neffgang

Brother, you've got it good.

2010-11-02T11:11:00.002-06:00

I've never seen a sight so beautiful as a line at the polls running out the door.

Even still, a discontent man was trying to work the crowd, complaining about the lack of organization and manpower from the county - which all resulted in a longer wait than he anticipated. But as I waited, I thought about the experience I had a little over a year ago, witnessing an election in a third-world country, where so much hung in the balance. The vote was not Republican vs. Democrat. It was Democracy vs. Communism.

And for that day, thousands flooded to the ballot boxes - even when those wearing the colors supporting democracy felt threatened, nervous of the future and fearful of violence. "Gringos" were told to stay inside and lock the doors. So there we were, the only white people attending church that day. And after the morning services, we waited long enough to congratulate our friends and their newly-dyed purple thumbs, before being were off to our lonely 3rd floor apartment - two gringos with a day's supply of food, a television and next to no Spanish language skills - to wait for the day's elections to unfold.

Yes, it was dangerous (more so than we could have imagined.) Yes, an explosion took out the electricity to the block we were staying. Yes, we were frightened.

And so today, as I heard the complaints of the man who was burdened by the extra wait to vote his beliefs, I silently said to myself, "brother, you really don't know how good you've got it."

We're all family, aren't we?

2010-10-22T08:03:00.002-06:00

The other day, a good friend was in Las Vegas with her family. Part of the evening's agenda was to attend a show that was family-appropriate.

After the performance was over, this friend of ours spotted a middle-age woman who was distraught and in tears. Rather than feeling a fleeting sense of empathy and continuing on, our friend followed this anguished woman into a restroom to see if she could help.

During the next few moments, our friend lovingly assessed the situation, offered wonderful advise about raising kids, exchanged phone numbers, provided a pass-along card and assured this sister that there is one sure source for peace - all through the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Wonderful job, Karen.

Following the spirit is scary at times, but I believe the good we create is unmeasurable. We are all part of the human family; God's posterity. The love we give, is love that will undoubtedly be returned to us again and again.

A boy and his knife.

2010-09-13T06:45:00.002-06:00

The other night, my fingers felt a small indentation in the steering wheel of our family car. At first, I wondered if this little not notch had always been there and I was only now noticing it. In my mind's eye - I had to use my mind's eye because it was dark and my vision isn't so great even when flipping on the dome light in the car - I even imaged a little plug missing, the kind that covers a screw that holds the thing together and wondered if that was what my fingertips uncovered.

But on closer inspection in the morning, and in better light, I discovered what appeared to be a small divot carved out of the steering wheel. And it didn't take me long to deduct that what my fingers had felt was actually the work of a certain eight year boy and his pocket knife.

It's no secret that our family vehicles have a lot of miles. But even had it been a late model beauty, I think my reaction would have been the same. Now as I drive that car, I can't help but be reminded of my young son. Every time my fingers slide over that slightly rough spot, I'll think of the boy I love and his energy, his enthusiasm and his goodness.

I will also encourage him - and in a pretty strong way - to quit carving things other than fallen branches. But for this time, I'm grateful that I've got a constant reminder of the little guy who loves his dad.

More photos from Puerto Rico

2010-03-15T13:20:00.006-06:00

Angelica, Mirelys and Maclaine (or the person that everyone simply referred to as "Neff.")

Brian and Mirelys celebrating her 12th birthday. She is a beautiful little girl who is full of spunk. We were sad to find out she is the only girl in her branch's young women program.

Hermana Reyes, Hermana Sitton, Margie and Neff

George, Nancy, Neff and Neff's parents at dinner Sunday afternoon in Lares - a small town in the mountains of Puerto Rico.

Edwin, Carmen & Maclaine. Having dinner with Maclaine's first converts felt like going home and visiting with lifelong friends. Edwin and Carmen were Maclaine's first landlords or "duenos." They treated our daughter like their own child for seven months! We will always love, and be grateful for this wonderful couple.

At nearly every stop along the way, Maclaine was asked to sing a hymn. We snapped this picture just before she sang, "el amor del Salvador."

Maclaine at Stephanie at the very southwest tip of Puerto Rico at the light house (el faro) of Boqueron.
Maclaine and Stephanie at El Morro. This site takes your breath away. On her last day as a missionary, her president took her and her group to El Morro. He told them that the bedrock they were standing on was the knowledge and faith they had developed on their missions. Turning them around, he showed them the vast Caribbean. He told them that blue expanse was their life ahead of them. It was the bedrock they stood on, he told them, that allowed them to move out into the great unknown.

Meeting with president and sister Martineau at the mission home in Bayamon. The Martineaus are wonderful, inspiring faithful leaders who bring out the very best in our missionaries.

A few photos from Puerto Rico

2010-03-11T06:44:00.004-07:00

The magnificent (and huge) bakery across the street from our hotel. Open from 6:00 AM until midnight, we ate breakfast there every day and bought treats for the road. I wish I would have taken a photo of "Rex Cream" the local ice cream store that served up "mantacado" (soft ice cream.) Our favorite flavors were grape and corn topped with cinnamon.

This wonderful Howard Johnson, that used to be a convent, was our home base for our stay. We became great friends with Norma, the front desk manager. Each morning at 6:00 AM, the bells of the cathedral next door woke us. We loved staying here and hope to return again.

A random hillside on the south of the island close to the town of Ponce. We loved the colors of the Caribbean. We were also surprised, as this picture shows, of some of the more dry, desert conditions in parts of the island.
Stephanie walking along the tranquil coastline in Boqueron - literal translation is "big mouth." This little fishing bay is a favorite vacation spot for Puerto Ricans, but during our time there, it was nearly empty.

Ah... the parents are off

2010-02-16T17:17:00.002-07:00

Well my parents are off in Puerto Rico enjoying themselves while picking up Claine, and we get to stay at home :( But that's ok cause on the bright side we are having a good time with Grandma Holt, and we get to see Claine in just five days, twenty-two hours and twenty-eight minutes!

It's been a while

2010-02-08T18:40:00.003-07:00

Well, I guess my dad isn't in the blogging mood, so I will just write a little something. Ok well I don't know what to write about but this is fun!

The days are short. But I really haven't noticed.

2009-12-18T06:57:00.004-07:00

Usually by this time of year, I'm not only counting down the days until Christmas, but I'm counting down the days until the winter Solstice. Just knowing that once I'm past that mystical moment when the earth's tilt begins to shorten again from that magical number of 23°, and the days start to lengthen again.

You see, to me sunlight is the great elixir. If I could have it my way, every morning, the sun would peek above the mountains at five in the morning and then slide behind the western horizon just after nine that same night. But this year, I haven't really noticed.

As a family, we've been looking forward to a lot of great things. And maybe that's the reason the lack of sun time hasn't really gotten me down - or gotten to my brain. We've been so awash in the beauty and miracle of kids coming home, health-happy kids and the blessings of the gospel that something as simple as more time with the sun shining just hasn't been part of the mix.

But that doesn't mean when the sun starts showing up earlier and staying later, I won't be altogether happier. I think it will be just one more added bonus to the promise of another great year.

At the Eddie.

2009-12-09T06:56:00.006-07:00

We received a text message telling us that our college student had skipped class for the day to watch a legendary surf event that is only held in the most favorable of conditions.

This week, as the weather indicators lit up the surf world with hopes of giant swells arriving at the north shore of Hawaii, the greatest big wave surfers gathered with their quiver of boards in hopes that the sets would materialize.

And so on Tuesday morning, as the opening horn sounded and a hand full of surfers paddled out into the wild, wild surf of Waimea, our college student was there to cheer them on.

I'm not so certain that education dollars are best spent watching long-shot Greg Long of San Clemente win the award that was named after the famous lifeguard who died trying to paddle for help when lost at sea with friends, but maybe there's more to a well rounded education that a day studying for a biology exam.

Let's just hope she's in class today. And sends her dad some photos tomorrow.

For more information on contest winner, Greg Long, read the following: click here.

We were all in that cave.

2009-11-28T08:00:00.008-07:00

Many of you have been troubled by the account of a young man trapped deep within a cave in central Utah, suffering conditions that are much too disturbing for words. Since news of his predicament reached our family, culminating with the news of his death and then finally the inability of rescuers to remove his body, I have felt a sadness washing over me that, for a time,
I could not understand.

But even in the sadness, there is much to be learned and even more to be appreciated. Personally, I believe that a whole community has suffered - and continues to suffer - with a family who has lost their beloved. And it is altogether right that our community offers up this commonality of emotion as a sacred way of "succoring the weak and lifting the burdens" of those who we have never met.

I've also come to a deeper appreciation for those who play the part of rescuer. Hour after hour, as this young man was consciously aware of his dire predicament, more than 100 volunteers did everything within their power to free him. And even when they could not release him from the bonds of the earth that held him captive, they were able to release him from a thousand thoughts of grief and despair as - hour, by insufferable hour - they sang to him the children's songs of love and faith he learned to love and cherish as a boy.

And finally, I have a great confidence that as this faithful young man was released from his mortal coil, he was welcomed into the arms of a loving Father who's joy was full at the return of a faithful son. I also have confidence that his spirit will someday return to that cave to be reunited with a glorified body that will never taste of death again.

For us remaining, let us not forget that the boy in the cave, was really everyone's son.

My aching head.

2009-11-17T15:56:00.002-07:00

My head hurts, but my heart feels great.

I guess that means that even though my brain is going in fifteen different directions, I've got this peaceful feeling that keeps me calm right down to the core. Believe me, this isn't always the case, but when it comes, the peace sure feels great. No metaphors. No trying to explain it. It just feels good.

It also feels good knowing the source of the peace. There's only one person who will ever be known as the Prince of Peace. It's from that source that any lasting peace will surely come.

So I plan to sit back, drink it up. Care to join me?

Baby, it's Cold Inside.

2009-10-02T07:04:00.004-06:00

Frost is on the lawn and there's a little bit of coldness in my heart. Not that I've turned mean, or angry or depressed, it's just that when the summer sun starts to fade, it takes a little bit of joy along with it. I've really got to figure out how to love fall again. Same goes with winter.

When I was younger, the thrill of snow was a wonderful thing. Waiting for the first significant storm was nearly as exciting as waiting to see what Santa had in store. And fall was just that amazing precursor, with its hunting trips, cool weather and brilliant coolers.

And so I sit here, begrudging the departing sun. Something really needs to change in this heart of mine.

A busload of Evangelicals

2009-09-19T06:50:00.000-06:00

Heartfelt Thanks.

2009-09-01T08:02:00.002-06:00

This past Wednesday, I walked into Hogar de Natalia Siman orphanage in Santa Tecla, El Salvador and delivered a carload of much needed kitchen supplies to the good sisters who care for the girls living in this little forgotten part of the world. The list of supplies included new eating wear, large industrial pots, cooking utensils, dish towels - and even a few electric blenders. And thanks to the girls in our local church congregation, each girl in the orphanage received a beautiful bracelet made especially for them by a girl their same age in another part of the world.

Besides the cooking supplies, we also provided a four month supply of milk for the girls.

All of this came as a surprise to the nuns, compliments of all you who so generously donated your time and efforts to make this happen. I wish you could have been there to see the smiles of the sisters and to receive the grateful hugs from those who's lives just became a little bit easier because of your generosity. With their economy faltering and their supplies quickly diminishing, our offering was truly a gift from heaven.

The sisters of Hogar de Natalia Siman send their love, and more importantly to them, they send their prayers of gratitude in your behalf.

Fresh Out.

2009-08-18T19:25:00.003-06:00

As I sneak up on my 500th post, I've come to find that I am fresh out of ideas and good information. (Or maybe I just need to work on it a little harder.) Really, I don't know what I should say.

I guess I should hurry up and figure something out, or this is just going to be like one of those ultra (uber, if you will) mindless Tweets that say insightful things, like, "boy, I'm tired." Or, "Clipped my nails." Or, better yet, "Mama's hungry."

Those make my day.

