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.

Truthfully...I'd Say I'm Pretty Lucky

 I saw it. I picked it up. The old adage came to mind and in that instant, I agreed...

I'm pretty lucky.

Of course, luck is all about how its defined, and perhaps more importantly, who is doing the defining. I think on most accounts, I'm lucky. At birth I was placed into an amazing family and I've known wonderful people all my life. Yes, many have now passed including my mother, father, and little sister, but my childhood was filled with incredible adventures. No, we didn't have the most money back them, but we had the things we needed.

I've grown up, got married, had children, have a grandson, been relatively healthy my whole life, been employed almost full-time since after high school. It's like my whole life I've found pennies all over the place.

It's about perspective.

Like everyone, I can look back on my life and the life I'm living now and get depressed. I could blame growing up without a father for problems. I could blame my birth parents for putting me up for adoption. I could blame other people for other issues in my life. It's human nature to do so.

I don't mean to imply that I'm always positive, always taking the blame for the bad times that come along in my life. I'm not. I still get bummed every now and again, but if I change the perspective, I cannot stay that way. I mean, I sometimes forget the perspective thing and am still down, but if my logical mind wins out, I realize just how lucky I've been my entire life.

Yeah, I picked up the penny, even though...

I didn't need to.

I Thought--Hoped We Were Rid Of These Forever...

 That's what I thought, anyway. I was wrong.

I've lived in Northern Utah almost my entire life. Even though it's been a long time ago, I remember growing up and playing in the yard, in the dirt, in the weeds. I remember having to do yard work each spring and summer. One thing I don't remember is having snails and slugs around.

I don't know when things changed, but for the past 20 or 30 years, we've had to deal with the invading Gastropoda. You try poisons, physically removing them, even smashing them (worst thing to do...), and no matter what you do, they keep coming back.

When we moved even more north a few years ago, one thing we noticed was the lack of the snails and slugs. That changed Wednesday. As I was cleaning dog poop from the backyard, I noticed something slimy. I thought it was a worm, but upon closer inspection, it was a slug.

I guess the snail-less and slug-less days are over.

Since I've not done any formal research or spoken to anyone who knows more about the subject that I do,  I have no idea if they've been here the whole time and it's just recently I spotted one, or if they're new addition to the ecosystem. I don't even know if they're beneficial or not. All I know is, growing up they didn't exist in our area, then they're everywhere. 

I fear the pattern is starting anew.

Bummer.

How Much Are Those Glasses In The Basement...?

 Last night I found myself digging through treasures in our basement. A friend reached out to see if I had my Danish missionary discussions from 1985. I remember having them before we moved because I had a mental decision on whether or not to pack them up and take them to the new house, or basically toss them in the trash. I hadn't even cracked them open since I got home from the mission. I thought I kept them, but if I did, they weren't anywhere I looked...

But, I found other things.

Like antique sunglasses.

These were my mom's. She got them from someone in her family--I believe, her grandmother. If that's true, they're at least 125 years old. I remember her showing me them when I was a kid and she told me their history. I should have paid more attention (I should have paid more attention to a lot of things...). 

When my mom passed away, we could not possibly keep all of her stuff. The sunglasses, however, they're easy to keep. After I found them looking for something else last night, I snapped a few pictures, then did internet search after search for similar items to see what value the world placed on a similar par of glasses.

Couldn't find anything like them. 

Try it yourself--type in "1800s green sunglasses" and if you're like me, you'll see things similar, but not exactly like these. Also, the ones I did see, it was hard to get an idea of value. Some were priced at a couple of hundred dollars...others around $60. 

It doesn't matter what others think they're worth. For me, it's a link to my mother's family, a connection to people long dead. I'll probably never sell them.

Then, of course, there's the question of where they'll end up after I'm gone. Will my kids even care about them? If not, I can't blame them. They weren't around when my mother told me the story. Unless they read this post, they'll have no idea where I got them, thrift store, maybe? They'll be just another thing in boxes in the basement that they'll wonder about. Still, they're kind of awesome.

Who knows? They might even end up wearing them.

Trying To Find The Artist...

Last week I saw a Facebook post from a college friend who now lives in Teton Valley, Idaho. She liked a post in the Teton Valley History Facebook site. If you're not familiar with these Facebook sites (and if you spend any time on Facebook, I'm sure that you know of them...), a site will be created by people from a specific geographic location mostly to reminisce about "the old days." I'm a member of the "If You Grew Up In Farmington" site. I'm also a member similar sites for Kaysville and Tremonton. I sort of grew up in Kaysville and I definitely didn't grow up in Tremonton, but it's a way to learn about those who did.

