Facing An Uncertain Future...I'll Still Root For My Team

 If you follow college athletics--especially, football--there's been a lot of chatter out there about the future of several NCAA conferences...

Especially, the conference formally known as the Pac-12.

No matter what happens, things will never be the same again.

It's strange. It seems like a year or two has passed when news broke that my beloved Utah Utes would be moving to the newly expanded Pac-12. I didn't realize just how impactful that would be on the Utah brand across the country. Of course, that impact would not have existed had the school just accepted their promotion and sat back on their laurels. 

Nope.

They kicked butt.

Utah became a force, a place where other programs knew a win over the Utes meant something. I've followed the school athletics since I attended the U back in the 1980s, but the last decade was my most fun.

I have no idea what's going to happen in the next couple of days and weeks. I hope whatever happens the Utah teams will continue their push for excellence and scholarship. Am I a little nervous? Sure. I'm betting the best days for the school are not behind, but ahead.

Time will tell.

Give Thanks...Call Me Grandpa

 We got the message just after 6pm, Monday night. The rest of the state was preparing to light fireworks and celebrate Pioneer Days. One text and I forgot all about that...

Our grandson was here.

We loaded up the van, drove south to the next town, and finally met a tiny soul, a miracle wrapped in a blanket. Grandma held him first (as it should be...). Then, the baby boy--less than an hour old--was handed to me. 

We've known he was coming, though we didn't know he was a "he" until he was born. Whenever I told someone the news, everyone was excited and happy for our family, but when we told people who were grandparents themselves, something special could be found in their smile, in the way they looked at us. They knew something we didn't know. They knew what it was like being a grandparent.

Ask any grandparent about their grandkids, and you'll see that smile, that glint in their eyes. Their faces light up. 

Yes, it's different.

When we had our first child, it's hard to express the feelings I had, gratitude, excitement, nervousness, and a feeling of relief that he had finally arrived. Since I didn't know what it was like being a grandpa, I thought the same feelings would return as I saw my first-born become a father. Those feelings were there, of course, but this time, I didn't have to worry about how I was going to support my family, if I was going to get any sleep...all those things.

But, it wasn't just about all the responsibilities I didn't have that my son now has. No, the feeling of holding this newborn was unlike anything I've ever experienced. 

Maybe it's because I'm older and I can appreciate what a miracle it truly is. Maybe it's because I am excited for my son as he becomes a first-time dad. I'm sure it's those things and more.

I'm grateful for the title of Grandpa. I'll wear it proudly. I'm grateful all are doing well, mother, father, child. I'm grateful I was there to welcome our grandson into the family. And now, if you ask me about my grandson, you'll see the smile, you'll see that something special in my eyes...

I'm grateful for those things, too.

Unto The Least Of These...

Lima, the cat. She is an odd duck...

For a cat.

I grew up without cats--my wife did not. There was a cat in their house for decades. When we married, my allergies to cats prevented us from having one. That changed on a trip to visit my cousin's home in Idaho. We arrived cat-less. We left with a kitten in a box on the floor of the van. Teewinot, we named him because he liked to climb and my cousin's home had a view of the Tetons.

Teewinot was a marvelous cat. We lost him last year.

Since that first cat, we adopted two more, both abandoned, both lovely. Gracie passed away before we moved north. SamDean Winchester is still with us. Looks like our penchant for adopting cats passed on to our family's younger generation. After my son married, they moved into a basement apartment with a field in the backyard. Also in the backyard were several cats. Several cats lead to more cats. My son and wife took responsibility for them and before they moved they found homes for them all...

Except for one, Lima, as in bean.

They adopted Lima.

To say the cat has issues would be an understatement. I don't know all of Lima's trials, but I do know she's missing an eye and from what I understand, the other one doesn't work that well, either. She's tiny, but then again, we're used to a 20 lb cat that's at least three Limas. Lima's a wonderful companion for my son's family.

I don't know if we would have taken in Lima. She's definitely sweet and good-natured. I'm glad my son and his wife are good-hearted. They accepted the litter's runt, and did so gladly. Without them, I'd imagine there'd be no Lima, and that would truly be a shame.

The Way Things Once Were...

 We traveled to the county seat of Box Elder County this morning to visit our new grandson. We had some time to kill before they were home so we stopped in at the local thrift store. It's a small one, but clean and organized (for the most part...). Inside there were some of things we could have used, a lot of things we didn't need, and even things no one needs.

Such is the way of things and thrift stores.

But, it wasn't until I stopped at one particular tub that made me stop and snap a picture. 

At first, I thought they were socks--new, still in the package. Socks are good. We need socks. I checked it out. Were they socks?

Nope.

They were masks.

In the storage tub were dozens--maybe hundreds--of masks. There were ordered by the local Box Elder High School...Home of the Bees. For some reason I'll always remember Box Elder being the Home of the Bees, because as a freshman attending Davis High School (Home of the Darts...), Davis played Box Elder in the first high school homecoming football game of my high school career. And, I believe Davis beat the Bees back in the fall of 1980.

Getting back to my story, I looked those unused cloth masks from 2021. I'm thinking they were ordered for graduation, two years ago this summer. For me, timelines, as far as when things were required at not required during the pandemic are fuzzy. I don't know if by June 2021 we had ditched the masks or not. I do know that in Northern Utah, we ditched things before other parts of the country. I guess that's how it was living in sticks.

I'm no doctor or scientist, nor do I have specific facts about the usefulness of the masks, but I'm guessing simple cloth masks would not be helpful at this time, so that tub of masks will most likely get thrown out at some point, tossed in the local landfill.

