Times Have Definitely Changed...

 Today I filled out my ballot, sealed the envelope, and set it on the kitchen table. It's election day and things have definitely changed. In fact, in our little town, there's no open polls or polling station, so for us the only way to actually vote is...

Through the mail.

I'm not a political junkie--I mean, the subject interests me, but it also disgusts me. I want to participate in the process and so I vote. It's an "off year" so the choices for our little town are few. We voted anyway. And I think we're pulling for the underdogs so they probably won't make it. We're relatively new to the area so I don't know the stories behind the names, the histories the locals know.

Even though I complained about long lines at the voting stations in the past, I actually enjoyed seeing neighbors, talking to them, catching up. There was also an excitement in the room, a feeling like the actions had weight, that they mattered. 

I wonder if I'll ever feel that again.

Now, we drop off our ballots in a box whenever we went. We can vote days, weeks in advance all in the name of convenience. We've given up a lot for convenience.

I've long ago given up on some aspects of the political machine. It seems people don't or won't change, which frustrates me, because not enough people think the way I do. Then again, who's to say I'm always right?

Exactly.

We voted this year. I hope to be able to vote next time, too...

No matter how many changes occur between now and then.

What A Difference A Day Makes...

 We dropped off our youngest at his work last week. We waited a moment until the crew showed up, then we left to run errands. 

Several hours later, the building rose from a flat foundation...

It had walls.

Okay, not solid walls--framed walls, but still...a 3-D structure.

Watching my son and his crew create the house from literally the ground up takes us back, back a few decades when my wife and I put in a ton of sweat equity on our first house. I took off work to help frame. Not sure how much I actually helped (it was just our builder and me...), but it was exciting and fascinating. Not growing up in a builder's world, I wasn't used to seeing a building take shape.

Once enclosed, we worked on the flooring, the electrical, the painting. These are things my son is learning and will be learning as the house rises from the weeds.

For years and years my uncle--my father's youngest sibling--taught homebuilding at Clearfield High School in Utah. It's almost unconceivable to think a student could learn a life-long skill, a trade at such a young age. I wish they still taught homebuilding in high school.

They're teaching it in other places, though.

We saw the walls and it took me back. I thought of my father who built my childhood home. I thought of our own house. I thought it's an amazing trade to pursue, a fulfilling craft creating homes for families where memories will start and flourish, where those inside will discuss/possibly fight over wall decor, house plants, even pets. And my son is part of that industry.

What an wonderful adventure.

Give Thanks...For Beautiful Skies.

I'm constantly amazed at beautiful skies. 

And, since the move three years ago, it seems we're offered a daily feast.

I know it's all about perspective.

Before the move, I bemoaned the fact we would be leaving our cottage on the hill. I loved living there because of the sunsets. There was a time when we had views of Antelope Island and Farmington Bay surrounding it (back when water completely surrounded the island...). I was in awe of the incredible beauty as the sun set behind the western mountains.

I was convinced no place--or very few--offered such vistas.

I was proved wrong.

I admit, our sunsets here cannot match those of our Farmington home...just not possible. However, because we live in the middle of a valley, in between mountain ranges, we see the entire sky, from the east to the west, and to the south. I've given up sunsets for beautiful skies the rest of the day. I now marvel at the clouds, the clear blues and brilliant whites, of a myriad of birds canvasing the air above. Just heavenly. 

Each time I look upward, I wonder if I appreciated the skies where we used to live. Were they as colorful, as beautiful, as spectacular? Did I just ignore what was before my eyes? There's no going back, of course, but if I could, I'd check the skies to see how they looked.

I'm thankful for the beauty of the skies. I'm thankful to be able to appreciate it. I'm thankful for the almost daily show.

Happy Birthday, Dad...Ninety-Nine Years

 In one year from now, God willing, I'll be able to write about an important milestone in our family. It'll be the one-hundred year anniversary of my father's birth. Today, we're celebrating the next best thing.

Ninety-nine years.

My father has always been sort of an enigma for me. He passed away when I was eight-years old. I was old enough to understand what was happening, but too young to grasp what that event would mean for the rest of my life. I know my father by his deeds, by the things he accomplished in his short life. Simply put, he did more in the forty-nine years, than I have done (or will possibly ever do...) in my life. He is my hero, a man I've admired more and more with each passing year.

Without crunching the numbers, I believe I've blogged about my father more than any other person, more than my spouse, my kids, my friends. Yet, I know him less than everyone else. 

Tonight, as I think of the man and his life, I wonder what life was like on November 4th, 1924 on the plains of Montana, in a little hamlet of Harlem. During my autumn gig, I get the opportunity to chat with many people. There are a surprisingly large number of patrons from Montana. Whenever I find one, I always ask if they've heard of Harlem, Montana. I've yet to speak with one who has been there. Almost all of them have no idea where it is, or even that it exists. 

