Give Thanks...For Ward Choirs

 Last year (at least, I think it was last year...), I was asked to serve as a choir leader for our local LDS congregation. I believe you don't have to be a member of my religion to understand what this calling entails. Choirs in local congregations are often times the butt of jokes in music circles...and in other circles, too. They're an easy target. We invite anyone wishing to sing to join. Heck, I'm sure I've made jokes about these choirs over the years.

I don't think I'll ever do that again.

Our ward choir sang in church today. We had one rehearsal two weeks ago and went through the song one and one-half times this morning before our services began. They sounded wonderful. I'm not saying they were "world-class" in their presentation of the hymn, but boy, they sounded great--just ordinary church goers who enjoy singing.

When I was called, I felt inadequate, even though I've been singing in choirs--amateur and professional--for the past forty years. I've sung in regular choirs and I've sung with talent that's second to none. I was afraid I would be expected to get the singers to sound like a choir that blew people away. I quickly realized that's not my job...not my calling. I'm there to help the singers and the congregation feel something, to bring a spirit to the meeting.

I'm far from doing the best job with this calling. I have a long way to go--there's so much more I can do for the ward. That's the thing about callings. They're not not given to those who have mastered the skill...more like given to those who need to learn something.

I'm thankful for my neighbors who stay late and rehearse, who come early--small kids in tow--to support me and the program. I'm thankful I can stand before them and hear the music we create before anyone else. I'm thankful for ward choirs.

Give Thanks...The Land That I Love

 I took this picture of our flag on October 14th of this year. Tomorrow, I'll fly it again--both times to honor those who made it possible for me to be born, grow up, and live in this incredible country. This is the month where many of my fellow countrymen find things for which the are thankful and they share those thoughts with others.

Today, I'm thankful for where I live.

Having lived almost sixty years on this planet, I've seen some history. Had I properly studied history I would have known more, but between my grandparents and my self, our lives cover the years of 1885 to the present day. In those three generations, the world has forever changed. Very few living today could even comprehend what life was like in the 1800s. Tonight, I'm sitting in a climate-controlled room communicating on a device that can send these words to literally billions of people. We have food in our house that I did not have to hunt, water we did not have to dredge up from the ground, vehicles in the garage that can take us around the world. Even the most vivid imaginations of my grandparent's generation could ever have dreamed how we would live today.

We live in the age of miracles.

And the United States of America stands apart. The experiment allowing humans guaranteed rights, rights that should not be taken away by men with guns (governments or criminals...) was so novel, so radical, so important for humanity, that once implemented, the world would never be the same.

November is only ten-days old and the month has left its mark on history. I've watched with fascination the highest and lowest of emotions, and yet, the life I live cannot compare with the highs and lows of the people who came before, who sacrificed all. We sometimes (many times...) forget that history did not start the day we were born. That's a shame, and not only that, but forgetting history--true history--can doom a society.

Tonight I walked to the end of a dead end street where homes will one day line a new road. I looked up. The sky was aflame with reds and oranges and blues and colors that took my breath away. I get to live on that street. I get to live in a country where, because of good people obeying laws, me and my family can live in relative peace. Because I've not studied history, I know of few other people who have been so blessed.

Events of the past week have caused millions to flood social media with their opinions, their griefs, their joys. I add my voice to theirs to say I'm thankful where I live. I'm thankful to have never wanted for food, for shelter, for love. I'm thankful for this land that I love.

One Hundred Years Ago Today...A Great Man Was Born

 On this day in 1924 my father was born in Harlem, Montana...one century, one hundred years, Harry A. Taylor, my father.

When I think of amazing men, amazing Americans, I think of my dad. When the Great Depression hit, he was old enough to understand things were bad, and if not, he definitely knew by the time it ended a decade later. Imaging going from a depression economy to a nation at war, which is exactly what happened. Dad had to wait until he turned eighteen in1945 to enlist, but when he did, they sent him to Germany and placed him behind a tail gun in a B-17 because he was an expert marksman. His family sent five brothers to fight in WWII...they all survived.

When he returned, the man who never graduated from high school earned a four-year engineering degree in three years, an incredible feat even then. He married my mother and after years of trying for children of their own, they adopted other's children, and they did it three times. He worked as an engineer for several companies finally ending up as a civilian worker at Hill Air Force Base. My parents bought six acres of land on the mountain in Farmington, Utah, where he designed and began building his dream home. 

He never saw its completion. 

The law of averages says reaching your one-hundredth birthday is rare. My father was months shy of reaching half that. He passed away at forty-nine, leaving a wife and three children under eleven-years old.

One hundred years is a milestone. Buildings have celebrations when they reach that mark (at least they do in the Western United States because that is considered old...). When people turn one-hundred local news do stories on them and families gather to celebrate.

For my father, this blog post may be the only thing written about him, the only mention the world will know of his birth and a little about his short, but important life. It's a shame, in a way, that we're not holding celebrations, no gatherings, no parties. Of my father's eleven siblings, only one remains, and of my immediate family, only my brother and I are left to remember the man we barely knew.

From what I know about my father, I doubt he'd be upset that this may be the only acknowledge of his birthday. It's not when a person is born that's important, it's what you do with the time you have, and my father...well, he's my Gold Standard on how to live a truly special life.

Happy birthday, Dad. I cannot thank you enough for everything you've done for me. Love you and miss you still.