It's funny how just seeing something as simple as a mask can bring us back to a previous time...to the way things once were.

Socks With Sandals...The Struggle Is Real

 The debate rages on, generation after generation (not quite sure if that's true...). Should grown men wear socks with sandals? 

There's the obvious answer...NO. But, if that's so obvious, why are there so many men wearing socks with their sandals out there? That's a fair question. I've had my pair of Birkenstocks for at least 30 years. I bought them in Europe, I think, however, I could have gotten them here--either way, I know they were on sale because I would not pay full price. I'm thinking they were picked up when I was on a college choir tour back in 1992.

They've sat in various closets ever since.

I liked them, don't get me wrong, but I wasn't the biggest fan. The leather would stick to the top of my feet when the weather heated up, and you're only wearing sandals in the summer, so...a constant problem. About a week ago I saw the sandals so I tried them on. They felt good. They felt really good, so much so, I kept them on that day, and the next, and the next. They're a good "walking around the house" shoe. Plus, because of all the snow shoveling we did last winter, there are some shoes that I can no longer wear. The Birks are good to go.

I snapped a picture and posted it on social media. The response was, in a word, surprising. I got comment after comment, both pro socks w/sandals and against socks w/sandals. Just for fun, I posted another picture a few days later sans sandals...got a lot of comments from that, too.

My personal preference is to wear the socks with the Birkenstocks. Since I'm mostly at home anyways, it won't be too shocking. Plus, for me, it's just more comfortable.

And, isn't that supposed to be more important than...well, other factors?

Another Milestone...

 Every once in a while I happen to notice the little counter in the upper left corner of the blog dashboard. I hardly ever think about it. However, there are times when I see something that I find amusing or interesting or blog-worthy.

Usually, I'm the only one.

Such was the case yesterday before I started blog post #4568. The counter sat in numerical order at 4567 completed posts. I know, it's not the most exciting thing...it's not one of the biggies like, 1000, or 5000, or even 10,000. One of those milestones has passed. The other is a few years away, and that third--10k--is decades away.

It's fun for me to look back and consider that number in the corner. Writing daily means that many, if not most, of the posts are, well...to but it bluntly, boring (kind of like this one...). I realized long ago that my posts could either be interesting and well-researched, or I could write every day and have some good ones, have some great ones, some so-so ones, and everything in between.

The reason I write daily is because I know that if I didn't write daily, I'd most likely never write another blog post. There are millions of blogs out there where the creators did exactly that...just sort of stopped. I keep writing, in part, because it's a journal, some place to write about my life, my family, my interests, and whatever. Plus, it only takes a few minutes a day. I think it's well worth my time.

God willing, I'll be able to continue writing until I hit 5000 posts and beyond. Hopefully, I'll notice the number in the corner when it happens.

Yes...I Lost A Fight With A Washing Machine

 It took a couple of days for me to notice, but when I did my "Oh, that's interesting" look, I saw it...

A black eye.

The bruised eye didn't hurt. Getting slapped in the face with the lid of a washing machine did hurt...kind of. When it happened, I was more worried about the eye glasses I was wearing than any potential harm to me.

I should have known, really. I should have remembered that the old washing machine that helped out our family in a time of need then made a strange noise--one of those "that can't be good" noises--was out to get me. When it died we put it outside to face the elements of a hot summer and one of the wettest winters on record, I should have known it had a memory and a streak of revenge. 

I should have known because when we moved it both in the house and outside, the lid had a habit of flipping up quickly. I'd been hit by the lid more than once. But, after it sat outside the weekend of our yard sale in blistering heat, someone drove up, asked a couple of questions about the washing machine, then said he'd take it off our hands. He just had an errand to run, then he'd stop by.

After the sun set, the lonely washing machine still stood at the curb, waiting for it's new owner to take it home. I decided we may have to take it to the dump after all. I hauled it up the driveway for the night.

Then, around 10pm, there came a knock at the door. The man had returned and was ready to claim his prize. He backed up his little trailer and he and I set about to load it up. That's when I forgot about the lid.

The lid apparently did not forget.

It slammed me in the face.

After I found my glasses were undamaged, we loaded up the washer and I bid it adieu.

That was Saturday night. I noticed the next day some puffiness above my left eye. No worries, I thought. Sunday came and went, but when I checked my eye Sunday night, I saw it...the shiner. The fact that it didn't hurt made it hard to notice, too.

I thought about the black eye. I couldn't remember if I've ever had a black eye. The last fight I got into was back in elementary school and as I recall it wasn't much of a fight (no fists were thrown...). This may have been my first black eye, ever. 

And it was because of a washing machine.

Pioneer Day...Means Different Things To Different People

 Having lived most of my life in Utah, I'm not sure if other states celebrate their state's founding--I'm sure they do...I just can't say for sure. Utah is a little different. Officially the state became the country's 45th on January 4, 1896. So why is July 24 celebrated each year in Utah?

It's when a group of pioneers decided this was the place they would stop their exodus and build their kingdom. Every child who grew up here was taught, either in school or church (or both...) about the pioneers, their courage, their determination, their sacrifice. For many still here, the stories are literally part of their DNA, as we are--myself included--descendants of those men, women, and children who traveled across the country to a new world.

Each year many of us take the day off--myself included--and take time to reflect, to consider those people, and wonder if we ourselves could do something like that if called upon as they were.

