Exclusive Christmas Interview!

SN: So Ted, how have you been? Would you like another interview this year?

TM: Nick, you know I’m always up for excusive interviews with world famous celebrities like yourself

SN: Alright then, lets get started, this is my busy season, as you know.

TM: Well, how about a current events question? What do you think about the capture of Saddam Hussein?

SN: You know, I try to stay out of politics. I’m sort of a one-man Switzerland if you know what I mean. That’s one of the reasons for locating my headquarters where I do, it’s very out-of-the-way. Suffices to say He’d been on my ‘naughty’ list for a lot of years and I think it finally caught up with him.

TM: Fair enough. How about a little background? So the North Pole’s not really home? Where are you from originally?

SN: Lycia, Myra

TM: Come again?

SN: Asia Minor, not far from the modern city of Demre, on Mediterranean coast in southwest Turkey

TM: Oh, well, surely you have some opinions on Turkey’s role in Iraqi reconstruction?

SN: The Turks have no love for Saddam, but my homeland was over run by the Turks in 808. The Caliph Harun ar-Rashid was another dictator who persecuted people he considered different. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t think it’s my war.

TM: Ouch. Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch a nerve. So is it true what they say? ‘You CAN’T go home again.’

TM: Oh, well, surely you have some opinions on Turkey’s role in Iraqi reconstruction?

SN: Oh, well, in my case, you can’t even go back to Constantinople.

TM: Why’s that?

SN: Well, now they call it Istanbul.

TM: I’m getting that religious persecution is a sore point for you. Is that because people call it ‘X-Mas’ instead of Christmas?

SN: No, that’s because of Cæsar Diocletian made me a martyr in 325, the same year Constantine came to power and legalized Christianity, but a day late and a dollar short for me. Really it was General Galerius who hated Christianity and Diocletian went along with it, he was playing politics, trying to balance the interests Galerius, Maximillian, and Constantine and hold on to power. The Empire had gotten way too big and too corrupt. So you see why I hate politics. It gets in the way of helping people and it gets in the way of spreading the Gospel.

TM: S-S-S-So you’re dead?

SN: No Einstein, I’m seven hundred and three years old. I’m a spirit, of course I’m dead.

TM: Oh, sorry, gosh, you don’t look a day over 500.

SN: Thanks, I gave up smoking in the 1980’s. This is kind of dragging, can you spice it up a little?

TM: Uh, Okay, uh, don’t like politics. How about religion?

SN: Now you’re talkin’. That’s right up my alley. Did you know Lycia was St. Paul’s last stop on his way to Rome?

TM: THE Saint Paul? You got to meet St. Paul?

SN: Well, yeah, but not till 325. His missionary journeys were like 250 years before I was born.

TM: Oh, sure, I get confused.

SN: That’s alright, you’re only mortal, I should cut you some slack. At any rate, as a young man, I wanted the solitary life. I made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where I found a place to withdraw to devote himself to prayer. But God told me that I should return home and spread His Good News. Eventually I was ordained bishop.

TM: Bishop, eh? How do you feel about the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire ordaining Gene Robinson their Bishop?

SN: You don’t let up do you? I thought you were different than other journalist. Is controversy all you’re interested in? I’m known for providing for the poor and needy, and delivering those who had been unjustly accused.

TM: Come on, didn’t you ever face controversy during your lifetime?

SN: Well, some people tell me I wasn’t martyred but I passed away in 334, and my body was stolen and taken to Bari, Italy in 1087. Some people claim that I performed a lot of miracles posthumously, is that controversial enough?

TM: Come on, Nick, readers want something juicy. Were you ever in a fight?

SN: I’m actually most famous for having secretly given money so that three sisters could pay dowries and marry, avoiding being sold into prostitution by their father. That’s where the whole stocking thing started, see I couldn’t just break into someone’s house, what would people think?

TM: No no no, everybody knows that stuff. These days we want our heroes to be macho, aggressive.

