The Ornament

By G. E. Shuman

Only weeks ago we climbed the stairs,
To the attic, behind the old door.
And went to the corner, where ʽChristmasʼ is kept,
In boxes stacked high on the floor.

We brought the stack down to the living room,
Two flights from its cold storage spot.
And opened it up, just like every year,
Quite amazed at all weʼd forgot.

The boxes held ornaments, bound for the tree,
And garlands and wreath bows and wire.
Most things quite familiar from years of use,
Like the stockings we hang by the fire.

We opened up memories, box after box,
But some things I could barely recall.
Did we uses these lights on the tree last year,
Or the archways in the hall?

And then, there it was, as it always is,
One more thing I forgot to remember.
It waited so patiently, most of a year,
To be shown just the weeks of December.

The small ornament, I admire so much,
And display on the mantle each year;
A ceramic love story, proclaimed without words,
With a meaning quite beautifully clear.

For there Santa kneels, in most worshipful prayer,
By the tiniest manger of hay.
His gaze toward the infant lying there,
On that very first Christmas Day.

Not a sign of a bow, or a gift, or a sleigh,
Not a reindeer at all to be seen.
Just St. Nick, with his furry hat tossed to the ground,
In a show of what this day should mean.

When Christmas has passed, weʼll just go get the stack,
to pack up the ribbons and lights.
And Santa will wait, to remind us next year,
Jesus came on that most holy night.

A Christmas Gift for You

By G. E. Shuman

I have a Christmas gift for you. No, I’m not kidding, I really do. Admittedly, you will have to see your gift through your mind’s eye, and open it with your imagination, but the gift is real enough.

Now, go ahead. Open it. What did you say? Oh, yes, I know it’s just a plain, white, cube-shaped box. It’s supposed to be a plain white box. You see, that’s an important part of the gift. No, there’s nothing at all wrong with fancy gift wrappings and ribbons and tags. I just wanted to simplify your gift, as I think you might enjoy a slightly simplified Christmas this year.

You may also notice that I only have this one gift for you. Well, there are several things inside the box, but there’s only the one box. And, before you say it, I know that there’s also nothing wrong with giving or receiving many presents. Presents are fun. I just thought that if I gave you only one gift it might encourage you to, perhaps, shop a bit less this year. I know, there’s almost something un-American about even thinking of doing that. But that part of my gift to you is the simple idea of a less stressful, less expensive season of giving. For example, you might actually enjoy finding a few perfect presents for each of your children, if you didn’t have to top last year’s Yule-tide tidal wave of toys. Not to mention that your kids might appreciate the thoughtful things you gave them more and remember them longer. Also, if you do like fancy ribbons and wrappings, you can take the time to do an exceptional job on those special presents.

Okay. Enough of that. I’m anxious for you to open your Christmas gift. That’s it, just take off the top. Now you look a little perplexed. Yes, there is a small candle in there, but it’s not the only thing. No, it isn’t a fancy candle. I can tell by the look on your face that you’re wondering why I would give you such a plain and simple candle, that isn’t even Christmas-red. Well, the candle means that I hope you find true warmth on Christmas Eve. There is something comforting about a fire on a cold winter’s night, especially if it’s a very snowy, New England winter’s night. You know, Christmas Eve is a wonderful time for cozy conversation with family or friends. Even if you can’t have a fire, remember to stir your feelings with hugs and your hot chocolate with candy canes on that blessed evening. Light the candle, and experience the ultimate, and yes, simple luxury of a heavy old quilt if the wind is really howling outside.

I see you’ve already found the small box that was under the candle. That’s for Christmas morning. Well, actually, it’s for all of Christmas Day. It’s to put your watch in. No, I’m not giving you a new watch. I said it’s to put your watch IN. Trust me. Put your watch in there on Christmas morning and don’t take it out until the day after. Christmas is for family, not for clock watching or watch watching. Spend the entire day with those you love. Forget about the time.
Yes, that’s a coat hook. Do you like it? I put that in right beside the watch box for a reason. They kind of go together. What you do with that coat hook is to mount it outside your front door. No, silly, you don’t hang your coat outside on the hook. The hook is for you to hang your work-related problems on when you get home the day before Christmas. It’s very important that you don’t bring them into the house with you Christmas Eve. You can always pick your problems up in a few days and take them back to work with you, if you want to.

(Some readers may have fallen off the Christmas column express by now. If your imagination is still functioning, please continue reading.)

I know that what you’re pulling out of the box now is a strange thing to be receiving for Christmas. You don’t have to look it all over… there’s nothing special about it. It looks like a plain old piece of bread, because that’s what it is. Hey, at least I put it in a Ziploc bag for ya. Bread is food, just like a nine course fancy Christmas dinner is food. I do love Christmas dinners. Don’t you? I have simply never enjoyed all the stressful hours of slaving in the kitchen to prepare a huge meal, nor the several more hours needed to clean up after one. Have a fancy dinner if you like. Many people happen to love all the preparation that I happen to hate. Or you might try something simpler this year. (There’s that idea of simplifying again. Hum.) You could heat up a big pot of stew to have with hot biscuits, bake the lasagna you made and froze last week, or simply dine on some other soul-warming family favorite. I would even suggest using fancy paper plates for the meal. Then you can pop out of the kitchen early, pop some popcorn, and pop in a Christmas movie for the afternoon. My friend, please remember that people all over the world will have less than this piece of bread to eat on Christmas Day. Whatever your dinner is, it will still be a feast.

Now you’re getting much deeper into the box, and deeper into the gift. There is only a bit more to it. Just pull that piece of tissue paper out. Well? Do you like the little wooden heart? I painted it red myself. I know, I should have had one of the kids do it. It would have looked better. Anyway, I really wish that on Christmas Day you would carry that heart around the house with you. Okay… at least put it in your pocket or something. Every time you’re aware of the little wooden heart, do something to actually express love to one of those people you refer to as your loved ones. Hugs and kisses are obvious ways to do this, but compliments and encouragement work too. Or just tell them you love them, and mean it in your bones. Here’s a secret. What we used to call the Christmas spirit is simply good old fashioned love. You might want to hang onto that heart after Christmas is over. It’s only a suggestion.

That’s just about it. There is one more very special part of your present, at the bottom of the box. Now, close your eyes, reach in, and take it out. Well, maybe closing your eyes isn’t such a good idea. (It’s hard to read the paper with your eyes closed.) Yes, it’s a small Bible. Why the questioning look? If you’re wondering what The Bible has to do with a Christmas gift, it’s been way too long since you’ve read it. That book tells of the very first Christmas, and the greatest gift the world has ever received. My gift to you is largely in your imagination. That gift is as real as it gets. Save some moments on Christmas day to open it, and read the Christmas story to your family. (Luke 2:1-20. Matthew 2, 1-12.)

I hope you have enjoyed your present. Have a simply wonderful Christmas!

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A Thankful Thanksgiving

By G. E. Shuman

If you ever celebrate Thanksgiving Day with our family, be prepared. As we sit down to dinner, it has come to be expected that everyone present will be asked to mention something they are thankful for. I¢m sure my wife started this tradition years ago, and I'm also equally sure it was a worthwhile thing to have done. The way this tradition works is that, before eating, we simply go around the dinner table and everyone shares just a sentence or two of how they have been blessed in the past year. If your family has never done this, I suggest you try it. It has a way of bringing all the frantic holiday preparations back into perspective, and helps to focus on what¢s really important to, and appreciated by your family.

This year our family will celebrate Thanksgiving Day at the home of our daughter Chrissy and her family. Unless I¢m mistaken, we will likely follow the Thanksgiving routine there too, with thankful thoughts shared around one more beautiful, bountiful holiday table. It will be a time of expressing thanks for family and friends, and of a big celebration in food. It will be a great day of turkey and tradition and for mentions of thankfulness for treasures and trials.

Yes, I said thankfulness for trials. Either my wife or I will likely be the one to share those words at our great family gathering. Please let me explain. You see, it is easy to be happy, confident, and thankful when life is going your way. It is easy to feel quite comfortable and worry-free, when your income and future seem secure. Regrettably, but in another way, thankfully, this is not the case for many people right now. And, yes, I said thankfully, again. Our country, and, indeed, our world, has suddenly found itself in terribly difficult economic times. I could elaborate here on the fact that the frightening situation we find ourselves in now was not even a worthy news topic just last summer, but that is for another column. What matters now is the fact that many thousands of people, right here in our own land, have lost their jobs. Thousands more are fearful that they soon will. My hope, and the reason I dared to use the word ¡thankfully¢ in describing this situation, is as follows.

You see, this fall has been a very trying time for my own immediate family. It has been a time of testing in some ways, as I lost my employment on September 2nd. But it has also been a time in which we have literally been witness to the meeting of every single one of our needs, many times by extraordinary, if not miraculous means. It has been a time of family members pulling together, showing concern, and sharing their faith. These months have been filled by unnumbered calls, encouraging notes, and coveted prayers by family and friends, none of which would have had reason to occur if we were not in the midst of a few trials. Many readers may not understand, but, in truth, this has been a very blessed time for our family, in thanksgiving for what we have witnessed, and for all that we have.

In this season of Thanksgiving, how could we be anything but thankful? God has supplied all of our needs, exactly, precisely when they are needed. He has shown Himself to us, to be real, and to be really loving. These months have brought Lorna and me closer together and closer to Him. And yes, we are thankful for the trials that have taught us to worry less, to trust God more, and to live by faith, daily.

Skeptics will read this column, and some may decide that I am a few drumsticks shy of a true Thanksgiving dinner. That is okay. If you wish to sign me up for therapy, you need to take a number and get in line. For the rest of you, it is my hope that you will not only recognize all that you have to be thankful for, but come to know The One we all should be thankful to. We at the Shuman home wish you and yours a healthy, happy, and very thankful Thanksgiving.

