Monday, December 26, 2011

Sharritt Christmas Letter


Merry Christmas 2011 Friends:

It is the Sharritt's hope that the love of the Son of God has found you rummaging around for it in your life. We are well. It is Christmas Eve. A puzzle is on the card table with four heads bowed, hands reaching for the box top, sorting edge pieces, and seeking; silently hoping that all 1000 pieces are present and accounted for.

We are fine, even spectacular. In our second year of empty nesting, we have found that our kids are becoming more and more interesting each year. This is a soothing balm for those years of Grace not doing differential calculus at dinner parties as a toddler, or Ben's stubborn refusal to work on the development of teletransportation during the field's and his own infancy. They could have grown up together, and Roger could have ruled the world with such a device.

Grace is home for three weeks from a year of study abroad in Ghana. Which means, this will be the best festivus ever. After five months, homesickness, falling prey to an umbruni trap, the pieces have come together and while a welcome relief for three weeks, she is looking forward to the return trip for spring semester and the challenges that will provide. More on her travels in her paragraph later.

Ben is doing well. He has found his calling in teaching the youth of America. Who would have thought he would be able have conversations with his mother using words like pedagogy, inductive learning, experiential, and paycheck? It is a joy to see that pieces that were ill fitting four years ago can be rearranged so that the picture comes into focus.  It is even more of a joy to come into contact with his friends who always say "farmer Ben is the best friend in the world. " More in his paragraph later.

Bev is in debt to Grace's Ball State friends and their parents who allowed her to become Auntie Bev and host them on visits to the farm, and be recipients of lunch or apple pie now and again as she passed near Muncie. Both Ben and Grace's friends seem to becoming more interesting at the same rate as Ben and Grace.  Family vacation was spent in New Haven Michigan, complete with beach, interesting kids, interesting kids' college friends, and a unique rental house. The house, called the Mod Haus in the rental listing, had three porches, which turned out to be the perfect number for adults who wanted to read and rest, while peacefully coexisting with the youngins who at any moment might want to have a dance party or practice martial arts on their boyfriend. We enjoyed the collection of L.P. records the owner keeps there, playing the soundtrack of West Side Story while playing our favorite card games, and daily visits to Sherman's Ice Cream Stand. Just down the block on our Mayberryesque street was a park with a diamond, perfect for kickball. It's a long way to go, bringing three extra people on your vacation in order to have a good kickball game, but worth the  bringing an extra watermelon or two.

Roger found a new pastime and honed a second. He has taken up bike riding with a passion and finding enough good ideas along the way to write a blog a week for the year. While riding, he found one particularly pleasant childhood memory and quite by accident lost the equivalent of large toddler in weight. It was not all sunshine and roses though. Early in the summer he noticed that assassin deer, harboring nefarious intent, were stalking him. The situation has been documented on several occasions in his blog and has escalated steadily through the fall and now winter. He hopes that they will be deterred by the personal cruise missile that he hopes Santa will bring. Barring that, he feels that talking big reduces the angst of a daughter halfway around the world.

Grace: this past year has been full of the greatest adventures of my life. I had an excellent and busy second semester at Ball State, going out with a bang with sixteen days in Rome and London where I got to meet my anti-trafficking hero, Sister Eugenia Bonetti. This fall, I crossed the Atlantic once more to study abroad in Ghana. The past four months have been the most challenging of my life, but also the most rewarding. I have learned a ton, from how to eat fufu correctly, to taking the tro tro, to how to work with trafficking victims through my internship. That being said, I'm only halfway through my journey abroad and I have a lot left to learn. I head back to Ghana on January tenth and I appreciate your prayers and support. Check out my blog if you’re interested in learning more about my life in Ghana. Www.findingmyneighbors.blogspot.com

Ok, so you know how in my last paragraph I was talking about adventures? Well, two hours ago I learned about an all new one that is coming up in my life. My boyfriend, Chris Kozak, asked me to marry him today and I said yes. As you can see, this is all very new and there is no date set, so keep your ears out for news. Here’s a little bit about him:

Chris:  During the last year, I have been spending my sophomore year at Ball State working towards a Legal Studies degree as I prepare for law school, where I will be training to use my skills as a lawyer to advocate for human trafficking survivors.  Around a year ago, I was introduced to the Sharritt family by Grace through parmesan potatoes, climbing on to the barn roof, and fake band photos on the farm.  Since then, I have experienced many new and exciting adventures as I have gone to Rome and London with Grace, to Michigan with the whole family and then some, and as I have spent time at the farm while Grace has lived in Ghana.   Grace has received numerous marriage proposals from Ghanaian men during the semester. One of the first things she said upon her return was, “I’m so relieved that no one is going to hit on me or ask me to marry them!” Now that she’s back, I threw in one more marriage proposal for good measure, hoping all the Ghanaian men hadn’t worn her out by now.  But instead of the “no way” bazooka with which she had been obliterating the Ghanaians, she said yes.  I am excited to start off on this new adventure, and you can keep in touch with her for new developments in this department.  I have heard so much about so many of you, and I can’t wait to meet you when I get the chance. 

