Garden Tomatoes

Our tomatoes did lousy this year.  The weather couldn't make up its mind, the plants got nipped and finally quit trying.  It was so sad watching them languish away in the garden.  So pathetic next to the Spuds that did so well. We went to the Farmers Market and discovered that we weren't the only ones.  Hardly anyone has tomatoes this year.  Such a tragedy.

We can put a man on the moon, but we can't come up with a grocery store tomato that tastes like anything but polyester.  Buying a store-bought tomato is about at ridiculous as licking a photograph of one.  So, we look forward all year to August and September and real tomatoes.  We grow a garden for no other reason really.  I wonder how the nutritional value stacks up between flavorful and plastic tomatoes.  Why is there even a market for the artificial ones?

With that off my chest, I'm writing to celebrate that Kristi and Ronnie and their tomatoes got it right!  They brought us a bag and we rolled out the bacon, cottage cheese, Doritos, toaster and whole wheat bread and had a feast. These were the nicest, plumpest, reddest, firmest, tastiest tomatoes ever!  The fact that I haven't been eating them fresh from the garden this month, made them better than ever!  I guess scarcity has its virtues and last night the fact was made abundantly manifest.

As much as I like a good BLT, I think I like sliced tomatoes and cottage cheese better.  The combination, though wildly different, is as wonderful as peaches and cream.  Have you ever tried Doritos and cottage cheese?  That's terrific too!  Doritos, cottage cheese and fresh garden tomatoes, now that's the ticket!

Another summer time treat will be my feast today.  I like to take a nice piece of tasty whole wheat bread, anoint it with a touch of Miracle Whip, slice some tomatoes on top, pepper it to taste, then cover it with a nice slab of Tillamook sharp cheddar and broil it in the oven until the cheese starts to bubble.  Yum!  I'm sure I'd like it with Killaree Irish Cheddar too, but I like the orange yellow with the tomatoes, over the pale cream color of the Killaree.  Don't ask me why.  Maybe it's like the white margarine they once sold in the store.  It just didn't look right.  I remember for a while they even gave you some yellow die you could knead into it if you couldn't take the color.  White, it looked like you were spreading lard on your bread, which they do in Austria they say.  Doesn't that sound delectable.  My mom used to spread bacon grease on her bread.  At least that tasted good.  Yellow or not I don't eat margarine anymore anyway; it just isn't natural.  All those modified fats and not nearly as tasty as butter.  Who said, "I can't believe it's not butter?"  I can!   Any way eye appeal is half of a good meal and there you have it.

Now none of this is all that great for my health but the other day I got a note that put things in perspective anyways.

 The Japanese eat very little fat, while people in Mexico eat lots. Both groups suffer fewer heart attacks than the British or Americans. Africans drink very little red wine, while the Italians drink large volumes of the stuff but both these groups too have fewer heart attacks. An epidemiological conclusion might be that you should eat and drink what you like: speaking English seems to be what kills you.  

I like that, but I hate my paunch.  So I'll still keep walking and usually watching what I eat.  I'll try to learn another language.  But in the end, I'll probably not change my diet significantly.  Who wants to get old enough to die of prostate cancer, when you could go quickly with a heart attack.  One of my all time favorite movie quotes comes from Jack Nicholson's character in Bucket List.  In the hospital undergoing chemotherapy, he has just finished barfing his guts up in his hospital  toilet.  Braced against the sink, he looks himself in the mirror and says, "Somewhere, some lucky bastard is dying of a heart attack."

So, every now and then, I'll eat my tomatoes adorned with bacon or cheese.  I'll relish the flavor and thank God for being so nice as to give me taste buds and for making food that tastes so wonderfully good.  And, I won't worry too much about it or my inability to do it credit in my dangerous native tongue.

Book Review - The Utah UFO Display by Frank B. Salisbury

When I was a teenager there was a rash of UFO sightings that stirred up my home town and also quite seriously consumed my own thoughts.  I was so interested in it that I spent night after night outside watching from a great local vantage point.  Months passed and I never saw a single thing that was even remotely unusual.  I could hardly contain my disappointment.  Several people I personally knew and respected had remarkable UFO experiences; some on nights when I had been out earnestly watching.

I remember going to work and hearing the rumor mill churning about Valda Massey or Garth Batty having seen something "last night."  I remember groaning from the exhaustion of an all nighter and having missed a sighting that happened right on my watch.  It didn't help that I could see Valda's house clearly from my vantage point.  I began to feel gypped.