Give Thanks...For Missing You

 I parked the car on the thin blade of pavement running north/south, one of several dissecting the Farmington City Cemetery. I arrived early so I could still make my call time for work. I got out and the brilliance of the day hit me, the greens of the grass seem to glow, a rarity in late October. In the past I've visited with snow, leaves covering the headstone of my parents. Yesterday, you could not ask for a more perfect day.

I fetched the pumpkin I carved the morning before, one I spotted among hundreds stacked in front of our local grocery store. My eyes locked on it immediately...small-ish, round-ish, almost perfect. I like to pick smaller pumpkins for my mom's grave. They fit her, not only in her size (not quite five feet tall...), but also in the way she didn't want attention directed her way. That didn't stop the attention from coming. Everyone who knew my mother loved her. She drew people to her like flies to a porch light at dusk.

I hiked the few steps from the car to the site and placed the pumpkin on the ground. Due to the slope, I adjusted the placement to prevent it from rolling downhill. I stood and surveyed the cemetery. Except for a service truck either beginning its duties to accept a new member, or finishing up welcoming a new member (considering the time of day, it's probably the latter...), I stood alone, the only person living at the cemetery on this absolutely beautiful day.

A day my mom would have appreciated.

I had my mom for forty-two years, long enough to believe I knew her. When she passed--and the passing was no surprise--I realized just how much I didn't know of the woman who selflessly adopted three children, myself included, and who raised us alone for thirty-three years. It's funny and ironic and terribly sad how the instant they're gone, you wish you could spend more time with them when you spent every day of your life with them before. The desire to ask her questions, to find out more about her life as a child growing up in the Great Depression or during WWII and all the wars that followed, as a young adult, a newlywed, even during the times I lived with her, hit me after she died and has continued these seventeen years since.

I can't remember the exact year I started carving a pumpkin for her birthday. I was possibly a teenager. I didn't continue the tradition every year, but I believe I've done much better since 2007. It's a small gesture, like the pumpkin itself...small, but heartfelt. 

Tonight, I'll drive to the cemetery again. Since it's Sunday, I may be alone at the cemetery, or perhaps others may come to be as close to their loved ones's remains as possible. The weather's not as perfect as it was yesterday and that may keep some from visiting. I'll pack up the pumpkin, bring it home, and place it among others for the holiday that always occurs four days after we celebrate my mom's birthday.

I thought I was thankful for my mother before, but I find myself more thankful for her with each passing year. I realize, as I get older, what an incredible person she was and how lucky all of us who knew her actually are. In a word...very. In 365 days, God willing, I'll continue the tradition, find an almost perfect pumpkin, carve it, and leave it for my mom. I'm thankful I miss her so much. It's a testament to just how wonderful she was. Until next year, mom. Still missing you.

Give Thanks...For The Primary Program

 Today, I almost stayed home from Sacrament Meeting because we have a few family members recuperating from various issues. When I checked the chorister schedule this morning, I forgot that I was scheduled to conduct the music today. 

I'm glad I decided to go.

It was the annual Primary program.

If you're unfamiliar with the our religion, we have an organization that focuses on children ages three to twelve. It's call the Primary. Around this time of year the congregations have one meeting dedicated to the kids. They give short (very short...) talks--sometimes only a sentence or even less--and they sing their little hearts out. I sat on the front row and got to see the program close up. Since my children graduated from Primary, I haven't been as interested in the program. Today, it was just magical.

I'll bet I could be in any Primary program across the world and feel the same thing. I might not understand the words, but I would definitely recognize the spirit that surrounds those children. I'm sure every Primary program would have the embarrassed few, the children searching for their parents/grandparents/siblings, and those amazing souls who stand as tall as possible and belt out the songs regardless of whether or not they can hit the note. 

Pure wonder.

Pure innocence.

Perfection.

The picture above is a visual depiction of the First Primary founded in Farmington, Utah in 1878. The mural is in the Memorial Rock Church in the building where I grew up. Every Sunday I saw that painting, memorized faces, studied the poses and the expressions on that wall. Just seeing it brings back a flood of memories.

Today, I along with everyone else in the hall, felt that special feeling that can only come from children. I'm thankful I decided to go this morning. I'm thankful for the opportunity to be a part of the program...part of the congregation. I'm thankful for the Primary program.

Give Thanks...For My Favorite Team Losing

 It sounds strange, but because my favorite college football team has lost two games in a row, I started writing a new story. 

For the longest time, my weekends in the fall were spent looking forward to the upcoming games. And for the past couple of years, my favorite team did very well...extremely well, and this year was supposed to be one of their best. Turns out, they were not the team everyone thought they'd be. They may still win a majority of their games and have a good season, but it's not what many (including myself at certain times...) believed it would be.

Oh well.

Since the chance of my team to go to the playoffs has basically disappeared, I'm not into the games anymore. Last week we ended up tending my grandson a couple of times and an idea for a book came to mind, so I started it. I'm not too far along--the story's still formulating in my mind--but it's been a lot of fun. Even if no one buys it or it never gets picked up by a publisher, I'm going to finish it.

Truth be told, I should have shed my obsession with sports years ago, or at least, toned it down. I could have accomplished so many things, used that time in other ways. Heck, I could have written dozens of novels in that same time. Getting rid of cable TV a year ago helped curb my addiction. I think this latest turn of events has helped me toward that end.

