POSITIVITY

These days I’m striving hard to make
Judgments that are well-planned and wise,
Seeing each disappointment as
Just one more blessing in disguise,

Knowing each search for glory can
Bring an occasional defeat,
Content that victory just goes
To seekers who can take the heat.


No longer do I feel depressed
Each time I’m defeated or spurned,
Gaining practice and confidence
Each time I get shot down and burned.


But I’m aware my dreams would have
Better chance to take off and fly
If all my enemies and friends
Were as well-adjusted as I.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

New Year's Eve and New Year's Day have a way of sneaking up on us. Usually, we are still trying to get accustomed to winter weather. And we have had no chance to get rested up from a somewhat hectic season of Thanksgiving-through-one-week-after-Christmas. A time of running around, shopping for gifts and returning gifts. A time period punctuated by Christmas parties, and featuring broken diet plans and almost non-stop eating. And here we sit on Dec. 31 with a lot of TV football to watch and not one single New Year's resolution on paper.
Some optimistic folks just naturally assume that the coming year will somehow be even greater than the preceding glorious 12 months. Devout pessimists know that it will be even worse. Much worse! Lukewarm pessimists guess that it will be at least a trifle better than last year. It darned well better be. How the hell could things get any worse?
And a few people like myself will expect 1998 to be a year about like any other year. Most years have a lot of bright spots. A fair amount of successes, a lot of happy times - great times shared with family and friends - many that will add pages to our lifelong album of memories. And, hopefully, we will continue to enjoy good health.
But, with the world, the universe, and human beings built as they are, there will always be a few flies in the ointment. A few bad times to punctuate the good. As one old friend says, "That's God's way of reminding humans that they aren't in heaven yet, and that the Pearly Gates are a great goal to shoot for."
Another friend has a different way of wording it. I have probably quoted him before (we old-timers repeat ourselves a lot). He says that every hound needs a few fleas, just to keep him too busy to have time to worry about being only a dog.
Putting New Year's resolutions down on paper sounds like a great idea. A lot of people have good success with this method of self-improvement. I've tried writing out a few goals from time to time. But with little success. Old habits die hard. This year I might try again.
Some people don't really get too concerned about what the new year will bring, or how it will compare to last year. And some of that group have learned that New Year's Eve is the greatest time of the year to party.
Happy New Year! Have a great one!

HAPPY, REWARDING NEW YEAR!

Another day, another year,
Should we anticipate ... or fear?
What surprises will this year bring?
Will it cause us to cry or sing?

Another year, a brand-new day,
Will life go on the same old way?
Or will we face progress and change?
Must we our lifestyle rearrange?

If the new year brings strict commands
Insists we change, makes strange demands,
A change of pace will suit me fine.
I'll be the first to get in line.

One thing not popular with me
Is day-to-day monotony:
The same old work, the same old line,
Like: "How are you?" and, "I am fine."

So many things I still don't know.
I love watching young people grow
As they prepare to carry on
When folks like you and I are gone.

New things they'll learn, great sights they'll see,
So strange to dinosaurs like me.
So many years I've let drift by,
This gray old head now wonders "Why?"

This New Year we so soon will face
May not allow running in place –
Working away on life's treadmill –
Puffing, sweating while standing still,

But demand we meet fate half-way –
Work, think, and learn – waste not one day.
Enjoy these 12 months, as we come
One year nearer millennium.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM OUR HOUSE TO YOURS

MAY YOUR DAYS BE MERRY AND BRIGHT

As it so often

Has before,

Christmas-time rolls

Around once more,

A time for friends

And family

And many a

Great memory.

Not knowing what

Life holds in store,

We hope and pray

For many more

Christmas seasons

And may God bless

Us, everyone.

With our Very Best Christmas Wishes!

Gloria and Emil Schmit

CHRISTMAS EVE - Proud Grandparent

Old memories and traditions are an integral part of the Christmas season. They often help us to get a full measure of enjoyment out of the Great Feast Day. When I was a boy, most traveling was done in automobiles, but I do remember a few teams of high-stepping horses that could really make their sleigh bells jingle as they pulled bobsleds or cutters along the snowy country roads. For many of us, the merry sound of sleigh bells, whether actually heard or dredged up from memory, is about all that is needed to establish a Christmas mood:

CHRISTMAS PAST

Sleigh bells sing on country lanes,
Christmas carols, candy canes,
Sparkling tinsel, giant tree,
Gifts galore for you and me!

