Give Thanks...For Forty Blessed Years

 The text message came on Friday. It was from a friend, a friend I've known longer than I didn't know him. He reminded me via text that it was forty years ago--to the day--that we first met.

That day was one of the most important and influential in my life.

January, 24, 1985.

That morning I woke up, dressed, collected my suitcases (that I packed the day before...), loaded them in the car with the rest of my family and we drove sixty miles to the south, ending up in Provo, Utah, within walking distance of the great and spacious university campus of BYU.

That's where I met Brian, Mark, Michael, Jeff, and Linda...the newest missionary district in the Missionary Training Center (or, MTC...) assigned to the Denmark Copenhagen Mission for the LDS church. 

Because I'm old, I thought the anniversary was on the 25th, not the 24th, so on the 25th I dug out my old missionary journal and checked out the first entry. 1-24-85. I missed writing an entry the next day and I've missed I think one other day since 1-24-85, but every other day for those forty years, I've written in a journal.

Look at us...so different, yet in many ways, the same. Back then we were young, healthy, ambitious, somewhat cocky, a little scared, definitely naive, and we all had our hair. Now, with the life experience of two-hundred and forty years, we're not young, not as healthy, ambitious in different things, scared of different things, humbled, and lacking things (literally...) that we once had.

Growing up in a predominant religion serving a mission was something talked about every week at church, and many times throughout the week at home or with friends at school. To call it "pressure to go" would be an understatement. I always thought I was going to go. I don't think I ever considered not going. And when I turned nineteen (the age at the time...), I submitted my papers and a few weeks later my call came...Denmark Copenhagen.

The only thing I knew about Denmark was that it was small and situated above Germany. I was taking German at USU when my call came and the textbook showed what I thought was just a small map of the country. Turns out, it showed much more--almost all of Denmark.

I wrote in my journal forty years and two days ago that I arrived at the MTC and spent much of the morning walking around with Dan Scott, a fellow Davis High School graduate. We were both confused. I eventually found Brian and Mark, my two MTC companions. I skipped lunch, but ate dinner. 

That was pretty much my first entry. 

I'm glad I wrote it. I'm glad I wrote every day after that.

Rarely, do I read those old entries. Friday's text message brought me back, back to that first day, a day that changed my life. Looking back there have been several days--a dozen, maybe two--that were life-changing. This was one of them. Since that day, we all served, all came back, lived our lives, and thanks to social media, have stayed in touch. When we gather, we're family, brothers and a sister who shared those days and weeks at the MTC cooped up in the classrooms, gyms, and cafeterias. We then shared the joy and frustration of learning a foreign language, speaking with strangers (many who became friends...), and surviving that cultural experience of an LDS mission.

I cannot express in words just how impactful those days, weeks, months, and years were to me, and how my mission's affected my life ever since. I'm thankful for those memories and those people and that decision, especially those who supported me and my friends...my family.

Forty years...forty blessed years.

Talte Dansk I Kirken...Oh, How Long It's Been

 In our church we have a monthly meeting where there are no (not supposed to be...) prepared talks. It's a time when regular members of the congregation stand and tell everyone what they believe. It's a chance for those listening to be encouraged and uplifted, and those speaking to strengthen their faith.

It's called a Fast and Testimony meeting.

And it can either be one of the most spiritual meetings, or it can go off the rails fast.

These meetings are usually held on the first Sunday of each month. Last Sunday we had our usual meeting and I sat and prepared to hear everyone else--not me--stand and bear their testimonies. As most people who attend know, there are some who are "regulars" and some--like me--that hardly ever stand.

Last week something unusual happened. Our bishop stood and invited us all up, as usual, then he said he'd like to hear from those of us who spoke a different language. It's not uncommon for members to have traveled out of the country on LDS missions, or be assigned a mission inside the United States but learn to speak a different language to communicate with people in the USA from other countries.

In my life I've never had a bishop ask for that specific thing.

The first person who rose spoke French and expressed his beliefs in French. Another person stood and spoke in English. Then, I did something I almost never do. I stood and walked toward the podium. I looked at the bishop as I approached and whispered, "Really?" He nodded.

I spoke Danish at a podium in a LDS church for the first time in many years.

It was an amazing experience. 

