An Oldie...But A Goodie

 You know how it is, you think about something you don't necessarily need but something that would make your life better. Then, you do a little innocent searching on-line for said item and...

There it is.

And only twenty miles away.

For us, twenty miles is the next town over, or in other words...pretty close. We were looking for a bigger freezer for the garage. We looked a new ones and passed. They didn't need to be that nice. So, we checked on-line classifieds and saw a few, but they were either too expensive or too far away. We sort of gave up on the idea, thinking we'd occasionally look to see if there was something out there. 

That's when I found it, reasonably priced and close--two of the things we were were looking for in a freezer. I messaged the seller and made arrangements to come out the next morning. When we arrived, we found out more about the freezer...the more we learned, the more we wanted it. We made the deal and took it home.

It's a Whirlpool, built in 1981 and sold through ZCMI. The seller told us the freezer came with the house so it's possible it's been sitting in that outdoor shed since 1981. Both my wife and I laughed when we saw the ZCMI sticker. The seller had no idea what ZCMI was.

We laughed again.

I posted the picture on social media and received many comments about how reliable freezers built during that era are and many are still kicking today. I wonder why that didn't translate to the auto industry.

I have no idea how long it will keep freezing--hopefully, a long time. For us, it was a steal, and the longer it runs, the bigger the steal it is.

Another Year For The Retreat To The House On The Hill...

 Spring...many look forward to the season to witness new life in nature, to feel the sun on their face, to shed the winter clothes and venture forth in t-shirts, shorts, and sandals.

There's another reason, of course, but it's a bit obscure. If you listen carefully, you'll hear the siren's song, when writers pack up their laptops and head for the hills...or one hill, to be exact.

For the first time in many years I found myself able to take time off from work and attend the writing retreat in person. I've missed the past couple of years due to "life," but this year, things were looking up. The first day or two of the week we had planned to so some much-needed work around the house, then when I was planning to leave, I got hit with a cough. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't function, but bad enough I didn't want to be hold up (yes, hold up...) in a house with several other authors trying to turn blood, sweat, and tears into art. 

I stayed home.

All is not lost. Those who put together the writing retreat each year encourage everyone to create no matter where they are, be they at the hill house, or in their own house. 

This year, instead of pounding out words for stories yet un-written, I worked on two stories that need editing. Then, I did something I haven't done in almost a decade...I submitted part of a manuscript to see of the publisher is interested. 

Submitted a story is like pushing the button to launch a bomb. It's scary, exciting, maddening, nerve-racking, but at times, needs to be done. I've submitted several stories in the past--mostly short stories--but the feeling is the same and hasn't stopped conjuring those emotions. Maybe that will change in the future...

Maybe not.

Even though I did not write 43k or 45k words as some at the retreat did (unbelievable...), I feel it was a success. I've needed to kick those stories out of the nest for years. 

I'm again making it a goal to attend in person next year. I came closer this year than I did the past couple. I suppose that's what the retreat is really all about...setting goals to improve, to create, to push yourself for the benefit of mankind. 

Must be spring.

Give Thanks...Albert Brooks's Film "Mother"

People have holiday traditions, especially when it comes to entertainment. It's tradition for some families to go see a movie on Christmas, Memorial Day, Valentines Day. This year in our house we decided to pull up Albert Brooks's incredible slice-of-life dromedy Mother, starting Brooks and Debbie Reynolds.

If you haven't seen it, you definitely should. I give it two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Without giving too much away, newly divorced writer John Henderson (Brooks...) decides to move in with his widowed mother (Reynolds...). Together, they work side-by-side, albeit not always smoothly, to figure out life's questions and to find peace. If you're familiar with Brooks's work, you'll recognize his comedic genius in the writing, and the performances. It's a great film.

This year, Mother's Day has been different for me. It's the first year I have knowledge of my birth mother and her incredible family. We met in person last month. When I first saw pictures of my birth mother, I was shocked at how much she resembles Debbie Reynolds.

Perhaps you would agree.

I've watched Mother several times, but just as this Mother's Day is different, watching the show was different. From what I've learned about my birth mom, I doubt she and the character Reynolds portrayed on the film were similar. Still...watching the beautiful actress on film and thinking about the beautiful woman in the photos, it struck me different this year.

I'm thankful for the past six months I've had. I'm thankful I found her and her family. I'm thankful for Mr. Brooks's talent and his bravery for making the film. 

I think we have a new Mother's Day family tradition.

As For Me In My House...It's Mammoth

There's electricity in the air in Utah...that is, if you're a sports fan. No, our NBA team did not make the playoffs. It's something else, something announced on April 18th, 2024, something involving huge men slamming into each other, all in an attempt to place a black hunk of rubber into a nylon net. Oh, they're wearing skates and flying across frozen water.

NHL is coming to Utah.

The owner, Mr. Smith, conducted a pole: what should the name of the team be? Smart marketing move, except there will always be those who think whatever name they chose is stupid. So many names, so many A.I.-created logos. Of them all, in my heart, one has risen above the rest...

Utah Mammoth.

I love this one. It's unique--so much crazy new merchandise can be created with this name. There's nothing like it out there. Experts will say no mammoths have been found in Utah. By looking at our NBA team you realize that argument holds no weight.

I lifted this picture from Ryan Uffens (@ryanuffens on X...). I've been watching X lately. It seems Mammoth is picking up momentum. I showed my wife the logo and she went, "Huh." I then told her of what someone on X said would be really cool...on the center ice circle, they should have a huge picture of a frozen mammoth incased in ice, about to bust out and create hockey havoc at every game.

