Humanity on the Clock of Time

I love facts like this one, above. Around the time I first saw this fact and accompanying image online, NPR aired a program in which a scientist chartered the history of our planet earth while walking across a football field. It is staggering to realize where, on a football field, the first humans would have appeared. You can see and hear that description here. 

In 2004, the president of the Mormon Church at the time, Gordon B. Hinckley, gave an uplifting talk entitled The Dawning of a Brighter Day. While re-reading this talk, I thought of this image of earth-rise, viewed from the moon on December 24, 1968 by the crew of Apollo 8, as the earth dawned over the moon across the vastness of space.  

In his talk, President Hinckley said, "May we live worthy of the glorious endowment of light and understanding and eternal truth which has come to us through all the perils of the past. Somehow, among all who have walked the earth, we have been brought forth in this unique and remarkable season. 

"Be grateful, and above all be faithful."

Farewell, 2016. And welcome, with the earth-rise tomorrow, 2017!

Christmas Morning

Our home on Christmas morning. It was about 6:45 a.m., and our kids were already awake, though unlike other friends' kids, ours had not been up for hours already and had not woken up multiple times during the night. Knock on the yule log for that! And I probably just jinxed our family for next year. No, on this Christmas morning, our three oldest kids were chilling in mommy and daddy's bed while I ventured downstairs to turn on the Christmas lights and make sure that Santa had visited our home.

The jolly old elf had! So I raced upstairs with my camera to record our kids' first reactions as they bolted down our front staircase. This is a tradition I carry over from my childhood. On Christmas mornings even through high school, my dad would break out, over the years in succession as technology improved, his Super 8, then his camera, and eventually a cam-corder to record my sister and I as we sauntered down my parents' front staircase. 

In a sign of...what, I don't exactly know...I don't think I've seen those photos and videos in years, if ever. It would be quite a trip down memory lane to view them now, and to have our kids see them. 

Welcome, Christmas, bring your cheer. Cheer to all Whos far and near. Christmas Day is in our grasp, so long as we have hands to clasp. Christmas Day will always be, just as long as we have we. Welcome, Christmas, while we stand, heart to heart and hand in hand.

Grouse reading Christmas books

Our almost three-years-old Grouse reading with our great friend Debbie, in her home. It's like a second home to our kids, and she is family to us. Our kids have run all over her beautiful home for years, in all seasons. I like this photo because it demonstrates a much quieter time, with just one of our kids, in the Christmas season. Happy Christmas Eve!  

Egg Nog Drinking Contest Champ

...and no, it is not Timo! Our friends Anne and Rory host an annual, mega Christmas party at their beautiful home. One of the hallmarks of the night of revelry is an egg nog drinking contest. I participated in the first egg nog-off, as it is called, but more than met my match in Rory, who has won the competition each year. Participants are racing to completely down 4 red Solo cups of egg nog and then shout "Merry Christmas!" The first person to do so is the winner. Men compete against each other, and women the same.

This year, Becky went toe-to-toe in the egg nog-off with a bunch of friends from our church, including Erin (far left) and Brooke below. Here are some photos:

Becky actually finished in 2nd place in her group, behind only the host Anne. But a provision in the egg nog-off rules states that Anne cannot win the contest in her own house (although Rory can?), so by default Becky was crowned the winner. Her prize? A Le Creuset dutch oven! She was thrilled to win this, while I had no idea what it was, but we were happy to bring it to its new home! 

Calico Critters

Mouse, who among our four kids most physically resembles Dear Old Dad, also resembles me in how we choose to spend our free-time or down-time. Sure, Goose enjoys reading, but she prefers to be in the mix socially with her siblings or Mommy or me. And yes, Moose is starting to show interest in learning how to read, but Mouse takes the cake when it comes to reading in our home right now, and in that regard, she is exactly like me. 

She's like me in another sense when it comes to down-time: She prefers to while away the minutes in a quiet part of our home (if there is such a place) and break out her collection of small toys. She has a strong draw to toys and stuffed animals that are miniature. That reminds me of my childhood, when I preferred the small Star Wars and G.I. Joe action figures over the larger, more audioanimatronic toys that my cousins and friends had. Those action figures let me use my imagination more than the toys some of my buddies chose to play with, and Mouse is the same way.

Last year, she had a fever for Shopkins stuff. This year, while she's still into Shopkins, Mouse has migrated to Calico Critters. Becky and I both love these little mice and their human habitats and stuff. Obviously, both Shopkins and Calico Critters are evidence that lots of other kids are into the miniature-toy craze, but not all kids: Goose and her friends, just slightly older than Mouse, don't care for these little play sets and figures.

