Ring-a-Ling: A Christmas Poem

I haven't attempted poetry since 10th grade creative writing class, so be warned. I wanted to summarize a story that many of you will ask me about, and what better way than a Christmas poem?! And begin...

Christmas arrived with nary a sound
A bit of snow on the ground, no kids to be found
Just me and my girl and our bright Christmas tree,
and Disco the Kitty with her new “busy-bee”

We’d planned on relaxing ‘til round about ten
Then family and presents would call us to them
So coffee in hand and a movie on queue
We cozied the couch for “The Godfather: Part II”

As Michael and Fredo in Cuba did play
I tried to conceal my jitters that day
For under the tree lied a gift of great meaning
Twas meant for my love and would soon leave her beaming

But how to convince her to open that one
Without letting on to the trick that I’d done?
Like a child I said “I wanna open a present,
So let’s pick one out for each other” I meant

I knew to go first, so I dove to the tree
She pointed way back to a box marked for me
With hands a bit shaky I tore through the wrap
For a warm winter coat, very nice one at that

Then her turn, “Which one?”, I pointed out a long box
With silver paper, a bow, much too large for a rock
Inside, a hiking bag - a meager fanny pack
“Gee, thanks” said she, I thought she might give it back!

But then, in the pack she could feel something else
I watched as she opened and looked for herself
Another box, quite small, with a jeweler’s mark
A treasure of sorts, but will it create the true spark?

As she opened the ring, I let a few moments pass
“Do you have a question for me?”, no patience, this lass
I leaned in on a knee, and spoke four famous words
And after a kiss, her reply was heard…

“Of course I will." She said the right thing!
Relieved, we looked at her shiny new bling
A marvelous ring, let’s hope it will fit
And barely it did, after sticking a bit

So that’s my story of Christmas this year
A morning engagement with mobsters and tears
Romantic? Maybe not, but memorable, yes
Suffice it to say, we feel truly blessed

Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and were able to spend time with family and friends. I miss my family and everyone back home, and I hope to see you all soon – with my fiancée!

Love,
Steve

If you only knew...

It only took me 29 years, 3 months and 11 days to hit the slopes for my first time. Annie finally convinced me that Utah has the "Best Snow on Earth - for you to crash into over and over again!" Here is where I shout out to brands I had seen frequently at various snowsports and outdoor retail trade shows over my 6 years at Grabber. My first set of rented gear: K2 skis, Nordica boots, Scott poles. I had my Rudy Project goggles (thank you, Pro Ski Instructors of America conference in 2005 for that gift), my new Columbia ski pants, and then a bunch of other mismatched gear. If I didn't look like a beginner, I proved it moments after leaving the bunny hill chair lift for the first time. I pushed myself off the chair, went down the tiny hill thinking, "this is great!", then realized I didn't know how to turn or stop, so I continued upright until I neared a drop off, and just laid it down. This became an important lesson for me: When in doubt, just lay it down. Because it will hurt less than letting gravity and downhill momentum slam you down.

Let's just say I enjoyed the bunny hill. Annie did a great job showing me the basics, and after a few practice turns and plenty of snowplowing, I could zoom down comfortably. The minute we left that lift, however, I turned into a runaway train, rolling and sliding down more slopes than actually skiing. Too much, too soon. Solitude Mountain's lift ticket says "If you only knew...", which has my brain thinking of all the ways I could finish that sentence: "...how many 5-yr-olds will laugh at you."; "...how ridiculous you'll look trying to lock your boot back into the ski you lost, while balancing precariously on a slope you can't handle."; "...how badly your thighs will ache tomorrow!"; "...how much your girlfriend will enjoy being better than you at an athletic endeavor." But I finally did it, I'm walking upright today, and I'll do it again.

Here are some pics of us recently, enjoying the Christmas season in Utah. Merry Christmas everyone!

Christmas season

Have some decency

Thanks to all of you who so discretely commented on the subject of my recent post "Rockin' the 80s". It's PROM. P-R-O-M, like the dance you got dressed up for back in high school.

And for the record, I had the stache for all of 8 hours - leading up to and during the party - and it was shaved immediately after. I have no new career aspirations or secret identities. Please people, my mother reads this blog.

Elfed Up

This is a little Christmas message to all of you out there, from me, Annie, and the kids!