She loved that.

So, my unofficial pole, Utah Mammoth is 2-0. 

Of course, if they choose something else, it will be awesome. They'll hopefully come up with some great marketing/color schemes. Whatever happens, I am excited for the future, be it mammoths or yetis or something else. It's a great time for sports in Utah.

Yeah...It's A Scam

 This one was interesting. Since I do (or try to do...) a lot of writing, I am on my computer many hours of the day, not including while at my day job. When you're on the computer, if you're like me, you check out social media posts from time to time. I've seen my share of scams, both on social media and almost every e-mail I receive...

So many scams.

Yesterday, I see the above add pop up on my Facebook timeline. I've seen posts like this before..."We're having a moving sale and need to clear everything out," or "We're decluttering and we're sick of all this stuff--come and get it." But this one, was different.

The seller was an author friend. I have literally hundreds of author Facebook friends, many of whom I've never met. This isn't unusual. I think all authors have friended other authors without actually meeting them. So, I started reading and if someone could have crafted the perfect ad for my family at this point in time, this would have been it. Sure, we could use the other stuff, but I have two sons looking for transportation. The youngest...a truck, the other, a reliable car. This ad had both, and for prices that would make a miser cry (namely, me...). Plus, they were selling a tractor for dirt cheap and we just ordered five tons of gravel that needs to be moved.

Still, I was leery. The prices were too good to be true, but you never know unless you ask. I began a text dialogue with my Facebook "friend."

I thought, what the heck...I'll continue, even though the response contained several grammatical errors.

I can forgive errors on a text, as my response includes a misspelled word, but this is supposed to be a writer, and she should know better. Then again, maybe she was just excited to have someone come and take these things off her hands.

I was still thinking this was a scam, and her next response confirmed it--pay a deposit, to me a sure scam sign. I thought I'd give her a test just to make sure.

All of our mutual Facebook friends are writers. I'm involved in a writing conference coming up next month called the Writers Cantina. I thought I'd throw it out to see if she was coming, or at least, say something about it. That's the response I got. "Don't talk about other things, I have stuff to sell."

I thought I'd give her one more chance.

She didn't bite. She returned to the deposit, then surprisingly, asked if I was a bot. That made me laugh. I asked for some specific information from her to see if it was really her, and she blew it off. I told her we weren't interested and wished her with the relocation of "her father."

That's the thing about scams...you want them to be real so badly. If this were real and we bought the two vehicles and the tractor, we'd be saving around $25k, and that's after paying the posted price.

Maybe it's because I'm getting older, but I go back to the old adage: it's it sounds too good to be true...

It probably is.

We Lost Another Classmate...Another Great Guy

I didn't see the news until the day of the funeral...another person from my graduating class--a graduating class turning forty years old this year--is no longer with us, no longer here. It's sobering when someone your age passes away.

I knew of Mike, popular kid, football star, big smile, chicks loved him...these are my high school memories of Mike. I'll bet we spoke at one time...we were classmates since jr high, a total of seven years. He may have known of me--I was good friends with his good friends. That's how it is in high school. Everyone knows everyone else, but you only know a few well.

Our class has held four reunions since we were last together in June, 1984. I attended three. We have one upcoming this fall. To prepare people have gathered on Facebook to offer suggestions, get news on the events, and keep in touch until we again meet. Someone remembered those who will not be attending, those who have passed away. It turned into a "did you hear that so-and-so also died" post where many contributed.

I added two names.

It was sobering remembering the two--one I knew since Kindergarten, as well as seeing the names of classmates I didn't know so well...realizing they will not be there when we meet.

The series of building add-ons where we gathered for school, where we ate in the cafeteria, studied in the rooms, were bullied in the halls, watched and participated in sporting events is gone. It was demolished and a new beautiful school now stands in its place. Like Mike and the others who have passed on, a new building cannot replace the original, cannot replicate walking in the main building built in 1914, or seeing us students in our Ocean Pacific shirts, Nike shoes, and Levis jeans as we passed each other in the halls while holding our Trapper Keepers and making sure on to step on the tiled D.

Reading Mike's obituary, I realized we lived similar lives, both in school and beyond. We both raised families close to the school we attended. We both attended college, we both worked and spent quality time with friends and family. I wish I had known him better. As I get old, I wish I had gotten to know more people when I had the chance. After all, it's the relationships you have with others that can bring such wonderful memories.

The reunion's in a few months. They'll be one less invitation to send...

Let's I hope that's all there'll be.

Some See Free Pallets - Some See Free Grow Boxes...With A Lot Of Work

 Free...

I give you the pallet, something that allows modern civilization to exist. The pallet allows for tons of food to be delivered to your store, and then, to your homes. I can't imagine how we would transport and store the food, the auto parts, the clothing, basically everything in our modern lives.

Because pallets are so important, it goes to reason that you can find pallets everywhere. Drive by any industrial part of town and you'll see pallets. And not only are they important for their original purpose, do a quick internet search on the things you can make with free pallets. 

It's endless.

With enough pallets you can build your own shed or even a home. We're not looking to build either, but something more simple...grow boxes. 

I have a friend who runs several businesses. He's got the Midas touch, very successful. I messaged him a few weeks ago to see if he had any pallets lying around that he no longer uses/needs. He did, and we drove down to his business and picked up a few. Such a nice gesture. I saw the above post in our local town Facebook group. We've gathered the pallets and will hopefully gather more, then...