This morning I came across a tweet from a man I've never met. I began following him because of things mentioned in his bio. Darren Parry is a Utah resident with ancestors from the area, only Darren's ancestors go back much farther than the pioneers...

Much farther.

Darren explains in his post what they day means to him. It's different than mine. His day is not so much a celebration of the pioneers, but the cost of their decision to stay. I recommend you read his words. They're powerful, but for me, the most important words are those near the end:

I want to be a peacemaker and a bridge builder.

I will work hard every day to make that happen.

We are all in the same canoe now. It wouldn't do me any good to shoot a hole in the bottom of it.

Like I said, I've never met Mr. Parry, though I'd like to one day. Our world is full of people who feel they are owed something, respect, reparations, lost opportunities. In Darren's words I see pain, but also a resolve to improve not only his life, but the lives of those around him. It's a simple tweet, only a few paragraphs, but they made me see the day differently. Darren's words have already affected one person. I'd say, what he's doing...

Is working.

Give Thanks...Watching Fireworks With The Family

Like millions of others this summer, our family gathered to carry on a generations-long tradition...watching fireworks. With us, we had three of our four children and the newest member of the family, a son-in-law.

I am a blessed man.

We parked the van, our adult kids climbed atop (because our folding chairs were in an unreachable corner of the garage...) and we all waited for the show to begin. We were relatively late to the hospital parking lot, located several hundred yards from the city park no doubt packed with humanity, all waiting for the same thing.

The sound of sprinklers starting caused us all to laugh, especially those who chose the grass near the hospital to set out blankets in order to watch the fireworks on a slight hill. They quickly scrambled until finding other vantage points from which to see.

Then, the sky lit up with color, different chemicals igniting different colors, shapes, volumes, all in an effort to entertain, delight, even inspire. I waited for proper illumination to catch the faces on top of the van. The end result turned out the way I had hoped.

Once the final explosion faded into the night, the sound echoed for the last time off the surrounding hills, we packed up and headed out, trying to get ahead of at least one more car. 

I'm grateful for that experience we had. I'm grateful my family shared it with me. I'm grateful little towns exist in our country, where people gather and enjoy a sky full of fire. It was a good night.

Oh...What Might Have Been

 The family and I climbed aboard our minivan this morning and headed to an event called "Hay Days." It's a chance for the people of our community to gather and enjoy each others's company as well as celebrate the wonderful little town we call home.

Plus, there's a car show.

It's not the biggest car show, but it seems to get bigger every year...this year included. There were many classic American cars, corvettes, trucks, what have you. And they had one Volkswagen Beetle, my favorite car. It was a beautiful car. I took pictures of it as I always do. Every time I see a bug these days it reminds me of my earlier years, back when you could buy a bug for $500 and the bug ran and it was (semi...) reliable transportation.

Too bad those days are gone forever.

I have a picture of my first car. It's a 1965 VW Beetle (we lovingly called "Greenie"...), original 1200cc engine, top speed - 50 m.p.h. unless you drove downhill, or behind an 18-wheeler. 

What if I had kept that car instead of basically giving it away...

Oh, what might have been.

I've thought about this several times over the years. Using the advantages of age, I know keeping that car would have been a terrible idea. Just finding a place to park it would have been a nightmare. Plus, I don't know how long it would take me to get it running and if I did, would I dare drive it anywhere far from my home? 

That car, in the condition at the time I got rid of it, in today's dollars would be worth many thousands of dollars...a far cry from the $500 I originally paid in1982. That sounds great, but I would have paid for that appreciation in other ways. No, my logical mind understands not hanging on to that car was the best decision...

Just my heart doesn't share my brain's reasoning.

Oh, what might have been...I only hope someone took car of Greenie. I'd love to see it at a car show one of these days.

A Posted Picture Only One Person Would Understand..

 On the road to our church building, a car is parked, but not an ordinary car--oh no. This car is a Ford ZX2. Ever heard of one?

That's why it's no ordinary car.

I've seen that car every time I go to church and whenever I'm driving that particular road. When I first spotted the car, an obscure memory popped into my mind, the memory of a conversation I once had with a co-worker probably ten years ago.

For some reason, I remember cars, and my co-worker at the time owned a Ford ZX2--it might have even been red. One day, my co-worker and I chatted about her car. She said that she received some junk mail asking her if she were interested in selling her "highly desirable" ZX2. We had a good laugh over that.

The conversation returned to me when I drove by the car, so one time after church, I snapped a picture of the highly desirable vehicle and used it for my Pic Of The Day. Since many of my pictures and captions are obscure, I figured anyone seeing it would think it's just another strange post from yours truly. However, I thought there might be a slim chance my co-worker (who is also on Facebook...) might see the picture and appreciate it.

Turns out, she did and she commented on it. I realized I posted the picture for one person and hoped it would be seen by that one person.

Sometimes I post pictures for as many people as possible. Sometimes, just for me, but it's rare when it's for only one person. I'm glad it worked out.

New Town...Same Result

Years ago, the city where we lived at the time banned fireworks on our big holidays--Independence Day, and Pioneer Day (the day our state celebrates not quite statehood, but something like that...). And because people like to celebrate summer events with fireworks and since we're people, the restrictions sort of hurt.

Not that we were big fireworkers, but it's still fun to have the option. 

During those holidays we'd sit on our porch and watch neighbors a few blocks away blast their celebrations skyward. Oh, the fun they must be having. The next day I'd look across the street and see an open field of tall weeds and beyond that, a mountain. It made sense to stop us from lighting off fireworks, no matter how safe we were.