SN: There was that time at the First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea in 325. That infernal Lybian Arius. He claimed that Jesus wasn’t truly the Son of God. I just couldn’t help my self. He made me so angry, I walloped him one. Why, the other clergy there were so taken aback. Priests aren’t allowed to hit people you know. But they knew I was right.

TM: Wow, you go Santa! Now, be honest, is there anything now days that makes you that angry?

SN: Well, I tell ya, I don’t much care for people trying to make me out to be some kind of Nordic magician or Norse god or something. And it did break my heart when World Trade Center business destroyed tiny St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church, about 500 feet from ground zero.

TM: What is the ONE thing that you want readers to remember today, Christmas 2003?

SN: That’s an easy one- “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord!” And “to all a good night!”

White Christmas

Growing up in Phoenix I’d sometimes get defensive around Michigan relatives who wondered how we could stand Christmas without snow. I’d trace my finger on a map or glob from Phoenix to Bethlehem just to point out that it’s not about the snow.

Needless to say, since my very first December in Nebraska, I’ve been converted. Mind you, I hate shoveling it as much as the next guy. This year I haven’t caught pneumonia or thrown out my back yet, but I have sprained my wrist. And one of the few things I miss about living in LA is sitting by the pool under the palms and bouganvillas this time of year, but now I too am one of those people who just don’t think it’s Christmas, unless the Christmas is white.

Bing Crosby first sang "White Christmas" on his NBC radio show on Christmas Day in 1941, just over two weeks after Pearl Harbor. Little did he know that the song Irving Berlin wrote for a 1942 movie "Holiday Inn" would win an Academy Award for best song. Nor did he have any idea that it become the biggest-selling single of all time.

Did he have any idea that it would become a song about yearning for peace and for "the ones we used to know?" "White Christmas" often brought tears to the eyes of many weary soldiers.
You can plan on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the lovelight gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
Most years, hearing Crosby croon simply made me think about snow, or about the 1954 movie Crosby made with Danny Kay and Rosemary Clooney.

But this year I can’t help thinking about much more. For one thing, too many of the veterans who helped save the world from the NAZIs and fascism are no longer with us. Or, sick or suffering. For another, too many people my age are separated from their families this Christmas, soldiers in another war.

This time our government tried to lead us to believe that Iraq was to blame for terrorist acts committed by Al Queda, (which was centered in Afghanistan, not Iraq) and this time our government struck first without provocation.

I have a former student, Jamie, getting married this spring. Her brother Matt (another former student) is in Iraq, his unit has been fired upon and lost members in Black Hawk helicopters. Jamie worries so much she often cries herself to sleep.

I have a cheerleader who’ dad I’ve never met. He didn’t come to parent-teacher conferences. That’s because he’s over there too. Actually, he’s not allowed to tell his family where he is exactly. This 7th grade girl hasn’t seen her dad in almost two years. I can’t imagine not seeing my kids for that long.

I know that today’s service men and women are definitely not enjoying the sun, sand and palm trees in Kabal, Baghdad and Tekrit.

If Bob Hope were to take Bing Crosby and his USO show over there for Thanksgiving, I know they’d have gotten a lot of tears if they’d sing Crosby’s 1943 hit, “I'll be home for Christmas.”

Please keep our service men and women and their families in your prayers this season. May your days be merry and bright. And may all your Christmases be white.

Thank you President George

I’ve always been the kind of person who says “I never win anything.” Picked last, last place in the race, struck out in baseball, struck out with girls. Charlie Brown. I’d call into radio stations for contests but the line would be busy, or maybe I’d get through but the ninth caller would win and I was the tenth caller, or the producer would put me on hold and then I’d get hung up on before it was time for the DJ to talk to me.

But I’ve discovered the secret to luck. Dumb luck. Call it what you will, but inevitably, you never get what you really want until you stop wanting it. The Hindus call it Nirvanah. Buddah said that the only way to reach true inner peace was the absence of all desire. Jesus said that whoever would save his life must lose it.

I didn’t meet the love of my life until I gave up “looking for love in all the right places. Anyway, here’s the story about my recent streak of good luck.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving I was packing lunches and listening to the news on National Public Radio (KWIT 90.3fm) when Bethany called down to me from brushing her teeth.