I can report that our chickens are finally starting to lay eggs. Maybe it was the countdown calendar I gave them or maybe it was just the right time, but the eggs are starting to drop. If I wasn't so nauseated from the second round of the flu that decided to visit today, I would heat up the griddle to make an omelet. The truth is, Daddy isn't hungry.

Both Sides Now.

2009-07-31T06:48:00.002-06:00

Holy Cow. It's complete meteorology madness.

Now that I've got two daughters living on two different islands in the middle of two very different oceans, a guy could go absolutely crazy checking the weather patterns and searching for would-be hurricanes.

It is the season, you know.

So now when I visit the national hurricane tracking website, I've got to check out what is going on in the Caribbean and then check out what is going on in the Pacific. It's back and forth. Back and forth. Who would have known that there could be a personality dysfunction called WOCD. That's right, Weather Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. We'll, for the record I've got it. I'm sure its genetics to blame. But as long as I've got two island dwellers who still call me dad, there won't be any cure for this compulsion.

Wish me luck. And break my knuckles if you see me heading towards a keyboard and a computer screen.

They, the Builders of the Nation.

2009-07-24T06:20:00.004-06:00

(Editor's Note: It's early morning, July 24th. The majority of my family is not in the house and I am tempted to start up a lawn mower or start measuring wood for the saw. While everyone who lives in another place merely considers this another work day, we of Utah lay aside our tools to rest, or to celebrate or to vacation. And I'm no different.

But on this morning, I'm going reserve enough time to consider the acts of my fathers who provided more than I can ever imagine and certainly more than my gratitude can ever repay. Wherever you are, I invite you to do the same.

Attached is a link for a speech that was given more than sixty years ago and embodies the emotions I feel.)

http://www.mormontimes.com/mormon_voices/mormon_experience/?id=2220

Easing my way back to the blogging world.

2009-07-22T10:19:00.003-06:00

I'll admit it. I've been AWOL. But I guess everyone needs a break now and then- it's just that this blogging break has been more of a sabbatical than an over-nighter.

It's been a crazy few month's but I've decided to once again take my proverbial pen-in-hand and start throwing a few words out there. So, that in mind, here goes nothin.

Generous People. Generous Hearts.

2009-07-02T07:52:00.002-06:00

We've been overwhelmed by generosity of so many people in our community. During the past few weeks, we've been the caretaker of goodwill offerings from so many of you. We are excited to say that in the coming weeks, we will be able to provide a great deal of support to the girls of Hogar de Natalia Siman in El Salvador.

French West Indies

2009-06-29T07:13:00.002-06:00

Our nephew currently serves in the French West Indies Mission. With his mission president on an airplane home, I thought I would upload this video just release on a mission blog created by the mission president's wife. If you've ever served a mission or sent out a missionary, this is a six minute video you've just got to see.

These were days... from diane robison on Vimeo.

Tacos for Tots.

2009-06-23T06:27:00.002-06:00

We are so excited that this coming Saturday, June 27th, our dear friends Michael and Lluvia Campbell are hosting a Indian Taco sale with all proceeds going to Hogar de Natalia. (See artical below.)

If you've never had an indian taco made by the Campbell family, you are in for an amazing treat. The Campbell's live at the top of our street. The fry bread starts cooking at 11:00 AM and ends at 4:00. See you there!

4750 No. / Provo, Utah (4750 North is one street south of Orem Center Street, off University Ave.)

The Hope of a Nation.

2009-06-03T08:00:00.000-06:00

If you look closely into the eyes of the girls of Hogar de Natalia, you'll see more than you might imagine. But you'll have to look past the meager surroundings or the buildings in disrepair, because it's the eyes that tell the tale - which truly is the story of hope.

The school bells had just rang when more than a handful of the fifty eight girls that live in this orphanage located in the fringes of San Salvador strolled dutifully back to the place they call home. The majority of these girls - fifty four out of fifty eight - are termed "unadoptable." And not because of some malady they possess or because of a crime they've committed, but because some day, some how, each actually wants to return to their homes - home to a mother or father, a sister or aunt.

But today they can not.

Since there was no way for them to survive with the parents that gave them the gift of life, they luckily found a home with the sisters of the church - who despite an almost complete lack of funding - raise these girls as if they are their very own.

It's surprising the places where you can find hope thriving. And it's no surprise that we found it at Hogar de Natalia. These are girls who want to learn, who want to achieve, who want to become women of substance. But it takes more than the dedication of a handful of nuns and a single visit from a few Americans. Sadly, it takes more than we have to offer.

And so we vowed, like many, many people have done before, to do something - do anything to help these dear souls. It is this passion that is taking us back to El Salvador during the hot days of July to bring whatever we can to make not just their days, but there lives a little brighter.

Dear friends -

We are not a professional humanitarian organization. We are just one couple who sees a need and is trying to help. Please join us - with whatever small contribution you can make - to help the daughters of El Salvador. We are traveling to El Salvador in a little over a month to deliver what we can to Hogar de Natalia. 100% of the funds we collect will be used to purchase - at discounted prices from reputable, local vendors - washing machines, eating utensils and cooking supplies for this wonderful organization. We are covering all of our own expenses (flights, food, hotel) so that all we collect will go to this most worthy cause.

If you are interested, simply click on the paypal button and make a small donation with your credit card and then check back at the end of July and look at the eyes of the girls you've chosen to help.

We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

- Brian & Stephanie Neff

The Trouble with Sextuplets.

2009-06-01T07:50:00.002-06:00

A few weeks ago, my kids decided they'd better come up with some names for our new chickens. Great idea, I thought, but entirely impractical. Since then, only one has a name, but even that moniker is fading fast.

The trouble is this - they all look the same. Same size, same color, same temperament. And even though they are lovable in their own chicken-like way, maybe not being able to tell them apart makes it easier to dispatch with one of them when there are noodles, onions and carrots needing something meaty to go into the pot with them.

But even though they are merely chickens, it does seem a bit dangerous to consider they are objects rather than things with brains and emotions - even though the brain part of the equation is rather small.

That said, they have been well-cared for and even appreciated - mind you they haven't left us a single egg to date. Maybe we'll even come up with a few names for them too. Does this sound descriptive enough: Chicken #1, Chicken #2, Chicken #3...

The Watch Begins.

2009-05-31T10:30:00.003-06:00

Tomorrow, the start of the 2009 hurricane season officially begins. And with that comes three sets of parents who will listen a lot closer to weather reports, seek out the latest news on the hurricane tracking website and, most importantly, increase the number of prayers offered to heaven for the protection of their children serving missions.

Abraham Maslow said something like this, "He who has a hammer, thinks everything is a nail." And so with three family members living in places where hurricanes have a history of dealing a devastating punch, it's little wonder that for the next six months we'll focus on thing like ocean temperatures, barometric pressure changes and prevailing winds.

Keep your eyes open for activities in the eastern Caribbean and the golf states for activities and if you hear something, reach for your phone to let us know and then join us on our knees.

How Can I Keep from Singing.

2009-05-31T09:28:00.002-06:00

Just about ever choir that has been assembled has carried this song in its portfolio of hymns. In my simple view, however, these inspired words echo the sentiments of our day as well as any other.

My life goes on in endless song
above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear it's music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness 'round me close,
songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
while to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
how can I keep from singing?

When tyrants tremble sick with fear
and hear their death knell ringing,
when friends rejoice both far and near
how can I keep from singing?

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
while to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
how can I keep from singing?

My life goes on in endless song
above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
How can I keep from singing?

Take My Hand.

2009-05-09T00:13:00.007-06:00

I watched a father and son walking hand-in-hand along the hallway of our local shopping mall. It was obvious that, for this man, finding the right shirt, or buying the perfect tie wasn't the object of the day. Being together was his complete and total reason for their day out.

To a lot of men, the simple thought of holding hands with their son is not what would be considered an optimum situation for either in private or for public consumption. Call it stigma, protocol or something completely Machiavellian, holding hands with a son, as a large majority of men suppose, sends the wrong message.

For the record, I am not one of those men.

In fact, as I stumbled upon this little scene at our mall, my thoughts - and my heart - naturally considered the young boy that still reaches for my hand when we walk a busy street or navigate a parking lot full of moving cars. And I wonder how much longer this son of mine will reach for my hand and just how I will feel when he shoots me that, "come on dad, I'm too old for that" look, followed by both sets of hands remaining quietly by our sides.

My father-in-law used to say that one of his sons was special to him because he always held his hand. I didn't understand exactly what he meant until a little hand reached up and took mine many years later. To be truthful, there's nothing quite like the feeling of your child's hand slipping into your own. It speaks a million words and gives rise to a million more sentiments - all of them not just good, but very, very good.

And so as we cross a busy street or walk into the unknown, I can still expect to feel that little hand reaching up and slipping into mine. And every time it does, I breath a little sigh of relief that I am still able to walk, hand-in-hand with this little guy that I love more than words can ever express.

May. Welcome, Dear Friend.

2009-05-01T07:00:00.002-06:00

So it's May.

I'm not sure there's really much difference between the last day of April and the first day of May. But just living within the bounds of a month that represents warmth and growth is quite enough to put me in a pretty good place.

It's not so much that I've got great things scratched out on a May to-do list either. It's more that I look forward to open windows, the smell of fresh-cut sod and the rhythmic click-click-swoooooosh of a Rainbird sprinkler feeding the thirsty soil.

If April showers bring may flowers. Mayflowers bring - despite what the childhood jokes suggests - simply more flowers. And with enough bad news swirling around us to make anyone swear they were living in the dead of winter, May offers a new dawn, a new day, a new energy.

Meet the Girls.

2009-04-26T08:33:00.002-06:00

It's true. We've caved into the desire to be hip, with-it and altogether in-the-moment. (Check around. It seems like everyone is buying chickens!) We've gone out and purchased chickens. A half a dozen to be exact. And since our intent is to provide a steady-stream of eggs for us, our neighbors and our friends, we've made sure all the chicks are female. (Plus, we don't need a hormone-filled rooster waking us up each morning as the sun peeks over the mountain tops.)

For the next two weeks, the girls (as we call them) will be living in a large box in the very back bathroom eating, growing and going to the bathroom. It's already time for a taller box because one or two of the sisters finds their way up to the ledge of the box and sit there for a little roosting session.

The kids like them too (at least for now!) And we'll all enjoy the farm-fresh, scratch that, all the backyard-fresh eggs.

P.S. The coop is located in a distant side-yard so you won't even know they are there when you come to visit.

Good Eye for a Small Guy.

2009-04-25T07:41:00.003-06:00

(Editor's Note: In the exact same way a child draws beautiful pictures before they are scolded for not "centering the image" or making sure that it all fits on the page, an untrained eye, relying purely on instinct finds the most interesting - and often beautiful - ways of seeing things that are common to the rest of us.)

Our seven year-old grabbed the old camera and pulled the trigger for the first time. Here are a few of his images.

10 Things.

2009-04-24T23:12:00.002-06:00

Editor's Note: After a serious burn-out of lists, possibly spurred on by Facebook and all the tags that were floating around, I've decided to jump back into the fray with the first of a few lists.)

Ten things at Costco we can't do without.

10 - Sliced Cheese Tray
9 - 3 Pack of Vanilla Soy Milk
8 - Olives
7 - Costco Vanilla Ice Cream
6 -Pot Stickers
5 - Newman's Own Grape Juice
4 - 2 Pound Clam Shell of Strawberries
3 - Tri-Tip Steak
2 - Rotisserie Chicken
1 -Uncooked Flour Tortillas

Blame it on the Cops.

2009-04-24T07:43:00.004-06:00

I haven't been writing much on this blog lately (and I hope to change that.) When I do write, I've been trying to write something positive instead of just griping about what's going on in our day and time. But right this very second, I've got to make an exception.

It seems that last night, two known gang members - each with a long history of trampling on the rights of others - ran a stop light while driving a stolen car. It was the same car that was chased by police earlier in the day and even earlier spotted at the scene of a robbery. This time, as the police pursued the alleged perpetrators, the bad guys (kids, actually) decided to make a run for it and in doing so, ran a red light, consequently killing two teenage boys driving home from a game of basketball.

