Got me some Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley gospel tunes for Christmas. I used to roll my eyes at the mention of gospel, but now I get interested. How time changes a body…

It always drives me up the wall to see some exhortation in the media to have everyone follow his or her dreams without offering one shred of advice on how to determine what those said dreams are. Think of it: if everyone up and followed dreams right now, there would be countless broken families, empty chairs, unfilled jobs… and massive, massive lines going around the block waiting for publishers, movie producers, and other people with money to smile upon their ventures. But would they even be there, if they went off on some sudden dream quest?

There’s what we think we want, and then what we really want. What we really want may not be “living the dream”, but dealing with reality successfully. Things like raising a family, helping friends in a bind, and working at a job worth doing are what most people truly want to do. We may dream of escapes from the drudgery, but the successes in those areas can’t happen without the hard, hard work. What we really want is what we’re willing to do the hard, hard work for.

To me, “living the dream” does not mean abandoning family or friends. That means doing without certain options in my life. It doesn’t mean I’m trapped in a family or home. It means I’m doing what I really want to do. Other things are secondary. I like having time on my own, sure. Just not permanently. My wife and kids don’t hold me back – they give me strength to go on.

Would I like to be a hugely successful artiste? Certainly, the idea of walking out on stage to thunderous applause is a tempting idea. Receiving millions of dollars for an artistic enterprise seems like a grand thing. But are any of those things worth the price if it means sacrificing my family along the way? Are any of them worth the loss of my soul and integrity?

I have to face the fact that I’m a working stiff. I can try for a grab at the brass ring of fame and fortune, but even if I lean all the way out and give up my entire base in that leap for glory, it’s only luck that determines who wins it in the end. I’ve seen successes, but I’ve also seen failures all around and behind them. Wisdom tells me that the rate of success at “follow your dreams!” is very low for people that aren’t willing to sacrifice either their souls or their integrities. Conversely, the poison-tongued backstabbers always seem to find a way to the top of the world. Funny how that works out.

But is that really success? Is that really “living the dream”? I’ve known men that died with peace in their hearts. That is part of true success in life. The other part is being able to face the spirits of the rest of the dead without shame or regret. Our ability to forgive and to find forgiveness is critical to success in the ultimate scheme of things. Our ability to be welcomed into the fraternity of the good and the wise when we are dead is more important than any song, book, film, or investment banking deal. When I’m dead, I don’t want to be sitting at a table full of Nazis, full of perfect recollection of the wrong I had done, the pain I had caused, and the mistakes I had made.

Given the complete folly of the world and the law of averages, I am firmly convinced that the smartest man that ever lived was a Chinese peasant from the 14th century, who probably narrowly avoided execution because he kept his ideas to himself. In so doing, he preserved his family and possibly also his village. I believe that the most talented musician ever to grace the earth lived in the 8th century in West Africa: he made all the children in his village laugh. Who was the greatest writer? Tough question, given that so many people that would have been in competition for that title never learned to read or write. There’s a ten-year-old child in a cave near Mexico City right now that has the greatest story ever told in his mind… it’s just that we’re not likely to ever hear it because he’s not able to get to school, let alone the means to write the book – or even land a publishing deal. The world sees him as a nobody, with nothing to offer. He can sure try to follow his dreams, but he’s got to deal with basic survival issues, first.

When I was a kid, I sometimes imagined life as a rock and roll star, going out on stage, singing songs, and having the crowd go wild. I didn’t imagine the money or the travel – just the experience of the concert. Today, I teach songs to the children at my church. I work with ages 18 months up to 12 years and I strive to get everyone to sing along with me. I’m up there, in front of them, singing songs… and the crowd does go wild, and I mean that in a good way, most of the time. They recognize me at the store and I always stop to spend a little time with my tiny fans. I find that, in keeping to my family and friends, in keeping my soul and my integrity, I have sort of stumbled into my dream.

I never was specific about the makeup of my audience. While I hoped to do rock songs, any sort of songs would do for my dream, I suppose. The stage and seats weren’t really important – just the connection with my audience, the discovery of a shared joy in the performance. This is why it’s so easy for me to do art for free – money has never really been part of my dream. My dream has been in having a powerful, positive, shared experience through art. That is exactly what I have with the 30 or so kids I work with every Sunday.