I decided to see if I could become a part of the Teton Valley History site.

I asked to join.

I was accepted.

It's been fascinating. Most of the photos are from long ago, and I by "long" I mean, early to mid-1900s...some even earlier. I am waiting to see if there's anyone I might know (mostly from last names...), and I'm sure my mom and her family knew them all. 

I have several photos that match the time period of my mom, her brothers, parents, aunts, and uncles. I might post some one of these days. I do have something I know is from the valley--artwork from my mom's uncle Claude.

Last night I did some ancestry digging to get details of Uncle Claude. I've blogged about him and the painting before. One HUGE problem...

I blogged about the wrong ancestor.

My mother's mother's name is Dalley. Back when I blogged about the painting in 2020, I assumed (incorrectly...) that Claude was my mom's uncle from her mother's side--I'm sure a most interesting man who I would love to know more about, but it's not him. My mother's father's name is Knight. As you can see on the artwork, it was a Knight who did the painting. It took me several hours of searching on Ancestry.com and FamilySearch.com last night and I never found him.

My parents adopted us later in their lives so I had a lot of cousins who were older. I met so many as a child and by the time I reached adulthood and could remember people and make the connections, many had passed away. If my mom were alive, I could just call her up and ask how she was related to Uncle Claude. It would be so much easier.

Death has a way of making simple tasks difficult.

I'll keep looking. Maybe one day I'll figure it out.

The Moon...And It's Million Stories

 Millions thought about the moon this week, maybe for the first time in a long time.

I looked west tonight, a sliver of light shown just above the horizon, as if a giant eye, tired and heavy blinked a final time before drifting off to sleep.

The moon is like faith...it exists whether or not you can see it, whether or not you can feel its pull, as do the seas. It exists behind clouds, it exists as it hovers over the other side of the earth. It always exists.

Sometimes you see it.

Faith is there, even if you're not looking for it. It is omnipresent. At any given time half the planet can--if they look--see the it, while the other half remains in darkness.

We think about the moon only on certain occasions...when it's full on a cloudless night and it takes our breath away, when at noon day, when you see something in the sky, something white/gray and you realize it's the moon.

Faith can be seen, but not always with your eyes. It can be felt, like the tides to ocean currents. However, we cannot exist solely by always staring into the sky. We must live our lives which requires us to look down, look around, at others, at family, at ourselves. We simply do not have time to always watch the moon, but like faith, knowing it's there helps us to cope, overcome, survive. Because like faith...

The moon is always there.

Express...Yourself

 Last week my wife and I drove down to Salt Lake for lunch. We'd eaten at this particular restaurant before, the original Red Iguana, but we have not been there in years. I'm going to blog about the reason for the lunch later, because that reason is amazing. Today, I wanted to show you what the front of the building looks like...

Or, doesn't look like.

I think in every city in every state--maybe in every country--someone decides to take a thousand bumper stickers and cover their car with them, to the point the original color of the car is hidden. If they do this to attract attention, at least for me, it works. I always check out the car and if I'm close enough, I'll try and recognize any of the stickers. With enough time, I know I'll see some of the stickers from places I know.

Same with the windows and door at the Red Iguana.

I could look at the front of the restaurant for a long time. Just looking at the pictures I took, I want to see where the stickers came from. Since it appears this is a home-grown movement created by patrons and passersby, I'll bet people have traveled all over the world and when they're there, they think about picking up a bumper sticker to add to the restaurant's collection.

I have no idea how many stickers are on the walls and door...there must be thousands. So many people expressed themselves by adding to the collection. And since the restaurant has allowed people to participate, the restaurant is expressing themselves as well.

The end result, is a sight to see.

Give Thanks...The Lack Of Sports

 Last fall we made the decision to "cut the cable" and reduce the amount of visual entertainment we've allowed into our home. Since then I've learned several things, the biggest...

Sports isn't as important in my life and I thought it was.

Most of my life, I've followed sports. Back when there was only three channels on TV--pre-cable television--I'd watch whatever was on. Saturday's Wide World of Sport was on and we watched figure skating, all types of auto racing, skiing, bowling, tennis...you name it. If they showed it, I watched it. 

