Merry Christmas, everyone

The cliche is true - Christmas is a great time to spend with family.

I got to spend this Christmas with part of my family. Andrew and I were the only ones who could get to Mom's this Christmas, but we did our best to make up for the absence of all the small fry and their parents.

In addition to just hanging out, we played a couple games last night (Rummikub and Upwords). This morning we opened presents, which, with just three of us and no small children, didn't take long - 13 minutes or so. This afternoon, we went out to the farm to hang out with a couple cousins we don't get to see very often, and that was fun.

While I'm not a terribly social person, I do love spending time with my family. I wish we all lived a little closer together so we could meet up more often. But everyone has their own lives in their own worlds, and those worlds don't overlap very often. When they do, though, I like it.

To help fill the time, Mom and Andrew checked out a 3D puzzle from the Humboldt Library to give Andrew and me something to do. We've done this before. Andrew and I put together the cathedral of Notre Dame one Christmas and the Empire State Building on another. This year was an Alpine castle, and I didn't think we'd get this one done before I had to leave. But we succeeded! We finished, well, Andrew finished, shortly after supper.

It's cool, right?

The only thing I didn't get to do this Christmas was watch all my favorite Christmas shows. I'm planning to watch some this weekend. I know it's after Christmas, but it's still the right season. Plus, I still need to finish my Christmas shopping, so Christmas isn't technically over yet. Oh well. It's been that kind of Christmas season.

Well, I hope everyone had a great Christmas. God bless!

Books that have stayed with me

So a couple of my friends on Facebook have posted this challenge. List 10-12 books that have touched you or stayed with you in some way. I've been thinking about this off and on for the last day or so, and I've decided to see what I come up with. Some of these books I disliked intensely, but I haven't forgotten them.

1. The Little House books. Laura Ingalls Wilder is the reason I wanted to become a writer. Even though these books were probably ghost written by her daughter, Rose, Laura's name is on them. I remember disliking Mary because she was so perfect, but then when she went blind and Laura became her eyes, my sympathy changed completely.

2. Persuasion by Jane Austen. The idea of a second chance at love is comforting. Not that I'll have any second chances, but for Anne and Frederick, you can't get better than returning to your true love. The letter that Frederick writes to Anne to tell her he still loves her melts my heart. If someone ever wrote something like that to me, I'd be lost forever.

3. The Hobbit and LOTR by J.R.R. Tolkien. I don't think I need to explain myself here.

4. The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde. Mr. Fforde is one of the most original and creative writers I've come across, and I thank my brother Andrew for introducing me to his Thursday Next series. I love the idea that you can change the outcome of a book that's already been written.

5. Anything by Stephen Lawhead but especially the Song of Albion trilogy. Mr. Lawhead creates lovely fantasy stories with a Christian viewpoint, and I love that. Watching Lewis change from a shallow student to a beloved king in this trilogy is a transformation beautiful to behold.

6. Speaking of Lewis, Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis. I came to this book in college thanks to my Modern Novel class with Mr. Dr. Hurst. Again, the transformation and maturation of the main character draws me every time. The excitement of learning new languages and cultures in a world completely foreign while being hunted by enemies - priceless.

7. The Lord of the Flies by William Golding. I hated this book. I'll never read it again.

8. Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. I didn't like this book either, mainly because of Scarlett O'Hara. I couldn't stand her. She deserved everything she got and maybe more. She's a powerful character, though, I'll give her that, but it's another book I'll never reread.

9. Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. I first read this one while I was waiting for a piano lesson to begin many, many years ago. I could identify with Alexander, although I do like lima beans. Just trying to find your place in a world that seems to be against you is something we can all understand. I think I'll move to Australia.

10. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. I try to read this every year at Christmas. I love Scrooge's transformation and his second chance at being a kind, loving human being. The reminder that what we've done shapes who we are is a good one at any point of the year.

11. The truth by Terry Pratchett. At last, a book about my chosen profession. Granted, William de Worde fell into journalism by accident, but the difficulties he faces in putting out his newsletter and the people he meets as he does so - been there, done that, bought the t-shirt.

12. Memoirs of a Wandering Man by Louis L'Amour. It challenged me to keep track of what I read, which I have tried to do. L'Amour read anything and everything and allowed what he read to make him a better person. It's an example we could all follow.

For your Christmas viewing pleasure

Ah, Christmas. That festive time of year when film companies release their next blockbusters, hoping to entice us viewers with trailers full of brilliant colors, humorous lines, good-looking people and just enough teasing to get us to go to the movies. Yes, Peter Jackson, I'm talking about you.

I am looking forward to this next installment of The Hobbit. I'd ask what's going to happen, but I've read the book multiple times, so I already know. I see things in the trailer and I know exactly what's going on in the story. Oh, the advantage of being a reader of books that turn into awesome movies. But I also know what's going to happen in the third movie, and while I'm looking forward to it, I'm also not looking forward to it. Those of you who have read the book know what I'm talking about.

