Dickens: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times;"

Here are a couple of observations I noted in a recent economic report:

US employment numbers dropped by 651,000 jobs in February, nearly equaling the monthly declines in December and January. The national unemployment rate rose from 7.6% to 8.1%, the highest since 1983.

I finished graduate school in 1983 during a significant recession. It was very difficult to find full-time employment at that time. In fact, because I could not find work I accepted a position as a summer intern while I continued to search for a “real” job. I felt a heavy responsibility to provide for my wife and three little children and was very concerned that I might not be able to find work by summer’s end. So how did I get a job?

My manager was responsible not only for Human Resources (my educational background), but also for Corporate Services, which included all the buildings and office cubicles. Several office moves were scheduled for the summer months and I did whatever I could to help out. So instead of doing what I was educated to do, I helped plan and organize office moves. This was “down and dirty” work, often involved working late and on weekends to help with the moves when people were away from the building. Instead of working with the white collar professionals in the company, I worked in the trenches with the maintenance workers, office construction staff, and moving company staff. I think when my manager saw my willingness to pitch in and help with whatever was necessary, she decided I was worth keeping. I ended the summer with the offer of a full-time position.

The United States, China, and many countries in Europe have enacted economic stimulus packages, with the U.S. and Chinese packages proportionately larger than the European packages. Little impact will be felt before late 2009; most of the impact will appear in 2010.

Today I think it is necessary to adopt a strategy to “ride out” the recession. It seems clear that a recovery will take some time to occur. That said, I am confident that we will see better times again. During difficult times, we can all fall victim to two extremes of thought. We can mistakenly think that good times will always continue and not have a backup plan or build a safety net. I think this is what we have witnessed during much of the last thirty years. The prophets have been very clear that we should be prepared for emergencies, including loss of employment and reduction of income. Conversely, during bad times we can conclude that the future will always be bleak. Such catastrophic thinking may destroy hope that better days will come. Both extremes can cause us to make short-term decisions that have poor long-term consequences.

Life tends to follow a roller-coaster pattern, with recurring highs and lows. I once heard a speaker say that as adults our lives would likely move in and out of crisis every three months or so. At the time I thought his comment was extreme. I no longer think so. I can think of no generation that has not had serious challenges and struggles. Certainly the pioneers faced difficulties we can only imagine. Within the last hundred years the world has experienced two great world wars and countless smaller wars. Some lethal diseases, now rare, were once commonplace. And economies have fluctuated over and over again. So what we are experiencing to day, though it may be different in degree, is certainly not different in kind from what many others have seen. We have no reason to expect a life without challenge and turmoil. But that doesn’t mean we won’t be happy and experience joy in life. With patience, preparation, persistence and prayer we can – and will – weather the problems we face. “Therefore, let your hearts be comforted; for all things shall work together for good to them that walk uprightly … (D&C 100: 15)

My nickname in grade school ... and Book of Mormon nicknames?

When I was a boy there was a fast food hamburger chain in Salt Lake City called Dee's Hamburgers. Long before McDonald's came to Utah, the advertising image of this outlet was a clown. If the clown had a name, I was unaware of it; everyone knew it as the Dee Burger Clown. I was the only student in school named Dee. And guess what my nickname was? Yes, I was known far and wide as the Dee Burger Clown.

Today going for a hamburger is practically an everyday occurrence. In the late 1950s and early 1960s it was still a big deal to go for burgers. This photo of the Dee Burger Clown shows a price of 28 cents for a hamburger, but I can remember when I was in graduate school in the early 1980s there would occasionally be specials for 19 cents (Mom and I would enjoy a night out for fine dining!) and on a rare Friday the 13th the special promotion would be hamburgers for 13 cents.

I can still remember the advertising jingle that played so often on the radio: "Let's all go to Dee's ... Let's all go to Dee's ... That's what Daddy says and the family all agrees. Dee's!" Okay, so it was in the days before women's rights and gender equality.

Eventually this chain was sold to Hardee's and the cherished Dee Burger Clown disappeared. My nickname hung on through high school, though, as the memory of Dee's Hamburgers was indelibly impressed in the memory of many people. Interestingly, the chain had an outlet in South Africa as some entrepreneur from Utah (a returned missionary, perhaps?) tried an early international expansion. Apparently this was the first experiment at a fast food outlet in that country (see Wikipedia for more details). The next photo shows what must have been the eventual fate of all the Dee Burger clowns (sigh) -- except me.


Based on my not altogether pleasant experience with this nickname, when Mom and I had children we tried very hard to choose names that we thought would not lend themselves to terrible nicknames. Try as we might, though, various nicknames took root and flourished. Ben became known early on as BJ. Lisa was called Weesa and later as Chunga (ask her). Brian became Briney when one of the younger girls couldn't quite master the correct pronunciation. Laura was Oreo for a time when Lindsey couldn't say the letter L properly. Later she was Lorp or Lorpie, and I believe eventually Autumn tagged her with Woe-wee. And Lindsey will forever be known as Cheekers (ask Laura for the de-"tail" on this one ... pardon the pun). I've undoubtedly overlooked or forgotten many other nicknames; perhaps everyone can add to the list I've started here.

In the back of some editions of the Book of Mormon is a pronunciation guide to the names found in the manuscript. What I would really like to see is a list of their nicknames! During my childhood Nephi might have been known as Pop (because of the Nephi soda sold at that time). Laman would undoubtedly have been Lame-man. Perhaps Lemuel would have been called Lemur (a cousin to a weasel?). We already know from John Bytheway that Shiblon was dubbed Shibby (ugh!). And it is for a good reason that the brother of Jared was known by that substitute for his real name ... but I bet he had a nickname, too. Too bad it was so difficult to engrave on the metal plates. Or maybe the nicknames are in the sealed portion of the plates!

100 and counting

In trying to decide the topic for my 100th blog entry, I have been considering themes that have to do with the number one hundred … century … Roman numeral C … and so on. When I thought about the number one hundred as ten squared, I was reminded of my grandparents who, coincidentally, each had ten children.

On the Oviatt side are three sons (Volmer, LuDean, Arden) and seven daughters (Vea, Grace, Agnes, Elva, Lois, Marva, Sally).

• Volmer lives in Price, Utah. He was involved in fierce fighting in WWII, but I never heard him mention anything about his war experiences. We would stop occasionally on the way to visit our grandparents to see him and Aunt Rita, who is now gone.
• LuDean and his wife Connie lived in California and we did not know him very well. The only time I remember seeing LuDean was at the Oviatt family reunion. They are both gone now.
• My dad, who died in 1976 a month after turning 44 years old, was the first of his siblings to pass away. He is buried next to his parents in the Elmo cemetery.
• Vea and her husband Leo Sabey lived in Midvale, less than a mile from the house we lived in from 1963 or 1964 to 1966. Uncle Leo was the manager of the Utah-Idaho sugar factory where both my parents worked for a time. Both are deceased.
• Grace and her husband Albert Rodgers lived in Salt Lake City. Grace was famous for the wonderful caramels she made for Christmas gifts. Her boys sold us a gasoline powered go-kart we loved driving up and own our lane. Both are gone now.
• Agnes lives with her son in Elmo. Even though she doesn’t see very well, she does intricate beadwork and has sent me a number of bead animals as gifts. Aunt Agnes lost a son in a coal mining accident. His body was never recovered.
• Sisters Elva and Lois married brothers Ted and Bill Jensen. We frequently visited Bill and Lois, who had children my age, but seldom visited Ted and Elva, whose children were older. You have heard me talk about visiting Aunt Lois’ farm and sledding down a snow-covered hill onto the roof of a shed. The first time I saw a goat slaughtered was at Uncle Bill’s house. Only Uncle Ted is still living.
• Marva Dawn and her husband Clifford Jones lived in Othello, Washington. I spent the summer of 1966 living with them and working on their farm. What an impact they had in my life and on my activity in the church! Marva still lives in Washington; Uncle Clifford is gone.
• Sally and her husband Dan Russ lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming. My earliest memory of Aunt Sally is seeing her in uniform (Air Force). While we didn’t visit her and Russ when I was younger, I have enjoyed visiting her as an adult. Pray for Aunt Sally as she recovers from double knee replacement surgery!
  