Then, the world evolved. Cable television was invented and then came ESPN. For so long I didn't have cable--it cost too much. The first time I had cable continuously was when I began working for the cable company thirty years ago. Since then, we've had cable TV almost the whole time. This last time we discontinued services due to prices of everything going up faster than my income, i.e. inflation--we decided we didn't need cable.

And we don't.

We're not completely without visual entertainment, but one thing we gave up was access to sports, 24-hour, round-the-clock sports. Tomorrow night arguably the world's greatest sports tournament comes to a close, March Madness. Yes, I watched games, but only those on broadcast TV.

It's been a strange going without the sports I used to watch all the time. I've definitely undergone withdrawals. I'm reminded of the days before I had cable, when I would listen to games on the radio, or read about the game the next day in the newspaper. Now, I can watch games states in real time, or listen to the game in real time on-line. 

I'm amazed at how much time I used to spend watching sports. The TV is where I've watched games on broadcast TV. You'll notice it's turned off. At this very moment as I'm writing this, the Utah Jazz are playing their latest opponent. I turned it off before halftime because the Jazz were, once again, losing. It's not been a good year for them. 

See that book? Instead of watching I should be finishing that book and many more books. I should be writing books. I think if I ever make it as an author it is due, in part, to the fact we axed cable in the fall of 2023.

At least, that's what I'm going to tell myself.

I'm thankful for this glimpse of how life can be without access to sports 24-hours a day. I'm thankful life is still good and I'm existing. I'm thankful to have the time to do things that are much more important.

I'm thankful for all of it.

Just Trying To Green Up The Place...

 Five years ago the plot of land where we now live was covered with weeds and just under the surface of the dirt, tons (literally...) of rocks. Fifty years ago no homes existed on our little hill...

And not a tree in sight.

Utah is the second-driest state in the country. It's not like there's no trees in our happy little state--they do exist. The key is water...water is the source of all life. Where there's water, there's trees. Our hill has water underneath contained in natural springs, but it took people to look on the hill and think, "That might be a nice area to build a house" for the trees to appear. With houses came yards, and one thing people like in their yards are trees.

Since we moved in a few years ago, we've tried to beautify the place. We have several trees--all fruit trees. This past week we planted a shrub, something we hope will grow and add color and oxygen-given life to us and other oxygen-breathing animals. If it lives and we take care of it, it will grow up strong.

A few weeks ago, I had an in-office meeting. I sat next to a former team member who lives in a different part of the valley. We talked about where we lived, both of us having moved from highly populated areas of the state and resettled in the north. On his property he has a brook and a pond and they're surrounded by trees. I told him our mountain has no trees, except those planted by those of us who live there. He was shocked.

It's strange...almost every tree I've seen in our state where people live were planted and cared for by humans. If no humans lived here, it would look the same as it did for thousand upon thousands of years. Nowadays it's cool to blame humans on everything bad.

Every once in a while, there's good stuff that happens, too.

I Found It...I Found My Dad's B-17 Crew And Plane!

It took years, but I finally found his plane and I found his crew. I remember happening upon it years ago, but when I tried to find the information again...nothing.

It was the new HBO series, Masters of the Air that made me begin searching again. 

I came across the website: 100thbg.com. I did a search for my father's name and I got his crew and the planes they flew. I only have one picture of the plane and the crew and my dad wrote down who was in the picture. I tried search after search with the names--just their last names--and came up with nothing. Plus, my father said the plane was called "Hell From Heaven" (great name for a bomber...), but the plane was really named, "Heaven Sent" (good, but not as good...). 

On this site, I found every name of the crew, and every name of the planes they flew. Silly me--I thought they stayed with the same plane, a la Memphis Belle, but apparently not. They have my dad having flown on five planes. 

With the complete names, I did internet searches for everyone on the crew. They're all gone. I suspected as much. One lived in Ogden and it would have been a treat to be able to track him down before he passed and asked him about those missions, what it was like to be up there, and what my dad was like as a twenty-year old. 

Another surprise is a new photo including my father and the crew--it's the one at the top of this post. My dad's the tallest one, second from the left, back row.

This year is my father's 100th. In November it will be one-hundred years since he was born. The things he saw, the tough times he lived through...it's almost too much to comprehend. They really were an amazing generation.

I found my father's past, his history, and those with whom he served. It was a great day.

 

When You See That One Item...That You Gave Away

 As life goes on, we humans replace things...clothes, cars, some even replace humans. And because life goes on, sometimes you're the replacer, and sometimes you're the replacee. Recently we found ourselves replacing a bed frame. Our last one we used for more than a decade...