A few years ago, we moved to another hillside in a new town, this hill not as steep and not as weedy. On Independence Day a few weeks ago, we watched neighbors explode fireworks as they like to do. Some were really close. We considered getting some fireworks, but we decided against it. We'll watch the neighbor's, we thought.

What a difference a few days, little rain, taller weeds, and higher temperatures makes.

Today we got the message that our neighborhood is once again under firework restrictions...not only fireworks, but other things as well. Once again, I understand the reasoning and I support it.

New town...same result.

I think because I'm getting older, living without personally setting off fireworks and putting the hillside (and my fingers...) at risk is less and less appealing to me. Just another thing I can live without. I'm wondering if my neighbors will read the notice, and even if they read it, will adhere to it.

I guess we'll see.

Dealing With Computer Issues...Just A Part Of Life

 You may not know it, but right now I'm waging a war, a race against time. The enemy...?

My laptop.

For the past couple of weeks, my laptop has been on the fritz. It began with the occasional freezing. Previously, it would lock up a couple of times a year, but something changed. Since it happening frequently lately, I'd force shut down, the start it back up again. I did an internet search trying to see if I could remedy the problem.

I thought I fixed it, and I did see a change, but that was short-lived. Now, the computer just shuts down--no freeze, just shuts down. When I fire it up again, I see the above message.

I bought this computer years ago...I can't remember how many exactly, but I could look it up. My guess is it's something I can get fixed by taking it into the Apple store or another Mac repair shop. It worries me, thought. There's the cost to fix it, of course, and because I don't know what's causing the problem, I don't know how pricy it's going to be. Then there's not having access to the computer and that's tough when I'm blogging daily and posting a daily picture. But, I've done it before and I can do it again.

I understand this is a first-world problem. However, we are so dependent upon technology--the latest technology and the technology working correctly.

So far on this blog post, it hasn't shut down. Another day done.

I Can See Why They Line Up Around The Block For This Stuff...Sort Of

 My wife and I wanted to pick up a couple of gift cards so we decided to try one of the local soda pop places that seem to be everywhere. I don't know if they're as popular in other states because we don't find ourselves in other states all that often...

But, in Utah, they're all the rage. So much so, many times when we pass a Fiiz Drinks, there's literally a line of cars waiting for the Drive Thru. While we were getting the gift cards at our local Soda Fixx, I decided to try one. I asked what they recommended and they gave me "The Trainee." How appropriate.

And, it was good...so good.

So good that I understand (sort of...) why people line up around the block for these drinks and why they're all over, at least, where we live.

If you're not familiar with the concept, basically they take soda drinks as a base then add all sorts of flavors to kick things up several notches. Here's a menu:

As you can see, there's a lot to choose from.

We haven't become addicted to the drinks, mostly because it's expensive, and not that good for you. Still, after trying one, I can better understand what the fuss is all about.

Getting To The Point Where I Can...Just Let It Go

 Years ago I picked up the iMac G4 from a friend. I remember him working on it and he told me he was getting rid of it. I told him I wanted it. He obliged. I remember firing it up a few times...I thought I could use it as a writing desktop computer. 

Plus, I wanted it because it's such a cool piece of art.

I never owned a G4 iMac. They were too expensive. And, truth be told, they were not (in my not so professional opinion...) not up to snuff at that time to other desktops. I worked on Macs back in the late 1980s and I loved them. Then I didn't get another Mac for many years. When my friend offered us his Mac, I thought it would look cool in my office.

The problem was, it sat in the basement, never used.

So, I thought I'd sell it at our yard sale. There had to be people out there who appreciated a classic computer as much as I did. Turns out...not so much. One guy thought it was great and checked it out, but no one else even gave it a second thought. When it became apparent it wasn't going to sell, we thought about donating it to a thrift store.

One problem...

We needed to reset it to factory settings.

Turns out, if you don't have the original CDs that came with the computer, it's impossible. I had to make a choice...return it to the basement and most likely never have it out again, or throw it away. I know it's an old Mac, not worth much money. I know for relatively little money, you can buy a Macintosh computer that does so much more than the G4. Still, we were sad we'd have to dump it.

Maybe it's because I'm getting older. I've collected too much stuff over the years. Maybe it's because I have fewer years ahead of me than I have behind me. Whatever the reason I was able to do something I would never have done years ago. I snapped a couple of photos of the iMac G4--once the pride and joy of the Apple line--and placed it in the garbage can. 

It's still out there, along with other things we didn't sell and didn't think the thrift store would want or need. On Friday, the big garbage truck will drive by, stop briefly, and dump the trash. The iMac will tumble in, never to be used again. God's speed little computer. Looks like I'm ready to just let go of something after all.

Give Thanks...A Writer Reunion

 Last weekend several writers at various stages of their creative career gathered for a one-day writing conference. It was a reunion for sorts for four of us. Those of us in the above picture all have at least one thing in common...we were all published through a small press, Xchyler Publishing. 

The name brings back so many wonderful memories.

Xchyler was my first paid gig. They published three of my short stories, two steampunk shorts and a paranormal, in various anthologies. The first one came out ten years ago and it changed my life.

I had graduated with my masters in English a few years before. I saw a call for submissions on a steampunk anthology. I entered. My piece was chosen. The year Mechanized Masterpieces came out, I went to my first writing con. As I sat at a vendor table, a family passed, everyone decked out in excellent steampunk cosplay. The father stopped and we chatted. I explained Xchyler was looking for submissions in their anthologies and hopefully publish any novels their short story writers had written. The man took the card.

