Super Bowl

When I was a kid the Super Bowl was just as important as my birthday and nearly upon level with Christmas. During the week leading up the big game, the anticipation was too much to bear. I was worthless in school. The teacher would call on me in class and I would be daydreaming about Terry Bradshaw throwing a touchdown strike to John Stallworth, and the subsequent Steelers' big win. It was so huge for me that I couldn't sit still to hold another thought.

On the day of the game, I would wake up really early to turn on the television and watch the marathon of former Super Bowl games, really focusing on the four that Pittsburgh won. I had every highlight memorized, the accompanying music, and the deep-voiceded vernacular of John Facenda, the overvoice specialist for NFL Films. There would be a break for mass, another for lunch, and by three in the afternoon, my father couldn't stand to hear me or my brother ask one more time, "How long until it's on?"

Buttoned up from head-to-toe, we would be sent outside to re-enact the Immaculate Reception (yes, I know that was not in a Super Bowl game,) Lynn Swan's tiptoe dance along the sideline, or even the folly of the play that the tight end from Dallas created when he dropped a sure touchdown to put them ahead of the Steelers. What was that guy's name again? I should send him a thank you card.

Anyway, the stress of the day would get to me. By the time the Super Bowl came on, I had another tradition. My migraine headache would be so bad that I would have to lay down in a dark room until it abated or the game was over, which was usually one in the same. What a big letdown after all the anticipation.

I watched every Super Bowl with my father until 2003 when it just wasn't feasible to have one of us drive so far. Nevertheless, every year I call Dad on Super Bowl Sunday to get his prediction. Every year he pretty much nails it. About five years ago my brother Chris and I started a tradition. Each year, he calls me or I call him minutes before the game and we place a wager on it. The loser pays the other's out-of-state fishing fees for our annual Colorado fly-fishing trip in July.

Whether it's for the love of the game, for tradition, or for the commercials, the Super Bowl is more than just a contest between the two best football teams in the world. It's a social event that's big enough to cause Wal Mart to move snack items to the center aisle. Whatever your tradition, and whether your team made it or not, I hope your Super Bowl Sunday is a good one.

Christmas Traditions

All year long I dream about certain Christmas traditions my family does to help with Christmas spirit. The month leading up to Christmas is full of traditions, but Christmas Eve is ever-so-special. Here's what we're doing today on Christmas Eve.

1. Wake up and take the chocolate out of the 24th pouch on our Christmas calendar.
2. Watch Polar Express for the thirty-second time this season.
3. String popcorn and cranberries for the Christmas tree.
4. Bring out the Christmas village and put it on the table.
5. Lunch: pigs in blankets
6. Mix oats and sprinkles for Santa's reindeer.
7. Watch the snow fly!
8. More food! Assorted cheeses, summer sausage, fudge, little smokies, olives, more pigs in blankets, fudge, etc. Snack all afternoon.
9. Watch A Christmas Carol.
10. Go out and look at lights, provided the snow doesn't hamper this. Take a tour of the Angel Festival out at the lake.
11. Read How the Grinch Stole Christmas and The Night Before Christmas.
12. Put kids to bed so that they can dream about sugar plums.
13. Watch the best Christmas movie ever, It's a Wonderful Life.
14. Take a nap.
15. Go to Midnight Mass. Usher in the first hour of Christmas the right way.

Whatever your Christmas traditions are, I hope you enjoy them and that God blesses you and your family!

Trans-Siberian Orchestra

I was shocked the first time I heard the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and my brother Chris told me that it was Christmas music. To me Christmas music consisted of church songs, Peanuts Christmas Special, and for those more adventurous, the Grinch. But when I heard "Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24" for the first time, there was something there that lured me in. From then on it wasn't as if I were disrespecting Christmas by listening to them, but enhancing it. It's like enjoying fruit like bananas oranges and apples, then discovering mangoes.

