Month: November 2008

Mandolin Rain

Bruce Hornsby released “The Way It Is” in 1986, the year I graduated from high school. The title track was difficult to avoid that year. I didn’t think much much of the album until I was in Wiesbaden, Germany hanging out at a gorgeous park on our preparation day.

If you’re a regular reader of my blog you might assume missionaries search out opportunities to listen to regular music and you’d be right. It was easier giving up dating and movies and television. image

On this summer day, we’d finished our chores for the day and decided to throw the football at the park which we did until we realized we’d wandered into a “clothes optional” park. At the very least, shirts were optional because we hadn’t been tossing the football for more than a few minutes when two girls setup shop near our backpacks and decided to go topless.

After spending a few minutes to calm my companion, we grabbed our bags and moved further up the hill from everyone. We had a good laugh about the whole experience and then kicked back with our Walkmans.

It doesn’t happen very often, but occasionally I’ll catch a glimpse of a song and immediately love it.  It’s the part when Bono pulls out the harmonica at the end of “Running To A Stand Still” or the first time I heard “Woods” from George Winston at the the 2:14 mark.   It’s the part of the song that speaks directly to you. It’s not easy to explain and many people will not understand. But that doesn’t matter, because for whatever reason it hits your ears and then your soul at the right moment.

That’s what happened on me that day in Germany as I kicked back on the grass and listened to the end of “Mandolin Rain”. At about 4:50 he slows down the piano and then at 5:07 he adds “Listen to the Mandolin Rain…..nnyaa”.

Just perfect. Makes me smile every time.

[audio:https://blog.nordquist.org/audio/mandolinrain.mp3%5D

Making Pumpkin Cream Pies

My mom has been making this recipe for pumpkin cream pies for as long as I can remember. It’s been handed down for several generations. It’s the only pumpkin pie I’ll eat. We only make them at Thanksgiving, primarily due to the time they take to prepare.  The filling must be stirred over heat for 90 minutes and then allowed to cool down for two hours.

And tonight, stirring the pumpkin pies was task Kim felt I could handle.

Only once during those 90 minutes did I scream when a blob of super hot pumpkin filling bubbled out of the pan and onto my bare knee. I must have made quite a racket because Kim ran up the stairs thinking I’d dumped the pan on the floor. I guess my small knee blister won’t be getting much sympathy.

 reciple

A day or two before Thanksgiving 2001, I called my mother to get the pie recipe and I wrote down the above measurements.

My four year old daughter’s penmanship is more legible than this mess. I received low marks in penmanship back in grade school, and I’ve done nothing since then to prove them wrong. And who spells ‘yolks’ correctly the first time anyway?

Stirring pies brings back a lot of good memories. My mom would pull up a chair and keep me company which made the time go by faster. I’d stir for an hour and feel certain the filling was finished cooking. I’d ask if cranking up the heat would reduce the cooking time (it doesn’t). My mom would make the crusts by hand, but she never felt they looked very good. I’d tell her the only thing that mattered was how they taste. And they always tasted so very good.

Finally, at around the 85 minute mark, mom would take the oversized wooden spoon from my tired hands. She’d fill the spoon full of filling and turn it over. If it hung for a second or two, it was done. I usually had to stir for a few more minutes until mom ran the same test again. Although I’d question her rulings, I never once convinced her to pull the pan off the burner prematurely.

It was fun to chat with Kim tonight as we both took turns stirring the last 15 minutes. Our kids will devourer the pies topped with whipped cream tomorrow.

I doubt they will understand it’s now 4 am, and I just put the four finished pies in the fridge. Covered by 4 squares of wax paper.

Just like my mom taught me.

Kai Can’t Sleep

Last night, Kim and I were sitting downstairs typing away at our computers. All the kids were in bed for the evening, and I thought I’d have a few hours to goof around on Digg and Twitter and maybe post a blog.

That’s when we heard Kai over the baby monitor. He doesn’t start with a gentle whimper and build up to a full crescendo. Nope. He starts at a level 11. The baby monitor is redundant.

kaicrawl

Kim looked at me. I looked at Kim.

I couldn’t manufacture an excuse fast enough. Kim said, “He’s too attached to me. Maybe he’ll go down better for you. So turn off the Pink Floyd and get upstairs”.

I added that last part.

So I dragged my butt upstairs and into Kai’s room. When he saw me he stopped crying. His face was soaked in tears. Even his hair was damp. But he sat there staring back at me while clutching his blanket.

As long as I looked at him he was fine. But the second I took a step towards the door, he’d cry. His eyes drooped. His entire little body was exhausted. Too tired to sleep.