He was a writer and submitted several stories to Xchyler. His stories were chosen. He told his co-worker about Xchyler and the co-worker submitted stories, too. His were also chosen. Those two authors have gone on to write and edited numerous novels. In addition, they have become ambassadors for writing in my state.

All of us at one time opened a box of books and saw our names on the cover. We can thank Xchyler for that. I'm grateful for Xchyler for publishing our words and stories. I'm grateful I can call these writers friends. I'm grateful someone took a chance on some unknowns. The reunion was wonderful. Hopefully, we can do it again next year.

A Wonderful Little Game...

 I came across a Game Boy Advance a few weeks ago. It fired up so I thought I'd dig into my box of relics and I found my Legend of Zelda, Link's Awaking game...

What a wonderful little game.

Of course, it shouldn't be. 

What I mean by that is, the game is ancient, by today's standards. It's like driving a Ford Model T in the Twenty-First Century. The game is hard to see--you have to hold the Game Boy at a certain angle or you can't see anything. The controls are small, almost non-existent. It feels like it takes forever to change your weapons. But, man, is that game addicting. 

It's odd, I'm not a big gamer. I don't play games on a computer. I have no gaming consoles. I have a few games on my phone I access. But, since I bought the Game Boy and found the Zelda game, it's taken up a chunk of my time.

I posted the above photo on social media last week. It seems I'm not the only one who looks fondly upon this game. It's almost universal. Maybe it's people of a certain age where the game meant so much who share this affinity. Then again, I'll bet a younger generation who have never played the game would love it, too. 

I'm about halfway through the adventure and I still love it.Yes, it's sort of a pain to play, but oh, is it worth it?!

One Less Truth...

 A few years ago, I discovered podcasts...me, and it seems, the entire planet. I fell in love with them--couldn't get enough. I subscribed to podcast after podcast covering everything from writing to horror to true crime to humor to politics (some would say the political podcasts encapsulate all those others...). And, amazingly, I listened to them all, every day/week, religiously.

Now, I'm not so religiously inclined to podcasts. There are some I still listen to every day/week, but others, well...they've sort of fallen by the wayside. I'm okay with that. I realized I can't keep listening to everything that interests me--just not possible. 

One of the podcasts I particularly like is called The Truth. It's sort of a Twilight Zone of podcasts. The stories are a bit bizarre, strange, funny, but also thought-provoking. They're audio theater complete with different voices and sound effects. They're not too long (which is nice...) and something I almost always listen to.

The last episode I heard, there was a note from the podcast's creator. He calmly said that the podcast was taking a break, ending their string of shows. It sort of hit me funny. He said that the whole podcast industry was having a tough time and this includes their podcast. He said he hoped to return in the future, but he could not be certain that would happen. Though I know he tried, I felt a sadness in his words.

Maybe the industry has fallen on tough times because of people like me, people who used to be more zealous of the medium. I can't be sure.

Like blogs before it, the podcast craze may just be following its inevitable life span. The craze is born, it grows and flourishes, then when either the creativity lags or the attentions start to fade, people tune out and find the next great thing.

I felt bad for the speaker, for those he sincerely thanked for their hard work and dedication. Will it return? I'm sure they hope so and will do much to bring it back, but my guess is, I may have listened to the last episode of The Truth.

That makes me sad.

It's Yard Sale Season And...It's Our Turn

 This time, it's our turn.

After years of yard sale shopping, the shoe is on the other foot. We were going to have a sale last fall, but that didn't happen. Then, we decided to have a sale in the spring. A wedding squashed those plans. We then had the great idea to have a yard sale after the wedding. That way we can try and get rid of all the stuff we bought for the wedding...

Plus, all that other stuff we've gathered over the months and years.

It's amazing how much stuff we have. Even if we get rid of all of it, we could turn around and have another one next week with just as much stuff...such is our life. And I don't think we're alone in this. Based on the number of storage units around us (and around everyone, it seems...), we all have a lot of stuff.

Having stuff isn't necessarily bad. People have to have some stuff to survive. Maybe that's why we've gathered so many things...you know, in case we'll need them to survive, but I doubt we'll need a iMac from twenty years ago. Probably don't need that.

The sale is tomorrow and Saturday morning, 8am to 2pm. It's going to be a lot of work. I hope we can make people as happy as others have made us when we visited their sales.

Wish us luck.

After Everyone Left...

 The door creaked and the faint smell of dust and sweat hit Jason as he entered the empty room, a room where only two hours before was filled with screaming fans and tired athletes.

...also, shattered dreams.

Oh, what could have been...a million little things.

Jason shuffled through the doorway and scanned the room for the only thing that meant enough to the seventeen-year old for him to face the location of his short life's cruelest battle. After a moment, his eyes fixed upon the leather sphere, the weapon, the artillery, the bullet, the dagger that might as well have been still lodged in Jason's heart.

Just get my basketball and get out of here, he thought, a small feeling of solace after a night of humiliation. Exactly four hours earlier, Jason sat excited, his legs bouncing up and down waiting for the introductions of him and his teammates. He'd waited all year to play his cross-town rivals, a team that beat them last year. Now, unlike last time, the game would be played in his gym, at Jason's house. 

Time for revenge.

