Coming home from Midnight Mass, I still had a couple of things to do before I hunkered down for a warm winters nap.First on the list was to send out a brief Christmas greeting on the infectious social networking website Facebook.  Being sixteen hours ahead of most of my family and friends, I could be one of the first to put my good wishes out there.

Second on the list was to put in a phone call to my nephews.  They had expressed severe disapproval at Mr. Claus for visiting me sixteen hours before he made it to them.  Too young to truly understand the concept of time zones, they thought it was unfair that Santa would visit me almost a full day before he would deliver their gifts.

That was too good to pass up.

I had to leave a message for them.  “Hey, it’s just Uncle Mark.  Wanted to call and let you know that I just made it home from church, and guess who came to visit me!  Yup, Santa!  Left me some shoes and some chocolates under the tree!  Isn’t it great!  Hopefully he has something left by the time he gets to you!  Merry Christmas!”

It just isn’t Christmas unless I can tease the ones I love.

 St. Patrick’s is awe inspiring.  A massive Gothic cathedral, a Basilica, that would right at home in some ancient city in Ireland, rather than the sub tropical climate of Melbourne.  The bells were joyously ringing as I made my way towards the iron gates out front in the mist and light rain of this very untropical of nights, almost more reminiscence of Ireland then Melbourne.

The carol service would start at eleven, midnight Mass, at midnight.  That might seem obvious to most people, but in my hometown, Midnight Mass starts considerably earlier.  At our little church, there is a carol service as well, but they would usually be ending about midnight, not Mass starting - but in my mind, it would be very similar to being home.

The basics were still there.  The wonder of the Catholic Mass is, it is indeed, universal - the basics are all there and it is humbling to know that you are sharing a the sacred meal with people from Rome to Toyko to Lagos to my little home on the prairie.

But there are some differences.

For starters, our little church has an outstanding choir.  Made up of some of the most talented people in our community, they do a fantastic job of singing, playing piano, organ and other instruments as needed (Mr. Kuhn’s trumpet and Dave’s saxophone can give you goose bumps).

St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the principle church in this town of four million has: Cathedral Choir, Cathedral Singers, Cathedral Brass, and Cathedral Orchestra, as well as a group of cantors and organists.

In short, they had about as many musicians as our church would have in the pews.

And the church was packed.  The massive churches, while beautiful in their own right, were made to be filled for celebrations.  Christmas is one of those yearly celebrations and the church was filled - the pews were filled, the walls had people standing along them two to three deep, the steps around the alter had people sitting on them.

The carol service was impressive.  It had many of the old favorites and truly was a Christmas Vigil Service.  Starting with O Come, O Come Emmanuel and moving to some of the most buaetiful Psalms and Old Testemant readings that foretold the coming of the little child - interspersed with classics such as “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and some of the old world songs as well.

“With Angel’s We Have Heard On High” - the ancient Christmas Proclamation was read, and was followed by prayers and blessings and the song, “Once in Royal David’s City.”

After a brief break, the celebration of Midnight Mass began, and that too was a wonder to behold.  Most of the classic prayers - the Gloria, the Kyrie, the Great Amen - were all from the European master Haydn.  It was hauntingly beautiful as the mix of choirs, brass, and orchestra came together and the music seemed to hang through the air of the Gothic largess of the church.  This was the element that the music was designed for.

Perhaps what was most moving about the service, is that you didn’t feel a stranger, and as packed and as wonderful as it was, it also didn’t seem remote.  It was here - and we were a part of it, we were more than mere lonely spectators in a performance, we were there, intimate players.

Which is the purpose for the Christmas service to begin with.  In the end, we are not to be some participate of the Christ child’s birth, but a living, active part of his mission and ministry here on earth.  Now that is worth celebrating.

 Most of us dream of a life changing moment that hits us in an instant, that instance success, instant fame, instant fortune that gets glorified in the media.

Around New Years, with resolutions and goal setting, those dreams and visions of glory seem especially fresh in our minds.

Monty Hall, from the famous, “Let’s Make a Deal” television show said it best, “I’m an overnight success, it just took me twenty years to get here.”  I don’t think we expect things to come easy for everyone, or for things to just be handed to people.

Just us!

As I was reflecting on my New Year’s resolutions, I too thought about all of the great things that I could win, or be given this year.  I thought - if only I won the lottery or had some other good stroke of luck, then things would be so easy!

But in the end, I think I’ve stuck upon a little secret to life.  It’s incremental.