On the Allen side are five sons (Jim, Lynn, Hugh, Bob, Dean) and five daughters (Reva, Zelma, Melba, Loretta Mae, Rolene).

• Jim and his first wife, Connie, lived in California, where he had served in the Navy. After her death several years ago, he moved to Ferron, Utah and remarried (Dorothy). I have very few memories of Jim when I was young because he had already left home.
• Lynn is living in Colorado. Upon returning from his mission, he stayed with our family in Midvale for a short time while he was looking for a job. His first wife, Betty, died and I know little about his current situation.
• Hugh and his wife Carol lived in Grantsville, Utah. Hugh was terribly injured in an avalanche on a Boy Scout activity and nearly died. He also nearly lost his leg and had a very prolonged recovery. He finally passed away at a very young age of heart failure, no doubt hastened by his severe injury. I can remember Hugh digging out a basement under his house in Grantsville while he lived in the house. I never understood how the house didn’t fall in on him. Aunt Carol remarried and lives in Utah.
• Bob and his wife Earlene live in Orangeville, Utah. I worked for a brief period with Uncle Bob while on break from college classes. Bob saved my life one time by not killing me when I painted a house he was finishing the wrong color because I couldn’t tell the difference in the shades of the interior and exterior paint. Aunt Earlene made it possible for Mom and me to go to Mexico and Jamaica by watching our five children while we were gone (we didn’t trust anyone else with our kids!). Remember eating “dirt and worms?”
• Dean and his wife Connie live in Clawson, Utah. Dean went through the Salt Lake Temple with me as I prepared to leave for the mission field. I’m lucky this wasn’t work for the dead because of an earlier time when I was with him in a car he was driving and decided to show me what it was like to go 100 miles per hour on a country road!
• Aunt Reva and her husband Norman lived in Lawrence, Utah. Aunt Reva was already married when I remember visiting with my Allen grandparents. But we enjoyed many visits to her farm, especially at lambing time when we got to help feed the bummer lambs with large glass bottles full of milk. Uncle Norman is gone now.
• Zelma and her husband Jack Minchey live in Grantsville, Utah. We were frequent visitors at their home when I was growing up. One time I got into big trouble because I used my new tape recorder to secretly capture a conversation between my parents and Jack and Zelma. I have no idea what they were discussing. I remember that I was forced to erase the tape!
• Mom was responsible for purchasing the house in South Jordan where our family lived from 1966 until she moved recently. My father thought the $110/month payment for a house costing $20,000 was beyond their means and wanted to move into a more modest place (a dump close to a bar). But Mom held her ground – a wonderful decision for us kids!
• I never met Loretta Mae. When Grandmother Allen was pregnant, she slipped during a trip to the mountains and fell on her stomach. Loretta Mae was born disabled and eventually was placed in what was formerly called the American Fork Training School because of the care she needed for her severe disabilities. Coincidentally, she died shortly after my Grandfather Allen passed away in 1974.
• Rolene and her husband Gale Rasmussen live in Vernal, Utah. When I was a child Rolene visited with us and taught me how to dunk for quarters. On the Fourth of July holiday, one activity for the kids involved a big wash tub filled with water with coins scattered in the bottom. We were allowed to keep as many as we could pick up using only our mouths (no hands!). Thanks to Aunt Rolene, I became very good at this and got more than my fair share of extra spending money. Rolene has served as a Justice of the Peace in Vernal.

Not many people are so fortunate as to have twenty aunts and uncles (even more counting their spouses!).

Apologizing and Repenting

For years I have been amazed at what passes for an apology. A typical scenario is when someone gets caught (and this, unfortunately, is usually the motivation for what follows) doing something really stupid or unethical or vulgar or illegal and offers an apology by saying, "I'm sorry if anyone was offended by what I did."

This isn't an apology at all! In reality, this is a criticism. Someone who offers this type of "apology" is really saying, "I didn't do anything wrong. But I'm sorry that you are so overly sensitive that you were offended." In other words, no apology is really intended. And no change is intended except, perhaps, to avoid getting caught next time.

Imagine if people repented like this. "Heavenly Father, I realize that technically I broke six of the ten commandments and kind of skirted two of the others. I'm sorry if you are offended by what I did and hope you will forgive me."

Here is a lesson I learned while teaching my children (you will know who you are) to drive. When Brenda and I married, she did not have a driver's license and had, in fact, never learned to drive. Growing up in Branch, Arkansas (population 200) really didn't require either a license or a car. And coming to school at BYU in Provo certainly didn't require driving. So I did all the driving when we were dating and after we married. Occasionally Brenda would express concern or anxiety about my driving and I would get peeved at her for questioning my ability. Once I started teaching my own children to drive I rode in the passenger seat and gained a new perspective. It was at that point that I adopted a rule in my own life and tried to teach an important principle to my children: the driver is responsible to operate the vehicle in such a way that the passenger feels comfortable and safe. If Brenda does not feel safe, it is my job to change how I am driving so that she does. It is never acceptable to say (or even think), "If you don't like the way I drive, get out of the car!"

This was hard for me initially, but I have grown in wisdom ... at least in this area. My position is no longer, "I'm sorry if you don't like the way I drive." Instead, I swallow my pride and change my approach so that my passengers feel safe.

To me, this analogy illustrates the principle of a true apology. I don't slow down grudgingly while remaining angry. I change how I drive so my passenger feels truly safe. In areas other than driving, I no longer tell others I'm sorry if they are offended at something I have said or done. Instead, I tell them I am sorry for my words or acts. Even if I think they should not be offended, the reality is that they are and that I am the cause. When this is the case, I owe a true apology.

Now, if I can just master repentance ...

Good-"Buy" to Shopping

When the weekend comes, practically the last thing I want to do is go shopping. Yet this is exactly what a run to the store with Mom to buy something often turns into. And in only two sentences I have described one of the huge differences between men and women. I reference the title of a research study from a prestigious business school: "Men Buy, Women Shop." This is exactly what I experience.

For me, buying something is usually a focused, practical, short-term activity. That's because the act of making a purchase is very much tied up with solving a problem. I go to the store because I need something. The faster I can find what I am looking for, the sooner I can fix what is wrong and move on to doing something enjoyable.

For Mom, shopping is an "experience" or an "adventure." It is a chance to do something fun or different. It is an opportunity to explore ways in which our lives or house could be made more interesting. And it is a time to see new things and talk to new people. Shopping is enjoyable in itself and making the purchase brings the fun to an end. Mom will go to the store because she wants something, and that something is often a break or diversion from the day-to-day routine of life.

Don't get me wrong; I will price shop for a significant purchase to make sure I'm getting a good deal. But this type of shopping is a means to an end, and the end is buying. For Mom, shopping can be recreational, a "date" like eating out or going to a movie.

Now, how do you think we enjoy going to the store together? Often I am finished within the first 5-10 minutes and Mom is just getting warmed up. A recent visit to the thrift store is a case in point. I went into the store thinking that I would try to find a shirt. I found two shirts within a few minutes, quickly walked up and down the store aisles to see if there was any bargain too good to pass up, and then went to tell Mom I was ready to go. When Mom walked into the store, the jewelry counter caught her eye. While I found my shirts and went through the entire store, Mom was still looking at jewelry. She was not even close to being ready to go let me know that she needed much more time to look through the rest of the store. So I drove home to shovel the driveway and came back 45 minutes later to get her (and she still was not finished shopping).

