The Ancient of Weeks

FECUNDITY!

2010-08-09T07:36:00.000-07:00

Mine eyes have seen the glory

of the coming of the corn!

I will gather up the harvest

even though I'm old and worn.

They'll be pumpkin pie for breakfast

and beans at dinnertime.

My crops are growing strong!

Glory, glory, Ange Ercoli! Glory, glory, Ange Ercoli!

Glory, glory, Ange Ercoli! My crops are growing strong!

This stalk of corn has SIX ears growing on it so far.

Six! That's almost unheard of.
I've got alien ships, hovering overhead,

having traveled many light years,

just to make crop circles in my corn patch.

But I stand out there with a broom every night

and chase them off. Will I have enough strength

to hold them off until harvest?

That's the question. I could use some help.

Perhaps, I'll falter, wax old and croak,

a crumbled heap of pre-retired manhood,

gone the way of all fish.

My hens will miss me when I'm gone.

They and The Lovely One will eat the corn

and remember me in passing.
The weeping widow will be heard to say,

"Ole Holiday sure could grow the corn.

Too bad he's not here to taste it. Pass the salt,

boyfriend."

THE HARVEST BEGINS

2010-07-17T09:46:00.001-07:00

I'm going to need some good squash recipes.
Everything is growing like crazy, but there were signs of a gopher this morning, so I'm on the warpath.

Look at my corn! Just look at it!

GARDEN UPDATE

2010-07-12T09:52:00.000-07:00

To satisfy the aching curiosity of my growing fanbase, we are posting more photos of the Angelo Ercoli Memorial Garden, taken only this morning by The Lovely One. As you can see, there is a Hallelujah Chorus of the Very Corn of Love, reaching skyward for more of the monsoon rains that began last week. I have mulched the corn with golden straw in an attempt to minimize weed growth, retain moisture and promote beneficial microbial activity.
And then, there are the Squishes of Love, Crookneck & Zucchini, flowering and setting veggie fruit as if they had a contract with Safeway. The secret is in the songs I sing to them. "When you wish upon a squish..."

Moreover, in another raised bed, we have the Pumpkins and Potatoes of Love, lush and luxurious.

And then thar be beans, me boys, Bush Beans of Love.

Two rows of can-alopes. Yes, we can; yes, we can.

Tomatoes grown from seed from the best tomatoes we ate last year, doing mighty fine and so rambunctious, we have to keep them in cages.

Another shot of the corn we got. I hope they don't get arrested for stalking.

A close-up of a Crookneck.

A close look at a Zucchini performing its miracle.

There will be pumpkin pie at the Monasterio de Santo Holiday.

Another of the global elite.

Onion flowers. I will collect the seed.

Squash flower.

A closer look at a Can-alope plant on a mulch of pine needles.

Now you know the power of the Bright Side.

THE ANGELO ERCOLI MEMORIAL GARDEN

2010-06-29T18:46:00.000-07:00

My grandfather on my mother's side, Angelo Ercoli, was born on July 17, 1899 in Pisa, Italy. He died on June 28, 1964 in Willingboro, New Jersey. He changed his surname to Ercol after he immigrated to the United States in 1921. I remember him well. He taught me about gardening. He was the steward of a large and productive garden situated on the back half of his property in Beverly, NJ. His garden had a path through the middle, and on either side of the path, supported by a sturdy fence, were grapevines, which gave us large bunches of purple grapes every year. He loved to grow asparagus and tomatoes and raspberries. When I was young, he taught me how to hoe his spacious asparagus patches. I was skinny and weak, and invariably, my mother would have to take me to Dr. Coopersmith afterwards to treat my strained back. I did not have the courage to tell Pop Pop, as I called him, that I was hurting, and so I would continue to hoe beyond my strength. Many times, he would take the hoe from my hands, as he stood next to me, and show me again the proper way to perform the task. He had the good sense to maintain a compost pile in his garden into which he threw his scraps and trimmings. He would have a load of cow manure delivered to the back of his garden every year, and I would help spread it around. I enjoyed his company and attention. He was very, very strong physically and stern, but he always treated me well. He taught me how to bend and cover his fig tree for the winter. I owe him a lot. So, I have named my garden after him. It is not nearly as wonderful as was his garden, but I think he would be pleased with my efforts. Here are some pictures of it, which were taken by the Lovely One this morning.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

