Back in the Saddle Again

As promised, a bit of everything, some of this is a bit old, but bear with me. Strap in for a a bit of a winding post as I try to catch up on a month's (or more?) worth of missed posting. Should we start with politics? Why not.

Blago, Blago, Blago... what else is there to say? The whole situation just confirms the cynic in anyone more and more each day. Speaking of, Ralf Selief over at Illinois Review has a piece the pretty much summarizes what I was thinking right from the beginning. It's appropriately named, A Cynic's look at the Blago Bust. Check it out here. Something about this whole thing doesn't pass the common sense test... I guess I'll leave it at that.

Speaking of 'ol Hot Rod, what was the deal with the seating of Roland Burris? Who the heck is Harry Reid to tell IL who we can send to the Senate? Are we a nation of states or what? Blagojavich is obviously a crook and shouldn't be appointing anyone to anything, but he does currently have the legal (not the same as moral, eh?) authority to do so. Who is Harry Reid to lecture anyone about political morality anyway?

I realize that the auto company bailout issue is old news now (just goes to show you how long it's been since I've posted anything), so just a couple relevant acronyms: "UAW," "CAFE." Fully understand those and you're well on your way to understanding why we are where we are.

Apparently Israel is pulling out of Gaza "in time for the inauguration." That's a shame on so many levels.

One more? I was reminded of this snippet from a column by John Derbyshire over at National Revew. If you object to the word "pussy" as a synonym for "wuss" or "wimp" then skip over this next part. I think it would have been better with a different word myself, but it was still worth bookmarking on my reader:

Nation of pussies. Randall Parker wonders why we are such pussies about these Somali pirates. Well, why wouldn’t we be? We’re pussies about everything else.

We’re pussies about capital punishment. Instead of speedily dispatching psychopaths who commit beastly murders, we give them 15 years of free gym time and cable TV while we wring our hands about their rights. Then, if we finally decide to give the swine what they deserve, we make their exit as hygienic and painless as possible. Why? Because we’re squealing, simpering girlies, that’s why.

We’re pussies about enemy nations, embarking on decades-long, trillion-dollar campaigns to make them love us, instead of quick ten-million-dollar lessons in why they should fear us. Why? Because we seek love and approval, like the furrowed-brow, teary-eyed, compassionate pansies we are.

We’re pussies about people who come to our country without permission, stay here without permission, work without permission, and leech on our school, hospital, and welfare systems. Eisenhower rounded them up and expelled them, but we’re assured we can’t do that. We can’t, we can’t. Why can’t we? Because we are timid, cringing, mincing, driveling, sniveling, weeping, moaning, soft, flabby, PC pussies, that’s why.

Stumbled across that some weeks ago and just found it again while typing this up, not sure how much I agree or disagree. Definitely something to ponder. Too much? Let's move on.

So many more political issues, but let's end on a happy note. Congratulations to Aaron Schock, a bright spot in IL politics, now the youngest member of the House of Representatives. Once again, for a bit more check out Illinios Review, make sure and follow to the linked story at the State Journal-Register. Maybe there is hope for the IL Republican party after all.

As we leave politics for the moment, I realize the time for Christmas-related posts has come and gone, but indulge me for a few lines. A few articles I book-marked over at American Thinker can be found here and here. They were posted at Christmas time and take the occasion of Christmas to talk about the person of Jesus Christ and are well worth the read. Some relevent quotes from the first link:

... But beyond all of the aforementioned very good reasons, the first reason why we celebrate the Christmas story is because it is a true story. And the spellbinding truth which Christmas proclaims is not the birth of one who came to teach us a new philosophy, or a new set of moral principles, but one who claimed to be God.
The singularity of this claim would then make it a matter of supreme urgency to dedicate our most sincere efforts to confirming its truthfulness; not only because it was Christ who made it, but also because of the weighty repercussions he cautioned were bound to the vindication as well as the negation of his claim. ...

... As an antidote for this moral conundrum, the implacable idols of tolerance have decreed that those who do believe in the claims of Jesus Christ settle on an amicable compromise, by conceding that this knowledge is true only for those who believe it. Anyone who views Christmas as simply a charming but essentially vacuous, mythic tradition will heartily agree with their assessment. ...

... This is the context within which Jesus Christ made his rather astonishing claim, the truthfulness of which endows the story of Christmas with its enduring significance. And though he made it in a least intrusive and most gentle fashion, he did not seek - then or today - to indulge the neutrality or merely passive assent from his hearers, because like no one else, he fully understood the full force of its implications.

You really have to read the whole piece as it is too lengthy to paste here. Very well done.