The person who performed our marriage (I'll always remember his name, Vernon Thomander) counseled Mom and me always to do everything together. I understand the wisdom of his counsel and have tried to observe it throughout our marriage. His intent, I'm sure, was to strengthen our marriage and help us draw closer to one another. But I'm quite confident our marriage will continue stronger if I "buy" and Mom "shops" separately!

Under the Weather

A virus is making its way through Central Iowa, leaving a path of misery and woe. It is so widespread that the local news ran a feature story on how many people are sick, missing work and school. Unfortunately, Brenda and I have both been afflicted.

I've noticed that when I get sick, I get REALLY sick and need special pampering and tender loving care. (I know Brenda gets sick, too, but that is just "normal" sick.) I also get cravings, which I assume is my body's way of telling me that it needs something to fight off the symptoms of illness.

The first and foremost requirement when I am sick is for salt and vinegar flavored potato chips and citrus flavored soda; Squirt or whiskey sour is best, though Fresca will do in a pinch. These alone practically guarantee a rapid and full recovery. Or perhaps they just ease the misery.

A backup remedy is Red Hots candy. The cinnamon seems to burn the toxins out of my system. And when I eat too many, my tongue gets burned as well. But that seems a small price to pay to feel better.Finally, I resort to chicken noodle soup. This cannot be canned soup, but has to be the dry mix package boiled in water.

Any of these remedies work best with a good murder mystery or two.

Aside from food, I also need a large box of lotion-infused facial tissue and an inhaler to clear my passages. I usually don't take much medicine. I can only take a half dose of Benadryl, because I react to it so strongly. It clouds my head and makes my skin feels so sensitive that even the bed sheets irritate me. And I will take NyQuil only in the most extreme circumstances, because the taste is far worse than the ailment. Isn't there some way in today's scientific world that medicine can be made to taste better?

When I was a boy I would sometimes come down with the croup. Mom would drape a sheet over the bed and support it in such a way to make a tent. A vaporizer would go underneath the tent to create a mist for my lungs. And she would also rub Ben-Gay and Vicks VapoRub on my chest. Interestingly, this mixture smelled very much like root beer extract. I still have fond memories of root beer scented reading marathons while ill.

Wisdom of the Fathers

For Christmas this year I had copies made of an audio recording my Dad sent to me while I was serving as a missionary in Viet Nam. I stumbled across this recording while organizing my basement and realized that, because he died in 1976, my wife and children never heard my father's voice. The recording was brief (less than five minutes) and the quality wasn't very good because of the state of the technology then. Also, because Dad had a cold the voice didn't sound quite right. But it was an interesting gift.

This has me thinking about some of the things Dad used to say to us kids. Two things readily come to mind:

While Mom usually got stuck with the dishes, on occasion we kids would do the dishes with Dad. He always insisted on washing and we had to dry and put away the dishes. If we found a dish that didn't quite get washed clean and had a bit of something stuck to it, we would gleefully point out the problem and hand the dish back to Dad. He would look at it and say, "It's a damn poor wiper who can't get what little the washer misses!" We weren't allowed to use such language, of course. But this made us all the more anxious to find the next problem so we could hear him say it again!

Utah Power and Light, the electric utility where I grew up, used in their advertising a character named Reddy Kilowatt. When Dad would say something to us that we didn't quite catch and we would say, "What?", he would reply, "Watt? Are you a light bulb?"

I don't know why these things stick out, but they are very clear memories. I'll add more examples later.

Cognition and Emotion

For years I have been studying how cognition influences emotion, or how our thinking drives our feelings. I can remember very clearly telling myself in high school that while I could help what I thought and what I did, I could not help what I felt. I don't know why at the time I believed that so strongly. Perhaps it is because in the teen years emotions can be so very powerful. As it turns out, I was wrong about being able to help what I felt because I did not understand the link between thoughts and emotions.

Many people are bothered by feelings about past events or are fearful about the future they imagine. As the first figure shows, the past and future can have no direct impact in our lives because they are, by definition, not present. However, we are capable of remembering (re-presenting) the past and imagining (pre-presenting) the future in the present through our thinking. In other words, we create a present-based version of the past or future. So we can "experience" the past or future in our thoughts, but not in reality. If we remember the past with fondness or look forward to the future with hopeful anticipation, this can be a blessing. However, too many look backward with regret and forward with fear. This is not useful or healthy. The past is behind us and cannot harm us; only our thinking about the past can cause us to suffer. Similarly, the future is before us and cannot harm us; only our thinking can do so. I hold to Dan Zadra's notion that "Worry is a misuse of imagination."

And while we do experience others and events or circumstances in the present, it is our thinking about these that are the cause of stress and suffering. This is a difficult concept to understand and accept, but is so powerful and liberating. The power of our minds and our agency is phenomenol.

What is the main message of the first figure? I experience the world -- past, present and future -- through my thoughts, which give rise to the emotions I feel. If I struggle and suffer, the immediate cause is my thinking about the past, the present, others and events or circumstances, and not any of those things directly.

The second figure expands on this by illustrating that living in the world of "should" and "should not" rather than in the world of "what is" (reality) is the cause of our suffering. This, again, is a function of our thinking. My friend, Rebecca Overson, counsels that we stop "shoulding all over ourselves" in order to end our suffering. The wise come to learn that "pain is inevitable; suffering is optional." (Unknown author)

We enjoy a gift of agency that cannot be taken from us. While we may not enjoy the power to change the circumstances we face in life, we always have the power of choice regarding our thinking about what we experience and, thus, the associated feelings. More on this later ...

Saturday Morning Waffles

A tradition in our family was for Dad to make waffles on Saturday mornings. I don’t remember how this tradition was born, though I have fond memories of my father cooking eggs and potatoes on occasion. Somehow, Dad’s cooking tasted extra good – probably because of the novelty of him cooking. I’m sure that Mom must not have appreciated our making such a big deal out of Dad’s cooking when she did the lion’s share of fixing meals!

In our “empty nest” we rarely have waffles. In fact, we no longer own a waffle iron. But on Saturday morning it was a big deal to dig out the thrift store waffle iron and make a big batch. Here is the original recipe I used:

Combine:
· 2 cups flour
· 2 heaping tablespoons baking powder

In a separate container mix:
· 1/4 cup oil
· 2 cups milk
· 4 eggs

Add all ingredients together, mixing well (add solids to liquids so it doesn’t lump on the bottom). Cook in a hot skillet. Eat and enjoy!

One modification I made later was to separate the egg whites, beat them until stiff, and then fold the whites into the batter (don’t mix too much).

Happy Birthday!

We observe birthdays annually, advancing one year every 365 days (plus one day in a leap year). This cycle is tied to planetary motion, of course, reflecting the orbit of the earth around the sun.

I remember when Emily celebrated Autumn’s pi-day at 3.14 years old. Imagine if instead of observing annual birthdays, we all marked pi birthdays. (A one-pi birthday is three years and 51 days, a two-pi birthday is six years and 102 days, and so on.) This might be ideal for those who like to shave years off their actual age. “How old are you anyway, Dee?” “Well, I am coming up on 18 pi … still a teenager.”

Conversely, we could also celebrate metric birthdays. A metric birthday is not quite as long as a pi birthday, and uses a different taxonomy. (A one-kilo birthday is 1,000 days, a two-kilo birthday is 2,000 days, and so on.) If someone asked me how old I am today, I could reply , “Today I am 19.9 kilodays old. On April 30 I’ll hit the big 20-k!”

