The Saving Grace of the iPhone

Kolette and I love our iPhone’s.  In many ways, it was a literal godsend for me.  The world of Cell Phones pre-iPhone was all about flip phones.  Motorola’s RAZR was the phone to have, and because it was everyone was making their best knock off.  Finding a bar phone was nearly impossible (a bar phone being any phone you don’t have to flip to open).  This made things really difficult for me.  Try flipping a phone open without the use of your hands.  It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it, but it required both of my paws, along with my teeth.  By the time I did open the dang thing the caller was at home, in bed and had been asleep for two hours.  Not to mention the fact that it wasn’t going to be long until opening a phone with my teeth would either have me calling the dentist or customer service.

So, I was stuck using a substantially outdated, non-digital phone in a world that was going digital-only.  The salespeople at the store were quick to remind me about the blackberry, but have you seen those buttons?  Again, not really an option.

Then along came apple!  (It sounds better if you sing it to the following clip of “Along Came Jones” by Ray Stevens which you can find by clicking below.  Just substitute Apple for Jones and you’ll get an idea about how I felt)

The bar phone was not only back, it was king of the castle.  Now all those followers who wanted their stuff to look like the RAZR was hustling about to get their stuff to look like Steve Jobs’ new creation.

What’s more, the phone was big.  It wasn’t gigantic, just big compared to the other stuff I had access to.  I guess I mean to say it was manageable.  A long way from everything else that seemed to want to get as small as possible.  I could type, call, text, email, take pictures and even answer  the phone–while the phone was still ringing.

I’ve been a dedicated iPhoner ever since.

It’s amazing how little things like a bar phone can change a life.  But, isn’t that usually the way things go.  It’s the little things in the periphery of our lives that often pack the biggest punch.  The big stuff gets all the attention, but the little stuff move the stone and grinds the corn.  If a butterfly flapping it’s wings in South America can alter the weather outside my window, imagine the bluster a helpful neighbor, a kind word, or even an iPhone can make.

I’m grateful I realized all of this today–or was reminded of it anyway.  I started writing with a whole other objective in mind and halfway through the a-ha moment came.  I’m thankful for a the great little stuff that makes my life so grand, and am committing to redouble my efforts to help move that same little stuff through the lives of those I come in contact with.

Jh-

And, if your curious to see what I began writing about today, come back Friday–i’ll post it then..

Walking Man

Things are movin’ and groovin’ here at the Hall Home.  Coleman had his first birthday party (for more info and pics, click here) and now the kid’s decided to get up and get going.  Up till now, Cole played for the non-walking part of the family, which was good–Non walkers 2, Walkers 1.  However, now it looks like Cole might be jumpin’ ship for greener pastures.

All I have to say is, “Go Coleman, Go!”

Jh-

A Letter to Cole (On His First Birthday)

Happy Birthday Coleman!!!

There are a lot of birthdays that fill up a lifetime, but few are as historic as your first. Coleman is going to have a birthday party on Sunday where he is going to receive all kinds of presents from all the people who love him. I’ll try to restrain myself, but you can probably guess how successful that venture will be.

However, in addition to the plastic “Fisher Pricey” thing he’ll get from me, I wanted to give him something else—something from the heart. I’ve decided to give him a letter; filled with my idea of how the talents and gifts that are already evident, and innately his will bless him as he grows to be a man—Just a father’s look into the future of his precious little boy on his first birthday.

Dear Coleman,

It’s hard for me to believe that it has already been a year. In some ways it seems like just yesterday I came home from the hospital at 6:00 am, all bleary eyed from being up 24 hours straight. I’ll never forget that morning and how no matter how hard I tried, the thought of getting back to you and your Mom kept me from getting any real sleep at all.

On the other hand, I don’t think I can remember life without you. It’s kind of like “The Three Musketeers.” I’m sure there was a time before they got together, but no one ever writes about it. You’ve completed this family in ways you’ll only understand when you yourself are a Dad.

At the hospital, you were the best thing since sliced bread—even the nurses thought so. They all went on and on about how handsome you were. Then before Mom and I could tell them thank you, they’d reply that they really meant it. One nurse even cornered me in the hall and couldn’t stop gushing about how you may have been the best look baby she had ever seen.