2009-12-22T07:06:00.000-08:00

2009-11-28T07:55:00.001-08:00

2009-11-27T07:52:00.000-08:00

Click on the Pic

2009-11-26T18:22:00.000-08:00

HAZMAT UNIT CALLED TO SHOW LOW HOME

2009-07-04T17:17:00.000-07:00

Responding to calls from several concerned neighbors, Show Low's elite Hazmat unit, donning vapor-tight suits and self-contained breathing apparati, rushed to the city's famous landmark known as the Monasterio de Santo Holiday this afternoon. After closing fashionable 8th Avenue at both ends and cordoning off the property, the highly-trained agents broke down the door of the residence to gain entry, expecting the worst. However, to their surprise, instead of a rotting body in a pool of noxious putrefaction, they found Show Low's notorious and reclusive extrovert, St. Holiday himself, sitting alone at the kitchen table and weeping into his bowl of pungent beans. He appeared to observers to be physically unfazed by the nauseous fumes emanating from his home, though he was emotionally distraught over the loss of his beloved wife, who abandoned him recently to seek respite and refuge in California. Out of respect for the couple's privacy, details of this latest separation will not appear in this publication until tomorrow's edition. As a precaution, officers shut off all pilot lights at the residence and opened the windows to ventilate the rooms. When the air has cleared, and neighbors can return to their homes, a crisis intervention team will attempt to counsel with the sorrowing holy man. As an added measure, Meals-on-Wheels has been asked to provide him with some less-combustible food.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOSHIYAHU!

2009-06-04T16:53:00.000-07:00

My Bicentennial son, Josiah Nathan Van Sciver the magnificent, born on this day in 1976, is best approached with reverential awe. I capitulate to the inevitability of his reign. He has the advantage of certain genetic enhancements, which have made him a true Person of Quality, giving rise to a cult of almost religious hero-worship among intellectuals, workers and students. If he were a video-game, he'd be the most downloaded in history. He is not. However, he is a triple-nominee for the You Go Award. He owes most of his personal growth to his angel mother and to the principle of motion. He is a child survivor of ghastly, inhumane conditions, and has been rescued from the very brink of the abyss by his wonderful wife, Sarah, the princess. Now he is thirty-three, which is, appropriately, the product of two prime numbers. His rare mind bubbles with truth. He is a wizard with computers. When asked why he has devoted his life to this technology, he responds, "It beats poaching elephants." His insightful sense of humor is seldom restrained. I am his father; there is no one else to blame. Finally, it should be recorded that Josiah would look a lot like the Mona Lisa , if he were a woman, a little younger, if he had a face like hers, and if he had a smile like hers. Happy birthday, son! Carry on the revolutionary struggle, and be sure to enforce the code of tribal honor at home. I love you.

AVIAN UPDATE

2009-05-10T14:56:00.000-07:00

Huckleberry Duck and his huddle-bud Tom Chickee are living vividly here at St. Holiday's Avian Sanctuary (SHAS). Thanks to a carefully prescribed diet and a life of ease, they have each doubled in size, as the pictures attest. Huckleberry, we have learned, is a Crested Duck, a very fine specimen of that preferred variety. His inseparable friend, Tom, has been classified by our highly-educated poultry experts as "some kind of chicken, either male or female." In the process of rapid growth, Tom is losing his/her pink Easter dye. We hesitate to call him yellow, inasmuch as none of the birds at SHAS has ever shown any other disposition than raw courage. So, to the staff here at the sanctuary, Tom is merely bright. St. Holiday has spent so much time working with Huckleberry, he has developed a severe case of Duck Butt in his hair. This tragic condition may be attractive to female ducks, but the Lovely One thinks he now looks like a "clueless dweeb," whatever that may mean. Of course, the saint was always revered for his ideals and not for his remarkable lack of physical charisma. The enlightened recognize that the spirit of the chicken flock speaks through him and motivates the masses. Huckleberry and Tom love to spend time outside their pen, when staff is available to watch over them. In the evening, just after sunset, they follow the hens into the Chicken Catchatorium to bed down for the night in the straw. Updates will be posted every so often.

In completely unrelated news, informed sources, speaking strictly off the record, revealed that the imminently-eminent poet, philosopher and holy man, St. Holiday, has received numerous death threats from a certain Middle Eastern terrorist organization. Apparently, the recent PBS program, "Tour de la Monasterio de Santo Holiday," showed that the saint's toilet, known as "the Throne," faces toward Mecca, a gross insult to Muslims everywhere. As a precaution, St. Holiday will be spending the evenings in his secret bunker, located in his backyard, over by the corn patch, seventeen feet west of the patio, under the sign saying, "Private Shelter, Knock Before Entering."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JENNA LYNN!