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Promises, Promises

By G. E. Shuman

So, I understand we have elected a new president. It seems like it was only four years ago that we went through this whole national election thing. Now, here we are again, on the other side of the voting booth, and heading toward a January swearing in ceremony.

I would like to say that I wish president-elect Obama well. I truly do. He did not get my vote, but he surely got a lot of others. His policy stances are about as opposite of mine as they could be, and his view of our country may be as close to yours as it is distant from mine. I don’t know. But no matter. Senator Obama will be our next president, and I sincerely hope he accomplishes great things for our country.

For my part, I desire for our next president to be a man true to his word. Pre-election day politicians tend to make a lot of promises, as if you didn’t already know that. Senator Obama was no exception to this fact. He made more promises to the American people than I have room to list here. I hope all Americans watch closely to see if he fulfills those promises. I hope that those who voted for him are not disappointed. I hope that those of us who didn’t vote for him are pleasantly surprised. After all, Mr. Obama said he was different, and wanted change. I, for one, am anxious to have my income taxes reduced, as I make much less than $250,000 a year. I am also excited that he will solve the energy crisis, clean up the atmosphere, stop global warming, quickly find and kill Osama bin Laden, win the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, fix public education, give more scholarships to college kids, help the elderly pay for their prescription medicines, fix Medicare and social security, put Americans back to work, stop illegal immigration, and reduce crime in our cities, as I heard him say that he has plans to do those things. My prayers are with you, president-elect Obama. I would say the same, and list the many promises, if we now had a president-elect McCain. I only have one question. Why in the world do you guys and so many others want that job?

Yesterday my dear wife sensed my frustration in all the political stuff, and, as usual, had words to calm me down. She mentioned how great it is that we live in this wonderful country, and that we have free elections. (I could not argue with that.) We ‘change the guard’ without revolution and violence, unlike most of the world. We, as United States citizens can worship however we want, travel wherever we want, say what we want, (as these words prove,) bear arms, and do many other things unthinkable in much of the world. It is true that on November 4th the political pendulum swung to the left, in my opinion, about as far as it could swing. The good news in this, at least from my viewpoint, is that the pendulum must now, inevitably, begin to swing back.

When George Washington was elected president, the people wanted him to be their king. For this reason the father of our country chose to serve only one term. Did you know that? He knew the potential dangers of one man having limitless time in office. These days, we don’t have to worry about that. In fact, presidential administrations now last only about two years before the next bunch of wanna-be’s start jumping up and posturing to be noticed. Pick me! Pick me! If the executive branch isn’t performing up to expectations, those wanna-be’s will be more than happy to help us kick the bums out. I love that part of the system.

I once had a boss who said this: “To me, you are who you say you are, until I find out you’re not.” I think that was a very wise statement. President-elect Obama, I sure hope you are who you say you are.

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My Solar-Heated, Wind-Powered Clothes Drier

By G. E. Shuman

Okay. Here is the column I’ve been anxious to write. Hopefully, you’re anxious to read it, too. If not, read it anyway. It has the potential to save you a lot of energy dollars. No, I’m not kidding. It really does.

I want to tell you about a great invention that will save you all of those dollars, but first I want to tell you about one which won’t save you as much. Last spring our family purchased a new washer and drier. We had to. The ones we were using were so old they were almost embarrassing to look at, even though we kept them down in the basement. They were rusted and had been repaired, by yours truly, more times than I want to think about. They, by now, have been melted down and made into car bumpers or something. Well, not car bumpers. Those are plastic.

Anyway, we got this new ‘laundry pair,’ as they are called by the appliance dealers. I have to say, they really are pretty energy efficient things. They’re just not as energy efficient as the appliance I will eventually get around to telling you about before the end of this column. (Please refer to title.) You know, it used to be that you could tell how much an appliance cost by the number of knobs on it. The more basically useless features, the more knobs. Later, most of the knobs disappeared and were replaced by nearly countless buttons. Remember when they were actually called ‘push buttons?’ I do. Well, these new appliances each still have one big knob, but the buttons have been replaced by touch pads. I can understand, to a point, why a washer has cycles, temperatures, and so on, for different loads and types of fabrics. But that drier is just way over done, and I want to talk about that. The thing has enough touch pads, timers, lights and indicators to run a space shuttle. It has buzzers, a digital display, and even a button to turn the signal which tells you the clothes are dry, louder and softer, or on and off. I always figured that the clothes were dry when the drier shuts off. All of these things are there to make our new drier more energy efficient, and earth-friendly. Hopefully the advertising is correct, and we will save the planet by using this machine instead of the old one, but I don’t think so. As fancy as the drier looks, it still has the same basic heritage as the one now in the appliance bone yard. It has a massive spinning drum which tumbles and beats the heck out of your clothes. It also has a large heating element, just like the old one, and a two hundred twenty volt, electricity-sucking supply cord, which is still aptly named a ‘pigtail.’ The new drier, just like the old one, has a big lint filter which you need to clean before each load, and, like the old model again, relies on an exhaust hose to pump all that expensively heated air out into the cold space under my carport. This machine is a bit more exotic looking than the old one, but since it cost more than my first car, maybe it should be. And it is not a car. It just dries clothes.

Now I want to tell you about a drying invention that is, in many ways, way ahead of my new clothes drier. (Please refer to title, again.) This device is unusual in the world of big promises from appliance manufacturers. It actually does exactly, precisely, all that it claims to do. The compact device it also totally energy efficient. It has no big drum to spin, as it, believe it or not, has no moving parts at all. It will also not spin your electric meter around even once, in all the time you own it. In fact, it cannot, as it is not even connected to the grid. The machine uses wind power, believe this or not, to efficiently dry your clothes, and is freely assisted by solar energy. When you buy one of these driers there is no professional installation required, and the device is perfect for use both in our over-developed nation, and in under-developed ones as well. It works anywhere, any time the sun is out. The drier is totally non polluting and does not produce speck of lint, so it doesn’t require a lint screen or any exhaust ductwork at all. It has absolutely no bells and whistles, and will not chime when your clothes are dry. To some of us that is a blessing. If this isn’t enough good news, consider the fact that the wind-powered solar-heated clothes drier will also not empty your wallet when you purchase one. It is so simple to repair when broken that even a child could do it, but so inexpensive to buy that most people would just throw it out and get another one. And yes, you can throw it away with a clear conscience, as most models are completely biodegradable.

About a month ago my brother in law Art and I were sitting in his living room, and decided it was about time someone promoted this marvelous, timeless device. Although neither he nor I can take the credit for the invention, we have both witnessed various versions of it in use since childhood. It is true that my wife has rarely used one, and would likely never purchase one, but a clothesline is still the best clothes drier of all.

Footnote: My wife likes her ould like my answer to the new washing maching less. Maybe someday I will tell you about a manual, washer which provides an excellent aerobic workout for the user. Saving time at the gym, while saving energy. Wash board and wash tub.

An Alternative to Bailing Out

By G. E. Shuman

Today I really wanted to tell you all about a great invention I have discovered, that can save every one of us some serious energy-related money. I wanted to, but I’m not going to. I will save that subject for a later day. If you are good, and pay attention, I will disclose it in my very next column. Check here, two weeks from today.

Right now, I have decided to simply expose my feelings to you, regarding our country. (If I’m going to expose something, it really is best if it is just my feelings.) I address you all with absolutely no authority or expertise relating to the economic and moral issues at hand, but I will still address you, simply as a fellow American, who is very concerned about his country. As I write each of these lines, I have no clue precisely what idea will flow next. No big surprise there. If you have read others of my columns, you will accept this fact readily enough. The truth is, I know only that I need to share with you, my friends, my take on that present state of our fifty states. A bigger truth is, I am not confident at all in the direction our nation seems to be heading. Well, here we go, as I once spoke aloud, “For better, or for worse.”

Recently our congress voted, after much arm twisting and pork proportioning, to spend about seven hundred billion dollars, of which they had not one penny to spend, on the massive bank bail out we have heard so much about recently. Our president and leaders on both sides of the bitter aisle finally endorsed a plan to keep our national ship from sinking. After all, isn’t that what bailing out does? Now, I am all for doing whatever is necessary to protect our citizens. What irks me is the fact that our leaders have allowed us to get into this mess in the first place. Aren’t they supposed to stay awake during approaching national or global disasters? If I could address our current congress or president, (Which I would love the chance to do, and I‘m not kidding about that.) I would simply ask them why on earth they failed to see this coming. Were they all on vacation for the past half decade or so? And if they did see some global economic collapse in the making, why didn’t they warn us earlier? I’m pretty sure that if I were in a huge ship full of people, especially people I have sworn to serve and protect, and happened to notice a gaping hole in the bottom of that ship, I might just tell somebody. In fact, I might just tell EVERYBODY! If President Bush or any of his cabinet or congressional shipmates were even remotely aware of the huge hole in our national financial hull, why didn’t THEY tell somebody? Hello? Can anybody say Titanic? Sure, many of those people are now adamantly proclaiming their own genius in forewarning us of the dangers, but now I have another question. Did you, any more than I, hear their loud warnings of an approaching iceberg even as recently as this past summer? Nope, I didn’t think so.

The strange thing is that I have always believed our country produces the best, most educated and brightest people in the world. Evidently our nation’s economists, (Bless the dollar bills in their eyes, and their foggy little minds.) must have missed a math class or two in college. The only other conclusion I can draw from all of this insanity is that they missed no classes, are just as bright and well educated as I always believed, and are simply as uncaring and crooked as the greedy bankers who got us into this mess. Is there a third choice?

You know, that thing called greed; the love of money, really is the root of all evil. The absolute, insatiable greed and irresponsible actions of our nation’s lending institutions, to me, is even more than that. It is something that The Bible and our forefathers would refer to as sin. By the estimated cost to you and me, to our children and our grandchildren, it seems to be a very big sin, indeed. The people truly responsible for the mess we are in, know very well, as do you and I, that doing right is all any of us need to do. Bail outs, paybacks, and pork lined incentives in a congressional vote will never fix anything for long. And now, as I fully acknowledge that you may think this corny or old fashioned, I must add that the only true and lasting fix is a change in the hearts of men.