The hard work begins.

My wife and son have drawn up some plans on how we want our backyard garden to look. It's going to take time, but it could be something great.

I'll keep you posted.

I Mean, It Was Nice...Just Didn't Need It

 We did a little garage cleaning today. One item we found was a Rågrund from Ikea. I remember finding this at a garage sale and thought it was cool. I also thought it would work for a plant stand in our front room. We bought it, brought it home and put the plant on it.

It worked.

We used the chair/shelf thing for a couple of years. It was not ideal...we needed the stand to be taller. Fortunately, we found a plant stand that worked even better. Which begged the question, "What do we do with the Rågrund?"

We ended up taking to a thrift store.

I did a quick internet search. The Rågrund retails at Ikea for $69.99. It's described as a chair with a towel rack. If we needed a chair with a towel rack, we'd have kept it. It's the kind of thing that would work well in other parts of the world. When I lived in Scandinavia, I can see it in a bathroom or just outside a bathroom. Plus, it's made of bamboo which is great for humid areas...

Where we don't live.

I hope someone sees it at the thrift store and falls in love with it. I hope they have the perfect place for it in their home and it can be used as it was intended.

Too bad we didn't need it.

Day One Of The Writing Retreat...Editing

 About a hundred miles to the south of me, many of my friends have gathered at a famous house on the hill. They've spent the day writing, editing, eating, sharing jokes, and tonight after dinner, they may be playing an epic board game.

It's a writing retreat.

I'm participating, but remotely, at least for the first couple of days. I hope to join the group hopefully later. Today was supposed to be a day of yard work, but cold wet weather kept me mostly inside. Did I get much writing done? Nope. Today was a day for editing.

I've got two stories that need to see the light of day. One, I'm going to self-publish. The other, well...it could catch the eye of a publisher. That would be fun.

It's been years since I read the first eight chapters of the story. When you write a book you read and re-read your words so often, you can get sick of them. Having not read those chapters for such a long time, I found I enjoyed reading it, even finding myself surprised at some of the words, the sentences. 

I hope others feel the same.

Tomorrow is Day 2 (actually, Day 3 if you count Sunday night...) of the retreat. We may get to the yard tomorrow and I know we have other errands to run, but I hope to continue editing the same story.

We'll see what happens.

Give Thanks...Dentists

 Years ago, I cracked a tooth eating popcorn. I love popcorn. I even had an air popcorn maker in my office my first job after graduating. I'd eat unbuttered, unsalted popcorn as a snack.

I guess those days are over.

Last week, I was having popcorn after lunch, being careful to not eat the grannies, and it happened. A whole opened up on a molar. Crap. I immediately called our dentist to see if they had any openings. Thankfully, they did...the next day. I hung up the phone and thought how blessed I was to have access to dental professionals.

Last year at my semi-annual check-up I was told I had two cracked teeth. They recommended getting a crown on the worst of the two, but said the other could wait. As I drove to the dentist after the popcorn incident, I hoped the busted tooth was my other cracked tooth. Turned out it was. So, the popcorn just sped up the repair process.

I left the dentist after the temporary crown was installed and once again, felt thankful that I went from hole in my tooth to temporarily fixed in less than twenty-four hours. To be honest, I have no idea if this is something rare in other parts of the world. I'm thinking many countries a person can get a tooth fixed as easily as we can. I don't know. I do know that I'm fortunate enough to have a good dental plan because of my job. That definitely helps.

As a kid, I didn't take care of my teeth. My kids have done much better. I try hard to keep them healthy now...I guess it's that maturity thing kicking in. I'm thankful for all the help available to me now. I'd like it better if I never have to call them for a similar procedure ever again.

It's Almost As If...They're Spying On Us

 I know it's impossible. I know it's just mass marketing, junk mail, random stuff, and I also know that the grass is (literally...) not always greener on the other side of the fence/street/property marker.

Still...

It made me think.

Do they actually drive up and down neighborhoods and find lawns that aren't as green or healthy than their neighbor's lawns and drop off their marketing mail to only those homes with lesser lawns?

See...I know they don't do this--they can't do this--but, sometime I wonder.

We live in a new neighborhood. I'm surrounded by "Keepers of the Green" as I like to call them. How does one become a Keeper of the Green? You put a lot of effort, or a lot of money (or both...) into your lawns. My neighbors have incredible lawns. They're green, they're luscious, they're well taken care of. The neighbors in question all use the same landscaping service. We do not. We're at a disadvantage right there. 

Also, because of how our house sits on the lot, we made a conscience decision to limit the amount of grass in our front yard. I'm glad it's small. Less water, less mowing. Plus, we can't really use our front lawn to play or do much of anything.

I got the junk mail notice--one of several I've gotten this spring. I looked at my lawn. I looked at my neighbor's lawn. To be honest, our front lawn isn't that bad this spring. It's looks pretty good...much better than it did last year.

And, in reality, I shouldn't be so worried about what my neighbors think of my front lawn anyway. It's looks good. It's green, maybe not as green as others, but it's green and relatively weed-free. After all, it's not easy being green.

I don't think anyone's spying on us. No, it's cheaper to send everyone a small little card in the mail than to target individual homes where the owners may not think their lawns measure up to their neighbors's lawns.

I mean, how silly would that be?

The answer...pretty silly.

Touchy Subject...Tipping

 Here's the deal. I saw this meme on X a couple of days ago. When I first read the caption, I thought, "Darn straight." I agree 100%. It made me think of another post I saw on X earlier where a person called citizens of the state where I reside as the "worst tippers in the world." He posted this because I believe his spouse works in the food service industry.

