Thank you Arnie, Thank You!

Arnie Anthon is about the nicest guy you'll ever meet.  He's our local Frito-Lay distributor.  I hardly ever go to the grocery store without seeing Arnie busily stocking the chip aisle.

About five years ago at my favorite little lunch spot in Jensen, Utah, Arnie surprised us with a display of Lay's Dill Pickle chips.  I tried them and fell in love.  Anything dill is alright with me.  I love my wife's dilly bread.  One of my favorite memories is delivering packages to Split Mountain Green House in the fall when their dill patch leaned over the sidewalk.  As I walked to and fro past the dill weed the aroma of dill brushed off the plants on my pant-legs.  It was an olfactory delight I looked forward to every year.

As suddenly as Dill Pickle chips arrived on the scene, they also vanished.  I was devastated.  I no longer enjoyed the Roast Beef sandwich Monica made fresh for me every day, quite so much.  The next time I saw Arnie I let him have it, and the next and the next, in fact until this very day.

Now, I don't suppose Arnie had anything to do with the disappearance of Dill Pickle chips, but hey, somebody had to hear about it.  And Arnie did.  Patiently, week after week he has endured my complaints.  He was given a reprieve during the six weeks I was gone to Newfoundland.  Not me.  In the Maritimes they had every flavor of potato chips imaginable.  They had Fries and Gravy, Ketchup, Wasabi, Pizza, Salsa, and another favorite, Poutine.  But no Dill Pickle!  You wouldn't believe the variety of chips they have up north.  Those I mentioned plus all the regulars.  One of the big draws Canada holds for me is the food.  Up there food is celebrated in a way we here in the US can only dream about.  We must trudge along with three or four flavors of chips for example, when in Canada even the smallest store carries a dozen flavors of just potato chips.  Arnie has heard about this too.  You can imagine how utterly disappointed I was that Dill Pickle was not a favorite of the Canucks.

Well, today, walking down the chip aisle, still hopeful as ever, my wondering eyes beheld Dill Pickle chips!  I STOCKED UP!  Hurrying home I ran right to the phone and called Arnie.  You see, I am a whiner, but I am not an ingrate.  I want Arnie to know that he has made my day, week, month, year and possibly even my decade!  Thank you, Arnie, Thank you, from the bottom of the bag!

Book Review - The Dead Town by Dean Koontz

The last of Dean Koontz's Frankenstein series was very much the best!  I have looked forward to it for a long while and was not disappointed.  He culminated the story with brilliance and finesse.

I say this all the time, but must repeat it here.  Dean speaks to me like no other writer.  Each book is as though we are having a private, familiar and friendly conversation.  His distinctive voice is apparent on every page.  It warms my heart as I sit down for a visit with my good old friend.

A couple of quotations are in order and speak of the clarity of Koontz's thought and the depth of his wisdom:

"So putting ourselves through the what-if wringer until we're all wrung out--well, that's just a hellacious waste of time and energy."

"The world needed a little Evil, so Good had something to compare itself to, but you couldn't let it think it had the right-of-way on the road and an invitation to dinner."

This was one of those books you can't put down, but dread it's coming to an end.  Sigh.

There are five books in the series; all first printed in paperback.  Don't let that throw you.  These are some of Koontz's best work.  You don't have to have read Shelley's Frankenstein first, but it helps.

I love how Koontz shows evil for what it is and clearly demonstrates why evil is always bound to fail.  Of course he shows good accurately as well and contrasts the two with brilliance, truth, clarity, humor and certainty.

As for characters?  This series has some of my all time favorites, like Jocko the tumor.  Jocko is one of the most endearing monsters in all of literature.  Each character has purpose in the theme of Koontz's books and as they develop and grow in integrity, or evil, we learn so much about ourselves.

Five Stars

Barking Dogs

30 years ago I bought a house in a quiet neighborhood in town. One neighbor had a house dog, a poodle, which she kept indoors. Another had a dog that upended my trash can every time we tossed bones from KFC. Eventually, I took the chicken bones directly over to him. That solved the problem.


Now-a-days my neighborhood has filled up with dogs. Most of them are pathetic creatures locked or chained in backyards. Fed and watered and neglected. These bark night and day and since we've begun spending our time in the backyard, we are forced to endure a continuous cacophony of woofs, barks, howls, yelps, wines, and whimpers. One pathetic creature is an absolute drama queen moaning, groaning, whining even crying for attention.


One neighbor has two kids and a dog. Neither the parents, nor the kids, have any meaningful association with this dog. The kids have to play in the front yard because the dog poop covers the backyard and wafts unpleasantly around the neighborhood. That and because the kids don't want to be pestered by the love starved mutt. I cannot for the life of me, come up with a notion as to what motivates people to own a dog they want nothing to do with. Dog food is not cheap.


At this very moment I can hear not less than eight different dogs barking around the hood. My understanding is that the city has an ordinance allowing for fines to folks whose dogs bark between the hours of 10:00 PM and 6:00 AM. It doesn't seem to be helping much. When I am awakened by a dog I have tried to avoid troubling the owners as I'd like to be considered a good neighbor.


It became so problematic night before last that I called Central Dispatch who sent an officer around to the primary culprit's home and thankfully, the problem was resolved. I settled down after a couple of hours and got back to sleep.


I hate to characterize my neighbors, but considering that my neighbors have ears much like mine, I can't help but wonder what is going on in their heads. Is this commotion somehow music to their ears? Has our inner city been infiltrated by Red Necks? If I confront them about their inconsiderate intrusion into my quiet life, will I be challenged with fists or a shot gun?


I'd call for them to consider their rude, thoughtless intrusion into the lives of those around them, but I suspect they don't read the paper, as I can't imagine that thinking, informed citizens would be so obnoxious.