Did the town have electricity in 1924? Maybe, but considering the fact that my mother remembers when they installed electricity in their farmhouse in Clawson, Idaho--and she was younger than my father by seven years--my guess is they didn't...probably had no indoor plumbing, either. It's most likely a tough existence living in Harlem, Montana today, let alone a century ago.

I wish I had more time with him. I wish I could have talked about what it was like to be part of a B-17 fighter group over Germany, and was he scared being a tail gunner knowing it was the most vulnerable place to be. I would love to have talked to him about being a deputy sheriff in Idaho, about surviving the Great Depression, about getting a four-year engineering degree in only tree years, and having the knowledge (and courage...) to build his own house.

Ninety-nine years, gone for more years than he was alive.

Happy birthday, Dad.

Glad To Give Another Review...For Those Terrifying Lies!

The request was simple, and respectfully asked. If we liked the podcast, would be please go to a podcast site and give it a review. Of course. 

It's the least I could do.

I've blogged about my friend Craig's podcast several times in the past. If I blogged solely on talented people I know, I should have blogged many more times about Craig and his accomplishments. 

If you are a fan of podcast (as I am...), I am confident in saying the Terrifying Lies Podcast is not usual. The content of the stories and music follow a distinctive pattern...all things terrifying. I listen to a lot of podcast--listened to more of them before I got bored--and there's not many, if any, out there like Terrifying Lies. You get top-notch writing, creative, crisp, impactful. And after the story, sit back and enjoy original music, a different musical selection from the library of Craig's mind.

Come for the story--stay for the music.

If you've had the fortunate opportunity to experience Terrifying Lies, click: HERE and provide a review yourself. As a creator, reviews are both the lifeblood and adrenaline to the process. It's an unfair standard a times, but it's true. Reviews equals popularity, equals reach, at least to the algorithms. 

In my review I said Craig's podcast is not your parents's podcast, not your teacher's podcast, not your average podcast. To quote Han Solo, "It's true...all of it."

Can I Live In a Sport-Less World...?

 It was time...long past time if I'm being truthful. We've had cable for so long, it was just part of normal life, like flipping on the light switch and having the room illuminated, we clicked a button on the remote and had the signal just be, well...there.

That ended Monday.

We cut the cord.

It wasn't a tough decision for the boys. They use the internet and that's pretty much it. The withdrawal pains are from the Mrs. and me. And of the two, it's mostly me because we've cut out all sports. Okay, almost all sports. There's a few games out there I can watch.

I don't think I could have done this a few years ago. The sanctimonious big leagues basically turned me off all pro sports. I didn't watch a NFL or NBA or MLB game in years. To be honest, I didn't miss it. That reaction surprised me. I thought it would be a lot tougher not watching the games. I didn't cut sports completely out of my life--I kept up on scores, but as far as watching...nope.

The only true sport I've followed and watched is college football. This weekend will be the first time I won't have access to the games, and since we may not be able to get even local channels, I may be sports-less completely, which means I'll be doing something else on Saturday.

For the past couple of days, I've contemplated the impact it'll have on me, on what I consider important. There's a lot of better things I can do with my time than to spend it watching hours upon hours of games, games that in the grand scheme of things, are less important than I once gave them credit. 

The weekend hasn't started. I'm hoping the games will come and go and I'll not suffer any ill effects. After all, it's perspective, how much I'm giving sports in my life. As of today, things are looking good...

I hope I can say the same on Sunday night, or five years from now.

We'll see.

Didn't Get The Shot I Wanted...Got Another One Instead

 Yesterday afternoon I was busy getting things ready for the little trick-or-treaters. I had to prepare our Candy Cannon, set up chairs in the garage, check to make sure we had enough candy...you know, basic pre-Halloween activities.

That's when I looked east, into the open field next to our house.

That's when I saw a great shot.

My problem--I didn't have my good camera with the telephoto lens.

I actually considered getting it--running into the house, running out into the field for the shot. Unfortunately, thing got in the way and after throwing myself into new activities, I forgot all about the horse and the field and the mountains in the background.

It's a darn shame.

I think it could have been an amazing photo.

Tonight, I wondered if creative lightning could strike twice. The horse was in the field, but not in the same spot looking northward, up the slightly rising slope. I thought I'd see what I could get. I walked out and snapped a few pictures...close, but not great horse shot. If it wasn't Halloween last night, maybe I could have grabbed my camera, trodded out to the field and gotten the show my mind imagined was possible. It might not have worked out.

I'd like to think I would.