Funny thing about missionaries who learn different languages. When they learn the language, they learn a spiritual vocabulary. It's not that the words are holy, but you become efficient at speaking about the church. Even when I had the best understanding of the language, I probably would have trouble speaking to a native Dane about auto repair or government or the law. But, have me talk about religion...I'm good.

I served with a man who told me that his understanding of the church was in Danish. He wasn't as active before and became so when he chose to serve a mission. Bearing my testimony in Danish was special.

Others stood--a lot of Spanish speakers, one who spoke Italian, another Portuguese, and several other French speakers. Then a woman stood and said nothing, at least vocally. She taught others using Sign Language. I loved it.

I said before that these meetings can either be the most spiritual or go off the rails. 

This meeting was one of the former.

Give Thanks...A Reunion Almost Forty Years In The Making

 Almost forty years...

I think it's been almost forty years since the five of us were together in the same place at the same time. We were only missing one and it would have been wonderful if she had been able to attend.

I got the text the night before...Jazz tickets if I could make it. The answer was a resounding, "yes." I didn't know then that all five of us would be going. The five being the five missionaries that were in the same Missionary Training Center district, all of us going to serve in the Denmark Copenhagen Mission. We first met January, 1985.

There were five elder missionaries and one sister missionary. There was a companionship of two elders, and a companionship of three. I was in the three. For ten weeks we all lived together (the sister missionary lived with the sister missionaries...), we ate together, studied together, tried to learn/understand a language we never heard before, learned about a place we'd spend the next two years talking to people, biking/walking in rain/snow/sun, and getting to absolutely love the people of Denmark.

When I was told we'd all be there (except one...),  tried remembering the last time we were all together. I think it was in April, 1985 when after arriving in the country, we were all given different assignments in different areas of the country. Since then, I've spent time them all, but at different times. 

There were five of us there, five lifetimes, five stories that involve marriages, children, grandchildren (for most of us...), successes, failures, joys, pains. We've all buried parents and welcomed new friends and experiences. 

The "Before" picture shows us all, thinner (except for our hair...), wide-eyed, full of potential. We were sons and a daughter sent by families to live a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I'm so thankful I was included in this small group, so thankful I made the decision to go. It's changed my life over and over again. I'm also thankful I count these remarkable humans as dear friends, even decades later.

Will we have another mini-reunion soon? I hope so. Maybe even have our last remaining member fly in for the occasion. It would make an almost perfect night even better.

And if you're wondering, the Utah Jazz won in overtime...just icing on the cake. 

As always, thanks, Jeff for the tickets.

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

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

Very cool.

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

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

It's where we used to live.

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

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

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

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

Give Thanks...For Good Friends, And Time

 A friend posted a photo on social media earlier today. The photo shows my friend along with other friends gathered together for an Easter meal. The meal was held thousands of miles away in a small country in Northern Europe.

And it sparked a memory.

A memory that took place almost forty years ago to the day...

Easter weekend, in Denmark.

Thirty-eight years and two days ago I sat in the house of my friends Bjarne and Ulla and we sat down for an Easter meal. It was my second Sunday in the country and my first time eating a meal not in our apartment. As a LDS missionary we travel in pairs, two-by-two, always together. My companion (as we call each other...) was Elder Richardson. He passed away due to covid complications a few years ago. Sad.

Today, however, the missionaries sharing a meal with Bjarne and Ulla and others are the Ellises. I first met Brian Thirty-eight months and eight weeks earlier in Provo, Utah where a group of strangers met and together we learned how to preach the Gospel, speak Danish (or speak as good as ten weeks of instruction can allow...). I've kept in touch with Brian and Bonnie over the months, years, and decades. 

It's now time for the Ellises to return home...interesting. I shared my first meal in the country with the Jakobsens and my other friends shared their last meal in the country with the Jakobsens. Though things change due to time, some things remain the same. The kindness of the Jakobsens is one of those things.

I'm grateful I know the Jakobsens, the Ellises, the Richardsons, and so many others like them. I'm thankful I kept a daily journal back then (and continue today...) so that when I saw a photo taken in the twenty-first century I could look up and remember a dinner date that occurred in the twentieth. 

Also, something I'm sure hasn't changed...the food was most likely excellent.