“Which President made Thanksgiving a Holiday?” she asked?
“Lincoln made it a CONTINUOUS, annual holiday, FDR made it the third Thursday, why?” I volleyed back, trying not to sound TOO much like Cliff Claven from ‘Cheers.’

“In 1789?” She asked.

“Only one guy was president in 1789,” I said.

“Call ‘the Bridge’ right now, they’re having a contest.” And she gave me the phone number.(‘the Bridge is a Christian station in Omaha, KGBI 100.7 fm.) I was in no hurry or panic since I not only knew the answer, but didn’t believe I had a snowballs chance in Havana of getting through anyway.

“Good morning, this is the Bridge, who was the President to first make Thanksgiving an official holiday in 1789?” asked the voice.

“Well, since the Constitution was just drafted in 1787, I’m going to say President George Washington.” I answered, trying to sound unsure of myself- which wasn’t hard since I was so shocked that I was actually speaking to a radio personality.

“That’s exactly right! What are you doing this morning?” asked the DJ.

“Uh, getting ready to go to school?” I said without thinking.

“Where do you go to school?” wow, I must sound young.

“Um, I teach at Boyer Valley in Dunlap.” I replied.

“Uh, oh, You don’t teach History do you?” shoot, I wondered if they were going to disqualify me or something.

“Uh, no, Art and Yearbook.” I muttered, as if I need to be ashamed that I teach Art, rather than History. I feel the same way when I tell people that I coach cheerleading rather than basketball. Of course, I didn’t go into it with the DJ that I did major in History and had taught it for the better part of a decade.

I was amazed at how quickly the prize came in the mail. Just a day or two, but I still didn’t think of myself as “a winner.” The prize was a CD and a DVD. Both of my favorite Christian musician, Steven Curtis Chapman. I had already gotten the CD for Bethany for Valentines Day (Arizona Statehood Day) and we didn’t have a DVD player, we still used the same VHS recorder we got as a wedding present. So I still felt like a loser. I was Charlie Brown on Halloween night when all the other kids are getting candy bars and money and popcorn balls, I got a rock.

So last week, at Santa Claus night in Charter Oak, I didn’t expect to win anything. I thought it would be great to win a turkey. Actually, I’m such a pessimist, I totally expected to win doughnuts and be embarrassed about how fat I am. Either that or I’d win a subscription to the NEWSpaper, which I already have.

Needless to say, I did a double take and didn’t believe my ears when my name was drawn for the DVD player. Part of me wanted to hide. I didn’t deserve this. Part of me wanted to jump up and down and squeal like a contestant on ‘the Price is Right.’ Wow, I’m not a total loser, I’m not, I’m not.

But you know what, it was a million times more exciting, more fulfilling, more thrilling, and more important to hear Gracie’s name drawn for the bike. It’s pretty big for her yet and she has a tough time with coordination, but wow. Just wow. That was really cool. I get to be related to her. She’s in my family. I’m pretty lucky.

A Rose by any Other Name; would smell like tuna and liver

“Mr. Mallory would you like a cat?” sang the cheerleader.
I tried to figure out an excuse or a way to stall.

“Um, let me ask my wife,” I told the cheerleader. Hoping the answer would be no.
There was that cat in California, ‘Bob’ had been his name. He was a sleep-robber. Either he slept on your face or he opened and shut the cabinet doors on the vanity in the bedroom all night long.

Then there were the ‘Three Stooges.’ My mother-in-law Marge found at the bank. They were mutants. They all had six or seven fingers on each paw. Marge and Allan thought our girls might like them, so last winter we let them live in our back porch. Three kittens can really make a place stink! They also clawed deep gouges into our kitchen door. By spring I was more then ready to introduce them to the farm.

I suppose I should feel guilty. Only one of the three survived another year. I have no idea whether he’s ‘Larry, Moe, or Curly.’ He was renamed ‘Spot’ after my nephews thought he’d look better in John Deere green.

