Friday, July 24, 2009
Pioneer Day
I don't have many "pioneer" ancestors. Most of my stock came across the plains on a train.
Pioneers, by definition, break trail for the rest of us. I have read their stories and cannot begin to comprehend their faith, courage and determination. Not to mention their tenacity, resourcefulness, patience and persistence. As I drive around the valleys of the Inter Mountain West and see the little towns they built and observe the order they scratched out of the wilderness, I am utterly amazed.
This is hardscrabble country. Water is scarce. The toil and sacrifice that was applied to build homes, bring water to crops, establish roads, clear fields and build Temples is beyond my comprehension. We ride so easily, so unappreciatively down the roads they paved. In my own valley, I can't cross the canal without marveling at the monumental task it represents. As I kid I floated down it on inner tubes, took a weekly ditch full from it's generous banks to water pasture and garden, and never thought twice about the herculean effort it took the claw it out of the ground.
So it is with everything we enjoy. It came at a cost we cannot comprehend and we so easily take it for granted, hardly imagining the blessings we continue to enjoy at the hands of the Pioneers.
Years ago, in a far away land, I had an experience that forever changed my view of my connection with the Pioneers. It was in the Philippines. I was a traveling Elder just arriving, with my companion, Elder Justessen, on a ferry from Iloilo to the town of Batangas. As we walked out on the main street we saw a most surprising spectacle. Traffic had been stopped and a parade was in progress. It was a little parade; no more than twenty participants. There was a pretty big crowd watching though. I couldn't believe my eyes as I saw a little train of makeshift covered wagons and Mormon pioneers march by. It was the 24th of July! Tears rolled down my face as I gratefully watched these pioneers forge the way for the gospel in this bright new land. Joy filled my heart as I watched these sweet Filipino Saints lay claim to their Pioneer heritage.
No, they had no ancestors who walked across the plains either. But they belong to them just the same, as do we all.
I will always be grateful for the pioneers in my life. They have cleared the way for me in so many ways. Their blood may not flow in my veins, but they carry me on their shoulders and I carry them in my heart.
Pioneers, by definition, break trail for the rest of us. I have read their stories and cannot begin to comprehend their faith, courage and determination. Not to mention their tenacity, resourcefulness, patience and persistence. As I drive around the valleys of the Inter Mountain West and see the little towns they built and observe the order they scratched out of the wilderness, I am utterly amazed.
This is hardscrabble country. Water is scarce. The toil and sacrifice that was applied to build homes, bring water to crops, establish roads, clear fields and build Temples is beyond my comprehension. We ride so easily, so unappreciatively down the roads they paved. In my own valley, I can't cross the canal without marveling at the monumental task it represents. As I kid I floated down it on inner tubes, took a weekly ditch full from it's generous banks to water pasture and garden, and never thought twice about the herculean effort it took the claw it out of the ground.
So it is with everything we enjoy. It came at a cost we cannot comprehend and we so easily take it for granted, hardly imagining the blessings we continue to enjoy at the hands of the Pioneers.
Years ago, in a far away land, I had an experience that forever changed my view of my connection with the Pioneers. It was in the Philippines. I was a traveling Elder just arriving, with my companion, Elder Justessen, on a ferry from Iloilo to the town of Batangas. As we walked out on the main street we saw a most surprising spectacle. Traffic had been stopped and a parade was in progress. It was a little parade; no more than twenty participants. There was a pretty big crowd watching though. I couldn't believe my eyes as I saw a little train of makeshift covered wagons and Mormon pioneers march by. It was the 24th of July! Tears rolled down my face as I gratefully watched these pioneers forge the way for the gospel in this bright new land. Joy filled my heart as I watched these sweet Filipino Saints lay claim to their Pioneer heritage.
No, they had no ancestors who walked across the plains either. But they belong to them just the same, as do we all.
I will always be grateful for the pioneers in my life. They have cleared the way for me in so many ways. Their blood may not flow in my veins, but they carry me on their shoulders and I carry them in my heart.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
And I Thought I Might Run Out of Material
"There's a bat in the house." she said, matter-of-factly. "What?" I answered in alarm!
"There's bat in the house. Nolly carried it in and sat it beside his food dish three days ago."
"Where is it?"
"Dunno. Flew off somewhere."
"And you're just getting around to telling me?"
"Kept forgetting to tell you."
First thought: An excuse to kill the cat!
Second thought: What an amazing woman.
Third thought: I wonder if it'll stink bad enough that we can find and dispose of it.
You need to know that this conversation didn't surprise me. Sweetie is a retired biology teacher. Stuff like this is not so unusual. I once opened the freezer to get an ice cream bar and found a frozen baby hedgehog in a sandwich bag. She didn't kill it, but since it died she thought it ought to be taken to school for show-and-tell or something.
Later we told Katie about the bat. She sort of freaked, but we calmed her down by giving it a name. Sweetie knew Kates found Edward of Twilight to be a bland, innocuous character unworthy of the story's potential, so we gave, posthumously I thought, that moniker to the creature. It worked. Katie somehow was settled by the inference that the bat too, was bland and innocuous. I hoped to help by repeating the name in a British accent, "Eddwudd, Eddwudd, Eddwudd." I put a little rattle in my voice giving it an Elmer Fudd overtone. The gals agreed that Stephanie Meyer's protagonist was about as interesting as Elmer Fudd and so was the bat. Turns out that neither was much of a Vampire either.
