CHRISTMAS MUSIC NIGHT

Every year, the college that my Dad was on staff at would put on a major production we called: Christmas Music Night. People would travel from near and far to pack out the auditorium which back in the day sat 4500. A 180 voice choir, 60 piece orchestra and various smaller groups, soloists and instrumentalists made up this large production. Every 4th year the entire entourage would travel to Calgary and Edmonton, first by train and later by busses to perform the exact same program in the beautiful Jubilee Auditoriums which sat 2500 people a piece and were often sold out as well.

While I may not have fully appreciated what I experienced at the time I have realized that these experiences played a role in my overall musical appreciation. While the music was very conservative, there was a high standard of quality when it came to the performances. Pitch, tempo, diction, blend and host of other factors which make for an enjoyable musical experience bacame important factors for me later in life.

I want to recommend 3 different videos for you to be able to experience your own, "Music Night" this Christmas season. Pour yourself a steaming cup of hot chocolate, (with marshmallows of course) and enjoy these artists and performances alone or with a group of family or friends. I guarantee that you will not be disappointed!

The first one is by Yo Yo Ma and his very musically diverse friends. Everything from classical, folk and celtic make this a fantastic holiday experience. This one you may need to do a search for each song as I couldn't find a play list for the entire thing. This should start you off . . .

Yo Yo Ma And Friends ~ Songs Of Joy and Peace

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxDZjg_Igoc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxDZjg_Igoc

The second one is from Sting. Set in the stunning Durham Cathedral in England the performance are stellar and the lighting is spectacular.

Sting: A Winter's Night . . . Live from Durham Cathedral

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dl1FnmSGj1Q

The third one is from Andrea Bocelli and David Foster along with a host of friends. Again, the sound and performances are A-1 and there is something there for every taste.

Andrea Bocelli ~ My Christmas ~ Live From The Kodak Theatre, USA / 2009

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rz2HYs59m2g&list=PLW5iZBBR47Dj-0wjxVOCecE3uHU0sH2dQ

You may need to do some searching to find these but it is well worth the effort!

THANK YOU!

I want to again say a big thank you to each one of you for reading my blog. For those of you who have left comments, sent me emails, and called, I am humbled and truly grateful. What started out to be some storytelling encouraged by my family is turning out to be something that is being used to bring hope, healing and a few laughs to more people than I could ever have imagined. I had no idea that the stories would resonate like they have. I wish I had time to write each of you individually and thank you.

I have identified between 75 to 100 stories I think are worth telling from the first 20 years of my life. I am in the process of putting these into a book form which will include more pictures and some other surprises. If you have ideas or can help jog my memory on a story or two I would be most indebted.

You can contact me at: sjrendall@gmail.com

For clarity sake there is an index on the right hand side that lists the stories, just click on those and read on!

Blessings - SjR

www.prairieboy.com

GRASS SKIRTS, NO SHIRTS AND SHRUNKEN HEADS

Along with a stop at the White House, The Capitol, the various monuments and memorials, no visit to Washington, D.C. is complete without a visit to the Smithsonian.

Officially begun in 1836, the Smithsonian is comprised of 19 museums, a zoo and nine research center facilities. These are primarily located in Washington, D.C., but there are other sites in New York, Virginia and Panama as well. The museum has over 136 million items in its collections. A person could, quite literally, spend weeks, if not months, taking in all that these incredible resources have to offer.

Every spring and fall, we had our own mini version of the Smithsonian come to Prairie. Conference, as it was known, was a very big deal, not only because we didn't have to attend school, but relatives and friends would travel many miles to attend and there were always exciting things to see and do. To make room for outside guests, many of the students in the dorm would move out and sleep in the gymnasiums which were lined with dozens of mattresses on the floor. The conference was held in the large auditorium that we called the Tabernacle.

Hundreds of missionaries from around the globe would set up missionary booths in Tab East and Tab West and parts in between. The booths would contain literature, artifacts and pictures from the represented country and most had signup sheets to receive additional newsletters and information from the mission. For years after I left home, Mom and Dad received mail which I had signed up for. In between the main meetings and seminars these displays would be open for our perusal. If dramatic tales from the likes of Dr. Arthur Mouw, Don Richardson and Dr. Helen Roseveare didn't thrill and challenge, you could be sure to find something of interest at the booths.

