Our Christmas Lunch.

Hello Troops,
Did you all enjoy your Christmas? Were their presents under your tree? Are you happy someone felt kindly enough toward you to part with their hard earned cash to give you something you may or may not have deserved? Now that Christmas is over, have you taken out the check book, wallet and credit card receipts to see what's left in the bank? You may be living on oatmeal and saltines for the next month, but at least its all over.

I was up early on Christmas morning. Don’t know why. I still remember the days when I used to be able to log a good 8 hours of sleep a night. I’m down to 6 now. I have the time to sleep 8 but my brain won’t let me.

We all gathered around Jilane and Kevin’s tree for the opening of gifts. All very traditional. I took Grandma to the house after the opening of gifts so she could put the turkey in the oven. She worked away in the downstairs kitchen while I cleaned the kitchen upstairs. She called for help. She had Lisa’s bathroom scales out on the kitchen floor waiting for me.
“What do you need?” I asked.
“I can’t cook this turkey properly if I don’t know how much it weighs,” she explained.
I read the packaging and found no indication of weight. That meant we had to weigh it somehow. Mother’s solution was the bathroom scales. There was one small problem, were they accurate? Mother wanted me to get up on the scales and find out. How was I suppose to know if the scales were accurate by weighing myself? I didn’t know what I weighed. I know what I wish I weighed but that absolutely would fall into the realm of fiction.

The scales were digital, which placed them beyond my mother’s ability to understand and use. That alone put the fear into her leaving me behind to deal with the situation. I stood on the scales to see what they said. I planned on comparing the scale’s readout to my last known weight from my doctor’s scales in August. The digital numbers rolled a few times to the left and right, as if the machine couldn’t decide on a correct number. A few seconds later came the reading. The small window between my feet displayed this
“Err” The scales gave me an error reading. What was that all about? What did it mean? Was the error against me for attempting to use them to calculate my weight or was it something else? Maybe “Err” was the scales commentary on my life, kind of like the mechanical fortune tellers you find at a local carnival. Drop in a coin, the Gypsie opens its marble eyes, says something in gibberish - the official language of all carnivals, raises it wooden arm draped in someone’s curtains from the 1930’s and dispenses a card detailing your fortune. In my case, the scales didn’t attempt politeness. What I should have gotten was a ridiculously low weight to boost my self esteem and confidence. What I got was an “Err”. Story of my life, yes?

We were still left with the problem of weighing the turkey. Instead of putting my whole weight on the scale I tried my foot. The numbers rolled and landed on a number that seemed reasonable. I stood on the scale again, never wanting to admit defeat. Grandma handed me a warped aluminum baking pan holding our Christmas turkey. Another “Err” appeared. OK, time for plan 2. We took the turkey out of the pan and placed it directly on the white digital bathroom scales. So there we were, Grandma and me standing over Tom Turkey, barely balanced on the scale with its two legs hanging out and down. It was comical. The scale thought for a moment then displayed “Err”. Finally, the scale and I found something we could both agree on. It was a complete error to do what we were doing. To make a long story short, after several attempts we finally got the scale to give us a reading of 18 pounds. The scale was dripping with turkey juices but we got the job done. There would be turkey for lunch.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent in controlled chaos as Lisa and Grandma prepared the meal. I enjoyed the shouting up and down the stairs between kitchens. Then a catastrophe. We were out of brown sugar for the candied yams. Lisa sent Grandpa and I on a brown sugar Christmas quest. Walgreens was our first stop. They had the butter we needed but no brown sugar. As we left the kindly clerk at the cash register wished us both a very merry Christmas.
“Bah Humbug,” Grandpa shot back. I stopped long enough to make excuses for his poor behavior. I explained the fact that he was born during the Great Depression, had a hard childhood, had eight kids, many of whom were intelligent enough to hold down real paying jobs, and was in his 70’s. I also added the fact that he’d recently fallen over a curb, hit his head and for the past two months has no sense of taste. I must have done a good job because they were all in tears.
“That poor man,” one older lady said to the clerk opposite me. Having been a showman my whole life I understood when to make an exit. I left the store knowing someone’s life may have been changed because of our brown sugar quest.