It is foolish to presume that every dream involves a journey away from something, that it might be properly followed. True dreams do not float on the wind: they get our hands dirty, make our faces worn, and bring our backs aches. They are here, where we are willing to do hard, hard work. These true dreams are worth the sacrifice, no matter what a television advertisement or banal movie platitude may say. True dreams bring us what we truly desire, not what we’re told to desire. True dreams make us heroes, even if only to one person, and even if that one person is ourself.

“Times was hard…” I’ve heard old people use those words to describe the Great Depression. I used to wonder at what they meant, but now I know. Hard times means giving thanks for things that really matter because there aren’t a lot of other distractions. Hard times means relying more on God and His blessing than anything else. Hard times means humility and quiet dignity.

I’m not saying I’ve had a bad year: not at all. But I’ve seen years for lots of people, good and bad, and there were a lot of bad years out there. I know a lot of people trapped in a part-time job with no benefits and I realize I’ve got maybe one of the last full-time jobs in America. I’ve got the pay and vacation time that goes with it, so I’m thankful for that.

I see people avoiding the doctor and home repairmen alike: there’s no telling what will need fixing, once the wall is opened up. I’m in that area. I’ve got old pipes in my house and if the plumbing job ain’t simple, then I have to ask if I can afford a complete bathroom renovation. We can’t, so I just brush my teeth in the kitchen. We can’t afford that renovation in part due to the way we afforded my oldest daughter’s appendix renovation a while back. Still paying for that one, after we discovered that our insurance was worthless. We’d been had, but at least we’re able to pay down those bills. I’m thankful for that.

I suppose I could walk away from my mortgage and default on my credit cards, but, deep down, I’m not rich enough to do that. If I had no way of paying them back, I’d default, but as long as I can pay – no matter what I may think about the man at the other end of the interest rate – I’ll pay. I’m thankful for that. I can’t be like the rich man that can afford to pay for things, but finds a way to default either through a legal maneuver or just flat-out cruelty. I once wondered what it would be like to be tempted by riches. Now I know it’s a temptation I don’t want in my life. As long as I have enough to live on, I’ll be thankful for that and any little bits of something else that come along. But riches? No. I’m thankful that I don’t have the riches that would blind me to what is important.

Am I thankful for my nation, The United States of America? Well… let me answer that by saying that when I look around at what’s going to sustain me when I’m old, I see my family, my church, and my own two hands. I don’t see the US Government in that picture, not when I’m old. I suppose hard times are here for a good, long while. They’ve always been with us, really. The hard times of the 30s made us want to borrow from the future to support the people of the present, but that doesn’t seem so possible, anymore. Well, then, I’m still thankful for the old USA. If nothing else, it incubated the church I belong to – before it persecuted it terribly – but anywhere else would have either destroyed the nascent Latter-day Saint movement or forced a Second Coming to save it, and the time was not yet right for our Savior’s return for that to happen.

I have ancestors that built and walked away from 20 complete homes in their lifetimes, each time starting over with a tent. I live in the same place I’ve lived for 20 years and even though the place needs some work, it’s a stable home that’s warm in the winter and cool in the summers. My food is refrigerated and the Internet provides me with plenty of fun so I don’t go insane from listening to the prairie wind at nights. For that, I’m thankful.

I remember one ancestor of mine, my great-great-grandfather, Edward Milo Webb, Jr.. After he fled the violence of the Mexican Revolution, he ended up in Tucson, Arizona. He got a job pulling up mesquite tree stumps. He was in his sixties, pulling up mesquite stumps in the heat of the Tucson summer. He lived in a tent that first year. While I have hassles in my job, I’m nevertheless thankful for it and, no, I would not want to trade places with my great-great-grandfather.

I’ve met men who escaped the terrors of the Khmer Rouge murderers. I’ve taught children that were born in sniper-targeted hospitals in Sarajevo. I’ve seen the faces of people that won’t say a word about the horrors they knew back in Sierra Leone, Liberia, or Darfur. They knew some hard times to beat all. The fortunes of my life didn’t have me sharing those experiences, but my path crossed theirs at some point. Because of that, I want to be a source of hope. I’m thankful that I have reservoirs of hope, sufficient to share.