Both boys who died seemed to be great kids. Before playing ball, they had finished a shift at a local Domino's Pizza. One boy was putting himself through college. The other, expecting a mission call next week.

But there are two parts to this story - the sadness and the sickening.

After the accident was reported, family members of the assailants driving the stolen car, promptly appeared at the Ogden police department to participate in a press conference. Relatives of both gangsters without hesitation blamed the police for the loss of life. If only the police had not chased the felons, said the relatives, all parties would be alive. Besides, said one family member, how could you blame the boys for fleeing? They had previously been harassed by local law enforcement. Of course they had.

There you have it. It's nearly always the fault of those who keep the law and protect the rest of us from those who break it. Or at least that's how the justification goes.

There are many assumptions that can be made here. And I'm not going to head down that road. All I'm suggesting is that you decide how you should respond to growing sense of misspent entitlement.

This just in from Pat Buchanan

2009-04-17T08:32:00.002-06:00

(Editor's Note: posted below are the last few lines of an Op-Ed peace by Patrick Buchanan. While I know many people loath Mr Buchanan and his brand of political thought and political zeal, I tend to think he has the nearly-altogether lost knack of peeling back the layers and seeing things as they really are. For the full text of this essay, click here.)

"For secularism has become the established religion of the American state and judges are the high priests of the new order.

Yet, one wonders if they know what lies at the end of the road upon which they have set the nation.

For five decades, Americans resisted Godless Communism. If they come to realize they did so to save Godless Capitalism, or Godless Socialism, what happens to loyalty and love of country?

To love one's country, said Edmund Burke, one's country ought to be lovely. If this is not God's country anymore, whose country is it?"

An Apostle Testifies.

2009-04-13T08:24:00.001-06:00

Sunrise at the Garden Tomb.

2009-04-12T06:44:00.027-06:00

I woke with the feelings that today was so ordinary.

Even walking down the long tile hall from my room to the rest of the house, the concerns of the day began to settle on me like a well-worn coat. Would the weather break? Would those we care for that live so far away be safe? And would the sickness they are suffering leave their little bodies? Would the financial concerns of those we love begin to ease? Would happiness begin to spread and replace the gloom that so many now feel?

But through the hum-drum motions of what could be described as one more start to just one more day in a calendar filled with concern, a single message eclipses all others. "He is not here, but is risen."

Moments ago, I read this simple post written by my wife's cousin who is out of town. "Just watched the sunrise at the Garden Tomb," was all the short message reported. But out of that message comes more beauty than a thousand perfect sunsets. More joy than the thousand perfect gifts. And more peace than the combined literature of the ages.

On this Easter Sunday, we invite you to consider the empty tomb and what that means to you, your family and generations who will forever take solace in the words, "He is not here, but is risen."

Why?

2009-04-10T07:29:00.002-06:00

With so many events elbowing their way onto the world stage and with my emotions in turmoil, the thing that troubles me so deeply and so profoundly is this - Why do English Muffins shrink when you toast them?

Please. I need your help.

If I can resolve just this one little thing that keeps swirling around in my brain, I can put on my pants, walk out the door and go to work this morning.

One Very Good Reason to Travel Half Way Around the World.

2009-04-07T22:44:00.001-06:00

Save That Date!

2009-03-29T08:42:00.003-06:00

This morning, the television commercial told me that I need to rush to my wallet, get out my credit card and hurry up and buy a ticket. Or two. Or three. Or four. The reason? Billy Joel and Elton John are coming to town.

Never mind these two have been doing this for the past few years. And never mind that the concert is a full eight months away. Eight months! That's right. Mark your calendar for November 2oth! With the age and lifestyle of both of these performers, who knows if they'll even be alive when the curtain goes up and the concert begins.

That's nearly Christmas season. I don't know about you, but I haven't bought my festive turkey yet. Nor have I even considered it.

It just seems like with everyone tightening their collective belt and spending money on things like Cherrios and Granny Smith Apples, throwing down a bunch of money for something that far out seems down-right crazy.

So, go ahead and sing me the song, piano man. Just don't make me buy my tickets so darn early.

Hello, Harvey.

2009-03-25T08:50:00.001-06:00

I just found out that one of my media reps used to play "Harvey" on the Utah morning kid's show, "Hotel Balderdash." Autograph seekers, start lining up now.

Smart TV. 29.5 Seconds at a Time.

2009-03-11T16:39:00.002-06:00

This is smart. It's also funny. Watch it once. And then watch it again.

Twenty Two Candles for a Girl Named Maclaine.

2009-03-03T06:34:00.002-07:00

Happy Birthday, Maclaine. Here's to hoping you have a great day as you knock on doors and seek out those who want to hear your message of peace and love. And here's to hoping you get to somehow eat just a sliver of cake, sometime during your busy day.

Sheer Lunacy.

2009-02-24T19:11:00.002-07:00

I've just finished reading that democratic members of the house have drafted yet one more round of "stimulus" spending, this time to the tune of 431 billion dollars.

Rush Limbaugh was right on - believe it or not - when he said that once the flood gates open to pay off bad decision making, there would be no stopping those who think nothing of printing and spending. And if those who've drafted this latest round haven't discovered - and apparently they have not - there is a majority of people in this great land that are just about at the breaking point for what they will allow their elected representatives to saddle them with.

Don't look towards Washington and ask, "who's running the ship?" instead ask, "who's ruining the ship?" and then throw them overboard.

Never Forget Eddie.

2009-02-17T16:06:00.005-07:00

I think I may have written about legendary surfer Eddie Aikau before. Even so, you really need to take a few minutes and watch this video to understand the man, his commitment and his sacrifice.

Ode to the House Finch.

2009-02-14T08:07:00.004-07:00

It's snowing outside. The thermometer reads well below freezing. And the little birds with the brightly-colored chests are filling up on seeds and grains just outside the glass that divides their world from ours.

For a wintry day in February, when it seems like the entire world is suffering from a dramatic economic hangover, it's more than a pleasant surprise to walk to the window and find the house finch - with all his siblings - eating his share at our feeder.

It's like that for me. There's a heaviness in the air. You feel it. I feel it. But underneath it all, there are still signs of hope and joy and beauty. And most of the time, they're under your own roof, or just outside your window, waiting to catch your eye.

Kiss me, Kate!

2009-02-10T16:50:00.006-07:00

This past week, Devin has had a fun role in the play, "The taming of the shrew," playing the wild woman Kate. Here are a few snapshots from the event.

If I Were Mitt Romney.

2009-02-10T08:47:00.003-07:00

(Editior's note: Politics are still driving me crazy. Only now, they are becoming much more dangerous. Mitt Romney has been showing up on the news channels and it just doesn't feel right. Since I'm a Mitt supporter, here's what I would do if I were wearing his shoes - or if I ever had a second to whisper in his ear.)

• I would stay away from the news show circuit. When Mitt shows up on the news stations, it looks like he is either posturing for the next presidency - which no one is emotionally ready for anyone to do at this point - or it looks like he's ready to condemn the current administration - which is already in need of condemnation, but it's too early for him to do that too.

The point is this: Anyone who shows up on the scene right now risks looking all too anxious.

• If I did make on-air comments, I would mark my words. Thank the president for his hard work. Tell the public you have great hope in the American people, the American dream and the new administration. Candidly say you have a few doubts, but sprinkle the conversation with optimism.

• Go do something really spectacular. Save another Olympic games. Put millions back to work with a few strokes of brilliant corporate maneuvering. Just stay out of the lime light when your are making great things happen for the working people of America. And keep your PR people from spreading the word that you've done something remarkable, or you'll seem disingenuous.

• Let the public find out for themselves over the next few years that you're working miracles again. There aren't many things more contrived than sounding your own horn. When the government plans that are currently in the works begin to fall hard, the public will call you back to Washington, and that's when you'll have your best shot at winning the big prize.

• Forget about politics. You lost the race because you tried to sound like everyone else - and you failed at that. Work your magic like you do in a board room and let America respond.

• When the time is right, show us how wise you are. We're all looking for someone to guide us, someone with the wisdom of John Adams. I'd take a wise president over a smart one any day. We've had some really smart presidents in my lifetime who have caused a whole lot of problems for our country.

The prettiest sight.

2009-02-07T07:00:00.004-07:00

Talk about putting a smile on your face.

Yesterday while driving, I pulled up next to a truck that had a gun rack mounted in his rear window. Perched comfortably in the rack was a shot gun. As you might imagine, I did a double-take as a thousand scenarios raced through my mind. Was this guy on his way to a robbery? Was he holding the girl in the passenger seat hostage? Or was he merely on his way home from Cabelas?

I don't know the answer and I didn't roll down my window at the stoplight for clarification.

The great part of the experience was remembering a world when it was acceptable to drive around town with a gun in your back window. Back then, nobody thought a thing about it. Kids at school would sometimes have a gun displayed in their truck window and the administration didn't go haywire. Everyone knew it was deer season. And nobody said a peep.

It was a day when people hadn't conceived the rotten notions of doing a lot of harm to a bunch of people right here in our little corner of the world. Sure, there was violence. But there was a lot more innocence then too. I remember picking a girl up in my truck for a date with a gun in the gun rack of the rear window. No the gun wasn't loaded, the shells were tucked under the seat. But she didn't say a word. And I didn't think a thing about it.

I wonder if I'd be so nonchalant today if a kid showed up for a date with my daughter and was toting a piece of hardened blue steel and hand-oiled wood in the window of his car?

All the same, seeing a guy with a gun in his truck window on the highway yesterday put a big smile on my face. And it's still there now as I think of him and I think of simpler times.

Feeling the Energy. A Brand New Perspective.

2009-02-01T07:50:00.003-07:00

The other day before leaving the hotel/casino I was holed up in while visiting a client in Las Vegas, I stopped by the gift shop to nose around. After looking at this or that, I struck up a conversation with an extremely nice, older lady who was working the cash-wrap. (Do they still call it the cash wrap in the retail world?)

This lady had moved from Chicago a few years earlier and had settled nicely into Las Vegas, including all that generically represents. I'd like to say that she left the windy city to escape the broken-down Chicago politics of corruption and greed, but our conversation never got that far.

What she did tell me, however, was equally astonishing - and to be truthful, mesmerizing. She proclaimed her great love for this desert oasis with its beautiful sunsets and wide open spaces. But her greatest love was for the sheer energy she felt from the place. There was something special, alive and energizing about this tropic of the windswept dunes - with all its activity, passion and movement.

As she considered how she felt about this one-time Mormon-enclave-turned-latter-day-Sodom-and-Gomorrah (hey, even if you live in a great part of Vegas, you know this is an accurate description of the place,) she figured out the source of the energy and then quickly passed the morsel of wisdom on to me.

"I think it comes from the the gaming," she whispered!

That's right. She said the wonderful energy you feel from Las Vegas comings from the gaming.

This lady may be nearly correct. The energy you feel from Vegas does come from the gaming. Shutter the casinos and watch the city evaporate over night. The crowds would leave, the shows would close and the electricity bills would diminish - all within the blink of a cosmic eye.

Energy comes from a variety of sources and finding a person so enthusiastic about a source that I-don't-care-to-encounter was as strange to me as it was sad. Enough said.

A Long Night Composed of a Lot of Short Naps.

2009-01-28T06:44:00.002-07:00

Maybe it's just that I'm getting older. I don't know. But I can hardly remember what it feels like to sleep an entire night without waking up more than just a few times.

When I consider my nights, it seems they are just a series of naps - from the time I go to bed until the time I wake up in the morning. The trouble is, I've become so used to this routine, I'm not really sure I feel all that rested during the day's work; I think I am recharged and ready to go, but I really don't have much of a frame of reference.

I guess the good news through it all is I can still fall asleep within a few seconds.