So, if this story works out, would I still be happy that the team has suffered a couple of losses because if they hadn't, they'd still be in the hunt for the nation's best team? That's a tough question.

As it stands now, I'm thankful for this opportunity. I'm thankful to be able to write something for my family. I'm thankful for directing my efforts toward other things and not be so hooked on things. Strange how things work out, sometimes. 

Give Thanks...For The Memories

 A week ago several of my past high school classmates met and celebrated forty years since we were all required--by law--to be together for organized public education.

Forty years.

I did not attend the reunion. 

Not that I didn't want to attend, but because they changed the date from the summer to a weekend in September, I had work conflicts. Bummer. It would have been fun to go and spend time with such wonderful people.

Many who attended posted photos and memories on social media. One Facebook friend posted a link to his cache of high school photos. He was our school photographer and he did a fantastic job. It's amazing to think that all those photos were taken on film, film that had to be developed...it was pretty pricey. Now, you can take a thousand photos basically for free.

I was not the most popular student at Davis High School Class of 1984, but I wasn't the most unpopular student, either. I enjoyed my time walking the (literally...) century-old halls of that old school...a series of buildings that no longer exist, by the way. I found all the photos I was in and I am including them here. I want to thank Vance Brand and his wonderful photographic eye that made these photos possible. I hope it's okay to post them. If not, I'll be glad to take them down.

So, I present a series of photos including me and my great friends. I'm thankful for those people and those times. Forty years...can't believe it's been that long.

Give Thanks...For Five-Thousand

It began on a Monday, Monday, January 23, 2011, to be exact. I was late to the party, but I thought it would be fun to start a blog.

That was five-thousand days from today, Sunday, September 29, 2024. I know it's five-thousand days because I've written five-thousand posts, one post, every single day.

I think it's time to stop.

By the time I got into the blogging game, blogs were fading. I didn't care. I enjoyed writing them. Now, almost fourteen years later, I don't know anyone who writes blog posts anymore. They're basically extinct. I know some still write them (because I'm one of those people...). I wonder who--if any--write and post something daily. I'm sure it's rare.

In my heyday, I was getting more than a hundred hits each day. I even made about $100 bucks from Google due to the number of visits. Those days are long gone. I'm averaging between twenty to thirty hits each day, sometimes more when the topic is of interest to many people. Sure, I liked the hits and back then, people even commented on the posts. Now, comments are rare, though still appreciated. I know that those twenty to thirty visits are from friends and family. I appreciate them all, each one, every day.

So, why stop now? Five-thousand is a good round number. It's something I can be proud of, an accomplishment eclipsed by few others, if any. But, every single person who ever started a blog, they all ended them, too. Everyone who started, then stopped, did so for a different reason. There's no one reason for me to stop, other than, it's time.

In the past five-thousand days, I've chronicled my life, the life of my family an friends. I've posted short stories and other snippets of fiction. I've written about weddings, about funerals, reunions, triumphs, tragedies, but mostly normal (some would say, boring...) topics. There were times--not many--when I searched for a topic, racked my brain for something to post. Every time I overcame, I succeeded in posting...something.

I'm not quitting the blogging game entirely. I plan on writing perhaps weekly, maybe a few times a week, especially when things happen I want to digitally remember and to allow others to read as well. It's funny, if I don't post anything tomorrow, I'll want to write a blog post about how it feels to not post anything.

If I don't post anything tomorrow, it's over...the streak ends, something that can never continue. As I get older, I realize, all things that start must have an ending. As the title of a classic Sydney Sheldon novel truthfully proclaims, Nothing Lasts Forever.

For all of you who have read my posts, I'm thankful for you and I hope you continue to do so when I write in the future. I'll notify on social media when a new blog post is written. But, if you move on and find another daily blogger to follow, I completely understand. The world has changed in the past five-thousand days. I've provided a daily glimpse of how those days have affected me and my loved ones, sometimes funny, sometimes serious, always daily.

I'm thankful for the ability to write these words, post these pictures. I'm thankful for good health and a (somewhat...) sound mind that allowed me to express myself. And so I say farewell...

For now. God bless you all.

But, Hey...We're Family

 This year's edition of FanX, the Salt Lake City Comic Con has ended. Thousands of people attended and possibly millions of dollars exchanged hands during the three-day event. If you've gone to this, or other comics conventions you know what you're going to get.

People having a great time.

One of those people is my niece...one of the most talented cosplayers I know.

Maddie has been cosplaying for more than a decade. She's diminutive, but don't let her size fool you...she has a marshal arts black belt and works in security. She also is dedicated to making excellent representations of some awesome characters.

I admire people who have the talent, and patience to pull off a good cosplay. When we met up yesterday, Maddie was Abigail, a show I have not seen. The photo doesn't give you the full story of her costume, unfortunately.

Doing FanX for more than a decade, I've seen many cosplayers, some terrific, some not as much, but every time I see someone who put effort into their character, who stepped outside their comfort zone and expressed themselves in a new way. I admire anyone who can do it.

This year's con is over. People are heading home, either by car, bus, train, scooter, bike, or on foot, all the while dressed as someone else, someone new. I'm already wondering what Maddie will be next time.