2009-05-06T18:24:00.001-07:00

When I grow up, if that is ever possible, I want to be the male version of my amazing daughter, Jenna Lynn. She has the gift of static cling for everything in the good category. She flies through life like a spiritual Electrolux, drawing faith, knowledge, charity, optimism, kindliness, and personal power from the carpets of mortality with exceptional grace, despite unrelenting opposition. It is humbling and inspiring to be a witness of her victories. I think only a few of her closest friends know how much adversity she suffers. She conquers through her faith. The six children in her care, fortunate children!, will learn the true meaning of love from her. One day, they will read her journals and understand how the Lord refined and purified her in a real cauldron of trials. She refuses by sheer spiritual will and perseverance to allow a bushel to fall over her light.

On November 22, 1976, I recorded a sacred incident in my journal, involving my Jenna Lynn. Concerning the previous Sabbath, I wrote: "Now, Jenna had not been in the best of spirits in the morning. In fact, she seemed over the past couple of months to be very insecure. She would cry over the least of things and argue and complain continually. Candy and I both have spoken quite harshly to her lately, which has not contributed to peace in the home. Anyway, yesterday at Sacrament Meeting, Jenna began carrying on again and being upset. I decided to take her home before the meeting ended. So, I and she marched home, and I put her to bed. Candy came home a short time later, and we began to talk about Jenna, and why it was that she was acting this way. We searched hard. Candy began to cry, and she said that she felt that she was ruining Jenna, and perhaps another family should have her instead of us. We felt unsure as to exactly what we needed to do for her and uncertain as to why Jenna was so insecure. Then I went upstairs to pray... When Jenna awoke from her sleep, I told her that I wanted to have an interview with her, which confused her, since we had never had such a thing. She consented and brought her little brown chair into my room to sit in as we talked. I sat on the floor, so that my eyes were level with hers, and I apologized for being so nasty to her that day, and I promised that I would try harder to be a good father. Then I told her how much I love her and how much she means to me. I related to her about her birth, how I had driven her mother to the hospital, shaking all over with expectation when the time came. I told her how beautifully white and radiant her mother appeared after Jenna had been sent down from Heavenly Father. And I told her how I had covenanted with the Lord, upon receiving the good news of her birth from the nurse, that I would strive to be a good father to her. Then I asked Jenna if she would like me to give her a blessing. She said, "Well, I guess you could give me a blessing, if you wanted to." And so I did. I laid my hands upon her head and touched my forehead to hers, as I knelt next to her little chair. A warm, peaceful spirit descended, and I pronounced words of blessing. A surge of spiritual feeling poured through me to a degree that I had not experienced before. Jenna began to be a little frightened, because she felt the same influence." In that time, there was no time. Our minds and spirits met as one, and we were ageless. I was more than a father; I was her eternal brother, and she was my eternal sister. I could and did communicate with her, spirit to spirit. I learned more about the truth of our eternal beings and about the power of the Holy Priesthood in those minutes than I have in the 33 years since. Moreover, the behavior that prompted our concern as young parents never returned. I hope it is not inappropriate for me to recount this sacred experience here on this happy occasion. Jenna is very wonderful. I have not been able to give her everything she deserves and would receive from a better father. I love her dearly. Happy birthday, little Jenna!

TOM CHICKEE & HUCKLEBERRY DUCK

2009-04-19T16:07:00.000-07:00

A neighbor came to the main office of St. Holiday's Avian Sanctuary (SHAS) this afternoon with two vagabond birdlings, a chick and a duckling. He saw them walking together down the middle of fashionable 8th Avenue. Since they appeared to be bound for Nowhere, he immediately thought of Show Low's well-known ornery-thologist and his doting wifelet, The Lovely One. Their affection for all things small and vulnerable, especially if they have wings and feathers, may someday become the subject of a documentary. Upon application for asylum, SHAS accepted the two birdy buddies and made provision for their protection and sustenance, as would be expected at such a glamorous and incomparable retreat. The Lovely One has fussed and budgeted over the peeping pair. The sanctuary's three famous hens, Prissy, Pepper and Pearl, have been keeping their distance for the time being, wondering aloud what this intrusion may portend. Tom Chickee and Huckleberry Duck are now resting comfortably side by side in a makeshift wire and post pen, which is covered over by a bedsheet to thwart our dive-bombing, murderous hawks. The Lovely One is standing guard with a loaded pistol in the event some predacious cat or fox should trespass upon the domain of the refuge with evil intent. "I will send them straight to hell," she proclaimed, when asked what she would do if the new residents are threatened by such. All of this comes at a busy time for St. Holiday, who has been vying with Johnny Depp for the open ambassadorship to Somalia.