From the very start it was easy for people to tell that you were different from the crowd, and that’s only been reinforced to me over every one of the past 365 days. This letter is filled with some of the things I’ve seen in your little spirit that I hope you keep every day of your life.

Your birth was a miracle and every one knows it. When I showed your picture to my Physiatrist (Quadriplegic Doctor) she told me how happy she was that we were able to adopt. I told her that you weren’t adopted, and that you were my flesh and blood. She was flabbergasted (and freaked out a little bit) as she ran down the hallway telling everyone she saw that you were my genetic child—no one could believe it. So, I went down the hallway after her telling everyone that it was true. Miracles happen my son. Every breath you take is a testament to that. If you ever wonder if there’s a God, or if he hears and answers prayers, stop for a moment, get real quiet, listen to your heartbeat, and you’ll have your answer.

From the first day we brought you home you have had this happy attitude about you. You seem to have a smile for everyone. People love to be around you little Coleman J. Much of this comes from that happy attitude. When people meet you they always tell me what a happy little guy you are—keep that attitude it will bless you always.

Inside you there is a little spark of exaltation and intensity that can serve you well. I love to watch you take a toy in your hand, or get behind your big “standing toys” and shake the tar out of them. You do it with real passion. It’s evident when you bang your hand on the side of my bed or the way you become a whirling dervish in the bathtub. If you carry that same passion and exuberance into your life, you’ll always end up with success.

Man, can you pay attention. In the beginning it was the wall next to your changing table and the fans throughout the house, That turned into a fixation with cameras (which made it a little difficult to take your picture, but Mom worked it out) and now it’s everyone and everything. Never stop watching the world or the people in it. Never miss an opportunity to help another, or cost yourself the chance to do some good by losing your fascination with all that lives and breathes around you.

You have been blessed with a pace and patience that has already impacted me. When Mom and I talked to others about what it was going to be like to try to help you while being in a wheelchair, everyone said that I’d be fine—the only hard part would be my inability to help you because you would wriggle your body and arch your back right out of my arms. But that never happened. From the very beginning you’ve been calm and patient on my lap. It allowed me to feed you, burp you, and even carry you around on my lap. You just sit there. Take life at your pace. Never be in too much of a hurry. If you will, you will savor each year of your life the way I’ve enjoyed this first one with you.

You have a special love for everyone. You’ve always gone to others easily, never had a problem staying the night away from home, and have kisses for all. Give your love freely in the same way you share your little wave hello—plenty for everyone. If you will, you’ll be happier and the Savior will be proud. Remember the words Jesus spoke when he said, “As I have loved you, love one another.”

It didn’t take you long to figure out that you can always count on your Mom. She loves you so much and it’s easy to see you feel the same. I love the sweet relationship the two of you share. You can count on her for anything and everything. Talk to her throughout your life as much as you have “Jibber Jabbered” to her in this first year. You’ll meet a lot of special people in your adventures, but never one you’ll be able to count like your good sweet Mom.

From the first time I held you in my arms, I could feel the power of your spirit. More than once I’ve wondered how such a gigantic spirit fit into such a tiny body. But, more than anything, I’ve felt the closeness you have to your Heavenly Father. No matter how many birthdays pass by, never lose that special relationship with Him. He knows you and loves you and will do so today, tomorrow and forever. He’s never more than a prayer away.

Finally, always remember the three things I’ve told you every day of this first year

I Love You,

Your Heavenly Father Loves You,

And You’re a Good Boy.

Love,

Dad

Dan The Man

My Uncle Danny

I spent this weekend with both my extended and immediate family rejoicing the life of My Uncle Danny.  Danny passed away on the 30^th of December 2009.  He spent his life battling Downs Syndrome.  He was my Dad’s youngest brother, he lived to be 51 and he beat all the odds.

Daniel Jones Hall was born in September of 1958 to Florence and Elmer Hall.  When he was first born the Doctors told my grandparents that he was going to have to stay in the hospital longer than usual—eventually telling them that he shouldn’t ever accompany them home at all and that he should simply be institutionalized.