That's, Um...Impressive

As a volunteer with FanX, I had the opportunity to wander the vendor floor before the crowds descended. I've been involved in every show since it began in 2013. I've walked the floor every year, but this year something caught my attention, something that stopped me in my tracks.

Brandon Sanderson's Dragonsteel booth.

It's spectacular.

If you're familiar with the author and have followed his career (especially in the past couple of years...) you know he's done well, and by well, I mean...well, extremely well. And good for him. I've only met him a few times and each time, a true gentleman.

Any author who's been in the game for more than a short time, you know marketing is part of the deal. All the successful local authors I know understand they need to market not only their works, but they need to market themselves as well. But even the best salespeople know they have to produce the works...they need to put in the work.

I went back a few hours later, once the throngs of people arrived. The Dragonsteel booth was packed and the line to get books signed by the author was long as well. If you go to FanX this year, check out Brandon's booth.

It's truly impressive.

I Broke Down...And Bought An Uncrustable

 The first year I worked at Lagoon Amusement Park was 1982. My job was to clean the park in the mornings before anyone ever showed up. We clocked in at 4am and we were off the park by 10am. For a teenager, it was a perfect job. I had to go to sleep early so I didn't have time to spend the money I earned by staying up late and buying things (like fast food...).

There was one thing, however, that I did spend money on...the food in the employee kitchen.

Oh, I still remember spending way too much money there.

It makes sense, of course. We worked hard and we built up a healthy appetite. And the company was smart...you didn't spend real money in the employee kitchen, but you basically used Monopoly money they printed and took out of your check. I know I wouldn't have spent as much if I had to pay cash for food.

Fast forward forty-two years. I'm working a show at the same park and they have the same employee kitchen. The major change from decades before is the manner in which we pay for food. They scan your employee card. What is the same is the fact that you don't see the money get subtracted from your paycheck.

Genius.

This year, I sort of made a goal to not spend any money in the kitchen and I was doing pretty good, until last week when I forgot my dinner. Last year I did pretty good because I bought Uncrustable sandwiches. They were cheap and I could eat them quickly. My wife made of ton of sandwiches and froze them for this year. I've been taking them to work for the past three weeks. Last weekend, however, I did forget my dinner so I had to use my card. I've got five or so weekends left of my autumn gig. We'll see how many times I'll have to pay again.

The Beauty That Is...A Truck

 Our youngest son bought a truck. He went to school for construction and it made sense he would need a truck for a future job. We looked for several months and found this one. Yesterday we used it to haul away some old tires...tires too big to fit into a car or even our old van.

That truck is beautiful.

Okay, okay, I know...it's a Ford and many out there are saying to themselves (or even, out loud...), that Fords are less than desirable. I'm not up on my "which trucks are the best" knowledge. Personally, I say whatever trucks run are good (and no jokes about Fords not running...).

Driving that tuck to deliver stuff we no longer needed was amazing. It made me question why we didn't get a truck earlier. I do know the answer to that question...money. We never really needed a truck before. Of course, we could have used one, but never to the point where it was a necessity. 

Too bad for us.

For now, we have access to the big Ford F-150. That may change if/when the son moves out to experience new adventures. When that happens, I know we'll miss our son...

And the truck.

"Sunset"...By Langston Hughes

 Last night, I found myself in our backyard looking skyward. I took a picture of the sunset. Humanity has expressed their thoughts and feelings about sunsets for as long as there have been humans to see them. Below is one man's thoughts.

"Sunset"

O, great god Sun-

Wrap me in your golden hues-

As the day fades, our souls unite-

In your fiery embrace, we find solace.

Langston Hughes

Sorry Bud...The Guilting Hour Began Early Tonight

 If you know poodles, you know they're smart dogs...sometimes too smart. Take our dog Bec, for example. We've made it a point to take the dog out at certain intervals during the day. My son (who is the dog's owner...) takes the dog out when he gets up and at noon before he has lunch. I take the dog out after I finish my shift at work, then my son takes him out at 6pm.

My wife and I have started a tradition of taking the dog out when we water the backyard gardens, usually around 8pm, mountain time. We do this basically during good weather and when the secondary water is turned on. 

But, one thing the dog doesn't understand is how to read a clock. To us humans, we look at a clock and do things based on the time, at least, my wife and I do. We wait for it to be 8pm, then we give signals to the dog that tells him it's time to go outside and play fetch.

But, one thing humans don't understand is as the seasons change, 8pm isn't 8pm as the days become shorter and shorter. Without doing any research, I'm guessing the dog knows what time it is based on where the sun is in the sky. I could be wrong about this, but I think that's what he does.

What does all this mean? It means that our dog begins his "Guilting Hour" earlier and earlier as the days get shorter and shorter. If you're unfamiliar with what the Guilting Hour is, that's not surprising, basically, because I just made it up. The Guilting Hour is when our dog Bec comes up to my wife and I had tries to communicate in as many ways possible that he's ready to go out. These aren't "need to go outside to use the bathroom" looks, but "I want to go play fetch and you should, too" looks.

We're about to go outside now...

The Guilting Hour is finally here.

Give Thanks...For 32 Years

We got married on a Tuesday. People though we were weird...most get married on the weekend. Not us. We picked the 22nd because that day meant so much to us. Our first date was on a 22nd, we got engaged on a 22nd, and we got married on a 22nd. 

Thirty-two years ago today, to be exact.