When I was about 8 years of age, I decided that I was going to learn Swahili. A most kindly retired missionary by the name of Ruth Schaefer, who lived in X dorm, (at that time all of the dormitories on campus were named by letter), would patiently try and teach me every Saturday morning. Mrs. Schaefer had been a missionary in Kenya and had mastered the language. At 9 o'clock I would go to her small room in the dorm with my little notebook and try my best to become a world class linguist. It probably comes as a bit of a shock to you that not much stuck, but I do remember "Hello" - "Jambo" and "Friend" - "Rafiki", so I guess I can at least greet you with . . . "Jambo Rafiki"!

Missionaries from the many countries and organizations would be manning the conference booths. Beautiful Japanese dolls, soapstone carvings from the Inuit, fancy beadwork from native American Indians, intricate ivory carvings from India and tribal masks from Africa were all on display. The dried skins of leopards, cheetahs, tigers and lions along with the mounted heads of exotic African animals took their place alongside anacondas, cobras and python skins that were stretched along the top of the walls. Black adders in big pickle jars along with scorpions, tarantulas and other deadly spiders joined beautiful dried butterflies and beetles, making a veritable cornucopia of color. Most of the missionaries would dress up in authentic native clothing - kimonos, saris and dashikis all added to the authentic flavor of the conference. Among the tribal spears, knives, bows and arrows and indigenous work tools, there was one thing that caught my attention. These were the shrunken heads. Real human heads that had been shrunk down to the size of a softball by a very time consuming and tedious process. When you are six years old, that will get your attention!

As I wandered around these many booths, my mind would be transported to all of the exotic locations that these artifacts represented and I would wonder if someday, I, too, would  be a missionary.

Before the obsession with body modification became de rigueur in western culture, we saw pictures of elaborate tattoos, piercings of all types, scarification, extended ear lobes, elongated necks and lip discs. We seemed to take all of this in stride and I can't remember being that disturbed or traumatized by these sights.

Some of the booths featured slide shows or special viewers where you could get a better overview of the work. Displays from South America and Papua New Guinea featured partially clad or fully naked pictures of the residents. Large groups of people all staring at the camera with nothing on but a smile on their faces. Some of the women were dressed in grass skirts, suckling small infants, proving that Newton's law of gravity is more than just a theory. It would seem that Victoria's Secret had not yet opened a franchise in any of these countries. Many of the men in the pictures evidently had never heard of Calvin Klein either as indicated by their state of undress.

A group of us curious boys were fascinated by some of the pictures of the male members of the tribes. On closer inspection, we could see a very long bamboo looking column sticking straight up from slightly below the waist of the adult men. WHOA! Was there something wrong with us? Could IT really be in there and was it really THAT long? Was it a lotion, a potion perhaps, a special massage technique? We were pretty sure that our local IDA drugstore didn't sell anything of that nature! Remember, this was long before the little blue pill came onto the scene. No one bothered to explain that this was called a koteka or horrid. It is a phallocrypt or phallocarp traditionally worn by native male inhabitants of some (mainly highland) ethnic groups in New Guinea to cover their genitals and is not sexual in nature at all. We didn't need to worry . . . we were just fine!

The days of those types of missionary display booths are over. So, now, if you are wanting to see lion skins, shrunken heads, poisonous snakes or other exotic artifacts, you just may want to take a little visit to the Smithsonian . . . just be careful what you sign up for!

www.prairieboy.com

© 2011 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

"DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE?"

A short time after my Mom passed away in October of 1993, I was called on to assist my Dad in tidying up some of his business affairs.

I accompanied him to the bank, insurance and utility companies to get the details changed over to his name and file the death certificate with the appropriate parties. One of Mom's giftings was tracking the family finances. Because of this and the fact that Dad was very busy, Mom handled all these areas over the years and Dad was thrown into the deep end of the pool with her passing.

It was at one of these appointments that Dad was asked by the clerk what his physical address was. Silence followed the question. The clerk repeated the question perhaps thinking that Dad had not understood or heard clearly. Dad had not a clue . . . zero . . . nada . . . just a bewildered look on his face. He looked over at me for this proprietary information. I said, somewhat incredulously, "Dad, you don't know what your own address is?" The answer of course was 230, 5th Avenue North. This is where he and my mother had been living for the past 18 years! I'm pretty sure he didn't even know his own post office box number. Not even sure he knew his phone number? Looking at me, he said in all seriousness, "I know where I live . . . why would I clutter my head with that information?" I chuckled and gave the clerk the address. For the past 18 years, Dad had walked back and forth to his office on the campus and evidently not once thought it was important to memorize his address, which was prominently displayed on the front door of the house.

