The Nutcracker, Hot Wheels, and the Giant Snowball

Several Christmases ago, when Will was about seven and Clay was about three, Francie announced that, “Everyone should see a live performance of The Nutcracker at least once.”  I had my doubts, but I am no Scrooge, so I put on my best ugly Christmas sweater and said, “Let’s go!”

Francie’s response was, “You’re not going to wear that are you?”  Now I’ve been married long enough to know that even though this sounds like a question, it’s not a question.  So I went back, put on a shirt and tie, and we were off to experience a Christmas tradition.  We were also about to prove the old adage that goes something like, “You can dress him up, but you can’t take him out in public.”

We stopped by to pick up Will’s buddy Andrew because Will and Andrew went everywhere together and I guess we needed to broaden his cultural horizons too.  Soon we found our seats near the orchestra pit and the show was about to begin,

It was a slow start.  Will and Andrew had already pulled out the Hot Wheels cars and were busy racing them all over the seat backs of the row in front of us.  Of course, both of them were making that “motor noise” that all little boys are just born knowing how to make.  This brought disapproving looks from some of the ballet patrons in our immediate area.  Apparently motor noises are frowned upon at the ballet.  Francie was busy trying to keep the boys quite, and I was struggling to stay awake.  Then came the famous Snow Scene.

The dancers were out on the stage, and several guys were up in the rafters shaking boxes of fake snow. However, there must have been a warm front over the middle of the stage because it was not snowing there.  There was some sort of problem upstairs; nothing was coming out of one guy’s fake snow box.  He kept reaching inside trying to release the blockage, but no luck.  Until finally, it all came out at once.  A giant ball of fake snow the size of a beach ball was heading straight for the Sugar Plum Fairy.  At the last minute, she executed a prefect pirouette and the giant snowball crashed harmlessly on the stage behind her.

This amused me. I started giggling, just a little snort at first, which brought a disapproving look from the lady in front of me.  Apparently giggling is frowned upon at the ballet.  I was now fighting a losing battle.  I was that kid in church--the one who is trying to suppress a laugh—and can’t.  And just like that kid, you know somebody's about to get in trouble.  I almost made it, I was so close, except just at that moment I heard Clayton’s little three-year-old voice say, “Wow!  Do it again!”

Apparently belly laughs are frowned upon at the ballet.  Most of the people our section, (and a few others,) were looking at me like I forgot to take a bath.  Clayton and I were the only ones laughing, and we were really enjoying ourselves.  Will and Andrew stopped making motor noises long enough to ask what was so funny, and Francie was trying to disappear into her seat.  Later she referred to me having "the mentality of a three-year old,” but I prefer to think we were just the only ones who actually saw the whole thing.

At this point I'm thinking, "Hey, full contact ballet!  This might not be so bad after all."  In addition to the fake snow bombs falling from the rafters, we could have a little audience participation and pass out fake snowballs that we could chunk at each other.  Sort of a cross between The Nutcracker and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

But unfortunately, this turned out to be the high point in the evening, there were no more "meteorological malfunctions" and there was no audience participation.  My earlier enthusiasm began to wane, and my memory of the rest of the performance is a little fuzzy.  I do remember Francie landing several strategically placed elbows into my rib cage in a losing effort to keep me awake, but after that it's safe to say that I settled down for a long winter's nap while visions of beach-ball-sized sugar plums danced in my head.

When I finally awoke (in what seemed like about 12 hours later), the lights were on and people were filing past us. Many with that same look on their faces.  Apparently napping is also frowned upon at the ballet.  Clayton was curled up in my lap asleep, Will and Andrew were still making motor noises, and Francie was hiding under her seat.

We gathered everything up and headed to the Lobby, where I reached for my car keys and was headed out the door when Francie said. "Where do you think you are going?" (This also sounds like a question, but there is no correct answer).

"Home?"  I said hopefully.

"It's Intermission."

I must have had a dumb look on my face because she followed up with, "You know; halftime."  She likes to keep the conversation on a level that I can understand.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.  Now fully awake, I responded, "Do you really want to sit through another 12 hours of my snoring and the boy's motor noises competing with the orchestra?"  Say what you want about me, but I had a really good point.