Ben: This marks my fourth year in Bloomington, where I am slowly but surely plugging away at a degree in special education and elementary education. I was lucky enough to get some quality classroom time by substitute teaching three days a week last semester. While wondering the halls of an elementary school where I was subbing, I overheard a student/teacher conversation and decided to listen in to see if I could gather some valuable teaching insight from a seasoned vet. The teacher asked, “So Kevin is coming home with you tonight on the bus, huh? Are you guys going to have a party?’’ The student said, “Yeah, We party til we die!” Instead of gaining teaching wisdom, I gained a whole new philosophy on life. With the words of the wise third grader in mind, I proceeded to take the party to the east coast for a two-week skateboarding trip. New York City, Newark, and Philadelphia all provided an excellent party, where I got to visit old friends and make some new ones. However the East Coast did not satisfy my insatiable party appetite, so a trip to the south was in order. We packed up two vans with 15 party people and headed to Nashville Tennessee where we skateboarded and camped out at our wonderful friends Farm. Man, Clay and Eilleen sure know how to party. I look forward to where ever the party takes me in 2012. I hope you all do the same.

Like working a puzzle, our lives seem to work from the edges inward. Even inside the borders, we hunt for edges; where the sky meets the horizon, the tree in front of a barn or a house, the clothes-line in the backyard. We seek those places where the contrasts make our lives interesting. Adventures to other continents, finding a hearts desire in the classroom and on a skateboard with friends, finding the refrigerator after spending a night in your car in your future wife’s driveway, finding surrogate nieces and nephews to lessen the yearning for a far way daughter, or plotting the demise of nemesis assassin deer; the Sharritt's were drawn to the edges this year and blessed that none of the pieces were missing.

We love you! the Sharritts




Sunday, December 18, 2011

White Light?

Dear Bloggity:

I hope this finds you doing well. It leaves me on the eve of Grace's return from Ghana for Christmas break. Three plus weeks of warm showers, clean feet, and a working transportation grid. We are waiting with baited breath as she passes through four airports in 24 hours. I am afraid that the Amazing Race will not be filming and editing for the desired outcome of any of the pitstops that may occur.

I am obliged to report that controversy has entered the Sharritt household. No its not the usual Christmas controversies; nativities on the courthouse square, happy holidays not merry Christmas, pulling a can of Mace on your fellow X-box shoppers. It isn't any of these at the Sharritt household. We are mired in a controversy about outdoor Christmas lights.

I love outdoor Christmas lights. I believe that outdoor light displays are the second highest calling for mankind. The first being flash mobs. The idea of a group of people coming together with different assignments so that the outcome is fun, fresh, and festive enthralls me. The flash part is the most important segment of the phenomenon. Get much beyond flash and you get all kinds of mischief. You could say that "Occupy" is a flash mob that overstayed its welcome.

While I love Christmas light displays, I do not personally do anything to help light up the night. When it comes to Christmas lights, I admit that I am a user. I do not pay it forward. I am appreciative. I love to look but not provide.

It isn't for lack of inspiration. I once had visions of grandeur. My luminescent hero was a farmer up in Brookston, IN. He created a display that could be seen from space. Its brilliance accentuated by the darkness of the NW Indiana prairie. Twenty years ago when I first witnessed his handy work, lights were everywhere. Mrs. Claus was even there with a tray of candy canes for the kids as you left their horse-shoe shaped drive. Where was Santa? He was out tending the 4 gas powered generators it took to keep all of those lights working. In the days before LED's that many tiny incandescent lights forced him off of the grid because if he had plugged in, the lights would have gone out from Lafayette to Gary.

My inspiration flagged greatly after plunking down $40 for a 4 ft heralding angel. $40!? How much did farmer Santa pay for his display? $5,000? $10,000? Inspiration flew out the window. Adding a few pieces a year, seemed out of the question. It would take 40 years to recreate what farmer Santa had done. No thank you.

So outdoor lighting at the Sharritt house falls to the lovely Miss Beverly. Her tastes run to the subdued and elegant; a line of white icicle lights outlining the front porch. Put the lights on a timer from 5 til mid-night and the Sharritts are doing their part to help illuminate the dark from Thanksgiving to the New Year; pushing back the evil deer assassins. (See last week's blog.)