Last night, I thought I'd try an experiment and see if I could count to thirty after laying down on my pillow. I think I made it to eight or nine and then the lights went out. That said, I guess I don't have much to complain about.

Mystery Solved.

2009-01-24T08:13:00.002-07:00

I've been wondering - and a little bit worried - about the origin of a certain word that's crept (or is it "creeped?") back into my vocabulary. So I finally looked it up and here's the official Webster's info. (Strange that we from the Beehive State started using it between 5-7 years after it appeared on the verbal scene.) Okay, so maybe this doesn't help with the origin, but at least it legitimizes it's usage.

Duh

Pronunciation:\ˈdə, usually with prolonged ə\
Function: interjection
Date: 1966

1 —used to express actual or feigned ignorance or stupidity
2 —used derisively to indicate that something just stated is all too obvious or self-evident

Ten Reasons to Keep On Driving.

2009-01-22T06:58:00.006-07:00

The other day, we pulled into a drive-in to pick up some food. At the very moment the pick up window opened, I had the feeling we should just drive away. I've been known to throw away food if I don't like what I see inside the little drive-in window.

Call me crazy, but here are ten reasons I'd keep on driving.

10. Someone touches the drinking end of the straw or the inside of the cup of your drink.

9. You catch your server wiping their hands in their hair before handing you the food. You also notice that the likelihood of a shower than morning for the worker is slim to nada.

8. The drive-in window opens and the guy helping you has crumbs in his mustache.

7. The grime on the server's fingernails tells you he hasn't washed his hands since changing the oil in his Ford Fiesta.

6. In a helpful gesture, he/she takes fries that have spilled onto the counter and places them in your bag and then eats the last one.

5. The server fondles his/her nose ring prior to taking your order.

4. You see the cook walking back to the kitchen from the direction of the bathroom. And he's carrying a magazine.

3. The server sneezes into his/her hands. Or worse yet, in the direction of your bag of burgers.

2. You see them cook, then text, then cook, then text.

1. You see a nasty-looking car in the parking lot with two big dogs locked inside and slobering on the windows. Seconds later you notice the cook is wearing an "I love my Labrador" t-shirt.

It's a Movie Thing.

2009-01-17T07:59:00.003-07:00

I've never uploaded a movie before, but since we've purchased a Flip camera, I thought I should give it a try. Here goes...

And the Malls Went Silent.

2009-01-15T21:57:00.002-07:00

It was more than eerie the other night as I walked through a nearly-empty Standford mall in Palo Alto, California. The lights were bathing the walkways in soft light, the right music was gently oozing out of the hidden speakers and the store doors were still inviting shoppers to come inside.

The only thing that was missing were the shoppers.

Palo Alto sits smack-dab in the middle of Silicon Valley - and therefore in the middle of young, fast money. With the storied investors of Sand Hill Road less than a mile away, this is a place that offers up anything you want in the classiest of fashions.

But on this night, there was no one there except the shop keepers and one or two shoppers in the whole mall. Nordstrom was empty. So was Crate and Barrel. I spoke with a salesman at Smith & Hawkins where nearly everything was on sale, but no one was buying. He said it's been that way for weeks. Lots to sell and no one with wallets that are open.

Maybe it's good that the consumer's appetite for anything and everything has finally subsided for a while. The trickle down effects from that should be obvious in the coming weeks and months.

About the only thing that hadn't changed were the snobby attitudes of the employees at Ralph Lauren Home store, that still wouldn't give me a sniff - even if I was the last person in the world to enter their store! But then again, a guy in shorts and a hoody normally doesn't buy leather covered pillows.

It's All in the Shoes. And the Outfit.

2009-01-11T07:34:00.004-07:00

We're a bowling family. There. I've said it.

Not that we go all that much, but when we do, we go all the way. For instance, last night we went bowling with some of our good friends and Steph showed off her new bowling outfit that she received for Christmas. (I'm not going to spoil it by showing pictures. You'll have to call her up, invite her to the lanes and she what she shows up wearing.)

So you'll know, I've determined the very best way to jump into bowling is by starting with the shoes. Once you own a pair, you're half way to making it on the pro bowlers tour - or at least looking like you want to join the pros.

But beware. Once you get the shoes, the domino's fall quickly. It won't be long until you're shopping for bags, balls and finally the über-cool bowling outfit and then patrolling the b-alleys in your own hood.

Can You Say, "Cocoa Latte?"

2009-01-08T07:26:00.003-07:00

I realize that we're not always on top of things. Nor are we continually on the cutting-edge of the what's what that inhabits our consumer world. But that's okay because when you find something really great - even if it's been around for a few years - it's can still be considered a remarkable discovery.

So, what's all this babble about anyway? For Christmas, Stephanie purchased a Cocoa Latte machine for me - but really for the whole family. And since unwrapping it on Christmas morning, we've kept the little thing fired up almost continually.

Cocoa Latte? Yep. Just a fancy schmancy name for hot chocolate. Picture this: The device is the combination of a blender and double boiler. You put the liquid and chocolate in, turn it on and in a few minutes you've got a mug full of love. It's really that easy. Plus, it keeps the container of hot chocolate hot and frothy for as long as you like.

Seriously, this thing is a dream come true.

(Editor's Note: At our house, we prefer using real cow's milk combined with pieces of rich, Belgium chocolate. Drop both into the Cocoa Latte machine and you'll be a happy sipper.)

Fast Sleighs and Mexican Canciones.

2009-01-07T20:14:00.002-07:00

The other night, my daughters talked me into roping and old plastic sleigh and dragging them up and down the street. With about 18 inches of new snow, it turned into a chance for the two sisters to laugh until they cried, while busting through mound after mound of the fresh white stuff.

And for the dad - he had a great time too, aided by the songs of Vincente Fernandez blaring out of the speakers. I'd never known that Mexican music and sleigh riding were such a great combo. If only we'd had some hot chocolate to round out the experience. That, plus mom and Gabe to join in the frolic.

The Songs of Oh Eight.

2008-12-31T18:11:00.003-07:00

This morning, I patiently waded through what one group of experts exclaimed as the pivotal musical pieces created during 2008. Sadly there wasn't a single song that I was even tempted to download. With that in mind, I've asked the experts at our house to list the songs they've enjoyed most during this past year. The requirements for the list were simple - if we liked it, it made the list, regardless of when it was recorded, or the musical genre it represents. Easy enough.

Click on any title and you'll be redirected to a song or a version of the song on You Tube.

10. Dolla Bill / Wyclef Jean. If you don't listen to the words, it's a catchy enough tune. One of our daughters still believes they are singing about government workers.

9. Carol of Joy / BYU combined choruses. This spectacular new Christmas song was recently recorded by these fantastic singers. (This link isn't to the BYU singers, unfortunately. But it's all that's out there on line.)

8. Shake it / Metro Station. Miley's older bro turns it loose on this one.

7. Empty / Ray Lamontagne. This is the year that the majority of the family warmed up to dear old Ray.

6. Long Lost Child / Mendy Gledhill. We love this song. It's just that it's a little too painful to talk about right now.

5. You Get What You Give / New Radicals. Pump up the volume on this one every time you drop into Cajon Pass and you feel like you're nearly there.

4. Smoky Mountain Memories / David Archuleta. Of all the songs Archie sang to us this year, this was our favorite.

3. Until the Morning / Sean Kingston & Fergie. Great remake for a catchy song with cheeseball lyrics, (i.e. " I'm gonna miss you like a child misses its blank-ket.")

2. Forever / Chris Brown. Hey, it's the song that makes everybody happy. Especially if you're a teenage girl.

1. Sweet Child 'O Mine / Banda Do Sul. For the majority of you that have stopped by our house during the year, you've heard this whispering to you in the background of parties, conversations or any other activity.

Christmas. The Spirit and the Season.

2008-12-24T11:36:00.000-07:00

A dear friend of mine remembers getting into the family car with his mother and brothers on Christmas eve, long after the tree lots had closed for the night - and for the year, for that matter, and sneaking across the fence into an abandoned field filled with few derelict trees. This little group of Christmas eve vagabonds would find the best available pine, stuff it into their car and take it home to decorate - just before the magical clock struck twelve - ringing in the new Christmas day.

I'd like to think that all of us feel the blessings and the sadness - as strange as that may sound - of another Christmastime. There are so many who go without, but I believe there are equally as many who go without so that an other tables may have plenty on the day when all should rejoice.

And while poverty has many, many faces, the face it shows at Christmastime is often more pronounced than when the leaves of summer are in full bloom. I've watched the struggle this year as the pressure mounts for those who feel hopelessly compelled to provide for their families. I've also witnessed the sweetness of the response by those, who feel an equal amount of pressure to serve those in need.

I'd also like to think I'm not naive enough to believe that the poverty we see in our little valley is equal to the level of want, or what it takes to keep children alive, safe and warm in other countries that are less than a few hours flight from our homes - homes that are warmed and with pantries that are full. Because, it is not. But there are still children in Provo, Utah that are cold and hungry. And there are just as many here who long for the security and joy that Christmastime promises to bring.

To me, the beauty of this Christmas season is witnessing a sea of humanity reaching out - as best they can to one another. A few weeks ago, I was overwhelmed by the amount of shoppers I witnessed at our local Target department store. I was overwhelmed not by the hustle and bustle of the average mom and dad frantically searching for that wanted toy, but overcome by the sheer number of people searching for gifts for children whom they would never see or know or meet.

Around each corner, I would overhear groups of people with generic shopping lists purchasing gifts for children who were merely identified as "girl, ten years," or "boy, seven." The amount of shoppers with similar lists was staggering.

As I left Target that night, I left with a hope for a brighter day and a more beautiful Christmas. And for me, that was really the best gift of all.

Here's to days that are getting longer.

2008-12-22T06:46:00.004-07:00

The older I get, the more I find myself counting down the days until the equinox that occurs on or about December 21st every year. It's at that time, I am told, that the days stop getting shorter and daylight starts to increase. (It has something to do with the earth's rotation and all that jazz, but who needs to know the details!)

This is true, of course, if you happen to live north of the equator. If you live south of that magical line around the globe, your days are starting to shorten. If you live close to the line, you couldn't care less, because you're never troubled by the shortening or lengthening of days - yours are always the same.

I don't know why it's such a big deal for me, but believe me, it is. While I don't really want to spend any summers in Alaska, I still treasure as much sunlight as is possible. And now that days are beginning - albeit ever so slightly - to get longer, I'm a happy, happy camper.

Carol of Joy.

2008-12-21T07:28:00.005-07:00

(Editor's Note: This Christmas season has been so wildly different in the music we listen to and sing as we celebrate. We've found ourselves drawn closer and closer to the music and lyrics that help us spiritually celebrate the advent of the Lord's birth. And on that note, we've posted the lyrics to a relatively new Christmas song that we've come to love.)

Carol of Joy

Green leaves all fallen, withered and dry;

Brief sunset fading, dim winter sky.
Lengthening shadows,
Dark closing in...

Then, through the stillness, carols begin!

Oh fallen world, to you is the song.
Death holds you fast and night tarries long.

Jesus is born, your curse to destroy!
Sweet to your ears, a carol of Joy!

Pale moon ascending, solemn and slow;
Cold barren hillside, shrouded in snow;
Deep, empty valley veiled by the night;
Hear angel music-hopeful and bright!

Oh fearful world, to you is the song-
Peace with your God, and pardon for wrong!
Tidings for sinners, burdened and bound-

A carol of joy! A Saviour is found!

Earth wrapped in sorrow, lift up your eyes!
Thrill to the chorus filling the skies!
Look up sad hearted-witness God's love!
Join in the carol swelling above!

Oh friendless world, to you is the song!
All Heaven's joy to you may belong!
You who are lonely, laden, forlorn-
Oh fallen world!
Oh friendless world!

To you, a savior is born

To listen to a recorded version, click here.

Go lean, young man.

2008-12-12T08:18:00.002-07:00

Interesting news this morning that the automaker's bailout went south when the granddaddy of all the unions refused to consider lowering its workers wages in order to save their paychecks. Some may call this a game of bluff, but I think it's just more head-in-the-clouds thinking.