MY ORIOLES ARE RETURNING!

2009-04-18T08:44:00.000-07:00

Having observed and recorded their migratory patterns for the past seven years here at Show Low's pre-famous St. Holiday's Avian Sanctuary (SHAS), we anticipated that our beloved Northern Orioles (Bullocks Variety) would return around April 15th. So, on the 13th, we hung a feeder full of sweet juice in our ancient alligator juniper, a favorite place of pilgrimage for these beautiful birds, and we watched for the first migrant to arrive. Right on schedule, in the afternoon of April 15th, the leader came with a greeting from Mexico and more southern parts. The Lovely One took his picture, and it is posted above. As always, the first is a mature male, an elder of the great tribe, which comes to the White Mountains here in eastern Arizona for breeding. It is a supreme joy to see the first one come. We know many others will soon follow in the days ahead. First, the males will arrive, and then the females. Many of these will be returning to SHAS, the place of their nativity. We will provide many feeders for them and keep them consistently filled throughout the breeding season and until they make their way to their southern home in August. It is a satisfying experience to facilitate the propagation of these magnificent birds. At the end of June, we will expect to see the first offspring brought to our feeders. We delight in their playfulness, agility and curiosity. They come right to our windows and peer in, watching our activity inside. This is all we need to renew our commitment to them for the years to come.

ST. HOLIDAY FILES TAX FORM EARLY!

2009-04-14T12:37:00.000-07:00

Again the hyperbolic St. Holiday has established a standard for the masses, by filing his IRS Tax Extension Form one day early. "No one can accuse me of procrastination," exclaimed the holy man from the front porch of his Show Low sanctuary. Having just completed his latest sacred epistle, aptly named "Stationary of the Cross Wife," the White Mountain's Jedi of the Pen awoke from his fevered dreams at the Dawn of the Dad, and the first words from his mouth were, "I have a duty to perform!" How typical; how diligent; how inspiring! Moving at a break-knickknack pace, while patiently enduring the intense pleasure of his angel mother's hand-dipped chocolates, the one known widely as the Ancient of Weeks went into go motion like a SEAL sniper. Though the sight of the Tax Extension Form was as appealing as a cold catheter, the saintly one threw himself into the labor, worked furiously for all of ten minutes, and succeeded in the deed. Now he is possessed of an irrational, wild optimism that he will somehow be able to pay his tax bill at the end of the six month period of forbearance.

With regard to that other embarrassing incident, Saint Holiday has at all times insisted upon his innocence and continues to do so, except to the Lovely One, who happens to know the truth.

GERE REJECTS SETTLEMENT OFFER

2009-03-28T20:00:00.000-07:00

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

CONTACT:
Address: Monasterio de Santo Holiday
White Mountains
Show Low, AZ 85901
Telephone: disconnected
Email: saintholiday@yahoo.com

Show Low, AZ - March 28, 2009
In a shocking turn of events today, attorneys for Richard Gere signaled that their illustrious client refused to accept St. Holiday's offer of settlement in a controversy that has garnered buzz around the world. Gere is demanding that Show Low's most famous holy humorist undergo full facial reconstruction to obliterate any resemblance he might have with the aging actor. In the alternative, the former Hollywood star would be satisfied if the A-list saint would agree to wear a mask in all public places and for all publicity photos. According to informed sources, St. Holiday immediately countered with the suggestion that the actor have his name boldly tattooed on his forehead to obviate the possibility of mistaken identity. Gere's attorneys swiftly dismissed that idea on the grounds that it would not be effective in the dark.

Upon hearing their response to his counter-offer, Myther Holiday challenged the actor to a cage fight at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas. The reclusive comedy genius interrupted his plans to audition for "The Biggest Loser" to huddle with the notorious fight promoter Don King and work out a deal.