Last weekend, Mouse and I were able to sneak away from the crowds and their cacophony of noises in our comfy home. Because she is so much like me, I have a soft spot for Mouse, and I worry that her quiet demeanor (as it has for me when I was growing up, and beyond) may mean that her voice isn't always heard in the small zoo that we run out of our 106-year-old house. It's something I'm trying to work on in my life and want to help Mouse feel strong in using her own voice, too. 

Beyond that reason, it's just sweet to spend one-on-one time with Mouse. We played Calico Critters for a while, imagining their world of a store and a one-room school house. We laughed, we played quietly, we talked a little bit about her second grade, and we just liked being together. 

We played Calico Critters again this afternoon, in the crazed zone between coming home from school and dinner; I had the day off, so my schedule was free for whatever hijinks our kids had in mind. Playing just with Mouse was high on my list. And with almost two weeks off from work, there will be more times for Mouse and I to connect. 

The Grouse's Christmas Wish List

With a big assist from his sisters and brother, our nearly three-year-old Mister Grouse put together his Christmas wish list for Santa. We were a little late in getting our letters written and mailed to the North Pole. 

I've also been tardy in writing about our tardiness in regards to these letters. So delayed, in fact, that letters from the North Pole arrived at our home this afternoon, from Santa himself. Our kids were really jazzed to get their own letters. Mouse and Goose can read on their own, and Mister Moose is learning to read, so his sisters helped him and the Grouse read their letters. It was a fun, unusually subdued scene in front of our Christmas tree as our kids opened the envelopes and excitedly showed them to everyone in our living room.

It was downright Rockewellian, so much so that us parents could overlook the mistakenly crushed little candy canes in their likewise mistakenly cut-open wrapping. Candy cane crumbs tumbled out of each of our kids' four envelopes, sprinkling our rug with sticky, crushed, and sharp shards of the Yuletide treat that I most cringe at giving kids, due to its aforementioned stickiness and jaggedness. 

Obviously, one of us parents overlooked the surprise addition in Santa's letters better than the other parent. Bah humbug! Thy name be Scrooge Timo!

The 201

Never underestimate the slavish devotion of a writer and blogger! 

I was embarrassed by my all-time low blogging result in 2015, and at the beginning of 2016 I publicly vowed (well, at least on my blog!) to atone for my slacker-itis. This, my 201st post of the year 2016, is now my all-time blogging high. So, take that, 2013! 

Can I top 201 in 2017? That's unclear at this point, with days remaining in this year. Reaching 201 required lots of back-blogging and blogging in huge bites of time, posts, writing, and photo-collecting. 

Plus, at some point I can't keep setting higher goals for an activity that, while very enjoyable and worthwhile, takes me away from other, live, in-the-moment activities to live and experience, and not just be sort of present for so that I can later blog about it. Does that make sense? I have other goals, as an individual and as a family man. 

Maybe goal #1 is to surpass my all-time low of 77 posts in 2015, and then see how I feel about setting a higher number.  

As always, thanks for following along!  

Christmastime: 20 Years Ago

Twenty long years ago, I was [cue the blogging equivalent of a broken record] a junior-year-abroad student in Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany. I arrived in Germany in July of 1996, when the thought of Christmas was so far away in my mind. It was just a daily struggle to mentally keep up in a foreign language in class, out on the street, and talking with my floor mates. But my family back in the States was enthusiastic about seeing me at Christmas, so they planned to visit for two weeks at this special time of year.

My parents and my sister Elizabeth arrived in Frankfurt am Main, Germany, on December 18th. I woke up that morning in Freiburg, took a streetcar to the main train station, and bought a ticket to Kaiserslautern [K-Town to the hundreds of thousands of U.S. soldiers and their families who had been stationed there during the Cold War]. Unfortunately, my meet-up with my family was very delayed: Not far out of Freiburg, a construction crane had fallen onto the rails near Offenburg. I missed a connecting train, and in the days before widespread cellphone usage, had no way to reach my parents!

But when we did finally re-connect after six months apart, it was a terrific scene. My sister's first words to me, in English, were: "Where the hell have you been?!" And thus began our two-week odyssey through southern Germany, Switzerland, western Austria, and finally on to Berlin before their return flight to the U.S. on New Year's Day 1997. We packed a lot of sights, sitting in our rented car, and landscape into those two weeks. My dad, who had not been back to Germany since he and my Mom visited it on their second honeymoon in 1971, was ecstatic to re-visit a country and culture and language that he loved.