Give Thanks...Thinking About Denmark

Yesterday, we had some time to kill before picking up my daughter at her work, so we stopped by one of our favorite stores, a used book/antique store on Main Street in Brigham City, Utah...3 Goats Gruff.

It's an amazing store full of things I love...books, and old stuff. We've even gotten to know the owners who were there yesterday--it was fun catching up.

While we were there, I found myself standing in front of an antique armoire and I noticed some porcelain dishes. There were several--one was German, but I guessed the others were made in Denmark...

I was right.

When I lived in Denmark for a couple of years in the 1980s, I saw porcelain plates hanging up in almost every home, and the ones most prominent were the Christmas plates, or Juleaften plates. Yesterday, I looked and hoped it'd find a plate form 1985 or 1986 (the two Christmases I spent there...), or if not them, maybe a 1965 plate...the year I was born.

Nope. They had only one plate from the 80s (1989...), and they did have a 1964 and a 1966 plates. I was SO close.

Whenever I see a porcelain figurine in a thrift store or at a yard sale, I quickly check to see if it came from Denmark. Danish figurines have a certain look that I like, personally. When I lived there, I didn't really have the means to buy anything (truth be told, I don't have it now, either...). But, I always look.

Thinking about that experience reminded me that I always find myself thinking about Denmark, the country, the people, the amazing place it is. Whenever I watch the Olympics or the World Cup, I root for the Danes--every time. I can't seem to shake the place, and even though I was there a short time, it's become part of me.

I am so grateful I was able to go there,  to work there, to live there, to find out a little who I was at the time, and to have Denmark be so infused in my life now that helped me become the person I am now. Jeg elsker landet--det er klart. I'm sure, whenever I come upon a stack of Danish Juleaften plates, I'll search them out to see if it's one that means something special to me. If I find it, you can be sure, I'll pick it up.

It's just something I have to do.

Give Thanks...A Photo And The Memories

 We did some cleaning last week, stuff buried in boxes in the garage. I sometimes wonder why I keep things in boxes. I don't see them. I don't even know they're there sometimes. They just sit in those boxes, day after day, year after year...

Until one day, we open the boxes and the memories can breathe.

I've kept some things from my LDS mission, things in boxes. While cleaning, I came across my mission discussion booklet, a sort of Clif Notes for teaching the precepts and doctrine used by missionaries when they find someone who is interested in learning more. 

On the day my group was to travel to Denmark, we boarded a plane bound for Seattle, the first leg of our trip. As we waited for the plane to take off, one of the stewards told us some of the Seattle Supersonics basketball players were sitting in first class. A few of us decided to go talk to them.

I don't know who the other players were, but I recognized one...Tom Chambers. For those of a certain age, Tom Chambers was a legend, a local player from the University of Utah who made it to the big leagues, not only made it, but made a career of playing in the NBA. He played for several teams, including the local NBA team, the Utah Jazz. Meeting him was a big deal for a nineteen-year old.

Though he and I had never met, I recognized him and he recognized who we were. "Hello," he said. "Where are you headed?" he asked me.

"Denmark," I said.

"Well, you look like one of them." I remember him saying and I thought that was funny. I asked for an autograph, handed him the only thing on which to write an autograph, and he obliged. After that, the steward quickly ushered us from first class, and we followed her instructions.

The memory was buried in a box in my mind. It came flooding back as I opened the book, remembered the encounter on the plane, and quickly found the signature. Even though the book and the memories have been buried in a box these many years, I'm grateful I saved the book. I'm grateful for the memories on that plane and all the memories that followed in the next couple of years. Seeing what was written in my little book brought many of those memories back to breathe.

That Time I Saw "Hamlet" At Hamlet's Castle...

I came across a photo of a Northern European castle the other day.

It brought back the memories.

If you're unfamiliar with this particular castle, it's in the city of Elsinore. Many call it Elsinore Castle, but to me it'll always be Kronborg Castle. You may not know much about the castle, but there's a good chance you know something of it. This castle is the setting for William Shakespeare's Hamlet. 

As a LDS missionary living in Denmark so many years ago, I visited the castle on several occasions, but there was one time that was flat-out amazing. I was able to see a theatrical production of Hamlet performed at Hamlet's Castle.