Check it out HERE. Give it a minute to load up...

Rockin the 80s

Annie and I went to the IKEA 'holiday party' this week. The theme was "80s Prom".

Here is our Prom Picture.


That is my real facial hair, and what you can't see is the tie maintaining its skinny width all the way down. She was rocking a shiny faux-wrap dress that came together at the hip with a huge round buckle. Totally Awesome!

Luke would have asked R2D2 where to sit

Southwest Airlines is flying for the everyman. No snobby first class section, no dehumanizing 'assigned' seating, personable flight attendants, $1-cheaper adult beverages than other airlines, and planes with Earl Scheib paint jobs. If you haven't flown the purple and orange, it's important to note that until about a month ago, Southwest gave you boarding passes with nothing more than a single letter on it: A, B, or - you guessed it - C! Those 3 simple designations let you know what boarding group you were with, and gave you the incentive to arrive earlier so you could be first in line in your respective group. You would literally stand or sit in a line, cleverly marked with one of those 3 letters. Once your group was called, you filed onto the aircraft, and chose any seat you wished! Freedom is a beautiful thing.

However, some genius at SWA (probably a marketing executive) decided that this unique, effective system was giving us civilians a little too much leash. (It also apparently provoked several line skirmishes at DTW last Thanksgiving.) Rather than just skip the quirkiness and revert to assigned seating like every other carrier, they decided to subdivide the letter groups into letter-number combinations. So now your boarding pass may say something like "A39". This means that you're the 39th person to board the aircraft, with the A group, but you still get to choose your seat. Instead of getting to the airport earliest to nab the coveted "A1" position, you are now encouraged to check in online earlier. You still have seat-picking freedom, but your spot in line is now binding. I think someone once said the same thing about leather pants.

During my first experience with this new system, I realized that it had somehow turned otherwise normal, intelligent human beings into raving lunatics. Let me lay the crowd control logistics: Southwest gates now have handy letter-number signage on poles, both denoting the line positions, and recommending where your spot in those lines should be. For example, the head of the first line says "A 1-30", and down the line there are supplemental signs suggesting "1-5; 6-10" etc... Your job as passenger is to find your spot, comparing with the other humans around you to make sure you're in the right order. I had ticket A39, so I was in the "A 31-60" line, and someone with A40 was right behind me. For efficiency, they clear the 2 "A" lines first, then magically flip the head-of-line signs to "B" and, voila, the "B"s can assemble! As I waited, I noticed several people with "B" or "C" passes milling about our lines before we boarded, oblivious to the frequent PA announcements and actual SWA staffers helping them out. Actual arguments broke out about what the strange letters and numbers meant. One bold B-er just barged to the gate as the "A"s started moving. Our friendly gate guide politely informed him he had to wait, much to his surprise. Exasperated, he flung his arms in the air and asked if this whole deal could get any more complicated?!

It made me wonder - how does this guy even get to the correct gate in the first place? Which section is his car in at the economy lot? When he was informed his flight left from gate C18, did he stop to ask for directions? Does his head spin when he peers up at the overhead signage, pointing him to any of 5 lettered terminals, each with multiple numbered gates? Was he ever able to remember his wife's 'dimensions' for that special Valentine's gift? How does he choose which B vitamin to buy? What if his future includes games of Bingo or Battleship? WHAT SORT OF CRAZY ALPHA-NUMERIC NIGHTMARE IS HE LIVING IN?

Finally, the "B"s are called and he is ready to find his super special seat. BUT WAIT - each row is still numbered, each seat still lettered! Not to worry, the ever friendly SWA attendant reminds him those are simply relics of a long forgotten system, and he may sit where he pleases. Relieved, he buckles in, takes a deep breath, and gazes in awe at the newest Sharper Image nose hair trimmer in Skymall magazine. Prompted by the safety announcement, he casually pulls out the plane's emergeny instructions from the seat back, only to be slapped in the face with the reality that he is flying in an A-320* aircraft! (queue Psycho screech sound effects).

Look people, air travel is stressful and often exhausting. Take a minute to examine your surroundings, prepare your route, and for all our sakes - fly Delta and SIT WHERE YOU'RE TOLD.

(*Southwest flies only 737s, but that would have killed the gag)