There were, of course, thoughts of hoaxes.  Still, as I said before, I knew and respected these people.  Then when Estel Manwaring had her remarkable UFO experience, the jury came in.  I trusted Estel with my life!  There was no way she was confused or lying.   I happened to see Estel at a funeral a few weeks ago.  We hadn't spoken for quite some time and had some catching up to do.  For sometime now, I've been considering writing about the phenomena and thought I'd start by interviewing Estel, and Valda and Garth.  I took the opportunity at the funeral to bounce some questions off Estel.  She responded with the same certainty she had 45 years ago.  The story hadn't changed.  Estel was not ashamed to stand by her guns.  She wasn't the least bit hesitant to state her case.  Valda's son, another close friend is just as adamant about what occurred at their house that summer.

I've written about this before.  In UFO Summer I tell the story of a hoax a friend of mine and I played to assuage our disappointment at having been left out of all the fun.  I also poked a little fun in Why Not Me?
I have also read the exciting book The Hunt for the Skinwalker:  Science Confronts the Unexplained at a Remote Ranch in Utah.  I wasn't reviewing books at the time so I'll comment a bit on it here.  I've been to the Skinwalker Ranch; delivered packages there.  There again, I never saw a thing out of the ordinary.  After the book came out, some nephews were in town for Thanksgiving.  I had not read the book yet.  They had.  I told them that I could take them there and before I knew it we were in the car.  Four of us.  We left about 10:15 PM and drove the 25 or so miles to the ranch.  They say it's remote; a bit of a joke around here.  Remote would be like the three hour drive on a dirt road to Main Canyon Ranch, not a mile off a well traveled, paved highway.  Anyway, we drove the mile off the highway and approached the locked gate at around 11:00.  The gate is around a bend, behind a hill.  The instant we arrived a set of headlights came on at the ranch house and headed rapidly our way.  No point in conflict; we hurriedly turned around and got out of there.  Still, nothing unusual; though I was sure surprised that after all this time the place is still under 24 hour guard.  Apparently, they're still very protective of the place.  They claim the ranch is a portal to another dimension or perhaps the entrance to a wormhole that delivers strangers from across the universe.  After years of scientific study Bigelow's NIDS group has proven nothing.  Of course, they've disproved nothing as well.  Frank Salisbury's done better than that on a far smaller budget.

I was thankful when I found The Utah UFO Display:  A Scientist Brings Reason and Logic to Over 400 UFO Sightings in Utah's Uintah Basin.  I was thankful because, I didn't really want to take the time to do all the research.  I can't imagine that Frank Salisbury, with all the other stuff he was involved in was able to find the time.  I'm thrilled to have all of these incidents recorded and cataloged.  Kudos to Junior Hicks whose Herculean effort to interview and record so many sightings is truly amazing.  Without his thorough work, Salisbury's book wouldn't even exist.

Salisbury went to great lengths to educate his audience in the scientific method.  He never considers a single incident without critical thinking.  Still at the end, he comes to the same conclusion as I have, that the only reasonable conclusion is that the phenomena cannot be utterly dismissed.  It is clear that what these people experienced was real.  There remains the unanswered question as to what it all is and what it all means; though the author presented more original and plausible hypotheses than I've ever encountered before.  While the book didn't answer most of my questions it did leave me content with my lot.  You see, Frank Salisbury and Junior Hicks have one major point in common with me; neither of them have had any sort of personal manifestation of UFO activity either.

The best part however, is that the book settled the issue for me.  I no longer care if I ever have such an experience.  Without spoiling Salisbury's most significant conclusion, may I say that this book has made the mystery and quandary of UFO phenomena a non-issue for me.  Why?  You'll just have to read the book and see for yourself.  I recommend it highly for doubters and also for jealous types like me.  If UFO's are already a non-issue for you - don't bother.

Four Stars.

Hail, Hail the Gang's All Here!

L/R - Ronnie, Kristi, Katie, Aly, Jenny, Megan, Cheya, Myke, Jeff and John

Alyson came home for the weekend so we updated our family photos.  We went to Grandma's and took the pictures by the Mulberry Tree and out by the cow shed.  We also all got a picture with our wonderful Grandma Rae!

L/R - Ronnie, Kristi, Aly, Megan, Cheya, Myke, Jeff, Katie, Jenny and John

Knot Heads

Grandma Rae then going left, Jeff, John, Ronnie, Kristi, Cheya, Myke, Katie, Aly, Jenny and Megan

I can't adequately express how thankful I am for my wonderful, beautiful family!

Its A Small World After All

It was the fall of 1972 and I was about to enter the US Navy.  The war was continuing in Vietnam and I expected to serve in the Western Pacific.  In fact I had requested it when I enlisted.  I had wanted to return to the Philippines and the wonderful people I'd served while on a mission there.  When I enlisted I was single and had expected to be so for the foreseeable future.