While we're on the subject of Christmas, allow me to share a quick story that highlighted my Christmas season by way of transition.

As most of you know, I am the father of two beautiful children. This year when I did my Christmas shopping for my lovely wife I thought to take my 4 year old daughter with me. Just her and I. She was encouraged to take a "good girl nap" that day so she could go out shopping with Daddy that night. I came home from work, showered, and we headed into town. She jabbered and chattered away from her car seat as we listened to Christmas music on the way. We stopped at the mall and her eyes shone as she skipped and jumped and pointed out the decorations. She laughed and waved as she rode the carousel and helped shop for Mommy. We went to Steak 'n Shake, sat at the counter eating cheeseburgers and shakes and watched the cooks manically making burgers. We stopped at a bookstore for more presents for Mommy; she was beside herself when she got to stroll through Toys R Us shopping for her brother (although, she kept trying to tell me that he wanted lots of pink, princess toys...). I don't think she stayed in one place for more than a few seconds the entire night. We had a blast, even though she can't keep a secret...

All that to say, today more than ever, daughters need their fathers. They need us to spend one-on-one time with them, take them to Steak 'n Shake, listen to their silly stories, carry them through the cold night and let them hide from the wind in our coats. They need to see us thoughtfully find gifts for our wives. And we need them, need them want us to rescue them from the cold and dark, need them to crave our attention and our smiles... making us want to be better people in order to deserve that kind adoration. I was reminded of that this Christmas.

I said at the outset of this blog that I would spend time talking of fatherhood, "manliness," and family life. I have gotten pretty caught up in the election year and not paid enough to attention those most important of topics. Look for more on that in the coming year.

Speaking of children, I have a link from some months ago that has now ceased to work, but it a story I found fascinating. In a head-shaking kind of way. Apparently it is a growing trend to purchase gym memberships for children. I don't mean "take your kids to the 'Y' so they can use the pool" type gym memberships either. I mean, personal trainer, aerobics class type gym memberships. What? Are our kids lives so structured, so scripted, that they don't play? This has long been a soapbox issue of mine and I won't get too deep into it here, but... Seriously, does everything our kids engage in need to have an "expert" running it complete with uniforms, lights, and trophies for all? My brother and I played one-on-one FOOTBALL in our backyard. Seriously. We made up games with our friends, we ran, we imagined, we got hurt, we didn't tell our moms so that we wouldn't be made to stop. What happened to play? Ah, but I said I wouldn't get too deep into it here...

Well, the Dunhill is naught but ash in the bowl and it's getting late. I shall wrap this up for now, but first, a few words in closing about my Grandma, my Mom's Mom, Doris Elson. It was the 6th year to the day since she passed away on Jan. 2nd. I shall write more about her and my Grandpa's lives in Feburary, so this will do for now. Grandma lived a long, often hard, often joyous, life here on the windswept prairies of Illinois as a farmer's wife. Her years included memories of the Great Depression, WWII, the births of 4 children, 12 grandchildren, at least one great-grandchild and countless rotations of the seasons on which a farmer's family depends. She had suspected that she had breast cancer for years before it became obvious enough that she had to bring it up. Her last months were charactarized by faith, peace, and confidence that her Lord would bring her home in His time. She passed away peacefully, in her own bed, surrounded by some of her family members, un-afraid, secure in the knowledge of God. She is missed.

~ Gabriel

"Baseball Daddy?"

After a long, January day filled with freezing cold tempatures, snow, work, attic remodeling and toddlers who weren't as enthusiastic about their dinner as they should have been; I was going about the task of getting the children's room ready for bedtime. At least one of their toy buckets was emptied all over the floor, the bathroom was soaked from bathtime (how DID water end up on the far wall?) and their blankets were hardly to be found. With a bit of a sigh I opened my mouth to utter an old familiar phrase, "OK, I want both of you to get this room picked up so we can get ready for bed," or a variation thereof. Right at the instant I was opening my mouth, my two-year-old son trots into the room with a soft-ball sized ball of packing tape, a tiny black baseball glove, a short plastic bat, and shining excited eyes. He holds his treasures up towards me and says "Baseball Daddy? Baseball?"

Who could resist that? I'm afraid bedtime was postponed a bit this evening...


After a long and glorious absence, I am back at my keyboard. Sickness, travel, holidays and an attic remodeling project have conspired to keep posts from going up here at Country Roads. In my absence so much has happened that I'm afraid the next post will be rather lengthy and rambling. That should be no suprise to regular readers... At any rate, I have not abandoned the effort, simply put it on hold for other things. In the meantime, take heart! Pitchers and Catchers report for spring training in 30 days, 12 hours!

~ Gabriel