It’s like the old story about the old Norwegian, Ole.  Ole went to the doctor and the doctor told him that if he really wanted to get healthy, he should walk ten miles every day.  About thirty days later, Ole called the doctor and said, “Doctor, I’ve got a problem.”

Doctor said, “Are you feeling OK?”

“Oh ya, I’m feeling great!  Have been losing weight, the pain in my hips is gone, arthritis is no longer a problem - golly Doc, I’ve never felt better!” Ole replied.

“Then what’s the problem?” The doctor asked.

“I’ve been walking ten miles a day and am stuck somewhere in North Dakota, how in the heck do I get home?” Ole replied.

Ole wasn’t too far off the mark (beyond being 300 miles from home).  It is that consistency of purpose, day in, day out, that gets us through and truly builds out character and our success.

Growing up on the farm, you tilled the soil, planted the crop, controlled the weeds and insects, and prayed for rain.  After months, you cut and harvested and stored the crop and worked the ground again to prepare for planting the next spring.

It was a slow and methodical process.  You truly reaped not only what you sowed, but based on the work and thought you put into the crop throughout the year - and indeed, year upon year.

Our vision sometimes gets limited by the work and frustration of our daily lives.  We fail to see the next fall’s harvest while prepping the ground the year before.  We see the risks and the costs - the fertilizer, the threat of drought, or too much rain, or insects or disease - but we fail to see the potential that could be in our lives.

Those things we plant - goodwill, character, friendships, experience, education, a good work ethic, if we practice them and care for them, will yield all the better when it comes time to harvest and plant for the next year.

So my resolutions for the coming year?  Continue the work on those from last year, continue to plant and water the seeds of last year - those unrealized hopes and dreams, and enjoying the benefits of those goals that were met…and trying to find the vision of what I can plant on top of it.

After all, life may be hard, but in the end, its incremental!

 Once again back into the rain I walked up Flinders Street and around the corner towards Parliament House, the seat of the Victorian State government, behind which loomed the tall towers of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Stopping at the Windsor Hotel, one of the oldest in Melbourne, and into the attached Cricketeer Pub for one more Christmas pint (and respite from the rain), it happened again.

“A pot of Guinness please.” I asked the bartender.

“Coming right up sir.” He replied.

Setting a full pint in front of me and grabbing my money for a pot, I protested, “This is a pint not a pot.”

“Yes sir!  Merry Christmas!” He replied.

There were a few other groups at the establishment.  A group of four people on the other end of the bar were speaking amongst themselves.  At a table by the window were a middle aged couple and their three teenage boys, enjoying a pint and some of the pub food.

The group of four people came closer and asked, “Wre ye frooom eye?”

“Excuse me?”  I replied politely.

A little louder, one of the ladies said, “Wa sad, wre ye froooom eye?  Faierily clearly ye arnot froooom arun abot har.”

“Ah!  Where am I from!”  I replied now understanding, “From the states.  And you, are you from Australia?”

The bartender chortled.

“Wa aar noot.  Wee are frooom veeerry Nortern Eglund.  Rit op thar on thee border with Scotland.” They replied.

As we grew accustomed to each other’s accents, we talked about Christmas traditions in each of our areas, the weather we had escaped, and what brought us all to Melbourne.

As the bartender started to move us towards the door, we said our Merry Christmas.

“Wer ya off ta lad?” They asked.

“St. Patrick’s, those tall spires right over there.  Midnight Mass.” I replied.

“Oh, Catholic ya argh ar ya?  Well, naver wad a guessed dat!” They replied, “Merry Christmas ta ya then!”

Merry Christmas my friends, and enjoy Melbourne.

(Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  This column originally appeared in the The Boone Today) 

Through my full-time job at Iowa State University and my part-time efforts here at Boone TODAY, I spent a great deal of my working time in 1989 writing about two of central Iowa’s biggest news event.

Remarkably, both stories have links to China.  That would seem to be the only similarity between Chinese locomotives and Chinese pigs.  But a closer look indicates how closely culture and science sometimes mimic one another.

The pigs arrived in Ames in July.  Research programs at Iowa State University will investigate the pigs apparent resistance to some diseases and their ability to produce large litters.

The locomotive arrived in Boone early in December.  The Boone & Scenic Valley Railroad plans to use the locomotive to boost ridership on its 14-mile tourist line.