All of this comes amid rumors that Gere was not born with his present distinguishing features but that he underwent facial-enhancement surgery in the 80's. If this is true, it can be expected that St. Holiday's attorneys will press a legal argument that the holy man has a predecessory proprietary interest in his good looks. According to the latest issue of People Magazine, the saint has never had his countenance "refreshed," to use a euphemism made popular by Nancy Pelosi's cosmetic surgeon.

The White House is expected to weigh in on the matter before nightfall. However, the President is not expected to be supportive of St. Holiday's position because of his recent public refusal to accept federal stimulus dollars. The holy one announced that he is holding out for sedative funding instead.

Why did Gere reject St. Holiday's compromise offer to shave his head? Strangely enough, Gere has been planning to shave his own head and join a Tibetan monastery within the next month. Sources inform us that he has already been fitted for his saffron robe.

###

If you would like more information about this matter, or to schedule an interview with St. Holiday, please contact his publicist by emailing saintholiday@yahoo.com.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JONAH!

2009-03-05T17:24:00.000-08:00

Today is my son Jonah's 23rd birthday. I wish him every happiness and the best of success in all of his worthy endeavors. He lives near Denver, Colorado, and I rarely see him anymore, which is very painful for me. I love him dearly. I thought I would post an extract from my journal, written on the day of his glorious birth. Take care, son.

5 March 1986, Wednesday

Today will long be remembered by Candy and me, as it was the birthday of Jonah Zachary, born at 1:40 P.M. at Rancocas Valley Hospital in Willingboro, NJ. We had lost a great deal of sleep last night, because Candy was having contractions. What a relief it was when the sun finally arose and the realization came that this was the day, that we wouldn’t have to wait until tomorrow again. Dr. Horn had promised that he would induce her labor on March 5th, if she hadn’t had the baby by then. When he had made that promise, he didn’t really believe that she would last that long. I can’t describe the excitement in our home this morning. The other children were really looking forward to this new baby. Some wanted a boy and some a girl, but all promised to love whatever it turned out to be. We prayed as a family around my bed and asked Heavenly Father to bless Candy and give her strength for the delivery. And we prayed that the baby would be well. Candy and I left the house a little early. We had an appointment at the hospital for 11 A.M., but our excitement made it impossible to sit at home. We drove to my mother’s store in Edgewater Park and waited there instead, talking to my Aunt Marge, Lynn and Mom. We laughed and joked until it was time to leave. My mother packed us some chicken-salad sandwiches and sweet rolls for our day at the hospital. We were nervous; my stomach was churning; Candy made no secret of her nervousness. The thought of what she faced made it easy for her to cry.

We got to the hospital just a few minutes before the hour of 11 A.M. and were quickly escorted to a birthing room. Candy was robed, put into bed, hooked up to the fetal monitor and given an I.V. Dr. Messick came and got things rolling by breaking Candy’s water in a very cruel manner. Fortunately, Dr. Michael Horn came on shift soon after, and Dr. Messick bowed out. Dr. Horn is marvelously sensitive and competent. He was Candy’s Doctor for Noah, and we had such a great experience with him that we wouldn’t think of going to anyone else. I settled down to read our first issue of This People magazine, expecting that I would finish it and have plenty of time to do some other things before the baby came. Surprise! Halfway through the magazine, Candy began to feel the pain quite intensely and to demand anesthesia. She commanded me to find Dr. Horn immediately so that he could increase the dosage. He came, and did, and also announced that the baby was nigh at hand. So we dressed in our gowns and put on our surgical gloves. Since he had agreed to permit me to deliver this baby, as I had Noah, he began to explain the procedure and what I could expect. It soon became clear that we wouldn’t have to wait very long. Candy screamed and pushed, not in stages like they do it in the movies, but in one long continual primal display of strength and agony. Jonah came directly into my waiting hands and I caught him as if I were crouching behind the plate in the final game of the World Series. He’s a boy! I was fairly exhilarated with supreme joy as I clamped and cut the cord and showed him to his weary mother. What a blessing! He is perfectly formed in every detail, without a flaw. I didn’t spank the little guy, but you should have heard him scream! What a beautiful sound! Dr. Horn taught me about the structure of the umbilical cord while we awaited the expulsion of the placenta. Then we examined the placenta. I was just fascinated by the whole process. Miraculous! I held my baby to my face and kissed him. Heavenly Father had answered our every prayer and had blessed Candy as had been promised in the Priesthood blessings.

Jonah is 7 pounds 14 ounces and 21 inches long. I love this son with my whole heart and the mother who suffered to bring him to me! May they both be showered upon with heaven's best blessings. I am so happy that I could fly!