It was time.

Once upon a time, we had one of those Sleep Number beds. It was an interesting system and it worked, sort of. I mean, we used it and liked it, but after a while, we needed something else. So, we bought a mattress, but kept the frame, and used that frame for years and years and years.

The frame came in sections, most likely so it could be shipped all over the world. It made it nice for us. We broke it down and stored it in our garage. To be honest, I wasn't sure what we'd do with it, only that it needed to be someplace that wasn't a bedroom. My "cheap" side thought maybe I could use it for something in the future, like maybe, a chicken coop (I was just spit-balling...). And, given enough time and a need, I might have come up with something.

We did a mini-clean up in the garage a while back and assembled a pile to be donated to our local thrift store. We decided to add the bed frame to the pile. After all, people need things like bed frames, don't they? We stopped by the store and they took the stuff.

End of story.

However, since we find ourselves frequenting that particular thrift store every once in a while, it was bound to happen. I had forgotten about the frame when I went in. After a few minutes of meandering about, I remembered it. That happens when you see something you donated sitting on the sales floor.

I snapped a few pictures and walked away. I hope someone can use it. If not, we would have broken it down even further and tossed it in the trash. After all, if someone needs a lightweight, easy-to-assemble bed frame and they have twenty bucks, they've got a deal for you.

Yup...The Baby Picked Ours

 Last Sunday was Easter. It's a big holiday for us, not only for the meaning behind the day, but for yet another opportunity to be with family. We're not the most competitive family out there--we don't throw the Monopoly board across the room when we play, but there's a streak that sometimes comes out.

After Easter lunch, my mother-in-law had us do something fun...

A coloring contest. 

Each of the married couples (and those that weren't...) were given a picture to color. She supplied the pencils and crayons and off we went. The first thing my mind saw when I looked at our un-colored picture was a sniper hiding behind a bush. So, I drew that. I then drew an airplane strafing the ground, then a tank, then a burning building. The other contestants mocked and laughed.

I had fun.

That was the first part of the contest. Next, we lined up all our drawings on a bench and placed them before the grandbaby. Now that the little pooper is crawling--full-on crawling--the contest was to see which drawing the baby would choose. You'll notice a bright red entry. Unbeknownst to us, the parents of said baby knew the baby's favorite color is red (good taste...). We only found out this important fact after all of us were almost finished.

Some say they cheated. I say they were crafty and smart.

We lined up the pictures and let the baby go.

He didn't pick any of them. Instead he crawled to his mother, then to his aunt.

We all had a good time with it anyway, even if the contest had not worked as intended. We went back to enjoying the afternoon. But, others were determined to finish the contest. They tried again--baby-in-front-of-pictures-to-see-which-one-he'll-choose, and YES!

He chose the one depicting destruction. Some say he likes that kind of thing...maybe it's because I used red for the flames.

We may never know.

But, what I do know is he picked ours.

Night Driving With My Son...

 My father died when I was eight-years old. I remember much of that time. I think I grew up fast the moment my mom sat me down--she sat all three of us down individually--and told me my father had passed away. It wasn't a shock or a surprise--he had been sick for months and not getting better.

Even that young, I thought I understood what that meant for me.

It's understandable...I had no idea.

Thankfully, I had a big brother who did things for me that would have been done by my dad, namely, teaching me how to drive. Since we live in America, having a car and a drivers license is the norm, especially out west. I remember the first time my brother and I took out the family car, a 1977 Pontiac Ventura (think Chevy Nova, but with a Pontiac shield on it...). We drive on the back roads of western Farmington. Don't look for those areas now. The roads are still there, but they're no longer "back roads."

 I grew up, got married, and had children of our own. They've grown up and are doing the things I once did. Thankfully, I'm there for them to help do those things. 

Tonight, my son and I went night driving. He's the last child working toward his license and we're within an hour or two of the night driving requirement. Since it's at night, about the time he comes up and asks if we should go driving, many times I'm beat. After long 10-hour shifts, I just want to sit on the couch, but I do get up and go for a couple of reasons. One, is that I genuinely want to help. I want to see him achieve his goal.

And secondly, it will soon be over. In no time at all he'll never need to ask me to go with him. He'll go by himself wherever he needs to go. I won't hear the question, "Dad, you want to go driving?" With each step closer to his goal, it means one less opportunity to be with him, one fewer chance to help. It's a humbling thought.