So here’s a little fun. As of today (ages rounded to one decimal point):
▪ Brenda is 18.2 kilodays old
▪ Ben and Emily are respectively 10.8 and 9.5 kilodays old
▪ Autumn and Prairie are respectively 1.9 and 1.3 kilodays old
▪ Lisa and Brian Higginson are 10.2 and 12.3 kilodays old
▪ Vaughn and Dean are 1.3 and 0.2 kilodays old
▪ Brian and Laura Wangerin are 9.6 and 8.5 kilodays old
▪ Laura is 8.4 kilodays old
▪ Lindsey and Dustin are 7.5 and 8.9 kilodays old

Maybe I’ll figure out pi-birthdays later. Right now my head hurts, but I also feel much younger!

All I want for Christmas is ...

This year we planned to stay home for Christmas, but in the end we could not stand to celebrate the holiday without seeing the grandchildren. Oh, yes, and our children, also. So we braved the icy roads of Interstate 80 and spent a lovely week in Utah.

Normally I don't put much emphasis on gifts I receive. After all, we continue to practice our tradition of "used Christmas" and it is easy not to get excited about receiving a gift with a history.

But this year! I received a bust of the Savior (I've always wanted one). I received an iPod (I've always wanted one). I haven't figured out how to download music yet, but I will ... someday. I received a training kit that will teach me to play the piano. (I've always wanted one.) I received an annotated (with personal notes and memories) book about why daughters need fathers (I hadn't always wanted one, but do now because it made me cry). I received home-bottled salsa (I've always wanted some). And more! (I've always wanted more.)

Unfortunately, Brenda cheated. She broke our rule about giving only used Christmas gifts to present me with the following:

I forgive you, Brenda, for buying me the complete collection of Calvin and Hobbes. (I've always wanted one.) I haven't quite been able to bring myself to actually open the set so far, but plan to do so ... soon.

Illusions

I've always been intrigued by optical illusions. We tend to trust in what we can see ("I'll believe it when I see it!"), but it is very evident that it is easy to trick our eyes and brains. In each example below, we see something that isn't so, or see only part of the whole.

For example, the illusion at the upper left appears to show lines moving toward or away from each other. In reality, the lines are perfectly parallel. Immediately to the right are two lines enclosed by arrow points at either end. The lines are the same length, but the top one appears to be shorter. And the figure to the right spells a word. Is it "Good" or "Evil"?

On the next row is an elephant with a confusing number of legs. Is the number four? Or more? To the right of the elephant is a black and white figure of a young woman. Or is it a musician playing an instrument? And which figure is longer, A or B? Both are, of course, the same size.

In the last row the circles in the center appear different sizes, but are not. The wavy checkerboard turns out to be composed of straight lines. The next figure does not contain a drawn circle, though one is clearly visible. It is only the appearance of a circle, composed of off-setting horizontal lines. And Lincoln's hat is just as wide as it is tall.

Illusions of this type can be fun. But it important to remember that much of what we experience in life is very illusion-like. Events in life are inherently meaning-less; we are the ones who provide the meaning. Human beings are meaning-seeking. We tell ourselves stories (i.e., give explanations) about everything we experience in order to make sense of life. But we mistakenly assume that our conclusions are the truth rather than just stories we tell. And our emotions flow from our conclusions and stories.

We need never be in the grip of strong emotion because we enjoy the greatest power ever ... the power of agency, or choice. We can always choose to tell a different story and, by so doing, experience a different emotion. Those who learn this lesson early in life escape much pain and suffering.

My hope is that we all become "dis-illusioned" with life and with other people. I find personally that I do much better in life when I am curious about what happens rather than when I am angry or frustrated or upset. Curiosity causes me to see behind the illusion I hold to other possible truths, some of which are even more likely and many of which do not cause me to suffer.

When it rains ...

Enough already! The old adage about problems coming in threes certainly isn't holding true for us. I think the needle is stuck on the record (an analogy that won't make sense to anyone younger than 30, because the CD was introduced 26 years ago in October of 1982!)

Several weeks ago Mom and I decided to replace our garage door because it was so water damaged. I did this against my better judgment, because we had not saved the total amount of cash to pay for the new door. And wouldn't you know, this apparently unleashed the following avalanch of unplanned expenses:

• the water heater failed and had to be replaced
• a tire on the van picked up a nail in the sidewall and had to be replaced (punctures in sidewalls can't safely be repaired
• the battery in the van failed and had to be replaced
• the Honda Laura drives needed four new tires
• the radiator in the Honda had to be replaced

Rarely have we had so many things like this happen in such a short period of time. That said, I am so grateful that the battery in the van failed two blocks from our house and not in the middle of Nebraska or Wyoming. Our neighbor very graciously helped me quickly replace the battery and we were back on the road in no time.

I am re-learning the lessons of financial viability -- avoid unnecessary debt and always have a cushion for unexpected expenses. It looks like for Christmas this year Mom is getting a garage door and a water heater, I am getting a tire and a battery, and Laura is getting tires and a radiator. Merry Christmas!

1978 - 2008

You undoubtedly have heard me relate the story of how, on the night before we were to be married in 1978, a member of our ward who had agreed to accompany Brenda as her escort to the temple called and told Brenda that she would not do so. You may remember that Brenda – in some desperation – called Ardeth Kapp, whom she had met once three years previously, and asked if Sister Kapp might go with Brenda to the temple the next morning. Sister Kapp graciously agreed, staying until the ceremony was complete and then quickly leaving because she was late for a meeting with President Kimball! In the years since then, we have maintained a correspondence with Sister Kapp.

A few weeks ago we were pleasantly surprised to learn that Sister Kapp was to be the speaker at our annual Stake Youth Standards night. I bent (okay, broke) the rules a little and wrote to Sister Kapp asking if we might be able to see her while she was in town to speak. She was nearly as excited to see us as we were to see her and we got to enjoy dinner (hosted by the Stake President’s family) with Sister Kapp and a little bit of private time with her following the youth meeting.

Prior to this opportunity, we did not know if we would ever see Sister Kapp again. What a blessing it was for us to renew our acquaintance with her and to understand in richer detail than before just why she agreed to put her busy schedule as a counselor in the General Young Women presidency on hold and accompany Brenda to the temple. We are richly blessed to know Sister Kapp and hope that in some way we might be able to impact the lives of another individual as she has ours.

We do not have a photo of Brenda and Sister Kapp from our wedding (she had to leave before we took photos), but here is a photo from our recent reunion with her.

Moving On

Although I was released from my calling as my ward's Young Men president a couple of Sundays ago, my last activity took place this week. We had a combined activity featuring square dancing. How fun to see about 40 youth and their parents strutting their stuff! Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. And I noticed that most everyone also got quite a workout!

It is going to be hard leaving the Young Men program. I remember early in my mission in Viet Nam that President Bradshaw, probably seeing something in me that I did not yet clearly see in myself, warned me that I would complete my mission and return home unsatisfied, feeling that I had not done everything I was supposed to do. That was certainly true then ... and it remains true now.

Most church callings seem to me to be designed to do more than the average person can possibly accomplish. With the Young Men, I certainly never figured out how to attend all the meeting, hold all the interviews, work with all the quorum presidencies, meet with all the families, track all the progress, prepare all the lessons, plan and carry out all the activities, fill out all the reports, perform all the service, and do all the good that I was expected to do. I do leave this calling with some regrets for what I did not do well or do at all.

But I also know that I made an impression on these young men. I know that I taught them truth, shared my testimony, encouraged them to live the gospel, helped them understand the scriptures, showed them how to serve, taught them to honor women, and had some fun with them. That's not so bad, really. I could have done worse.

Now I move on to another calling, to serve on the stake high council. I don't yet know what I am supposed to do. I don't yet know what I will need to learn to fulfill my responsibilities and magnify my call. I don't know what will come easily to me and what will not. I don't know whom I will help and whom I will hurt. I only know that when this calling ends, I will leave unsatisfied, feeling I did not do everything I was supposed to do.