A few opinions. Their CD Chrismas Eve and Other Stories is by far their best work, and it was their first. That's not to say that their work hasn't dropped off. Each CD has songs that I just love. And to dispel a myth, they aren't just hard rock, though they are often portrayed as such. Their accoustic stuff is good enough to listen to on Christmas Eve while staring enchantedly at a lit Christmas tree or on the way to Midnight Mass.

I am breaking this list down into three different lists: Electric (hard) Accoustic, and Narrative (telling a story.) So as always, feel free to debate, and have a Merry Christmas!

Electric Category:
1. "Wizards in Winter" (the one on the commercial with the blinking house lights- just awesome!)
2. "Christmas Eve/ Sarajevo 12/24"
3. "Ornament"
4. "A Mad Russian's Chrstmas"
5. "Midnight Christmas Eve"

Accoustic:
1. "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" (very beautiful)
2. "Dream Child"
3. "Christmas Jazz"
4. "The First Noel"
5. "The Silent Nutcracker"

Narrative:
1. "Old City Bar" (maybe a bit cheesy, but a good story of giving)
2. "The Snow Came Down"

Christmas Songs

Christmas break starts for me today, so instead of listening to Christmas songs in the car on the way to school, the radio in the kitchen is sure to be blaring the local Christian radio station all day long for the next week. What a special time of year! Really, is there such excitement at any other time of year? Well, that will probably be the topic for a future post. My last post covered my favorite a cappella Christmas songs, so as hard as it is, I will not repeat any of them... maybe. Below are my favorite Christmas songs played with a musical accompaniment... accompanyment... accompanement... er... played with instruments in the background. Sorry, too busy baking cookies to grab a dictionary. As always, feel free to debate. Hope your Christmas seaeson is full of the sounds of joy!

P.S. There are too many Trans-Siberian Orchestra songs to include on this list, so look for them in a future post between now and Christmas.

Descending order from really great to the greatest:
10. "White Christmas" -the Louis Armstrong version
9. "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy"-the Boston Pops Orchestra
8. "Tennessee Christmas"-Alabama
7. "I'll Be Home for Christmas"-Elvis
6. "Home for the Holidays"- Perry Como
5. "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year"-Andy Williams
4. "Blue Christmas"- Elvis
3. "The Christmas Song"-Nat King Cole (the 1961 version with strings)
2. "Christmastime Is Here"-The Charlie Brown Version
1. "Ave Maria"-Luciano Pavarotti

A Cappella

Most years from sometime late in October to the start of the new year, I listen to nothing but Christmas music. Of all the tunes and styles, I really enjoy A Cappella carols. It reminds me of all that's holy about Christmas Eve. So I would like to share with you my favorite A Capella Christmas songs in descending order to the greatest. If there is a song that you feel I left out or that should be on the list, feel free to comment. God bless you this Christmas season!

5. "Silent Night" (especially the German Version "Stille Nacht"
4. "The Holly and the Ivy"
3. "Rejoice, Rejoice, Emmanuel"
2. "Pit a Pan"
1. "Carol of the Bells"

Christmas Story '09

"Hunger for the Holidays"

Venison Shoulder Roast with Wild Mushrooms, Apples and Turnips. Venison Osso Buco with Israeli Couscous. Venison Backstrap with Pears, Red Wine, and Pickled Golden Raisins. These are the recipes that greeted me when the December issue of Field and Stream arrived at my house just before the start of the Oklahoma Deer Gun season, and I salivated at the possibilities for the dinner table on Christmas day. "America's Meat" was the title of the article and the variety of styles and the geographical location of each chef only backed up the title's claim. From the experts of the Cajun kitchens of New Orleans to the pretentiousness of ritzy five-star restaurants in New York, venison is a delicacy that those who don't hunt can only appreciate for its taste. Around here, well, that's another story.