I'm not exactly sure where my mom, sister, and I are in the photo above. It's a hotel and restaurant somewhere in the German Alps. But I do remember so many details of this visit, and in the coming days and weeks I'll celebrate this vacation's 20th anniversary by writing a few more posts and going through old photos, for a time and a place that feel like another lifetime ago.

Auf Wiedersehen!

Jaguar Juice

The PBS show Wild Kratts is a huge hit with our five- and almost three-year-old boys. There is even, bless them, a Wild Kratts Christmas-themed episode, which brings the holiday spirit like nothing else. [Sarcasm, please!] 

Our boys, especially Moose, are currently big into lions, tigers, panthers, jaguars, and cheetahs. They pretend to be any one of those animals, running around the house, hissing and roaring and scratching, jumping from couch to couch, attacking the other four of us. It's fun to see, though it makes my heart yearn for a house that has a finished basement or a bigger living room, where these wild big cats can be themselves for longer and louder (thus giving the rest of the house some space and quiet).

Recently, bless her, my dear wife humored Moose and jaguar fixation. One afternoon, she opened up our cabinets and let Moose run amok with various ingredients as he sought to create Jaguar Juice. Water, soy sauce, and untold other liquids were poured, stirred, and mixed in this experiment. He may have even dipped into my sacred Hood Golden Egg Nog carton. 

Like all childhood sensations, this Jaguar Juice was so important to to right then and there, in a drop-everything vibe. But once the itch had been scratched, it was over. By the time I returned home from work, the bowl was not dark brown and watery; it was puke-green and pasty, giving off a horrid smell. 

So, thank goodness that Jaguar Juice came and went. Had it stuck around, I'd have had my own itch to scratch: to use this vile concoction as a liquid time-out when our kids got in trouble! 

Triple-Decker

Is it a boy thing? Our girls never once have asked for three slices of bread with their sandwiches. But Moose started this eating trend in our house earlier this year. He often asks for a peanut butter and butter sandwich. He doesn't always get it, but it's a favorite. So, because imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Grouse has begun asking for his own triple-decker sandwich. 

I didn't see this one come to life, and I didn't see how it ended, but I have a hard time thinking that Grouse was able to finish the whole thing. He's not a big eater right now, and he frequently leaves the table to play or grab a book or get into some other non-eating distraction. But something tells me that, in six months or a year, if we were to have a triple-decker eating contest, Grouse would give his big brother Moose a run for his money!    

Nativity Out of Blocks

This is Our Mighty Moose's creation: a Nativity castle made from our collection of building blocks. He was tinkering with it for quite a while over the weekend. When I stopped to get into an in-depth conversation with him about how this all looked and how he made it, he excitedly talked my ear off! I recorded Moose discussing his thought-process and his excitement on our old camera, and it clocked in at over three minutes long. 

He has since constructed, demolished, and re-constructed other Nativity castles. Sometimes, little brother the Grouse has demolished Moose's castles, leaving the rubble on the floor for Moose to discover when he comes home from school. Not good times. 

In a classic parent-fail, I suggested out loud one night, as a way to keep the peace between our sons, "Maybe we should get Grouse his own set of building blocks for Christmas? That way, he won't keep wrecking Moose's plans." 

Becky: "Those blocks are Grouse's. Moose is just using them without asking."

Yellow

This post is inspired by two songs that I loved when they first came out, and which still resonate strongly with me. Hearing either of them sends me back in time to the life I was living when these songs were new:

The Cranberries' Forever Yellow Skies (1996) and Coldplay's Yellow (2000). 

Recently, our girls broke out their nail polish kit one night after dinner. We all decided to paint our fingernails and toenails. Our Curious Grouse (still trying out new adjectives for him to precede his nickname "Grouse" on our blog) was very upset that he was not allowed to open the nail polish bottles or use the nail polish remover himself. I felt badly for him, and as a dad who generally likes to join in our kids' fun, I thought, "What the heck? Grouse, you can paint my fingernails!" His whining stopped, and my fingernails were painted, probably for the first time in my life. 

Our daughters dared me to return to my office the next morning and show off my bright yellow fingernails. I considered it for all of three seconds before deciding that, while going for shock value would be fun, it otherwise wouldn't be a good idea. 

But Grouse also painted my toenails, and I'm happy to report that, three weeks later, my toenails alternate green and red nail polish, in the spirit of Christmastime. 