The production was from a British theater troupe. They performed outside the castle using the eastern wall as the backdrop. In the picture there's a white tent where the grandstand was. There's were we sat. Even though it's been decades, I still remember that night. Occasionally, the sounds of ferries and other boats could be heard in the strait between Denmark and Sweden.

I'm not the most "theater" person out there, but this one experience is something unique, something I'll tell my theater friends when I'm in a show. No, I've never seen a Broadway show in NYC, but very few people can say they've seen Hamlet performed at the castle about which it was written. That was a great night.

GiveThanks...To Be "A Little" Jealous

 Almost thirty-seven years ago (I can't believe it's been that long...), I met a group of people in Provo, Utah...four men and one woman. We lived together, in a manner of speaking, for ten weeks. In those ten weeks we learned how to communicate in basic terms in a different language, we learned about a different culture, and we prepared to travel halfway around the world to live in a different country.

I had no idea what experiences I'd have in the upcoming two years, nor could I possibly imagine the impact those people would continue to have on my life.

We've all gone our separate ways, we all married, had children, moved across the country and across the state.

One even moved back to Denmark.

It's a temporary move, but a move just the same. And because we live in a world of technological marvels, we can correspond with him and his wife and they continue the work we stopped doing decades ago. 

Am I jealous of him?

To be honest, when I heard he and his wife were going back, it surprised me more than anything. When we served there were several couples in the mission, but they were old! We can't go back--we're not that old, yet. Apparently, we are.

I was happy for my friends, happy for the experiences they were going to have, happy they had prepared in advance to be able to go during this time of their lives. But, it wasn't until I saw a Facebook post from my friends about a Christmas concert that took place yesterday, that I was jealous.

Christmas in Denmark is special, magical, wonderful. You add all the good things of the holiday, then throw in decorations in a setting straight out of a fairy tale. And the Danes know how to celebrate the holiday. The food, the celebrations...it all adds up to an amazing experience. Seeing my friend's post brought it all back to me and I wished I could be there.

My friends have all gone on to have families, careers, good times, tough times. Jealousy is such a difficult emotion to overcome. It's easy to fall into its trap. There have been times I've wished for experiences my friends have had. I try not to let jealousy overcome me or change my outlook on life. Negative thoughts like that can do so much damage.

But, there's another side of the equation. Being jealous means there was a time when I experienced those events first-hand. It means I was there and felt and saw the things they're feeling and going to see. I'm grateful for my friendships for the past almost thirty-seven years. I'm grateful that my friends can once again enjoy another Danish Christmas. And I'm happy to be a little jealous of them, because they're doing the Lord's work. 

God jul, til i allesammen, især de i min missionær sprogeskol gruppe.

Goodnight...To A Giant Of A Man, Mentor, And Friend

 "Elder Taylor."

I was already excited about the prospects. I'd waited a long time to find out where I would be assigned.

"You've been assigned to the Glostrup area--it's in København--and your companion will be Elder Richardson."

The name meant nothing, nor did the location. I knew as much about Glostrup as I did about quantum physics.

Then they added, "Ældste Richardson...han er dyktig at sproget."

That's all I needed to hear. Even my limited command of the Danish language told me that my companion--my trainer--was good at the language. I hoped I'd be paired with someone who would help me improve my Danish.

Turns out I learned a lot more than how to improve my second language from the Ed Richardson.

On Monday, I read a post on Facebook from Ed...he was in the hospital and it was serious. Yesterday I woke to the news that he passed away.

Elder Richardson and I spent two month together, biking and walking the streets of Copenhagen's western suburb. He taught me what it was like being a missionary in Denmark.  I learned that even though we were yelled at, flipped off, spit on, that the Danes were "not" those people. That they were loving, warm, intelligent, and some even wanted to hear what we had to say. We must have looked strange--Ed, a big guy, tall and wide, and me, a scrawny 120 lb kid who looked fifteen-years old. I first met Ed in the spring of 1985...thirty-six years ago. Since that time, I never considered Ed not a friend.

Of course, as lives to, I had little interaction with Ed since. We both began our lives, married, became fathers, and fathers-in-law. We both had struggles and triumphs, victories and defeats.

