Merry CHRISTMAS

CHANGE IS GOOD…
is a lesson we try to teach our children all the time. (Apparently we need to work on our communication skills because their normal reaction is to tell us that paper money is better and that a series of untraceable wire transfers to a numbered bank account in the Cayman Islands is ideal.) Regardless, it was all about “change” at our house this year. Nothing extreme, but we can’t help feeling that we are leaving one of life’s highways and merging to the on-ramp of the next avenue of our lives. We may be here awhile; the retirement SUV keeps getting cut off by the are-you-nuts-you-still-have-kids-in-school mini-van.

DON’T BE AFRAID TO CHANGE…
otherwise the clothes you have on will never get laundered. This was the sage advice we gave Dan this fall as we sent him off to freshman year at the University of Illinois. Thirty year old déjà vu struck on the inaugural trip to drop him off when Dan’s I-Pod randomly kicked out a remake of a Talking Heads song, followed by a cut from the new Devo album and then some Motown inspired music. Like Pavlov’s dogs, Robin and Dave were all revved up for a frat house kegger by the time we arrived. We were disappointed, yet again, that a college dorm room is the size of, well, a college dorm room, making it difficult to find a place to stow the 64 piece tool set Robin insisted Dan bring with him (apparently mistaking that mechanical engineering is what one studies to become a mechanic). Dan is getting along well so far, although when he came home for the long Labor Day weekend singing Marvin Gaye’s, “Let’s Get It On” with the fervor of a gospel choir, it caused us to wonder just what he’d been up to those first two weeks.

WHEN YOU’RE FINISHED CHANGING, YOU’RE FINISHED
Cary, now a high school sophomore, lives by this credo, at least when it comes to fashion. One must wear numerous outfits during the course of the day. The same is true of her friends who show up for a casual overnight stay with a couple outfits for the evening, something else to sleep in and yet another to put on in the morning. Having Cary’s friends over is a lot different than having Dan’s friends over. Last night, we bought one pizza for a group of about ten girls and still had half of it left at the end of the evening. The only conclusion is that they stuff the pockets of all their outfits with granola bars before they show up.


THINGS DO NOT CHANGE, WE CHANGE
Dan changed into a dog. No sooner had Dan left for college when he was replaced by Peaches, a 100 pound palooka of a dog that moves with the deliberation of Congress trying to pass a political kidney stone. Since both Dan and Peaches eat a lot of food and sleep most of the day, we hardly notice the difference. Fortunately, only one barks at the neighbors (but we plan to work on that while Dan is home for Christmas break).

THE MORE THINGS CHANGE…
the harder it is to remember stuff. Dave turned 50 this summer. AARP duly noted the milestone about a thousand times. Family and friends came together to sing a moving rendition of “Happy Birthday”. It was either that or a Yoko Ono song played on vuvuzelas; we’re not entirely sure. The onset of old age has started. There is a lot more going on about which we, Dave and Robin, have not a clue. We like to think that the next generation is just smarter than we are. Case in point, in the process of bringing Dan back to college, we stopped for something to eat and the conversation turned to the food. The kids got into a discussion about how cheese soup was theoretically impossible because cheese is a lipid and therefore would not dissolve in water or broth. As parents, we looked at each other, first to assure ourselves that we hadn’t wandered off to some else’s table on the way back from the washroom, but more importantly, trying to distinguish whether either of us had ever known this fact about cheese, or that we had known it at some point and subsequently forgot it. Thus the struggle to determine the exact state of our decline. (However, the incident does give you a sense of how bone-rattlingly entertaining our family dinners can be.) Sadly, the bulk of the evidence leans towards categorizing our ability to recollect as “suffering”. Trying to find files on our computer and remember passwords has all the mystery of a Cold War spy novel. If any of you are associated with Wikileaks, we invite you to go through our hard drive and publish all the important bits; it would be a tremendous time-saver for us.

BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE IN THE WORLD
It would be nice to get the global economy back on track. If we could only figure out how to “be” quantitative easing. Ironically, quantitative easing involves increasing the money supply and buying more bonds. If this is the definition, an achievable New Year’s Resolution is going on a diet, as long as we refer to it as a caloric quantitative easing. Hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season.