Yes, many Utahns are bad tippers--not all, I'm sure, but some.

Then I thought, do the servers deserve better tips? There are many who bust their butts to offer great service and they deserve to be rewarded for working hard, and when some "cheapskate" doesn't tip well, it's frustrating. I know it is. It's frustrating for me when I bust my butt at work and do not get the pay I think I deserve. But, and this is an important consideration...

What if the people stop eating out?

That's basically us. Like many our family has had to re-evaluate eating out. My wife and I used to go to a sit-down restaurant once a week. If we didn't eat at the restaurant, we'd order take-out and eat at home. Point is, it was a weekly tradition and we budgeted for such. 

Then, things change.

We have changed our eating habits since last fall. We haven't quit it entirely, but it's not something we plan, not something we do as part of our weekly activities. When I read the post about the person ripping on poor tippers, the alternative--at least for us--is to not go altogether. This mean, instead of getting poor tips, the servers get no tips.

I hope people are still going out to eat. Those who work in restaurants work hard and many are family-owned and rely on customers to pay their rents, send their kids to school, succeed in the community. It's the downward spiral of a bad economy for those who's income hasn't increased as fast as the rise in prices that causes such dilemmas.

When we go out, we try to tip well...not too much, but not too little. The tip was calculated in the cost of the meals. Tipping's a touchy subject. I hope we can participate more in the process in the future.

The Lengths To Which I Went...To Read My Friend's Words

 Several months ago a childhood friend let us know on social media that his latest story had been published. The subject...skiing. Having grown up in Utah, I learned to ski at a time when it was reasonably inexpensive to participate. I was excited to read his observations.

There are things you do as a child that were so much easier to do than when you become older than middle age. Skiing is a prime example. It was my intention to read the story when I got the chance. Turns out yesterday, I had that chance. 

I had a dentist appointment and as I waited in the aptly named waiting room, I was told they were running late. No problem--I had my friend's article to read. I was halfway through the first page when, VOILÁ--the dentist could see me now. No problem, when I'm done I'll just pick up the magazine, snap a few pictures, then read it when I got home.

The appointment went well. I went through the payment/rescheduling process, then I went to the waiting room to find the magazine.

A lady was reading it.

I paused. What to do? I could leave having only read a third of the story, or I could do what I did. I went up to the lady and asked if I could barrow the magazine for just a moment. She agreed. To be honest, she didn't appear all that interested in it. I think she chose it because it was the only non-golf magazine available.

I told her why I was interrupting her relaxed moment. I said my friend wrote a story in the magazine and I wanted to take a picture or two. She agreed and seemed impressed. I couldn't tell if she was impressed that I knew the author (or any author...), or that I was willing to interrupt her to take the pictures.

Great little story. I smiled--even laughed at my friend's musings. He nailed so much of what it's like to ski as an older person. If he weren't such an incredibly talented painter, I'd say he missed his calling as an author. Glad I found the article. Glad I was able to finish the story. Great job, Kerry!

Next Services...93 Miles

 Last weekend we took a trip west. We live close to the Utah/Idaho boarder and are well situated if you're traveling to Boise or Idaho Falls. It's also a straight-shot drive to Las Vegas and L.A., but if you're going to Reno or San Francisco, you have choices.

Before we set out, we checked our options since we've never traveled I-80 from here. We had three options. One headed north, then south, then west. The other had us back-track for 30 or 40 miles, and the third took us west of the Great Salt Lake on a two-lane road until we met up with I-80 somewhere east of Wells. 

We chose Option #2.

On the way home, however, we chose Option #3. The weather was much better than it was when we started out, and the one thing that worried us--driving 93 miles without services--was no big deal, because on the way to Lake Tahoe, we drove several stretches where services were few and far between.

We took the exit at mile marker 378 and headed northeast. Before we set out on the long road, we changed drivers. There was a metal sign devoid of any advertising. I wondered why in the world would someone put up a sign out there. Then, my gaze moved right and I saw the remnants of a gas station complete with pumps and buildings. 

I wondered how long did they hold out until they gave up the ghost? Did it close due to the owner passing away or just not wanting to do it anymore? Or, did some government regulate the business to death?

I also wonder if anyone will ever decide to resurrect the business, create a petrol oasis in the middle of a long road. The chances aren't good, but it's fun to think about.

The drive was uneventful. We saw 30 cars on our 93 mile drive and made it home even faster. It was definitely the road less traveled.

After 58 Years...I Met My Mom's Family

 Last Saturday, at the American Legion Post in South Lake Tahoe, those left behind celebrated the life of Ethel Aubry, a long-time resident of the community, beloved wife, mother, grandmother. They gathered, shared stories, and remembered a unique spirit.

Included in the group were two people, invited by the family, but only months before, no one knew who those two people were. But Ethel knew.

She was their birth mother.

I was one of those guests.

Thanks to DNA technology, I found my birth mother's family in November of last year. On Thanksgiving we placed a video call and my family spoke ever so briefly with my mother, my wife's mother-in-law, and my children's grandmother. Ethel passed days later and on Saturday family and friends met to remember.

At the beginning of the weekend, not everyone of Ethel's family knew the truth. It's a lot to take in, when not only one child that was given up for adoption shows up, but two. By the time we separated Sunday, everyone knew and we shared a moment so amazing and personal and wonderful and special, I hope I never forget it.