When someone you know--someone who had a large impact on your life--passes away, a light goes out and you feel it, even though we hardly saw each other in those thirty-six years. When I saw Ed's post of his hospitalization earlier this week, I prayed things would turn out differently. I hoped his constitution would match his personality and rise above. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

Several of those I knew in that distant land decades ago have died. As I search the old pictures, I was reminded of just how many. Now Ed resides in that column, a column we'll all one day join.

Goodnight, Elder Richardson. Tak for alt.

RM's From Denmark...If You Think You Remember Your Danish, Watch "The Investigation"

 I returned home from the incredible land of Denmark in 1987...that's thirty-four years ago. I only lived there twenty-two months, but I spoke Danish every day. There are times when I think I can still remember the language.

Then, reality smacks me upside the head.

On HBO there's a short series called, The Investigation. Though the subject matter is horrible, I was interested in watching the series for several reasons. First, it's a crime story, one which we know the outcome, it's a true story, and it's in Danish...not people speaking English, but Danish actors, filmed in Denmark, speaking Dansk.

The series begins--episode one. The main character, Jens Møller Jensen (played by Søren Malling...) appeared on screen. 

And then he spoke...

And I had no idea what he said.

To be fair, the actor mumbled a little, and this was everyday conversation within the walls of a police station. When I lived in the country I didn't spend a lot of time with the police (thank goodness...). No, my focus was on a different crowd using different language for different situations.

I've often wondered how I would fair if I returned. I know I would be okay because Danes speak English better than many of us. I would like to think I could once again communicate in their mother tongue. Watching a show like this reminded me that maybe I didn't have the command of the language I thought I did. And I'm okay with that. Those with whom I spoke to understood me. What more could I ask for?

Only two of the six episodes are available so far. The series is expertly done. Though slow, it's as fascinating as the subject matter is horrific, truly awful. I admit, as I watched the first two, I understood more and more of the dialogue, so maybe by the end of the series, I might think I can speak Danish all over again.

May 4th...It Means Something Else To The Danes

While many in the world are celebrating all things Geek--I myself am currently wearing my only StarWars shirt and the only piece of Geek clothing I own--in a small country atop Europe looks upon May 4th under a different light.

May 4th is a day of freedom.

The Denmark.DK Instagram account (Denmark.DK) posted two pictures about the significance of May 4th for their country. Today marks the 75th anniversary of the German withdrawal from Denmark.

Back in 1986 I was told a story from someone who lived through those years of Nazi Occupation. 

And I remember the story she told me of the day the Germans left.

Jytta Svendsen was a teenager living in Odense, Denmark on 5/4/45. The Germans required all citizens of the city to line up along the main road through the center of town to watch their captors leave. As Jytta stood with the others the Germans opened fire on the people lining the street. The woman next to Jytta was hit and she dropped. Jytta ran and hid inside a drug store. She never knew what happened to the woman next to her. Just remembering her tell the story brings back the horror of her story, terrible times of history that she lived through, that she survived.

Jytta passed away, years after her amazing husband Svend left us, in the summer of 2007. I was unable to attend her funeral since it fell on the same day as my mother's. As the years pass, fewer and fewer of those who remember the dark days and the events exist only in histories.

Today Danes put up candles in their windows, the flame representing freedom from tyranny and the start of a new chapter in their millennia-long history. Sure, it's fun to put on Geeky clothes and watch your favorite Star Wars film or sharing a funny meme. But, in a small European country the heat from a simple candle warms the world and gives us all hope.

A Trip/Surf Down Memory Lane...Happy Birthday Daren!

Tonight, I was looking for a postcard I received once...if I find it I'll try and post it tomorrow. And if I don't find it, I won't (if I find it, you'll understand why...).

But, in searching for this item from over thirty years ago, I came across something else, something timely. You see, it's my friend Daren's birthday today. He and I met in the fall of 1985 in the town of Odense, Denmark, birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen. We were both LDS missionaries together in that amazing country.

Daren has always been a colorful character, at least, as long as I've known him. Today's Daren's birthday. Happy birthday, brother! Before I met Daren, he had gone to the local newspaper in Odense to see if they wanted to run a story on him. Turns out, they did.

The story basically explains how a young man from California could--if he chose--be a professional surfer at home in the United States. But, he was at that time not pursuing a career as a professional surfer, but was instead giving his life to God.