I am reminded of this, to quote a particular James song from the 1990s, "mess around with gender roles," each time I take a shower or put on socks. In particular, I feel a slight flush of embarrassment each time I get changed in the locker room at my office, where I feel the need to quickly hide my toes underneath the bench in front of the lockers so other dudes don't see my painted toenails. 

The Catcher's Stance

Our Growing Grouse has the professional catcher's crouch down cold. He has been working on his baseball-throwing, catching, and hitting technique most of the summer and fall. Now that the weather has turned noticeably colder, we have taken our practice of the national pastime inside our home. Another dad, Peter, recently saw Grouse throwing a tennis ball after church one Sunday and excitedly remarked, "He's got some arm on him for a two-year-old!" I was duly proud of my littlest boy.

The only quibble with Grouse's catcher's crouch is that he's not quite skilled at moving the glove and then opening it to catch the ball when I toss, throw, or lob it to him. Ninety-five-plus percent of the time, the ball will ricochet off the rim of the glove and fall in front of him. 

Looking on the bright side, at least he's keeping the ball in front of him, like any real ballplayer would do. We have a glove for Grouse, a glove for Moose, and a glove for me (mine of course has Ken Griffey, Jr.'s signature etched into the rawhide, while Moose's has Derek Jeter's John Hancock. I, the Red Sox fan, must have purchased that one while in a sleep-deprived trance). 

Yes, winter is on its way, but the lead-up to spring training every year is a sure sign that spring will come again soon. We have months to get through before then, but I think Grouse, Moose, and I will pass the time and, hopefully, the cabin fever well with our shared love of the old ball game. 

Visiting Grandma and Grandpa's Office

While in Utah recently, our three oldest kids and Mommy got to visit the offices right in the heart of Temple Square where Grandma and Grandpa volunteer a few days each week for our Church's web presence. 

This sounds like it's been a great experience for them, and they will be leaving this volunteer role soon to serve an 18-month mission in California, their second mission in retirement (they served 18 months in northern England before returning to the U.S. in 2014). How cool it must be to work in Temple Square! It's a dream of mine, too, someday. 

2 Girls, 1 Horse

For Mouse's eighth birthday, our awesome friend L. got her four passes to a horse-riding place in the Boston suburbs. Mouse has been on a horse-loving tear for years. 

She would, naturally, love to have her own horse right here at our home. If how she (and our other kids) care for and pay any attention to our sole resident animal -- Steve the hamster -- the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and/or my boss would have our number on speed dial, because the horse would either be neglected by our family, or because I would be guilt-wracked that no one else bothered with the horse, to the point that I'd be MIA at the office. 

And we wouldn't want that happening, especially as we are one income. So Mouse, you can dream. You can imagine your own home someday, with a well-to-do spouse who will provide for your every equine wish. Because at Chez TimBeck6, the closest thing we'll get to a horse in the foreseeable future is the smattering of plastic Breyer horses that we've gifted to you on your birthday.

But back to the fun: On a chilly late autumn Saturday, our friend L., our girls, and I hit the trail for a meandering, quiet, and memorable horseback riding jaunt. Mouse had been to this very same stable a few weeks earlier, and she was excited to have the chance to ride the very same horse (Oreo) on our outing as she had weeks earlier. 

At the end of our ride, our girls got a chance to pet this miniature horse. That encounter was as big of a hit (get it? miniature, big?! Anyone?) for them as the whole riding time had been. We've even talked about going to this stable this winter after a snowfall, to see what it's like to ride in the snow.  

Grouse the Kidder

This photo makes me chuckle, which is something I am sorely in need of at this time of my life. I snapped it while Grouse and I were visiting my parents on the Saturday after Veterans Day, while Becky and our three oldest kids were flying back home from their quick visit to Utah. Nana had a paucity of yard rakes, and Grouse was insistent on not surrendering his, despite my best efforts to ask him to pose for the camera. 

Here is his response:

A well-timed, strategically placed yellow yard rake, right in front of his face. If a picture says a thousand words, this one says "Take that, Dad!" in just three. 

Wrung Dry

I felt very much like this maligned cartoon figure this morning. Let me explain the back story first: Since late August, Becky has been serving as our ward's (congregation's, in non- Mormon religious terms) Relief Society president. Again, in non-Mormon religious terms, she is the president of the women's organization in our congregation. She's routinely the first phone call for help, the first e-mail sent asking for a prayer or advice, the first line of support -- after immediate family -- in a lot of ways for the women and children in our ward. I've told friends at work and elsewhere that this time-commitment is the equivalent of at least working a part-time job (and often more)-- and not getting any money for it! 