Albertson’s in American Fork was our next stop. It was closed. The third stop was the Chevron station on the Pleasant Grove border. Again, no brown sugar. I purchased a diet Mt. Dew. Grandpa bought a bag of orange circus peanuts candies.
“What are those for?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t be buying them for himself, having lost his sense of taste.
“Lisa,” he responded. “Kind of like a peace offering for not finding Brown Sugar.”

Our last stop was the Maverick Station on State Street. Grandpa gassed up his red truck while I examined the store’s shelves. Nothing - just as I expected. When we got home we discovered the yams were in the oven. Thank goodness for neighbors that thought ahead for any possible Christmas necessity.

We decided to eat around the table! I know how shocking that is to everyone that knows my family. We are the kind of people who use the living room as our dining room and the TV as our excuse not to speak to each other. Having a neutral party in the room as we eat (like any TV show that happens to be airing at the time) keeps us focused on the small screen and not each other’s personality and character flaws.

The food was spread out on the table. It all came together perfectly. I even mashed the potatoes. It is my belief the potatoes were the highlight of Christmas dinner - something I had to point out during the consumption of the food thus forcing everyone sitting around me to dispense compliments, sincere or not.
We gathered around the table for formal blessing of the food. Grandma had the honors, considering she was the least haggard of the group. We bowed our heads and folded our arms. She started.
Half way through the prayer a cell phone rang, right in the section where she was thanking the good Lord for her children, grand children and all her other many blessings. We looked up and saw something so disturbing it put many of us off our food. There stood Grandma with her hand down her blouse. Her hand was fumbling around in her bra looking for her cell phone. I’m proud of her though. She kept saying the prayer, paying no attention to the fact that everyone else in the house was staring at her in shock. The teenagers started laughing, then did their best to stifle the laughs when they saw she wasn’t going to abort the prayer.

We started eating. There were uncomfortable pauses as we stared at each other. We quickly exhausted polite conversation and quickly descended into commentary on each other and others not present who couldn’t defend themselves. Those with weak nerves ate quickly and asked to be excused. The rest of us continued for some time, stopping only when the food was cold and orders were going out for the cleaning.

It was an interesting Christmas day. Its all over now. Christmas 2009 is a thing of the past.

I’m hoping this Boxing Day finds everyone in good spirits and health. Unfortunately I’ve fallen victim to a bad cold. I felt fine this morning, even went on an invigorating 45 minute walk. Right after the walk I felt the start of a sore throat. So, I have the pleasure of keeping a sore throat company, along with its companion, the runny nose.

We stopped at WalMart earlier today to purchase a new TV stand for my mother. While there, my mother found a homeopathic treatment for the relief of symptoms associated with the flu and cold. The name is long, taking up the entire front label of the box. I wondered why the French makers of this stuff couldn’t come up a name easily remembered. Wouldn’t be in their best commercial interests to give a product a name simple enough for their costumers to use when they recommend it to their friends and family? If you called me right now and asked me I could only tell you the name is long, it starts with an O, and the package is orange and white. I’m hoping this medicine, along with my Coldeze and the occasional swig of DayQuill will keep me functioning.

So, good night troops. I’ll see many of you soon.

Mr. Williamson

My Christmas Eve Story. I Was Lost then Found. A Modern Day Miracle.

Merry Christmas Troops!
It's Christmas Eve. Are you wondering what happened to the year like me? It was just Halloween, then Thanksgiving and now Christmas! It will be 2010 in a snap. Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?

Just wait until January, February, March and April...... Yes the long dry spell of routine - highlighted with cold temperatures, snow, rain, school and more school. Our week long Spring Vacation will break the drought. The rest of the year will sail by after we return from Spring Vacation.

The long dry spell is hard on our Space Center daytime staff. We will be doing the same thing, saying the same thing, telling the same missions and teaching the same classes pretty much non-stop. It can be a bit mind numbing. Its kind of like working at at an amusement park.
"Please step into the vehicle. Hands up while the bar drops. Please keep your hands and legs into the car at all times. Hold on and enjoy the ride." Yes, we cycle people in and out of our ships day in and day out. It will be a true challenge to stay focused and fresh. I'm trusting the staff will be up to the job. We've been doing it for 19 years and will continue to do it for as long as the District tolerates us.