But there are other things to watch, too. I have my favorite Christmas movies/TV shows, just like everyone else. I haven't watched any of them yet this year, but I have to before Christmas actually arrives. My list of favorites is a combination of TV shows and movies. There are more, but here are my top six.

A Christmas Carol (1984) starring George C. Scott as Ebenezer Scrooge. I've seen at least six different versions, including the Muppets, and Scott is, for me, the quintessential Scrooge. He perfectly plays the gruff, angry, lonely man who is given a second chance and takes full advantage of it. And the supporting cast is superb. I'd love to find the soundtrack, but it's not available anywhere I've looked.

The Claymation Christmas Special featuring the California Raisins. I know this one might be considered a bit odd, but the music is a lot of fun and the videos that go along with the songs, specifically Carol of the Bells and We Three Kings, can't be topped.

Babes in Toyland starring Keanu Reeves and Drew Barrymore. Some might consider this a cheesy movie, but that's part of what makes it fun. Barrymore is a young girl who is transported to Toyland where she meets nursery rhyme characters and helps save the day by learning to believe in the magic of toys. Pat Morita plays the Toymaster, and Reeves is Jack Nimble Jr.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas narrated by Boris Karloff. The animated version, of course. How can you not like the Grinch, with his small heart and misplaced anger at those poor little Whos? The live-action version starring Jim Carrey isn't bad and provides a backstory for the Grinch, but you can't top the original.

The Muppet Christmas Carol. The Muppets have a unique take on the Dickens classic, including Gonzo as the author himself. Michael Caine is an admirable Scrooge. In my mind he doesn't hold a candle to George C. Scott, but he doesn't have to because his costars are the Muppets. The music in this film matches the moods perfectly, and Jacob and Robert Marley just crack me up.

My all-time favorite, though, is the Charlie Brown Christmas. We watched it every year on TV when I was growing up, so I first saw it in black and white on a small-screen television. Yes, that means I'm old. But its message hasn't changed, whether shown in black and white or color. When Linus recites the verses from Luke 2, how can you not be moved?

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not; for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

My tree, 2013

I put up my Christmas tree Sunday after I got home from the Thanksgiving weekend. It's a prelit tree (which I love), but for some reason it doesn't like me. I wish I knew why. You'd think I'd learn that when I put up said tree I'd do something to protect my hands. But no. I guess I'm a slow learner. Now I have scratches on my hands and arms, courtesy of something that's supposed to represent everything good about the season.

As I was decorating the tree, which consisted of trying to find ornaments to cover the holes between the artificial branches, I found myself thinking about where each piece came from.

My mom still has the ornaments from when my siblings and I were young - all the personalized pieces she's collected over the years. That makes her tree extra special, filled with memories of a house full of family. My ornaments are not as heirloom-y at this point, but they have memories attached to them nonetheless.

For example, I have a crocheted angel that was given to me by Zlatka Dimitrova, who everyone called Dimi. Dimi was a student at Bob Jones University when I was there, and we both worked at the switchboard. She stayed at the school over the summer and spent her time between phone calls making little angels and snowflakes for the people she knew. I was one of the recipients, and every time I hang that angel on my tree, I think of her.

I've got another handmade ornament that's new to my tree this year. It's a tatted snowflake made by Helene Perry for my grandmother, Jean Webb Avery. I don't know for sure when Grandma got this lovely snowflake, but I got it following her funeral last January. While I won't forget Grandma any time soon and I never met Helene, this ornament will remind me of another friendship.

And then there's this personalized ornament. I got this from a coworker, Patti Danbom, who is retiring at the end of December. Patti has been at the paper for 32 years - that's more than a lifetime for some of us. She likes to find little gifts for everyone at Christmas, serving as the office Santa Claus, I guess. This ornament was a gift a couple years ago. I certainly won't forget Patti, and her gift will help me remember my name, too.

I think that's the best part of a Christmas tree. Choosing the ornaments for each year, thinking about the people who gave them to you and enjoying the final product add a special glow to each Christmas season. So as you hustle and bustle through the shopping, school and church programs, family gatherings and work parties, take a moment to enjoy your tree. Look at the ornaments, tell your friends/children/anyone who will listen the stories behind each one. Write them down if you don't have anyone to talk to but the tree. Keep them safe, because they help tell your story.

Have a blessed and happy Christmas season, everyone. And try not to get too angry with your artificial tree for scratching you. After all, it spends 11 months of the year in a box.

Thanksgiving, of course

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. So I, along with most of the people in America, have been thinking about what I'm thankful for. We're all thankful for friends and family (even those of us who say we aren't thankful for family and friends are secretly thankful for them). We're thankful for health, jobs, security, living in the greatest country on the planet and so on. Those are the easy answers.

But what else can we be thankful for? We're commanded to give thanks for everything, not just the good things (Eph. 5:20), so here goes. This not a comprehensive list, by any stretch of the imagination, and it focuses on the good things, but it's a start.