Merry Christmahananza, D,R,D,C

Merry Christmas

‘Twas a month before Christmas and at the golf course,
The husband was Cablinasian, the wife she was Norse (okay Swedish, but really, what’s the difference?).
The Escalade was parked by the escape route with care,
but mistakenly left were the golf clubs too near.
The confession was composed and rehearsed in his head
About his transgressions in emails she read
When, what to Tiger’s wandering eye did appear,
but the crashing of one image perfect career.
She spoke not a word but went straight to her work
Of swinging and hacking away at this jerk (*allegedly)
And laying a finger aside of his nose
To make sure it didn’t fall off on his clothes
He sprang to his Caddie, turned on the ignition
Which may not have been the best choice in his condition (*allegedly)
He flew out the garage and off down the driveway he took
But instead of a slice, the drive was a hook
In the trees he did land after contact with water
She hit him some more with the swing he had taught her
And I heard him exclaim as he lay on the ground
“How much will it cost to keep me around?”

The one constant, regardless of the state of the economy, or which party is in power, or the status of the US in world affairs, is that 100 times the collective effort needed to understand the dynamics of these complex, life-changing topics will be spent chasing a good sleazy story. Here is our story for the last year, albeit not really that sleazy.

Son is now a senior in high school, and with the help of the fortuitous combination of receiving a good grade on an honors math test while the school’s discipline tsar was subbing, finally showed the tsar that he was capable of productive use of his brain and energy. With respect to college admissions applications, much of the year has been spent trying to figure out how to spin the same essay so that it answers every college’s individual request. Who would have thought “Who has had the most positive influence on you?” and “Describe your favorite villain and why?” could be answered with the same 500 words.

Daughter started high school this year and despite all the initial anxiety, is adapting nicely. One of the things that helped her transition was joining the cross country team. There is nothing as disquieting as watching a bunch of teenage girls spewing bodily fluids and passing out as they reach for the finish line, while at the same time trying to keep their make-up from smearing.

Mom and Dad have become helicopter parents. Not the type that takes over at the earliest inkling of a problem, but more like a friendly-firing, Apache attack helicopter that nags the kids into solving their own problems.

So that you won’t think reading this Xmas letter is a complete waste of time, we would like to introduce an educational portion. This year’s topic is Newton’s First Law of Motion, which states: A body at rest (like Dad’s bicycle with the brakes applied) will continue to stay at rest, and a body in motion (like Dad before and after said brakes were applied) will continue to stay in motion, until acted upon by an external force (in this case, pavement.) The result of Dad’s little physics experiment was a broken elbow. This was addressed with a half a box of Erector Set pieces being implanted in his arm. And in an example of how the healthcare system really works, during surgery the doctor intentionally broke and fixed another perfectly good bone while attending to the broken one. Unfortunately, the incision did not totally heal so Dad spent the better part of two months with metal pieces sticking out of his elbow. To fix this problem, in another stroke of healthcare mind-boggletry, a plastic surgeon was brought in to play a macabre game which will be referred to as “musical skin”. This game involves moving pieces of skin from one part of the body to other parts of the body until the insurance company stops paying. As a result, Dad no longer has a problem telling his ass from his elbow as they are now both in the same place. Strange as it may seem, this was better than the initial option proposed. In that option, Dad’s elbow was to be surgically attached to his stomach for 3 weeks. While granted there is skin the size of wallpaper rolls to be had there, the hand coming out of a stomach seemed more like an homage to the “Alien” movies.

And so, another year in the economic doldrums is coming to an end. Seems like just yesterday… blah, blah, blah. OK, so things aren’t great for everyone. The country needs jobs. Here is a plan; anyone willing to join is welcome. In order to take advantage of the Baby Boomers increasing slide into their (g)olden years, let’s create a new company. Our suggestion is that the company be named, “Prune”, to compete against another company named after a fruit. It would help if we could find someone named Steven Jobsless to be our CEO; but that’s not a necessity. The product will be a sleeping vessel, something like a sleeping bag with a built in mattress that can be taken anywhere. Reflecting our increasing inability to keep up with the modern world we can call it an “I-plod” and market it as the solution to any problem brought on by old age. Our slogan: “There’s a nap for that.” Just an idea.

