Greetings fellow earthlings!

Recently a good friend of ours turned six (as did his brother). At the party, he made an accurate prediction, and I said “you’re prophetic!” And just like Psych, he took it as an insult and retorted,  “You’re prophetic!” Indeed I am. At the close of last year’s letter, I made these prescient forecasts: Jordan and Hailey would visit relatives in Vegas; she would snowboard and he would play indoors; Israel’s 75 th anniversary would be “interesting”; sports would profit a few; peace on earth would be dubious. Check, check, check, check, check … (tragically in some cases).

Looking back on the rest of 2023, here’s what happened. Brooke and Hannah planned a great Scandinavian adventure for the latter’s 30 th birthday, but back surgery for Brooke scuttled that. Then they planned a fall Broadway escape. A day before departure, Brooke got Covid, so Hannah  enjoyed NYC alone. I’ll let you imagine how the elder sister felt about this sequence of events.

Maria and I visited Jordan and Hailey in western Idaho in April, visited nice places and ate out a few times, and then Maria got Covid. She blames me and Texas Roadhouse. Her case was mild, but after months of lagging lung capacity and elevated heartrate, her doctor welcomed her to “the long Covid zone.” This is a blow to her planned athletic comeback (she’d so wanted relive her little-league success at first base or try a 5k, but not now). She is also a bit of a hermit and wears a mask when she appears in public. If this seems extreme, recall that even the paranoid have enemies. She was brave enough to open our home to professionals who installed new cabinets (love them), countertops (like them), and appliances (hate them) in the kitchen. We handled demo (mostly).

Professionally, Brooke provides speech therapy for elementary school children; Hannah heads the state of Utah’s public art investments; Jordan and Hailey continue to work remotely from their three-cat-house, the envy of the apartment-renting sisters. John continues to teach “emerging young adults” at BYU-Idaho; he may be replaced at any moment by an AI-powered virtual tutor and mentor. He edited and contributed to a book that came out this year about religious liberty and the Latter-day Saints (that’s pretty close to the title if you want to buy it; no royalties for him). Maria is not getting paid but continues to provide high-end childcare for two kindergartners and one preschooler, a few times a week. She also reads and reviews dozens of novels, some of which she receives gratis as ARCs (advance reader copies), so she’s in the inner circle of the literary scene.

It's a been a mild summer and fall in our part of Idaho, but as I write the snow is gently falling. Last winter was unnecessarily cold and snowy, but John made the most of it by cross-country skiing. Maria also made the most of it by curling up near the fire with all those books. John took up disc golf this summer, which is so much less expensive and aggravating than actual golf. He also likes swimming regularly, though when the university shut its pool for seven weeks he had to get creative. Most of us enjoyed a few days in Park City this summer. John also backpacked the magnificent Teton Crest trail with neighbors and had several other great hikes in the Teton range. Some members of the family, most notably Maria and Brooke, do not appreciate the value of hiking, but look who’s healthy? (Hope that doesn’t come back to bite me.) We’re hoping there is enough snow to give our family a white Christmas when they gather, but not so much to complicate the gathering. Then we hope for enough snow that John can venture out on skis instead of annoying Maria, but not so much that he wears out his back shoveling. It’s all about balance, right? You can see our commitment to life balance by comparing the lines devoted to John’s recreation vs. those for pretty much everyone and everything else. With prophetic insight you may discern the balance.

No predictions for 2024, unless it’s the demise of the republic, the corruption of college sports, or  something else along those lines. May your Christmas be merry and bright as you remember the Light of the world.

 

Christmas 2022

Gentle reader,

“Say something funny, Uncle John,” commanded Anna, our pre-school neighbor. Typically a few words of nonsense will satisfy her, but Maria requires a higher standard, or at least half-baked witticisms in English. I wish I had something really funny or witty to say, but as our multi-millionaire athletes advise us (in their earthy wisdom), “it is what it is.”