Case in point: Each Sunday morning, Becky is out the door by 7:15 for an hour-long meeting before church. Our regular Sunday worship service lasts 3 hours. Sometimes, she has visits or phone calls or e-mails to tend to right after church; every Sunday evening, like right now in the room behind me, she is e-mailing about Relief Society stuff. This is a very demanding, time-consuming, voluntary role. She has been, and will continue to be, terrific at it. 

But that doesn't mean it has been, or will always be, easy -- for her, for me, for our kids. I'm not complaining (well, not too much), just stating what our reality has been these last four months. Oh, and normally a Relief Society president serves two or three years.

This morning, like most Sunday mornings, I was solo-ing it getting me and our four kids dressed, washed, fed, and out the door to arrive at church on-time. Punctuality is embedded in me. It's a German thing. I cannot fathom arriving late to church, or to meeting with a friend, or a movie. Sure, theoretically it is possible I'll do that, but I will curse myself and the surroundings for making me late. 

On this sunny yet frigid winter morning, our four kids and I had a strong 75-minute head-start at 7:30 to get washed, dressed, fed, and out the door. Our daughters Mouse and Goose are pretty self-sufficient, except that they need a few verbal nudges to finish breakfast or pick up their clothes. 

Our youngest, Grouse, needs a ton of parental help: a new diaper, clothes on, teeth brushed, fed, socks and shoes on. He is almost three years old, and I am eagerly anticipating that glorious day when we toss his very last diaper in the garbage and become an all-underwear wearing small zoo.

If you noticed that one of our kids was left out in last paragraph's roll call, how perceptive of you! That would be Our Mighty Moose. The only thing he was Mighty about this morning was being mightily disobedient toward his father. Moose insists on wearing shorts, even in early winter. We have put our feet down on this matter this week for school. He replies, "I don't like any of my pants!" So Becky trotted out a box full of new, more age-appropriate pants from our attic, hand-me-downs that are in great shape. 

They didn't come close to passing muster with Moose. He demanded to wear shorts to church today. For more than 20 minutes, he and I went round after round on this one issue. Meanwhile, Grouse was crying for me. Mouse needed reminders about eating and cleaning up after her. Goose, bless her, sat at our piano and gently played some Christmas songs, counter-acting the hollering going on upstairs as Moose punched and kicked me when I tried to lift him up off the floor to go into a very deserved 10-minute time-out -- the first minute of which involved Moose banging on our basement door, much no doubt to the rousing delight of our next-door neighbors. Such a blessing to still be in a townhouse with a shared wall with our neighbors. And people wonder why I want a single-family house. It is partly so that I don't have to face the real or imagined bewilderment of next-door neighbors who can hear every timeout - inducing yell-fest, each time I verbally blow my stack, every petty disagreement between our kids, and perhaps every belch, toot, snooze, and cough as well, for all I know.

These were not my finest hours or minutes of life. In the lowest moment this morning, I stood next to Moose's clothes dresser, gazing out his back bedroom window, and teared up. I felt helpless and hopeless. My five-year-old was besting me at this stupendously absurd game of "Who can break first?" In the end, I won. But this victory was both hard-fought and totally nothing to brag about. 

I considered driving our kids to church, escorting them into the chapel, ensuring that they were comfortably and reverently seated with Becky, and then immediately leaving to drive back home by myself, where I would spend the next three hours binge-watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show or Seinfeld in my underwear on the couch and scarfing down, before lunchtime, our post-church blueberry muffins treat. Heaven knows I need the laughs, especially after this month and especially especially after this morning's tantrums.

In the words of one of my favorite Peter, Paul, and Mary songs:

"And if you take my hand my son
All will be well when the day is done..."

Tomorrow is another day, and soon enough -- just like today -- that day will also be done. I hope tomorrow involves laughter and camaraderie between me and Moose; no fights, no verbal tiffs; and him wearing pants to school.

4 Kids, Fall 2016

Our four biggest loves. Photo taken Fall 2016: Goose was 9-and-a-half years old. Grouse was almost three years old. Mouse had just turned eight years old. And Moose was 5-and-a-half years old. 

They each look so different (to me) from each other. Many people who see Moose (on the far right, in the blue shirt) remark, "He looks just like you, Timo!" I honestly don't see the facial resemblance. I don't see it with his brother Grouse, or with their oldest sister, Goose. Naturally, because I'm also brown-haired and brown-eyed, I see the resemblance with Mouse, in the blue shirt with the multi-colored designs. I also know the personalities behind each face, and Mouse's matches mine the most. But I am very thankful for the variety in our kids' looks, interests, and personalities.  