Though Ethel was not there physically, I believe she attended in spirit. As I listened to the stories and watched the video showing photos of her life, I wished I could have spoke with her, gone for a walk by the lake's edge, and I'll bet taking a road trip with her would be a total blast. 

After escaping to a different world, returning to normal feels foreign. I've spent the last few days in a sort of fog with my thoughts returning to my half-sister's home filled with cousins, in-laws, and dogs. We were welcomed with opened arms, arms that held us (figuratively and literally...) then entire time. We parted pledging to reunite in the future. We look forward to doing just that.

When I look at the photo of my birth mother, I'm filled with emotions, some I expected, but others I could not imagine in my wildest dreams. Love, respect, even sadness. Though we found each other at the end of her life, we've always been together, always shared that bond. 

What a beautiful soul.

Finally Saw One Of These Things...

 Like everyone else, I've seen the pictures, but it took me several months before I saw one in the wild. That changed on our recent trip...

We saw three.

We live in a small town and we don't get to see some of the things seen in those big cities. Of course, now that I've said this, some local is going to move from being "On the List" to being "Truck Delivered" and he/she will drive around the town and everyone will take notice.

How could they not?

It's rare when us humans try new things. There's something comforting about the known, the familiar, the unsurprising. It takes courage to try something new. Tesla did that with the Cybertruck. I spotted this particular vehicle as we filled our minivan with good old-fashioned gasoline. The driver parked his truck at the Tesla chargers and he sat in the bed having a bit of the vape. We took off on our trip home and a few minutes later, the shiny silver thing passed us by.

I know they're not for everyone. Like certain political leaders, there seems to be no in between...you either like the new cybertruck or you don't. Personally, I'd take one if someone gave it to me. I'm not going to put my name on a waiting list for it, though.

Maybe in five, ten, twenty years we'll get used to the trucks and I'm sure they'll evolve and change. I wonder if in the future, will I stop and take notice like I did on this recent trip?

Time will tell.

Give Thanks...Into The Storm

 I spent the last sixty hours venturing into a storm...

Literally, and figuratively.

Friday morning my wife, son, and I loaded up the van and traveled six-hundred miles west. Cloudy skies followed us and for much of the trip, rain, wind, and some hail became our travel companions. Yet, we continued to an unknown future.

Several hours and several tanks of gas later, we exited the road to a smaller road, then to one smaller still. We arrived.

The journey began months, even years earlier. I decided to see if questions I held my entire life could be answered. Turns out, they can, and because I took a risk and drove into the storm, my life forever changed...definitely for the better. 

I'm thankful for taking those risks and for those who took them with me. I'm thankful for the people I met after driving through the rain, the wind, the hail, the many many miles. I'm thankful for the journey, for the destination, for the results. 

It was a beautiful, wonderful weekend.

A Real Live Steamroller...Finally Saw One

 The first genre I began writing was steampunk. Admittedly, I am not knowledgeable on the technical end of steam-powered engines. Even though, I enjoyed early success in writing steampunk short stories. It's a fascinating subject with almost endless creative possibilities. 

Steampunk obtains its power through steam (duh...). The energy created by heated water can literally move mountains. Without steam technology the United States of America could not have expanded they way it did. Our history--everything we know about the industrial revolution--disappears, changes forever.

And yesterday I saw a real live steamroller.

I think I was like most boys growing up in the 1960s and 1970s. Large machines enthralled us. We knew what a bulldozer was, a backhoe, a dump truck, a grader, and, of course, steamrollers. I know the term steamroller and I know they no longer run on steam, but I still call them steamrollers. A quick internet search calls them road rollers or just rollers. Maybe in the future the word "steam" will disappear entirely.

As we left Red's Old 395 Grill (delicious food, by the way...), I glanced to the left. If you've been inside this place in Carson City, Nevada, it's a feast not only for the stomach, but also the eyes. It seems every square inch is covered in art, historic objects, cutter sleighs hanging from the ceiling, and yes, an incredibly huge steamroller...

That one time ran on steam.

I miss steampunk. I haven't written anything in the genre for years. I ought to jump back in, a short story, maybe something more. Like I said, maybe one day they'll eliminate steam from steamroller permanently. I hope that never happens. It makes us remember the history and how important steam power was for the world.

Chocolate Chip Cookies...Reminds Me Of Mom

If you were to ask my high school friends what they remember about my mom, they say her chocolate chip cookies. My mom was always making chocolate chip cookies. In fact, when we cleaned out her home after she passed, we found literally dozens of Nestle Toll House Cookie wrappers...she kept them for the recipe.

And she always made them.

I don't think I realized at the time just how many she used to make. That's probably because it was just a given--we always had homemade cookies around. Now that I look back on it, I think she did it because she knew my friends liked them. The older I get the more I understand my mom, which is a shame because I can't talk to her about it or ask her if she made the cookies because she knew my friends loved them and she wanted to make our house be inviting to everyone.

This past week my wife made a batch of cookies. They weren't Toll House (she uses a different recipe...), but they're as good if not better (sorry, mom...). It reminded me of my mom. It also reminded me of how my friends used to love coming over and hanging out at the house, listening to RUSH upstairs on the speakers my dad made, or being in the party basement watching VHS videos.

I had a great childhood.

The cookies were yet another reason why.

Hoping For Fresh Snowballs For Memorial Day...

 Decades ago my mom planted a snowball bush near my childhood home. She planted it next to a rain gutter outlet where, not only did it get water from the sprinklers, but received a healthy dose of water every time it rained.