I will not have figured out how to attend all the meetings, conduct all the interviews, correlate all the activities, train all the leaders, support all the teachers, report all the progress, motivate all the priesthood holders, preach all the sermons, and render all the service I could have. But perhaps I will have made an impression. Perhaps I will have taught the truth, shared my testimony, encouraged others to live the gospel, helped people understand the scriptures, showed them how to serve, taught them to honor their family members ... and had some fun with them. And that won't be so bad, really. Maybe at that day I will once again leave thinking that I could have done worse.

Table Tennis

The Asian American employee network at Pioneer sponsored a table tennis competition this week. I did not participate in the tournament last year, but decided on a whim to do so this year. Fortunately for me, Donglong Liu consented to be my doubles partner. Unfortunately for him, I unexpectedly got a cast on my foot three days after signing up.

As might be expected, my mobility was limited and I turned out to be more of a liability than an asset to Donglong. In our first match we went up two games to none, but our opponents came back to sweep the final three games and were victorious in the match.

Here you can see me warming up with Donglong. His arm and the ball are both blurry because he hits it very fast! If you look carefully, you can see the cast on my left foot showing under the table.

Casting around

After a year of treatment for heel pain with no real improvement, my podiatrist recommended immobilizing my foot for 30 days. My options were a cast on my foot or bedrest for a month. I thought bed rest sounded great, but it wasn't very practical!

Actually, this is the second cast on my foot. The first one was extremely uncomfortable. I tried to tough it out, but after five days experienced what I can only describe as a bout of claustrophobia of the foot. I literally couldn't stand to have the cast on my foot for another moment. I tried cutting the cast, but ran into two problems: I couldn't reach to my foot very well and my tool (wire cutters) were not up to the task. So I went next door and told my neighbor, Steve, that I was going crazy and needed his help removing the cast right away. He brought out his heavy duty metal snips and did the job. Afterwards he said that he has helped a lot of neighbors with a lot of things, but this request was a first for him!

My relief was short-lived. I went back to the doctor's office the next day for another cast. But I insisted on more padding to avoid a repeat of the first experience. So far the second cast is an improvement. But I still have three weeks to go ...

As you can see, I don't let my immobility stop me from exercising. I am working with weights even if I can't walk, run, or bike. So here I am in workout clothes at the fitness center at work. Check out the muscle in that right leg! No wonder the cast on my other leg was so tight.

Lots of zeros

Large numbers fascinate me. I think this started as a child with my interests in dinosaurs (millions of years ago), the speed of light (unbelievably fast), and the distances in the universe (one light year is nearly six trillion miles). It continues today, but now the context is often something like the federal budget deficit or the cost of waging war.

Here is how I make sense of large numbers. First, consider the ordinary paper clip, which weighs about 1.4 grams. One million paper clips weigh nearly 3,100 pounds, or over a ton and a half. The number "one million" is very large when you envision a ton and a half of paper clips in your office. But the number "one billion" is much larger; one billion paper clips weigh more than eight Boeing 747 passenger jets. And the number "one trillion" is almost too large to fathom. This many paper clips would weigh more than four Empire State Buildings.

Next, consider a penny, which is 1.55 millimeters thick. A stack of a million pennies would reach nearly a mile high. A billion pennies would reach from Des Moines along Interstate 80 a little ways past the Utah-Wyoming border; driving at freeway speed (75 miles per hour) it would take almost thirteen hours to drive that distance. And a trillion pennies would reach around the earth nearly 39 times or between the moon and the earth four times. And I don't think I can drive that far.

Finally, consider time. There are 86,400 seconds in a day. This is a number I can grasp. One million seconds is just over 11.5 days, or a week and a half. So each month sees the passing of almost three million seconds. But a billion seconds is almost 32 years. With luck, I might reach the ripe old age of three billion seconds. But I'll never reach one trillion seconds; this is nearly 32,000 years.

So I get a little concerned when I hear that the federal deficit has reached the trillions of dollars. From the US National Debt Clock:

The Outstanding Public Debt as of September 19, 2008 is $9.7 trillion. The estimated population of the United States is 304 million, so each citizen's share of this debt is nearly $32 thousand.

Garage Sale

Mom and I take very different approaches to garage sales. I think this starts with the very purpose. I want to get rid of stuff (read "junk") and Mom is interested not only in making money, but in helping people by selling them things they want or need at bargain prices. Given that we differ on "why" it is not surprising that we also differ on "how." For example:

• I sweep or spray the garage floor, but Mom mops it
• I wipe off the display tables with a damp cloth, but Mom uses disinfectant
• I use pre-printed pricing stickers, but Mom stencils hand-made pricing signs
• I put out items in "as is" condition, but Mom washes or dusts the items to make them look as nice and new as possible

As it turns out, Mom's jewelry was far and away the biggest attraction at our garage sale. I never cease to be amazed at what people will buy.

Garage sales are an interesting study in people and their personalities. Some people live to haggle over the posted prices. They will buy things they don't need or want just for the opportunity to pay less than what you are asking. Other people shy away from bargaining and always pay the posted price, even though we would be willing to take less.

Mom is also an interesting study. She isn't just a cashier, taking money for what people decide to buy. She is a salesperson, pointing out items that she thinks someone will like or telling an interesting story behind a particular item. Mom connects with the people who come to her garage sales. Why? Because she is helping them.

Part one of our garage sale was last weekend. I left the display tables up in the garage and we will bring up more stuff from the basement to continue with part two over the Labor Day weekend. Wish us luck! Mom will need to sell a lot of items so that she can have enough room in her new office for what remains.

Happy Birthday to me!

Monday was my birthday and numerous people wished me well. I began the day with a 6 AM teleconference meeting. One of my colleagues said, "I understand today is your birthday, is that right?" I replied that it wasn't right, but it was accurate! He was a little confused until I explained that it wasn't right because another birthday had come much too quickly following the last one, but that he was accurate that it was my birthday.

I kept forgetting that it was my birthday and so when my caller identification would show a phone call from a family member, I would give a little start and wonder why that person would be calling and what could be wrong. Each time I was pleasantly surprised with a birthday greeting or song. Thanks to all who called and made my day.

I was tickled when Autumn called to wish me a happy birthday (with some whispered coaching from Emily in the background). Autumn told me that she had a birthday present for me and asked if I wanted to know what it was. "Me calling you!" she exclaimed! That is indeed a wonderful birthday present. Autumn ended her call by telling me that Prairie also had a birthday present for me. "What is it?" I asked. "Her taking a nap," said Autumn. I replied that taking a nap is a great birthday present and told Autumn that I would also take a nap for my birthday. What a sweet, cute call!

Laura treated me to her Scottish accent version of the Happy Birthday song. I can't hear Lassie Laura talk or sing using her thick brogue (definition: a strong dialectal accent, especially a strong Irish or Scottish accent when speaking English) without starting to giggle. By the time she finished all the flourishes of the song, I was laughing out loud. If only I could have recorded this call and preserved it for posterity.

Thanks to all for your wonderful birthday wishes. Until next year ...