My hope is not in the triumph of a grand ideology or nation-state or economic philosophy. My hope is in the ability of man to be most compassionate and loving when in the humblest of circumstances. We are greatest when we share what we have, so that there are no poor among us. I still remember the report I once saw of a Haitian village where the people were so poor, they ate cakes made of butter, salt, and dirt. One of the families there purchased a can of beans. And what did they do with those precious calories and grams of protein? They invited over their neighbors, each to share one spoonful of the beans.

That same spirit is in each one of us, if we choose not to extinguish it.

Behold, do men light a candle and put it under a bushel? Nay, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light to all that are in the house; therefore let your light so shine before this people, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven. – Jesus of Nazareth

It’s simple: forget the Ayn Rand books. Her hateful, selfish, praise of the sociopath is not the inspiration we need. Turn instead to Charles Dickens and his “A Christmas Carol.” It’s a short work and focuses on the one character, Scrooge, so it’s easy to follow. Read it and try not to cry when Scrooge visits the Christmas dinner at the Cratchits. Dickens is not recommending rampant government-driven socialism: quite the contrary. He’s reminding us all that there is something greater than money and power. There is a reason we have a soul, a conscience, and a heart.

Those who shout the loudest that private charity should help the poor must be the most charitable themselves. It is a calamity of our day that, instead of the charitable institutions that Dickens admired in his day, America is famous for its billionaires that grind the faces of the poor.

Well, that doesn’t matter: even the poorest among us can be charitable. So let’s resolve to be more charitable: the Christmas season draws closer to us, and the spirit of the season beckons to us all.

Here’s the blueprint: A Christmas Carol. Read it and may it make you resolve to keep Christmas better than any man around!

“Ask the Missionaries! They Can Help You! And before you change the channel, let me just say that maybe – just maybe – this is something you need to see. There are words of peace and joy in this presentation, and a beautiful story of how faith can be rewarded.

Elder Shane N. Bowen said some things recently that cause no controversy, uproar, or outrage. In fact, quite the opposite: they are words of peace, joy, and strength. They are about the loss of a child, his own son, and the feelings that arise naturally out of love and the feelings that can come through remembering the purity of God’s love.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my own son that died before he turned three. I miss Jarom deeply and lovingly. I know I will see him again, and I know that what Elder Bowen says is true. If you want to know how I know what he says is true, you can read the talk delivered prior to his at the LDS Conference to learn more of the power and role of the Holy Ghost.

These words mean many, many things to me. They are a part of my spiritual bedrock, the foundation I wish to build upon. It’s not that I read these and suddenly knew a peace that had escaped me for many years. It’s that I read these and felt the peace I have felt for eleven years as I turn to God for comfort. With these things in mind, life is beautiful. Life is always beautiful.

I remember seeing this video when it first came out. I am so glad it’s available again. While I can put it up here and say, “For those interested in what Mitt Romney believes, here’s a link…”, I really am posting the link because it’s what I believe and this is a message of joy and peace. Yes, it’s long, but there are also shorter chapters available (under titles such as “Special Witnesses of Christ, Part 4” and the like…) and these messages should not be missed. Maybe you might want to miss them, and maybe your day becomes all the better for hearing them. For me, they are greater than gold or silver.

Full video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srYKbh4ASuw

When I travel, I don’t feel comfortable spending a large amount of money on meals. I love eating good things, but, to me, the price of the meal is part of the presentation and enjoyment of the dinner. That means I seek out great flavors at low costs. If there’s a $3000-per-gram ingredient that’s out of this world, I’ll never know about it except in legend.

I’ve been to places that offered very little in the way of affordable flavor and I’ve been to places where the locals put out impressive spreads. Not every culture or region shares the same attitude about food. That’s why, for example, Mexico’s cuisine is a UNESCO “intangible cultural heritage of humanity” and Russian cuisine isn’t. It’s not that Russian food is bad or objectionable in any way: it’s that Russians don’t have the same approach to eating that Mexicans do.