When we built a house across the street, we did the same thing, planted a snowball bush where the rain water flowed. It flourished. When we moved a few years ago, we had to put in a yard. One thing we wanted was to do the same thing my mom did, the same thing we did.

So, that's what we ended up doing.

Last year we found a tiny plant and dug a hole at the base of a rain gutter outlet. This spring, we're seeing some tiny snowballs.

Each spring the snowballs at the old house were so beautiful, huge, white, incredible. We always hoped they would last until the end of May so we could cut off some of the snowballs and put them on my parent's gravestone. Almost every year, the didn't make it. If you know anything about the snowball bushes, the snowballs are very fragile. A light breeze could destroy them. We even tried when they bloomed late in the spring to take some to the cemetery. We ended up with a car full of white pedals.

We live at a little higher latitude now. Things progress a little slower up here. I'm hoping that these little snowballs will last until the end of May so we can take them with us. It might happen, it might now. At least we can say we tried.

Here's hoping.

It May Not Be Changing The Time On A VCR...But It's Close

 The old joke went something like this, "You're so old, you can't even stop the flashing 12:00 on your VCR." That joke's so old, it's never heard anymore. Why? Because almost no one has/uses a VCR machine nowadays. Like a rotary phone, a child born in this century most like has never seen one, let alone how to use it (although, the rotary phone seems like it would be self explanatory, then again...). 

Case in point, my youngest's digital wristwatch.

We bought this thing for him years ago and it refuses to die. He's been on a construction site for the past year and the thing just keeps on ticking, though it's not a Timex (another old joke many might not get...). When you use a timepiece for any length of time, it will need to be adjusted.

That's where I come in. 

I've been called in to re-set the clock at least twice a year, when the clocks are also re-set. The other day my son brought me the watch and said something happened and it needed to be re-set. I know this is something he can do, something he can learn, but I grew up with these things. Re-setting them is second nature. Plus, it's nice to be asked to help out.

I have no idea when this thing will stop working all together, maybe next month, maybe never. And as long as I'm around, I'll be glad to fix it for him. 

I also remember how to set the clock on a VCR...

If anyone needs that, just let me know.

This Year's Writers Cantina Conference...Is Only Nine Weeks Away

With longer days and warmer temperatures, it means one thing..

Actually, it means lots of things, but one of the things it means is that Utah's newest and awesomest writing conference is only two months and one week away. It's called the Writers Cantina Writing Conference and it takes place June 28-29, 2024 in West Valley City, Utah. You can get all the information on the event by clicking: HERE.

If you're a writer in the Intermountain West, or if you live farther away and you want to learn the basics as well as some of the finer points of how to become a better writer, I think this conference has something for you. We're trying to make an event where you can feel comfortable at whatever level you're at, be it a bestseller or a newbie.

The event began last year. It was only one day--since it was our first conference, we had no idea how it would go. We felt it was such a success so we doubled the time this year. Double the time, double the fun and learning. 

Before covid it seemed I could go to a different writing conference in Utah almost every month. We're slowly returning to those good old days. If you're in the area and you'd like to check us out, or if you came last year and would like to return, go to the website, register, and we'll see you in nine short weeks.

Sometimes...It's What You Don't See

 This is a picture I texted to my wife a few days ago. It's the front of a crock pot set to cook for ten hours, or, in other words, on low.

There's other things to see in this picture. There's a few remnants of past meals...this particular crock pot has been in the family for years. I don't know the life span of your average crock pot, but this one just keeps on cooking. 

Of course, there's things you don't see.

I took the picture and sent it because I was asked to do a favor. Since I work at home and my wife was away and wouldn't be back in time, she texted me and asked if I'd put a pre-prepared meal in the crock pot and set the timer for ten hours. It's a simple act, I know. But again, life is full of simple things. In fact, most of life is the small, simple things. We go on vacations every five years or so, which leaves all the days in between full of non-vacation days. 

I saw the picture in my photo library and it reminded me of the request, of the action, of the give-and-take that has kept us together for more than three decades. 

It's sometimes what you don't see that is the biggest story.

Give Thanks...Living In A Small Town

 Of course, this post could be put in almost any town. People all over the world own goats, from the smallest hamlets to the largest cities, someone's got a goat. And when people have goats, occasionally, a goat may end up missing.

I love living in a small town.

Since moving, I've seen other posts on social media--mostly Facebook because their posts can be so well targeted to a specific area--similar to this one. "Hey...whoever is missing horses in Garland, we saw three walking down Factory street headed east."

An don't get me started on missing cats and dogs.

That's almost a daily, no hourly occurrence. So much so, I often wonder if some caring and well-meaning citizen spots an animal in its own yard, snaps a picture, and wonders if anyone's lost a small brown and black terrier near the library or by the tennis courts. I'm sure it happens, and to their credit, it's better to be over-cautious then to "hope" the animal is safe and sound.

When it comes down to it, it's all about caring for others, for your neighbor, be they missing goats, horses, cats, dogs, or even turtles (have yet to see a missing fish post, but you never know...). I'm thankful to live in an area where people are looking our for each other, treating others as they would like to be treated themselves, mostly.

I'm good friends with someone who grew up in the valley to the east. His and my childhood were similar. We grew up in small towns, before the big towns swallowed up the suburbs. He lives in Salt Lake now, and he asked me how we liked living up here. I told him I loved living in a small town. He said he remembered living in a small town and he's glad he's no longer there.