Some friends send us pictures of their family fun, more efficient than labored prose. So try to visualize something magical in this series of word-pictures: John snowshoeing up the Table Mountain face trail on a sunny February day, only to meet gale-force winds, a ground blizzard, and no view of the Tetons at the top. All of us visiting the gargantuan Kennecott open-pit mine (in what is left of Bingham canyon) to celebrate Maria’s birthday. The loving mother spending weeks of summer attending to Brooke after another sinus surgery, leaving John to pick, process, and distribute gallons of raspberries. Jordan growing hair to his shoulders and whiskers like a pirate. Hannah traversing Utah after she was hired as the state’s public art coordinator (she especially likes Vernal and Moab, but art is everywhere). Brooke working with sixty kids in elementary school as a speech therapist (where she’s certified as clinically competent, unlike the rest of us). Hailey leaving a company whose leadership needed more HR training to join a startup founded by HR colleagues from three jobs before, still working remotely. Jordan and friends playing board games and video games in Island Park cabins (so little to do outdoors). Maria and John sitting on the last row of folding chairs in the cultural hall at church, sometimes able to help stray children. Hannah bringing her cat to Mimi (her grandma) for therapeutic visits. Brooke driving to Rexburg to raise the level of educational engagement for preschoolers at our house. Hailey leading a choir, singing solos, and climbing rock walls. John holding forth about rotten Idaho laws at a conference on religious freedom in church history. Most of us joining a big Thomas reunion in Colorado in July, Maria very anxious there and at pretty much any venue where people gather and breathe, even though she spends hours each week in close quarters with three rambunctious germ magnets. Jordan running a company whose service the clients want without paying, cat on lap in his home office. John hitching a ride back to the car after a long one-way hike at Waterton, Alberta (contrary to law, they say). I remember best what John did (like teaching, hiking, swimming), but doubtless there’s more to everyone’s year, though our family is modest in size and in ventures. Also, Maria says I don’t listen that carefully, so there are probably some important omissions.

Next year will be bigger, right? The sisters talk of a European trip. I was thinking about some museums of Black history. Maria is most excited to be home. Jordan and Hailey will likely visit relatives in Las Vegas and she’ll snowboard and his posse will return to Island Park for indoor games. I note that the 75th anniversary of the state of Israel approaches, so that should be interesting. Sports will continue to profit a few.

Peace on earth, good will to men? Let’s hope so. Whatever happens, may you find joy in the journey from this Christmas to next. Much love,

John and Maria Thomas

 

Greetings! My dear wife has asked me to write an upbeat Christmas letter to brighten December 2021. I am thrilled for this opportunity and will set the tone by recounting a recent exchange between the two of us.

John: “Why did you marry me if you don’t like any suffering?”

Maria: “Because I thought it would be so much better!”

 

Isn’t that lovely? I hope you can visualize it. I teach students that context is vital to interpretation, but we never know all we’d like to understand about the people, circumstances, and purposes of words from the past. I note it happened shortly after Thanksgiving; Maria would assure you that she only said that to make me laugh; she seems to think those lines don’t fully capture the essence of our relationship. I don’t really think she needs to worry about that. Do you? There are other sweet communications at our house regularly, mostly as Maria interacts with our little 2- and 4-year-old friends during the week, like, “Is Uncle John here?” or “Auntie Ria, please come over so we can have another birthday!” (a few days after the twins’ birthday). “Wait till you see this!” and “Get off me you fool!” are other adorable expressions heard lately around here.

First, some sad news. You may recall that Maria’s dad died in 2020; then my dad died this year. Keith was nearly 90, Paul not yet 81. Keith departed very slowly, Paul was taken with unexpected suddenness, a couple of months after a cancer diagnosis, and not quite six weeks into chemotherapy. I certainly felt regrets at missed opportunities to be with and learn from Dad, but we had a very good funeral and family gathering and Mom has borne her loss bravely, with help from Brooke (who lives in her basement apartment) and Hannah (who lives twenty minutes away). You may find it funny or poignant to consider that my dad’s last night of life included a TV mix of Olympic games and Peppa Pig, where he learned how his young friends, to whom he was such a faithful and friendly minister (even in pandemic), had acquired British accents.