Having a boy of my own nearly a year ago, I can’t imagine the heartache and pain they must have felt.  But, my grandparents told the doctors that regardless of the advice, they were taking their boy home.

This is no easy task today, but then, it was unheard of.  The “retarded” weren’t supposed to be a part of society. It wasn’t easy, things like this never are, but they were dedicated to giving him every chance.

They taught him to eat by himself by putting him in the bathtub to eat because it was easier than continually cleaning him up.   They got him into school by pushing and pushing until the people at the district couldn’t stand to be pushed any more.

They taught him to sing.  I remember Danny singing.  Although his words weren’t always clear, or correct, his pitch was always perfect, and the result always beautiful. He loved to perform and was in many of the school plays.  He loved attending church and would bear his testimony of it’s truthfulness every chance he got.

All this happened with very little support.  My Grandpa and Grandma Hall had to figure it out on their own.  The only manual they had was scripture on Charity and the only instruction they received was the love they felt in their hearts,

When I think of my Uncle Danny, I remember him singing “God Bless America,” and “Take Me Home Country Roads.”  I remember his love of Ketchup and soda in his Maverick Mug.  I remember him with the cowboy hats he loved, the horses he’d play with and his records by Glen Campbell, John Denver and Donny and Marie.

I remember Danny’s guitar, and drum set that he made clear was “off limits” to little nephews like me.  I remember how he liked pretty girls, and how his impression of The Incredible Hulk” would send this little eight-year-old running for the hills.

I remember how he was at every family function.  He wasn’t simply hidden away.  It made for some funny moments, and interesting ones as well, but he was a part of the family and he was always present.  I remember the pure love of my pure grandparents.

I also remember Danny’s kind face.  I remember his big laugh—especially when his brothers were around.  They’d call him “Dan The Man” which always brought about his sheepish laugh and reply, “C’mon guys.”

I wonder about what Danny is doing today.  I know some of it.  I know that he’s in a heaven that has a loving Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ waiting there.  I know Danny is back with his parents and that he is whole and perfect there.

I wish I could have seen that reunion—Danny in the arms of his parents who loved him so.  It brings me to tears, just writing the words.

Part of what I realized this weekend, was that Dan was “The Man.”  I’m proud of the way he fought the good fight far longer than any doctor ever dreamed he could.  I’m proud to be his nephew, and I’m moved by the way my grandparents fought to give him a chance.

I have so much more to write, but just now I have tears in my eyes as I hear Danny singing “God Bless America” and think I’ll just leave it with this…

I love my Uncle Dan.

Jh-

The Magic of Christmas

Our little Magic Man with Santa

I will never forget the day that I learned the truth about Santa.

Being the oldest in my family, and a kid people would categorize as a believer anyway, I believed in Santa Claus far longer than most of my friends.  In fact, it was deep in the summer of 1982, when I was between the 5^th and 6^th grades, when I finally learned the truth.

I was down the street at the Petersen’s playing.  I remember it being a normal summer day.  We had our bikes flipped over in order to work on and repair them (which usually just meant pushing the pedals as hard as we could to see how fast we could get the wheel to go, a good cleaning, and a little oil on the chain if we were lucky).  But, there we were, in front of the Petersen’s working on our bikes, considering selling the lemonade, and just shooting the breeze when one of my friends said, “Can you believe we believed Santa was real for so long?’

I looked at him puzzled and said, “What do you mean.  Santa is real.”

He laughed and replied, “No he’s not, and everyone knows it!”

I remember chuckling inside at his foolishness and in a tone that had a little “listen ding-dong” attached to it, responded with, “Well, if Santa’s not real, then who brings the presents?!”

Sure that this argument was irrefutable, I folded my arms and waited for what I was sure was going to be clumsy response.  I had him, and I knew it.

Then, quick as a whip, he looked at me snickering and said, “Your parents bring ‘em.  No Doi .” “No Doi“ was part of the vernacular of the day, which translated correctly means, “No Duh”

I was flabbergasted.  “Could it be true?” I wondered.  With a wedge of doubt driven right in the middle of my before solid belief, I flipped over my bike and rode home to get an answer.