By coincidence, Jonah’s birth resulted in the postponement of my pro-life trial, which was scheduled to commence at noon today in Cherry Hill. I am representing thirteen defendants charged with trespassing at the abortion mill called the Cherry Hill Women’s Center. My clients are thrilled about the reprieve and couldn’t help but recognize the irony of the situation. They have worked so hard to save babies and now a baby saves them!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HANNAH BEE!

2009-02-11T18:05:00.000-08:00

My beautiful daughter, Hannah Beth, was born on this day in 1981. I've been reading my journal account of the days preceding and following her birth. Someday, perhaps she will also read that record and learn of the great joy she brought into our home. She was born a week earlier than we expected, when our doctor decided to induce her birth. There is nothing in my journal to suggest that we complained about that. She evened out our brood, number six in a family of three boys and three girls. So perfectly pleasant! She fussed only when she was not being attended to and loved constantly. For the first few days, she would not eat much, which caused her angel mother great anxiety. However, Hannah, a very intelligent young lady, learned the art of the milky meal soon enough. Death was averted; her mother's fears were swept away; peace returned to the homestead; and happiness settled upon us like grandmother's quilt on a chilly evening. Hannah has grown to be a woman of faith. Her name means "grace," and that is a fitting description of her. She never has a cross word to say about anyone. She is kind to the very marrow of her being. I love her to the depth of my ancient soul. Happy Birthday, sweetheart.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

2008-12-25T11:05:00.000-08:00

To all our family and friends throughout the world, the Lovely One and I wish you a very Merry Christmas. We love you. May the glorious message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ burn in your hearts now and forever. And may each of you receive through God's grace that which would be best for you. Be well.

ST. HOLIDAY ANNOUNCES CUT IN BILLING RATES

2008-12-17T08:25:00.000-08:00

Saint Holiday, positioned at the top of the spiritual services industry, announced a steep billing rate cut today in a move sure to send a profound signal to the market. Effective immediately, the firm has slashed its hourly billing rate from $575.00 to $29.95 . The landmark announcement was lauded as a good strategy for these bad economic times. According to the founder of Show Low's spiritual services boutique, the decision was not made in response to client demand, inasmuch as he has no clients, but rather as a public acknowledgement that times are financially difficult for everyone. Having no clients, Saint Holiday has been able to keep its receivables at zero without the application of any accounting tricks, a situation to be envied for sure. Though costs of doing business have risen dramatically over the past year, the firm will tighten its belt and make whatever changes are necessary to help itself and its future clients weather the present economic crisis. Saint Holiday also announced that there will be no lay-offs in the coming year. This brought a sigh of relief from the one employee of the firm, St. Holiday himself.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BIG EYES!

2008-12-14T08:32:00.000-08:00

Amanda Noelle is our fourth child, born on this day in 1977, during my second semester in law school. My last exam for the semester was in Constitutional Law, taught by Dean Rex Lee, and it was given on December 12th. I had been anxious that the baby would be born before I finished my difficult exams, but Big Eyes was kind to accommodate me. Her angel mother would have preferred an earlier birth. We had gone to Stake Conference in the venerable Provo Tabernacle on November 28th, where Elder J. Thomas Fyans of the First Quorum of the Seventy spoke, and poor Candy was very, very uncomfortable. She had taken off her shoes and later found it to be impossible to put them back on, because her feet had swollen. Before we left, she started shaking. We were relieved to get her back home. The last two months of that pregnancy were very uncomfortable for her. I wrote in my journal: "What a happy day it will be when this baby arrives! It will be like Resurrection Day to Candy!" On the day after my exams were finished, I wrote: "Candy has not yet had the baby, and she is afraid that it will never come and that she'll be pregnant forever." She was having painful contractions, but they were irregular and never any closer than 8 minutes apart. She was in tears several times because of the indefiniteness of those contractions. Finally, it happened. On December 14th at 3:10 PM, Big Eyes was born at Utah Valley Hospital in Provo, Utah. I witnessed the entire miracle with my own eyes. I will never forget how the mother and baby looked into each others' eyes when the nurse brought the baby to her for the first time after the birth. Mandy's large eyes were wide open. There was a holy communication between the two that was remarkable and beautiful to behold. It was recognition from an earlier time and place. I gave her the nickname Big Eyes at that moment. Happy Birthday, Big Eyes! I send you my blessings and thank you for coming into our family. May our Heavenly Father always watch over you and grant you the worthy desires of your heart. The old dad loves you and will love you forever, no matter what. Here are a few pictures for your viewing pleasure.