To put things in perspective, that VW was 26 years old...six years younger than how long Lynda and I have been married.

When you've lived with someone that long, it's hard to remember life before it was she and me.

And, honestly, I don't want to.

I'm thankful we found each other all those years ago. I'm thankful she said "yes" when I asked. I'm thankful for all those years we've had together and I pray they'll continue for a long time. Love you, Babe!

I Wish The Guy Well...But I'm Not Buying It

 That's a lot to pay for a Sony Walkman. 

I saw this ad on Facebook Marketplace yesterday. Those of us who lived through the era where a Sony Walkman was the pinnacle of high tec, think iPhone 16 of its day, know just how awesome these things were. Before the Walkmans came out, if you wanted mobile sounds, you had to carry around a boom box, or a transistor radio...both had their limitations.

Then Sony invented the Walkman, as good a sound as you could get from a cassette tape. The version in the ad also has AM/FM capability, so if you got good radio reception, it sounded decent, too. Millions of these (and knock-offs...) were sold. I had one, almost everyone I knew had one. They were great.

Now, they're paperweights.

Yes, having a pristine Walkman would be cool. If I saw this at a yard sale for $5 or even $10, I might consider it, except for the fact I think I have a couple of them myself in storage. $200...I'm going to pass.

I do hope the guy--I'm assuming it's a guy--gets the money. Maybe in ten or fifteen years it would be easier to get that kind of money for a Walkman. Of course, in that time it might cost that much for a McDonalds Happy Meal.

What something is worth is whatever someone will pay. There might be someone out there who, to them, it's worth two-hundred bucks.

Just not me.

Just Another Thing You'll See...At Lagoon's Frightmares

 Last week I needed to take a picture for my Pic Of The Day, something I've been posting close to fourteen years. I found myself in a location where there are literally thousands of interesting things to photograph. Actually, most places have thousands of interesting things to photograph, but that's another story. I was working at my weekend gig, so I walked around and found a charming subject.

A scarecrow.

A scarecrow that's neither scary nor a crow.

If you attend Lagoon Amusement Park's Frightmares this season, the first thing you'll see after entering the park are dozens of scarecrows lining the entrance, each unique, each kind of amazing. I found one I especially liked, a "society lady" complete with a cute doggie in her arms. If you go, she's one of the first scarecrows you'll see.

You should, of course, check out all the others. You should also check out the show in which I'm involved, Séance. You will not be disappointed.

And, if you go and you see me, you'll see probably the best-dressed employee on the park (as long as I'm in my suit...). Please come say "hi."

Frightmares runs each weekend between now and November 3rd...plenty of time to bring the family, or friends and have a great time. Hopefully, I'll see you there.

And you can snap a picture of my scarecrow as well.

Who's Your Doppelganger...?

 Earlier this week I glanced up at the TV as I rested after a long day at work and I spotted my friend, someone I've known for over a decade. Wow, was my first thought, then I realized it wasn't my friend...

Just another intelligent man on a television quiz show.

It made me wonder...who's your doppelganger? 

With over eight billion people on the earth currently, and billions of others already lived, the odds say there must be someone who looks like you, or once did. In my life I grew up around others who looked nothing like me. Oh, I mean, not totally unlike me. Most had two legs, two arms, all twenty digits, but in the small things...I never saw anyone who looked like me until my second son was born. The kid was my doppelganger. He looked like me (and still does...). 

I found my birth parents last year and I can see, from them, how I came to look as I do. A few years ago a friend told me I looked like a Canadian actor. I did an internet search and concluded there was a resemblance. 

Still, because I was adopted, I wondered if I would be walking down the street and see someone who had the same nose, or eyes, or hairline (or lack thereof...). Would it freak me out? Would I stop them and ask about their family, or would I figure there's no way we were related and pass them by? Since I now know my birth families, I guess that'll never happen.

When I saw my friend's doppelganger on Jeopardy, I thought it could be him. Heck, I believe he'd even do great on the show. He ought to give it a shot...

In my opinon.

I Don't Think We'd Make Good Pioneers...

 The other day I posted a picture of a singular green apple. It represented our entire apple crop for the season. To be fair, this was our own doing. We have a relatively new apple tree and this spring we pruned it down to let it grow. We also decided to remove all the apples to allow it to strengthen and get healthier.

This lone apple was missed when the took all the fruit off the tree.

We just didn't see it. We checked the tree a few months later and I saw a single apple. I picked it and presented it as our apple bumper crop. This got me thinking...would we survive as pioneers?

In our state pioneers play a large part in our history. They were not the first to live in the area, not by a long shot, but they did change the region forever. Whether that is good or bad is subject to interpretation. We won't be discussing that here. What they did do is turn the desert into a livable area, so much so, it's one of the fastest growing areas in the country.

Would we make it as pioneers? We'd have to work hard for basically nine months to survive the other three. Truth be told, we'd die if we had to live off of what we grew this year. Unless we could survive on one grape tomato a day, we would't make it. 

To be fair, we didn't plan to live off our harvests last spring. We planted mostly tomatoes and peppers...can't really survive off of those. We also have fruit trees, but we didn't nurse those in the best way possible. We should have thinned our nectarines. We had so many small ones, they broke the tree in half.

It would be an interesting experiment to see if we could survive a winter based on what we grew in the spring/summer/fall. 