For those of you who know my Father, you know that there is nothing wrong with his memory or his ability to retain a fact such as his own address. Dad is a veritable walking encyclopedia of information. When I was in school, working on a report or research project, I often asked Dad if he had any resources or information pertinent to what I was engaged in at the time. He would disappear into the labyrinth which was his library and emerge a short time later holding at least one, if not several books. Grinning from ear to ear, he would point out with his stubby index finger, the exact passages in the books that would be of help to me. Dad had a library numbering close to one hundred thousand volumes and he knew where every one of those books were located and what was contained therein. He had probably read the vast majority of them as well! These memory skills have served him well through his life as a great teacher, writer and preacher. Yet, he did not know his own address.

As humorous as I have found this event to be, I've pondered it over the last few years. How often do I, do we, clutter our minds with trivial stuff - not necessarily bad stuff, but stuff just the same? Stuff that takes our minds off our goals, distracts us from our purpose and sidetracks us from achieving what we have set out to accomplish. Maybe Dad was on to something. After all . . . he knew where he lived!

www.prairieboy.com

© 2010 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

MEMORIES OF GRANDMA

This is an older post from FB that I gave at Grandma Norbos Funeral in '09. This blog will be pretty random and not in any chronological order.

Memories of Grandma - Given at Grandma Norbos Funeral 1/31/09

I am honored and feel it a privilege to bring a few words on behalf of the grandsons.

Memories of Grandma:

Some of my earliest memories as a child were visiting Grandmas house and the mysterious closet in the kitchen where we would go to find the big jar of marbles and the marble roller. That curious concoction of camphor, liniment oil, moth balls and cleaning supplies would waft up to greet us as we opened the squeaky door.

Memories of playing hide and seek in the house when we were little. When I was really small some of my Uncles would put me on the lazy susan in the cupboard and spin me around to the back surrounded by all kinds of baking ingredients, groceries and pots and pans. I was really hard to find!

Playing floor hockey between the doors in the kitchen.

Sleeping in the bunk beds in the closet that Grandma had built and decorated with the faux windows and little curtains at each end.

Time spent in the huge tractor tire sandbox and the tree swing.

The smell of burnt toast and strong coffee when we would wake up and would hear Grandma coming down the stairs to do the laundry . . . always humming a hymn - Grandma wouldn't have known a "pop" tune if her life depended on it!

In later years after Grandpa quit driving or maybe somebody stopped him from driving, Grandma went and got her drivers license - she was 67. She then bought Grandma Carlsons big white Pontiac Parisienne, after Grandma Carlson had unceremoniously backed out of her garage, right through the closed door speeding backwards across the entire Tabernacle parking lot, planting the car into the porch and corner of Don Powells house.

We would always pray before any trip in the car, even to go to the staff store which was about 2 blocks away. Grandpa and Grandma always thanked the Lord for the traveling mercies shown to the Norbo family over the years, and from the harrowing tales my Mother used to relate of Grandpas driving they were "mercies" indeed ! On the return trip from the store we would pray again!

Grandpa loved to play the piano and I remember Grandma encouraging him to stick to the hymns when he would launch into a lively rendition of the Football March or some other "secular" piece.

As many of you know, Grandpa Norbo was quite possibly as close to a coffee addict as one could get. He treasured his Minnesota Vikings insulated mug and made sure that it was always full of good strong coffee at all times. His idea of good coffee was just to leave it going all day and keep adding as necessary in true Norwegian style. One of Grandmas famous quotes was - "Daddy - that stuff will kill you" - and it did - Grandpa passed away at 96 years of age.

Mom and Dad were on Prairie staff and we were not allowed to have televisions back in those days. By then Grandpa was retired and so a highlight every week in the winter was going to Grandmas on Saturday night and watching Hockey Night in Canada with Howie Meeker, Grandpa, cousin Timothy and my brother Dave on the old black and white TV - I am not able to repeat in these hallowed halls the politically incorrect names that Grandpa had for the Montreal Canadians - but suffice it to say that Grandma was not at all impressed! It must not have had too much of a phsycologicaly damaging effect on us, as my brother has been a life long Habs fan ever since. Those TV nights came to an abrupt end when Bill Gothard came to town.