CASH YOU CAN COUNT ON!

2008-12-06T05:10:00.000-08:00

Ending weeks of speculation, Saint Holiday held a press conference today to announce his candidacy for the 2012 presidential race. Sporting a snazzy Elvis wig to cover his baldness and to hide the gruesome scar, evidencing his recent, radical brain surgery, the holy man assumed a senior level position atop his famous Chicken Catchatorium, the coop de grace, to make his stunning announcement. "I'd first like to thank me muddah and me faddah, " he began, reading from prepared remarks written on a Southwest Airlines vomit bag. At the sound of his voice, the crowd of media representatives wept openly. Sitting in full lotus, like the incarnation of Vishnu himself, the master explained that he has no plans to slow down, despite feeling "like a cookie crushed to crumbs." His words were like an electric kundalini to every soul present. "Now that I have only half a brain, I feel qualified to serve in public office. Obama has offered only change to the American public. I offer them cash, cash they can count on!"

The saintly one glowed, as he did in his pre-digital days. He described the fundamental elements of his platform, the first of which was employed effectively during the Mosaic administration, forgiveness of all debt! He read from the fifteenth chapter of Deuteronomy: "At the end of every seven years thou shalt make a release. And this is the manner of the release: Every creditor that lendeth ought unto his neighbour shall release it; he shall not exact it of his neighbour, or of his brother; because it is called the Lord's release." Saint Holiday promised that he would cancel all personal and institutional debt for every American during his first week in office, employing the divinely-inspired program defined in the Bible. "Every debt, whether in the character of a mortgage, promissory note, credit card debt or any other, shall be declared null and void. No one will owe anyone anything!"

Faster than three Mississippi's, the holy man presented the second plank of his platform: "A check in every pot!" He explained, "During the first 100 days of my presidency, I will direct the US Treasury to issue a check for one million dollars to every household in America earning less than $200,000.00 per year. This money will be backed by the value of all land owned by the federal government. There will be no poverty in this nation during my administration!"

It was impossible to control the enthusiasm of the crowd, gathered around the saintly candidate, after they heard him give his historic speech. Now that his supply of cerebral cells is down to manageable size, he appears more fit than ever to take the helm of this great nation. For a moment, Saint Holiday almost slipped and engaged in critical thought, but he caught himself in the knock of time and excused himself to return to the sanctuary of his Show Low residence to huddle with his political advisers. In a few weeks, he intends to begin his national campaign from the comfort of his personal blimp, hovering over crowds to deliver his exciting speeches and to fight against egregious collocations of vocables, wherever these are spewed.

In a related matter, Saint Holiday's spokesperson confirmed that the holy one did indeed have a mezuzah implanted in the forefront of his skull during his recent surgery. He would be pleased if his followers would kiss or touch him gently upon the forehead as opportunities for such sacred intimacy present themselves.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ABIDOO!

2008-11-12T06:52:00.000-08:00

My precious daughter, Abigail Ann, was born on November 12, 1982, during a time of great trial for my family. She proved to be a joy during that difficult time. I remember well the comfort she brought me when I held her in my arms after my hard days. There's nothing like a soft baby to ease a man's tension and help him forget the harsh trials of time. She was our seventh child, our good luck baby. And she has had good fortune. Early in 1983, her mother fell down the hard wooden steps of our home in Merchantville, while carrying little Abby. Momma broke her foot, but Abby was not injured in any way. Heavenly Father has held His protective hand over our Abby all throughout her life. She knows this is true. I love my Abigail! She is entwined around my heart like a morning glory vine. She has brought me so much happiness. I continually pray that the best of Heaven's blessings may come to her in her marriage and motherhood. I believe she has a glorious destiny.
Happy Birthday, Abidoo! I'll love you forever.

December 1982

1983

1989

May 1986, Take One

Take Two

SCIENTISTS COAX BRAIN CELLS OF ST. HOLIDAY TO REGENERATE!