I said it would be interesting...not that we're going to do it.

The Organist...

I entered the chapel, the previous congregation leaving and a few of us early birds passing them as they left. I know almost none of them, friendly faces pass me, we share a smile and perhaps, a nod. I find the pew--my pew--the same pew an hour earlier another family also claimed as their own--and put down my iPad. After getting ready, showering, dressing, driving to the church, parking, and walking inside, I finally sit and let out a well-deserved sigh.

Not all worshipers have left, or are leaving. Groups of people stay and talk. I look around and notice a lone figure sitting at the century-old organ, his fingers and feet in tandem providing music, atmosphere, a spiritual farewell to the meeting and the room.

I've met the man on occasion. He lives close, but since the boundary separating our group of church-goers from the other group of church-goers to the east separates us spiritually, I have few opportunities to interact with him or his family. It's a shame...a culturally-imposed shame we don't talk more. Oh, I suppose I could go to his house and get to know them better, but that would be...in a word...weird.

His talent evident, the organist finishes the song he played as I came into the chapel. I'd be hard pressed to name it...after attending over three thousand of such meetings in my life, the music can blend together. Even though a dozen or so people remained in the room, mostly chatting with friends, neighbors, I feel I alone noticed the man and his music. I could be wrong--I often am--but I don't think so. How many times have I been in a chapel, an organist playing either prelude or postlude music, and I haven't even noticed, haven't even looked at who was playing, haven't acknowledged the miracle that is music?

Too often to count.

I watch him finish the song...the music, once a living thing surrounding us, comforting and uplifting us, stopped, replaced by the dim of humans in a space built by pioneer ancestors. I watched him humbly gather the music and his personal belongings and leave the stand to join others and continue his sabbath day.

The organist left the room.

Getting A Good Shot...Of A Bag Of Skulls

A few weeks ago, my wife and I went to Dollar Tree to pick up something, I can't remember what. As my wife search for what we went for, I searched for something else...something interesting to photograph. I found two, actually. I didn't use the bag of skulls picture, instead I used a great picture (IMHO...) of toothpaste/toothbrush caddies that seemed to be screaming.

Fast forward a few weeks and we found ourselves in our local $1.25 store again. I searched out the skulls. I couldn't remember if the previous bag of skulls picture was any good, but when I found the skulls this time, I did a little rearranging so that each one showed it's unique (if that's even possible...) skull personality.

I think it turned out pretty good, much better than the one I took weeks ago.

Give Thanks...Clear Skies

 I'm no scientist. There's so much I don't understand. Case in point...where did all the smoke go and why did it only take one day to clear it out?

Like much of the country, smoke from wildfires have invaded our little valley the past couple of weeks. Actually, it's been off-and-on for the past couple of months. We're lucky enough to get smoke from west coast fires, Idaho fires, Nevada fires, even Utah fires. The day before these pictures were taken, you could not see the mountains to the east. 

Then, the next morning, I took a couple of pictures of an incredibly beautiful cloudy sky, pretty much smoke-free.

Where in the world did that smoke go?

Did it go east to Colorado, or south to Arizona? I don't think it went north or west, but I could be wrong. All I know is it was no longer polluting the air and damaging our health. I'd like to think it went away so no others had to deal with it.

I'm thankful for the beautiful skies, and in a way, I'm also a little bit thankful for the smokey skies because that makes the smokeless skies that much better. I'm thankful to live in such an incredible place with stunning views. I'm thankful for God's handiwork and that another fire season is coming to a close.

Still...it would be interesting to know where that darn smoke went.

What Sweet Joy...That Is A New Road

 When we moved to this little hamlet in the north almost four years ago, we bought in a new subdivision on the northwest part of town. The existing road, 1000 North (that's how they name streets around here...) that connected us to the world had been around for decades and it seemed to serve the community well.

Then, things change.

That change is more people...including us.

The city improved 1000 North up to a point, then it got narrower and full of potholes. The locals had put up with the crap road for years. Rumor had it that the city had plans to fix the road, but apparently, they had been saying that for a long time. Those living up here took the "I'll believe it when I see it" attitude.

Yesterday, I drove on the newly-paved, newly-completed road. It's beautiful! Wide as the open sky and not a pothole in sight. I admit, we've been spoiled since moving up here with new neighbors and new roads. Not everything was rosy. Teaching my two boys to drive on that road was scary. To avoid the potholes you either had to drive almost off the road in the weeds, or into the other lane--not too bad when no one else was coming toward you, but when they were...

Of course, there's a price of having nice things. Taxes are and will continue to go up. Maybe because the road is nicer, people will drive faster than they should and accidents might happen (I pray they don't...). Still, it's a new road just in time for winter.

What sweet joy it is.

Every Year I Worry...If The Suit Still Fits

 If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know autumn is my favorite season. I dislike the heat of summer so when things cool down, it's heavenly. I love football season and the start of the holidays, with Halloween being the first.

Love Halloween.

Except for the covid year in 2020, I've been involved in a Halloween show at our local amusement park. The show's Séance, and it's fantastic. Those fortunate enough to have experienced the show know what I'm talking about. Back in 2017 we began our adventure and I was given our costumes, our uniforms, the clothes we needed to wear.

Eight years later...the suit still fits.