This year Brooke finished a Masters’ degree in Communication Disorders. She now has more letters after her name: MS, CF-SLP. (Only the initiated can really explain their deeper meanings). She recently had her first “enough” moment as a speech therapist at an elementary school, chasing a first-grader who ran away from their session before it really started. It took a few months after graduation for her to get paid, but now she is a true professional. Like Brooke, Hannah is paid by taxpayers in a smallish Utah city, and she has wondered how long she will enjoy working for the art museum overseen by that city’s government. Nevertheless she persists, perhaps so she can flash her business card and walk into other museums across the planet. It’s unclear if Brooke’s extra letters give her any such perks. Hannah has wondered about graduate school in Scotland or work in a bigger city. She may want to leave the museum before Russian special forces descend to recover a large collection of Soviet-era art that mysteriously migrated to Utah in the wake of the cold war. Jordan and Hailey both work remotely, so the home they bought in Nampa, Idaho could theoretically be traded for an RV with good wifi. Hailey left her job in HR at a local manufacturing plant and found a “techier” position with a firm based in Philadelphia. It’s been a better fit, though the transition cost her a few days with the rest of us in Sun Valley this summer. Jordan has moved from managing online commerce to coding programs that facilitate and track online commerce. It is difficult to get a straight answer about what he really does and who pays him, but his wife and cats seem content. We visited them to watch Hailey perform in a community theatre production of Evita, one of our rare ventures into public.

None of our grown-up children have their own children to say funny things, and the cats in three of our four households say nothing, though they sometimes do amusing or annoying things. Cats are not verbal, but they are communicative. Ours sits on my torso quite a bit and stares intently when I am eating. She largely ignores Maria, evidently vying with her for my loving attention.

That’s our annual snapshot of Thomas family bliss in turbulent times. If you envy us, pray daily, go to church, and start your Christmas season when the Hallmark Channel does. There are other ways to remember Him always, of course. Whatever you do, we hope you will be still and find peace.

Christmas 2020

     John keeps telling me that he needs to retire—from something.  Since he can’t retire from his job yet he thought he should retire from writing the Christmas letter. We basically have this argument every year. He says he has nothing for the letter and I say I’ll do the letter for him and he can do all the rest of Christmas for me.  In the end he writes the letter. But this is 2020; nothing is normal; so I let him retire. This is bad news for all of you since that means you are stuck with me this year, but since it is 2020, it kinda seems fitting.  

Our year did not start smoothly, as I ditched my husband for New Years and went to Oregon where my  dad was running out of time, while at home John looked into cheap and less invasive options for hernia surgery, back alleys excluded. Turns out to be cheaper in Utah, so that’s where we headed right after I got home. He convalesced for a few days at his parents before we returned to the frozen north.  

After nearly six years of valiant effort, Hannah left her human roommate in favor of a feline companion. She adopted Sir Charles Sawyer Dibble after moving to Springville, which meant the added benefit of a much shorter commute to the Art Museum. A couple of covid tests for her but both negative. 

On February 14 my dad passed away. In a last second decision, I left my Valentine and flew back to Oregon. I arrived a little too late but that was okay.  Dad had been waiting a long time to join my mom and doing so on Valentine’s Day seemed appropriate.  I spent time sorting files and preparing for the funeral. With a twist of fates, John and I both ended up speaking at the funeral on Leap Day.  John had a dying tooth and could barely open his mouth, but a blessing helped him get through the talk and a little tooth surgery after getting home got rid of the pain.  Covid talk was picking up, but our essential travel was completed before restrictions kicked in. Already I had said that 2020 was looking to be a year our family couldn’t wait to put behind us. By the end of March most of the world felt the same.  

John’s classes shifted to remote abruptly in March and continued so, though in fall he taught some “flex” courses that combine remote and classroom modes for “maximum distraction”. John says remote alone seems better, (with more to come in 2021), though “students’ frail attention spans are suffering further collapse.” Despite my refusing to take a vacation, John managed to squeeze in a couple wilderness  hiking trips. His whole family gathered via Zoom to celebrate his dad’s 80th birthday in November. No Covid tests. 

Hailey got a new job in Nampa, so she and Jordan sold their house here amazingly fast and moved amid the pandemic lockdowns.  Hailey, the social butterfly, felt 2020: no regular church meetings, no meeting the neighbors, no social outlets.  Jordan, the social recluse, found heaven working from home and not having to deal directly with humans; he’s practiced for a pandemic for years.  Zero covid tests for them. 