Speaking of imagination, I'm thankful for mine. Even though sometimes it goes off on tangents I really don't want to follow, for the most part, it's pretty cool. (I know, since I control it, that's how it should be.) I love the stories that are floating around in my head and how I can change dialogue, character names and anything else I want to on a whim. I love how the stories and people I create in my mind are mine and mine alone. I don't have to share them with anyone else if I don't want to. I love how they're always waiting for me, never complaining that it's been weeks since I thought about them.

I'm thankful for my eyesight. If I couldn't see, I couldn't take pictures, and that's one of my favorite parts of my job. As a photographer for the Seward, Friend and Milford newspapers, I have the unique opportunity of getting to watch athletes develop through the years. Seeing them first take the field as scared little freshmen to watching them leave the field for the final time as more grown-up seniors is something not everyone gets to do.

I'm thankful for the phone. Because of the phone, I get to keep in touch with my family and friends, although I don't call as often as I should. The instant feedback available with the phone is something we all tend to take for granted, but it's a great thing. Kudos to Alexander Graham Bell for inventing the device that allows us all to talk, no matter where we are.

I'm thankful for the TV, although I watch way too much of it. The selection of channels allows me to choose what I want to watch and, if there's nothing on I'm interested in, I can put in a movie and watch that. While most of the offerings don't appeal to me, a few do, and I'm thankful to be able to watch "my" shows.

As we enter the holiday season and consider our blessings, we should be thankful. For everything.

Let's get ready to rumble

Ah, wrestling.

Yes, it's that season, and I'm happy. Now, before I go to much further, let me clarify that this is wrestling, not wrassling. There's a huge difference. Wrestling requires strategy, endurance and fitness, among other things. Wrassling requires some fitness, though not as much, ropes to jump off of and folding chairs to throw. Wrestling is a sport - wrassling is entertainment.

I'm sure some of you don't like wrestling, and that's an area where we'll just have to agree to disagree. I doubt, at this point, that I'll change your mind, and I can promise you won't change mine.

Anyway, wrestling.

Wrestling is a lonely sport - just you and your opponent in a circle for six minutes. Teammates can't pick you up if you make a mistake. Coaches can't sub someone else in for you. It's just you. You have to make your own adjustments on the fly, which means you have to be thinking and thinking ahead the whole time. There's no one to hide behind, no one to blame if things don't go the way you wanted. It's just you.

I admire the kids who wrestle. Not only do they have to be strong physically in order to compete, they've also got to be strong mentally, able to overcome and outthink the other wrestler.

Concordia University here in Seward hosted its first home dual of the season tonight. I was there, camera in hand, documenting the action. I love watching wrestlers who know what they're doing, and Concordia has a team full of them this year. A couple are kids I covered in high school, which really makes me happy. I like it when local kids go to area colleges where I'll get to see them compete again. Selfish, I know, but there it is. It's fun to watch kids develop in the competitive arena, to see their skills improve and to see that translate into success.

I've been around wrestling my whole life. My dad was a coach, and my parents were actually at a dual the night before I was born. Franklin (where we lived) hosted a meet every January, and we were there in the stands every year. I remember going to practices with Dad occasionally and watching the kids work out, honing their skills and learning new ones. I remember seeing them crawl under the mats to sweat off those last couple pounds or running the halls in vinyls or even shaving their heads to make weight. And no, that didn't seem strange to me. That's just how it was then.

Today, wrestling coaches are much more conscious of how cutting dramatic amounts of weight can negatively impact an athlete. There are plans designed to help wrestlers safely reach their optimum weight. That's a good thing for the sport.

The high school season hasn't started yet. It won't until the first week in December. But then the season's three months will fly by and the next thing you know it will be time for the state tournament.

Bring it on.

Winter's on the way

Winter is definitely coming. We had a taste of it yesterday, and I'm not ready for it.

While we didn't get snow or any precipitation, it was cold. Not just chilly, but cold. Fortunately the wind wasn't blowing or it would have been approaching frigid. And I got to be at a playoff football game last night. Yes, I put on extra layers before I left home, and I was very glad I had them. Even with them, though, by the end of the game I was ready to crank the heater in my car.

The tree at the end of my driveway, that was covered in such beautiful gold leaves last week, is now bare, thanks to the howling wind on Monday. I'm just glad I don't have to rake.

As the trees continue to get barer (is that even a word?), it becomes more and more obvious that we aren't in summer any more. I don't know when the first snow is supposed to fall, but I know what will happen. We'll all be thrilled for the first hour, and then we'll be tired of it. I like watching snow fall, as long as I don't have to go out in it. If I can be at home watching out my living room window, that's the best. If I'm at work and still have to negotiate the brick street that gets slick when its snowy and icy outside, that's not as much fun. I've been known to park my car in the off-street parking at the top of the hill and walk down to my apartment. It's better than sliding past the driveway - which has been done before, too.