Great headline!

Mostly, because it's true.

Thanks to Google Translate, if you want you can see what's said about Daren--it's a good story. If you don't want to do that, it basically explains what the missionaries were doing and why. Daren was one cool dude thirty-five years ago, and he's only improved with age. Tilykke med dagen, du! Ha' det rigtig godt!

Sharing Old Pictures...And What I Didn't Expect To Happen

A couple of months ago I saw an ad on my Instagram feed, and I bit. The ad was for an app called Slidebox. Basically, you use your phone to take pictures of your old slide photographs (remember those...?) and they'll magically be digitized into your Photo Library.

I downloaded the app so at a future date I could dig out my old mission pictures and finally make them available to share and enjoy.

Last weekend, I thought it was time.

I didn't read the small print when I downloaded the app. In order to use it, you have to pay $5.99/mth. Bummer, I thought. But, they had a three-day free trial. I signed up for the free trial and the clock was ticking.

In the next two days, I scanned hundreds of pictures from my mission in Denmark.

I lived in Denmark from April 1985 to January 1987. I took my trusty Olympus OM-10 with me and took a lot of photographs. Because I wanted the pictures to stand the test of time, I had the all developed as slides--I had no way of even imaging the digital photography or storage capabilities of today back then. Slides are great for preservation, but not so great for sharing. Most of the pictures I took back then have never been seen by my family, and that's a shame.

I thought the app would be a way for me to change that. The app was descent, but in order to work well, you need a good backlight system. The best I could find was my iPad. But, there's a problem taking photographs using a computer/tablet screen. The light isn't constant and many times that spilled onto the finished photo. Maybe one day I'll set up a good backlight and try it again.

I converted the slides and posted a couple on Facebook. Just going through picture after picture brought back a ton of memories, but the most bittersweet ones were reserved for those who are no longer with us. I posted a picture of a good friend who passed away many years ago. He died so young with a young family and so much promise. After posting the picture I received a message from his spouse who said she had never seen that shot before.

That's when it hit me--the pictures mean a lot to other people, too. 

I'm going to post more pictures and tag those I can remember. Some may love it--some may find it a nuisance, and some may hate seeing themselves from over thirty years ago. But, for some, the pictures may be a way of communication that's been hidden away for decades, finally allowing others to see them, and after all, isn't that the reason we take photographs in the first place?

When A Backpack Makes You Homesick...

It's been over twenty-seven years since I last walked on Danish soil, and almost thirty-three years since I last lived in Denmark. Yet, spotting a backpack in a bookstore brought it all back, the people, the weather, the food, the world that is Denmark.

And I only lived there a total of seventeen months and two weeks.

The backpack, made by Fjällräven, is actually a Swedish product, but people living in Scandinavia are proud to showcase things made by their cousins. I saw so many Fjällräven Kånken backpacks while I was there. Just seeing that fox logo yesterday reminded me of walking those streets, knocking on those doors, falling in love with the people and their culture.

This isn't the only thing that sends me back. Every time I see anyone wearing clogs takes me back, watching my wife enjoy her breakfast (granola topped with yogurt...) will do it, and don't get me started on going to IKEA. That place transports me. Those in-store examples of how a person can live in a four-hundred square feet of space is netop (100%...) Scandinavian. 

When we lived in Denmark I didn't buy this brand of backpack, so I don't know if they were expensive, or not. I can tell you that the one I spotted at Barnes & Noble in Farmington, Utah, yesterday definitely was expensive. 

I'm seeing more and more of these backpacks. I suppose they're the new trendy thing. Good for them. I like seeing Scandinavian produces succeed. You can do a lot worse than surrounding yourself with things from Northern Europe. 

I'm glad I have those memories come back to me from time to time. Those months I lived there changed my life, definitely for the better. 

You've Never Seen Danish Clogs Like This Before..

Last night, while adjusting sprinklers, I saw a sack buried in a garage cabinet. I knew what was in the sack, because I was the one that filled it.

It's where I stowed a pair of Danish clogs I bought back in 1985.