I walked into the kitchen where my mom was cooking and belted out, “Mom, is Santa real?”  Not expecting this question in the middle of July, and wondering when I was going to find out the truth on my own, replied, “Well, what do you think?”

Right then, I knew it!  My friend was right—Santa wasn’t real.  I went downstairs to lie on my bed.  It felt like all of the magic had been sucked right out of Christmas.  The whole thing was all made up.  I postulated that if Santa wasn’t real the chances for Rudolph and elves were slim to none—and forget about the Easter Bunny.

Somehow, I made it through and that Christmas was as wonderful as all the ones before.

Now, this year with our little Coleman around I am excited for the believing in Santa to begin again.  Even though he doesn’t understand, I’ve told him all about The North Pole, Santa and the Mrs., Rudolph and the rest.  I’ve sung him the songs, and even though he’ll be more interested in the boxes and wrapping paper can’t wait for him to open his presents.

I’ve also been reminded this year—more than any year in a long time—that there is magic in Christmas.  It’s all around.

It’s in the face of my little boy, in the feeling of giving, in the excitement of finding the right gift for Kolette and in the gratitude I feel for her knowing she spends hours and hours to give me something special.

It’s in the way people’s hearts change for these few weeks every year.  Regardless of religion or belief, there’s just more kindness, more love.  People find compassion they’d maybe lost before.  Smiles fill peoples faces because of the accompanied increase in joy.  People remember what they have and gratitude seems abundant.

But, more than anything, the magic comes in hope.  Whether it’s hoping for Santa or hoping for peace, hope is everywhere.  It fills the hearts of the young and old, and brings with it an optimism that somehow makes everything OK.  We hope for things to improve in the New Year.  We hope that things will be better for our own, and we hope that things will be better for those around us.

All we have to do is open our souls and let the season fill our hearts with hope—then allow it to be accompanied by love, joy, cheer, gratitude, peace and gladness.   When we do, will all rejoice in the Magic of Christmas.

Wishing you a Very Merry,

Jh-

Over The River…

I grew up a very lucky boy-luckier than I ever knew.  First, I had two of the best Grandmas in the wide world.  They were caring and kind and in their own way each second mothers.  Second, I was one of the few little guys who not only had the chance to grow up with all their grandparents alive, but we also all lived in the same city.

This meant lots of one on one Grandma time.  It was definitely something I loved, but it was also something I just assumed everyone experienced.

My memory is flooded with images of games we played, stories they told, and a bevy of experiences.

Me & My Grandma Hall

I can still see my Grandma Hall in the back yard peeling apples as she watched us play and every so often yelling out, “Apple peels for sale! Apple peels for sale!”  She loved kids.  When the whole extended family got together Grandpa stayed upstairs with the adults, while Grandma headed into the basement with the kids.  She spent hours teaching us how to be good people and about what was right and wrong for good kids to do.  She had a passion for family, and an addiction to Lawrence Welk (OK maybe not an addiction, but when you are a kid, a little of that goes a long way.) She was always up for a walk to “Chow Now “ for swirl cones, and never forgot to bring apples and carrots for the horses we would pass on the way.  She’d take us to “The Fun Spot” (a TINY little amusement park in Boise) and every Disney movie from “Snow White” to “The Fox and He Hound” at the Vista Theaters. She loved everybody—whether you knew it or not Florence Hall loved you (Florence—she even had the perfect Grandma name.)

"Grams" visiting me after my car accident

Grandma Ashby, or “Grams” (pronounced “grah-mz”) was just as good.  She worked at a bakery.  Not like a corner market bakery, it was like a plant.  Every time we went there she took us in the back to show us off to her co-workers.  I loved it—watching all those huge machines make thousands of loaves of bread, and the bread itself on giant conveyer belts that snaked all over the place from the ground to the ceiling.  The tour always ended with some treat of our choosing—she could make you feel like a king.  Her house always felt like home too.  Whether it was playing pool, walking to “Winstead Park,” drinking all the Shasta we wanted or playing cards, you always felt good when Grams was around.

These two women have shaped my life in more ways than I can count.  Regardless of the fact that Grandma Hall died when I was just eight, and Grams passed away just a few years ago, they have been there through the good and the bad, to help me find my way.