In my world, a small paycheck is better than no paycheck. It's as simple as that.

And to make things a little goofier, senate majority leader Harry Reid is offering up his sage wisdom and blaming the republicans for insisting that everybody, including the union workers, tighten their belts.

From where I view this thing, I believe that any kind of bailout is an incredible deal for the automakers. They've put themselves into this mess and we're funding the solution. Anything less than reasonable concessions from the unions means that this group thinks everything is business as usual - even when their hundreds of thousands of workers shoulder the risk of going home with no paycheck at all.

Captain. My Captain.

2008-12-11T05:58:00.002-07:00

The voice came over the in-flight PA system clear as a bell. "Your flight officers for today's flight are captain Bjork and captain Bonkers." The door on the plane was already locked, I was strapped tightly into my seat and the plane was progressing nicely down the tarmac.

At that point, what could I do? Talk about your confidence boost.

Nothing instills the feeling of sheer safety more than hearing knowing who is at the wheel. And for someone who can be skittish about flying, the surnames that were just announced didn't help a bit. For me, it was kind of like hearing that Mr Salmonella would be serving my food. Or, better yet, Mr Slipperythumbs would be removing my gall bladder.

You get the drift.

So on this day, I was wedged into a commuter flight heading out with misters B &B at the helm leading us - hopefully - to the destination where we had paid with plastic to be delivered. Like I say, I have a "thing" about planes anyway.

Somewhere just before takeoff, my oversimplification of the event almost is my undoing. My thought goes something like this..."Let me get this straight. We are loading into a paper-thin aluminum tube, filled with humans and a combustibles. Our objective is to propell ourselves six miles above the ground, traveling about one hundred times faster than simple human locomotion, avoid nasty currents while traveling and then touch down on a little piece of asphalt that the pilots can lead us towards. Hopefully avoiding other aluminum-tube-filled-vehicles-full-of-people along the way."

Comforting.

But, Like every other flight I've ever taken, we took off, were offered a complementary soda, and landed without incident. So what do I know?

Finally!

2008-12-05T06:08:00.007-07:00

"Cling to my back, Bella and I will climb with you to a spot where it is safe to oogle."

That's right. It's finally time to take another shot at Twilight! I know that as soon as my wife reads this post, she's going to put her fingers to work, punch a few keys on the keyboard and send this post to the land of never-to-be-seen-again copy (the non-verbal-written-word bone yard.) But until then, I'm going to take a second and do something really, really fun: Poke fun at Twilight.

To be fair, I haven't even seen the movie yet. And, there's a seriously good chance I never will. But if photos, like the one posted above, keep popping up on the internet, I won't need to see it.

You know, more than anything, the best fun a guy can have is to stand close enough to hear the chatter from Twilight lovers. Check out a few lines I've heard from the local womenfolk and see what I mean. "Bella is so undeserving of Edward." Or, "Edward's hair is so beautiful." Try out this one, "When Edwards looks at the camera, it nearly stops my heart." Okay. Okay. I can't help myself. Try out one more. "They are so romantic. And so magical," followed by a long, long sigh.

See what I mean?

Here's to hoping that sequels are coming down the turnpike. And for all the right reasons!

Writing More. Thinking Less.

2008-12-03T07:40:00.002-07:00

I've got to confess that I've been really tired lately. And for me, it's a weird kind of tired. It's the kind that happens when your brain is engaged far too long. I know if you are reading this, you've got to be thinking to yourself, "that's guy's brain hardly ever even wakes up for the day. What's he complaining about?"

You may be right. Just don't tell that to either hemisphere of the orb that is sitting between my ears. For some reason, it thinks it's getting a good workout lately.

To be fair, the mental gymnastics I've been going through don't have anything to do with hard math problem or figuring out exactly how to help with my daughter's physics problems. The mental energy I'm spending seems to be more along to lines or quantity versus quality.

But even then, I've got to be grateful. I still seem to be able to make a few rational decisions now and then. Just don't be too hard on me for the ones that are a little upside down.

Myn Lyking

2008-11-25T19:54:00.009-07:00

I saw a fair mayden sytten and sing
She lulled a little childe, a sweete Lording.

Lullay mye lyking, my dere sonne, my sweeting.
Lully mydere herte, myn own dere derling.

That same Lord is he that made alle thing,
Of alle lord is his lord, of alle kynges King.

There was mickle melody at that chylde’s birth
All that were in heav’nly bliss, they made mickle myrth.

Angels bright sang their song to that chyld;
Blyssid be thou, and so be she, so meek and so mild.

Words: Traditional, 15th Century

Editor's Note: A dear friend of ours gave us a CD a few years ago. Included on the CD was this song. And while it's taken me a few years to discover it, I can't stop playing this song and feeling the sweet spirit of Christmas.

Kicking the Leaves

2008-11-24T07:57:00.005-07:00

by Donald Hall

Kicking the leaves, October, as we walk home together
from the game, in Ann Arbor,
on a day the color of soot, rain in the air;
I kick at the leaves of maples,
reds of seventy different shades, yellow
like old paper; and poplar leaves, fragile and pale;
and elm leaves, flags of a doomed race.
I kick at the leaves, making a sound I remember
as the leaves swirl upward from my boot,
and flutter; and I remember
Octobers walking to school in Connecticut,
wearing corduroy knickers that swished
with a sound like leaves; and a Sunday buying
a cup of cider at a roadside stand
on a dirt road in New Hampshire; and kicking the leaves,
autumn 1955 in Massachusetts, knowing
my father would die when the leaves were gone.

Each fall in New Hampshire, on the farm
where my mother grew up, a girl in the country,
my grandfather and grandmother
finished the autumn work, taking the last vegetables in
from the fields, canning, storing roots and apples
in the cellar under the kitchen. Then my grandfather
raked leaves against the house
as the final chore of autumn.
One November I drove up from college to see them.
We pulled big rakes, as we did when we hayed in summer, pulling the leaves against the granite foundations
around the house, on every side of the house,
and then, to keep them in place, we cut spruce boughs
and laid them across the leaves,
green on red, until the house
was tucked up, ready for snow
that would freeze the leaves in tight, like a stiff skirt.
Then we puffed through the shed door,
taking off boots and overcoats, slapping our hands,
and sat in the kitchen, rocking, and drank
black coffee my grandmother made,
three of us sitting together, silent, in gray November.

One Saturday when I was little, before the war,
my father came home at noon from his half day at the office
and wore his Bates sweater, black on red,
with the crossed hockey sticks on it, and raked beside me
in the back yard, and tumbled in the leaves with me,
laughing , and carried me, laughing, my hair full of leaves,
to the kitchen window
where my mother could see us, and smile, and motion
to set me down, afraid I would fall and be hurt.

Kicking the leaves today, as we walk home together
from the game, among the crowds of people
with their bright pennants, as many and bright as leaves,
my daughter’s hair is the red-yellow color
of birch leaves, and she is tall like a birch,
growing up, fifteen, growing older; and my son
flamboyant as maple, twenty,
visits from college, and walks ahead of us, his step
springing, impatient to travel
the woods of the earth. Now I watch them
from a pile of leaves beside this clapboard house
in Ann Arbor, across from the school
where they learned to read,
as their shapes grow small with distance, waving,
and I know that I
diminish, not them, as I go first
into the leaves, taking
the way they will follow, Octobers and years from now.

This year the poems came back, when the leaves fell.
Kicking the leaves, I heard the leaves tell stories,
remembering and therefore looking ahead, and building
the house of dying. I looked up into the maples
and found them, the vowels of bright desire.
I thought they had gone forever
while the bird sang I love you, I love you
and shook its black head
from side to side, and its red eye with no lid,
through years of winter, cold
as the taste of chickenwire, the music of cinderblock.

Kicking the leaves, I uncover the lids of graves.
My grandfather died at seventy-seven, in March
when the sap was running, and I remember my father
twenty years ago,
coughing himself to death at fifty-two in the house
in the suburbs. Oh how we flung
leaves in the air! How they tumbled and fluttered around us,
like slowly cascading water, when we walked together
in Hamden, before the war, when Johnson’s Pond
had not surrendered to houses, the two of us
hand in hand, and in the wet air the smell of leaves
burning:
in six years I will be fifty-two.

Now in fall, I leap and fall
to feel the leaves crush under my body, to feel my body
buoyant in the ocean of leaves, the night of them,
night heaving with death and leaves, rocking like the ocean.
Oh this delicious falling into the arms of leaves,
into the soft laps of leaves!
Face down, I swim into the leaves, feathery,
breathing the acrid odor of maple, swooping
in long glides to the bottom of October —
where the farm lies curled against the winter, and soup steams
its breath of onion and carrot
onto damp curtains and windows; and past the windows
I see the tall bare maple trunks and branches, the oak
with its few brown weathery remnant leaves,
and the spruce trees, holding their green.
Now I leap and fall, exultant, recovering
from death, on account of death, in accord with the dead,
the smell and taste of leaves again,
and the pleasure, the only long pleasure, of taking a place
in the story of leaves.

Editor's Note: I discovered Donald Hall as a freshmen in college. The English 101 text book we used in class was written by him and was wisely chosen by those in charge as the centerpiece of our learning during that quarter. A few weeks into the class, Hall visited our campus for a poetry reading that was altogether breathtaking. I remember sitting alone in a large auditorium full of strangers and being moved to tears by the words that were rhythmically coming from this man's mind and heart. When I have the opportunity and when it's not too pushy, I like to read this poem before eating our Thanksgiving feast.

The Sweetness of Pop.

2008-11-20T21:35:00.009-07:00

I remember hearing about a guy who spent and entire summer with his son traveling from city to city trying to catch every major league baseball game they could in as many stadiums as possible. When the summer came to a close, a co-worker tried to get to the bottom of the whirl-wind adventure. "You must love baseball," questioned the friend. "Not so much," replied the father. "But I love my son."

Or so the story goes.

Since blogs often double as confession time, I've got to come clean. Over the past several months I've listened to a lot of pop music. Rihanna to David Archuletta and a lot more stops along ailing Casey Kasem's list of what's-hot-right-this-very-second. And to be honest, I'm sort of getting the hang of it. Anyone who knows me can tell you I'm a sucker for a good musical hook.

But that's not the real deal. Not even close. You see, you haven't lived until you've seen your daughter smile and melt into the magic she feels when Chris Brown sings, "forever." Or watch with delight when another daughter flitters across the floor when Enrique Iglesias starts belting out, "Do you know."

It seems like every time I turn around, we're making another memory that I swear I won't be able to live without as my own years start piling up. Maybe that's why it's so easy for me to crank up the music and watch my little world become pure magic.

The Great Thing About Cutoffs.

2008-11-18T06:47:00.005-07:00

I have to keep reminding myself that I'm from the generation where it was altogether proper to use scissors on a pair of pants - any pair of pants. As a kid, we couldn't wait to wear out our jeans in the spring so we could grab some scissors and make our first pair of shorts for the summer.

Believe me, if you could turn back the clock about 30 or 40 years and walk into a mall, you'd be completely surprised by what would be missing from every single men's store - short pants. What is now a staple of year round attire would not be found, unless you wanted the ultra short tennis variety or maybe a pair of short white things for gym class. But believe me, there's not a chance you would wear those in public.

In about 1978, Ocean Pacific began populating the world with shorts. And a novel thing it was to wear them. I remember wearing a pair to school for the first time and wondering if I would be laughed at or sent home or both. Turned out that OP shorts started a fad that continues to this day. And who would imagined wearing a pair would have made you the king of cool?

For all those years before shorts, we'd spend the summer months in cutoff jeans. Boxers hanging out the bottom, frayed-to-all-get-out. The tricky part was making sure both legs were cut off at the same length and making sure they weren't too short. (If I let my mom do the job, they were too long and that was even worse.)