After last year, the lights were the worse for wear. We made a note to purchase new ones before this year; a note that was disregarded and forgotten. Bev remembered when she got the lights out Thanksgiving weekend and after being unable to get them to work, she made plans to go out and get new. I held out the "green" carrot for her. Why not get the led lights? I asked. They are better for the environment. I had her at hello. The hunting and gathering was successful.

A quick trip home, a half an hour on the 3 step ladder and viola, the Christmas spirit was installed and that is when the controversy started. You see the package said white lights. Plugged in they became cold white lights. Bev hated it. "It looks so cold." I'm like, "Exactly, its December. Your lights should look cold during December." 

"No," she said, "you need a warmer white for Christmas."

Warmer white? It appears that warmer white means a yellowish tinge. How did we get to the point where words have lost their meaning. The "cold" white was white. It allowed bikers to pass by our house in safety. It was glaring. It was bright. It was harsh. It made our house look like a "strip joint."  Exactly, nothing says Merry Christmas like a stripper grinding on a candy cane.

This is where the controversy really began. Bev being a rational person called Target and asked if she could bring back the white lights and exchange them for the "warmer white lights." Target said yes!

What? How? Why? Are they nuts?

This is what I heard Bev ask. "Hello, I was in your store under no coercion or distress and I bought what I thought were white lights. I got them home and put them on my porch and flicked the switch and behold they were white, but it was bad. After leaving them on for two days, I have decided that they just won't do. I would like to bring them back and exchange them for "warm white lights." By "warm white", I mean that I would like those lights with a yellowish tinge. I can? Great. Thanks."

Not only did I not hear the same thing that Bev said. I heard the following from various ancestral Sharritts; it's not Target's fault that the "wrong" white lights were purchased. They were taken out of the packing. They can't resell those now. They have been up there for two days. I believe that ownership hasn’t transferred by now.

Isn't that really the problem with most Christmas controversies? A third party sticks their nose into a situation between two consenting parties and hears what they want to hear. Then to make matters worse, we listen to the voices in our head. Voices planted and cultivated by well meaning ancestors; who quite candidly were just winging it.

Instead of illuminating the season with the warm glow of understanding, it seems that I am insistent on shining the bright light of judgement.

Take care,

Roger

Sunday, December 11, 2011

milestones?

Dear Bloggity;

I hope these thoughts find you doing well. We spent the day today finishing the wood cutting for deep winter. While I didn't get done, it is close and there will be a day or two in mid-February early March that will provide the opportunity to get out and put the finishing touches on the wood pile. That little bit that will be provision for the late season ice-storm that will visit our humble abodes in mid-March. That prediction from your friendly neighborhood wooly worm. This is all just a long way to say it is time for a long winter's nap, and I am fine.

Last week, I mentioned that I had passed a milestone by doing an entire bike ride in tempratures that were below freezing. I was heading in one direction with the blog and suddenly a word or two popped into the flow and I went in another direction ending up with Wonder Bread sacks on my feet. Blogs are like that some of the time. But I had started talking about the milestone of riding in the cold weather.

Cold weather riding is officially here.  I had hoped that the assassin deer would be too involved with keeping their butts safe during hunting season to pay any attention to me. Yes, I had hoped that the hunter would become the hunted. Alas, I was too hopeful.

Actually, what seems to be happening is that every time I reach a milestone the assassin deer step up their attempts. Its like a cold war arms race. Summer rides; they try to run out in front of me. Fall rides; they try to drop walnuts on my head. Walnuts are gone? They try hedge apples. The first night ride, the assassins use decoys along the side of the road to move me to the center of the road where they stand in the shadows with their pointy antlers ready to skewer me like the Staypuff Marshmallow Man.

Now Jack Frost is nipping at my toes (or is that nose) and these deer assassins have stepped up their attacks. I am locked in a cold war with four legged, cloven footed
lyme diseased devils. Now they are using the sneakiest attacks yet. I was riding along and passing a well decorated house that is all ready for the reason for the season, I caught a reflection of the lights off of the pavement. I stopped to investigate and was shaken to the core by what I found.

The lights were reflecting off of black ice. Not just any black ice either, this appears to be buck black ice. That's right. As the temps continue to fall the assassin deer are peeing in the roadways. It sits there and then freezes in such a way that it is undetectable by passing bicyclists. Lying in wait for me to pass by slip and go down so that, the assassins can jump out of the weeds and trample me with their tiny cloven hooves. Oh the humanity.