My Day of Shopping

I went out shopping today. What a shock to my system. Since when did so many people move to Utah County? Where did all the cars come from? Remember, my world is primarily five miles or so in diameter and very insulated. I get up, walk to school down very empty neighborhood streets. Work my ten hours or so, put my coat back on and walk home on pretty empty streets. My day is spent in an elementary school that has held steady at around 500 students for the 27 years I've been here. Central is one of the smallest schools in the Alpine District. Staff arrive from the Other World to work our missions and then disappear back to the Other World when the missions are finished.

Occasionally it is necessary to venture outside my sanctuary. Even then I don't go that far. I gas up at Walkers and shop at the Lindon Walmart, all within a mile or two from my home. My bubble expands when I visit family and go to a movie but even then it is occasionally. I live in a very sheltered, seemingly rural, innocent place.

Today my eyes were open to the horrors of modern life outside my tranquil shell. The traffic reminded me of New York City. Cars everywhere. So many in fact there were times I just held my breath, said a quick "Hail Mary" and pressed on the gas hoping someone in the never ending line of oncoming traffic would take pity on an old duffer in a big Lincoln and let me in unmolested. It worked, for the most part. I was only honked at twice. I felt pretty good about that.

The lines at the traffic lights stretched forever. So far in fact that sometimes I'd get in the turning lane for a light you couldn't see in the distance. I inched my way up over several light cycles until it was my turn to turn. Even then I rarely got the green arrow. It was usually me pulling out into the intersection where I'd wait for a break in the oncoming traffic to make my turn. That was dangerous in its own right. Today the break rarely came so I'd sit there until my light changed from green to yellow and finally to red. Of course, I didn't dare go on the yellow, or the red. I had to wait until I was sure the oncoming traffic was stopped. That usually meant holding up traffic from the other two directions. Pleasant isn't a word I'd use to describe the mood of the cars waiting for my hugh Battlestar to maneuver the turn, catch the wind and sail free of the intersection.

Finding a parking place was laughable. Luckily I planed ahead for that and brought hiking boots, a canteen and energy bars for the long trek from the last parking place in the 30 acre lot to the store's entrance. I'm happy to report that WalMart was prepared and had drink and first aid stations set up at regular intervals throughout the lot to rescue and rehydrate exhausted hikers. It was so bad at the Orem WalMart that the Salvation Army swapped the Red Kettle and bell ringer for a 50 cot MASH aid station caring for the holiday's shopping casualties. I stopped for a moment to take a whiff or two of pure oxygen. A nurse took my blood pressure. I think I was OK. They let me go.

The interior of the stores were a nightmare. Shopping carts were everywhere, leading dazed shoppers aimlessly around the store in a macabre version of bumper cars, only with carts. Children swung from the overhead light fixtures, giving one the feeling of jungle life. Every check out was open, even the ones not used since the middle of the Cold War. They were the ones with the big, non computerized cash registers where the cashier had to manually enter each price into the machine. Forget any sense of accuracy. Every employee of the store was manning a register so forget getting help with an item. It was a mad house. Some shoppers paid a bit extra for the shopping carts with GPS units attached so they could be found if they didn't return within a certain amount of time. The local Search and Rescue Teams were on hand to "go in" if necessary.

In one store the managers stood on tall ladders in every department directing traffic up and down the aisles with large megaphones and exaggerated arm waving. I found the fire brigade and paramedics at another store. They were called in to treat the wounded from a multi cart pile up near frozen foods. It was ugly, bodies everywhere, not to mention the horror of seeing civilization nearly break down completely as other shoppers were arrested for picking through the purses and wallets of the fallen. It was horrible. A sad commentary of modern life.

By the time I reached Target I was nearly done for. It seemed all was lost. It seemed the world was at an end. I began wondering if life was still worth living. I got out of my car a good 3 miles from the store's doors and started to walk. What I saw caused my heart to numb. Bodies of shoppers everywhere. Some half in their cars and half out, others overcome while loading their purchases in their trunks. The smell of exhaustion's fumes tainted the air. I felt all holiday joy ebbing from my body. I sank to the tarmac ground, I could hear the sound of wild, rabid dogs nearby. I thought all was lost.... and then, a miracle. I heard singing. It was coming from my left. It was the sound of Christmas carols.