So, it's no surprise that I still love to wear cutoffs. But for the past 20 years, I've stayed with the ultra ugly version of cutoff sweats. But to tell you the truth, for around the house wear, you can't beat em. People say you've finally hit rock bottom when you wear sweats. I'm still wondering if that applies to a pair that have been shortened with scissors. I think I know the answer.

The Subtle Differences Between This and That.

2008-11-10T22:16:00.002-07:00

I've escaped accidents that could have killed me by just a split second. There's a great chance that's been your experience too. When each subtlety of life rules the day - or your life, for that matter - it's really quite amazing that we/I/you don't pay more attention to the little things that can either kill us or keep us on the right track.

In many cases, the death I'm speaking about isn't what you'd call instantaneous. It's more like the eat-a-little-high-cholesterol-food-every-day kind of death. The single donut really doesn't hurt you that much, but it's cumulative effect pumps the plaque in your arteries. As a donut eater, it's not that I don't know this - I do - it's just that I don't pay enough attention to the effects.

This evening, we spoke to our kids about the accumulative effect of making wrong decisions. Believe me, it's an interesting conversation. Often times, the difference between two decisions isn't marked by success or tragedy. In fact, there are many decisions that seem down-right comparable - not good or bad, just equal. But make a few wrong turns and you're headed somewhere you don't want to be.

And here's the tricky part - most of the time, you don't even realize how far you've traveled in the wrong direction. You don't really feel different than when you made the first wrong decision.

Here's to hoping I start making better decisions along with everyone else.

The troubles with Missing the Beach.

2008-11-09T22:53:00.000-07:00

Editor's note: I think it's time that all the brothers jump in a car and head south. The only stops along the way will be potty breaks and hamburger fill ups. Maybe we won't even make potty breaks. Come on wives - what do you think? Will you let go for a few days? We'll be better dads when we get home.

I just opened the door to let the dog out and a blast of cold, cold air reminded me that winter isn't just here, but it's settling in for a long time. Please don't accuse me of not loving a good snowstorm or a Christmas season filled with white - it's just that I love the sound of waves lapping up on the shore a little bit better.

Maybe I'm getting old or maybe it just that the dead of winter - which we are nowhere near yet - just isn't that enticing anymore.

It's all kind of a relative thing, however. In California, not a lot of people go to the beach in the winter months because to them, it's winter. I'm not so sure that your blood actually gets thinner in that climate - the excuse most often used for being cold when it's actually slightly warm - but it's an interesting site to see a local bundled up in a great big coat while you and your kids are roaming the beach in shorts and a hoody feeling like you've just been liberated from an icebox.

But even still, as the snow begins to fly, I still long for the sand and the surf.

Sing to Me, Ray.

2008-11-06T06:54:00.001-07:00

Last week, Devin and I (along with a good friend and his teenage daughter) traveled to the shores of the Great Salt Lake to watch Ray Lamontagne in concert at the shell-of-building called Saltair. (I actually hate using the name "Saltair" because it is, in no way, anything like the grand structure that used to sit perched on top of the piers stretching into the lake of salt.)

As our luck would see to it, we walked in and found four seats conveniently located on the front row as we positioned ourselves for a great night of soul full music and father-daughter happiness. As a quick shout out - check out Ray's music if you want to experience music with depth, simplicity and beauty - all coming from the skinny, bearded-body of a retired boot factory worker turned singer songwriter.

The music was fantastic and the company was unsurpassed.

Nuff Said.

2008-10-29T06:56:00.003-06:00

Editor's Note: While it may offend some of you out there that this cartoonist portrays all of those who need help as "too lazy" to do something on their own, I think you might be missing the point. It's my belief that much of the social trouble we see today comes from those who want something for nothing. Certainly, there are large numbers of people who - for very legitimate reasons - can't do what is necessary to provide for themselves, and these should receive all of the care they need from those of us who are blessed with abundance. But even this group needs to contribute what little they can, not just for the common good of society but for their own emotional well being. Individual productivity, albeit small at times, is the elixir for nearly all who needed to be lifted up. Sometimes people need a shovel in their hand as much as they need a shoulder to lean on.

Introducing Raj. The Mayor of Provo.

2008-10-27T19:53:00.003-06:00

Ask around. Everyone will tell you they know Raj. If you don't believe me, just stop in to the downtown Provo 7-11 anytime from five until midnight and you will meet many of the Raj faithful, waiting to buy a Slurpee and say hello to their favorite Provo citizen.

I've joked that Raj could be the major of Provo. But maybe that's no exaggeration. The guy has a legion of fans and takes your money with a smile. Every time. (Now, we just need to see how he waves in the parade and sits through hour after hour of boring-to-the-hilt city counsel meetings.)

In a day when we don't so much care for our politicians, I can tell you that everybody's best friend is the man with the heavy Indian accent who is more interested - it seems - to see that you are happy rather than filling his till with your hard-earned dollars.

Maybe that's the secret. Do something for somebody else and you start building a fan base. Do something for yourself and you're just an ordinary Joe. Or in this cases, just an ordinary Hindu living in a white, white world.

But Raj does it right. He's the man everyone loves to see - the man who gets the nod. And if you haven't added him to your list of friends just yet, maybe it is Slurpee time after all.

So Run, That Ye May Obtain.

2008-10-21T13:44:00.002-06:00

"Know ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may obtain."

This last week, with an equal dose of happiness and sadness, we watched Devin finish her high school cross country racing career. And what a career it has been - especially for parents who watched as the daily miles - year after year after year - accumulated; as the pile of warn and discarded running shoes continued to grow; as the commitment to excellence and perseverance became sharpened and focused.

There was something really special about watching a child push themselves. Even the struggles became moments when our joy was tightly connected to watching her conquer her own fears and her own sense of inadequacy.

It's certain that we will miss - and most likely long for - the anticipation of cool fall days watching a cherished daughter run that she may obtain.

Hey, Don't Tell Me I'm Not Going to Have a Great Christmas.

2008-10-20T14:09:00.002-06:00

Ahh, the evening news. The network news. The Online news. The radio news. The any-where-and-everywhere-you-turn news. It's almost as if it's all ganging up on me as the there bearer of bad, bad tidings. And here I am, simply looking for tidings of great joy.

Here's the deal: Sure the economy is in a rough spot and the future isn't looking so bright. But does that mean my anticipation of great things to come needs to be tempered, beat up and put to bed without supper by a face on a screen or a few lines on my computer? I hardly think so.

Prognosticators are forecasting one bummer of a Christmas. Stores will be closing and merchandise will be left out of Santa's sleigh and sitting on shelves surrounded by desperate buy-me-now discount stickers. But who says the joy of Christmas is ultimately connected to some sort of consumer purchasing index? Call it naiveté, but didn't we learn a long time ago - Thank you Mr. Grinch - that Christmas doesn't come in a box, it comes from a babe in Bethlehem.

From all I hear outside my door, trouble is a-brewing. But when I shut the door and kneel with my family, all I feel is peace. And that's not such a bad thing, is it?

When No News is Good News.

2008-10-16T15:18:00.002-06:00

We didn't receive a five minute phone call this morning. And that's a very good thing.

We've been told that anytime there is a calamity, a missionary gets to make a five minute phone call to the troops back home to let them know that all is well. Since our phone didn't ring and a familiar voice didn't say, "buenos dias," we're pretty certain that all is well.

Checking the hurricane tracking website shows us that hurricane Omar has passed the outer bank land masses and is heading eastward (strangely) into the great Atlantic Ocean.

To all you who sent up a prayer for our daughter, you have our more sincere gratitude.

Donde esta Omar?

2008-10-14T21:49:00.003-06:00

Sometime tomorrow, hurricane Omar will likely pass through, or somewhere very near to Puerto Rico. For most of you, that means one more hurricane is on one more route through more place you've never been. For us, it means we'll pray like crazy and muster an extra dose of faith that our daughter who is living on Southwest beachfront property of that island will be safe.

For reasons that are important to us, we feel that Maclaine will be safe; and it's because the calm assurance that all is well comes from him whom the winds still know and waves still obey. We've also received word from Maclaine's mission president that all necessary preparations have been completed that will insure the safety of every elder and sister who is serving in that corner of the world.

And so our prayers tonight are not only for our daughter - that she may be safe - but for those who will not have the luxury of escaping the tempest of Omar.

The audacity of wanting something for nothing.

2008-10-11T20:21:00.005-06:00

Editor's Note: I'm trying to remain positive. I really am. But it's getting harder and harder to sit silently on the sidelines and watch the political posturing and masquerading that is filling the airwaves and inspiring the minds of those who can't think any further than their interests. That said, I'm speaking my mind.

When I hear Obama offer hope to the hopeless, it leaves me in a perplexed state of wonderment. Who are these hopeless and what exactly are they hoping for? He tells us that health care is too expensive and it is out of reach for the middle class. Maybe he's right, but does he stop to mention why it's out of reach? It's not because doctors are making a killing, it's because free health care is making a killing - and the dying patient is the one who in the past has been able to pay his own doctor bill.

Like health care, Obama inspires the masses of those looking for something for nothing: Money without working, a lifestyle for the undeserved and anything else this group sees their prosperous neighbors enjoy. It's spoils without the labor. It's the little red hen times ten.

Certainly the constitution offers equality, but it's the equality of opportunity it talks about and not a redistribution to those who - to be candid - have not made the most of their chances.

Obama and his wife have lived a lavish life, attended the best schools and made their way on the backs of tax payer dollars, not from the work they've produced along the way. So maybe, what he's offering is a road map for those who feel neglected and wish to follow his lead.

Obama would have us believe that we are enslaved by government that serves only the rich. But look around. The poor of America are more blessed than the poor of any other country, including Obama's own brother who lives in the ghettos of Kenya. In this blessed land, there is medicine for the sick, warm food for the hungry, schools for the desirous and beds for the cold and tired. Even our prisons house the incarcerated in places where the guilty are safe, fed and rested.

The appeal of Obama, I believe, is the appeal of Robin Hood as king. The trouble is - I'm not so certain the Robin Hood on the ballot is offering what working people really need.

A Simple Message for Our Day.

2008-10-10T07:29:00.002-06:00

Be still, my soul; thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence, let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

¡Viva Vicente!

2008-10-07T07:30:00.002-06:00

I know I'm about 50 years late discovering this Mexican idol - Vicente Fernandez - but I've just got to tell you that if you've got a single drop of curiosity about great Mexican music in a wide variety of styles, you've got to buy this album from itunes. The seven dollar price tag helps out too.

The Abundant Life.

2008-10-06T05:56:00.000-06:00

There's a growing gap between how I feel when I watch the news or read up on the latest verbal barrages between the parties - whoever they might be - and how I feel when I do something as simple as walk alone under the starry canopy of an early morning sky.

It's strange to feel so outraged and so constricted by the words and wisdom of those that should be the greatest minds of our generations as they banter to and fro, this way and that, about our situations, or prognosticate about our fate as a nation and a society.

Just this morning - adding to a growing list of other mornings - I began my day by kneeling in prayer at my bedside, followed by sitting alone in the cool of a still starry morning. Doing so, I can hardly believe how the cares of the world melt away.

Years ago, Elder Neal Maxwell said something like this, "We live in a time when their is a great polarization between that which is good and that which is evil." I feel that pull every single day.

That said, life continues to be a rich blessing of great moments flowing into my life. My biggest challenge is to recognize the blessings and to do all I can to be a blessing to others.

Homecoming 2008

2008-09-27T21:21:00.003-06:00

Just one picture of Devin and her date as she celebrates her last high school homecoming. ( Where are all the years going?) On the cheese ball side of things, tonight I heard one of Devin's favorite songs - Chris Brown, "Forever," and it put a great big smile on my face. Man, I love that little girl of mine.

Twenty Four Inches and Rising.

2008-09-23T08:24:00.003-06:00

During the past few days, we've been monitoring the weather networks very closely as they report the vast amounts of rain and possible flooding that have been occurring Puerto Rico. With the amount of wide-spread weather-related calamities making headlines around the world, it's little wonder, however, that we haven't been able to uncover much about the situation in Maclaine's mission. We do know that during the past two days, the island has received more than two feet of rain.