Merry Christmakwanzakkuh,

MURRAY CHRISTMAS

It’s a wonderful life. Really, it is. However, in this version Mr. Potter won’t loan money to George Bailey because his bank has taken on too many sub-prime mortgage loans, Uncle Billy runs GM and there is an effort to pass a constitutional amendment keeping Mama Dollar and Papa Dollar from getting married and having a bunch of Baby Dollars because they are the same cents.

Our wonderful life in 2008 began with some un-wonderful news a week before Christmas 2007 when Dear Husband was informed that his job would be eliminated in a few months. Fortunately, being early in the layoff wave gave him a head start finding another position. In the meantime he spent his early retirement trying to fix the things around the house he had let go for the past six years. He even fancied himself a gourmet cook until he tried to fry bacon on the grill. (As it turns out, this is a lot like pouring bacon grease directly onto an open flame. In fact, it is exactly like pouring bacon grease onto an open flame.) Ultimately it became a race between DH and Dear Son to see who could get a job first. DH refused to work fast food (although given his history with grease fires, he was unhireable anyway), so Dan won that challenge. DH subsequently found another actuarial job.

Dear Wife spent most of her year chasing our new dog, Natasha, around the dog park, but also found time to host some family friends visiting from London. If you ever want to make sure your guests never return, we have discovered, albeit inadvertently, a simple three step process to follow. First, in the souvenir picture they have so graciously asked you to join, have your son strike a pose reminiscent of Bluto Blutarksy in the “I’m a zit” scene. Then, introduce their young children to America’s pastime with tickets in the last row of the upper deck at White Sox Park among the Sunday afternoon Happy Hour crowd. And finally, to heighten this warm and fuzzy experience, while at the game have your car window smashed after parking it, purposely, right behind the police station. In all likelihood, we expect the kids will stick to cricket.

Dear Son turned sixteen this year and, as mentioned, got his first real job. There have been some carry-over effects in our home life. For example, recognizing that he gets more tips saying things like, “yes ma’am” or “yes sir”, he sometimes favors us with the same behavior. Then again, he has also taught us many new Mexican swear words. As he is a junior now, we have started to look toward college. This includes searching out financial aid opportunities. (We have sent a letter to Hank Paulsen arguing that ownership of a piggybank qualifies us to access some of the $700 billion in bail-out funding.)

Dear Daughter is now a teenager and 8th grader. She takes her schooling very seriously. We are still trying to figure out what to make of the following recent incident. DH was given a book, “14,000 Things That Make You Happy”. DD scanned through it for a few minutes and determined that she wanted to read it because, “it was like reading the dictionary”. First, it was news to us that she had read the dictionary; although there was previously one book she complained lacked character development. More concerning was that she found it gratifying. In another quirky move, she has started taking Latin, which is just the latest language she speaks that neither of us understands.

Our adventure for the year was a chance to take a “three hour tour” with DH’s brother, Gilligan, and his wife, the Skipper. They were bringing their boat through the area in North Carolina where we vacation every summer and offered us a glimpse of the yachting lifestyle. We had just hit the open water with full sails, a cloudless blue sky and Jimmy Buffet playing in the background, when our collective stomachs started to churn. Although only one of us ultimately lost his / her cookies (we won’t name her, although it was DW), we narrowly escaped a veritable Puke-apallooza. This particularly worried DH, because he was scheduled to sail on a work related event the following week. (Note: Due to the commotion generated by the AIG boondoggle, next year’s team-building exercise will be an online Wii golf tournament.) DD summed up the outing best using her budding Latin skills to create the new family motto: Vini, vidi, vomiti!!! (I came, I saw, I threw up.)