Everyone, or almost everyone, knows about clogs. Older (or ægte...) clogs have wooden souls and leather uppers and cut strips of leather from automobile tires hammered on the bottom. You can buy a pair of new clogs made from leather, but without the wood and/or car tires. I know people who love them, but for me, they've got to be made of wood. In fact, the Danish word for clog is Træsko, which translated means, tree shoe.

I believe, when I was living in Odense (birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen...), we lived next to a cobbler. We'd pass his shop everyday, and everyday I saw a pair of wooden souls hanging on his wall. One day, we went in to see if he could repair our walking around shoes (being an LDS missionary, you wear out a lot of shoes...). I asked him how much it would be for him to build me a pair using the wood souls he had.

He told me. I agreed, and a week or two later, I had my shoes.

It's been a while, but I believe there's an old Danish tradition of hanging a pair of clogs next to your front door. Not many did it so I may be wrong on the tradition part, but I think it was a thing. Since the shoes are not like regular clogs, I thought it would be cool to hang these shoes next to our front door once we had a house.

But when our house was finished, I put them in a red plastic bag and they ended up in the garage.

Sure, I could find a way to hang them on the outside wall next to our front door now, but I don't think I will. Maybe it's because I don't quite trust people and seeing something so unusual and unique, someone might want to see if those clogs fit them. Then they might want to see how different it is to walk in them. Then they might never come back.

I've never seen another pair of træsko like these before, and I may never seen another pair like them again. Who knows--maybe one day I'll start walking around with them. Then more people would see clogs they've never seen before.

You Know You're Getting Old When...

I supposed you could say the phrase, "You know you're getting old when..." in your twenties, thirties, forties...well, you get the picture. Realizing the fact you're getting older can happen anytime you see someone younger than you doing things you used to do.

Or seeing your friends's kids all grown up.

Wednesday night I participated in a small book fair (I blogged about it yesterday...). Most of the authors were set up and ready to go at the appointed time. But one came a little late, so I didn't get a chance to introduce myself to the newcomer. That had to wait for a break in the line of kids/parents making their way through the library.

"Hi...Scott Taylor." I extended my hand.

He did the same and told me who he was.

His last name sounded familiar.

All the other authors were local--two even had kids who attended the school we were in. The newbie--nope, he's from down south--even farther than Provo. I should have made the connection with those two clues. Lives south and has a familiar last name. But I didn't--not then.

Another break. This time the young man came over and bought one of my books--that's the best compliment you can give an author. He asked about the anthologies and how he'd like to know more about getting some of his stories published. I told him that I had writer friends who have had great success getting short stories published. I told him I connect with him on Facebook.

It's when I checked his name on FB that everything clicked--the name, where he lived. I asked him how he knew Keen and Sunny.

"Yeah, they're my parents. How do you know them?"

"From the mission," I said. I've known his parents since the mid-1980s.

And I knew I might have been the oldest person, not just in the room, but perhaps then entire building at that moment.

Personally, I try not to let my age get me down. I mean, it's going to happen--can't stop it. Plus, worrying about it and wishing you weren't getting older only compounds the problem.

And to Keen and Sunny--I only spent a few hours with your son, but he's total class. He treated everyone with respect, spoke to every interested child and parent that approached. He also made sure he talked to every author and even bought our books. Yes, he made me feel a little old, but that's okay when you've got such good friends.

Then Your Friend Goes And Wins A Grammy...

The year was 1985, January. I moved from my home to Provo, Utah, to live for ten weeks at a missionary training center, known affectionately as the MTC. It's when and where I first met Lansing McLoskey. Sixteen months later he and I were paired up as missionaries in Copenhagen, Denmark.

I think I've seen him once since then.

But I've followed his career. In the age of digital stalking, you can follow almost anyone online. The fact that they're incredibly accomplished, makes it so much easier. Since Denmark, my friend's attended the most prestigious schools, become a professor of music, as well as one of the nation's leading experts on Danish classical music.

Oh, and he also designed his own longboard skateboard lines.

Before we met he was a punk rocker and surfer in California.

Now, he's a Grammy winner.

It's amazing how many people you meet when you've lived on the planet for more than half a century. Our connections scatter like leaves blown from a tree, each leaf travels its own path, taking it to destinations unknown. Lansing worked extremely hard to reach this point in his career and even if his work, Zealot Canticles hadn't won a Grammy, it would no less diminish his numerous accomplishments, nor would it stop all the amazing things that he has yet to do.