And before any Russians out there start plotting my demise for dismissing their national palate, let me defend my view of things. I consider Russian art and music to have few equals in the world. The Russian armies’ feats in World War Two were matchless. The Russian spirit is tough, indomitable, and forged in iron. The region simply hasn’t been blessed with a cornucopia of ingredients, that’s all. It’s cold there, so the growing season is short. That makes food more scarce than in tropical regions. The Russians also never developed a taste for spices, so their cuisine has more to do with subtle, muted flavors and interesting textures. And while I can’t get very excited about my next blini, I’m positively mad about Russian chocolates. If I was to write a book about chocolate, I’d be discussing instead how Chinese chocolate doesn’t stack up to the Mexican stuff and be saving the Russians for special praise later on.

You know what… one day, I’ll write about great chocolates of the world. Russia gets a big mention in that, guaranteed.
Right now, though, it’s about the food.

I’ve got a theory about the great cuisines of the world. While every region has a dish or two that can be pretty amazing, for a cuisine to truly stand out, it needs a large range of dishes that, time and again, in the hands of different preparers, cannot fail to deliver enjoyment. When I think of the differences between Mexican food and Russian food, I have to take into account the geography. I mentioned the cold and short growing season in Russia. Now consider the year-round bounty of Mexico. Add to that the fact that a huge range of fruits and vegetables will flourish in the warmth of Mexico that are simply impossible to grow in places where it freezes – like Russia. Face it, Russia is not known for its mangoes, pineapples, or papayas. If someone tried to sell you a crate of Russian bananas, you would greet the offer with disbelief.

Those fruits are exotic in colder places, but are common enough in warmer climates to be ground, pulped, and prepared in bulk sufficient to make them available as ingredients in everyday dishes. The same goes for spices. Warm places grow ’em like nobody’s business: they use ’em the same way. Colder places place such a premium on them that they will use a “th” where their warmer cousins toss in an apostrophe. Historically, the spices were harder to get to the colder places, so the people there either did without them or used them sparingly. Many is the time that I’ve looked at my pepper grinder, loaded with black peppercorns, and fantasized about traveling back in time to Europe to sell those very peppercorns for a massive fortune… and then use that fortune to sail somewhere warm, where I could enjoy food with big, bold flavors for the rest of my temporally-shifted life.

The other factor in these warmer places that makes their cooking something special has to be the warmness itself. Look, where it’s cold, there’s always an excuse to fire up the oven to keep the house warm. Want to warm up a pot of oats? Sure! No problem! You get the wood and I’ll rattle those pots and pans!

Try the same scenario where it’s sweltering. Oats? Seriously? You want oats? In this heat? Just oats? If those guys are going to actually cook something and make this place any hotter, it better be good. So how about instead of a bucket of warm oats, what say we whip up some lasagna? Or Szechuan chicken? Or tacos al pastor? Maybe some chicken tikka masala? Falafel, perhaps?

Right now, I’m thinking you’re drooling a bit more than when I discussed the boiled grains. That’s a sign of a great cuisine. Those places had plenty of stuff to eat, with an embarrassment of varietal riches, but it was so blasted hot in those places that when they made something to eat, it had to be amazing, or it simply wasn’t worth the rise in temperature. Those are the crucibles from which the great cuisines of the world emerged.

For all the people that complain about how the existing LOTR movies left things out or got things wrong, you should be clamoring for a Bollywood version of the epic series. First off, they’d make twelve films, three hours apiece, and keep everything in there. Second, the music wouldn’t put everyone to sleep. Sorry, Enya, but your tunes were the Snoozerville Trolley. A.R. Rahman would blow everyone away with his Bollywood LOTR score. Plus, dance numbers. Finally, audiences would really, really cry their eyes out at the sad parts. In the current films, Boromir dying is noble, but we move on. When Denethor goes up in smoke, it’s kind of a relief. Bollywood, though, would make us cry and we’d love it.

So… how about the casting?

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OnePotChef’s fudge recipe is easy, quick, and delicious. Since I’m in the US, our goods aren’t necessarily the same size as his Aussie kit, but it’s simple to keep the ratio of chocolate to condensed milk at 1:1 and to use about half a stick of butter to get the necessary 50g he specifies. It all melts nicely in the microwave, a good stir gets the liquids to mix, and just be sure you have a spot cleared in the fridge to let the stuff cool down.