Age may turn my hair to gray,
Steal my zest and zeal away.
Time may rob me of my gold.
Christmas memories I'll still hold.

Christmas is a time for youngsters. And for families. When our children were small we did our main celebrating on Christmas Eve. We began with a large evening meal. Santa Claus was not a major contributor at our house, but by the time the dishes were finished he had usually left a bag of goodies and small gifts on our front porch. The rest of the evening was spent exchanging gifts, playing with new toys, admiring new clothes and singing a few carols.
We still try to continue that tradition, but each year it becomes a bit more difficult for our group to get together for the Great Season. With family members now scattered from the East Coast to the West and from the Twin Cities to Dallas, and with winter travel conditions being what they are here in the Midwest the odds are against our all being together again this year. And the grandchildren have a way of growing up and having classes and getting jobs that make it all the more difficult to plan. But once again, we'll do the best we can. We'll gather wherever we can get the most of the group together and then keep the telephone lines buzzing as we compare notes and share greetings on Christmas Eve.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Turkey roasting in the oven,
Coffee brewing in the pot,
And the clan will start to gather
Any minute, like as not.

One more snowy Midwest Christmas –
Outside cold chills to the bone –
First we'll line up the grandchildren,
Look them over...how they've grown!

We'll eat supper, do the dishes,
Then all gather 'round the tree;
Exchange gifts and sing some carols.
See what Santa left for me.

Thank you Chad and Zac and Justin--
Jared, Riley, Gabe and Jake--
Thanks, Michelle, Mikey and Noah,
What a precious group you make!

Life provides us joys a-plenty,
But none greater, I believe,
Than being a proud grandparent
On this Blessed Christmas Eve!

CHRISTMAS IS FOR US YOUNG ONES

Oh, I don’t wait up for Santa,
half ecstatic, half in dread
on that Great Night, I sleep soundly
in my warm and snuggly bed.

Christmas morning, see the presents,
dolls and balls and brand-new sled,
then there’s turkey with the “fixin’s”
till each hungry mouth is fed.

With the family here together,
we all talk and play and sing.
Through the crisp, cold air of winter
we can hear the church bells ring.

Christmas time finds me excited,
happy as I used to be.
On the snowy side of eighty,
there’s still lots of kid in me.

ROCKING CHAIR

We don’t see a lot of rocking chairs in motion these days. Maybe people don’t have time to just sit and rock anymore. In my childhood days, a mother rocking a small child to sleep was a common sight. Or a busy farm wife taking time off from her work to rock and comfort one of her small tots that was not feeling well. Grandmothers would rock and knit and recall the old times when their children were young.
Grandfathers would rock while smoking their pipes, and grumble about all the confounded changes that had taken place in the world. Some blamed all or most of the country’s problems on the high-lines that brought electrical power to the rural areas. The weather certainly was not the same since they started taking all of that electricity out of the air. And every time they graveled or oiled another road they were just asking for more trouble. All those people on the move and the exhaust from all of those Model T Fords certainly couldn’t be good for anything. “Now they’re even putting big boxes on those contraptions and hauling hogs to market! It just don’t seem right.”
Rocking in a chair was often referred to as “being on the move without going anywhere.” Today’s senior citizens have a whole different set of options than their parents and grandparents had. And most of them like to “go somewhere.” For some it is 18 holes of golf every day. For others it is a bus tour down to Nashville to see the Grand Ole Opry or to Branson, Missouri. Some enjoy weekend tour to Dakota or Mississippi to one of the gambling casinos. Or to Las Vegas, Reno, Tahoe, Laughlin, or Atlantic City.
Amusement parks and theme parks are now scattered across the country. And big-time sporting events are within the reach of most.
We often saw pictures of President John F. Kennedy in a rocking chair. Some said he found that rocking brought some comfort to his injured, aching back. Song writers have found the chairs to be good subjects for their work. One famous song title said, “Old Rocking Chair’s Got Me.” Another set of lyrics told of rocking away troubles and cares by “just sitting doing nothing in an easy rocking chair.” And a more recent song hit by Country Music icon George Jones proclaims, “I Don’t Need Your Rocking Chair.”

ROCKING CHAIR

The old lady likes to look out –
When a long day’s almost done –
From her westward-facing window
She watches the setting sun.

Then at dusk, in the big parlor,
Over near the open stair,
She greets her last true companion,
Her old platform rocking chair.