What happened in 1954, the year of my birth?
-The US was composed of 48 states
-The first nuclear powered submarine was launched
-Mass vaccination of children against polio began
-The first successful kidney transplant occurred
-Roger Bannister became the first person to run a mile in under four minutes
-Bill Haley and the Comets released "Rock Around the Clock", the first rock and roll record to reach number one on the charts (initiating the rock and roll movement)
-The Supreme Court ruled that segratation in education was illegal
-The words "under God" were placed in the US Pledge of Allegiance
-The French were defeated in Viet Nam, which was divided into north and south sections
-The magazine Sports Illustrated was first published
-What eventually became The Tonight Show, with Steve Allen as host, first aired
-The transistor radio was announced
-Senator Joseph McCarthy was condemned in the US Senate
-Watson and Crick discovered the double helix structure of DNA
-The Boeing 707 took its maiden flight
-Swanson introduced TV Dinners
-The Dow Jones closed at an all time high of 382.74

What did things cost in 1954?
-A postage stamp cost 3 cents
-The First all Electronic Color television went on sale from RCA for $1,000
-A new house cost $10,250 (average)
-A gallon of gas sold for 22 cents
-The average price for a new car was $1,750
-Average monthly rent was $85
-A movie ticket cost 70 cents
-An 8 ounce box of Kellog's Corn Flakes sold for 25 cents

Aloha!

I spent one summer working in Hawaii harvesting pineapples. What an adventure this was! The thought of my first airplane flight and the chance to go to a tropical paradise were overwhelming for me. I was so excited when I went to an orientation meeting to learn the details of this job, then was devastated to learn that I was partially color blind (I hadn't known this previously) and was put on a waiting list. Fortunately, enough people who had been selected before me opted not to go and this opened a space for me.

Why was color vision so important? In order to tell the difference between green and ripe pineapples (see the photos). I can tell the difference between green and gold, so choosing the ripe fruit was not a problem for me.

When people ask me what it was like working in Hawaii, I say that it was fun for the first ten minutes and then was a summer of drudgery. Only after arriving in Hawaii did I learn that we were the migrant workers brought in to do work most of the local population would not do.

I included a photo showing the type of protective clothing we wore to do this work. While we did not use the picking bag, we did wear hats for protection from the sun and the long sleeves, goggles, gloves, and chaps over our pants to protect us from the very sharp leaves of the pineapple plant. We would have liked to wear t-shirts and shorts in the heat, but this simply wouldn't provide adequate protection.



This picture shows the tractor and boom rig used for harvesting. We walked in rows behind the boom; I'm not sure why this photo shows workers on both sides of the boom. Harvesting involved picking the ripe fruit and twisting off the thorny top before placing the pineapple on the belt, where it moved along the boom to the tractor and filled a waiting truck.

That Stinks!

The flood waters are receding and the danger appears to be over. Now the cleanup begins and will continue for weeks and maybe months. Mom and I went downtown earlier this week and drove on one of the roads that was flooded. As we looked out onto the river from the Court Avenue bridge, we were amazed at all of the debris that had washed up against the pedestrian bridge and was trapped there. This wasn't all little branches and limbs, but included a couple of gigantic trees. It will require some kind of crane to remove these.

When I leave work to go home, there is a distinct odor just east of the bridge where the water sat for so long. We can't help but wonder just how much waste material was in the water because so many treatment systems overflowed and discharged raw sewage into the rivers. Remember the spot in Nebraska along the interstate where we could always smell the cattle lot? We aren't that bad, but can certainly notice a difference in the air.

We are so grateful that we were spared personally from the flood devastation and pray for those who experienced the full impact of the deluge. I hope never to see anything like this again.

500 year flood?

In 1993 Des Moines experienced a terrible flood, resulting in the loss of drinking water in the city for twenty days. We have considered the flood of 1993 a 500 year flood. I was confident I would never see anything like that again.

Here it is fifteen years later, in 2008, and we are experiencing even worse flooding. How did 500 years pass so quickly? The explanation around the water cooler at work is that we caught the tail end of the last 500 year cycle in 1993, and are starting out the new 500 year cycle with another flood!

This time we are in no danger of losing our water supply, thanks to the work done following the last episode. The levees around the water treatment plant are much higher and the equipment and buildings are safe. Unfortunately, many homes and businesses are not safe. They are inundated with water -- again.

There is flooding all over the state. The following photos, which are printed in the Des Moines Register, show what is happening in downtown Des Moines (you can see Court Avenue under water). The rivers will crest some time this weekend, so what you see here is not the worst we will experience.

Where is a ten year old when you need one?

I hate technology. Last night I was downstairs watching the NBA Finals and surfing channels during commercials. For some reason, one channel with no transmission was apparently programmed into the scanning function. I got tired of seeing the "snow" on the screen when switching channels, so decided to go into the onscreen menu and remove the unwanted channel.

You probably already know the outcome of this little adventure. Now the remote won't scan through the channels at all. I guess I'll give up watching basketball. Or I'll only watch what happens to be playing on ABC. I'll be darned if I will get up and down to switch channels manually. Perhaps I can attach a string to the remote and throw it at the buttons on front of the television and change channels that way. I can retrieve the remote with the string and won't have to get up at all.

This reminds me of the time I almost threw away my VHS/DVD player because it quit playing DVDs. I knew it would cost more to have it repaired than to buy a new one. But I am of the generation that is reluctant to throw away electronics. Thinking maybe a setting was off, I pushed every button and combination of buttons I could think of -- to no avail. Because Lindsey, who was away at school, was due home soon I decided to have her look at the DVD player before doing anything. After all, we still had plenty of VHS videos we could play while waiting for her to return. Sure enough, when Lindsey got home she took one look at the machine and pushed a button that fixed the problem. It was the same button I had pushed twenty times, but for her it worked.

Someone, please come home. The clock on my stereo is blinking and the clock on the DVD player is off an hour, even though the time zone is set correctly (I swear!).

I hate technology ...

1968

I was 13 years old in April and June of 1968 when two horrible assassinations took place: Martin Luther King on April 4 at age 39 and Bobby Kennedy on June 5 at age 42. We were still in school when Dr. King was killed. He was not as universally revered at that time, in the midst of the struggle for civil rights. Some in our nation, viewing Dr. King as a trouble maker and rabble rouser, were not sorry to see him die and this sentiment was voiced in our classroom discussion in our social studies class. It wasn't that my classmates held this view, but I remember clearly one boy repeating a comment in that vein his parents had made. We were shocked at the murder and didn't know how the country would react.

Just two months later Bobby Kennedy was shot, moments after delivering a speech following his win in the California Democratic primary. School was out by then and I remember being outside helping my Dad pour a concrete extension to the driveway of the house in South Jordan. The impact of this murder hit me harder. I think this was because I thought Bobby Kennedy was almost certain to become the next president, just five years after his brother was assassinated in Dallas and because it followed so closely on the heels of the death of Dr. King. I couldn't quite believe that this was happening in the US. It seemed so savage, as though suddenly the country had reverted to an uncivilized land where life was of no value and raw force held sway. All this took place against the backdrop of the Viet Nam war with the Tet offensive in 1968 making me wonder if we would lose the war. The country was intensely divided and angry, and massive anti-war protests were a common occurrence. It seemed very surreal to keep mixing and pouring concrete when yet another high profile assassination had taken place.

Race riots followed Dr. King's death, reaching to within a few blocks of the White House in Washington, D.C. And the Democratic convention in Chicago turned into a big protest by the Yippies, culminating in the arrest and subsequent infamous trial of the Chicago Seven. It felt like the country was coming apart at the seams.

Here are some of the photos that are seared into my memory from that time.

Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy

Bobby Kennedy, mortally wounded

The most famous of all the Kennedy assassination photos

Yard Work

I am supposed to be painting the upstairs bedroom so we can turn it into Mom's new office, so what do I do today? Yard work, of course! It was such a beautiful day I could not resist being outside. So what started out as mowing the lawn turned into some trimming and then weeding the flowers and then removing some more raspberry plants and then planting some bare spots in the lawn and then tilling the flower beds and then planting flowers in the beds. Did I mention that I didn't get any painting done today? The yard looks very good and I ache all over!