I struggled to my feet. Pulling every ounce of strength out of my being I walked. Ten minutes later I came into a clearing. In front of me was a congregation of shoppers, all gathered around what appeared to be a Priest standing high on the top of a large Hummer. He led the crowd in holiday songs and urged us onward. He reminded us of the true meaning of Christmas. He told us that with God on our side nothing was impossible.
"Remember your families waiting for you back home," he shouted. "Don't forsake them. Find the strength to continue. Do it for them. DO IT FOR THEM!"

The crowd cheered. I felt new breath filling my lungs. Yes, I could get through this day. I could make it back to Pleasant Grove. Yes, this could still be a Happy Christmas.

With my new found strength I persevered and finished what I had to do. I made it home. All is well now. All is well.

Happy Christmas Troops. May your Holidays be full of fun, good food and good company.

Mr. Williamson

News on Training, Promotions and Randomn Thoughts of Little to No Importance.

Wyatt L. Running the Odyssey this Saturday. He was shaking and quivering so badly due to nerves the picture actually came out blurry.

Hello Troops,
Christmas vacation is so close you can taste and smell it. You know, I was thinking the other day about alien invasions. I decided, after careful consideration of all facts, that the best time for an alien invasion of Earth would be right after Christmas. Here is my reasoning: Humans eat and eat and then eat some more during the holidays. This non stop feasting results in heavier humans. If the aliens ultimate goal is to.....well.... you know, then right after Christmas would be the best time to invade and herd the cattle into the stockyards, so to speak.
Just something to consider as you make your post holiday plans. Keep your eyes on the skies and if you see bright lights, head for hills.

Now for the News.

Wyatt L is training for Flight Directing in the Odyssey. He ran the first chair position for most of the Overnight Camp this past weekend.
"He's doing survivably well," Emily said when questioned about Wyatt's performance. I watched him for a spell. I thought he did pretty good, except for the few occasions he resembled a deer caught in the headlights. Its that look we get from trainees when they're trying to drink from a fire hose and everything is happening at the same time and everything is bearing down on top of them at once and several things are waiting for their attention and they become so sensory overloaded that the only thing their body can do to compensate is freeze, go blank, and wait in the center of the road for the inevitable.

Keep going Wyatt. According to all indications you're on schedule and doing well in your training.

Josh being congratulated by Brittney, the Magellan Set Director, and her Side Kick and fellow Magellan Flight Director Zac H. Tecnically Zac shouldn't be in the picture but when he saw me taking this picture he couldn't resist and jumped right in. Luckily, Josh had two hands.

And now for Josh A. Josh worked hard, flight after flight, to get his Magellan and Voyager passes. His hours of work paid off on Saturday when Mr. Daymont shocked the Space Center World by announcing that Josh A. received his last Magellan pass. Josh made it into the prestigious club of Blue Shirted Supervisors. He gets his special pass that allows him access the 4th grade restrooms. He gets to stand and stare at the black shirt volunteers. He gets to give orders and actually expect them to be carried out! He gets to talk to me and have me really listen instead of pretending (which I do very well). He gets to have first pick of our sorry collection of sleeping pads, dredged out from under the stage every weekend. He gets to sit at the same table as others who wear the collar during our gathering times at 11:00 P.M. Friday and 10:30 A.M. Saturday.

Ah yes, the pleasure I get from presenting someone with their Supervising Shirt. I enjoy their enthusiasm. I enjoy their drive. I enjoy seeing the hope it gives those caught in the black T-Shirt collective to see one of their own fight and claw his way out of the pit and into the light. But most of all, I enjoy seeing them walk up and down the school's halls rubbing their blue collar between their index finger and thumb. Its their polite way of drawing attention to themselves without actually shouting "Everybody Look At ME." It is a polite way to say, "Look at me everyone. Look at what I've done. If you're not impressed you should be. Notice me. Notice the collar. Yes, it really is me. I'm still Josh - just not 'like' you any more. I have Ascended."

Congratulations Josh on your Supervising Shirt. You're a fantastic volunteer and we are honored you share you time with us.

Mr. Williamson