I can't wait.

Taking a break?

I watch a lot of sports. From football to cross country to baseball to wrestling, I watch them all.

Of course, that's my job. I'm the sports editor for three newspapers in eastern Nebraska. Those three papers provide coverage for seven high schools and one college, and let me tell you, that keeps my calendar pretty full. Granted, I only take care of four of the schools and the college, but still, I don't get a lot of evenings at home during the school year.

So when I have one of those rare creatures, I try to take advantage of it. I might spend part of the evening with a book, or I might watch a movie. I might see if there's a game on TV that looks good, but I don't usually pay close attention to that. It's more background noise for whatever else I'm doing. When you're watching a game on TV, it's hard to miss the big plays. Not only do the announcers go bananas, which will get your attention even if you're dead, the play is replayed at least a gazillion times.

Sometimes, that's not a bad thing. I still stop to watch Nebraska's Hail Mary from Saturday. It was such an unbelievable, incredible play, how can I not?

Anyway, we're at a point in the year when my schedule loosens up just a smidge. Seasons are coming to an end, which means I don't have quite as many games to get to. While I feel bad for my teams when they lose, because losing is hard to swallow and it's tough to see a season come to an end, I find myself inwardly OK with the loss. It's probably a selfish thought on my end, but there it is.

So, we have one volleyball team still playing, and they will probably earn a spot in the state tournament next week. We have three football teams playing tonight in their respective playoff brackets, so we'll see what happens.

And then there's Concordia, the university in town. They've already started their basketball season. Basketball! I'm not sure I'm ready for that. But both the men and women played in tournaments last weekend and host the annual Cattle Classic this weekend. So, ready or not, here we go.

So much for a break.

I'm thankful for my friends day

I had an idea for a new holiday. Not that Hallmark and the other greeting card companies need another excuse to make more money, but I think it would be a good one.

I'd call it I'm Thankful For My Friends Day.

I would put it on the Friday before Thanksgiving to help get us all in the thanksgiving mood before we get/have to spend a day with family members we may not like that much and end up in a food coma, unable to focus on the football game on TV. It would remind us of how fortunate we are in our choices of friends.

See, that's the cool thing about friends. They are a choice. We can choose who we want to be friends with. that choice is also a two-edged sword because those people can choose not to be friends with you. But when the two of you form that bond, it can be awesome!

There are things we share with friends that we don't share with family - not because family shouldn't necessarily know, but because that information is on a need-to-know basis and the family doesn't need to know. Do you really want people with whom you spend every holiday and other days during the year looking askance at you because of something you did? Do you want your nieces and nephews to think of you other than "the cool aunt/uncle?" I didn't think so.

Of course, family members can be friends, too. If that's the case, not only are you extremely fortunate, but that bond is even stronger.

As I was thinking about this yesterday, I thought I'd celebrate by inviting my friends to my apartment for a pizza and movie night. But my apartment only seats about three, and I do have more friends than that, so I'd have to do something else. Think about it, though. How much fun would it be to have your house full of your friends, all people you love, just hanging out and having a great time, watching a movie you all like, quoting along with your favorite lines and, in the case of many of my friends and me, admiring the view, as it were.

That would be fun.

You know, even if Hallmark doesn't pick this up, maybe I'll try it anyway.

To read or not to read, that is the question

What makes a book one that I’ll stay with? It’s not the cover, although that’s a good way to get my attention. It’s not the plot, which in some of the books I like is completely unbelievable. It’s not the way the story is constructed, although interesting vocabulary and sentence structure will keep me for awhile.

It’s about the character for me. I look for characters who change in some way through the course of the story. If a character is interesting to start with and becomes more interesting as the story progresses, I’ll more than likely stay with the book.

There has to be a character with whom I identify in some way, though. I’ve tried to read some books that I just couldn’t get into, and as I thought about why I struggled with them, it boiled down to one thing. I didn’t identify with anyone in that book. That’s not to say that the book was badly written or the characters were flat or the plot was so out there you had to suspend your disbelief in order to even open the cover. Not at all. I just couldn’t find a character I could use to enter the story.

Why is that important? When I read, I enter the story. I become one of the characters. I live the plot through that character. That’s why, if I’m reading and you say something to me and I don’t answer, I don’t answer. I’m not ignoring you. I’m just not me at that moment. I’m living vicariously through someone else.

I have a picture in my head of a reader like me who completely immerses himself/herself in a story. If you were to look at that reader’s eyes while he/she is reading, you would see the world of that story reflected in them. I think that would be a really cool piece of art. I’d draw it myself, but I can’t draw. Even stick people aren’t terribly realistic when I attempt them.