Exactly two hours ago, the buzzer sounded as Jason and a thousand others watched Jason's lucky basketball sail through the air as time expired, only the game of Jason's dreams turned out to be a nightmare. After the shot, Jason put on a brave face, congratulated the other team while consoling his teammates, friends, fellow soldiers. The upbeat mood was part act, part sincere. As far back as he could remember, Jason followed the admonition of his father, "A true champion is neither a sore winner or loser. If you can't be both, don't even bother playing."

Jason and his team left the court, showered, dressed, laughed at lame jokes (the jokes were always better after a win...), and left with everyone else. He walked home, living only three doors down from the school. It wasn't until he started his already-ignored homework that he remembered the basketball. 

Better go get it, he thought.

He'd walked the walk hundreds, even thousands of times, to and from school, to and from practice. Tonight as he walked Jason replayed the game over and over in his mind, focusing mostly on the last ten seconds. Had the shot he took with 7.4 seconds left gone in, they win the game. Had he or any of his teammates rebounded the ball, they win the game. Neither happened and the other team's worst shooter got lucky at the other end. It stung. It will sting for a while.

Jason picked up the ball, the leather sheen once covering the no longer new ball already starting to wear. He twisted it in his hands, once, twice, three times. He bounded the ball, once, twice, three times. He looked at the other end of the court where it all came down to a million little things, the slightest pressure as it left his hands, jumping increasingly higher as he jumped...so many things.

He thought about walking to the exact spot where he took the shot and trying one more time to see if this time, the ball would go in.

He then changed his mind.

Nah, he thought. There'll be time to practice that shot again later. He had a paper to write...better get home.

With These Shots, Kind Of Got Lucky...And Didn't

 Two shots, two chances where luck helped capture the images...

Luck was involved, but more with one than the other.

I try to find interesting pictures for my Pic Of The Day. I freely admit, some photos are better than others. Last week I caught two images I liked a lot, one a shot of a lightning bolt during a summer storm, and the other, a photo of a dragonfly taking flight. Both required some "adjusting," but both turned out great.

The first, the picture of the dragonfly, I caught while in the backyard with the dog. As I waited for him to do this business, I spotted two dragonflies landing on some bamboo poles we have set up. They would hop from pole to pole as if fighting. I got out my phone and tried to get as close as possible to snap a picture before they flew away. Because my phone has a short video feature, it caught the dragonfly as it took off. I picked a frame as it just left the pole and that was my Pic Of The Day. 

The second shot was far easier to get.

We live at the top of a huge valley and when summer storms roll in, my wife and I like to go out to the front porch and enjoy nature's fireworks. That storm was amazing. The thunder was almost constant. I got out my phone and hit "Video." Then, I would record for a minute or so, the phone pointing to the east. I took maybe five videos and captured numerous lightning strikes.

Because it was a video, I didn't know if I actually caught any lightning bolts with my camera. I downloaded the videos, then went frame-by-frame stopping whenever the sky lit up. The one I used for that Pic Of The Day was my favorite. I guess it's easy to conclude I snapped a picture right as the bolt appeared, but I'm not that talented.

Two shots, both required a bit of luck, only one needed less luck than the other.

Sure Love Me A Good Meme...

 Came across this gem the other day...

Classic!

Of course, I took a screenshot of it, edited it, then sent it to my friend. This inevitably began a meme war between Steve and me. Why go through all the memes out there when you have someone who can find some of the best and just send them to you?

Not to say, his are the best, you understand. Some are...meh, but some...he hits it out of the park.

It's strange to think that our children will never know a world without funny pictures and captions not only available, but deliverable to anyone and everyone. It's so commonplace, I can't remember what life was like before the advent of the internet and cellphones. It's a different world. I know we shared funny things back in the "dark ages"...maybe we cut out comics from newspapers, or sent funny things via fax machines.

I'm sure we did. I just don't remember.

Of course, I'm not trying too hard to remember. I lived a majority of my life without the internet and especially cellphones. One thing humans will always do is to find humor in life and pass that humor along to others. Heck, who knows if the ancient cave art isn't funny memes that they understood at the time?

Yes, I love a good meme. The one above is one of the best...

A classic.

Give Thanks...Smiles From The Writers Cantina Con

The smiles told the story. In the morning I saw people descend the stairs excited for the event to begin. Eight hours later, the same people ascended the stairs, tired but happy...

The smiles told the story.

Yesterday the inaugural Writers Cantina finally arrived. The idea began last year, a few writers wanted to create an event where writers could gather to discuss writing...not other things found at other writing conferences, but the art of writing--what is is and how to improve the craft. The con's main cheerleader was Nathan Shumate. His determination and passion pushed the idea forward. He created the non-profit, booked the venue, and organized the volunteers.

I helped, but mostly I sat and BS'd with good friends and new acquaintances. Nate's vision was to have a writers conference where everyone--panelists and attendees alike--were treated like special guests. The "Green Room" was unlike any I've ever seen. The room was open to everyone complete with snacks (good snacks...) and tables where a novice writer could sit and talk shop with an Internationally known bestselling author.

Nate's vision turned out to be just what we wanted and just what we needed.

It was only a one day affair. We're hoping to double the days next year. That's the goal, anyway. But since Nate's goals for this year's show appear to have turned out, I have faith it'll get done. We have other plans for next year as well.

I'm grateful to be involved (albeit to a small degree...) with this event. I'm grateful for friends who gave up their time and talents to help writers who, a few years earlier, sat in the audience chairs instead of a panelist's chair. I'm grateful to have found such an amazing group.

Yes, the smiles--excited at the beginning of the day, tired at the end, but smiles none the less--told the story, the story of storytellers sharing a Saturday together. See you next year!