The locomotive is important because it gives us a link to our past-a time when all of the trains that ran through Boone belched clouds of smoke and steam.  The Chinese locomotive will not teach us anything about locomotives or railroading.  But it will bring the past alive for us and for our children.  It will help preserve a piece of our history-the history that makes Boone what it is today.

China’s economic woes and stunted economic growth produced a treasure for Boone.  If China’s economy had thrived these past decades and all steam locomotives had been replaced by diesel and electric locomotives long before now, “The Iowan” would not be here, ready to ply the rails of the Des Moines River Valley next spring.

The pigs are also important for the historical perspective they grant.  Because of progress and the gradual improvement of U.S. swine herds over the years, the pigs that foraged in the backyards and site of America 100 years ago are no longer available for study. Whatever genes for disease resistance or feed conversion or piglet survival those pigs might have had were lost during the decades that passed.

But in China, where the agricultural economy is sluggish and customers do not demand pigs that are lean and meaty, ancient breeds of pigs still exist.   The Fengjing, Meishan and Minzhu breeds of pigs imported to ISU are nearly identical to breeds of pigs raised by Chinese farmers thousand of years ago.

They appear to have genes for disease resistance, early puberty, embryo survival and large litters.  These genes have not been lost during cross breeding.  Thanks to Chinese agriculture, another treasure has been preserved for Iowa.

The lesson that we can learn from ISU’s Chinese pigs and from the B&SVRR’S Chinese locomotives is that history in all its forms is important.

Ancient art, steaming locomotives, time-honored traditions and museum pieces of all kinds should be preserved.

While all these things do not grant us new insights into chromosomes and DNA, they broaden our thinking and give us perspective and appreciation for the present and hope for the future.

Some treasures from history, like the Chinese pigs or the plant lines like those stored at the USDA Plant Introduction Center south of Ames, may yield scientific advances through research.  Ancient breeds of animals and plants hold an untold wealth of genetic traits that may help farmers feed the world of the future.

But who is to say whether ancient pigs or antique locomotives are more important?  For civilization to grow, both stomachs and minds must be fed.

With that in mind, the arrival of the Chinese locomotives and the Chinese pigs made 1989 a very good year for central Iowa.

 As a good Catholic, I did something that I knew I really shouldn’t do.  Finishing up my beer, I headed back out into the rain, about seven thirty now, and crossed the street into St. Paul’s Cathedral.  This was not a Catholic Cathedral, this was the Anglican Cathedral.  This was the church founded by King Henry VIII.  Hearing from my Irish co-worker earlier that day about the bitterness that was fueled between those two religions only a generation or two earlier in this very city…it felt very strange to be sitting in that pew for a session of Christmas carols.

And the place filled up.

There was an older couple that came and sat down next to me.  The man was keen to bend my ear, especially when he heard my American accent.

“You’re an American! Splendid!” he exclaimed.  “We love you here!  Especially my generation, those of us that remember having you here during the war.”

Turns out this man was a bit of a dignitary himself.  He had gotten involved in the foreign service and had served in New York for the United Nations.

“I served on the Mideast Peace Commission back in the late 50’s and early 60’s.  We believed if we could make peace then it would be lasting.  If we didn’t it would drag on for generations and generations.  They didn’t want peace then - no side was willing to give, and we are no closer today.”  He said.  Giving me a history lesson this land of Jesus’ birth.

The service was splendid, with all kinds of pomp, the Anglican priests and bishops in all of their vestments and the yeomen leading the way, followed by the men and boys choirs.

For the next hour and a half, we listened to the choirs sing and readings from the Bible about the promise of the baby.  It was a deeply religious and moving service complete with old favorites, as well as even older songs in Latin and French that resonated through the packed cathedral.

As the service ended, the old gentleman next to me grabbed my arm and said, “You must visit Ayres rock and you must visit Canberra - go to the portrait gallery, it is splendid and gives you a wonderful view of Australian life.”

As his wife prodded him to go, he said, “This was nice, but a little more then I’m used to.”  Looking around, he said quietly to me, “To be honest, I’m a Presbyterian.”

“I’m Catholic.”  I replied.

All of sudden, my cover was blown.

Turning to his wife, he exclaimed, “This man is Catholic!  What do you make of that!  That’s wonderful!”

There went my cover.

In fact, I don’t think that anyone else really cared, I got the impression that most were impressed with the service, but many, like myself, were there for the history and the festivities, rather than the religious convictions.

But it was all very good and brought a little light on a stormy Christmas Eve.