So anyway, the draw of a book for me is its characters. They don’t have to be completely believable as long as they’re believable in their world. For example, I just finished one of Clive Cussler’s Dirk Pitt books. Dirk is basically James Bond without the spy side of the story. He does get some pretty cool toys, though, and he has some incredible adventures. One of them was raising the Titanic, which he accomplished successfully, by the way. Dirk is a cold man when it comes to the villains, completely unmerciful in taking out the bad guy, but he’s every woman’s dream. And, of course, he always gets the girl.

Now the plot of this particular book, Treasure, revolves around the discovery of the lost library of Alexandria and a crime family that has set up two of its sons to rule Mexico and Egypt. Not entirely realistic, I know. But one of the reasons I read is to escape from the real world. I enter a world where someone else is solving and has solved the problems and I don’t have to worry about it.

But I like Dirk and his friend Al. They allow me to put myself in their world and follow along on their adventures. And if I saw them walking down the street, I think I would know who they were.

I’ve met other characters who are so well drawn and defined that I’d know them in a second if I had the chance to really meet them. When I read their stories, it’s like re-meeting an old friend you haven’t seen in awhile. After that initial hesitation, wondering if they’re still the way you remembered, you fall into that comfortable state of being able to be yourself and picking up the friendship right where you left off.

And that’s the mark of a great character. I hope the characters I create can have that said of them.

Get that song out of my head!

Have you ever wondered why words, phrases or songs get stuck in your head? Me, too. And it's always random things that rattle around in there. Sometimes they're OK, other times they just drive me bats. Which isn't too hard, since I'm mostly there anyway.

I read a book called "This Is Your Brain on Music" by Daniel J. Levitin a while back, and he called that little piece of a song that gets stuck in your head an earworm. I thought that was a great term for it, but he didn't really explain why it happens or how to get rid of it. That's what I'd like to know. When I've got "Go, go, Power Rangers" and the guitar section that follows it on repeat, I'd really like to know how to make it stop.

Sometimes, the earworm isn't quite so insidious. For example, I really like the song "Caledonia," which I have by both Celtic Woman and Celtic Thunder (sensing a theme here?), and the phrase "Caledonia, you called me, now I'm going home" often works its way to the forefront of my brain. That one's not quite so bad. "Place In the Choir" by Celtic Thunder is another that finds itself replaying in my mind.

Then there's the phrase "porque Tu estarás conmigo," which is Spanish for "for Thou art with me." It's from Psalm 23, and we had to learn it in one of my Spanish classes. I just love the way the words roll off the tongue, and it's meaning is something you could meditate on for the rest of your life. That's an earworm I'm definitely OK with.

And you never know what's going to incite the earworm riot. Sometimes it's something someone says. It could be something you hear on the radio, TV or on another CD. For me, it could be the way someone says something - the rhythm of the words ("feel the beat of the rhythm of the night"), the word selection, even the tone of voice or what I thought I heard.

I'd also like to know why some of them play for days and others only for a couple times and then go away. Are some more virulent than others? Maybe someone could quantify catchiness in a tune to determine how severe an earworm it could create.

I guess your best cure for the common earworm is trying to replace it with something less annoying. I'd recommend silence, but there are even songs about that.

It's all in the bass

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - man, I love being a turtle. No, wait. That's not right. Sorry about that.

Pep band rocks! That's what I meant to say. It's something I've said before, and I'm fairly certain I'll say it again. I've written in the Seward County Independent about being in pep band and how much fun it was. I was reminded again last night of how awesome pep band is/was.

As a recovering French horn player, I tend to pay more attention to the brass - specifically the low brass, because that's where I got to hang out. When I first got to play in pep band, we lived in Franklin. Mrs. Swanson was the band teacher, and Mr. Swanson would often join us on the stage before games to play the tuba. I'm pretty sure he had just as much fun as we students did.

Our repertoire was primarily pop music from the 1970s, songs that the parents in the crowd probably knew and could sing along with. I didn't know any of the words, other than the titles. For all I knew, the songs didn't have any words. I have since learned that most of them did have lyrics, which was a revelation for my sheltered self.

Anyway, we played songs like The Horse, 25 or 6 to 4, Proud Mary and Sweet Georgia Brown. Of course that's not a comprehensive list - those are just the ones I could think of at this point. And we in the low brass had a blast. When it comes to pep band, the bass is key. If you don't have a solid bass line, your pep music falls apart. The upper brass and woodwinds don't have anything to build on, the drums wouldn't have anything to support, and life as we know it comes to an end.

OK, maybe it's not that drastic, but without a bass line, the music would have no groove, no hat-hanging element and no point. And we French horns, trombones, baritones and tubas would be bored senseless.

My ruminations stemmed from the Concordia University pep band, which was moving and grooving last night at a CU volleyball game. When the director is feeling the music, you know it's going to be fun, and Andrew Schultz was. He always does, which is also fun to watch. Of course, pep bands these days don't play the same music we did. They play music from the 1980s through today. Now I'm the one singing along with the pep band, just like my parents' generation sang along to the music we played.