So I want to thank all of you Christmas decorators out there. You make my rides so much more enjoyable. The red, green and white lights help me pass the miles with a smile on my face. The Harley riding reindeer inspires me to go even faster. (It scares me.) It is your dedication to your art that inspires me most. The other night while on my ride at 9:00 p.m., I saw one of my heros standing on a ladder hanging lights in the cold and the dark on a tall shrub in the front yard. That kind of dedication shows a commitment to pushing back the cold dark nights when the sun has turned its back against us.

Pushing back the dark and illuminating the sneaky traps of my arch nemesis, that's the Christmas Spirit.

Take care.

Roger

ps; speaking of milestones. Someone reading this blog will be my 5000th reader. Thanks for you support and reading.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Wonder . . . . Bread?

Dear Blog Reader:

I hope this finds you doing well. I am fine. Sitting here during the evening in a weekly ritual that I have grown to love and look forward to. We are on the cusp of the best blogging time of the year. I have been cutting wood on the weekends since Labor Day weekend. Now 10 weeks later, I am one weekend away from putting this puppy to bed for the long winter's nap. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. The 6 to 7 hours devoted to cutting wood a weekend has made getting the blog done in a timely fashion a bit difficult from time to time. But starting the weekend of December 17, I will be sitting in pajamas looking out the window writing you.

A bicycling milestone this week; I took my first below freezing bike ride. I managed to dress warm enough to stay pretty comfortable. My feet keep getting very cold. I have tried wool socks and multi-socks still I end up with ice cubes attached to my ankles. One of my biking magazines suggests putting bread sacks over your socks and under your shoes. I hear that bread has amazing insulative properties. However, I haven't solved the loaf of bread inside of my shoes part yet.  I know. You’re supposed to empty the bread out of the bag before you put it on your feet. Just foolin. I wasn't born yesterday.

In fact, when I heard of the bread bag solution, I was transported to the 70's when we first utilized bread bags. Growing up on a farm, we were always looking for the boot solution. The landscape was defined muddle puddles and cow poop from mid-November through mid-April. The challenge was how do you keep the feet dry and clean against the alchemy that is found in the barnyard during those cold and nasty months. I don't know what my forbearers wore on their feet through the four dreary months of late fall through winter, but thanks to injected molding technology, we were the proud beneficiaries of these hard plastic boots that unfortunately had the insulative properties of aluminum. Cold, cold, cold.

Thankfully, America's finest scientists had kids who kept whining about cold their feet, and they came out with cold boots 2.0. The solution was gluing a fake fur lining inside of the boot. Getting those boots down off of the Tractor Supply Boot Shelf, we knew that we had found the Holy Grail for our frostbitten toes. We rushed home and slid our feet into that soft, luxurious, fake, polyester, fur. Our toes were no longer solid ice. In fact, they became warm and toasty; which is how, like is so often the case, our salvation became our downfall.

Remember, one of the goals of our boots was to keep our feet dry. That meant no water in. It also meant no water out. After about an hour in the comfy confines of our fake fur lined boots, our sweaty little feet would soak through our socks and the lining of our boots allowing the cold to creep in and freeze the once warm cockles of our hearts.

 "Come on son. You need to get the calves fed."

"But dad, I can't feel my feet."

"Ah come on son. I just bought you those nice luxurious warm fake fur boots."

"Dad! I CAN'T FEEEEEEEEEL my FEEEEEEEEET."

"Son get out there and feed those calves now or I'll give you something you can feel."

I suppose President Obama is correct when he said that Americans are getting soft. You don't see many kids these days missing one or two toes after having them being frostbit while sitting in a dank and dirty boot cave while their owner hobbled around feeding the calves on a late January night. I do think that the President would have more credibility if he wouldn't have called me soft right after spending his summer vacation at Martha's Vineyard.

So enter our unlikely hero the bread sack. I suppose one of our friends had a mom or dad that had an aptitude for thermo-dynamics, or maybe we stumbled upon the solution through trial and error and spurred on by the knowledge that we only had 10 toes to give to science. The solution; an absorbent cotton sock, the bread sack, and a good wool sock stuffed into a boot that is one size larger than you usually wore. With that bit of alchemy, our problems were solved.

For a 10 year old, it truly was magic and not the laws of thermo-dynamics that saved our toes. It was the red, blue and yellow dots on those Wonderbread bags. No wonder that once the proper blend was found of cotton, plastic, and wool was found, we kept the combination together for weeks at a time. Until, after smelling a foul odor coming from the utility room, mom would contribute to the softening of America by snagging the offensive socks with tongs, dismantling our coldness force fields and forcing us to eat two loaves of bread and starting all over again.

So the road is clear to toasty toed bike riding. I just hope that Brownberry's double fiber bread sacks work as well as Wonderbread sacks.

Toasty toes and the joy that double fiber bread brings.

Take care

Roger