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Poor ol' Charlie Brown; staring into his mailbox on Valentine's Day, hoping to find a Valentine. He never does. And when he yells "hello" into the mailbox, the only answer he gets back is his own echo. "Hello! Hello! Happy Valentine's Day!" Man, that's an oxymoron for Charlie, and for lots of real-life folks.
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I happen to be the only member of our family who will eat mincemeat pie. That's fine with me. Don't feel bad for me. Certain holiday seasons of the year, someone in the family will indulge me with my very own mincemeat pie. And it is my very own! Sharing is really not an issue here. Now, what I do since I don't get it very often is I try to make it last, because I don't get a lot, you know. So, I take these small slices over an extended period of time and it's great! Well, one problem: If I make it last too long, it starts to lose something. It's called freshness. A lot of times by the time I get to the end of that pie, I kind of wish I'd eaten it faster. See, that's the sad thing about a treat like that. It starts spoiling the minute it comes out of the oven really. Maybe I should eat the whole pie at one sitting. Actually, a lot of life's rewards are like that...I mean spoiling.
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Some years ago I had an opportunity to be at the famous art museum in Paris called "The Louvre." Well, if you haven't had French, you could say The Louvre, but that would be gauche. As I stared at these tremendous masterpieces, I actually became overwhelmed with emotion.
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OK, I'm a history buff. So my kids had opportunity to visit many houses and villages that are historic preservations or restorations. They might put that a little differently. "We got dragged to all this history stuff!" Our two sons especially got to dreading that word "tour." In fact, you know what? They made it a much longer word. It went something like this: "Oh, we're not going on another toooooo-urrrrr?" Well, one thing that made the tours a little more interesting, were the craftsmen working their crafts. Like the potter, for example. Even the kids enjoyed stopping to watch him do his work. He'd start with this worthless lump of clay and slowly, painstakingly, he would transform it into something really beautiful and valuable. I could tell that by the prices in the gift shop for that pottery.
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It was a sight many of us never expected to see in our lifetime. Now I wish we could see it again. In the times we live in, we'd love to see something like this, except for what caused it. Here were the members of Congress, Republicans and Democrats standing together, singing "God Bless America" with all their hearts. What a moment!
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At our house as the kids were growing up, you didn't have to wait for the Fourth of July to have fireworks. No. All you had to have was one of those days when one of my sons declined an assignment with these wonderful words, "Nah, that's women's work!" Oh, no! No, don't wait for the Fourth of July. No, my wife and daughter were nowhere near excited about that particular philosophy of life. They had a problem with that idea that there are certain jobs that a man is above. Actually, I have a problem with that idea. Actually, I think God has a problem with it.
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My children were picking up their children from school, and that day they were holding them very close. Because some parents of little schoolchildren in Connecticut would not be able to pick up their children from school or hold them close. Not that day - never again.
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Now, you probably wouldn't expect the subject of intimacy to come up in a discussion of wallpaper. Yeah, well it did. I have a friend who is a painter and a wallpaperer for a living, and he was helping in our office. He actually volunteered to help us out by scraping the old wallpaper off a wall that really needed some work. And before we were in our building, someone had put wallpaper on the sheetrock years ago. Well, when I walked in, he was very frustrated because what happened was, well apparently, when they had applied that wallpaper to the sheetrock they hadn't put any preparation layer on it. So, you can probably guess what happened. The wallpaper and the top layer of the sheetrock had sort of become one. And when he scraped off the wallpaper, you got it. The top layer of the sheetrock came with it. He was pretty frustrated, and he held them up to me and he said, "I can't separate them!" Then he said, "You know what we call this, Ron?" We being "wallpaperers" I guess. He said, "We call this an intimate bond." Well, those intimate bonds are hard to separate.
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When I fly into Washington D.C., I sort of flash back to an unforgettable scene. It's been quite a while, but I can't help but think of it as I see that same bridge. It actually happened way back in 1982 in January. It was when Air Florida's flight 90 took off in Washington. It raked the 14th Street Bridge; plunged into the freezing waters of the Potomac River. I can still remember that image of the tail section sticking up out of the river and six survivors clinging to that plane.
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It was really cold outside. It wasn't supposed to be cold inside. But when I awoke that morning, my nose felt like a puppy nose. It was cold - 45 degrees in the house! Turned out the problem wasn't the thermometer. No, that just reflected the temperature. It was the thermostat that sets the temperature.