Last Wednesday, Kolette left for the Dominican Republic to visit her folks for a short week. Coleman and I stayed behind, so that meant Cole was going to be staying at Grandma Hall’s.  I decided to join them and took my work up to Park City every day.

Coleman with Grandma Hall

What I saw was nothing short of magical.  With that much one on one time the two were putting their own little relationship together.  Watching them made me think of Kolette’s mom “Grandma Judy.”  Coleman’s spent many a night there and those two have their own special bond.

Cole with Grandma Judy

It was like looking in a mirror. They both do now all the things I’m sure my Grandmas did for me at that age.  I watch as they teach him how to do new tricks and what things are good and what things aren’t.

More than anything, it made me excited—excited to see the little things that end up to be their special traditions.

What I do know is this.  Cole, like me, is luckier than most to have two Grandmas close (most of the time) who love him like their own.

I know like me, that as Coleman grows up, he is going to look for every chance to go “Over the river, and through the woods”

Jh-

Surprises On Both Sides

Some friends of ours came to the house to see Coleman the other day.  Our friends have gotten to that point where they don’t even pretend to be there to see us.  All pretense is gone.   They’re there to see Cole and if we happen to be there then its just icing on the cake.

But during all the oohhing and ahhing, over Cole (they hadn’t seen him in months) one of them turned to me and asked how the whole fatherhood experience has been in comparison to what I’d expected.  In my answer, I began to think about what has been easier than I anticipated and what’s been more difficult.

Easier:

• Holding—I’ve been able to hold him far more than I expected.  Cole’s temperament has been a big player here, and it’s been a little gift from heaven.  From the very beginning, Coleman’s always has been calm in my arms. Whether it was letting me feed and burp him in the beginning to being able to cruise around in my chair with him on my lap, or in my arm, my ability to hold my boy has far surpassed my wildest dreams.

• Feeding—From the bottle through to our current Gerber/Table food stage, I’ve been able to feed Coleman.  I was sure that this was going to be something that only Kolette was going to be a part of.  However, it’s been something that I’ve done nearly every day.  Whether it’s been throwin’ some formula down his gullet (thanks Boppy), or slingin’ some sweet potatoes into his mouth, I’ve managed to feed Cole nearly every day—at least once. I’ve been able to hold a bottle, hold the container of baby food, and work the spoon.  It’s been a huge help that Coleman sits in his High Chair with his arms down and mouth open wide—but, as a quadriplegic, I never expected to be a part of that part of his young life.

• Playing—I felt sure that I’d be able to play with Cole, but I thought I’d have to wait until he was older to really “get involved wit it.”  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  We’ve figured our all kinds of things, from throwing him around while I’m lying in bed to playing games after he eats.  We’ve used toothbrushes, cups, pretzels, wooden spoons, and anything else we could think of.  One of the real joys of my life has been playing with my buddy.

More Difficult:

• Picking Him Up—It’s been hard from the day he was born to the day I write this post to watch him need to be lifted off the floor, out of his crib, from his High Chair, or up from his playpen.  It kills me.  I watch my boy need help and I can’t help him.  It definitely makes me feel helpless.

• Getting Down on the Ground—If I had ten minutes out of my chair, there’s no question that much of that time would be spent playing with Coleman down on his level.  I watch others do it, and it’s different than having him on my lap.  I love the time I get face to face, but it’s on the counter or in bed.  As I watch him play, it’s easy to tell it’s different when it’s down in his environment—on his terms.  How I’d love to play with his stuff, at his height with no distractions, no counter top, no moving wheelchair—a just me and my boy.

• Not Being Able to Watch Him Alone—Kolette and I have been able to make it so I can keep a monitor and watch over him while he naps, but if he wakes up, have to have someone to call to come take over.  Kolette works so hard, and when she has to be somewhere else, I’d love to be able to care for him all on my own.  It may not seem like much, but I’m his Dad and look forward to the time that the two of us can stand on our own two feet.

Now, before anyone feels bad, or wants me to look on the bright side, understand this—I am richly blessed. I have more and do more than I ever expected to have or do, before I had my accident. After all my injuries, I realize that I am one of the few that is lucky enough to say that I am married to my best friend and have a champ of a boy for a son.  I love my life—every single minute of it.