I'm not really sure how I feel about that. When they play today's music, I don't know it and can't enjoy it as fully as I might if I knew the song. But when they play music from when I was in high school, while I enjoy the fact that I know the words and even sing them (usually in my head so no one else knows how much useless information is actually stored in there), I also don't enjoy the fact that I'm getting older. So I try not to think about that and just enjoy the tambourine choreography during Take On Me.

Change in viewing habits

There's no Broadchurch tonight, so I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself.

Actually, I've got plenty of things to do. But it's interesting how accustomed we get to a certain schedule and when it changes we find ourselves at something of a loose end.

Broadchurch, for those who didn't watch it, was an eight-part drama on BBC America that followed two detectives trying to solve the murder of an 11-year-old boy. Broadchurch is the name of the town in which the story happened. David Tennant, perhaps better known as Doctor Who (he was the 10th Doctor), played Detective Inspector Alec Hardy, who comes to Broadchurch to lead the investigation. His partner is Detective Sergeant Ellie Miller (played by Olivia Colman), a native of the town who was promised the inspector position and was passed over.

The thing about the series was that it didn't try to tie everything up in one episode like so many procedurals today do. Instead, it spread the story out, more like an investigation probably happens in real life. The detectives have to follow every lead, and most of them don't pan out. But they take pieces of one testimony and parts of another and build a case.

I really liked how the characters developed over the course of the story, how assumptions were blown up and how nothing was as it seemed. And I was wrong in my guess(es) of who the murderer was.

One of the most interesting parts of the show, for me, was its portrayal of the media. Broadchurch has its own newspaper, and the young reporter, Ollie, is Ellie's nephew. That does cause some problems, especially when Ollie calls Ellie to confirm the identity of the murder victim. While she doesn't come out and say the child's name, Ollie takes what she says as confirmation and puts the child's identity on Twitter. Of course, that sets off a firestorm in the police wardroom. Ollie realizes that he made a terrible decision and apologizes to Hardy, but by then, the damage is already done.

Then there was the big city newspaper reporter who came swooping in - looking for the big story. That reporter's coverage eventually causes more problems and, just like in real life, the local paper has to put out the fire.

Anyway, the series is finished, the murder solved. And now I'm watching the American League wild-card playoff.

On the other hand, Elementary is on tomorrow night and White Collar starts back up in less than three weeks! And, I just saw on Facebook (and since it's on the internet, it must be true), David Tennant is supposed to star in Fox's American remake of Broadchurch. Can life get any better? I submit that it cannot!

Happy am I.

Inspiration comes from ...

I've been privileged to hear a variety of real-live published authors speak at various times in my career, and every time I do, I think, "I could do that." After all, I have multiple story ideas floating around in my head, characters I've left in different situations, whole worlds to explore. As I leave each author's presentation, I resolve to set aside time every day to write something not work related.

And then my reality happens. Every week, my schedule is enough different that having a regular time to start dumping the stories and people out of my head is not really possible. I'm not complaining, mind you - I love what I do. I do, after all, get to write for a living. Not everyone who wants to write can say that. It's just that my head is getting crowded.

Anyway, back to the most recent source of inspiration. Mary Doria Russell was at the Seward Memorial Library Sept. 22. Among her books is Doc, which is the story of Dr. John Henry Holliday, a young dentist-turned-professional-gambler who is best known for his participation in the gunfight at the O.K. Corral in Tombstone, Ariz. Doc was the All Seward Reads Together title for this summer. I must admit, when Becky Baker, Seward's head librarian, said Doc was going to be the book, I thought she said Dock. I was trying to figure out the appeal of a boat launching site and how it could possibly work as the title of a book. Perhaps it's a murder mystery and the body was found at the dock. I didn't know. Then when I realized the title was Doc, I felt like an idiot. Gotta love homonyms.

But, I digress.

Russell talked about Doc and why she wrote this biography. She was passionate about this book and being able to tell the story of Alice Holliday's son. She spends four to six hours every day at her computer, working on her current project. She said she has to be interested enough in the project and like the characters/players enough to spend three to four years with them. That's how long it takes her to write a book like Doc.

Everyone "knows" who Doc Holliday was. And everyone loves Doc Holliday, well, at least Val Kilmer playing him in the movie Tombstone. While Russell said she loves the Earps (Wyatt, Morgan and Virgil), from the start, this story was about Holliday. The man didn't have an easy life, that's for sure. Not just because of the time in which he lived and the disease he eventually died from, but things didn't start off well.

When he was born, he had a cleft palate and cleft lip. At the time, people believed that meant your family's blood was contaminated, "bad blood," if you will. And for the Hollidays, that would have been devastating. The family was Georgia gentry, living in the upper echelon of society. John's mother, Alice, fed the baby with an eyedropper to keep him alive until his uncle, John S. Holliday, could perform surgery to repair the defects. It marked the first time for this kind of surgery in North America, Russell said. Add to that, the uncle doctor was the second surgeon in the world to use ether as an anesthetic. Pretty amazing!