She replied with a long drawn out, "Nooo."  She wanted to be mad at me, but the corners of her mouth were already turning up.

"Me neither!  Come on, let's go get ice cream!"  It may be Christmas, but in Austin, Texas it was still 72 degrees outside.

I am married to a patient woman, a saint really, so when she broke out into a full smile,  I knew that I would be forgiven eventually.  Although I do think this was one of the Christmases that I got coal in my stocking.



MERRY CHRISTMAS!  May your Christmas be filled with long naps and lots of belly laughs, no matter who disapproves.

Cross-Fit-To-Be-Tied

For the past several months, there has been a Cross-Fit Gym next to our photo studio.  Now I confess, I don't know much about the Cross-Fit craze, but as near as I can tell, it involves toting spare tractor parts around the parking lot while the coach stands off to one side and yells at you. 

They would be going through their workouts while I was moving out equipment in preparation for our retirement.  Since there was no place else for me to go, I would walk right through the middle of them.  I was carrying studio photographic equipment, while they were carrying what appeared to be a John Deere transmission.  After a few days of this, I decided to have a little fun.  I started to say things like. "How much are you paying to haul that?"  Or, "You can move this for me, and I promise not to yell at you."  

Francie even asked one guy, "Don't you think it'd be easier if you'd just roll that big ol' tire?"

Man, sweaty people just have no sense of humor!

One Last Bit of Fatherly Advice

When my Father-in Law's health started to fail, Francie and I moved to Tyler to help with the family photography business.  Jim passed away not long after that.  That was thirteen years ago.  One-third of the thirty-nine years that Batten Photography has been in business.

As many of you know, this Saturday, we will close the doors for the last time.  This is our choice, we are retiring.  It is time to move on to other things.  We are happy, and excited to be starting a new adventure.  But closing a business that has been in the family for thirty-nine years can be an emotional experience.

 

In our studio, there is a large electronic piece of equipment that Jim installed many years ago.  It hangs from the ceiling, and supports 15-ft long aluminum poles that move photographic backgrounds up and down. For thirteen years I have hated this thing.  It works perfectly in every way except when it comes time to change out backgrounds.  This has become the one chore that I despise more than any other.  One end of the pole has to be removed, and still supported while you remove the other end.  And I for one, find it impossible to hold both ends of a 15-foot long pole over my head at the same time.  I always had to get someone to help.  

 

I often complained about this, and Francie would say, "Daddy always did this by himself." And I would respond, "I wish he'd show me how, because I'm not strong enough or smart enough to do it alone."

Yesterday, I was dismantling this piece of equipment.  It has been sold to another photographer, a long-time friend of Jim's.  As I removed the last piece, I noticed something that had been almost impossible to see until that moment. Two coat hangers, bent into loops, were suspended from the ceiling near each end of the support poles.  My first thought was "Why would Jim do this?"  Followed immediately by "NOW HE TELLS ME!"  

Jim, I heard you laughing all day long!  

The Top of Texas

“Prayer doesn’t change God, it changes me.”

-- C. S. Lewis

High on the shoulder of Guadalupe Peak, the west Texas landscape stretches out like a dusty, rumpled quilt.  El Capitan, the dominant landmark from below, is almost unrecognizable from above, its cliffs forming a dramatic--and sudden--drop to the ridge I am climbing.  The summit is in sight beneath a cloudless blue sky; and for the first time, I know that we are going to reach it.  I feel the slightest breeze on my face.  My doubts and frustrations are gone.  My mind is calm, and I am at peace.  Mountains have a way of putting things in perspective.  As John Muir said, “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.”

I could stay here forever; but I hear the siren call of the summit, and my two sons; Will 21, and Clay 17, are almost there.  I push on slowly, for even though my heart still feels like it is 21; my knees and lungs know better. 

It is hard to imagine now, but this moment almost never happened.  Much more than a long, tough climb and creaky joints threatened it.  Just twenty-four hours ago, this climb was in danger of never starting because I had allowed life’s little dramas to build up to the boiling point.  Why is it always the little things?