More after I get back from helping Kirk pour cement......
Back. Back ache......
As it happens, I haven't been sleeping well lately. Last evening was no exception. I'd caved and had a nap in the afternoon, compounding the problem. I read, 'til I finally got dozy around 12:30 AM. I crawled into bed without disturbing the doziness and conked off.
"Are you awake?"
"I am now."
"Are you too hot? Do you want the swamp cooler turned on?"
"I'm just right. How about you? Too hot?"
"No, I'm fine, just worried about you."
I got up and read some more. Dozy again at about 2:00 I crawled back into bed. I was dreaming about cliff diving at Lake Powell.
"The bat is hanging on the wall in the library."
"Great!"
"Would you please go help him find his way outside?"
"Yes dear."
I look at the clock. It's 2:37.
I ask, "What are you doing up anyway?."
"Too hot, couldn't sleep."
Am I expected to catch the subtle nuances, sleep deprived, in the middle of REM? I secretly wish I could, but I don't complain.
Eddwudd is the cutest little thing you ever saw. Nice rich brown coat of fur. Pleasant features. Rather tidy looking all in all. Sweetie shuts me in the library with him. I shudder momentarily, remembering a time in my youth in the Randlett Gym, shut in the furnace room with Brad and Aloin, two badminton rackets and about 400 bats. But I digress.
Regaining my composure I remove the screen hoping he'll turn on the SONAR and quickly fly out the window. He doesn't. I grab the Pik Stik, with it's pistol grip on one end and thumb and forefinger on the other. With an arm length and a three foot tool I feel pretty safe. I want to be gentle. Eddwudd is a bit put out to have his sleep disturbed by a mechanical hand. I'm sympathetic. Fearing I'll smush him, I can't quite pull him free of his grasp on the stippled wall. He flies across the room; clearly looking to avoid a confrontation. I relax a little. Sweetie passes a bottle through the door. That works and momentarily Eddwudd is a free bat. I wish him well as he flies off into the night. Hope he feels the same way about me. But then, I remember that he's bland and innocuous, so I don't expect a thank you card.
I read some more and achieved dreamland Nirvana around 4:00.
"There's bat in the house. Nolly carried it in and sat it beside his food dish three days ago."
"Where is it?"
"Dunno. Flew off somewhere."
"And you're just getting around to telling me?"
"Kept forgetting to tell you."
First thought: An excuse to kill the cat!
Second thought: What an amazing woman.
Third thought: I wonder if it'll stink bad enough that we can find and dispose of it.
You need to know that this conversation didn't surprise me. Sweetie is a retired biology teacher. Stuff like this is not so unusual. I once opened the freezer to get an ice cream bar and found a frozen baby hedgehog in a sandwich bag. She didn't kill it, but since it died she thought it ought to be taken to school for show-and-tell or something.
Later we told Katie about the bat. She sort of freaked, but we calmed her down by giving it a name. Sweetie knew Kates found Edward of Twilight to be a bland, innocuous character unworthy of the story's potential, so we gave, posthumously I thought, that moniker to the creature. It worked. Katie somehow was settled by the inference that the bat too, was bland and innocuous. I hoped to help by repeating the name in a British accent, "Eddwudd, Eddwudd, Eddwudd." I put a little rattle in my voice giving it an Elmer Fudd overtone. The gals agreed that Stephanie Meyer's protagonist was about as interesting as Elmer Fudd and so was the bat. Turns out that neither was much of a Vampire either.
More after I get back from helping Kirk pour cement......
Back. Back ache......
As it happens, I haven't been sleeping well lately. Last evening was no exception. I'd caved and had a nap in the afternoon, compounding the problem. I read, 'til I finally got dozy around 12:30 AM. I crawled into bed without disturbing the doziness and conked off.
"Are you awake?"
"I am now."
"Are you too hot? Do you want the swamp cooler turned on?"
"I'm just right. How about you? Too hot?"
"No, I'm fine, just worried about you."
I got up and read some more. Dozy again at about 2:00 I crawled back into bed. I was dreaming about cliff diving at Lake Powell.
"The bat is hanging on the wall in the library."
"Great!"
"Would you please go help him find his way outside?"
"Yes dear."
I look at the clock. It's 2:37.
I ask, "What are you doing up anyway?."
"Too hot, couldn't sleep."
Am I expected to catch the subtle nuances, sleep deprived, in the middle of REM? I secretly wish I could, but I don't complain.
Eddwudd is the cutest little thing you ever saw. Nice rich brown coat of fur. Pleasant features. Rather tidy looking all in all. Sweetie shuts me in the library with him. I shudder momentarily, remembering a time in my youth in the Randlett Gym, shut in the furnace room with Brad and Aloin, two badminton rackets and about 400 bats. But I digress.