We are only weeks away from a very close, and very divided national election. From the debates and ads I have seen, I’m afraid we are in the middle of politics as usual here this fall. I sincerely hope that my fear is unfounded. If you are uncertain who you will vote for, for president of this still-great land, you might want to pick the one you feel is less likely to lead us into any more sin.

My friends, it has been said that if you find yourself heading in the wrong direction, remember, God allows u-turns. I suggest that our nation turn the ship of state around, just as fast as we can.

2 Chronicles 7:14If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.

Hope Along The Highway

By G. E. Shuman

It has been my experience, as I have traveled along the fifty four year long road that has been my life so far, that to compare life to a highway is a pretty accurate analogy. It is, because you seem to go along smoothly for a while, sometimes for quite a while, and then there is a bump. The bump may be a small one, and hardly noticeable at all. Or it may be a huge one that rattles you to the core. Then you may have a period of smooth driving again… but, eventually, there is always another bump. There are ups and downs, hills and valleys, curves and decision-demanding intersections. It is true in life, as on the road, that you really never know what’s around the next corner. Sometimes it feels like you have just driven right smack into the middle of a very bumpy road, indeed. I will admit that the past few weeks have felt like that road, for me and for my family.

The good thing about bumpy roads, and bumpy times in our lives, is that once in a while something simply causes us to stop. On the road it may be a bump or pot hole too big to maneuver around. More likely it is a stop sign. In any case, once your car has ceased its attempts at traversing whatever conditions it is encountering, all the shaking and shivering, the rattles and tension just stop. So it is with life. Sometimes, most noticeably at troubled rocky times in life, it is good to simply stop. It is beneficial to cease your attempts at traversing whatever conditions you are encountering, at least for a time. When you do, all the shaking and shivering, the rattles and tension stop. On the road of life, the opportunity to stop is usually not caused by a stop sign. It is more likely caused by the actions of another. In my case, this action was something done by my wonderful grandson, eleven year old Devon.

I stopped, and stopped worrying and shaking and rattling one day last week, after receiving a note from my daughter Cathy, Devon’s mom. The note was just a comment or two from Cathy, telling how proud she was of Devon because of something he had done at school. It seems that a boy in Devon’s class was experiencing some problem with the school lunch lady, or the hot lunch program, or some other adult-invented school rule which punished (as usual) not the adults who were responsible, but the child who was affected. In any case, for whatever reason, the school would not give the child his hot lunches. The result; the boy had nothing to eat for lunch. The part of the story that made me stop in my tracks and think about what was really important was this. Without ever telling his mom or dad, my grandson made a decision which showed more maturity than what was being shown by the adults running his school. Devon simply began sharing his bagged lunch with the other boy, every day.

Now, you may think this is a small thing. I do not. You see, Devon’s acts were those of kindness, not of selfishness. They were acts of simple charity, not of greed. And they were not done for praise or thanks. Devon told no one, not even his parents, about what he was doing. My grandson simply wanted to help another, and took action to do so. To me, this is a very big thing indeed.

We live in a time not only of most children acting like children, living self centered lives, never being satisfied with what they have. Our time is one in which adults are doing the same. We spend, and charge, and fill up storage sheds with our toys, because we are never satisfied with what we have. We mortgage houses, cars, boats and cycles in efforts to find happiness. And those efforts are failing, miserably. At the time of this writing, our government is spending over seven hundred billion of our children and grandchildren’s dollars, to literally bail out our economic ship before it sinks. All because of over borrowing, and greedy banking practices that made such over borrowing possible.

To further mix my metaphors, and botch my analogies, there does seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel, a bit of smooth sailing ahead, and hope along the highway. You see, there are children like my grandson Devon, who are in the process of growing up, right now. They are people who selflessly share what they have, who think of others first, and more than just think… do what they need to do, without being asked. These are the people who will someday do more than bail our country out because of its past, collective, selfish sins. You know, our politicians all seem to talk of ’change’, right up until they day they are elected. But people like Devon are the ones who will actually change our world for the better. Maybe, one shared lunch at a time. I’m very proud of you Devon.

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Okay, Now I’m Mad!

By G. E. Shuman

I consider myself to be a fairly tolerant person. I live in a country where everyone is free to express his or her opinion, no matter how different that opinion is from someone else’s, and this is a good thing. I love the freedoms our country affords. But… and this is a big BUT! One news article I happened to notice today has, in my opinion, just gone too far. (I intended to write this week about something wonderful one of my grandchildren did. Check the paper two weeks from now for that.) Right now, I’m just too mad.

The article I read today told of something that I consider to be the ultimate insult to American women, and to humanity as a whole. It seems that P.E.T.A., the organization of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, has seriously suggested, in writing, that Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream begin making their products using human milk instead of cows’ milk. Huh? Yup, you heard it right. The idea is that this would alleviate the suffering of the cows, (Can’t you see the suffering in their big brown eyes?) even though cows line up at the barn each night to have their ‘suffering’ relieved, by the very process of being milked. I guess any possible suffering of women in such a situation would be okay with P.E.T.A. It is my opinion that P.E.T.A. did target the Vermont company most likely to swallow such an idea, but I’m not sure even good ol’ Ben and Jerry themselves would swallow that ice cream. Would you? Seriously? I would not.

To the members of P.E.T.A., let me pose a few questions. First of all, in all of your rantings about how poorly the animals have it, have you ever seriously considered the idea of the ethical treatment of people? If not, that might be a worthy project, sometime after you finish protecting the feelings of birds, fish and cows. Also, I wonder if you have really thought your breast-creamy proposition through. Do you actually expect women to get themselves pregnant in order to start a milk business? (You do understand that a mammal must produce an offspring to begin producing milk. Right?) And, if this proposition were to be implemented, what would happen to Vermont dairy farms, and those very cows you long to protect from the pain of being milked?
I can see it now; Ben and Jerry’s can build a big milking parlor, but not like the ones on our farms. In theirs, modern multitasking women sit and get their hair done, while being pumped, and watching Jeopardy, right after taking the baby they produced, in order to produce the milk, to daycare. Next, how about going a step further into cruncher-dom and barter for the milk? “Yes ladies, deposit just one quart in the bottle, and take home a whole pint of Momma Moo’s Chunky Monkey! Yum!

Husbands, do you really think it is ethical or proper, and I am being serious here, to, literally, milk your wives for money? I, for one, think it is not. If you disagree, and think this is okay, at least consider the fact that, regardless of what P.E.T.A. thinks of Vermont women, most of them probably cannot produce as much milk as a cow. Is that a fair assumption? If so, do you know what this would do to the price of ice cream? And, what’s next? How long will it be before Cabot Creamery and others are encouraged to do the same to produce their products? I can see the ads now: “Vermont cheddar. Just like Mother used to make!”

To me, this whole idea is just one more step in the ultra-leftist efforts of the P.E.T.A. folks to put humanity on the same level as the animals. In fact, this particular disgraceful notion puts the rights of women, including your wife, mine, and our daughters, squarely behind those of dairy cows. Not a pretty place to stand, I can imagine.

To the members of P.E.T.A., who, collectively, would seem to want to see our women in line at the milking stalls, let me relate a few more thoughts about your brilliant human ice cream idea. Firstly, my wife is not a cow. She is a beautiful human being with the God given rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Rights that I don’t think the average dairy cow would quite understand. Secondly, do you know that AIDS is spread through human breast milk? (That ice cream had better be good, to take a chance like that.) Now, P.E.T.A. people, stretch your brains and tell me what else we use cows for. That’s right; we make things like steaks and cheeseburgers out of them. How long will it be before people begin suggesting that we raise humans for meat? Do you think this idea is far-fetched? I did too, until I read an article seriously promoting the mass production of breast milk ice cream.

You people at P.E.T.A. need to wake up, smell the coffee, and apologize to every woman in America. See, I told you I was mad.

For Sale or Rent: One Slightly Used Business Manager With Writing Experience

By G. E. Shuman

For reasons known, or at least understood only by God and my former employer, I have very recently joined the ranks of the unemployed. This is a less than desirable position for me, having been ‘on the job’, or at least on some job, every week since before I was eighteen. I have found that having time off is one thing, and wonderful. Having forced time off through the elimination of a position is another thing, and not so wonderful. This new situation is one I fully intend to remedy as soon as possible, before the money runs out, and before I drive my wife crazy here at home.

My weekday, for the past week, (As if you can hardly wait to hear this,) has gone something like this: Get up at six, as usual, then shower, dress and begin searching the online job markets, coffee mug at my side, pen in my mouth. After several hours of this I might break for a bit of important work, like watering the plants, or putting a load of clothes in the washer. Or it might be for REALLY important work, like refilling that coffee mug. If need be, as an expert at multi-tasking, (Something all online job descriptions require,) I actually possess the ability to do all three of those tasks, practically at the same time. I can fill the watering can while sugaring my coffee, and carry the can in one hand while picking up a basket of dirty clothes. I need to add that stuff to my resume.

Then it’s back to the computer desk, for a stint at emailing cover letters, with that (virus-free) resume and references carefully attached. In no time at all it’s time for ‘Lunch with Lorna,’ (Doesn’t that sound like the name of a cooking show?) and perhaps a walk, and a chance to let out the dog. You’ve got it, more multi-tasking. Not to mention the many short prayers along the way. One day last week Lorna and I even went on a leisurely grocery shopping trip together. That was enjoyable. It gave me the chance to practice shuffling along behind Lorna and her grocery cart, as most of the other husbands I saw were doing. My afternoon is just chock-full of exciting follow ups, and calls to contacts and business friends, asking them to wrack their brains with ideas to save me from any more of this. By now you’re probably hoping someone will save YOU from any more of this. It’s easy for you. You just have to turn the page. I have to turn a big corner. That was a pretty contorted metaphor, but it’s my column.