Well done, good sir! I bought your work and have been listening to its haunting melodies since I first heard the news. May this help inspire your next work and all those that follow. Well done.

Lansing, summer, 1986, Copenhagen, Denmark

Ever Heard Of Boney M.? They Weren't What I Thought They Were...

I ran across a tweet today about pop culture in England in the 1970s. Someone found an old magazine and posted some of the content including a blurb about the music group Boney M.

And the memories came flooding back.

If you're not familiar with Boney M., I'm sure you're not alone. They rose to fame in the Disco era and most of their popularity seems to have been rooted in Europe. I have no idea if they even made a dent in the United States. I learned of then when I lived in Denmark as a LDS missionary. I listened to their Christmas album over and over again.

You may know of the LDS missionaries. You may not know about the rules that go along with being a missionary. There's the rules members follow to be part of the religion including not smoking, drinking, among others. But missionaries have additional rules like no dating, no being alone with anyone other than your assigned companion, wearing the approved missionary attire, going to bed and getting up at the approved time. The rules even dictate as to the type of music we could listen to. Needless to say, it was a short list.

To be completely honest, I can't say with 100% certitude that Boney M.'s Christmas album was on that list. The missionaries--at least the ones who wanted to obey the rules--kept track of what was okay and what wasn't. According to the older and wiser Elders, this particular album was fine.

And I listened to it again and again and again. We had tape cassettes back then and I might have actually worn out the tape. Because I was young and naive, I thought since this musical group made such fine religious music, they must have other albums worthy to find their place on the "Approved for LDS Missionary Consumption" list. On one of our preparation days, I wanted into a music store and looked up other Boney M. collections. There had to be something else to listen to during the non-Christmas seasons.

Yes, the band produced a lot of albums.

And yes, their music was definitely not on any "approved" missionary lists.

The band came of age during Disco. This was a time of loosening things up and judging by their album covers, the band was plenty loose. I should have guessed it would be like this. I don't know whyI thought otherwise.

After seeing the tweet I found the album on iTunes and listened to snippets of each song. It's a bit techno-pop and the harmonies and music weren't as tight as I remember (of course, I only ever heard the music on cassette tapes...), but it reminded me of cold days in Denmark when the sun set early in the afternoon, the streets were decorated in a way Americans can only dream about, and a cup of rich European hot chocolate was heaven-sent.

I had forgotten about that group for probably thirty years. Amazing how a random post by someone I don't know can bring back so many things.

Just Hanging Out With A Friend I Hadn't Seen...In Almost Thirty Years

The text came in just after 5pm last Saturday night.

"How far away are you from Syracuse?"

I thought it interesting considering the text came from my friend who lives near San Diego, 750 miles away. I responded and he texted back.

"We're in town," he typed. "Come on over."

I found out where they were and met them at a Chilis. It's the first time I had seen my friend in twenty-nine years.

I first met Daren August, 1985. We were both LDS missionaries living in Denmark. Daren had been there about a year before. I was relatively new. He'd been in the city of Odense (the town of H.C. Anderson's birth...) a month before me. We served together for only two months. That's how things so sometimes. Since that summer, we saw each other multiple times until he went home, then only a few times after that.

Saturday we were both decades older, each with families of four kids, each having graduated college, both working a long time for our respective employers. I joined a dinner party already in progress. I met Daren's wife, son, and other family members. Had I not already eaten dinner, I would have pigged out.

I can honestly say it was such pleasure to be in their company. I had a great time.

I've always kind of been in awe of Daren. One of the first things I found out about him was he was a surfer before he came to Denmark. They guy was smooth, too. Fancy dresser, and had no trouble contacting people to see if they were interested in learning more about Jesus Christ. And now I found myself sitting across from him learning about his life. I was still in awe.

Before I left I got a picture with him and his wife. There's the three of us, two beautiful Californians, and me looking a few years away from becoming the grandfather in Up. We said our goodbyes and made possible plans for our family to visit, soak up the San Diego sun, and learn how to surf. I hope we can swing it. I hate the thought of waiting another three decades to hang out. Thanks for the invite Daren and Tammara--let's do it again sometime.