 Christmas Eve was warm.  But warm is a relative thing when you are from the plains of northern Minnesota, where a “warm Christmas” means hitting the freezing mark.  In Melbourne, it hit thirty-two degrees as well…but here, that was in Celsius, or about eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit.  In short, it was going to be a warm Christmas.

Work was relatively brief.  By three o’clock in the afternoon, only a brave few of us were left.  Walking out onto the main thorough fare into the city, there wasn’t much traffic, and it was clear that those of us left, might be some of the few on this side of the city.

Walking the mile and a half into the city center, the CBD (Central Business District - hey, I don’t name this stuff, I just report it), I found why so many people left work early - to shop.  The stores and malls that are at the city center were packed.  The few items that I would need for Christmas - some good chocolates, some office supplies, and a new pair of shoes, were quickly found, and back home I went.

It was clear from the western sky the heat wasn’t going to last long.

Ominous clouds were forming on the coastal ranges, the low hills on the far edge of the valley that marks the area where Melbourne lay - rain was coming, which should break the Christmas heat.

For the next hour, I watched from my 27^th floor balcony as the low hanging clouds made their way steadily towards the city - what to my Midwestern eyes looked like a shelf, or wall cloud rolling out in front, bringing flashes of lightening and peels of thunder.

With a loud clamoring, the storm broke upon the city.

By the time I had gotten gussied up in jeans, white shirt, red tie, and tan sport coat, the thunder and lightning had subsided, but the rain continued to come down in sheets.  Making my way out in the weather, I made it to the tram stop outside of my apartments.  At this point, in this part of town, six-thirty on Christmas Eve, it seemed to be only me and those ethnic groups that don’t celebrate Christmas out and about.

Hoping on the tram, I rode in the rain (the roof leaked) to Flinders street stations - and the restaurant/pub that had served me well in the past and had some of the best fish and chips on the menu - Young and Jacksons.

Ordering at the bar, my small fish and chips and my pot (half a pint) of beer, I was surprised when the pint of the amber fluid found its way to the bar.

“But I only said a pot!  I only paid for a pot!” I said with some surprise.

“Oh dear,” the young barkeep said with a twinkle in his eye, “Guess I didn’t hear you being its Christmas and all.”

So in the simple solitude of a rainy Melbourne night, I drank my pint and enjoyed my fish and chips.  Thankful for the kindness of strangers and for a place of warmth on a cold and rainy Christmas night, no stable, but certainly a shelter in the storm.

 (Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  This column originally appeared in the The Boone Today)

Sigh.

The holidays are over.  You are probably back at work.  Winter is undoubltely here to stay.  The beginning of the new year has been depressing.  I’ll bet your life it has been short on smiles for the past 16 days.

We’re bombing Iraq.  Again.  There’s fighting and starvation in Somalia.  There is warfare, murder and suffering from Bosnia.  Local news programs feature the homeless, drive by shootings and other stories of crime, disaster and tragedy.

Even the weather so far in 1993 has been awful.  There’s too much snow and ice on the sidewalks to walk anywhere.  There’s too much ice on the streets and roads to drive anywhere.  All you can do it sit at home and listen to the furnace run up your utility bill.

Sigh.

But before you settle too deeply into that blue funk, remember that life’s not all bad.  You just have to look past the television and the newspapers to find out.  What’s so good about life?  Here are 10 reasons to smile and they are only the tip of the iceberg.

Crayola is introducing a box of 96 crayons, including 16 completely new Crayola colors.  Traditionalists may pooh-pooh the new box and colors, but for kids who love to draw and color, it’s great news.  You are only 3 percent as creative at age 40 as you were when you were seven

Tupperware is still around and it’s an amazing idea.  You can never have enough stuff.  Ask my wife.

There are still some good neighbors out there. My neighbor brought over his snow blower and cleaned off my sidewalk and driveway while I was at work this week.  You can’t be too sour on life with neighbors like that.  (Thanks Roger.)

The snow may make driving tough, but have you noticed how beautiful it is?

Don’t you just love warm boots on cold days?

Ditto for mittens.

Natural gas is wonderful.  Some of us are so young that we’ve never had to stoke a stove with coal or wood.

Next week we get a new president and nobody will need to be assassinated, exiled or imprisoned for it to happen.  For all of its idiosyncrasies, sometimes democracy’s works O.K.

As much as we like to complain about the awful job that the snowplows and275 sanding trucks do, we’d be much worse off without them.

Good friends will help us out, prop us up, and keep us on track during the coming year.  It’s nice to know they are there.