I think the police will help me manage the night-time problem; but what can I do about the more problematic day-time annoyance?


In the day-time hours people are typically gone and make no attempt to silence their noisy critters.


As a child I was taught in civics that one person's right to swing his fist ends shy of the other person's nose. Does this not apply to noise, stench and allowing their dog to trot over to crap on my lawn instead of their own?


I suggest that dealing with this problem would be in the Vernal City's best interest. Charging fines for day-time, as well as night-time barking, could help pay for the palace they've built for themselves when most of us can ill afford to pay for it. Additionally, how about a sin tax on dog food. Children are starving in this country in the millions while dog food is a billion dollar industry. Since the city lives on sales tax a special tax on dog food might cause people to consider the value of feeding a mutt they make no good use of. There could be exemptions for service dogs, and dogs actually used for companionship instead of background noise, fertilizer and aroma therapy.


Quite often I find people yelling at their dogs. Rarely, do I find a dog that listens. Usually, it appears the dog thinks the yelling means he is not barking loud enough. I don't think a dog is fairly treated if he becomes the scapegoat for all of his owner's pent up emotions. Though, I'd rather the dog "get it" than the kids. Of course those who yell at their dogs yell at their kids too, who don't listen either.


I have a friend who is currently in trouble for taking noisy dog matters into his own hands. I think I'll not be doing that. But Central Dispatch is going to know me by name before the next few weeks are over.

Now Let Us Rejoice!

I was a bit amused while sitting in Sacrament Meeting yesterday.  We were singing the opening hymn.  It was Now Let Us Rejoice!  The chorister had a pleasant, happy smile, but the Bishopric and a member of the Stake Presidency each had a somber, resolute, and heavy browed expression on his face as we sang those thrilling words.  They did not appear to be rejoicing.  They looked as if the weight of the world lay upon their shoulders.

Several weeks ago we were singing There Is Sunshine In My Soul Today when I noticed the same phenomena and a Counselor in the Bishopric happened to notice my amused smile.  He misinterpreted it to mean that I had sunshine in my soul.  Actually, I was just tickled at the huge contrast between their expressions and the words we were singing.  When he stood to conduct the meeting he drew attention my countenance as it related to the bright and cheerful song and I was a bit embarrassed that I had been smiling for the wrong reason.

Since that day, I have tried to be in the moment as we sing the hymns and to think more directly about what we are singing.  Often the songs we sing in our worship services are positive, bright, happy, rejoicing songs.  They should be sung in a positive, bright, happy, rejoicing sort of way.  They are much more fun to sing in that manner.  The key, I suspect, lies in being in the moment.  Who knows where the thoughts of these fine brethren were as that song was being sung.  Perhaps the Bishop was concerned about someone he saw, or didn't see, in the congregation.  Perhaps the First Counselor was concerned about getting the tithing counted quickly so he could get home to spend time with his visiting relatives.  Clearly, they were bearing burdens that weighed heavily upon them.  Or at least they were so accustomed to doing so, that such expressions had cast, that most common countenance, as the default expression on their faces.  Happiness, rejoicing can only be experienced in the present.  It is likely that while their mouths were singing the words, their minds were far away, actually carrying the burdens of their callings and concerns.  My heart goes out to them.

After yesterday's meeting I spoke with another fellow and commented on the dark circles under his eyes.  "I haven't been sleeping lately," was his reply.  When I asked if he wasn't feeling well he answered, "Dealing with a lot of stress lately."  He too appears to be carrying the weight of the world.

In John 16:33 Jesus said:

These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have  overcome the world.

Here in this verse the Savior gives us a commandment we seem reluctant to obey, "Be of good cheer."  Jesus carried the weight of the world so we don't have to.  That is why there is sunshine in my soul today.

I don't wish to pick on the leaders in my Ward.  They are wonderful people.  There is no question about their sincerity, integrity, courage or faith.  I just think they are taking a bit too much upon themselves in their earnest desire to serve the Lord by serving us.  It is time to be of good cheer!   Come on Latter-day Saints, now let us rejoice!  When Jesus shows His smiling face there is sunshine in my soul.  How about yours?

My Father's 89th Birthday

My father wasn't perfect, but he was ideal.  Ideal for me that is.  For a long time I didn't understand this truth.  Certainly, he could have handled things better; but there is not a father in the world, including myself, who hasn't made myriad mistakes raising his children.

I have judged him pretty harshly over the years, holding him to a pretty tough standard.  Doing so has only hurt me.

There was no owners manual that came with my model.  He had no specific reference he could look up when I ran sluggishly, broke down, had sticky brakes, or a stuck accelerator.  Neither was there a warranty on my failed paint job.  Further, he only knew how to parent from his own, limited, experience.  That method seemed to work very well when raising him; so it must work similarly with his kids.  So he used horse and buggy experience for tuning up a '56 Chev, so to speak.  In truth, each generation's experience is out of date.  Which, I believe is how God intended things to be.

Ether 12:27 explains that God gives men weakness.  I believe His number one conduit for delivering that great gift to His children is through their mortal parents.  Weakness is vital to the Plan of Happiness.  Against what will we become strong?  Against our weakness.  Today, I feel a special debt of gratitude to my imperfect father, who endowed me with weakness of my own.  And to my kind wise Heavenly Father for turning many of those weaknesses of character and prowess into vital, blessed strengths.  For me, it is not so much that I am pleased with the strengths I've been given as consequence of God's goodness, rather, I joy in the process of growth and discovery.  Central to that process has been the discovery of my utter and complete need for a Savior.  My father, in his own weakness, gave me the best possible chance to discover my need for God's Grace in my life.  Thank you Dad.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.