Brooke was scheduled for surgery on her vocal folds in April but Covid delayed it till June during the lone one week when U of U hospital allowed a visitor, so I got to be there. But just short weeks into her recovery she had complications resulting in a middle-of-the-night ambulance trip to the ER while I blissfully slept through the texts she sent us. Brooke will tell you that not being able to breathe is very unpleasant; she recommends we all mask up to prevent experiencing it with Covid. Also, calling for an ambulance is interesting when you have no voice. The ER got her breathing better and then Hannah drove her to SLC to see her surgeon.  And since Brooke’s condition made speech impossible, Hannah was allowed to stay to be her voice until her throat cleared enough to speak.  Tests indicated an autoimmune disease which attacks the nose and throat, currently in remission, but medication adjustments continue. Ironically, as she studies to be a speech therapist, she’s ended up in speech therapy herself.  It is lovely to hear her voice again; also kind of essential for being a speech therapist. Between hospital visits and working in a skilled nursing facility for an externship this fall, Brooke is the champ of Covid tests. She’s had about a million.  All negative, thankfully. 

Things probably changed the least for me. I still tend three toddlers each weekday; John sneaks down to play when he can. My 2020 oddity has been working with my brother to settle dad’s estate.  Amazing how slowly everything moves during a pandemic. I feel like we are working with sloths.  No Covid tests. 

We pray your 2020 wasn’t too 2020 and that you are happy, healthy, and feeling love from our Savior.

     Hi everybody! I’m accused of writing less-interesting letters these days, but art imitates life, as they say. Here is Maria’s emergency email on 3 Dec. 2019, after reading my first attempt (which I wrote in the afterglow of Thanksgiving): “Dad wrote a depressing Christmas letter that I have rejected so now he says he would like each of you to send him a paragraph about your most memorable moment of the year--good or bad, serious or funny.” I think the main problem is “grown up” children: accomplishments are incremental and largely invisible to parents. There’s a reason people don’t make family movies at work, right? And so the weeks roll by in a blur of sameness. And the parents’ current routine looks shockingly similar to rejected material from last year’s letter! Some may think it wrong that our neighbors’ two-year-old twins—and their infant sister—are the most interesting element of our lives, but just you wait and see. Consider what our own family members said about that memorable moment of their year and then decide for yourselves what you want to read.

Riley (taciturn son-in-law): Yet to answer the request. Enough said. No need for quotation marks or to place my commentary in brackets. I nominate the ER trip after too much Tylenol for tooth pain.

Hannah (anxious, resilient daughter): “I drove to Chicago. I slept in my car sometimes. Gas prices were cheaper in the Midwest. Driving in Chicago was terrifying for 2 minutes, and then I adjusted and became really aggressive like everyone else and it was good. When I got to Chicago, I ate lots of food, went to lots of plays, and made fun of Renoir. Is that anything?” [Well, is it? Most people love a good road trip, I hear. She went solo, by the way, and it seems to be an extended “moment.”]

Hailey (affable daughter-in-law): Free-rode on Jordan’s terse response below. Enough said?

Jordan (laconic son): “Jordan went to China. Hailey works really hard and her career is on the same trajectory as an 86kg projectile shot from a trebuchet.” [He doesn’t usually refer to himself in third person. He did come back. Where did that career metaphor come from? Who even talks that way? Here’s what I know: every projectile goes up and then down. So which stage of the trajectory are we tracking? Meanwhile, did you picture many memorable moments there?]

Brooke (tender, tough, comparatively verbal daughter): “I guess one of the most life-changing

memorable moments, or series of moments really, was getting and working with my very first speech and language client. It was sometimes really difficult and exhausting, but overall very rewarding. It was cool to see him actually progress! And then on the last day, he gave me a gift and card, hugged me several times, and told me I was a great teacher. It was a very sweet and rewarding moment.” [Did it rate a selfie, or is that against privacy norms for speech-therapists in training?]

Maria (compassionate neighbor): “I can’t remember.” [I believe it; she sleeps too little and relies too much on her phone to remember everything. She is compassionate to neighbors, nonetheless.]

John (fallible narrator): “Lying on the exposed concrete kitchen floor, having finally mastered use of the wrench, I watched a little spray explode into a powerful stream of hot water shooting from under the dishwasher across the floor. I yelled and screamed and desperately tried (again) to close the valve under the sink. I yelled for Maria to shut off the main supply valve, then did it myself. We threw down towels to slow the spread of hot water across the room.” [Such terror, rage, and impotence crammed into a minute. But is it interesting? Liverpool 4-0 over Barcelona was interesting, but it also wasn’t really us—except that I yelled that time too, in dazed joy.]