We have all heard sayings like “Every cloud has a silver lining.” and “If life hands you lemons, make lemonade.” In this situation, as in most other challenges of my life, my silver lining, or linings, are my dear and patient wife, my loving family and concerned friends. All of these people are very likely sick of me by now. And it’s only been one week. My wife, especially, with her hugs and encouraging words, would probably love to have me out of her hair, and into my car heading off to work. And who could blame her? The lemons, in the other saying, are my sour feelings toward people I worked hard for. They are my unshared, repeated inner thoughts that people likely cannot recognize integrity in someone else, unless they possess some of it themselves. Whoops, I guess they’re not unshared thoughts now. Forget I wrote that. Okay? I know that making lemonade of those lemons requires my forgiving them for this thing that they did, so that I can successfully move on. I have decided to make that lemonade, as difficult as it is to make, right now.

For those of you with me in my unemployment ship: “Take heart, me maties!” (There go those pirate movies again.) I have found that finding a job is a full time job, but it is much easier when done with lemonade. For those of you others who may be looking for help, I know of a slightly used business manager with writing experience, for sale or rent. Please come and get him. My wife will love you forever. (vtpenner@verizon.net)

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Refuse The ‘What Ifs’

By G. E. Shuman

This is a column about worry, or more precisely, about worrying. Right up front, before anything else, let me say that I am not at all the right person to be giving advice on, or even writing a column about that particular subject. There is just no one else here at my keyboard at the moment to do it. So, I will try.

The truth is, I tend to be a worrier, and not a very organized one, or even one with a great sense of correct priorities as far as what, if anything, should be worried about. For me, worry is not so much some sense of impending doom centered around huge things like war, disease, death or other seemingly distant issues. Oh, no. I fret about ‘important’ things, ‘clear’ things, like fixing the car, or the plumbing, or finding time to paint the front porch. You know, things that are closer to home. I think the reason for this might be that those things are at least slightly within my ability and responsibility to control. We all love to be in control. Don’t we?

My guilty admission here is that I am almost always conscious of, and occasionally plagued by the ’what ifs’. So, ‘what if’ there is something REALLY wrong with the car? What if I can’t figure out why the washing machine won’t drain? What if the weather doesn’t dry out long enough for me to paint that front porch before winter? Worrying about such things sometimes seems to consume me, at least a little, and certainly consumes my time. (I told you I wasn’t the right person to give advice about worry.) Here’s an example of what I mean.

Last week my family and I were on vacation. I know, I wrote weeks ago about my summer vacation. That was a different one. (When you take time off to go hunting in the fall, I’ll be at the office. Okay?) The point is, last Thursday afternoon we headed home from a nice hotel somewhere in Massachusetts, and I noticed, or was reminded that something was vaguely wrong with the car. I knew it was the tires. Yes, the tires. I hate it when it’s the tires. Don’t you? The car shook slightly at high speeds, and unless it was my imagination, the tires were making more noise than they used to. In fact, they seemed to be making more noise than they had a week ago. My wife and I spoke briefly about this as we rode, and then she read and rested. (As the husband, it’s solely my job to worry about the tires, I guess.) My daughter had already been lulled to sleep in the back seat by her Ipod, (and likely by the noise of those tires,) and my son simply gazed out the side window, as usual. I sat, and drove, and worried. What if we’re ruining these new tires on this trip? After all, they’re only six months old. What if they were balanced wrong in the first place, causing them to shake and wear, and the garage won’t accept the responsibility? What if they are under inflated, like Mr. Obama warned us about? What if they are over inflated, like Mr. Obama didn’t warn us about? What if, what if, what if? For nearly the entire four hour trip home I rehearsed in my mind the conversation I would have with my mechanic the next day. I had to be firm with him and make him admit that my (presumably) ruined tires were his fault. I had to explain what they were doing, and tell him my diagnosis in a way which made me sound like there was some chance I knew what I was talking about. And I listened to the tires some more, and I rehearsed some more, and I felt the steering wheel vibrate some more, and I rehearsed some more. All the way home, across three states, I wasted time I could never get back. It was time I could have spent enjoying the scenery and chatting with my son, wasted because of something as trivial as tires. How smart is that? Early the next morning I drove straight to the garage, to find that my four hour rehearsed speech for the mechanic took about one minute to deliver, and didn’t get even close to the reaction I thought it would. He was very nice, and didn’t act as if he had spent any time at all the day before worrying about my tires. I had spent those four hours of my vacation on them, (a whole hour per tire) not to mention several more sleepless hours during the night. It turned out that my tires were not ruined, and the service work took about one fourth the time I had wasted, worrying about it all.

I told you all of that because, regardless what some of my family members think, there is nothing particularly odd about me. That means you might think exactly as I do, and may be occasionally plagued by your own ‘what ifs’. You know, what if Russia won’t actually leave Georgia? What if you don’t get that promotion? What if your girlfriend is starting to remind you of your sister? What if your wife is starting to remind you of her mother? What if you lose your job? What if gas prices go back up? What if it rains? What if it doesn’t rain? What if Obama wins? What if McCain wins?

I’ve heard that some people actually think the ‘what ifs’ are positive things. They assert that they are the result some instinctual ancient need for us to be caregiver, provider and protector, and that the ‘what ifs’ actually help us to survive. I disagree. You see, my point of view here is one of a person who has been a Christian for many years. As such, I long ago stopped believing I was the true, ultimate provider for my family. God may let me help, but He certainly doesn’t need my help to do it. Being bothered, and sometimes nearly consumed by the ‘what ifs’ shows, at least in my case, nothing but a lack of faith in The One who has promised to supply all of my needs. I’ve been thinking and praying a lot about that, especially since my recent, petty struggle with those tires. My goal, and my prayer, is to stop wasting precious time, by learning to refuse the ‘what ifs’. How about you?

The Fine Art of Creative Napping

By G. E. Shuman

I actually woke up, last Sunday afternoon, with the title of this column in my head. It had been one of those lazy Sunday afternoon hours, when Lorna and I had both found ourselves in reclining positions in the living room. We happen to have two couches in that room that have reclining sections on each end. I remember that Lorna once asked me if those couches had made us lazy. I don’t remember my answer to her that day, but I don’t think they had done so. I think we were already a bit lazy, or why else would we have bought two of those couches? But maybe lazy isn’t quite the right word. Tired seems more appropriate, and less degrading. So, tired it is. In any case, the kids had gone off after Sunday dinner to do their own thing or things, and my wife and I both found ourselves waking up, with an hour or so of life evidently missed, having spent it in total unconsciousness. I’m not sure what was on her mind as she awoke, but this column was on mine.

You see, I believe in the fine art of creative napping. In recent years it seems to be a thing that is easier and easier to accomplish, but I have always been able to do it. To me, creative napping is more than just ordinary napping. Ordinary napping is something that you make your young children do. It is simply laying them down, tucking them in, and creeping as silently as possible from the room, in the hope that they will sleep and give you an hour or so of peace. Creative napping is so much more than this. Let me explain.

Creative napping, first of all, never ever takes place in a bed. Sleeping in a bed is not napping. It is going to bed and going to sleep. I do my best creative napping on one of those reclining couches, or in my recliner beside the fireplace. I guess this means we truly are lazy. We have five recliners, and only four people live in our home. Humm. Or, should I say… ho hum. The truth is, I could never take a proper nap in a bed. I sleep in a bed. I nap other places. One such really good place for a creative nap is in either my wife’s van, or in my car. Such naps often take place in the Mall parking lot. Oh yes, the mall parking lot is a wonderful place to nap. I just park somewhere near Wal-Mart, and listen for the pleasant sounds of my wife and children shutting the car doors behind them, on their way to spend their money and mine. No matter that I am left behind to wait for them. The point is, I have chosen to be left behind, as nearly all cars these days are also equipped with seat backs that go back, effectively becoming their own little recliners. Have you ever thought of why cars have those things? Why, it is for practicing the fine art of creative napping, of course. Most people don’t recline in the passenger’s seat while going down the road. They really don’t. Just let a car pass yours and watch to see if the passenger is sleeping. If he or she is, they inevitably have their forehead and/or face smashed up against the side window, just for your amusement. And the driver certainly couldn’t drive while reclining. So… reclining car seats are for creative napping, at least for people my age. (Use your imagination to discover the several things that last sentence implies.)

There are several places other than your car and living room where the fine art of creative napping is often practiced. One of my favorites is at a nice, hot and sunny beach. There is little in life to compare with the feeling of sun and sand in places they both rarely reach, the sound of the surf, and the salty breeze-wafted scent of Coppertone. Such a combination is a perfect inducement to enjoying my fine art. As unlikely as it seems, I have also spent many summer hours reclined and creative napping on the unforgiving granite surface of a coastal breakwater. To me, once the consciousness lights are out, things like surface softness don’t seem to matter.
Lest you think me an amateur napper, (Lest you think me? Me thinks I’ve listened to Pirates of the Caribbean dialog too much.) let it be known to all that I have been practicing the art of creative napping for nearly my entire life. When I was only two or so, and outside playing with my family on sunny winter days, it was not uncommon for my parents to find me fast asleep, in my snow suit, flat on my back in a bank of fluffy snow. Then there was the time in my young childhood, when the entire neighborhood spent an afternoon searching the woods for me. I’m still not sure why they looked. Also, it was hardly my fault that our dining room table had a long tablecloth which hung a foot or so down on all sides. It was also hardly my fault that the table was large, with a chair at each end, and three on each side. Those three side chairs, lined up so close together and neatly pushed in under the cloth and the long table made a fine place to stretch out, for a very creative, tablecloth tented, afternoon nap. And then there was the ultimate creative, childhood nap. This one, believe it or not, lasted several days and involved an actual house call from our family doctor. It seems that I had gotten into the medicine cupboard and drunk an entire bottle of nose drops, whatever nose drops are, or were. Mom said they had to keep me from swallowing my tongue. I’m not sure how they did that, and really don’t want to know. I am also not sure why they would try to save a child stupid enough to drink something called nose drops. I have often wondered if that experience is what made me the person I am today.