I decided to lay down next to his crib. I propped my head up on a worn copy of Cat in the Hat and Green Eggs and Ham. It took a few more Dr. Seuss books to bring my head even with his so I could look into his eyes. He turned his head towards me and didn’t take his eyes off me for 10 minutes. I told myself I was taking part in a blinking competition, but I lost the first three games and called it quits.

I don’t know who fell asleep first. Probably me. I peeled the Cat and the Hat book off my face. Kai’s still facing me but his eyes are now closed, and all I hear is his soft breathing. I was in such a rush to get him to sleep, yet now I wish he were awake.

Staring back at me with those big blue eyes.

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The Thankful Tree

Last night we gathered the kids around and Kim told them a story about gratitude. We talked about what it means to be grateful. Luca summed up the discussion by saying, “That’s why we have Thanksgiving. It reminds us to be thankful for all our stuff”.

Kim handed out five leaves to Luca, Lincoln and Anna and asked them to draw pictures of things for which they are thankful. Kim and I also participated, but our leaves lacked the artistic value compared to those the kids created.

Luca is thankful for clocks, chairs and plants.

Lincoln is thankful for clouds and fruit and computers.

Anna is thankful for her friends and family

Kim is thankful for her washer and dryer and dark chocolate.

I am thankful for rain and high speed internet.

Kim taped the tree and all its leaves to the back door. I like how it turned out.

thankfultree

Loyalty

My father worked as a school teacher for 32 years. He worked for the same school district for all those years. Although he held many jobs over that time span, he worked for the same employer. Although he probably doesn’t consider himself wealthy, the job was reliable, the benefits sufficient and the pension fantastic. I’m sure, on some level, he feels a sense of loyalty to his employer of 32 years.

Throughout my career I’ve been treated quite well by most of my employers. I’ve worked at companies with 5 employees to several with over 50,000. I’ve felt more loyalty towards the smaller companies. They felt like family. In those times I’ve certainly felt loyalty towards my managers and employees. That’s not a surprise because I’ve searched out opportunities to work for good people ahead of how big or popular the company may be.

Not so much with the larger companies. Working for Microsoft I felt like Z from the movie Antz. Just a tiny cog in a massive machine that’s easy to replace. Here’s your marching orders.

With higher numbers of unemployment, business owners know they’re in the catbird seat when it comes to hiring, promotions and raises. We’ve gone through the flip side of this equation where employees jumped from job to job like free agents searching for the highest bidder. Both sides have treated the other like a disposable partnership at times.

Eventually the jobs will come back. The pendulum will swing back towards the employees. I hope both employees and business owners will exercise mutual respect for each other during economic prosperity as well as economic downtown.

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The Express Lane

I’m getting pretty good at this whole shopping thing. Most Saturday nights, Kim gives me a list of items which always include:

  1. Diet Coke 24 Pack
  2. Whole grain Bread
  3. Dannon Yogurt

I can find those three items without having to asking a store employee or use a life line. From here things get a little dicey. I have trouble with small stuff like spices and canned seasonal items like pumpkin and cranberry sauce. Around the holidays, stores like to group similar items together on an end-cap making it easier to find all the ingredients for say, pumpkin pies.

The last thing I need is to feel like I’m doing my grocery shopping at Costco which frustrates me to no end by playing the shell game with their products. Next time you’re as Costco ask any employee where to find the syrup and watch them point towards the tire section. Even they don’t know.  shoppingbasket

But I’m getting to the point where I’ll return home with at least 75% of the items on Kim’s list. That’s not bad. And I make up for those items I couldn’t find by adding my own items that include magazines, Slim Jims and ranch flavored sunflower seeds.

Yet I’m still confused by the About 12 Items or Less lines. Trying to determine the meaning of “about” reminds me of Bill Clinton during his Lewinsky testimony when he said, “It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is.”

Does it mean a firm 12 items plus some gum and Tic Tacs? Does it mean 14 or 15 items? Do my 12 jars of baby food count as 12 items or one? What if I’m buying items that are easy to scan like cans of chili compared to exotic produce (the pomegranate or mango) that slows even the experienced checker?

I’ve come up with my own interpretation of “about” which I’ve successfully implemented the past couple of trips. It’s simple:

Whatever I can cram into a basket.

If I can stash a dozen oranges, four Odwalla Blueberry B Monster drinks, and 15 jars of baby food, then save me a place in the Express Line because I’m coming through!

But if my trip to the store requires a wobbly wheeled cart, I’ll stand in line behind the family replenishing their food storage.

It only seems fair.

Searching for “Joy”

I can’t imagine what my mission to Germany would have been like had I not had the solace of music to fall back on. Most days were filled with frustration followed by weeks of rejection.