As parents, we feel certain that everything is as it should be and that this experience gives Maclaine a great frame of reference in later years when someone complains about the amount of water pouring out of the sky!

A Single Spot on a Very Large Map.

2008-09-19T21:45:00.003-06:00

Clouds from thousands of miles away gather and swirl. The tighter the circle they collapse into, the darker the color they become on the radar screen. And somewhere in the mass of moving lines and transforming hues is a single spot on a very large map.

If I squint hard enough, I can pinpoint where it is that my daughter lives and breathes and works.

The middle of the universe isn't always where the straightest lines intersect. Nor is it the place where the masses congregate, as witnessed by the light they project into space. The center of the universe is where your heart pulls you - time and time again.

Wallace Stegner said something like this, "Home isn't a place.
It's what you can take away with you." I'm not exactly sure what those words meant to Wallace when he penned them, but the idea I get is this: Home isn't so much an address on a street, it's more like the amount of stuff you can store away in your soul.

While it's only been a few months now since our daughter has found a home away from home, and only three since she's been on that tiny island in the middle of that great big sea, I keep looking at that map and seeing that little island in the middle of an ocean of blue with mighty clouds swirling. And it's that map that makes her seem so far away from us.

To be clear, there's no way I would want this girl of ours to be anywhere else - doing anything else. But there is still a little vacuum in our little world. And I guess that's the way it should be. The silence of her absence is a reminder of a lot of great things - things that seem noble and right to our family. But I guess the truth of it is this: Home isn't just what you take away with you, it's also what you choose - for the very best of reasons - to leave behind.

On a Long Drive to Ogden.

2008-09-16T05:55:00.005-06:00

On a morning like this, a thousand or so years ago, my mother would prepare one or two of us for a journey that seemed endless. Cream of Wheat bubbling on the stove somehow signaled what the day would bring. And for me, there was always dread. Soon after muscling down a few spoonfuls of mush, a well-kept Buick would ease into the driveway and our grandfather would walk towards the house, hoping we were ready to make the trip with him to Ogden.

Ogden was the birthplace of our grandfather and the home of his aged, widowed mother. And every few months, our grandfather would collect a few of us to drive north and make that tortuous visit where we'd receive a skinny kiss, hear our own mother's name mispronounced, smell the smells of an old Victorian house and drive back home again.

While our destination wasn't really that far away, we knew it meant sitting with our grandfather, answering a few questions, watching as he'd roll down his window just enough to flick an ash or two from his cigarette and feeling like we were stuck in a time warp, with the clock turning backwards. The trip - when I look back - wasn't so long or so awful, but it wasn't anything we cherished or looked forward to either. But that was a long. long time ago. And how I wish I could sit next to my grandfather today as his shinny Buick crept north on the interstate.

If I could make that drive just once more, the traveling would be a little different. We'd talk a little more because there's a lot I don't know about my grandfather and the hard-edged life that he spent his entire life trying - and succeeding - to iron out. I wouldn't fidget so much at my great grandmother's house and we'd be able to stay a little longer. I'd ask her more questions too, I suppose.

Most of all, I'd just like to be there - in the moment - to touch the cloth of the seat the car, to look at my grandpa again and to be a part of him and his experience and his family. But how was I to know how quickly life would pass on and change? After all, I was just a kid.

Who Will Provide the Reparations?

2008-09-12T06:23:00.004-06:00

This morning, as hurricane Ike barrels down on the city of Houston, I can't help but think about the time, a few years ago, when famed hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, a neighbor-city to that town in Texas that is threatened today.

My thoughts about Katrina aren't necessarily about people living on housetops as the flood waters swirled beneath them. Nor are they about the huddled masses living in the midst of the utter despair of the dark and sored Superdome. The thoughts that are racing through my mind are not the thoughts of destruction, but of response to that destruction - specifically by the people of Houston.

You see, I believe that a society isn't measured so much by the challenges they are handed, but by their response to those challenges. And in the years that have passed since that great Hurricane, the body of evidence suggests that a neighboring city - the city of Houston, and a great many other communities for that matter - were a beacon on a hill for the survivors of that swirling mass of destruction.

And so as hurricane Ike takes aim at Houston, I'm wondering how New Orleans will respond to the sister-city who provided so much for them, such a short time ago. Time will tell. And a short amount of time, at that.

Put that in Your Jar and Boil it.

2008-09-10T07:53:00.004-06:00

A few years ago, I was at an upscale restaurant in California and noticed a chef preparing a sauce. The interesting part was this - the first step in the process for the chef was opening a large, half gallon jar of some sort of tomato concoction. Keep in mind, the chef didn't open a can, he opened a bottle.

Upon closer inspection - it was a bottle that was home-canned! After doing a little detective work, I found that this restaurant spends a good portion of time during the harvest bottling the bounty they grow in their own gardens - only to serve those up later in the year. And this isn't just any restaurant, it's one owned by world-famous chef, Alice Waters.

So, that little episode got me thinking - if great chefs think canning produce is a worthy ambition, then what's stopping us from jumping into the sealed-lid fray?

So far, we've canned tomatilla salsa, traditional salsa and chili sauce. Tonight we're making grape jelly. In the coming days we are planning to bottle corn salsa, tomatoes, peaches and - heaven help me - pears.

Got any great canning recipes or secrets to share?

Anger on the Fairway aka Epic Meltdowns

2008-09-04T07:56:00.004-06:00

Editor's note: Here are some epic meltdown stories from golfers on the pro-tour. A few days ago, famed golfer, Terrible Tommy Bolt died, leaving a legacy of broken clubs and drowned drivers. The information from this post can be found on Golf.com

Davis Love III
Where: 1999 Bay Hill Invitational

Upset with a poor shot, Love took an angry swipe with his sand wedge and unwittingly hit a sprinkler head, which detonated and began to flood the par-3 17th hole. Tournament host Arnold Palmer sent him a bill: $3.50 for parts, $175,000 for labor.

Curtis Strange
Where: 1982 Doral-Eastern Open Invitational

After a wayward drive, Strange kicked his bag while it was on the shoulder of his caddie, Gene Kelley. Kelley went down, and three weeks later had surgery to fuse two vertebrae. He hired an attorney and the two settled out of court for medical expenses and a small amount of cash.

Mark Calcavecchia
Where: 1992 L.A. Open

Calc slammed his club onto a cart path after a lousy drive. The stick exploded, and pieces of it buzzed a spectator.

John Daly
Where: 1994 NEC World Series of Golf

En route to an 83, Long John launched a drive on the 15th tee before letting the group ahead of him clear out. The ball nearly beaned club pro Jeffrey Roth. Roth's mother and Daly exchanged words after the round, just before Roth's 62-year-old dad jumped Daly from behind in the parking lot. Daly suffered a back injury during the altercation, forcing him to sit out the rest of the season.

Craig Stadler
Where: 1985 Hawaiian Open

Playing a par 3 in the fourth round, Stadler hit his tee shot into the sand and swiped at one of the pineapple tee markers, which he assumed were plastic, with his club. They were real, and pineapple sauce and hilarity ensued. The Walrus rebounded to shoot 64 and finish second.

Pat Perez made two wild swings with his 3-wood then pounded it into the sod.

John Huston
Where: 1992 Honda Classic

In the first round Huston hooked two drives into the lake on the par-5 seventh. Hitting five, he sprayed his next drive right and helicoptered his Wilson Whale driver into the pond That took his first two balls. The club floated, so Huston waded in after it and fell off an unseen shelf. When playing partner Mike Hulbert turned around all he saw was Huston's hat. All was not lost, as Huston gained a new nickname: Swamp Thing.

Tommy Bolt
Where: 1960 U.S. Open

After hitting two drives into the water on the finishing hole at Denver's Cherry Hills Country Club, Bolt hurled his driver into the drink, too. The photograph of his over-the-shoulder release became the iconic image of golf frustration.

Pat Perez
Where: 2002 AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am

In the final round, Perez made two wild swings with his 3-wood at the par-5 14th then pounded it into the sod. After reclaiming the lead, he hit his drive OB by inches at the par-5 18th, hit his fourth shot into the Pacific and tried to break his 3-wood over his knee.

A Life Officially Half Complete.

2008-08-31T15:40:00.003-06:00

It was interesting to read that the guy who wrote the book, "100 things to do before you die," just finished his life. At 47, he died in the simplest way possible. Not by falling off a glacier or falling prey to a hungry lion. The light went out on this author's existence from a plain-old fall at his house.

I was happy to discover, however, that this guy was half way through his list of "must do's" when he died. Fifty out of one hundred great things isn't too shabby, if you ask me. In fact I think it's down-right respectable.

I've heard of guys who plan on doing things like climbing the highest mountain on each continent or biking across America. Those seem pretty noble. My brother's goal is to walk all 2,175 miles of the Appalachian Trail. My wife is a lot more adventurous than I am. I really need to find out what's on her list.

Short of life's everyday pleasures, what are the things you feel like you need to do put an exclamation point on your life? And better still - what's your time line for getting these done?
If you haven't started putting check marks on your list, you'd better get started right now. You never know when you're going to lose your life from a fall at your home.

Here's a list of things I'd like to do:

• Play and sing a country song to an audience of 500. And have them enjoy it
• Mountain bike the entire Sante Fe trail
• Speak Spanish like a native
• Spread the good word of the Gospel every chance I get. (Doing it in Spanish would be a bonus.)
• Live in a beach house and let the sound of the waves take me to dream land each night
• Invent a sport that becomes popular around the world
• Walk the Mormon Trail in the footprints of my fathers
• Build a park where my ancestors settled in East Millcreek, Utah
• Serve more missions than I can count on one hand
• Visit Cuba for more than a month
• Restore a 56 Chevy convertible for my dad
• Walk the Freedom Trail with my family
• Eat my way through Europe
• Explore the Fjords of Norway
• See the Southern Cross from a sailboat
• Walk the Camino de Santiago in Spain
• Fish for Dorado in the Sea of Cortez in a small boat
• Swim with my wife who is swimming with Dolphins

Arrived.

2008-08-31T06:40:00.004-06:00

Early Saturday morning, Maclaine made her way to Puerto Rico. By six thirty in the evening, we received word via email that she was settling into a night at the mission home and feeling excited and ready go to work.

For her, it was a day of nervous anticipation - traveling alone what seemed to be half way around the world, wearing the name tag and carrying the belongings she'll need to sustain herself for the next year and a half. For us, we are thrilled she is finally on her way.

Brownie Anyone?

2008-08-23T20:54:00.003-06:00

While this might not be the perfect brownie, it's pretty darn close. My mom used to make a version of these (the toping) when I was a kid. I've worked on improving it for the masses.

Brownies
In a sauce pan on low heat, melt 3 sticks of butter. Add 3 heaping tablespoons of cocoa powder. Add to that, 3 cups of sugar. Stir until the mix is syrupy. Take off heat, stir in 1/2 a teaspoon of salt and 1 teaspoon of vanilla.

Transfer to a mixing bowl and add 4 eggs - one at a time- and blend quickly so they don't cook in the warm chocolate. Stir in 1 cup of flour and 1 cup of walnut halves. Put mixture in a floured 9" x 13" pan and bake at 350º until done.

After the brownies are cooked, remove from oven and cover with 3/4 bag of miniature marshmallows. Put back into the oven until the tops of the marshmallows are puffy and browned. Quickly remove from the oven. Let cool completely.

Frosting
Melt 1/2 stick of butter in a sauce pan, stir in 2 tablespoons of cocoa powder. Once the mix is smooth take off heat and transfer to mixing bowl. Mix in small amounts of milk and large amounts of powdered sugar until the frosting is the proper consistency. Spread evenly on the top of the cooked marshmallows.

Once the frosting has had time to set, cut the brownies and place in a foil-lined box for 2 days before serving.

The Errand of Angels.