Helping my kids learn to drive is just one more thing that approaches, arrives, and then is gone. As I walked into the house tonight, the sun having set and darkness engulfing the roads, the homes, fields, everything...

Just like our times together...it all ends, eventually.

I Guess I Don't Understand Modern Marketing At All...

 Last week I went out driving with my son. I asked my wife if she wanted us to pick up anything at the local market. "Sure," she said. "How about getting me a ginger ale?" 

"Sure," I said.

It's difficult to say if our family are big soda drinkers. I mean, yes, we buy it and go through it...eventually. I know there are families that drink less, and there are families that drink a whole lot more. We don't drink it every day. We don't buy soda every week. When we do buy soda, we've found it's best for us to purchase it when it's on sale. That's when we pounce. 

But, ginger ale? It's not really our thing, except when you want a ginger ale. Sometimes ginger ale hits the spot when lesser drinks can't...like when the tummy's a little upset.

My son and I embarked on a quest, a quest for ginger ale. 

And we found it. We found lots of it.

My son parked the car and I ran inside. I went to the back of the store where the "off" brands of soda are stocked. It took a little bit to find the ginger ale because there wasn't much of it on the shelves. I spotted the familiar green, yellow, and red label of arguably the most famous brand of ginger ale...

Canada Dry.

There's the old joke of a man driving to Canada seeing a billboard with the slogan "Drink Canada Dry" splashed across it. So, he crossed the border and started drinking all the alcohol in sight. When finally stopped and asked by the authorities why he was drinking so much, he said that he was just trying to do what the billboard said, drink Canada dry.

I know...old joke.

Because we don't buy soda that often, and especially when it's not on sale, I had no idea how much it would cost. Expecting it to be expensive, I found it cost $6.99 for a six-pack. Because I was on a quest, I picked up on six-pack. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye.

If I buy four six-packs, 24 in total, the cost was $10. I had to read it a couple of times to make sure. Since I was only getting one six-pack, I did not bring a cart with me, so I grabbed four six-packs and carried them to the front of the store. Because I still doubted, I had to ask the checker how much they would all cost.

Ten bucks.

I got them all.

Food is so expensive now. It seems strange to basically give away fifteen sodas for free, but there it was. If this is new marketing, I have no idea how it works, or even if it works. All I know is...

We have a lot of ginger ale. It's going to take a while to get through it.

Give Thanks...Singing On Easter

 This morning I stood before a few hundred neighbors and family of neighbors and directed the music at church.

We sang hymns suitable for Easter.

Love those songs.

I also love scrolling my social media feeds on holidays, Easter, being no different. So many expressing their feelings for the day and what it means to them. 

This morning, in addition to the regular hymns, our congregational choir sang a difficult song and they did great. When I first heard the song, I wasn't quite sure if your little group could tackle it, but they sang wonderfully. I should not have doubted.

The meeting's final hymn, He Is Risen, is a favorite. It's a celebration, an anthem of faith, and I added my voice to others to proclaim to the world...He is risen. I'm thankful for those songs, thankful we can sing them, thankful for the day, and the reason behind it.

We sing every Sunday. They're all special, but sometimes, some days are just a little more.

Looks...Can Be Deceiving

 The house is hard to miss--it's such a beautiful building located a few miles from where we live. We believe took an existing barn and converted it into a home. You can't tell from the picture, but the landscaping in front of the home is incredible. It's obvious someone took a lot of care into the property. Today, we had the opportunity to go inside because they had an estate sale this morning.

Inside wasn't what I expected.

I've not been in a lot of barn homes. From the outside, I thought about that huge space rising into the sky and what could be inside. Open floor plans are all the rage and think of what could be done in a space like that...personally, I'd put in a kitchen and living room on the main floor, maybe the master suite on the other side of the main floor. Above, I'd have a staircase going up, a TV/game room on one side and a library on the other with a suspended walkway joining them. It would be amazing.

That's what I thought the inside of this building looked like, or what it might look like.

I was wrong.

We went inside. They had some clothes on racks for sale on the bottom/main floor. They said there was more things for sale upstairs. I got kind of excited to be able to go upstairs. My wife and I climbed the stairs to...

Nothing.

Well, not nothing. The space was there, the roof rose twenty-plus feet above. The floor was plywood and only wood frames lined the walls. The man moving called the space the loft and it was bare, bare except for the items the family was selling.