But music took my mind off the challenges and thoughts of friends and family back home in Ogden, Utah. Songs like “I Am a Rock” by Simon and Garfunkel helped maintain my sanity and gave me the strength to wake up the next morning and continue the work.

A few months into my service I stood at the counter at a tiny music store begging the owner to help me find the CD of a pianist I’d heard the week before. I’d only heard one song, but I loved it and had to have it.

But I couldn’t remember the name of the artist or the title of the CD. The owner was an elderly woman who was uncharacteristically patient with a young man who barely spoke a lick of German.

After listening to a number of classical and new age songs in search of the one, she disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a CD in hand. She said this was her own copy and it wasn’t for sale. The artist was George Winston.

She played the CD over the store speakers. I didn’t recognize the first two songs. But then I heard it. Track 3 off December. Yes! YES!

When the song hit the 1:21 marker I started jumping up and down. The notes danced in a playful manner, and I must have been grinning from ear to ear. It gave me goosebumps.

Unfortunately, the CD had to be ordered and shipped from the US and the cost was around $25 which is a fortune to a missionary. I had to wait another couple of months before I convinced a church member to make me a tape.

But I’ve been a George Winston fan ever since. This is the time of year that December is heard throughout our home.

It made me smile and dance around back then.

It does the same today.

Laughter of the Soul

Anna was on the couch watching cartoons tonight while her brother and sister were in bed. Kim didn’t feel well today so she headed off to bed earlier than usual. That left me and the dog to make sure Anna was watching Dragon Tails instead of Dexter.

I decided this was as good a time as any to spend time with her. I figured she was a bit groggy and wouldn’t try to talk me into building a cushion fort. She was content to lay next to me on the couch as long as she could hog the big pillows and blankets. I was left with one tiny baby blanket and throw pillow.

Anna thought that was funny. I did too until my feet got cold and my head hurt from being propped up by a Fisher Price rotary play phone.

annaly

Anna is our third child. She’s also our most free-spirited and independent child. She’s a peacemaker when she wants to be but can hold her own against anyone. But she’s also our resident comedian who has never told a joke she herself didn’t find gut busting hilarious.

Whenever I’m around Anna I’m usually laughing. Like the time tonight when I fell off the couch or mispronounced the name of her favorite Backyardigan (it’s Pablo not Fabio).

But the laughter can be a problem when it starts at church or when Kim’s trying to get the kids down for the night. Lincoln laughs so hard we think he’s on the verge of passing out. It’s as if his body is too small to contain all that pent up fun and giggles. Anna knows this and puts on a show.

I love the joy and laughter our children bring to our home. Most of the time it’s a result of something only we’d find humorous. Like watching Anna dance until her pants fall down. But most of the time I have no idea why we are laughing. It’s not uncommon for the kids to bust out in laugher around the dinner table while Kim and I stare at each other trying to figure out just happened.

We seldom figure out why they’re laughing, but it doesn’t matter.

Because they can’t laugh without smiling.

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What Makes a Good Father?

I used to believe a good father was one who built the largest home for his family.

Or drove the fanciest cars.

Or had the coolest sounding job title. image

Or wore the finest tailored suits.

Or played 18 each week at the country club.

Or owned the neighborhood’s only riding lawn mower.

That’s what I thought anyway. I assumed fathers were supposed to focus 95% of their energy on work and the remainder doing yard work and watching football.

No worries though.

Mom to the rescue. She’ll be there to wipe the tears and bandage the scrapes. She’ll attend the field trips and parent teacher conferences. She knows my favorite snack is Cap’N Crunch from 7-11 cup and chocolate milk from the carton.

In other words, she’s everything the father isn’t.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. It shouldn’t be this way.

What makes a good father?

I’m still trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. At best, the border is in place. 

What I choose to wear or drive makes no difference.

But how much time I spend reading to them does.

So does raking leaves together, camel rides and hot chocolate runs.

One piece at a time.

World’s Wildest Remote

My Tivo remote isn’t working correctly. No matter what I press, it locates a showing of  World’s Wildest Police Videos.

This is a problem because no matter what’s going on around our house, I’m can’t take my eyes off the car chases and crashes and car chases that end in crashes.

It’s television at its finest. I never tire of watching a hardened criminal wrap his Ford F150 around a telephone pole at 90 mph. No messy arrest or criminals going free on a technicality. Just good old fashioned rolling your Chevy Cavalier through a corn field.

Does it get any more exciting than when the cops break out the SPIKE STRIPS?

Here’s my dream remote kindly created for me by my talented friend. The current Tivo remote is almost perfect. A slight modification would remove the ‘almost’.

Tivo_Police