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This was the second of what I hoped was becoming an annual “Guys Fall Break Trip,” a chance for us to escape into the wilderness for a few days, and reconnect with the outdoors and each other.  We drove from east Texas, arrived at the Pine Springs Campground in Guadalupe Mountains National Park, and managed to set up the tent while fighting the legendary Guadalupe Mountain winds.  About this time, things took a turn for the worse.  First, there was a misunderstanding with our neighbors.  I have found that the people I meet on the trail and in campgrounds are usually among the most friendly and easy-going people anywhere--but not this group.  Then, we discovered that the car was dead, and would not start even after jumping the battery for nearly an hour.  So with limited options, we made dinner in near hurricane conditions, and went to bed.

Frustration, anger, and doubts kept churning inside of me, and sleep was not possible: 

How am I going to start the car?  How much is it going to cost to tow it from out here in the middle of nowhere?  I still cannot believe those people in the next campsite.  There is no way we can climb the peak tomorrow!  Somehow, I have to fix the car.  Who knows how long it will take?  We have driven across the entire state of Texas just to spend two days and a small fortune in some garage!  Then we get to turn around and go home.  This trip is ruined; the boys will never want to do this again.  How many more chances do we have?

I had turned a little bad luck into a series of insurmountable problems, and I had let the negativity of others rub off on me.  I needed to get a grip.  I tried to pray, but I could not.  It is hard to ask for forgiveness when you do not want to forgive someone else.  I was focused on the negative.  I needed to focus on the positive.

By now, both boys were sound asleep; they don’t seem to be worried about it.  This was not affecting them as much as me.  I could learn from their example.  At least the car made it here and we aren’t stuck in a cheap motel in some tiny town.  The new tent is doing great in all this wind.  Hey!  The wind has died down.  We really don’t need a car for a few days.  We could walk to the trailhead, we are close enough, no need to drive…

“Lord, help me to forgive.  Forgive me for blowing things out of proportion.  Help me to focus on the positive.  I want so much for this to be a special time with the boys, one they will remember for the right reasons, and one they will want to continue.  That will never happen if I do not change my attitude.  This trip is in danger, but not from car trouble, or other people, but from me, and my attitude.  Help me to change that.  Amen.”

I awoke the next morning to an orange glow surrounding the tent.  I opened the tent flap to one of the most memorable sunrises of my life.  The Guadalupe Mountains rise abruptly out of the desert, and the Pine Springs Campground is perched about a mile up on the escarpment providing a nearly 180-degree panorama of the eastern horizon.  That horizon was now on fire; and soon a red-orange ball appeared suspended above the brightest part of the flames.  Even the boys; not early risers, agreed that it was worth waking up for.  After breakfast, we saw that our friends from last night had finished packing and were leaving.  Clay asked what we were going to do about the car.  “It’s Sunday.”  I replied, “We couldn’t get anybody to work on it, even if we wanted to.  We’re going hiking.”

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Climbing the remaining few yards to the summit, I join the boys who are already stretched out on the rocks in the sunshine.  The forests and mountains of southern New Mexico lay to the north.  White sand nestles against the base of the cliffs to the west, while miles and miles of Texas stretch as far as I can see to the east.  And aiming due south, like the prow of a gigantic ship, El Capitan rises out of the desert floor; the foothills appearing as so many waves on the ocean.  If this is a ship, then we are in the crow’s nest.

As we linger on the Top of Texas on this spectacular October day, a faint sound breaks the stillness.  Far away at first, it quickly builds in volume and intensity.  It is a familiar sound, but somehow different and I cannot place it.  The din echoes off the rocks, as if a large group of animals is heading our way.  That is impossible; we can see anything approaching for miles.  As the racket becomes almost deafening, Will shouts, “Look up!”  And there, silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky is the familiar “V” pattern of a flock of Canadian Geese headed south for the winter.  They are so close that it feels like we are a part of the formation.  A vivid reminder that there will not be many more days like this before the howling winter winds set in.

All too soon, it is time to leave, and Clay shoulders his pack for the trek down the mountain.  He has had it since his first hiking trip when he was much younger.  It is small and well worn.  He looks it over and says, “Ya know Dad, I think I need to get a new pack before our next trip.”