She recalls her faithful husband –
They’d shared years and smiles and tears –
Until at last he sagged and fell
Beneath the weight of the years.

She recalls how proud he had been
Of the six children she bore.
Feels a bit sad, thinking how she
Seldom sees them anymore.

‘Cause years raced by, as years tend to.
Before long, the kids had flown,
Leaving just her and her husband
In the big house, all alone.

When he left this world for heaven –
A life she could not yet share –
She did much praying and grieving
In this same old rocking chair.

She’s sure she feels more content here
Than the richest millionaire.
She has one friend she can count on,
Her old true-blue rocking chair.

At times the nursing home beckons,
But she refuses to go.
Why trade one’s own home and hearth for
A life you don’t even know?

So she sits and reminisces,
Now and then says a short prayer,
Thanks God for His every kindness,
And this faithful rocking chair.

MIDWEST WINTER

Every now and then I come across a new word - one that I don't know ... or know the meaning of. Usually my curiosity will eventually get the better of me and I'll go to the dictionary to look it up. A recent discovery was the word "rime." No, it has nothing to do
with writing or rhyming. It simply means "frozen water vapor." Just a short, nifty word for frost. Perhaps one we could use in late fall when – freezing becomes more and more common – and frost grows thicker on everything outdoors. Until, at last, winter takes command and we find "rime" even on the inside of our window panes.
After going to the trouble of finding out the meaning of this cute little word - and adding it to my meager vocabulary - can I find a use for it? I already have quite a few autumn poems ... about brightly-colored leaves and dark gray skies and the sad, haunting cry of those spear-shaped formations of wild geese heading south and leaving us here behind to cope with an angry, cruel winter. Autumn is a beautiful, wonderful season. The only thing I don't like about it is the fact that it leads directly into winter.
I've never cared much for that season, and still don't look forward to the cold, to the snow-clogged and icy roads, driveways and sidewalks, to appointments that must be canceled and plans that must be postponed, and to the fuel bills. But when it finally "winters in ," I usually find that It's not really so bad after all. Then we are never at a loss for conversation material: “How deep is the snow in your yard? My thermometer said 20 below. What do you suppose the wind chill factor is today?”
And then there is always the anticipation of Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day and Easter. Before we know it we will be counting down the days until spring is here. As with almost everything else, winter is about as good or as bad as we expect it to be.
Rural youngsters of my generation lacked organized entertainment activity, but we managed quite well on our own. Some of the kids in our neighborhood had ice skates and skis. Almost every family had at least one "store-bought" sled. And most farm boys could build a "single bob" sled from scrap material. Barrel stave skis were only partially successful. I often wonder how many "blue thumbnails" have resulted from trying to fasten a leather strap to the unyielding wood of a barrel stave with a hammer and roofing nails.
Flying down a steep hill, with the metal runners of a Flexible Flyer sled roaring over
ice-covered snow was a big thrill in our young lives. After supper and evening chores, we sometimes took our sleds back out to our favorite hill. A kerosene chore lantern worked well to mark the end of our trail at the ,bottom of the hill. Curves and other hazards were
often marked by torches made from tin cans, using old rags and waste oil for fuel. The light of a large, bright moon had a way of turning our familiar pasture hill into a strange new, wonderful world, or planet. Nighttime sledding parties were "just about as good as it gets."
And now to see if we can get some use out of our new word "rime."

MIDWEST WINTER
New dainty lace of autumn rime
Foretells approach of wintertime,
When soft, white snowflakes' restless shift
Creates an ever-growing drift.

Ice crystals on the pond join hands
To build a stratum that withstands
Not only the large grownups' weights,
But pressure of their sharpened skates.

The young folks laugh and shout with glee
And race outdoors with sled and ski.
No alpine mountain do they need;
The pasture hill gives breakneck speed.

When chore-time interrupts their fun,
They plan a later, evening run,
Hoping the night's full moon won't fail
To light the rugged upper trail.

Their old, coal oil chore lantern will
Target the bottom of the hill.
They speed through shadowed, eerie land,
Then climb the steep hill, hand-in-hand.

The icy air, at last, takes hold;
Their toes and fingers ache from cold.
They'll seek, after one final ride,
Hot chocolate and the warm fireside.

Then, off to bed, and peaceful sleep
With dreams of hills, where snow's piled deep.
Winter's gray skies, the cold and snow
Bring joy to those who'll have it so.