We planted two kinds of flowers today. Just off the front porch in the small flower bed next to the garage door we planted columbine seeds that Mom harvested from the plants she already had. I'm not sure how long it will take these to grow and bloom, but it will be fun to wait and watch. We were down to a single plant (the others didn't survive the winter weather), so we are anxious to have more. The columbine flower is such an interesting shape, with long "tails" coming from the back of the blossom. The flowers Mom harvested were red and blue, so I hope some of both colors grow for us.

We also planted marigolds, again with seeds Mom harvested from a couple of years ago. Marigolds are particularly hardy and seem to thrive in our area. One season with a long, mild fall our marigolds actually bloomed a second time. I believe you can for subsequent blooms if you pick off the heads, but Mom usually wants them to go to seed so she can harvest the seeds for planting in subsequent years. Marigolds are also supposed to keep away rabbits. Perhaps we will have to plant a row around the garden.

Disaster in Iowa

By now you've undoubtedly heard about the tornado in Iowa over Memorial Day weekend that took seven lives in and around Parkerburg. In addition to the incalculable value of the lives lost and families shattered, the preliminary damage has been estmated at over six million dollars. This figure will surely rise.

The wind speed was estimated at exceeding 200 mph, which would give this tornado a rating of EF5. Apparently the tornado was over one mile wide and stayed on the ground for over 40 minutes.

I've included a couple of photos, which I'm certain do not do justice to the swath of destruction and scope of the damage. Our thoughts and prayers are with the people in Parkersburg. And we are certainly grateful that we are not in the position of literally picking up the pieces of our lives as they are.

Iris

This week our first iris blooms appeared in the back yard. Our spring has been so wet and cold this year that the growing season is delayed. I'm not certain if or when we will see all the irises bloom.

When I was a boy, on Memorial Day my Mom would cut iris blooms of all colors from her garden, wrap the stems in wet paper towels covered in plastic bags or foil, and drive to the cemetery in her hometown to decorate the family graves. For the longest time I called this holiday "decoration day" rather than Memorial Day. I looked forward to decorating the graves and hearing stories about the names chiseled into the stones.

We carefully placed the fresh cut flowers at the headstones in what we called Mason jars, canning bottles we had emptied during the winter. I can still see the bright colors of the flowers and American flags brightening the graves in the otherwise drab cemetery. This is where I learned about my Mom's parents losing their first baby to pneumonia. This is where I realized how many soldiers had been cut down in the prime of life fighting in far away wars.

When we moved to Iowa, I no longer had family graves to decorate. So one year I cut my iris blooms to decorate the various war memorials near the capital building and grounds in Des Moines. This turned into a tradition for my own family, honoring the sacrifice of the war wounded and dead who fought to preserve and protect our country and freedoms.

I particularly enjoy the World War II memorial here. The history of the progress of the war for both the European and Pacific theaters is literally cast in the concrete walk, year by year. I tried to explain to my children the magnitude of the war and the heroism of those who fought in our defense. I had them place blooms at the memorials as a small gesture of thanks for a debt we can never adequately repay.

Even though the children are gone, each year I continue our Memorial Day tradition. I am humbled and thankful every year when I think about what others have done and have given for me. I will never forget and I will never cease being grateful. I hope my children enjoyed leaving flowers at the war memorials. More importantly, I hope they remember those who have made it possible for them to enjoy the freedoms and prosperity of this land.

A little history about the iris flower ...

The goddess Iris of Greek mythology was a beloved messenger of the gods, especially of Hera, who became Juno to the ancient Romans. She had golden wings and was the goddess of the rainbow. Iris traveled on the rainbow's arc, carrying commands and messages from the ancient gods to mankind. Iris married the west wind, Zephyrus. To this day, the Greeks plant irises on women's graves, believing that the goddess Iris will guide the souls of women to their last resting places. (from herbs2000.com, "History of Irises)

Tall Bike

When I was 12-13 years old, my dad created an unusually tall bike for me and my brothers to ride. He did this by turning the bike frame upside down and welding extensions for the seat and handlebars so that we were sitting five or six feet in the air. The only way you could get started on this bike was to lean it up against a tree or wall and climb up onto the seat. Then you had to pedal hard enough to get started without falling over, or have someone give you enough of a push to send you on your way.

This photo gives an idea of what our bike looked like. As you can see, this is a girl's frame turned upside down with the seat and handlebars opposite of where they are normally located. In this photo, the original seat is left "underneath" the bike. We relocated the seat to the other side, so we didn't have a spare. And instead of a handlebar, Dad welded on a steering wheel from a car. While the bike was a little clumsy to ride, we looked unbelievably cool (okay, dorky). We certainly attracted a lot of attention. Everybody wanted to take a turn. And everybody wanted to know where they could get a bike like ours.

Because the center of balance was so high while riding this bike, it was always a little awkward to ride. You couldn't turn too sharp or you would easily tip over. And if this happened, you had to time your jump from the bike so you wouldn't get tangled in it when it fell over. I remember a few scrapes and bruises learning to master the tall bike. But, oh, what fun it was!

On the road again

For the first time this year I was able to ride my bicycle to work today. My timing is good, because this is "bike to work" week. My route is 3.1 miles, mostly downhill on the way to work and mostly uphill on the way home. This works out very well because I arrive at work relatively fresh. By the time I reach home, I know I've had a workout.

I'm always surprised at how out of shape I seem when I start biking in the spring. I am fairly active, working out regularly and playing basketball weekly. But I obviously use different muscles riding my bike, as is apparent when I resume riding each year. Riding home today was an added challenge because a stiff wind was blowing from the south, meaning that it was working against me most of the way home.

I like getting some exercise going back and forth to work. I guess I save a little money, also, but probably not enough to make the next van payment. Let's see, AAA calculates that in 2008 the cost of operating a minivan is around 60 cents per mile. At 6.2 miles for my round trip, this saves me $3.72 per day or nearly $82 a month if I bike every work day (22 days) during the month. Hmm, more than I thought. But I don't ride every single day, so I can probably realistically save $50 monthly for the five months I am able to bike to work. I guess I can nearly make one payment on my van after all!

Woeful Wodents

For a time as a teen I raised hamsters and sold the babies to local pet stores. I was under the delusion that this could be a money making venture. Had I ever bothered to calculate the cost of cages, food, and bedding compared to how much I made selling baby hamsters, I would have been very clear that I was hopelessly in the red. And that didn't even count "accidents."

For example, one time my female hamster, Katy, somehow escaped her cage. I put out food and kept watch for her, thinking that sooner or later I would find her. And I was almost right. My Mom found my hamster ... making a new nest in her vacuum bag, through which Katy had chewed a hole to gain access. In her cage, Katy's bed was an old sock put over the end of an empty tissue core. Katy would crawl through the tunnel into the sock and sleep there. When she was out of her cage, I suppose the vacuum bag had a simlar texture and feel and Katy made her own tunnel to fashion a new bed.

I believe the new vacuum bag cost $45, which in 1967 was more than I could have ever hoped to earn selling baby hamsters. When Mom found Katy she said to me, "We won't tell your Dad about this." Thanks, Mom, for saving my life.

Another experience still makes me laugh when I think about it. Our South Jordan house had a very small closet just off the kitchen. One day my Mom opened the closet door and saw a mouse. The mouse, frightened out of its wits, took off running through the kitchen and into the living room with Mom in close pursuit with a broom. In the living room, the mouse ran behind the full-length curtain to hide and actually started climbing the curtain fabric as Mom tried to swat it with the broom. When Mom shook the curtain, the mouse fell to the floor and raced back across the living room, through the kitchen, and under the closet door to its original hiding place. Mom readied her broom and flung open the closet door to face her nemesis. The mouse, desperately trying to escape, ran straight at Mom in a frantic effort to get past her and find a safer hiding place. Mom jumped straight up in the air and came down right on the mouse, which promptly declared her the undisputed winner and never moved again. Mom immediately ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Color Blind

It's always dangerous when I start painting because I am partially color blind. Once during a college break I went to work with my Uncle Bob and brother Gary for a couple of weeks. At that time Bob was finishing some pre-fabricated houses. These are built in two sections (imagine a house cut in half lengthwise) and the two pieces are set on the foundation and "stitched" together for a finished house.