Anyone who has ever eaten venison prepared correctly knows that there is nothing that even comes close in taste. The tenderness and flavor of a medium-rare backstrap over the grill is enough to make one wish for warmer grilling weather. A lean roast in the crockpot, "camp" chili, even deer jerky: these simple recipes had always been the fruits of the hard work when dragging a 200 pound deer out of the trees. When my shoulder would feel about ready to give, the thought of a freezer full of meat for the coming year was more than enough motivation to get the job done. So when I read these recipes and the taste buds started to water, the excitement of the hunt peaked. I pictured not just these staples on my plate, but all that came with the terroir of our red soil mixed with vast American cultures.

So on the opening morning of Oklahoma’s deer gun season, all the proper arrangements had been made Carrying my new rifle that my wife and her family bought me for my previous birthday, 6:30 found me in the exact same spot that I had been in three years before when I had taken my first doe on my wife's family land in Northwest Oklahoma. I recalled the joys of that hunt. I reminisced on the unseasonably-warm weather, the little forkhorn that trotted right up to my Dad and me, and its social awkwardness when we both smiled at it. And I gave great contemplation to the harvest later that week, of the doe who presented herself just a few moments before legal shooting light gave way to night. It fed me on cold winter days with warm bowls of chili. It fed five hungry fishermen after a long day of fly fishing in Colorado. Hamburgers in May, steaks in July, roasts in September, and none of it went to waste. Its sustenance was a special bond between a nostalgic hunter with only a doe tag on him and a giving God.

I peered southwest through the semi-darkness to the exact spot where my bullet had found its mark and I noted to my dismay that the vegetation and the growth of the tree branches of the little creek that traversed the property would impede any attempt at the same shot this year. I then glanced north at the open pasture where two years prior, with my brother sitting in the same spot my father had the year before, I created one of my biggest gaffs to date. With only a buck tag in my wallet, a decent eight-pointer came running to Chris' calling and did an about-face at ten yards when he caught wind of us. Though having girls on the mind, he stopped twenty-five yards away and gave me a clear shot. Someone once said that the two loudest sounds a hunter will ever hear is a boom when you expected a click, and a click when you expected a boom. Well, I got the latter.

It wasn't in the cards that year, unless one considers the deer. God mercifully gave life that day. The firing pin only nicked the surface of the primer and when he also heard the click, he took to his hooves. Though being girl crazy, he paused broadside once again at 100 yards and I apparently shot for 450 with my next round, all of which now makes my brother and me laugh at the remembering.

In the few years I had been able to hunt this little slice of heaven, I had already gathered many memories which always make for great conversation at reunions, or anytime for that matter. And despite not having any of my loved ones beside me to share the day's experience, I fully expected to make some new memories to share around the Christmas table or to rehash over a campfire in the Rockies with the guys. I suppose that is why I wasn't surprised when not fifteen minutes into shooting light, a nice doe appeared just to the west of my blind, browsing in the only clearing in the trees that afforded me a shot. As with most glorious moments, I found myself outside my body, watching with intense interest the scene unfolding before me. Time slowed to highlight-reel speed as the hunter raised his Remington 700 Magnum to his shoulders and made an impossible shot. At least that's how I would prefer to remember it (and undoubtedly that's how it will be told in Colorado with even more fantastic details to be made up by then,) but the truth of the matter is that all I had time to do was assess the deer and fire. Mercifully, it was over in five seconds or less. Despite the lack of drama, I was again thankful that God had provided, but interestingly He hadn't provided for me this time.

To play it safe, I had bought both a doe and a buck tag. I had planned on donating the first deer I harvested to Hunters Against Hunger for some family in need, but in speaking to my wife, I found out about a nearby family in need. When my father-in-law and I hauled the doe to their farm, they were thankful in receiving and answered yes when asked if they would take another one. To that point I had been wavering back and forth about the right thing to do. Venison Tenderloin with Sage, Pumpkin, and Prunes sounded awfully delicious, but the fact was that God had provided well for my family and any venison in my freezer, while certainly not going to waste, would be in excess to my needs. It's not coincidental that God made it to where the harvest season directly precedes the season for giving.