2008-08-22T07:39:00.004-06:00

Working within the laws of probability, I'm guessing that the movie being released tonight, "The Errand of Angels" won't be more than a blip on the celluloid radar screen for dramatic content or box office draw. But that's all right with me.

The movie has already left its mark.

There's a pretty good chance you'll know why I'm feeling the way I am - It's because my own daughter is on her Errand of Angels. As she studies, prays and prepares, I know that the paths this daughter will walk - and the hearts she will undoubtedly touch - will be a testament to her goodness, but much more to the goodness of Him whom she represents. Even still, who can help but love the messenger?

I've seen - and continue to see - angels who are on the errand of the great Creator.

Who would doubt it when they see the women we love spreading the spirit of love? In my own home, I see my wife laboring for the girls in our ward. And her goodness never tires. Whether it's a phone call, a thought or a heartfelt prayer, these girls are under her constant care.

Or who could deny that the errands of my mother haven't been blessed by heaven as she felt the divine call, turned her car around, drove to the nursing home - always just in time - to hold a hand, brush back the hair, kiss a check and whisper, "it's okay to go home," to a bed-ridden sister; and then watched at the majesty as these women slipped quietly from this realm to the next.

It's true. The angels are all around us. And it takes nothing more than an attentive eye to see that their errands are the errands of angels.

The Crapshoot Known as Picking the Right Melon.

2008-08-17T20:26:00.003-06:00

Out of the corner of my eye - whatever that means - I watched as a young man helped an older guy pick out the perfect watermelon. (Actually, the older guy was a little skeptical since he was on the receiving end of a new melon in-trade for two lousy ones he purchased the day before from the same vendor.)

So the official-melon-picking-kid prodded, poked, pounded, slapped and twisted melon after melon, all the while trying to look as official as possible. After going back and forth for what seemed like an eternity - I was waiting to buy a bag of corn - the kid picked up a melon that looked just like all the rest and said something like this, "This is your melon. This is the one you want."

Holy Kreskin. How did he know that was the best fruit? I was amazed. I only wish I had collected the melon-purchaser's phone number so I could call later to confirm the lushness of the pick.

After buying my dozen ears of golden maize, I thought about what I'd just seen. I concluded that the majority of us are just like the melon-slapping kid. We do our best to pick a direction to go and then hold our breath and run with it, not knowing the results until later. Sometimes much later.

Whether it's the Hyundai you bought in 1989 that you knew was too good to be true or the software you bought to protect your computer when the clock hit 2000, sometimes you just don't know how your decision is going to play out - good, bad or somewhere in between.

With that in mind, my mid-year resolution is to give people who seem to make a bad decision a break. Chances are when they made the decision, they took the time they needed to prod, poke and slap the melon; it's just that more often than not, until they (or you) cut into the fruit, you're not going to know what you're going to get.

Riding the Wild Woolies Right There in the Middle of Wayne County.

2008-08-15T18:59:00.005-06:00

There's nothing quite as exhilarating as watching your six year old tentatively crawl on the back of a ruddy buck-sheep with three cowboys trying to control the thing, clamp his arms around the animal's neck and hang on as it fanatically runs out into the rodeo arena trying to toss the cowboy on top.

Before heading to the Wayne County kid's rodeo, we watched a lot of Mutton Busting on YouTube. Gabe, with a little advice from his father, thought it wouldn't be too big of a deal to walking in there and cowboy up. The only thing we didn't count on was this - they grow their sheep big in the center of the Beehive state.

Even though the ride only lasted four or five seconds (he was thrown loose and kicked in the leg by the overly-large male sheep that was in desperate need of a hair cut and a bath) the adventure for him and for us was stellar. Or maybe it was just stellar for his parents.

Like a lot of other kids his age, once Gabe picked himself off the arena turf, he turned and limped back to his dad with short-term rage filling his little frame. "Dad," he yelled. "I'm never riding a sheep again!"

All I could do was bite my lip and try not to smile.

I don't know. Perhaps the Wayne county folk like to take this sport to the next level by bringing in the ratty old breeders who seem to be a lot larger and whole lot more temprimental than their undersized female counter parts. (Even the cowboys had a rough time keeping the hurd under control.) Or maybe it's just plain fun to see little kids getting tossed off into a heap of young flesh right there on the rodeo turf. Whatever their reasons, we liked it too.

So, after a few hugs, a soda pop and a pep-talk, even Gabe is talking about trying his luck in the next go-round. And you can bet we'll be there to cheer him on too.

Editor's note: Even though Ruby was pushing the weight limit, she drew a smaller sheep for her ride and stepped confidently into the arena. Once on, she neglected bitting the animal's ear - something I told both kids they should do at the start of the ride to establish dominance . Ruby held on for the entire ride, jumped off at the right moment and walked away from her defeated mount.

Summer Pasta.

2008-08-13T18:37:00.002-06:00

(Editor's note: That's right. We are wading into new territory here. Not so willingly, but not that upset about it either. So from here out, if we find something good and easily-made, we'll gladly throw the recipe your way.)

Ahh summer. All hail to the fresh tomato. One of the easiest things in the world to do is cook a fresh summer pasta for the troops. Once you try this, you're going to start growing tomatoes and speaking Italian.

Here's how you do it:
Grab a handful of ripe tomatoes. Cut them in wedges - the long way. Heat up a frying pan with enough olive oil to cover the bottom. Add a large spoonful of crushed garlic. Get ready, because if the pan is hot (like it ought to be) the garlic will start popping and flying all over the joint.

Next, throw in the tomatoes, good salt and hand-ground pepper. (Add more than you'd think you'll need - the spaghetti will absorb it like crazy.) Sprinkle a little red pepper in for good measure and then swirl in about a cup of white wine. (For this, red wine will work too.) Keep it cooking nice and hot, but only for a few minutes - you don't want the tomatoes to break down too much and have the skins falling off. Last thing before taking it off the heat - toss in as many basil leaves as you'd like.

Have the spaghetti cooked, drained and placed in a round, shallow pasta serving bowl. (Sounds funky, but pasta tastes better when it's served in the right bowl!) Now, add the sauce you've just created. Give the hungry eaters the option of tossing some black olives and goat cheese the concoction.

Here's the last secret - cook more than you'd think you'll need, because what doesn't get snarfed up at dinner will be making its way onto your plate for lunch.

Waiting for the Gravy Train.

2008-08-11T09:29:00.004-06:00

During the past few months, my wife has become a bird-watching enthusiast. And to bring that world a little closer to ours, we've installed a few bird feeders just outside the kitchen windows at our little casa. When the birds are that close to you, you begin to notice a few things that you normally wouldn't see.

For one - these little guys eat a whole lot of food. They'd go through a pound of bird seed a week if I'd let them. For another, there is a legitimate pecking order to who eats when and for how long. And that all works smoothly until a bird who thinks he's the boss swoops in and disrupts the ecosystem.

Typically, here's how it works: While two or three birds are eating from the feeders, other birds are patiently waiting in the tree nearby to have a turn at filling their stomach. Once the next bird in line things it's his turn, he flies to the feeder and nudges the bird eating out of the way. Most of the time, the bird who is receiving the nudging politely flies back to the tree and gets back in line for another turn at the trough.

This all happens very smoothly until a blue jay decides that it's his turn and his turn only. When he lands, the smaller birds scatter. And he sits alone and eats until he's ready to leave.

Truth be told, the Blue Jay has lost a little luster in my eyes. I've always thought of myself as the wait your turn sort of guy and when I see my ecosystem disrupted, I get a little excited myself.

The Case For a Swimming Earwig.

2008-08-08T21:43:00.002-06:00

Tonight I watched an earwig swimming for his life in a giant vat of peaches. I'm only guessing it was a him, because a her wouldn't have found herself in that predicament.

I was over at our church's welfare cannery and had volunteered to man the machine that dumps an enormous amount of peaches into a large metal container full of water. Once the peaches have been submersed, a large jet of water pushes them to a conveyor belt where they find their way to the slicer, then the steamer and finally into a can.

So, there in the middle of a thousand swimming peaches was a lone earwig. The hated bug, the freak with pincers for legs, the legendary monster I've always believed will eat your brain as a late night snack while you slumber. So there he was, swimming from unstable peach to unstable peach; and nearly on the brink of collapse.

Yet, I did the unthinkable - I saved the beast.

That's right. I quickly moved the little guy from my gloved-hand to the bin of rotting peach leaves so he could live for another day.

I don't know what got into me. But I didn't want the earwig to die on my watch. If he was going to succumb to the elements, I wanted it to be on his terms, not mine.

Now those of you that think I've turned into the ultimate pacifist, take heart. I'll still gladly put a caught-fish on a stringer and, for that matter, I won't think twice about eating another hamburger. It's just that tonight, saving an earwig seemed to be part of my job.

Is Fall Around the Corner, Or is it just Me?

2008-08-06T06:47:00.003-06:00

There are a lot of years when fall seems like the respite from the heat I'm looking for. Unfortunately, this isn't one of them. If you're like me, you'd like summer to continue for three or four months longer than usual.

I know this is a strange topic when we are smack-dab in the dog days of August, but my body keeps telling me that fall is around the corner and sneaking up on us quickly. Besides the fall colors, football and the promise of winter that so many people love, fall brings with it shorter days and less sunlight - which are not a welcome event in my way of thinking.

Fall also brings school shopping, the deer hunt and Halloween. I've got to stop. I'm getting myself more and more depressed.

So, here's to more barbecues. More days at the beach. More trips around the lake on a wake board. More sunburns and more sunscreen. If summer is on its way out and fall is trying to sneak in under the threshold of your front door, then I saw we shoo it away as long as possible.

If the Beach Boys can have an endless summer, then so can we.

Maclaine's Mailing Address

2008-08-02T08:17:00.002-06:00

For those who are interested - here's Maclaine's mailing address for the next few weeks:

Sister Maclaine Neff
MTC Mailbox #99
PUR-SJUW 0821
2005 No. 900 E.
Provo, Utah 84604-1793

Morning, Come Quickly.

2008-07-30T09:52:00.002-06:00

Years ago, there was an advertisement plastered on buses and billboards in a nearby big city. The pitch was for the local newspaper and it simply said, "It will all make sense in the morning."

The newspaper, if you haven't figured it out, was saying that, come morning, their analysis of the prior day's events would be sorted out and placed in a palatable perspective so that the reader could find strength in the pages, drink from a wellspring of security and begin their day.

For me, I'm not so certain that information from a newspaper, or any other media source for that matter, has the ability to set things in order. Nevertheless, morning still brings with it a joy that another day - another chance - has arrived, offering the promise or anxiety that your situation and your own powers of decision hand to you.

As you might guess, on this morning, we find ourselves a few hours away from saying goodbye for a long, long time to our first born daughter. While we've shed more than our share of tears, we awoke on this day to the promise that today brings greater blessings and greater opportunity than it brings trepidation.

Certainly, the next few hours, the next few days, the next few weeks and months will bring with them anxious moments melded with moments of precious memory, but the banner we choose to bear is one that speaks of victory and of love and of desire to serve. And in that respect, this morning could not come quickly enough.

Down to the Wire.

2008-07-29T07:33:00.002-06:00

I don't have any idea where the phrase, "Down to the Wire" came from or what exactly it means.

This I do know - when my breathing gets a little shallow and I'm emotional and jittery, I can only guess that something big is happening. And happening very shortly.

Such is the case with our family and we prepare to say our goodbye's to our oldest daughter Maclaine, who will hug her mom, dad, sisters and brother tomorrow and walking into another phase of her life - one that she's been preparing for for a long long time.

Most of you who are friends know that our daughter is departing for missionary service for our church. What that means to you is this - she'll be out of the country for eighteen months serving those in a place she knows little about. For us, it means she'll be dedicating everything she has spreading a message of hope, truth and love.

And while we say our goodbye's enrobed in the faith that what she is doing is what her maker intends for her - and for us - to do, it is still coming down to the wire and we are feeling the effects of that great decision that our lovely daughter has prayerfully made and will shortly perform.