The art of creative napping is not only enjoyable, but is a newly recognized and highly recommended way to benefit your health. It can also actually be profitable to your mental well being, and even aid your food budget. Yes, your food budget. Years ago I knew a man with a nearly Mark Twain-ian sense of the humorous and the profound. He knew much about the simple pleasures most people neglect, and was an obvious expert at the art of creative napping. In his own words: “I never caught a decent fish while I was awake.”

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On Being Fifty-Something

By G. E. Shuman

During a recent bout with a nagging disease which has shared my body with me since I was a child, I was, if you can bear the overuse of the term, ‘awakened’ to something. First I have to tell you that I hate that word ‘disease’. Don’t you? The only consolation I get from it is the idea that the word is a contraction of dis-ease, or, in other words, lack of ease. To me, a lack of ease, or even the idea of being ‘ill’ at ease, is better than ever using the word disease. When I hear that dreaded word I always think of a diseased apple tree. Then I imagine the old, rotten, infested thing being purposely cut down and thrown into the fire so that it doesn’t produce spotted, misshapen, diseased apples, and so the disease it harbors doesn’t spread to healthy trees. In any case, my ‘disease’, (I’m going to keep this description as short as possible) is of the inflammatory bowel syndrome type. The official abbreviation is IBS. For this they went to medical school? The Greek term: bellius painium maximus describes it best. In any case, because of my ‘bowel’ problem, (I know… Too Much Information.) most of the month of July was no picnic for me. That is, especially since our family’s 4th of July picnic. Since then I have had to take it a bit easier than I had before, at least temporarily.

The reason I tell you all of this is that that I have come to a few realizations since the 4th of July this year. The first is that I really am fifty-something. I know, you’re looking at my picture in the paper and asking yourself how this young studly person could possibly be fifty something, but believe me, I am. If you’re a regular reader of the column, I also know what you’re thinking. “He’s way too cute to be this smart.” For that common thought, I simply have no reply. I’m also way too humble for that.

In being this fifty-something person I have recently noticed that I am, I have had a few other realizations thrust upon me. One is that I seem to be turning prematurely gray. (You may notice one or two gray hairs in my picture.) Now don’t tell me they’re not there. I know they are. Another thing is that my eyesight is no longer perfect. That is why you see me wearing glasses. My wife tells me it is also why I think my hair is ‘beginning’ to turn gray. One other thing is that proclaiming myself to be in shape, because round IS a shape, is not that funny anymore. Neither is the thought that it is actually too late for my hair to be graying ‘prematurely.’

Fortunately for me, some other realizations of this less-than-totally-healthy fifty-something year old are much more positive things, and ones that, if you are even nearing my age, you should consider, and actually look forward to. One thing is that my adult kids don’t need me anymore. Hurray! All of them earn more money than me. Well, they make more money than me. Some still ask the occasional bit of plumbing, car-repair or electrical wiring advice, but they are quite self sufficient. That is a good thing, and I’m very proud of them, all. An even ‘gooder’ thing is that I’m not responsible for them, at all. This is something they seem to enjoy, and so do I. Another wonderful realization is that I suddenly, somehow have the idea that I don’t have to fix the world. I would love to get rid of war, world hunger and reality shows, but since I can’t even fix my bumpy driveway, I certainly should leave those other things to other fixers. Yes, something about this recent bout with my lingering dis-ease has changed a few things for me.

I have been persuaded, as perhaps other fifty-somethings should be, to simply relax a bit. As I mentioned in another recent column, I have also nearly decided to never sell my home and to just die here. I’m serious…just die right here. (That’s the grumpy old man in me coming out, and I’m starting to like him.) That way the kids get to clean out the attic next time. Most of the junk up there is theirs anyway. If they want to sell the house and keep the money, good for them. The least they can do is lug their own stuff down the stairs and to the dump. I am also even less interested lately in climbing the corporate ladder than in climbing the stairs to that attic. It seems to me that both propositions have a lot of trash at the top. I have never been to the upper business rungs, and God has always provided for my needs and those of my family anyway. How could I want more than that?

The truth is, dumb as it sounds, I’m not even all that concerned with those skyrocketing gas and oil prices. They’re more than they used to be, and less than they someday will be. So what else is new? At my slowly advancing age, I also take absolutely no ‘stuff’ at all from car salesmen. Period. I tell them the deal I want. If they don’t agree, I leave and let them sell their hurry-hurry-hurry-before-they’re-all-gone car to the next guy. I assume their company will make more cars tomorrow. If they won‘t, I don’t want to buy from them anyway. Also, amusement park rides might still excite me, but don’t scare me anymore. I have decided that if they killed very many people the park would have gone out of business long ago.

Now let’s talk about food, just for a moment. Yes, I do have a defective digestive system, but only sometimes. So when my stomach isn’t in a cranky mood, I tend to drink coffee whenever I wish. I love coffee. If it keeps me awake at night, that’s even more time I have to realize that my life is not over, at least not yet. You know, yesterday I actually saw an internet article headline which asked the question: “Does Charcoal Grilled Meat Increase The Risk Of Cancer?” I didn’t read that article. I’m fifty-something, I love charcoal grilled meat, and those people should just shut up. I don’t drive fast or cheat on my wife. If I want a sizzling steak, sue me. In fact, as shocking as it may be, I would love to someday become a charter member of a red meat, crusty bread, wine and seriously sharp cheese club. Wanna join? I’ll give you a Lipitor for dessert.
I guess my point is that if you happen to be a fifty-something (or older) person like me, you might join me in more than that club. Consider just dropping out of, or at least slowing down in the rat race, for a start. Take the time to enjoy some really good food. Then get rid of some of the toys. Find your happiness in an evening walk on the beach, your peace in lengthy talks with God, and contentment in a superb cup of coffee.

It felt good to tell you all of this. Thanks for listening.

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My Strange, Odd and Almost Eerie Front Lawn

By G. E. Shuman

For many years I have known that there is something, strange, odd, and almost eerie about our home’s front lawn. I know that sounds strange, but like I said, it IS strange. You see, our old home was built on a very busy Barre hillside street, which winds its way around in front of the houses on one side. The street level is actually many feet lower than the homes, as ours, which line it on that side; while on the other side the hill drops off further, even necessitating the use of guard rails in some places. This all makes for great views from high front porches like ours, but also for strange, odd and almost eerie front lawns. The flat portion of our lawn, from the base of the front steps, is only ten feet or so in length out from the house, before it becomes a steep, grassy bank of about six feet in height, extending down to the sidewalk and street below. All of this was no great selling point when the former owners sold the house to us. I remember the man we purchased the place from saying that the lawn was the only thing about the house they couldn’t fix, but that he knew a boy who would mow it for us. I don’t remember my reply, but these two and a half decades of hillside lawnmower pushing later, I wish I had the name and number of that boy. I’m certain that my strange, odd, and almost eerie front lawn will still be no selling point if I ever decide to sell the place myself. And we have thought of selling, off and on, for several years. But selling and buying homes is such a hassle, and lately I have felt somewhat lazy about such things. At this point I’ve about decided to put that work off onto my kids, and just die here. That would be much simpler for me. Let them sell the place; strange, odd, and almost eerie front lawn and all. It’s the least they can do. But, I was telling you about that lawn.


Well, let me begin by saying, I know already that some of you will either not believe or not understand what I am about to tell you about my strange, odd, and almost eerie front lawn. Let me reassure you that every word here is true, or at least contains as much truth as my memory is capable of serving up. Some will choose to not believe. Some will not be able to understand. The thing is, years ago I discovered one particular spot on the lawn, which is just to the left of the walkway, when looking down from the house. It is that particular spot which provides the ‘almost eerie’ aspect of my strange, odd and almost eerie front lawn. Now here’s the part you may either not believe or not understand. The truth is that anything at all which is placed on that spot, will surely, completely, irretrievably, disappear. Call that what you want. I know nothing about other dimensions, black holes, wormholes, or quicksand for that matter, and make no claim to any of those. I just know I have a strange, odd and almost eerie front lawn. We first noticed this phenomenon after a long ago yard sale. Our last customer had been an elderly lady who had succeeded in climbing up the steep granite steps to the flat of the lawn. Before heading back down those steps she said she didn’t blame us for moving. I didn’t bother explaining it wasn’t a moving sale. All I could think was that she must have noticed the strange, odd and almost eerie front lawn. After the lady had left, I took all the leftover yard sale ‘merchandise’ and piled it, coincidentally, (Or was it fate?) on that particular spot. I then made a small paper sign which simply read: FREE, and taped it to one of the boxes. My family and I then left the lawn, and, if memory serves, headed out to spend all the money we had made on the sale. I think we went to McDonalds. When we arrived home only hours later, the leftover ‘merchandise’ was gone. It was simply gone! Only an empty box remained, with my paper sign flapping from it in the wind. I felt bad that no one had gotten to take any of the yard sale stuff, but, as I said, it was simply gone.

Yes, I understand that this is difficult to believe. As I said, we live on a very busy Barre street, and with all the cars which pass by our house you would think someone would have noticed the stuff disappearing. Perhaps it just happens too fast. Now here’s another example, and it’s a good one. We decided we no longer needed a small wooden table which had been collecting magazines and dust for far too long. Now, and I kid you not, I placed the table on the spot on the lawn, added my obligatory FREE sign, and walked back inside. I then simply went to the kitchen, and then returned to lock the front door. And yes, you guessed it. The little table was GONE!
Over the years I have had occasion to test and retest the spot on my strange, odd and almost eerie front lawn, and that spot has never failed me. Although… there was the litter box. Yes, the litter box. You see, we had lost our cat, or it had lost us, and were left with one of those big, covered litter boxes. You know, the kind that looks like a pet carrier, but with no door except for o-dor. I had put the usual FREE sign on the thing, and had gone back inside again to get something to scrape it out. On returning I saw this obviously shaken woman, just as she was nearly hit by a car, in her effort to snag the thing and rescue it from being swallowed by the spot. She succeeded in outsmarting the almost eerie front lawn, and got herself a wonderful, free, litter box, complete with contents.