Before covid, I did a lot of community theater, a couple of shows a year. Doing a show kept me "in my clothes," as it were. I could (almost...) eat whatever I wanted and didn't have to worry about fitting into my suit when Halloween rolled around. After covid, I haven't done one show, except Séance. And it's not a "physical" show...not a lot of dancing--none, in fact...except maybe backstage...at times.

This year, I went through the usual pre-show "does my suit still fit" jitters. Turns out, it fit well, better than the past couple of years. If you're in the area and want to see Séance, come check it out. And if you do, you'll see me in a suit that still fits.

Man...I Love Thursdays!

 I suppose we all have our favorite days of the week. T.G.I.F. became famous for that very reason. Yes, I like Fridays, but I love Thursdays.

I've been one of the fortunate individuals who work four ten-hour shifts each week. Years ago, our inspired state governor at the time, Jon Huntsman, Jr., changed things up. He made almost all state employees work Monday through Thursday. Some hated it. I wished they'd done it decades earlier. 

Angry state legislators decided to overturn that wonderful decision and most returned to a regular five day, eight-hour per day work week. I got to keep my Mon-Thurs, and I've done it for almost twenty years.

Thursdays, for me, are wonderful. Even having to work for ten hours, those ten hours go quicker on Thursdays, phone calls aren't as annoying or hectic on Thursdays, investigating or clearing tasks go smoother on Thursdays. It's just the way it is.

Then, after the work day/work week comes to an end, I pick up dog crap from the backyard, empty the garbage from the house, and take the cans to the street for pick-up. After that, I can sit on the couch and enjoy the week that was and the weekend that is about to be.

Everyone has a favorite day, or days. Thursday's are mine.

Interesting Question From A Writer Friend...

 A writer friend posted this question on social media a few weeks ago. It piqued my interest and made me think (perhaps, those are the same things...). It's a good question. 

Especially, coming from a writer.

Why, you may ask? Because these two classic hypotheticals make up so many storylines in stories. There's either the amazing person doing normal things, or the normal person doing extraordinary things. Kindergarten Cop is an example of the former, and Norther By Northwest is an example of the latter. 

When I saw the post I commented that, "I'd say, in a way, we live in both." My friend asked me to elaborate. So here you go.

If you change your perspective, everyone and everything around you is amazing, magical. There's literal miracles occurring around you every day, all the time. A sunrise, or sunset, the loyalty of a dog, the sheer joy of a toddler's laugh. These are magical things performed by people with magical powers. And we're spectators in the grand experience.

Then again, because everything is magical, everything is amazing, we ourselves are also magical and amazing. Which means, we have within each of us the ability to do things that seem magical to others. We can lift another's spirits by a kind word or a smile. We can take a photo, write a poem, some can even perform surgeries and save lives. We are capable to so much...

It's magic.

So, in a way we are both magical beings living in an ordinary world and ordinary people living in a magical sphere. 

That's what I meant.

How Much Is Too Much...? I Never Know

 This past summer we happened upon an estate sale. They were selling everything, and I mean, everything. They had an entire room just for jewelry. In that room I spotted a bottle of Polo, by Ralph Lauren. It's been decades since I bought any kind of cologne. I never wear the stuff.

Which begs the question...how much is too much?

Polo was big when I was in high school and in my twenties. I never bought any then, either. It was pretty pricey. At the estate sale I picked up this bottle for $5. I brought it home and opened up the cap. It was potent. Since I don't go out in public that often, no need to be smelling my best for others. Plus, my family has sensitivity to smells, especially cologne and perfume fragrances. 

I decided to use it for my weekend gig. I'm out in public. I ought to be non-offensive-smelling...thought I'd give it a try. Since I don't wear it that often, I had to ask my co-workers if what I put on was too much. I thought I had overdone it. Turns out, not so much. The last thing I wanted to do was be "that guy," the one who you can smell coming a minute before they enter the room.

In the seven previous seasons of my gig, I never put on cologne. I might abandon the whole thing this year, too. I guess we'll see what happens.

Happy Birthday...President Nelson

 In the section of the country where I live, many are celebrating a man who turns one-hundred years old today, the leader of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, President Russell M. Nelson. I've never met him personally, but I join many of my friends, family, neighbors, and others around the world wishing him a happy birthday.

President Nelson was born the same year as my father, who would have turned one-hundred in November, also. Like any leader, some do not like the man, or the organization he steers. He's an easy target, someone who has his beliefs that may not align with others. I'm sure many are doing the opposite of wishing him a happy birthday.

Reaching one-hundred years is a milestone. Heck, I'm closer to one-hundred than I am to zero. I have no idea if I'll make it or not. I can say that the changes I've experienced in the past decade were more than I expected. Another four decades...who knows?

So, on this day, the 9th of September, 2024, I raise a toast of root beer (or original Coca-Cola, if the mood strikes me...) to President Nelson. Happy birthday, President. Here's to even more.

Give Thanks...There's Man-Made, Then, There's God-Made

 You might have missed it, and not necessarily because of your eyes. The picture--depending on where you saw it--shows an almost hidden treasure. If you look in the upper right-hand corner, you'll see something I missed the first time I looked at the photo.

It's something man-made.

I took the photo because the cloud and the sun behind it. The rays extending out were beautiful. I wasn't sure if I'd use it for my Pic Of The Day, but I thought it might work. When I took a second look , I noticed the vapor trail behind a jet. That's when I thought about man-made vs. God-made. 