As I've reflected on having four kids, I've thought back to when I was growing up. No one I knew had four kids. My mom is one of 4, and my dad is one of 3, but by the next generation 4 kids was not a thing. Three kids was the most any family I knew had, and those "large" families were not common. Two kids? That was the norm. Becky is one of five kids, so we come from much different family sizes, and as I've faced my struggles as a father, I've often explained that our upbringings were so different: small families were what I knew, large families were what she knew. 

And here I am, bucking the trend of American society today and my upbringing! Sometimes, I've used that as a crutch, wielding it as a catch-all to explain my boorish behavior and my challenges with patience, discipline, and good example- setting with our kids. There is a lot that I need to work on in those areas still. 

I can't imagine this photo with one or two fewer kids -- that was the number of kids I originally wanted to have when I was younger and would imagine my future, married self.

And so I'm very glad, looking at this picture and reminiscing about our days together, that I have bucked those trends, that I have four healthy, funny, beautiful, exasperating kids. 

They make it all worth it. 

Family Photo, Fall 2016

Here are the Wee Wilson Warriors in our bi-annual family photo shoot with our friend and family photographer Diane. This scenic path is just a few minutes from our front doorstep. I love that we live this close to such beautiful nature -- and if you've been to our home, you would be surprised that we are so close to the calmness and serenity of the woods, given our not-quite suburban but not-quite urban setting. 

Our kids have ridden their bikes on this wooded path for years. Becky and I have often jogged on it and pushed kids in strollers on it. It's a place with many memories for me individually and for our family. And I love that we now have a beautiful photo of all six of us there, not doing any of the things that we've normally done in this setting except pose and smile and be together as a family.  

Just Us, in Newport

Thanksgiving night until Saturday mid-day. Just the two of us, spent mostly in Newport, Rhode Island. Talking. Lots and lots of talking. Re-connecting. Reading. Exercising. Going to the movies to see Arrival. Writing. Not needing to tend to anyone's needs, wants, wishes, or demands -- no kids coming in in the middle-of-the-night, or resisting bedtime, or waking us up early. 

We watched most of the movie Stand by Me one morning. We had the B&B to ourselves, which was fortuitous since our bedroom was separated from the dining room by two doors that you pulled together to close off the rooms. We didn't need that happening while that was happening.

This get-away was long overdue. Our last vacation just the two of us had been just over three years earlier, when Becky and I drove to the Berkshires. You can bet that we won't let another three years pass by before we go on a little excursion, just the two of us, again.

Here is my beautiful wife, at an Irish pub, for lunch on Friday. The quiet and the chance to re-connect as a couple were priceless. I guess when it is a luxury, because the routine of our life right now is so not quiet, you soak it up. You don't waste time on trivialities. I think we were able to really be focused on us, on each other, and dream about some things that we want for us and for our family in this new stage of life, over the next decade of our forties.   

Thanksgiving 1996

Twenty years ago, I was a junior in college and celebrating Thanksgiving away from my family, and outside of the U.S., for the first time in my life. I lived in an international student dorm in Freiburg im Breisgau, in a region of that beautiful little city called Sundgauallee. My floor had students from India, Greece, Japan, Italy, Germany, Poland, South Korea, and the U.S. living on it. I loved that diversity then. I love it now, and wish for it again.

The Americans on my floor and I decided to throw as close to an authentic American Thanksgiving as we could for our floor mates. We hit up a Costco-like German chain store for a turkey. If I remember correctly, gravy was one of the most difficult food items to find. Potatoes were easy to procure, as were drinks. I'm not sure if we had stuffing. But what I do remember is that our entire floor turned out for the party, a rarity given our university schedules and our different circles of friends. This floor party was one of the best moments of my entire year abroad.

The photos I have of this Thanksgiving fete aren't terrific, but the memories of the people and the party are. I got too caught up in putting together the trappings of the festivities that I had forgotten to leave plenty of time to unfreeze our turkey!

Mere hours before the party was to start, my floor mate Matthew Meyer (also from UMass-Amherst, though we hadn't known or even seen each other on campus back in the States and met when he moved in in September 1996) and I took turns dousing the bird with scalding hot water while the other peeled potatoes. It's a wonder none of us got sick from eating the improperly unfrozen turkey. 