I decided to write to you about all of this, as I have made good recent use of the spot on the lawn. Last week my son and I put a huge, heavy, rusty, dead air conditioner on the spot. I initially wondered if something of such weight and mass could or would disappear as quickly as smaller things. I calculated that such a two hundred plus pound item might take several days to dissolve, or for whatever happens there to happen to it. I calculated wrong. I taped the FREE sign to the front of it, and within twelve hours, it had also disappeared. And then I added a half-dead microwave oven, and another sign, and it went, nearly, before my eyes. Last night I piled up four old tires on the spot, added the sign which read FREE, and they too are now simply gone. Amazing!

I was just thinking. This is a presidential election year. If word were to spread of my strange, odd and almost eerie front lawn, maybe we could get the candidates to stop by for a photo-op., on a swing through our state. I can see it now: “Okay. John and Barack. Let’s get a picture. How about you two standing right over here… that’s it… rrriiiiggghhht there on that spot. Perfect. Now, could you guys just hold up this little FREE sign for me? This should only take a moment.”

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

By G.E. Shuman

I hope you¢ll forgive me if this column comes across as slightly disjointed, this week. If it does, the reason could be that I am feeling slightly disjointed myself at the moment. As I write the first draft of this piece I am sitting beside my six foot seven inch son, on a shoulder to shoulder flight from Orlando back to good ol¢ Vermont. I can only imagine how Andrew must feel. He barely has room for his knees without poking the person in the seat in front of him. It is only the first leg of the journey, so to speak, but I felt I should use my time wisely, and get some writing done. The sad truth is, I brought no pc, or paper in any form with me on the plane, other than a pocket full of cash register receipts from Disney World. I traded many many many dollar bills for those receipts, but I¢m not sure why I saved them as they don¢t seem to have much value now. A sadder truth is that I am, (This is the truth.) jotting these notes on both sides of the paper barf bag kindly provided for me, or anyone else sitting in my seat, by the airline. I apologize for using the term barf bag here, but I don¢t know what else to call the thing. All other names I can think of actually sound worse to me. I don¢t get motion sickness unless riding the tea cups at Disney World, so, thankfully, haven¢t had to use the bag for its intended purpose. If I should end up using it, that will be evident, as there will be no column from me in this newspaper.

I need to tell you that we had a great time visiting the big mouse in the red pants, and any whining I come up with in the following paragraphs is just that, whining. My nephew Randy and his wife Betsy met us for the last few days of our trip, in the Magic Kingdom, and they are always great fun to be with. You should go to Disney with them sometime. You would love it. Having said that, I must admit that there were a few bumps along our way to Florida. (Here comes the whining.) I believe that anyone who tells you there were no bumps at all in their vacation, never actually took one. Our bumps began when Lorna called before we even left from Burlington, to the Orlando hotel we had booked online and PAID FOR a room in, just to let them know we would be late in arriving that evening. Their response was that the hotel was closed for three months for remodeling. Huh? (Kindly see the words PAID FOR above.) After several moments of panic, only hours before our flight south to a closed hotel, we got word that another hotel had taken all the bookings from ours. That hotel worked our well for us. Disaster avoided.

A "humorous" aside was that our connecting flight from Baltimore was a few hours late in departing. This meant that we would arrive at our new hotel, and would have arrived at the closed hotel, at about 2 AM the following morning. Sounds like fun, right? A nice, restful vacation was in store for us, to be sure. So, to change the subject, or at least enhance it a bit; have you ever spent an extra hour or two sitting in a very busy airport? Well I have, many times, and it is always a treat. Our extended stop over in Baltimore was no exception. It is something to sit there watching the clock, and the passers-by, and actually noticing that people all really do look different. I mentioned to Andrew that if all those people were Pekingese dogs they would, at least, look somewhat alike. He replied that they were not Pekingese dogs. I guess we were all a bit tired by that time. And did you know that, regardless of the time of day, people actually just walk down those endless airport hallways talking to themselves? I don¢t mean some people; I mean most of the people. The talkers all have small pieces of plastic sticking out of one ear, or a piece of it in their hands, held up to their ear, and they just walk and talk, and walk and talk. At least they weren¢t just sitting there watching people walk and talk, as I was. I found that another fun pastime in airports is counting laptops. These days it seems that everybody has one of those things. That is, except for me, and I¢m a writer. There is no justice. Teenagers have laptops. Old people have laptops. I saw one woman sitting in that airport who didn¢t even have a LAP, but, you guessed it, she had a laptop. I don¢t know how she managed that. I also noticed a middle aged Southern Baptist preacher across the way, and he had a laptop, too. (Don¢t ask me how I knew he was a Southern Baptist preacher. Some things are just not possible to hide, like that lady¢s lack of a lap.) If you remember way back to the torturous beginning of this paragraph, our flight out of Baltimore was a few hours late. This was due to a bad thunder storm passing through the area. You would be surprised, sitting in an airport, at the number of people upset at their airlines because they were denied the right to fly at 34,000 feet, in a big metal tube, in a huge thunder storm. Those people must be very brave. But I also don¢t understand the airlines. At one point the intercom announced that a flight was late AND overbooked, and that anyone who would allow themselves to be bumped to the next flight would get a free, future flight on that same airline. Moments later they upped the offer to two free flights. Wow! But let me understand this. You go to the airport, your flight out is two hours or more late, and then you are asked to give up your seat altogether, and wait for the next plane. Why would anyone raise their hand and volunteer to do that two more times, if they didn¡t have to?

As I said earlier, we went to the sunshine state to visit Mickey, Randy and Betsy, and to sweat. We did all of those things, especially the sweat part. And, for that part we were not alone. In fact, I have never seen so many fifty-something, overweight, red-faced, sweaty men in my life. I tried to not stare, but one of them noticed me, and started staring right back at me, from every mirror I passed. He looked a lot like my father, but fatter and sweatier. I found myself not eating much during those humid Disney days, but consumed more bottles of overpriced water than I could probably count. It seemed like I would just guzzle one of those bottles down and it would immediately appear through my sweat-soaked shirt. I could have saved the middle man and just poured the water on myself, I guess. It really was, as they say, hot enough to breed sheep, but I¢m sure nothing could possibly breed down there, this time of year. You know, the Disney people are very smart. It is not by accident that the doors are wide open to all the extremely air conditioned gift shops you pass on a wet walk through The Magic Kingdom, for example. I think I went into every one of those shops, and each time there was another mirror, with that red-faced, fifty-something, overweight man staring back at me a gain. (He was wearing a really stupid looking hat, too.)

Now, do not be misled by my former rantings. Many good things came from our trip to Florida last week, including the wonderful time with my nephew and his wife, with great memories, pictures, and stories to tell. Oh. Emily¢s favorite story is of her mom breaking the bathroom door on one of the airplanes. According to Emi, the no smoking sign on that door went flying and slammed right into the back of someone¢s seat. I¢m glad I slept through that one. One other good thing is this. I decided that if I could walk 5000 miles a day in all that heat and humidity, I could certainly keep walking, and dusted off the old treadmill when we got home. Aren¢t you proud of me? And yes, I used the treadmill after I dusted it off, and plan to continue doing so. I¢ll be ready for Mickey, and that fifty-something man in the mirror next time. I just hope he gets a new hat. Well, my barf bag is full. I mean there is no more space to write on it, so I will close. I wish you all a wonderful summer vacation!

Great Opportunities

By G. E. Shuman

Memories are funny things. Of course, some are much funnier than others, but they are all funny, or more precisely, interesting, in how they effect our thinking. Recently I have been thinking of memories which are not exactly mine, but ones related to me by my parents. Here, particularly, by my dear mother. Over the nearly fifty four years of my life I have heard many stories told to me by Mom, about her family, and her childhood. I recall, almost as if the occurrences had been mine, memories she has of growing up on a farm in the small town of Oakland Maine. I, too, grew up in Oakland, and have my own memories, but what I want to relate to you are bits of hers.

Without going into great detail, let me just tell you that Mom’s memories of her childhood are wonderful ones. They are of that farm, and the great times she had there. They are of her father and mother, her siblings, the animals, and the big old barn. They are of Grampy Fuller’s rural mail route, which he actually traversed with a horse-drawn sleigh in winter. Mom remembers things like what her father had for breakfast every morning, and the big black wood-fired kitchen stove it was cooked on. She remembers milking the cows, and jumping in haystacks. She remembers going to church, and Sunday family dinners. She remembers, mostly, the wonderful relationships she had with her folks and her brothers and sisters. To me, it is most amazing that these are the things Mom thinks of when she remembers her childhood. Times were pretty tough in the nineteen twenties and thirties, we are told by the historians. But such tough times have never been told to me by my mother. Although her family had little then, compared to what we have today, her thoughts are very positive, and contain the beautiful things her mother crocheted, including an elaborate bedspread that Mom still has. Her memories include conversations with her sisters, and times shared with other relatives. They are of weekend teen-age visits by my father, her one and only beau, who would, one day, become her husband of over fifty seven years. I especially remember Mom’s tale of one such evening visit with Dad. Gramp Fuller simply put a single log on the fire, and headed to bed, leaving Mom and Dad alone in the living room. Gramp’s comment to my father, while leaving the room, was simply: “When that goes out, go home.“ Mom is the first to say that her family didn’t do certain things. They didn’t swim on Sunday. Sunday is The Lord’s day; a day of rest, and this was, then, truly a Christian nation. (That statement may offend some readers. To me, the fact that it even could offend is no compliment to the direction we have taken as a people.) Mom’s family never went to restaurants, and took no expensive vacations. “People just didn’t do those things, in those days.” Mom would say. They did listen to night time radio shows together, played games, read, ate together, and actually talked to one another. How times have changed.