That next morning in the half-light of dawn and under almost the exact same circumstances as the morning before, an eight-pointer served as a second Christmas gift for that family. So on Christmas day when I am enjoying ham or turkey with my family, I will smile knowing that God has provided. Pan Roasted Venison with Jalapeno Sauce can wait until next Christmas.

Bye, Bye Beard (AKA The Miracles Behind Giving Thanks)

No Shave November? Not exactly. At the beginning of November I started a spiritual journey of transformation from one who relies on society to one who relies on the land for sustenance. As described in a previous blog (The Dear Beard, Nov. 8) man's natural rhythms which parallel nature's are mostly forgotten or blocked in an effort to merely survive the life that society dictates. It's only in changing one's frame of mind or immersing onself in nature that the primitive man can again regain his natural rhythm (and priorties for that matter.) Since immersion reqires on-site failure, I opted to change my frame of mind. Making an abstract concept tangible, I decided that a symbolic statement like growing out a November beard would prime my natural instincts. Well, tonight I shaved it all off in the wake of a miracle.

This was opening weekend of Oklahoma's deer gun season. Feeling lucky, or perhaps wanting to hedge my bets on selecting the sex of the deer that was to pass my stand, I opted to buy both a buck and a doe tag. My original intention was to butcher the first deer myself, something I have never done but have longed to do, so that we could have meat in the freezer for this winter. Being so fortuitous as to harvest the first deer, my intention then would focus on the philantrophic nature of the holiday season which is engrained in every red-blooded American, and not just during the holidays. Using the popular program Hunters against Hunger, I would then donate my second deer (again if I were lucky enough to get this far) to a processor who would then give the meat to needy families. Naturally, this entire plan was contingent on my harvesting two deer in two weeks. A few days before the start of the season, and at my wife's urging for she doesn't care much for venison, I decided that I would donate both deer. After all our needs are already provided for.

So Saturday morning I rose at five o'clock, made all preparations, rubbed my beard for good luck, and found myself sitting in my ground blind at 6:30. Legal shooting light officially began at 6:42 A.M. and eighteen minutes later my doe was on the ground. I had planned on one shooting lane and hoped for luck to bring my deer into that perfect position a mere forty yards from where I crouched behind some farm machinery. Thankfully God provided: the doe stopped in the right place and my bullet found its mark. In the process of field dressing the animal, my wife called and informed me of a family in need. It wasn't a large animal, weighing ninety pounds dressed, and of that ninety pounds, an estimated thirty-five percent of it was meat, but that meant that the family would eat through the holidays and part-way through the winter. And when I dropped off the deer at their doorstep to be butchered, a family of six with very little income was there with smiles of thanks that couldn't be substituted for a thousand words of the same. I felt a little like Ebeneezer Scrooge when he has the poulter deliver the prized turkey to Bob Cratchet's family. It was a lot more personal than putting change in the offering plate.

So it really surprised them this morning, the Sunday morning prior to Thanksgiving, when the offering plate went around twice. A buck this time, fifteen minutes later than the doe the day before, stood in the exact same spot and again the bullet ran straight. Being much larger than the doe, this animal will surely feed them through the winter and well into 2010. Again the smiles on the "Cratchet" children did my soul well for God always provides. Going to church on Sunday is important, but doing God's work is like putting your money where your mouth is. Never have I had a deer hunt run this smoothly nor have I had success come so easily. And lightning never strikes twice in the same place. So to have two deer on the ground twenty-four hours and fifteen minutes apart under these circumstances is nothing short of miraculous. That's how I see it through my human eyes, but I know that it's just part of a day's work for the Big Man.

And so on my way home this afternoon, I recalled writing that I would have to find a reason to keep my beard after deer season, but for one of the only times in my life (and the first time in many years) I felt a strange sense of completion. Mission accomplished. There was now no reason to keep the fuzz. Going into this Thanksgiving week, I thank God for all the little "miracles" that sustain those in need.