Oh, what it could be.

We think the people living on the main floor are renting and the owners have not done anything with the upper space. If I had the means I would love to convert the space into something wonderful. 

From the outside, this building looks like it could be something in a magazine, both inside and out. It was an example to me that looks can be deceiving.

Individuality...

 There's much to see, when you take a short drive from where you live. It may not appear at that way, at first, but if you look closer, there's always something new.

Of course, sometimes you find new things you don't have to look very hard to see.

The other night my son and I were out driving. We drove down a road we've driven dozens of times and what did we happen upon? An illuminated dinosaur. The valley in which we drive is sparsely populated. There's literally acres between homes at some points. Because we've driven through the neighborhoods at various times of the year, we've seen holiday decorations at Halloween, Christmas, Valentine's Day, and even Easter decorations. But, a dinosaur...

That was new.

It got me thinking. Why was there a dinosaur in that yard? Do they have a dinosaur-loving child who lives there? Was it put up as a dare or because of a bet? Did someone have a crazy idea of building a dinosaur and running lights on it? It's not something someone does casually. It took some time and effort.

Then, there's the fact that very few people will actually sea the thing. That shouldn't be a consideration, but it sometimes is. The home doesn't have thousands, or even hundreds of people driving by to appreciate the art. I know I've put up things, not for others, but for me and the family. I suppose that's why they did it...for them, not necessarily for me. It's a way of presenting their individuality.

I'm glad we drove by. I'm glad we saw the illuminated dinosaur.

I wonder, also, if it has a name.

I'll bet it does.

Happy World Theatre Day...To All Who Celebrate

 It's World Theatre Day and my social media feeds are full of friends posting memories, many of which I was a part.

Wonderful memories.

On a whim I took my then five-year old son to an audition for "Scrooge" at the no longer in existence Rodgers Memorial Theater. It was fall, 2000. From 2000 to 2019 my son--and then my daughter-- and I did many shows together, and I did a few by myself. I've been blessed to work with talent upon talent, so many incredible people, so many incredible shows.

These pictures (and thousands more...) can be found on Ronald Russell's Flickr page where he was the designated photographer for both theaters for years. You can access his Flickr page by clicking: HERE. Ron is yet another amazing person I met because of the shows. That's the thing...it's not just fellow performers you meet and get to know. 

These pictures are from shows more than ten years old. I picked them because they were fun, but then again, almost all the shows were fun. I knew I was never going to be a leading man...character roles were always my lot, and I accepted it gladly. I remember getting parts and not understand how I--with no real theatrical background--could be cast in show after show aside remarkable individuals. 

 The last show I did was Peter Pan in Ogden. That was 2019, then covid hit and the world changed. Not being on stage was so painful for those involved in the shows. You, as an audience member, may have missed the theatre, but I guarantee you, those in front of and behind the stage missed it more.

It's been five years since I stepped foot on stage, five years since I've seen a show in a theater. If I never do another show, my life's been forever changed by the experience.

Wonderful, wonderful memories.

And He Didn't Even Say, "Goddag..."

 As I waited for my tank to fill, I glanced over at the Dodge parked in front of the store. That's when I noticed the license plate with the word "ODENSE" on it. 

Not many people know what that word means.

There's a city on the Danish island of Fyn called Odense. It's most famous for it being the birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen, beloved author and spinner of yarns. I lived in that town for four months back in the mid 1980s. It's a beautiful city with incredibly nice people (as long as you're not talking religion...). 

On the day I filled my tank and saw the car, I happened to be wearing my Dannebrog, or Danish Flag t-shirt. That, and the fact I have a DK sticker on my car--I thought would allow the owner of the car with the license plate of Denmark's third-largest city, would see me, the shirt, the sticker, and if not say "hi," at least acknowledge another lover of the country.

I was Dansk-decked out for just such and occasion.

As the gasoline continued to flow into Donk, the Subaru, I saw the owner of the silver car emerge from the store. I tried catching his attention in as non-a-creepy-way as possible. He looked over as he opened the door, then...

He climbed inside and drove away.

No big deal, really.

Still, it would have been fun to at least say, "Goddag," or give the ol' lifted chin greeting, signifying we both understood something communicated non-verbally. Heck, for all I know, the car might belong to his dad, or mom, or sister, or someone else who would understand the significance of all that Danish Dynamite emanating from across the parking lot. The driver might not know much about Denmark at all.

Yeah...I think I'll go with that.