Regaining my composure I remove the screen hoping he'll turn on the SONAR and quickly fly out the window. He doesn't. I grab the Pik Stik, with it's pistol grip on one end and thumb and forefinger on the other. With an arm length and a three foot tool I feel pretty safe. I want to be gentle. Eddwudd is a bit put out to have his sleep disturbed by a mechanical hand. I'm sympathetic. Fearing I'll smush him, I can't quite pull him free of his grasp on the stippled wall. He flies across the room; clearly looking to avoid a confrontation. I relax a little. Sweetie passes a bottle through the door. That works and momentarily Eddwudd is a free bat. I wish him well as he flies off into the night. Hope he feels the same way about me. But then, I remember that he's bland and innocuous, so I don't expect a thank you card.
I read some more and achieved dreamland Nirvana around 4:00.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Darwin Stopped By
I have a very dear friend called Darwin. I love him. He reads my blog faithfully and he never comments. I doubt if he ever gets any compensation for the time he spends on my blog. I don't think he comes here for his benefit. He stops in to take my temperature.
Yesterday, after reading about the flooded basement, he hurried right over. Something in excess of 100 miles an hour I should expect. He needed to pay a house call to make certain I was as alright as I claimed to be. He knows me pretty well and is aware of my tendency to exaggerate toward the positive.
When God and life made Darwin, they threw away the mold. He is unique in every way. There isn't an ounce of conformist in his body. Because of this, he's hard to describe. You can hardly use a metaphor to describe an item that is one of a kind. He's crusty on the outside and tender in the middle but so is a croissant. Darwin is nothing like a croissant. His hair is short, neat and tidy except his ear and eyebrow hairs are total chaos. He's a teenager in a gray haired, weather beaten, leathery old body. Yet he possesses the wisdom of a sage. He's a rebel with a cause; also a rare thing these days. How can a blatant nonconformist be the straightest arrow I know?
In my younger years I often said I was in pursuit of the state of Crust. I wanted to become crusty, maybe even salty. Nobody could ever quite understand what I was trying convey in those words. I wanted to be unique, seasoned, confident and authentic. Perhaps if I could have showed them Darwin, they might have understood and helped me achieve such a lofty goal. Somewhere in the middle years I abandoned that quest and became something more like pudding. You don't have to exert yourself to achieve the state of Pudding. Pudding's what happens when you give up on your dreams. Still, life is good, and if it keeps applying the heat as it has lately, I might at least turn out to be Crème brûlée with a bit of thin crust on top.
Were you a fly on the wall here yesterday, you'd think I was Darwin's only and very best friend. His entire attention was focused on me. But you might have been a fly on the wall in a dozen other places yesterday, with a dozen other of his friends, and come to the same conclusion. Darwin's love and compassion, his zest and enthusiasm, his humor and sincerity are renown and enjoyed by hundreds across our little valley.
Anyway, I just wanted to take a second and thank him for his friendship, his kindness and most of all his love. Life is so much better with Darwin in it.
Evidence to the contrary (I watched Darwin grow up and grow old), I have a theory that he's actually one of the Three Nephite's in disguise. What's your theory Darwin?
Yesterday, after reading about the flooded basement, he hurried right over. Something in excess of 100 miles an hour I should expect. He needed to pay a house call to make certain I was as alright as I claimed to be. He knows me pretty well and is aware of my tendency to exaggerate toward the positive.
When God and life made Darwin, they threw away the mold. He is unique in every way. There isn't an ounce of conformist in his body. Because of this, he's hard to describe. You can hardly use a metaphor to describe an item that is one of a kind. He's crusty on the outside and tender in the middle but so is a croissant. Darwin is nothing like a croissant. His hair is short, neat and tidy except his ear and eyebrow hairs are total chaos. He's a teenager in a gray haired, weather beaten, leathery old body. Yet he possesses the wisdom of a sage. He's a rebel with a cause; also a rare thing these days. How can a blatant nonconformist be the straightest arrow I know?
In my younger years I often said I was in pursuit of the state of Crust. I wanted to become crusty, maybe even salty. Nobody could ever quite understand what I was trying convey in those words. I wanted to be unique, seasoned, confident and authentic. Perhaps if I could have showed them Darwin, they might have understood and helped me achieve such a lofty goal. Somewhere in the middle years I abandoned that quest and became something more like pudding. You don't have to exert yourself to achieve the state of Pudding. Pudding's what happens when you give up on your dreams. Still, life is good, and if it keeps applying the heat as it has lately, I might at least turn out to be Crème brûlée with a bit of thin crust on top.
Were you a fly on the wall here yesterday, you'd think I was Darwin's only and very best friend. His entire attention was focused on me. But you might have been a fly on the wall in a dozen other places yesterday, with a dozen other of his friends, and come to the same conclusion. Darwin's love and compassion, his zest and enthusiasm, his humor and sincerity are renown and enjoyed by hundreds across our little valley.
Anyway, I just wanted to take a second and thank him for his friendship, his kindness and most of all his love. Life is so much better with Darwin in it.
Evidence to the contrary (I watched Darwin grow up and grow old), I have a theory that he's actually one of the Three Nephite's in disguise. What's your theory Darwin?
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