The simplistic sign on my Oktoberfest touristy hat read Plymouth 1620. My international floor mates thought it was mildly interesting that I had grown up about 15 miles from Plymouth but that I wasn't impressed by the actual Plymouth Rock. These days, I could pull up photos of the rock on my smart phone, but in 1996 they could only take my word for it that the rock is nothing to write home about size-wise. A French woman named Marie Dumasy, whose friend Celine Bignebat lived on my floor just for the summer of 1996, told me that summer that she thought all American school children dressed in knock-off Pilgrim attire for school around Thanksgiving. Yet another fallacy of American culture that I had to clarify for my foreign friends.    

Friends in the above photo: Matthew Meyer (in flannel shirt), Aditi Goenka, Gerald Kangelaris, Francesca de Simone, Andy Rohrwasser, Volker Wagner, Andreas Weitzer (with the eyeglasses), and Masataka Furosho. In the photo below, there's all of us, plus the young woman in the white shirt is Kirsten Neudoerffer.

The only thing I remember anyone saying at this party was my beer-fueled mis-pronouncement in German that "In America, Thanksgiving takes place once every day!" I meant to say "every year." I remember Andy Rohrwasser enthusiastically pounding his fist into the wooden tabletop, thrilled to know that such a feast is an erroneously regular part of American society. 

Out of all of these floor mates, I keep in very sporadic touch with only Volker. I can find some but not all of the others online in a matter of seconds, so it is fun to briefly see what they are up to in their careers. I wouldn't reach out to them now, given that so much time has passed and we didn't keep in touch after this magical year -- including this memorable night -- came to an end about eight months after our Thanksgiving party. But what I wouldn't give to go back to this evening and to see these people again! 

U2 at the End of the 1980s

I've turned to quotes from Bono and U2 songs before in blog posts. To me, they are modern-day scriptures at times. For example, in a 2015 Rolling Stone interview, Bono said, "If I could put it simply, I would say that I believe there's a force of love and logic in the world, a force of love and logic behind the universe. And I believe in the poetic genius of a creator who would choose to express such unfathomable power as a child born in 'straw poverty.' I.e., the story of Christ makes sense to me...As an artist, I see the poetry of it. It's so brilliant. That this scale of creation, and the unfathomable universe, should describe itself in such vulnerability, as a child. That is mind-blowing to me."

Much more recently - as in, just two days ago - my mind thought back to a much earlier quote from Bono. These words resonated with me and some part of my life that I have been working toward, only to see it not pan out and to be humbly taught by God that He has other plans for me and my family. In addition to the counsel I've personally felt from on high, these words give me faith and hope:

Late December 1989. U2 played a series of concerts in their native Dublin. They had grappled with meteoric stardom in the wake of 1987's The Joshua Tree success, but had faced a much different, more hostile and skeptical crowd with their next offering, Rattle and Hum. Bono told an audience at one of these concerts: "This is just the end of something for U2...It's no big deal, it's just, we just need to go away and...dream it all up again."

Maybe someday I'll be able to articulate this event on the blog. But right now, it's all too raw. Don't worry: My family is fine. My marriage is solid. Becky is terrific. We have a house, and all of the basics (and more) of life. We have faith. We can't see the future, but I have seen the words in my head:

Something better is coming soon.

I don't know the details (when, how, where, why). That's where my faith and works come in. But I believe the message, and I trust its source.

The Puzzle Boy

While Grouse's grandparents were in town in early October, he got to show them his mad puzzle skills. He has been into puzzles since the end of summer. It may be something to do now that his brother and sisters are in school each weekday, a way to pass some time and have fun. I feel a pang of regret that he doesn't have a buddy to play with for hours on end, but I'm comforted to know that Becky keeps him (and herself) busy with play dates, time together, errands, the YMCA, and other activities. 

In early October, Grouse was just starting to click when it came to assembling an entire puzzle by himself. In the photos above, he was working on an alphabet puzzle of 24 (not, oddly, 26) pieces, with Grandpa looking on. I came home from work one day during their visit, and Grandpa excitedly told me, "Grouse did it! He got the whole puzzle together, all by himself!" In the photos above, he is standing there analyzing the big picture, in his Paw Patrol light-up sneakers.

Goofin' Off at Walden Pond

I love the many shades of the color blue in these photos. I love the looks on their faces, their big smiles (nearly as wide as Walden Pond itself!), the laughs, the happiness. I love that we were at a beautiful place outdoors, with Becky's mom and dad in town, and that, despite the chilly morning, we all strolled around the entire pond. 