I'm glad he's happy. I'm glad we're happy, too.

Sent This Meme To My 40-Something Friend...He Didn't Get It

 The other day I texted the above meme to my friend, Steve. On any given day either he or I will send a meme or two across the digital highway. Sometime I send more, sometimes it's Steve. It's mostly harmless...memes about work, the government, current events, hipsters. Rarely is the humor not understood, but every once in a while, you'll get a different reaction.

I can't speak for everyone, of course, but when I find a meme I think is funny and want to share, rarely do I consider the person to whom I'm sending the meme will not understand. This time, he didn't.

Yes, my friend did not get the meme. This surprised me. He's a least a decade younger than me, but I thought the reference--even though it's from 1976--was fairly universally known. The Wild Cherry hit has been used in advertising, in films, TV shows. 

I guess my friend didn't see those ads, those films, those TV shows. 

Growing up in the 70s and 80s, many of the cultural references were understood by pretty much everyone. We all watched network TV shows, even though cable was a thing during that time. Up until the internet became a household medium, most Americans listened to the same music, watched the same shows.

In 1976, America turned 200 years old. It was an Olympic year in Canada and Austria. I entered my second decade. Wild Cherry released Play That Funky Music White Boy, My friend wasn't born.

Still...

I thought he'd get it. It's a pretty good meme.

Prepping For Spring Projects...

 Spring...so many project, so few weekends.

Tomorrow we're going to try something new. We have animal issues in our backyard. One issue is cats...not ours, we had two when we moved and now have none. No, it's the neighborhood cats giving us fits. They consider our garden beds their own private litter boxes.

Though unsettling as this is on its own, the second animal issue is our dog. You see, the dog knows a cat's been in his territory, and the dog finds the cat's "gifts." Then, well...I'd rather not say what the dog does with those gifts. Needless to say, it causes problems for the whole family.

We need preventative measures.

Hence, a new project.

My wife and I went shopping today to figure out a way to keep the dog out of the garden. It would be great if we could keep the cats away as well, but cats are adept at getting into places they should not be. We walked around Lowes looking a various things and imaging how they could work. We have a plan. Tomorrow we'll see if it works.

If we can pull it off, it's going to be fantastic. Usually, similar projects we try like this work as intended (to some degree...). Let's hope it works better than we hoped.

Time will tell.

Farvel Børsen...

 All things built of men must one day fall.

Of course, some things last longer than others. Go to England and you see buildings, roads, bridges constructed a thousand years ago. Go to Italy, Egypt and even older structures still stand. They knew how to build things back then.

Two days ago, a building built four-hundred years ago caught fire. Seeing photos and watching videos of the destruction...you can almost hear millions of hearts in the Harbor of Purchase breaking as the flames engulfed one of the special buildings in the city. You could hear hearts breaking other places, too.

Copenhagen is known for many things, among them its spires. It's one of the cities known as a City of Spires. Today, there's one fewer, one less structure jutting into the Scandinavian sky. And it was a cool one, too. 

The building was home to the old stock exchange and recently a haven for priceless Danish artwork. Many of the pieces of art were saved, thankfully. Also, no one lost their life in the fire. I remember seeing the spire many times, but it wasn't until later I realized what the spire actually was. At the base were four dragons, and the twisted spire were the dragons's tails. Awesome.

The building was being renovated to celebrate its 400th anniversary later this year, which makes the event even that more tragic. I'm sure many in France can relate to what the Danes are feeling today, having watched a fire severely damage the Notre Dame Cathedral exactly four years and one day earlier in 2019.

 

I have no idea what plans are for the building. Knowing the Danes, they'll want to take action, either by rebuilding the original or creating a monument to Børsen's legacy. Whatever happens, it will be special.

All things built of men must one day fall...

It's a bummer when you see it happen.

Yard Work Man...And The Case Of The Missing Airpod Vol 2: Conclusion

 My reaction to the potential loss of one airpod fell somewhere between mild panic and frustration. Since I use my airpods mostly for podcasts, and usually only have one in at a time, having only the right side isn't the worst thing. Still...

It would suck having to replace them.

I found when there's something I don't know, I pull up a quick internet search. Turns out, Apple has a way to find lost airpods, iPads, computers. It's call the Find My app. 

A glimmer of light.

I turned on the app and tried following the instructions. I walked around my backyard with my phone close to the ground. I made one tour of the yard...nothing. I took a second turn...nothing. I even went to the bag of weeds we gathered and held my phone close and I moved the bag back and forth. 

Nothing.

Bummer.

I wondered if I was operating the app correctly. After all, I had the other airpod in my pocket and it wasn't finding that one. A thought kept returning to my mind...the lawnmower chewed it up and it was gone. Dejected, I went inside and powered up my laptop so do a more in depth search. I found out my laptop has the Find My app, too. I turned it on and it gave me the same instructions that I found on my phone, and I got the same result.

Since I couldn't figure out how the Find My app didn't seem to find my other airpod, I hit the Bluetooth on the laptop and something interesting happened...it showed only one airpod and the airpod was at 50% battery.

It found the left-side one, the lost one. Finally, a bit of good news. It wasn't destroyed--it was out there, somewhere in the backyard.

I renewed my search. I went around the yard, phone in hand. It eluded me. I returned to the computer to check and noticed the battery for the airpod kept falling, which meant, I was running out of time. The longer the airpod was paired with my computer, the more energy it took. If I didn't find it quick, it'd most likely be lost forever.