I Miss The Sun Setting Behind A Mountain...

I went driving last night, at sunset, with my son. As he drove on a small country road, the sun set behind the western mountains...

It was beautiful.

Something I miss.

I have been blessed almost my entire life to see one of the most amazing sights witnessed by humans...sunsets, but not just any sunsets. For decades I lived on the eastern slope of a mountain. From that height, we watched the sun set behind Antelope Island...not the highest mountain, but high enough. I took picture after picture of those sunsets, and when photography went digital, I went nuts.

Thousands of photos of sunsets from my house on a dead-end street.

We moved to another hill. Now we're on the north side of a smaller mountain and to the west of us we have...

Homes...

We still get amazing sunsets, many of which I have photographed, but there's something about having a natural boundary behind which the sun sets. It's special. It's the way God intended.

As we drove last night, I took out my phone and I snapped a couple of pictures. I miss mountains and sunsets. They're a wonderful combination. I've been blessed to have seen thousands in my life. Last night's view was one more.

Join Us...Won't You?

 At 9am tomorrow morning, a group of hardy authors will gather at a convention hall in West Valley City, Utah.

You should join us.

To be honest, I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow. It's new for everyone...for the organizers, for the panelists, for the attendees. I do know, however (because I know most of the people involved...) that it's going to be a lot of fun.

I mean, how could it not be?

There will be intellectuals, gamers, nerds, science fiction enthusiasts, fantasy enthusiasts, and others. They'll be under one roof for one day, the first and only day of the Writers Cantina Writing Conference. I will be there to help facilitate the activities and hopefully help others have an amazing time. 

The event is relatively cheap--since pre-registration has come and gone, it's only $20 for people 13 and older, $5 for anyone 12 and under. That's a steal--don't let anyone tell you differently. We'll have best-selling authors, gamers, video game creators, but mostly writers who can't wait to share the "tricks of the trade."

The location: The Utah Cultural Celebration Center, or UCCC. It's at: 1355 W 3100 S, West Valley City, UT 84119. Registration and check-in are from 9am to 9:50am. Then, the fun really begins.

You can learn more by clicking: HERE. I'd love to see you there. 

Seen Any Chalk Art Lately...?

 Over the weekend, my wife and I checked out our local Farmer's Market. We live in a small town so the market is only set up the first Saturday of the summer months. A few days before the market, there was a community activity...

Chalk art. I loved it.

Maybe it's because one of the offerings featured a classic VW beetle.

The picture isn't that great, I admit, but the yellow bug seemed to capture the spirit of the classic car. I always wonder, when I see chalk art displays, what if it rains? Thankfully, we had clear skies from the time the chalk hit the concrete to when we walked around the square.

 In the town next to us where we used to live, they had a huge chalk art celebration every year. We only checked out the artwork a couple of times--not because we planned on it, but because we happened to drive by during the event. We enjoyed seeing the creativity and talent.

As with all art, some is better than others. I always appreciate the pictures that are not quite up to snuff. It shows that someone went out there, got down on the ground, took out their chalk, and created something that didn't before exist. Creating art exposes the artist. Sure, there's praise (especially from family and friends...), but they leave themselves open for ridicule and jokes, too. 

The offerings in our town this past weekend were sparse, but they were fun. When our kids were younger, we bought chalk art, but then we ended up throwing them out after years of neglect.

There's a story (or stories...) behind every piece of art. And even if some kids are just fooling around on the sidewalk in front of their home, the same can be said for chalk art as well.

When It Comes To Growing Apricots...I Really Don't Know What I'm Doing

 The elusive apricot...don't understand the trees.

Then again, I don't understand most fruit trees (among other things...).

It's unusual for us to get a lot of apricots. They're a fickle plant. Most years, our trees haven't done that well, mostly because of a late frost. This year, however, our young tree is exploding with fruit.

And I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do.

My neighbor says I should remove almost all the fruit on the tree so that only a few apricots remain on each branch. I thought I'd try out his system. I picked an especially packed branch and went to work. I took maybe twenty apricots off the tree and surveyed my work. To be honest, I didn't see much difference. I wanted to do more, but it pained me to keep taking off fruit. There's something depressing about it, especially since we get so few crops. Still, I suppose you've got to sacrifice few for the sake of the many (which is strange because when you're done, you have fewer than before...).

I know I could do an internet search and find other methods. When I've tried that in the past, it's confused me...so many different ways of doing things.

Since we only have only one apricot tree, I'm not worrying too much over this. I might do a little more thinning between now and harvest time. Then again, I might leave the tree alone and let wind and chance determine how many we'll get to enjoy.

Family...The Circle Continues

 Like millions of others, we had family over tonight. We barbecued, ate too much, hung out, caught up, and eventually, said our good-byes. It was a fantastic day.

As my two married children sat on our back porch, I snapped a picture (that's me reflected in the mirror camera phone in hand...). We get together when we can, but our family is growing, just like when I was a childhood family of my siblings and my mom did, just like my parents's families did, and so on, and so on...

Since the beginning of time.

Soon, my son and his wife will become parents themselves, just like my wife and I did almost thirty years ago. Funny how life is a circle...just depends on where you are in that circle.

I remember after my father passed away, my mom's family became a second family for her and my siblings. We spent Christmas together and vacationed in southeastern Idaho almost every summer. A few years later, they stopped coming down for Christmas. I remember being sad, but also I realized that our huge family had been downsized. 