There's really no comparison. 

On this fading Summer evening, I drove home and watched an incredible Northern Utah sunset. I was driving so I didn't get a photo. That's okay because the scene became part of me, part of who I was. It was another example of God's handiwork. I saw the sunset as I drove a car 71 m.p.h...the car being one of mankind's greatest accomplishments.

Beautiful sunset vs. functioning automobile?

No comparison.

I'm thankful I captured both man-made and God-made accomplishments in one photo. I'm thankful for both, actually. We live in amazing times.

Introducing...Stitch

 Hello, there.

Last month we did something crazy...crazy, for us, anyway. We went to an auto dealership and left signing documents for a new--to us--automobile. 

Like everyone, our family is changing, transitioning. All of our children have graduated from their teenage years. Now, all of our children have cars and/or a truck. I have Donk, my Subaru Forester, and we had our trusty Pontiac Vibe and Toyota Sienna. Since the kids had their own cars, we didn't need the Vibe, and since we're no longer needing to haul kids around, we didn't need the van.

So, we picked up a Hyundai. 

You can blame my mom-in-law for our conversion to Hyundais. She bought her first Hyundai, a Santa Fe, ten or so years ago, and she loved it. So much so, she bought another one. We wanted a fuel-efficient car, plus something that's all-wheel drive. Hyundai's fit the bill. We test-drove a couple and found this Tucson with low miles and bought it. We haven't bought a car from a dealer since 2008.

Big changes...small changes.

What's interesting is, this is my wife's car. The van was technically hers, too, but I it felt more like ours. When she and I would go somewhere, I drove the van...it was just understood. Now, I've driven Stitch a few times, but it just feels like her car (and the stickers and pink sparkly license plate holder confirm it...).

It's been dubbed "Stitch" and it fits. 

Another funny thing--it's silver. Mine is the only non-silver/gray car we've had in decades. I like the color, but it would have been fun with something else. Introducing, Stitch. 

Good name.

I Can't Go...But You Should DEFINITELY GO!

 A dear friend is putting on his annual comedy film festival tonight in Layton, Utah. It's at the Davis Art's Counsel Kenley Amphitheater, 7:30pm start.

Unfortunately, I'm unable to attend due to my fall gig beginning tonight. Ever since I found out about this killer event, I've only been able to attend once...a salute to Steampunk and it was a blast--literally. If you know Craig Nybo, you know this show represents his creative mind come to life. Each year, a different theme, each year, a different show, each year, amazing results.

If you're interested, click HERE for more information. 

I've known Craig for about ten years. He constantly amazes me...the man has talent in buckets, and yet, he's the kind of person who will take time out of his insane schedule and ask you how you're doing, ask you about your family, or what you're working on. He's a genuine dude. 

Like I said, I don't know what you'll see tonight when you go to the Gangrene Comedy Film Festival, but I'm sure you've never seen anything quite like it. Come on--give it a shot. Go tonight, if not for yourself, but for me who am unable to attend.

You won't regret it.

I Like Shoes, But...

 Last week my wife and I were in a local shop looking for things for my daughter's new place. We focused mostly on furniture, but I had to check out the shoes. This is a store that buys returned goods from Amazon, stuff that's never been used, and they sell it at a discount. I've found a couple of good pairs of shoes there, so I checked them out.

Then I saw, these.

I do like shoes, but not all shoes. I rarely wear dress shoes and I've got many pairs to cover those occasions. I thought about an event coming up where they might work. However, the fact they might not work was far bigger than them working. I sort of dismissed the idea of getting a pair, until I heard the shop's owner say...

"All shoes are 1/2 off tomorrow."

We explained that tomorrow we'd be loading up a truck and spending the entire day moving. We wouldn't be able to be there tomorrow. She then said, "You're good customers. If you want, I'll give you the 1/2 off right now."

Hmmm...

They were only $14. I had that in cash in my pocket. 

I made a quick decision and picked them up. Turns out my instinct that they wouldn't work proved true. Still, I thought it was worth the risk. Now, I wonder if I'll ever wear them. Who knows? I might find a reason to put them on and walk about town.

The funniest part was when we told the store owner we were getting them, she said, "Good. Now my teenage son won't be able to buy them."

Classic!

Sometimes...You Have To Travel With Crap

 Saturday was...interesting.

We knew it would be busy, and it lived up to what we thought. I'm glad we were busy--we helped our daughter relocate to a new home, which allowed us to park another car into the garage. We also knew it would be a long day, which it was.

Pretty much dusk til dawn.

The day went great. Even though we were a few hours later than we wanted to be, we eventually pulled up with a big moving truck stuff with my daughter and her husband's stuff. A few hours later, we departed, two cars, one moving truck, five people, and a standard poodle (couldn't leave the dog home all day...).

Of course, the truck wasn't completely empty...it did have a bag of dog doodoo in the cab. We would have left it at my daughter's house, but they didn't have any city garbage cans yet, and it would be easier for us to discard it on our way home, which we did.

You know, sometime you have to travel with crap. We took it so our daughter didn't have to deal with it. Sometimes life's like that, too...you take the crap so others don't have to. If things had worked out as normal, there would be no crap in the cab, nor would there be this post.

I guess you just have to roll with it and hope for the best.