I remember the excitement at relatives arriving from far flung places coming for Christmas, Graduations, and birthdays.

I would like to acknowledge my Aunts and Uncles that are here today. Your extraordinary efforts over the years at great sacrifice to yourselves and your families to visit Grandpa and Grandma has been truly remarkable - Thank you

Grandmas response when I would inquire of her on how she was doing was always - "Just Praising the Lord Little Stephen" - you see, I was Little Stephen and Uncle Steve was Big Stephen and Grandma would never, ever use a nick name or an abbreviated form of a given name.

The Norbos are a competitive bunch and we would have rousing games of PIT and Stock Ticker around the kitchen table - Grandma would always go quietly about her business in the kitchen, seemingly unfazed by the yelling and general commotion going on all around her.

Memories of going to Grandmas after school - peanut butter sandwiches on brown bread, milk and a cookie and sometimes an apple if we were lucky - of course, Grandma would never say lucky she would say "blessed" or maybe "fortunate."

When Cathy and I were expecting our first child we were invited over to Grandmas for lunch after church on Sunday. We had a very nice visit and as we were leaving Grandpa let us know that if we had a boy he would give us ten dollars and if it happened to be a girl it would be only 5 dollars. Grandma followed us quietly and as we were going out the door she said "the Lord doesn't care if it's a boy or a girl - if you have a girl, I will make up the other 5 dollars. Sure enough, when Christy was born, along came an envelope in the Campus Mail with . . . 5 dollars from Grandpa and 5 dollars from Grandma!

Grandma was a health nut long before it was trendy - brown bread, cod liver pills, carrot juice and water - she would take a whole pitcher of water to bed every night - and I think she drank the whole thing!

In more recent years while out on a walk we took our dog Oscar over to visit Grandma - when I greeted her with "we are just bringing Oscar to visit Grandma", she said- "I am NOT his Grandma!!"

Memories of Grandma getting our names wrong as she ran through a list of family names, finally landing on the right one.

If Grandma told you she was praying for you, there is not a shadow of doubt in my mind that she was.

Now, I am not a preacher, but I am the son of one and so I had to have at least a quasi outline:

Strong - Grandma was a physically strong woman, she had strong hands - she could cut wood, hammer a nail or handle a gun as well as any man.

Stories - We loved to hear Grandmas stories - especially the one of the young scoundrel that was stealing water melons from their garden in Idaho. When they set up to surprise the lad, he took off intending to jump over the fence. He left evidence of his misdeed in the form of a large section of his britches attached to the gate. He was identified the next morning in church when it was noticed that the new patch on his pants, matched the piece left behind.

Silly - Grandma had a humorous side not often seen by the casual observer. She could have that twinkle in her eye, that left you wondering "what exactly is Grandma up to?"

Sacrificial - All 8 of her children graduated from Prairie Grade School, High School and Bible School. Grandma was always concerned about the well being of others and many times went without so that others could "have."

Simple Life - Grandma had learned to agree with the Apostle Paul that whatever state she was in she was content - there were no visions of grandeur dancing in her head - in fact, I am pretty sure that today is the first time Grandma has ever ridden in a limo!

Survivor - Grandma was resourceful - with her boxes and jars of parts, some wire and glue, there was not much Grandma could not fix. Grandma could "multi task" long before the word was en vogue - I remember her sewing on her treadle sewing machine, making butter at the same time from cream that was in a jar attached to the treadle with one of her inventions.

Servant - Grandma showed her generous hospitality to hundreds of students, missionaries and staff over the years - her waffles with ice cream, popcorn balls, garden produce and pickles are the stuff of legends.

Saved - No one who ever met Grandma ever had any doubt where she stood when it came to her relationship with her Lord and Savior.

Whenever I would say goodbye to Grandma either on the phone or in person, I would say "Talk to you later or see you again". Grandma would always say, "Lord willing little Stephen" . . . this time it is my turn . . . it is our turn to say . . . we will see you again one day - "Lord Willing Grandma Norbo"

www.prairieboy.com

© 2010 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.