Alice, however, was not destined to see her little boy grow into manhood. Tuberculosis sapped her strength and leached her life away. When she died at age 36, John lost his best friend and confidante. And then he developed tuberculosis, too. Rather than stay in Georgia where the humidity made breathing almost impossible, at age 21, he decided to try his luck in the west, where the air was drier.

At the time (1873), the economy had tanked, and dentistry became a luxury. Holliday had no other way to make a living, so "to his profound humiliation," Russell said, "he started to make his living playing cards." Now in this age of poker on television, that doesn't sound awful. But back then, "it was the male equivalent of becoming a prostitute," Russell said. It was doing something for money that others did for pleasure.

(You can read more about Russell's presentation in the Oct. 2 Seward County Independent. Check it out!)

As Russell talked about her insights into Holliday's life and her work to learn more about him, his family and friends and the time in which he lived, I found myself thinking about my characters living in the old west in my head. And yes, I have some. I know writing a western or any other historical drama will require time spent in the library and online, learning as much as I can about the time period. I'm actually looking forward to doing that.

I keep thinking I'll take a week off from work, find a secluded spot someplace and spend the week writing one of the stories in my head. I haven't done that yet, but I will. And when I finish that literary offering, whatever it might be and however literary it might be, and I feel it's ready for the light of day, I'll let you know.

Power - on

Well, folks, I did it. I turned on the organ at church.

Not only that, I played it! I know! I am by no means ready to play for church (I still have to determine what settings I like and how the pedals fit into all this - which will take more coordination that I currently possess), but that first step is past. Whew!

I've wanted to learn the organ for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I was fascinated by the organ at church. Our organist, Marjorie, was an outstanding musician, and when church was over and she was playing the postlude, I'd go stand by the organ and watch her play. When she was done, I helped her flip the switches up - big time when you're six.

I wish I could play as well as she could. She was able to play by ear, which is definitely a gift and one I don't have. If it's written on the page, I can usually pound it out, but just picking out a tune and making it sound like a concert piece? Only in my dreams.

Music has been a part of my life for, well, the last (insert age here - you guess 'cause I'm not going to tell you) years. I remember listening to records when I was growing up. We (my brothers and I) would beg Mom to put our favorite records on the record player, and we'd sit by the speaker so we didn't miss a single note. We listened to the Lettermen, the Carpenters, the Percy Faith Strings, Sesame Street, the Smothers Brothers and others. We learned all the words and would sing along. I would try to make my voice sound like whoever was singing, whether it was Karen Carpenter or little Dicky Smothers, as his brother called him.

We had our favorites, of course. If we could have listened to the Smothers Brothers and Bill Cosby every day, we probably would have. We loved the Lettermen, too, especially the Alive Again album on which they sang MacArthur Park. We never stopped to consider how strange the lyrics are, we just sang them at the top of our lungs. Imagine kids ages 8, 6 and 4 singing "MacArthur Park is melting in the dark, all the sweet green icing flowing down. Someone left the cake out in the rain. I don't think that I can take it, 'cause it took so long to make it (or bake it, I'm not sure), and I'll never have that recipe again. Oh no!" And we'd hit the high notes, too.

Choir was one of my favorite classes at school. I still remember learning how to sing parts using "Hang On Sloopy." Once I got into high school, I got to accompany the swing choir and the choir on a couple songs, which was a lot of fun. Being an accompanist was no big deal because I played for Sunday school, church and sometimes special music. But the choir music was a bit more, shall we say, up-tempo than what we'd sing in church.

So I guess you could say I've come full circle. Now the challenge is to start a new circle - which I did today when I turned the organ on.

Remember

It's been 12 years. An even dozen. Ten years plus two. However you want to look at it.

Twelve years ago, everything changed for Americans - the way we viewed the world, the way we viewed each other, the way we viewed ourselves.

On Sept. 11, 2001, a few members of a terrorist organization decided it would be a good idea to teach America a lesson. So, they commandeered four passenger airliners. Two they flew into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. One they flew into the Pentagon. On the final one, the terrorists failed. The passengers on Flight 93, over an empty field in Pennsylvania, chose their fate.

Those decisions have shaped who we have become. We were angry at the terrorists on the WTC and Pentagon flights. Right or wrong, we sent our soldiers to the Middle East to retaliate. Some of them died there, paying that terrorist organization back for what they did to our country.

On the home front, we started looking suspiciously at everyone, wondering if they had ulterior motives. We started distrusting even our allies. We pulled back, not willing to let anyone get close to use for fear they'd rip away those we loved.

But the decisions of the passengers on Flight 93, those people who decided to take matters into their own hands and die the way they chose, gave us a sense of purpose. We couldn't let them down. They showed the American spirit, being willing to die to save other people. How could we do less? So we tried to trust, to believe, to prove ourselves worthy of their sacrifice.

Have we?