And look at that! We’ve reached the end of the page. So, what do you think? Should next year’s letter simply tell the stories of Neal, Glen, and Anna? To clarify, they are not our kin; they have family of their own. But it might make for a better letter. You decide. And you’ll never walk alone!

Christmas letter 2018

December is cold and dark at 5000 feet and nearly 44 degrees north of the equator in Rexburg, Idaho. In summer it was warm and dry and smoky, as other places burned. Smoke in Glacier Park obscured mountain views when Maria met John there in August, and friends in Paradise lost their home to wildfire in November (with many others). Elsewhere hurricanes and floods wreaked destruction. We endured comparatively little turmoil, but we did learn how to brighten your life: borrow babies. That’s right; it turns out that parents with twins will typically welcome assistance. So now Maria wakes up to “Baby Signing Time” songs in her head and hears phantom babbles and cries around the house. Our weekday and Sunday mornings are livelier, thanks to time with the Anderson boys, Neal and Glen. Maria hasn’t looked forward to mornings like this since she was a child; our life as pseudo-grandparents (aka Auntie Ria & Uncle John) has been a lot of fun. Weary parents don’t mind the break, and two medical miracles means we both get the play and affection we evidently need. 

I thought the letter should be an extended meditation on the year’s joys as auxiliary parents, but Maria says to make it funny. This disappoints me, for I feel that I have so much more to offer through thoughtful observation and reflection, and she just wants a jester for hire. I offer depth and humanity and she wants glibness and snark. It reminds me of my life at work. I joke about my wife there too.

So on to the snarky: Maria says that time with the boys makes her feel younger, but does it show? She cheers poopy diapers, yet only I “can” change the cat litter (still). She has those songs on her mind and lullabies the boys to sleep, but “can’t” go with me to choir practice. She has gigabytes of pictures and videos of the twins on her Facebook page, phone, and laptop, yet lives for the 30-second video their mom compiles at month’s end. Should our own children visit (in person or online), they see signs of her true love everywhere. There are cribs in two bedrooms, and toys in the family room, along with food and diaper paraphernalia. She arranges baby time for Jordan and Hailey (our local couple), though it’s unclear that this will inspire the emergence of actual grandchildren anytime soon. And yet with no direct familial legacy implicated in the boys’ development, we can celebrate happy milestones and delight in silliness, but also laugh when they vex their overworked parents. I think it might not be so easy to laugh at the struggles and fits of your own children’s children. You can now rent pets (ask Hannah); is that what we are doing with the twins? I think we’re more invested.

In fact I had more to say about them, but tradition (Maria) requires news about our grown-up family. Neighbors took me backpacking in Glacier Park along the Continental Divide Trail—splendid. Maria visited family in Oregon a few times; I went with her once to see them and to soak my battered feet in the Pacific. She did a craft fair this fall and made more money than she expected, though not enough to compensate her time. We sponsored a little family reunion in Salt Lake City in June, with “hikes” and tours of gardens, aquarium, and candy factory, excursions to Golden Spike and Spiral Jetty, a

baseball game, a movie, and too little game time (for some). Brooke went back to school this fall for graduate training in communication disorders. This will not qualify her to improve our family interactions or people’s post office orders (she has illustrations), but it will prepare her to give speech therapy in coming years. Jordan’s job in online retail outlasted the brick and mortar craft store when its owners retired. Hailey moved beyond the “administrative assistant” ranks at her firm. Hannah simplified her life by dropping one part-time job and gaining a full-time job at the Springville art museum. Riley learned more of the ropes of the solar energy business. Jordan and Hailey went camping in Idaho and touring in Montana; Brooke and Hannah took a winter holiday in Europe; Riley worked like crazy and broke it up with marathon board and video games.

None of that was very funny, nor was it very deep. If you want depth, read a book, a good one. Try the prophets; they see irony but are not glib. Or play with infants. Most of all, remember the Redeemer. He was once a little child, but look what He did. Happy Christmas and Peace to you.

#TFBRC prompt for today is non-fiction

I don't read a lot of non-fiction but one book I love and have read more than once is Corrie Ten Boom's The Hiding Place.  Incredible story that Corrie shares about WWII and ending up in a concentration camp.  She learns many great lessons including forgiveness, hope, and gratitude among other things.  I loved it. 



#TFBRC #nonfiction