Bob sent me to paint the seam of one house he had stitched together the previous day while he and Gary worked on another house across the street. The exterior siding is already painted except at the seam. When the two halves are connected, an unfinished strip of siding is installed over the seam and is then painted to match the rest of the house. Simple enough, I thought. So I went into the house, dutifully got the painting supplies, opened a can of paint and worked very hard painting the unfinished strips at both ends where the two sections were joined. When I finished, I went across the street to tell Bob I had completed the painting and to ask what he wanted me to do next.

When Bob came out of the house where he was working and looked across the street at my handiwork, he stopped dead in his tracks and was speechless for a moment. I had painted the entire exterior seam with the interior finish paint, which was a different color. He asked, "Couldn't you tell the difference between those colors?" Actually, no, I couldn't. So that ended my painting for pay career. Bob found something else for me to do.

I suggested to Mom that we hire someone to paint over the avocado green in Lindsey's old room, but she was reluctant to spend so much money when we could paint ourselves. So I covered the old paint with primer and told Mom to pick the color she wanted. She decided on a two-tone scheme, with the back wall a slightly darker contrasting color. Remembering my earlier experience with Bob, I decided to buy only the darker color and do the back wall first. But I promptly forgot and painted not only the back wall, but the doorway and adjoining side segment. Apparently there is no protecting a paint job from the likes of me.

Air Conditioner

Our house is a little over twenty years old. Needless to say, so are the furnace and air conditioner. At what point will they need to be replaced? Maybe soon.

Today I had a technician service the air conditioner. I wanted to do this before the weather turns very hot in case there is a problem. Where possible, I would rather deal with the ounce of prevention than the pound of cure. Mom has expressed concern many times about how ugly our outside unit is. I am more concerned with how mechanically sound it is and how well it operates, but of course there is some correlation. It looks ugly because it has been exposed to the elements for so many years. And because it is so old, it is increasingly likely to malfunction.

And this may be the year. The technician said that he didn't see how the compressor had lasted so long. He also said he did not think it would last the summer.

So, do we gamble? Or do we bite the bullet and make the change while the weather is still pleasant? The neighbors on both sides have replaced their AC units in recent years. It really doesn't stand to reason that ours will last much longer. Perhaps we could get through one more season. This would give us time to plan for the expense. On the other hand, a new air conditioner would make a nice gift for Mother's Day, Father's Day, my birthday, and our thirtieth anniversary!

Did you know? An air conditioner is basically a refrigerator without a box. A refrigerator removes heat from an insulated cupboard to keep food cool or frozen and pumps the heat into your house. An air conditioner removes heat (and humidity) from inside the house to keep it cool. The cold air you can feel flowing from the ductwork is the result of heat being transferred outside. Evaporation and compression of gasses (like Freon) are responsible for this heat transfer. As the gas compresses, it liquifies and becomes hot (drawing heat from the house). Then it is circulated outside where the heat is dissapated. As it returns to a cooler gaseous state, it is circulated back inside to pick up more heat and repeats the process. So your refrigerator creates more work for your air conditioner, and your air conditioner creates less work for your refrigerator!

The beginnings of modern air conditioning go back to the 1820s, where experiments with compressing and liquefying gasses demonstrated the ability to cool air, and to the 1840s and the process of creating ice. The first modern air conditioner was invented in 1902, so the basic technology is over 100 years old!

Hey, Old Paint!

This morning I got up very early and started moving things out of the front bedroom. Yes, I finally have begun the painting project so Mom can consolidate her things from downstairs and the small upstairs bedroom into one room. Between the ugly green carpet (what were we thinking???) and the even uglier green paint Lindsey chose for the walls, we have to do something. We aren't in a position just yet to replace the carpet, so we are going to repaint the walls.

Covering a dark color with something lighter is difficult and obviously requires more than one coat. I am starting with a coat of primer and will see if a single primer coat will be sufficient before applying the new color. I'll probably have to apply either a second coat of primer or two coats of the neutral (beige) color Mom chose for the room. I'm not sure what I am going to do about the places on the ceiling where the roller slipped and left bright green spots. Perhaps we will pin up some of Mom's photos as part of her decorating scheme.

Mom bought a six foot by nine foot beige area rug for the room. I believe she thinks she will have enough stuff along the walls that the area rug will cover the rest of the green carpet, so no one will even know it is there. Gee, this sounds just like when Lindsey was here. No one ever saw her carpet, either.

Enough, already ... Uncle!

The weather forecast here is for snow

so it is time for a sun dance

Come on, spring!

This little piggy ...

Well, the soaking worked and the toenail came off. Let the healing begin!

Toe: A part of the foot used to find furniture in the dark. (Rilla May)

A couple of weeks ago my big toe was smashed while playing basketball (I know, I know ... I'm too old to be doing this!). Later in the day I noticed that my nail was floating on its bed, so I figured I would eventually lose the entire nail. And I am half right. As it turns out, the nail is loose all along the back, the left side, and most of the base of the nail. But it is still attached at the front and on part of the right side.

Now what do I do? I trimmed away most of the nail, but have this crescent-shaped piece that won't let go. I don't dare rip it off because it will hurt like ... nail! I guess I will try soaking it (while I watch the NCAA finals basketball championship tonight) to see if I can coax off the remaining piece. I can't believe I might have to go to the doctor to have the last small piece of the nail removed.

Mom's tongue is very sore from her valiant efforts not to say, "I told you so!" She got a little queasy when I showed her my toe. So out of respect for Emily I won't post a photo here.

Quick Trip to Utah

Last year about this time I was bumped from an overbooked flight and received a travel voucher good for one year. I was thinking I would have to let the voucher expire unused when suddenly there arose a need and the opportunity to go to Utah. I jumped at the chance!

Travel vouchers don't qualify for the best airline routes, so my itinerary was not the most convenient. But it was still better -- and less expensive -- than driving. I flew from Des Moines to Cincinnati, where I had a long layover before the second leg to Salt Lake for a scheduled 9:30 PM arrival. But when I checked on my seat assignment in Cincinnati, the agent put me on an earlier flight and I arrived just after 7 PM. (Why didn't they offer me that when I booked my original flight???) On the way home I was scheduled to leave SLC at 9:30 PM, fly to Las Vegas, then to Atlanta, and arrive in Des Moines at 11 AM the next day. But the first leg was delayed and I didn't get away until 12:30 AM. Fortunately, I was able to bypass the leg to Las Vegas and go directly to Atlanta. I didn't get home any earlier, but had a simplified route.

I thought I would enjoy spring in Utah, but it snowed on three different days while I was there. In loading furniture into a pickup truck, I slipped on some ice and fell hard on my elbow. My forearm swelled up to a scary size and turned wonderful colors. When I got home, Mom was not pleased to learn that I hadn't gone to see a doctor. One week later my arm is still very discolored, but fortunately is not painful. We'll see how I do in basketball tomorrow.

I'm grateful I had the opportunity to spend time with my family. I was rather transient, sleeping in a different home each night. Thanks to everyone for making me welcome! It was fun to play with the grandchildren, pick up a few books from the clearance table at the LDS book stores, go shopping, attend Hanna's baptism service, and do a few "fix it" chores. I even enjoyed soaking in the jacuzzi at Mom's house ... how relaxing! And I was able to visit the Timpanogas temple, which I had not previously seen. The snow-frosted mountains in Utah are very beautiful. I think I'm a little homesick!

My next trip should be to welcome a new grandson in July. I can't wait ...