I don't know. How do you quantify a person's willingness to die for someone else? I've wondered what I would have done, what my choice would have been had I been on one of those planes and known what was going on. I know what I'd like my answer to be. I'd like my answer to be yes, I'd be willing to sacrifice myself so other people could live. But I'm afraid I wouldn't live up to my ideal.

Those people on Flight 93 did, though. They chose to die as heroes. I don't know their names or the names of their families, but I'd like to thank them. Thank you, all of them, for your example, for your challenge to us, for your willingness to put your own lives on the line for the rest of us.

And my prayer is that America, and I, will live up to you.

You call that music?

I think I'm officially an old fogie. I find myself saying things like "you call that music?" and "back in my day."

Let me give you a recent example. Last Friday night (Aug. 30), I was taking pictures at Concordia University's soccer games. So you know, when I cover soccer I usually go to the second half of the first game and the first half of the second game. I figure if I can't get one good soccer picture in 40 minutes of play (that would be one half), I should find a new job.

So I was at Concordia for soccer. The women finished their game, and we entered the 30-minute between-game period, I usually take a book along and spend the time reading, which is better for me than sitting and doing nothing. The CU staff put on a CD, I think, and we were subjected to something that I'm assuming was called music.

It had an electronic sound, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but it was the same two notes over and over and over ad infinitum. The notes were about a fourth apart, I think, and the "song" started with the "musician" going from low to high in some sort of skipping rhythm. Then it switched and went from high to low. Still not music. Sorry, "composer."

Had I been scanning radio stations and come across this, I wouldn't have listened any longer than the time it takes to press the "scan" button again.

So I started wondering how this "music" got the players psyched for the game. Back in my day, our pregame music had melody, drums, sometimes words and could be played loud. Very loud. You could feel the rhythm pulsing through your body and you couldn't help getting pumped up.

I was in pep band in high school, and that was one of the most fun things about my high school experience. I loved the music that we played and the fact that you could jam to it. We in the low brass section always had a good time with the bass lines. I loved thinking that we in the band were helping our team get ready to crush whoever we were playing.

That's what pregame music should do - help get the team in the right mindset to play whatever the sport may be. It should help get the blood pumping and the mind focused on the upcoming contest. That's why schools have fight songs and why they're called fight songs. They're not called "maybe consider going onto the field of play and giving it the old college try and whatever happens it's all good" songs. They're fight songs. Fight! Go squadron! Do good! Beat the opponent soundly! In the skirmish! (Thanks to Brian Regan for that.)

This "music," however, had absolutely nothing jam-worthy or fight-ish to it. It was annoying, stultifying, irritating and tweedly, and I wanted nothing more than to shut it off. I found myself wishing that the soccer game would just start already. And since I don't really care for soccer, that's quite a feat.

I just hope they never play that, er, collection of sounds again.

Entering the 21st century

Now it's my turn.

After thinking about this for quite some time, I'm going to try this whole blogging thing. I don't know who will read this, or who will care to, but here goes.

I chose the name Steph Tries To Play mainly because I'm getting back into playing the piano. After a 15-year hiatus, I'm playing in public again. I took lessons through elementary and junior high and played for church in junior high and high school. I played again for church when I lived in Pawnee City, but when I moved to Seward, the church I attended didn't need a pianist, so I stopped. Not having a piano at home meant I wasn't even tempted to play, so my ability rusted and my fingers lost whatever skill they had.

I finally joined my church about three months ago. The membership application included a question about what I'd be willing to do as far as service. Since I had some experience accompanying congregational singing, I circled music. I'm not sure what I was thinking at the time, but everyone seemed pleased to see I'd be willing to play. So, when the organist went on vacation, the music director asked if I'd play at least the offertories for the morning services so the other pianist could have a bit of a break. I gamely said yes.

The next challenge was finding a place to practice. I know one of the music professors at Concordia University here in Seward, so I asked him if there was a practice room on campus I could use once a week or so. He said yes, which surprised me a bit since I'm completely unconnected to the university. But it was generous, nonetheless, and I took advantage of the opportunity, finding an open practice room on Thursday mornings and attempting to whip my fingers back into shape.

Keep in mind - the church hadn't voted to accept me as a member yet. The first Sunday I was to play was the Sunday the new pastor was installed. The music director asked if I could play for the installation service, so the pastor's wife (who is also the other pianist) wouldn't have to. Again I said yes. Anyway, right before the offering in the morning service, the congregation voted to let me in, thereby making it "legal" for me to play the offertory that morning. Nothing like squeaking in under a deadline - something I know too much about from my job.

Now I'm hoping to learn how to play the organ. The organist we had has chosen to look for a new church, leaving that spot open. I've never played the organ before, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night. Seriously, I've wanted to learn for quite some time, and now's my chance. I'm not as worried about the notes - I can figure that part out. It's all the other settings that are intimidating. So, this will be an adventure.

I'll keep you posted.