But, like every life there are things that are easy and things that are hard.  I think everyone goes into this fatherhood thing blind, but, because of my unique situation, I believe I went in blinder than most.  I therefore thought that it might be interesting to evaluate the good and the bad.  And, I have to say; I was surprised at some of my feelings on both sides.

However, thinking through all of this did bring me to a few undeniable conclusions.

First, I have a saint for a wife.  The majority of the things I’ve figured out to do have been because she was helping me think through them, both to find the answers, and support me through the learning curve.  She is definitely of the “If at first you don’t succeed” camp, and that has blessed my life as much as it has Coleman’s.

Second, a little patience goes a long way.  There are so many things we’ve figured out that we wouldn’t have if we had given up the first go ‘round. I’m grateful for patience.  It’s given me the chance to learn so much more about what I can and can’t do.

Finally, I can’t wait to see what the future holds.  I know there will be somethings that will surprise me and be easier than I think, and some that will disappoint and be more difficult.  But, so far it’s been the journey that’s brought the joy, and I can’t wait to see what’s around the next bend.

Jh-

Hartelijk Gefeliciteerd!

Hartelijk Gefeliciteerd, is Happy Birthday in Dutch, and 62 years ago today my mother was born in the Netherlands.

I wanted to take the chance here to wish her a happy birthday.  God blessed me the day he sent me to her.  She has loved me, and cared for me unselfeshly for every single day of my life.  I have to agree with Honest Abe who said, “Everything I am today I owe to my angel mother.”

There are lots of young men who feel a special connection to their moms, but life’s circumstance have definelty made our relationship unique and priceless.

When I broke my neck in the summer of 1986, she stayed by my side, in the hospital nearly every day.  She championed my cause then, and still does today.  I comb my own hair, brush my own teeth, write on my own and feed myself all because of her encouragement.  Afetr my accident, I attended High School with my friends because she was willing to lift me 16 times a day.  She never worried about the detriment she was causeing her back, only the progress she was bringing my life.

She pushed me when it probably killed her to, but it’s what’s allowed me to be independent today. (You can read about one example here)

Now, as I watch her with Coleman, she is the consumate Grandma.  She loves him more unconditionally.  After he was born, as I came out to tell everyone in the waiting room that all had gone well, my eyes met hers, she ran to me and we cried together.  She was one of the few people that could understand the road it took from July 13, 1986 to January, 27, 2009.

I love her with all my heart.  I love that she loves Kolette like a daughter.  I love that she loves Cole as a son.  I love the way she always loved my friends (ask any of them, they’ll all tell you how great she is.) I love that she’s always been my friend. And I love that a loving Heavenly Father saw fit to send me to her. Whatever good ever comes from my life is as a result of her tender care.

So today, Hartelijk Gefeliciteerd, Mom!

I Love You

Jh-

Bubbles The Kid

Kolette and I have heard a little wheezing and coughing the last few nights and felt pretty sure that Coleman had a cough/cold.  However, we weren’t quite sure whether or not he had contracted the dreaded “runny nose” yet.

So, as we so often do, we’re turning to you, our friends in the blogosphere, to help us figure it out.  We’ve posted the picture below and are waiting for your opinion.  For either it’s a runny nose, or it S-NOT.

Jh-

Don’t Want To Miss a Thing + Winner

Our first matter of business is to announce the winner of our giveraway.  The lucky person (chosen randomly) is…………..(drumroll please)………….Trish, who shared a great thought about her Pilates move. You can read her comment here. Congrats Trish.  You win an autographed copy of my DVD plus some great swag from Kolette.

As I read and appreciated everyone’s little ways they find little bits of joy, I was reminded that the only way we see these things is if we pay attention.  We have to watch the things that happen in our lives or we will miss much of the happiness that comes our way.

Coleman is exceptional at this.  He watches everything.  He doesn’t want to miss out on anything, and does everything to make sure that when something happens he’s either a part of it, or is watching others play their part.

He has a constant smile.  I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t let any little gladness slip by.

Your comments and Cole’s resolve have motivated me to refocus and redouble my efforts—‘Cause I don’t want to miss a thing.

Jh-