It has been a trying year for many, but, as Angel Second Class, Clarence Oddbody once said, “No man is a failure who has friends”. And you are our friends. So maybe it is a wonderful life after all.

Merry Christmas and best of luck for 2009.

Here is Natasha from this week. She is 8 months old now.

We bet you were wondering how Natasha is doing. Well here is a picture from Easter 2008, when she was 5 months old.

This is Dan's comic published in February in the North Star, his high school newspaper. His comic now has a name: "Don't worry about it". Do I know what that means, not really, but I guess I can't worry about that, now can I?

Wow, look at this snow!

Yea, today is a snow day!

Natasha at almost 4 months old

Natasha Murray - from St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin

and her family

MURRAY CHRISTMAS


WOO-HOO, only one more year of the presidential election to go!!! Who’s running again? Oprah? Some guy from “Law & Order? Can’t we just put them all in a house, Big Brother-style, figure out who the liars and connivers are, and vote one off the show every week? Last one standing gets to run the free world. Better yet, send them on a “Great Race” out of the US. Only this time, last one back, wins.

Don’t know about your house, but it has been a fairly docile year at the Murray’s. Although, Robin must have put Viagra® in the bird seed because we had all manner of birds breeding in and around our house this year. It started when a pair of cardinals made a nest in a bush adjacent to the screen porch, giving us, literally, a birds-eye view of the hatching. More concerning was the nest that appeared above the patio in the middle of the summer. One afternoon we were all out sunning ourselves when a chick fell out of the nest to the ground. Although the mother and father were robins, we ultimately succeeded in getting our Robin to believe that it was a blue jay that fell from the nest. The last straw was the family of swallows that took over our chimney in the fall. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they cheeped like baby birds should. Instead they sounded like a piece of broken machinery, resulting in countless hours of perplexity trying to figure out just which appliance was malfunctioning.

The kids continue to mature in ways we never expected. Dan was voted the sophomore representative to the Homecoming Court this fall. Dave was convinced that, in an effort to be elected, Dan had promised to moon the crowd when introduced at the football game. But as it turns out, it was all legit. Being 15, the big deal now is getting the almighty driver’s license. In the State of Illinois, a prerequisite is something like a light year of driving practice in the company of a responsible adult. (Note, however, that spending this amount of time in a car with a student driver is, by definition, irresponsible.) We couldn’t get anyone else to do it, so we persevere. It’s not so bad, we sit in the back seat, watch “Family Guy” videos and generally try to annoy everyone else in the car, in an effort to simulate his future reality.

Carolyn (12) changed her name to Cary while we weren’t paying attention. Her goals at this point appear to be: successfully dealing with the concept of a locker while she makes her way through Junior High; clothes shopping via the internet & catalogues and changing the color of her toenail polish every night. Both children have shown interest in learning musical instruments. Cary has taken up the guitar; Dan, Guitar Hero. Cary’s image makeover has us concerned. Does she see herself as Amy (Baby, Baby) Grant or Amy (They Tried To Make Me Go To Rehab) Winehouse? Time will tell. Hopefully we’ll know more next year.
A highlight this year was our vacation to the South of France. You may have heard recently that the Merriam-Webster word of the year was not even a word. Well Robin also added a couple non-words to the international lexicon. It is now customary when ordering “pain” at the bakery (thicker bread, as opposed to the skinnier baguette) to make a stroking motion around one’s waist as if wearing a truck tire inner tube; the image intending to mean you would like the “fat” bread. It may not make a lot of sense, but she got what she wanted. Also, the new international sign for leaving France (“Nous partons”) is a high-stepping, marching action. (We also found that as a fringe benefit, when you do this, your French hosts surrender their debit cards and PIN numbers to you.)

Finally, it is with great sorrow that we inform you that one of the main characters in these Christmas letters, our dog Berns, passed away. The myriad of Christmas maladies finally took their toll in November. The good news is December 27th we pick up another puppy, who, with a little luck, will show us as much love as Berns did.

Wishing you all the best of the holiday season and many Christmas Mem-Murrays,

Dave, Robin, Dan, Cary and dog-to-be-named-later?