But mostly, I love the people in these two photos, and the ones not captured in these pictures. We were all together, outside, with no other distractions, for a magical, relaxing few hours. It was one of the most delicious slices of life I've had in a long time.

Mouse's Baptism

One day after her eighth birthday, Our Little Mouse got baptized in our church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In our church, children get baptized at the age of eight years old, because that is the age when we believe they start being accountable for their behavior and sins. 

Mouse has been working toward this momentous occasion for a long time, and we were so proud of her. We were fortunate to have both sets of grandparents in town for this milestone, too, plus lots of friends from church, our wonderful neighbors, and a strong show of support from our friends who attend different churches. 

Mouse right after her baptism, beaming while standing next to her celebratory cake, which our friend Arianna made for the post-baptism party. 

Mouse with some of her friends at the post-baptism party. We had a hard time wrangling all of the kids in the room, prying them away from their plates of snacks and junk food, or from running around the hallways at our chapel. 

Mouse kindly posed with us on the afternoon of her baptism for what, to her, must have felt like an eternity of photos. Her grandparents and parents each took turns snapping shots of Our Little Mouse. She braved the chilly, rainy afternoon to humor us as we posed on a neighbor's porch to escape the showers on her baptism afternoon. 

At the actual baptism, with Mouse and I standing in the warm water at our chapel in front of our guests, I misspoke one word in the standard baptism prayer before proceeding to tilt my second daughter gently backward into the water so that she'd be fully immersed. I raised her out of the water, was instructed that I had misspoke, and had to say the prayer and do the ordinance again...and Mouse loved the re-do! Why?

Because she got to be the center of attention again, for a few more seconds, in front of all her friends, family, and others. It was a wonderful, stirring time for Mouse and our family. She looked beautiful, she was so happy, and we felt so supported by many people close to us. 

Temple Square, Salt Lake City

Becky and our three oldest kids just got back from a 4-day trip to Utah. The main reason for their visit was to attend Becky's brother John's wedding, but also to just generally have cousin-time and Utah-time. Yours Truly stayed back in Boston with Our Magnetic Grouse, who spent two days with babysitters while I worked, and then two full weekdays and a Saturday with me as well. 

They had incredibly warm weather for early November. I'm not sure if this was their first day in Utah or their second day, but Becky took our kids to Temple Square to see the sights and to pay a visit to Grandma and Grandpa, who volunteer a few days a week in the Church Office Building right in Temple Square. How cool!

As you can tell, these kids had a really fun time basking in the spirit and the sunshine. I wish Grouse and I had been able to join them! 

Stormtroopers

It's a wonderful time to be a Star Wars fan. Even in my galaxy far, far away-obsessed childhood, there was not the wide array of books, cartoons, action figures, clothing, movies, product tie-ins, and storylines that Moose and his generation now have access to. 

There is a re-birth and an exciting series of sequels and stand-alone movies coming out over the next few years. I'm so looking forward to taking him (and maybe his sisters, who are not really into Star Wars) to see these movies. Watching Moose and his friends be excited to role-play their favorite Star Wars heroes and villains is a very cool thing. Case in point: our congregation's annual Halloween festival... 

I saw one older kid pestering Moose for his home-made blaster gun (a piece of wood that we wrapped black electrical tape around). Moose kept walking away from this kid at the festival, after a few playful hand-slaps did not deter this other kid from going for the blaster. The kid stopped following Moose, who marched away. Then, Moose stopped in his tracks, spun around, raised his blaster, and fired at his foe, who like a great sport dropped to the ground. 

It was the closest thing to fatherly pride that I could feel as a vehement anti-NRA person.

Bus Stop Pick-Up

One day during my annual October vacation, I left our house to walk to the nearby bus stop to pick my son Moose up from school. These are the little things in life that I enjoy doing, being an active dad to my kids while supporting our family by working full-time. So yes, this is how I choose to spend much of my vacation-time: doing the small things to show that I'm invested in my family. I don't think they're actually that small, in the long run.

This pick-up time, I had some very cute company. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no it was not my hot wife! It was our almost three-year-old, Our Baby Grouse. Come January 2017, he will need a new-ish nickname for our blog, because "Baby" does not represent him any more.

And Grouse insisted on bringing his suitcase. Which was empty. Which we've had for about eight years. Which Becky found at a thrift store. Which has made numerous cross-country trips. Which Grouse struggled to get up the slight incline of our sidewalk. Which nearly made us late to the bus stop!