Today our country faces some great challenges. One is that we are the seeming victims of the whims of the oil rich nations of the world. Unless things soon change, many of us will not be able to afford the costs we must pay to maintain our present lifestyles. Our large vehicles love to consume lots of expensive fuel, as you know. Our large homes, likewise. Fuel bills are doubling, and that is just this year. Next year will likely be even worse. Many people find themselves doing whatever is possible to conserve fuel, including sacrificially combining trips to the mall and the kid’s soccer games with those to the supermarket. Gee. Vacations to far away destinations are being put off, or cancelled altogether. Plans to buy that new four wheeler, or trade in the boat or motorcycle have gone up in thoughts of the future smoke of our home’s oil burner. And we feel very sorry for ourselves, and timid of what the coming years may hold for us and our children. We simply want it all. And why not? We are used to having it all. I thought of this moments ago, as my refrigerator door effortlessly dispensed clean cold water into my glass, ice included. I thought little of the fact that half of the world’s population has no access to clean water at all, to say nothing of ice. I thought even less of the blessing the food behind that refrigerator door really is.

It is true that these days most American families take much for granted, and have somehow drifted apart. Many rarely even have dinners together, as each family member has his own stuff to do, and that is so very important to us. Some parents and children in our great country hardly converse at all, unless by cell phone. But we still want to be ABLE to have family dinners, and chat, and enjoy each other‘s company, if the precious time ever arises. Friends, it is my opinion that the time may soon BE arising.

Lorna and I have already discussed how our lifestyle may be slowly changing by the impossible to control economic situations around us. If prices go even higher, the days of long and distant trips may be things of the past for us. We will likely spend next winter right here, at home, minding the fire, and just being with the kids. You know, somehow, that doesn’t seem so bad to me. In fact, the hard-to-swallow pill of being forced back to the basics may ultimately be just the medicine our overly materialistic society needs. But doing with less seems like going backward to Americans, and we hate that idea. I think we should remember that when you are at the edge of a cliff, going backward is not necessarily heading in the wrong direction. My family will likely never spend winter evenings listening to the radio, but popcorn and a movie by the fire on a cold night can be a lot of fun. Maybe I will even let the kids teach me a few board games. Anyway, thanks for the memories, Mom. Recalling the simple family fun your generation had years ago may be just the lesson that my generation, and the members of my children’s and grandchildren’s generations need. As you know better than any other person on earth, my Dad had many wonderful and wise little sayings he would just come out with from time to time, precisely when we needed to hear them most. If you don’t mind, Mom, I would like to share my favorite one with the thousands of readers who visit this column. Quoted by Lyell A. Shuman: “We are all faced with a series of great opportunities… brilliantly disguised as impossible situations.” Right now, all Americans may be facing the greatest opportunities of our lives.

Enjoy Life and Live Life Abundantly

Life Is Change

By G. E. Shuman

It was about four thirty last Sunday afternoon, and Lorna, the kids, and I were in my little gas-sipping car, heading home to Vermont from a visit to central Maine. The weekend had been a busy one. We had headed out Saturday morning to attend the wedding of a good friend, the mother of one of our sons in law, in Livermore Falls Maine. The wedding had been very relaxing and enjoyable. I’m not usually a ‘wedding’ person, so this was nice for me. It was good to see Adam’s mom, as she committed herself to her new husband, and simply allowed her life to take a wonderful new direction. This was only the first of several events of change that Lorna and I soon realized we were a part of on this nice weekend.

Saturday night we had driven to my sister’s home in Waterville, for a great visit with Barb and her husband Art, and my Mom, who is staying with them for the summer. We have stayed in Barb and Art’s home many times, but this visit felt a bit different to me than the others had. You see, their beautiful home is in the process of being sold, and, if all goes as scheduled, will likely be demolished and replaced by a new business before the summer is over. My sister and her husband probably entertained us for the final time at their present home, last weekend. They are strong people, who, I’m sure, will sail through this change with no whining at all, unlike the fits that would take place here, if it were all happening to me.

While we were in Waterville, we discussed with Mom the idea that my much older brother, Steve, (Okay, so he’s only a few years older.) who has lived his entire life in Maine, would probably soon make a big change, and move his family to Florida. Maine winters are becoming just too much for my frail old brother to tolerate. (Sorry, Steve. Just kidding. The fact is, I‘m pretty jealous.) That conversation led to talk of the seasons, and how they also had so quickly changed. Winter is not long past, but fields of white have been replaced by a seeming explosion of green across New England this year. We also discussed my younger sister’s move to a new apartment, and how her life had recently changed. We were visited briefly by my younger brother and his great family, and the changes in his growing kids were quite apparent. We all talked about our son Andrew, his upcoming eighth grade graduation, and the change that high school will be for him. We boasted a bit, or maybe a bit more than a bit, to Mom and my sibs, about Andrew’s towering basketball skills and Emily’s status on the high honor roll. We bragged about the changes we have already witnessed in our wonderful new granddaughter, Ayvah. On Sunday afternoon we visited with Lorna’s Mom and her husband, and noticed other, positive changes in them too.

When my family travels by car, especially when we travel home from such a visit with relatives, Lorna and I tend to spend much of the time discussing what we have just done, where we have just been. We sort of chew over things happening in our loved ones lives, often with long pauses between sentences, as we emotionally digest the many changes we have seen.

And so, we traveled from Waterville, down the highway to Portland, and Portsmouth, and then to Manchester to see Cathy and her family for just an hour or so. We then headed on the two hour trip home to Barre, which gave us even more time to talk. We certainly went over all of the family changes mentioned above, and chatted about how they would affect our lives too. We discussed, after once more filling my little car up with the liquid gold it requires, this great energy turmoil our world seems to be in. We saw gas prices as high as $4.08 along the way. We talked about other changes, including the upcoming presidential election, more about the kids, and college, and our own future plans.

In all of this, my dear wife of thirty five years and I sifted through many of life’s possibilities, certainties, and options. It was Lorna who, somewhere along the way, made the profound observation that life really is all about change. In fact, life IS change, if you think about it. Little Ayvah, just three months old, was already working on her own changes, as she smiled widely for us, for the first time last Sunday.

And suddenly the day itself was changing. The night grew upon us on the long ride home. As the sun set, I began to wonder about our observations of all the changes we had seen, in just two days. The sun continued to abandon this, another day that I could never do over, make better or worse, or share again with those people I love so much. Lorna was right, as she tends to be more often than I give her credit for. Life itself really is change. Call it coincidence or not, that as we were leaving Waterville, we noticed the sign in a local churchyard, advertising the pastor’s upcoming sermon. The sign said: “The only people who like change are wet babies.” To me that is funny, but more profound in its timing for us, than funny.

One of my favorite, anonymous quotes is one I have shared several times over the years. It speaks to life, to missed opportunities, to spiritual decisions, and to our possible reactions to change: “It is not possible to go back and make a brand new beginning. It is possible to start from today, and make a brand new ending.” I really wish I had written that one myself.

The Many Benefits Of High Fuel Prices

By G. E. Shuman

Several days ago my wife came home from running an errand. My vehicle happened to be behind her minivan in the driveway when she left, so she had taken my car. Later, when we both entered my car for another short trip, the as-short conversation went something like this:
“Thanks a lot for giving me your car with the gas below empty.” She said. “I had to fill it up before I could even use it.”

“Fill it up?” I replied. “It’s still below half full.”

“I PUT twenty five dollars in it.” She said right back.

“You’re kidding.” I then said right back at her, trying slightly to get a rise out of her. With one glance at her face I knew she was not kidding at all.

You see, Lorna has been quite upset lately by the rising costs of everything from grill-gas to groceries, as have most of us. My oft’ repeated admonitions about the high cost of energy and transportation have been of no great help in the matter, but that‘s what husbands are for.
So, for Lorna’s benefit and yours, I have decided to dedicate this column to nine of the positive benefits of high fuel prices. Yes, I said positive benefits, and I invite you to agree with me that they are. Please be sure my straight jacket has extra long sleeves. Thank you.

1. Just look at how much faster gas station pumps have become since the stuff has approached four dollars a gallon. I know they have, because it used to take several minutes for me to put ten dollars worth of gas in my car. Now I can put in twenty five dollars worth, just as Lorna did before running her errand, in no time flat. In fact, she should have thanked me for all the time she saved that day. The numbers on those pump dials just fly by! What more could we ask for?

2. Add to that benefit, the fact that these days, if you have an old junker and decide to sell it, you don’t even have to bother painting it to increase its sales value considerably. Just drive it to Cumby’s and fill up the tank! How cool is that?

3. I have noticed it is once again becoming ‘in’ to drive a small car, and I have always liked small cars. (Do people even say that something is ‘in‘, anymore?) In some ways, big cars are actually mimicking small cars. My daughter’s new SUV, (letters which I think stand for ‘Suckin’ Up Volumes‘,) has an expensive big engine which runs on only four cylinders at highway speeds, to save gas. My car runs on four cylinders ALL the time. Talk about being on the cutting edge.

4. They say that driving slower saves gas, and lives, which are certainly great benefits. Just imagine how many gallons and lives will be saved when we can’t afford to drive our cars at all anymore. Wow! (I’m not actually sure that driving slow saves gas, though. My wife always drives slow, and still buys a lot of gas each week. Taking that slow driving idea to an extreme, I might suggest that she try driving backwards, and see if the tank overflows. It’s just a thought.)

5. Another benefit is that we are all learning to conserve, and I’m a conservative by nature and upbringing, so that’s fine with me. Hopefully, we are becoming much wiser in our attempts to combine trips, car pool, and find other inventive ways to use the vehicles we paid so much for, less and less. In doing so, we waste and pollute less and less also. Just imagine how wise it would have been to not have purchased the things in the first place. Thanks for the lesson, big oil.

