonderful experience. It flew by too fast as all pleasures tend to do, but each experience left us with great memories.

I pity people who have carbon copy Christmas experiences. We do have a few traditions that we repeat, but sharing the joy of different and sometimes surprising experiences really creates awesome memories for our family.

This year, who knows what surprise adventure may be lurking under the tree …

That Tacky Star

12-9-2020 I was scrolling through old blogs, reminiscing, and I thought this might amuse or inspire someone. It brought back a flood of memories for me. I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into our past and how it impacts our present. - RV

It's been nearly thirty years running that we have topped our Christmas tree with a hand-made aluminum foil star. It has seen better days.

It was hand made by me our first Christmas in our own cabin in Alaska. Our old star had suddenly become obsolete. The design was so inadequate that it required electricity to light up … and we did not have electricity. We did not have indoor plumbing either. For that matter, we didn't have much. We would have been considered poor by any standards, but we were so, so far from poverty.

While it is true we had very little of this world's “goods,” we had enough to eat and firewood for the stove, and we had our loving little family. Doesn't that just sound cliché?

Sorry, schmaltz may sell, but I don't do it. The real story is we had all of the above, and a huge sense of adventure. Actually I had a huge sense of adventure. And it was following that dream of adventure that led us to that point.

I had been “going to Alaska” since second grade. In my defense, I promised my wife adventure when she signed up to marry me. She probably got a lot more than she bargained for.

So there, in our tiny cabin that would have never made it into a Norman Rockwell painting, I cut out a star from the cardboard backer in a spiral notebook and wrapped it with aluminum foil. It was simple and crude, but it worked, and the foil reflected the lamplight very nicely. We were poor in money, but fabulously rich in imagination, and we were surrounded by adventure. It was not a vacation, it was real life.

In our real life, it seemed that there was always something going wrong and we would have to overcome the circumstances, sometimes at way below zero temperature. But we did overcome and years later we relish those experiences of long past.

Which brings us back to the tacky star. It is symbolic of so much more than I can share here. It is a small token of our life of adventure in Alaska. It is a testimony that being broke could not stop us from celebrating the birth of Christ. In fact, it may have helped. It is a reminder of times when we had so little, which in turn, reminds us to appreciate what we have now. And it faithfully sits on top of the tree, reflecting the lights around it.

It is sufficient, and we are satisfied with sufficient.