2008-11-08T09:55:00.000-08:00

St. Holiday, a briefly-mentioned figure in anecdotal lore, in a footnote here and there, was as calm as a beanless casserole today following an experimental operation fraught with risk, performed by the clinical cooperative group of the White Mountain Brain Center. Tests have confirmed that he is still alive. His first words after the operation were, "Call me Fliptop." His wife, the Lovely One replied, "We may have to call you, Scooby Doofus." Long known to reject the blind application of standard solutions to personal difficulties, solutions such as suicide or euthanasia, the suffering soul opted for radical, invasive surgery to remove vast areas of necrotic tissue from both sides of his cerebral Partisan Divide. Sources report that when the top of his skull was removed for the debulking procedure, a cloud of dead brain cells, having the consistency of vacuum cleaner dust, caused a fit of sneezing among all present in the operating room. Oddly enough, what remained after the necrotic tidbits and itty-bitties were excised could not accurately be called "gray matter," for it had the multi-colored appearance of tutti-frutti icecream. The second part of the operation involved a revolutionary breakthrough in science. Surgeons sought to stimulate mitosis, or cell division and proliferation, by injecting an extract of cocoa into the Golgi apparati of his remaining brain cells. Only time will tell if the operation is successful. Now St. Holiday faces a long, hard struggle to recovery, as he has for the past fifty years.

The patient was awake throughout the operation and was able to carry on a conversation of sorts with the circling surgeons, nurses, media reps and members of the Obama Transition team. "I feel rattled," he said. "Someone Kevork me; I hurt," he mumbled. When asked if he would like an analgesic for the pain, St. Holiday replied, "No, that part of me is fine. Do you have a headogesic?"

A sort of minor figure among Show Low's Holy Illuminati, St. Holiday, whose very voice in days long past could make a preacher cry, confess and check into rehab, had noticed a diminishment of all his geek signifiers ever since his days as a Cold War superspy (code name: Deep Thought) and his debut in the national tabloids. Many have mentioned that every time he speaks, something ordinary comes out of his mouth, something mundane and unremarkable.

Upon seeing him for the first time, laid out on the operating table, a nurse said, "I can't believe how powerful he looks in person!" One of his surgeons replied, "Except for his body and soul, he is just like you and me." "Doesn't he look natural!" another said. "With his head shaved like that and his tongue hanging out, he kinda looks like a capital Q," added the saintly one's wife, who has a fondness for surgical procedures and insisted upon being in the operating room during the entire 16-hour operation. As a nurse shaved his head in preparation for the craniotomy, St. Holiday amused her and onlookers by singing a jingle from the '50's, made famous by Fearless Fosdick himself, "Wildroot Cream-Oil, Charlie!" This was followed by his stirring rendition of another old jingle, "Bryl-Cream, a little dab will do ya. She'll love to run her fingers through your hair."

Prior to the operation, St. Holiday put in brutal 8-hour shifts at his tee-shirt factory, The Bustin' T Party, and struggled to find energy for his quirky adaptation of the play "Death Takes a Holiday." When the Spirit moved him, he spent time playing rap records backwards, listening for cloaked messages from the angels. If the operation proves to be a success, we might hope that the holy man will recommence his retreat from private life and continue to make his small contribution to society by varnishing harsh truths for the sake of his posterity and his adoring disciples. It is also to be hoped that the surgery will influence his sins of humor.

St. Holiday's children tried to talk him out of the risky surgery, saying, "Dad, you're just doing this for your insanity defense. Besides, you haven't made your will yet or chosen your taxidermist." Despite his children's preference for cryogenic taxidermy, St. Holiday often speaks of his desired interment at Coopertown Burying Ground, where many of his ancestors are awaiting the morning of the First Resurrection. Now it appears that his burial will be accomplished on an installment plan, inasmuch as his excised dead brain cells and a canister of dead skin cells from a Kirby Vacuum Cleaner demonstration on his own bed were collected and mixed together for early burial at his Coopertown plot. A special graveside service is planned for the event, with Tina Turner singing, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot."

As a sidenote, St. Holiday has named his new dog, Bark Obama, in honor of the victor in the Nation's presidential campaign. There is hope that the pup icon will become the first dog on the moon, a true lunar rover.

HE SPEAKS!

2008-11-03T13:51:00.000-08:00

Saint Holiday broke away from his handlers at the executive brainstorming session of the semi-annual conference of the Show Low Temperance and Abstinence League to issue the following statement: "My permanent state of apology will end soon. I'm sorry it has lasted so long. I regret that I must cut it short. I beg the kind indulgence of the public during this period of personal transition, as I attempt to transcend the monotony of my exciting life. Beyond this, it grieves me to admit that I have nothing more substantial to add to current discourse."