One last search. I checked where we had put down fabric and where soon gravel would cover. Something changed on the phone...a slight change, but a change. I stopped and lowered the phone. That's when I heard it...a steady "beep beep beep." I moved the phone in one direction, the beeping stopped. I moved it back and it picked up again. I moved the fabric, dug a few scoops of dirt, and there it was.

Success.

Personally, I thought it was gone forever. I know it's a small thing--literally the airpod and the fact that it was lost--but finding it made my day. Hopefully, in the future I won't have to go through that again.

Yard Work Man...And The Case Of The Missing Airpod Vol 1

"The morning's always better," at least, that's what I've been told. I'd say they're right, but that means I'd have to admit they're right and I'm not ready to do that, at least...

Not yet.

The season change brings other changes, too. We had a free Saturday morning last weekend and since it wasn't snowing or raining, it meant only one thing...yard work. I started early, going into the garage, putting on my "gardening shoes," my work gloves, my large-brimmed hat...and the last part of the wardrobe, an airpod--not both, but just the left one. Perfect for catching up on missed podcasts.

The morning goal: clear the ground and lay down fabric.

We bought the good stuff, not like that cheap fabric we tried last fall--we'll never make that mistake again. As mornings go, it was almost perfect, temperatures in the mid-50s, a light breeze. With stories in my left ear, nature in my right, things were going well.

My wife joined me a little later. I had pulled weeds and moved some of the rocks, but I needed her to finish the job. Together we jumped right in. I only had a few minutes on the current podcast so I took out my phone, stopped the broadcast, and put the phone back and went to work.

Together we finished clearing the ground and putting down the fabric. It looks great. Something that needed doing was the lawn so I mowed it, then got out the edger to tackle the redwood-sized grass circling the yard. It took a while, but glad I did it, and when I turned off the edger for the last time, a sense of satisfaction washed over me. That's when I reached up to my left ear to retrieve the airpod, and...

Nothing.

No biggie. I'll just dig into my pant's pocket, get the airpod where I put it, and stick it back into my ear to finish the podcast.

I checked one pocket--not there. Not to worry, it's in another. Checked another one...nope. Now I'm a little nervous. I quickly check every pocket and the airpod's not there.

It's somewhere in the yard, finding it is going to be tough. Then, an even worse thought hits me. What if the lawnmower pulverized it?

Now I'm bummed.

Tomorrow, I'll finish the Yard Work Man and the Case of the Missing Airpod.

Beautiful...But It's A Pain, Too

 Even though it's raining outside and we're lacking for trees, if I stepped away from the house right now, I can see definite beauty...so much beauty. Spring is here and things are busting out all over, namely flowers and tree blossoms. Of course, if I step outside my house right now, I might not be able to see much.

It's those darn allergies.

Like many, I have seasonal allergies, so much so, I'm glad I work from home. 

All my life I've dealt with allergies. I have them worse than some, not as bad as others. Everyone with allergies deals with them differently. Me? I sit at home being unable to see well until my body either adapts to the things affecting me, or the things affecting me disappear.I

t's that time of the year.

The fact that the pollen and other things hit me so hard is bad, but it's also a bummer that I don't look forward to spring. So many people--I'll bet a majority--if asked would say spring is their favorite season of the year. It makes sense--spring is incredible. The snows have melted, you can go outside without a coat or jacket, you can do things you couldn't do when the world is covered in white.

In a few days, my eyes won't itch and burn and things will improve. Allergies will pop up over time for the next couple of months, but it'll be nothing like what I'm going through now. Another wave will hit in the fall, but it's mild by comparison. 

Yes, it's beautiful outside, but it's also a pain, too.

Give Thanks...For A Father's Small Act

 Since I can't ask my dad personally, I must surmise his thought process. It's 1972. He's away on a business trip, out of state, dealing with flights, hotels, late schedules, and yes...lost luggage. Somehow, the man with three children under ten years old found time to pick out a postcard, write a message, stamp it, and send it in the mail.

Such a small act...

Remembered over fifty years later.

In a box in my basement you'll find a postcard from 1972, a card I'm guessing my dad picked it up in the airport or the hotel. For some reason, he picked that card for me. 

See those lines? If I'm not mistaken, they exist because a spoiled six-year old child saw the postcard and got mad because the photo on the card was a stinky old building behind a gate, not something cool like a car or a plane or anything else. I don't have a lot of memories of when I was six, but I definitely remember getting mad that my card stunk. It's highly possibly my dad sent my older brother a much cooler card than mine, hence the immature rage.

I can imagine my mother watching her son get mad at her husband's incredibly kind gesture. He didn't need to buy the cards, fill them out and send them, especially when he didn't have to. 

Somehow, this piece of card stock survived. It was stored somewhere during my pre-teen and teenage years. After I grew up, physically and emotionally and understood the significance of the card and what it meant, I kept it safe. 

No one knew back in January 1972 that my father would only live another twenty-five months, then he'd be gone. I have very few items that he gave to me. It's the nature of all things to go away, disappear, cease to exist. This little card could have been tossed. Heck, I could have shredded it right then and there...

But I didn't.

I'm thankful I didn't.

I'm thankful for my father who, in what had to be a crap trip, picked out a postcard for me and sent it in the mail. In a million years there's no way he could have known that his son (who turns sixty-years old next year...) would have kept that card and that it would affect him these years and decades later. Like ripples in water, that small act extends still today.

Thanks, Dad for the card and for calling me master. Even though I hated it at the time, it's a wonderful treasure today.