For years, it was my mom, brother, sister, and me. It stayed that way until us kids grew up and went our separate ways. My sister got married, then my brother, then me. When our kids were young, we'd gather at my mom's house, just like we did today. Eventually, my siblings's kids grew and some had kids of their own. Their circle is coming back around...

So is ours.

In a few decades, God willing, my kids and their kids/spouses will gather at their homes, perhaps barbecue (if people still do that sort of thing...), eat too much, hang out, catch up. Where my wife and I are now, they will one day become...

The circle continues.

Teisevsvej 23...A Place Where I Used To Live

 In the summer of 1985 I got on a train in a suburb outside of Copenhagen (København...) and traveled west. The train crossed the island of Zealand (Sjælland...) until we came to the North Sea. They disconnected the engine and pushed the train onto a ferry.

Very cool.

I forget how long it took for the huge ship to travel to yet another Danish island, but when the ferry stopped, the train disembarked on Funen (Fyn...). From there, the train continued west until I reached the amazing city of Odense, Denmark, the small Scandinavian country's third largest city.

I got off the train and met one of the most interesting people I've ever met, Daren. At the time I was a LDS missionary. Missionaries are assigned a companion and Daren was mine. Last week I got a text message from Daren. He sent me a picture, a picture of a house on a little street just north and a little east of the city center. 

It's where we used to live.

It's been a long time since I left that house, once again leaving by train. Before I saw the picture, I had no idea of what the house looked like, but seeing it now, I remember. I remember our entry was on the side of the house. Once inside, we went downstairs. Our apartment was in the basement. When I arrived, the place was a pit. Daren would agree. Thankfully, some of the members of the local congregation came over and patched holes in the walls and painted. 

I only lived at that address for four months. Not long, but, a life can change in four months. I'm not saying living in that house changed my life entirely, but I did make a life-long friend, several actually. I fell in love with Odense (birthplace of Hans Christian Anderson...). That structure is where we returned after insanely difficult days, after the highest highs and the lowest lows. It offered shelter from storms, from hot summer days, from insults and bullies, from dejection. It's where we ate most of our meals (not a lot of member meals for us...), and got up early to do it all again. 

I'm glad Daren was there when I arrived. Even though we only spent two months together, I felt like he was a big brother for me--I still feel that way. I've loved seeing pictures of his adventures as his family discovers the magical land the locals call Danmark, and seeing Daren re-discover the land that's stolen our hearts.

It's just a house, one of millions in the small country, a place where I used to live. I'm glad he sent the picture...I nice gesture he didn't need to do. Then again, if you know Daren, it's not surprising at all.

Give Thanks...Where We Live

 Where we used to live, I hung the American Flag on our porch. We had lights so we could fly it twenty-four hours a day. We flew the American flag on all holidays, and if I remember correctly, we also flew it the entire month of July. 

July's a good month to fly our nation's flag.

In Utah, we have two major holidays in July. Independence Day, of course. We also celebrate the day when pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley, July 24th, 1847. It's called Pioneer Day, or the Days of '47. We treat the holidays the same, sort of. We gather as families and friends. We barbecue, watch parades, and when night falls, we gather to see fireworks (some communities in our state are having drone displays this year...). 

It's a time to celebrate, but also a time to reflect...

Reflect on the lives we have.

For as long as I can remember, I've loved our nation's flag. I like other flags of other nations, but there's something special about your own flag. I want to fly the flag the entire month, but our new home has a porch that does not lend itself to the same display options as our old home did, so we improvised. I put together a flag and a base and I've flown it on most holidays. Yesterday, I found a light and for the first time in years, we had a flag flying all night.

I'm grateful for he life I've had, for being able to live in this country. I know I've been blessed...so blessed. I've lived with people who have loved me. I've had shelter, food, clothing all my life. Not everyone can say that. I'm not so naive as to think the flag is the only reason for all these blessings. The flag is a symbol--or should be--of a set of ideals that the citizens follow, something that directs them, protects them. Without anything to back it, a flag is only cloth. 

We've had the flag up for one day. It's been flying over our country for centuries. I hope it continues to fly for many more.

"Project Salamander"...One Chapter, Is Mine

 The people who are putting on a new writing conference next week in Utah got together and wrote a book. The plan was for each author to write a chapter until the entire novel is complete. I was on the e-mail list with other authors. Every couple of weeks, a writer would say his/her chapter was done and it was time to pass it off to the next creative artist.

Initially, I did not sign up for the project, but as the chapters kept adding up, I thought it might be fun to help out. So, when another author proclaimed their assignment, "Finished," I said I'd like a turn.

And so I did.

A little hint, if your author friends are writing a novel and each is writing a chapter, my advice is - volunteer early. Why? Because when you write early in the process, you don't have a lot of story to build upon. No, it's pretty much a blank slate. 

If you are one of the later writers, well...you have to first, read (and understand...) what others have written, then you must adapt a chapter to not only match what's come before, but enhance and expound on the other's great words.

Such was my assignment.

And it was a blast.

The story had split into several side-stories. I chose one and continued the story. I'm not going to go into detail about the chapter other than to say I liked it. Once finished, I submitted it and a few weeks later, a new novel appeared. It's titled, Project Salamander. Love the title.

Here's the subtitle (which I also love...).

Don't Trust Anyone, Especially the Face in the Mirror

If you'd like to know more about the book, or better yet, BUY the book, you can get a copy by clicking: HERE. Even without knowing the ending, I recommend it.

Project Salamander, pick it up, support a great cause. One of the chapters is mine.