6. Added to the benefits previously mentioned in number five, using our cars less helps in other ways as well. True, we may soon not go anywhere, anymore, but that’s okay. It will be so much longer between those pesky oil changes, and our tires will last nearly forever! In fact, if things get much worse, my wife’s minivan may even outlive its payment book. We will probably get an extra year or two out of the thing if we leave it under the carport. Then we can afford to put gas in it and start driving it again. Oh goodie!

7. Moving on from the ever increasing value of our cars and the gas in them, think of the great advantages that will be ours if heating oil keeps gaining in price! Just imagine how close-knit our families will become next winter, as we huddle on the couch in our cold living rooms. We will have a real chance to gain new appreciation for our homes, as we will be spending much more time in them, watching movies by peaking out from under our quilts and comforters. How cozy! Thank you again, oil companies!

(Now we will take a short break for a helpful hint on conserving energy. If you can afford the trip, go out and buy a bunch of those compact florescent bulbs. You know, the ones that look like you bought them at the Dairy Queen. I installed about twenty of those bulbs last fall, and although I haven’t noticed much savings on my electric bill, they certainly must save something. I know they don’t last the eight years promised on the package, as I had to change six of them yesterday, but that is a good thing. During the several weeks that they were burned out before I got around to buying more, they used no electricity at all!)

8. The very biggest benefit of high fuel prices is that, if things get ridiculous enough, good old American ingenuity will finally kick in, just as it did back in the industrial age. (No, I wasn’t here to see that firsthand.) I do know that when things really get rough, as it looks like they soon might, the inventors and entrepreneurs of our great country will come out of the woodwork, and simply, or not so simply, solve the problem. Can anyone say: “efficiently remove hydrogen from water, (something we have oceans of) and BURN IT?” When this all happens the only way the OPEC leaders will buy their new Mercedes’ will be to export the one other resource they have in abundance, and sell their homelands for kitty litter.

9. One last advantage that I just thought of involves a piece of advice for young married couples facing the next few cold hard winters. Save your fuel and electricity, kids. Turn down the heat, shut off the lights, and get to bed early each night. Any complaints so far? With luck this will lead to a brand new, huge boom of babies in the next few years. We can call them something besides baby boomers, though. How about BTU babies, enviro-infants, or conservation kids? The way I see it, the little darlings will grow up and become contributing taxpayers just in time to help kick in for about the final ten years of my future social security checks. Now that’s what I call a benefit!

The Sand Turtle

By G. E. Shuman

We discovered the big turtle, buried only inches beneath the surface of the moist pile of sand. My daughter Emily and two of my grandchildren, Devon and Jaidyn were there with me at the time of the discovery. Only days into our Myrtle Beach spring vacation this year, the find was, indeed, a great one. By all accounts, this was one of the largest and most quickly uncovered sand turtles I had ever met, on any beach, anywhere.

I had asked the kids to help me find the turtle, and they immediately began digging and piling up the sand. “More sand!” I teasingly commanded as they toiled with plastic pails and tiny shovels. “If we are to get to the sand turtle, we must move a LOT of sand!” I watched as they worked, and encouraged them to get wet sand, because I knew how much big turtles love wet sand. Emily had been through this process many times over the years with me, but I had never uncovered a sand turtle with Devon and Jaidyn before. I hoped that the kids were all enjoying the discovery as much as I was.

But then, I came to a decision which was simply the wrong one for me to make at the time. We humans seem to do that from time to time. This human probably does it more often than most. The problem is that many situations call for decisions, and if those are to be made, then there are always chances for error. A right of left turn, a yes or no answer, can all lead to a happy or sad ending to any adventure. So can a decision involving the discovery of a huge sand turtle. As I said, the decision I made that sunny southern afternoon was the wrong one. And I wish now that I could take that decision back.

You see, the kids and I had come to the point of actually discovering the amazing turtle within the pile of sand, and I wanted it to go just right. On every sand turtle discovery vacation before this one, Emily has helped me uncover the massive turtles. But this time the grandkids were with us, and I had already bragged to them about all the years past, at the beach. I had told them of the other beach-goers stopping to admire, comment on, and photograph the turtles we always seem to find. I wanted this particular turtle to be the best ever, for them. So I asked, to my shame, for Emily to let me uncover the turtle by myself. It really seemed like a good decision to make at the time, as many wrong decisions do. In fact, it was such a good decision that I never noticed Emily and the other kids walking away to play together, without me. I was much too busy, spooning, shoveling and brushing away all the sand that was not turtle, leaving only that which was. After only a half hour or so, there he was… one of the biggest turtles that we, or I had ever uncovered in the sand. I was quite proud of the discovery. I was too proud of myself.

Soon Emily was back at my side, but she didn’t seem impressed with the big turtle at all. “What’s wrong?” I immediately asked, when I saw the look of disappointment on her face. “Don’t you like the turtle?”

“You did it all yourself, Dad. Usually I get to help.” She said, as she walked away again. I then realized that I had ruined, for this day, one of the most enjoyable things Emily and I share. You see, each beach vacation week we seem to only discover one large turtle, and this year, I had hogged the discovery.

The very next morning the kids and I walked out onto the beach to check the waves, and to see how the turtle had fared through the night. Even big sand turtles like ours need to be checked on once in a while, you know. To the kid’s slight disappointment, and to my shame, our turtle was nowhere to be seen. I could only surmise that he had somehow found his way, in the night, back to the sea. I had been sure we had uncovered him far enough up on the beach so that he would be safe from the tide, but, in this decision too, I had been wrong. Indeed, the vast Atlantic Ocean had called him back, and had wholly swallowed him up, even as we slept. The sand in which he had so proudly sat was now utterly featureless and flat. Not even a turtle footprint or any other trace was there to mark the spot, or show the path he had taken to get away. I knew we would never see the turtle again.

At that moment I realized, that just the day before, I had sorely disappointed my little girl over something that was here for only hours, and quickly gone, forever. I had made her a less than happy vacation memory, for the selfish and fleeting pride of a temporary accomplishment, and I was sad. I vowed to never let that happen again, and immediately asked Emily for her help in every future sand turtle discovery that I make.

Dear readers, all that we individually accomplish in life; anything we discover, uncover, or make, is temporary at best, as was my big turtle. Children and grandchildren grow up all too quickly. Let us never waste precious moments we can share with our loved ones, on pride, or possessions, or position, or other things made of sand.

Connections

By G. E. Shuman

I was unsure, several days ago, if the subject I wanted to write to you about this week was one that I should share. This feeling often happens to me, when I get that first ‘germ’ of an idea for a story. I then usually wait and look for some outward indication that I should pursue the subject. You can call such an indication luck, or an omen, or coincidence, or even a sign from God. Since I am no believer in luck or omens, one of the latter two reasons might be the case, in the case of my writings. Yes, I do believe in coincidences, and definitely in signs from God. I do not presume to say that God directs my words, but I like to think that He is interested in them, and might lend me a hand now and then.

What caused me to decide to go ahead with my idea for this column was something I witnessed last weekend. My son attends the high school youth group of our church, and I had just entered their meeting room, to pick him up after their usual Sunday evening get together. As I entered the room, I saw the teens seated in two long rows of folding metal chairs, closely facing each other, with Jason, their youth leader, sitting at one end of the rows. The game the kids were playing required them to hold hands down their long row. Jason flipped a coin, and the first time it came up ‘heads’ each row was to squeeze each other’s hands, as quickly as possible, passing the squeeze down the row to the end person in their line. That person, the first to get the final squeeze, quickly snatched a cup of water from another chair at the end of his row and threw it on the opposing team. The game, repeated many times, was fun to watch, and the wet results hilarious to see. It was a simple connection of many hands down a row, transmitting a very real message to the guy at the end of the line.

You may think the connection that this game has with my subject is a tenuous one at best, but, you see, I had been thinking exactly about connections. I mean the connections we each have with family, and friends, but also the connections we have through time. My example is a certain connection that I have with the past, as follows.

In the very early years of the twentieth century, my grandfather and his parents ran a large boarding house in the small town of Palermo, Maine. Gramp was only thirteen when put in charge of caring for the horses and wagons of the guests of The Shuman Home. He disliked the horses, but did those chores as the dutiful son that he was. One benefit to him was in getting to know returning visitors to the region. One of those visitors happened to be a person of considerable wealth and fame for her time. The tiny lady’s maiden name had been Lavinia Bump, and when Gramp knew her she was the widow of the famous Tom Thumb. You may remember that Tom Thumb, who’s real name was Charles Sherwood Stratton, was a very little man, who in his youth had been discovered by P.T. Barnum. He gained much fame and fortune performing at the Barnum museum, and became a world traveler, meeting with many of the world’s leaders of the time. Mr. and Mrs. Thumb were frequent visitors to the White House precisely during the years of our Civil War. Unfortunately, Mr. Thumb passed away at the age of only forty five. His wife lived into her seventies. She, her second husband, and their manager stayed at the Shuman guest house several times. Once gramp even took them fishing on the Branch Pond, near the home.

Before I bore you to sleep with more detail, let me tell you the ‘connection’ point which has struck me as significant, or at least interesting. When I was a young man, and Gramp Shuman was still alive, I was unaware that he had once known the diminuative Mrs. Thumb. I wish I could go back now and ask Gramp to tell me about her, and any stories she may have shared with him. Recently, each time I think of my grandfather, I am reminded of that long ago friendship, and the connection that he had with that interesting person. Here is the reason. To me it is an amazing thought, that I have known a man well, who once had a friend who had also been a friend of Abraham and Mary Todd Lincoln.

Human connections can be many things, from a hand holding game played by a long line of teens, to friendships held on to for many years. Such connections really can reach through time further than we may ever know, perhaps even further than the span of our own lives. As a dad and a granddad myself, I want to be a part of long lasting connections. I also want to be careful what messages I transmit to the guy at the end of the line.