Bethany thought a cat was a good idea, so negotiations began.

“There’s five, would you like a fluffy long haired one or a short haired one?” asked the cheerleader.

“Short,” I HATE having animal hair all over the place.

“Okay, you’ll get ‘Spot.’ We call him that because he’s all white except for one spot. At least I think he’s a he. They’re still pretty small” she said.

Her mother brought a kitten to school one Friday in a Dr. Pepper box. “We hated to break up the family,” she told me. “The other four all went to the same home.”

Holy Kitty Litter! I thought to myself.

This wasn’t ‘Spot.’ Too fluffy. Not all white. This kitten was generic. The quintessential kitten; medium length hair, orange-ish areas, whitish areas. Not my personal aesthetic. I like a more low key design in my cats. Tabby, gray, brown, black. Cest’ la vie, it was free.

But if this wasn’t ‘Spot,’ we would have to name it.

There’s that practice of naming something after the person who gave it to you. Bethany’s first car was named ‘Lola.’ The cat’s name would be ‘Randi,’ after the cheerleader. If it turns out to be a boy, then it would be ‘Randy.’ No problem.

I don’t know. What would people think if I name a pet after a student? Is that inappropriate? More importantly, shouldn’t my daughters get to name it? Uh oh, I worried, I bet Grace (our 4 year old) will want to call it ‘Nemo,’ after the two fish that we killed.

“Sweetheart, have you thought about what you’d like to name you new kitty?” I asked my daughter one afternoon out on the farm.

“Hmm, not yet. Me still thinking,” was her first reply.

“I think ‘Ginger’ is a good name for a cat” offered Great-Grandma Laura Langholdt.

“But Gram, it’s a boy,” I protested, “Ginger is such a girl’s name!” (By now the cat’s gender had been determined).

“I like ‘Cinnamon,’” suggested Marge.

I sighed. I did not want any pet of mine named after potpourri. What would they suggest next, ‘Nutmeg?’

“Hey Grace, how about just calling him ‘Cat?’” I said.

“NO, You TEASING me. You SILLY!” she replied.
My sister-in-law Sheri liked the idea of ‘Bob’ in honor of the COU Bobcats. Ellen (our 2 year old) started dancing around the kitchen saying “Bob…Bob.” It would have been easy for her to say. She likes Bob the Builder, SpongeBob Squarepants, and Bob the tomato from Veggietales. Alas, Sheri didn’t know about California Bob, who died tragically of kitty cancer.

“Grace, have you decided on a name yet?”

“Mmmm,’ Larry Boy?’” after Bob the tomato’s partner, Larry the cucumber.

“Oh, gee, honey, um, I don’t know…” at least it wasn’t ‘Nemo,’ or ‘Spiderman.’

“If ‘Ginger’ is too sissy for you, why not something more manly like ‘Butch’, or ‘Prince,’ or ‘King’?” said Bethany sarcastically.

“Geez, Beth, it’s a cat, those are all dog names” I countered, “Wait a minute, ‘King?’ how about ‘Mufasa’ from the Lion King.” Grace’s cousin Login in Sioux Falls has a can named ‘Simba.’

“Grace, how about Mufasa?” I offered, almost as a last resort.

“Mmmm. No. No Moofawsha. Mmmm, ‘Ting!’” she announced gleefully.

“Ting?” I asked. I have another cheerleader from Taiwan who’s name is ‘Ting Hu.’ Kids at school say “Ting Who? Ting HU!”

“No, not ‘Ting’, ‘TING!” Grace said, frustrated that we still can’t understand her all of the time.

“Oh, ‘King!’” I translated.

“Yes, ‘Ting.” She said.

Ellen immediately started dancing around singing “King, King, King.”

It’s amazing how much less one cat makes a place stink then three.

If you remember back a few columns, Grace does understand that girls can be Queen but not King but Queens are important and powerful and she’s Okay with it.

Poor King gets drug around by Ellen an awful lot, but Grace treats him like royalty. If by that you mean he gets treated like a Pretty Princess Barbie®.