Then one day, about three weeks before I was to report to Boot Camp I happened upon the girl of my dreams. We went on our first date and really hit it off.  In fact on that date, I felt impressed that I must marry her.  That notion was quite alarming to me.  Not because I was afraid of marriage; but because I'd put in for WestPac and expected to be away from home for the entire two years of my enlistment.  I couldn't imagine marrying this wonderful girl, only to leave her behind.

The day following our first date I had a notion that I'd like to see my brother.  Brad and I had been best friends all our lives and we hadn't laid eyes on one another for over three and a half years.  I'd gone on my mission in 1969 and he had left for his a few months before I got back.  Now I was bound for Vietnam, or so I thought, and might not see him for an additional two years.  I couldn't bear the thought.

With an attitude of nothing ventured nothing gained, I called his Mission President, President Rex C. Reeve Jr. and explained my situation. I told him that I had a regulation hair cut, plenty of white shirts and ties, the discussions memorized and a current Temple Recommend.  Then I plead, "Can I please come out to South Dakota and spend some time with him?"  There was a long silence on the other end.  Finally, he spoke and said he'd have to take the matter to the Lord.  I agreed and hung up the phone.  It wasn't two hours later the phone rang and it was President Reeve.  He had found a bother in the local area to be Brad's companion's companion and said I could come if I would be my brother's companion and serve as a missionary by his side.  I was ecstatic!  He made it clear that this was not a time to play around, but that he expected me to be a missionary and to follow mission rules.  I promised I would.

The next morning I jumped in the car and headed for the Rosebud Sioux Reservation in South Dakota, where my brother was serving.  It took twelve hard hours to drive there.  It was a difficult journey.  I spent almost the entire twelve hours in prayer.  I was determined that marriage was not the answer.  I had every excuse in the book.  It was too late.  There was not time for preparations.  There was not time to get acquainted.  Who in their right mind would marry a man she hardly knew and who was about to leave to war for two years.  The list went on and on.  All the way to South Dakota I plead with the Lord to excuse me from what appeared to be my destiny.  All the way, I got no relief from His expectation of me.

There was some respite upon my arrival.  A happy reunion!  And a wonderful opportunity to be missionary companions for something just shy of a week.  We worked hard and kept the rules, except one.  We couldn't get ourselves to go to sleep on time.  Too much catching up to do.  It was a very different mission than the one I had experienced.  Rather laid back.  The Elders wore white shirts and ties and blue jeans.  They drove a pickup truck.  Brad explained that we might be called upon to haul hay or do some other chores as we loved, served, fellowshipped and taught these wonderful Native Americans.  This was not new to Brad and I.  As young men our family had been called to serve a two year mission among the Ute Indians of Utah, not far from our home.  We loved the Indian people and do to this day.  Their great hearts, sweet testimonies and profound faith, coupled with a cheerful nature and terrific sense of humor, make them fond brothers and sisters of ours, for life.  I won't go into too many details except to say that these were precious days and a sweet gift from a kind Father in Heaven.  I will always be amazed and grateful that we had such a blessed time together as missionary companions.

One highlight, though, is the reason I'm writing this now.  My brother's companion in South Dakota was Elder Sion Latu.  He was from Tonga and a giant in body and in spirit.  I loved getting acquainted with him and after nearly 40 years, still have not forgotten his name.  I remember what a great cook he was and that his cooking not only represented quality, but quantity.  Easily, he ate more than I and my brother combined.  And we had great appetites ourselves!  Elder Latu was jovial and warm hearted and really made a big impression upon me.  I only got to see him briefly each morning and again in the evening but I loved being around him.  He had that famous Polynesian charm and talent and it was just a joy to get to rub shoulders with him.  Actually, I might have had to stand on a chair to do that, but you know what I mean.  On the other hand, most Polynesians I know are larger than life and should you actually take their measurements, you might be surprised that they are not as giant sized as they seem.  Part of me wishes I had such a personality.  Of course if such wishes could be granted we'd all be Polynesians!  Wherever you find them, they are the leaven of the loaf!

A couple of weeks ago I met a wonderful girl from the Islands.  Her name is Kika and she told me she was Tongan; though she'd only visited there.  I thought I might ask her if she happened to know Elder Latu.  I'd forgotten his first name - if I ever knew it.  I decided not to.  You know.  Different generation.  Lots of Tongans.  What are the chances?

Since then, Kika has visited my blog, and in a comment, she signed her name Kika Latu.  I wrote her a note and asked what I should have when we met.  Sure enough!  Last night I got my answer.  Kika is Sion's very own daughter!  It is indeed a small world after all.  Kika is a walking breathing tribute to her father.  Wonderful in every way.  I loved watching her play with the children and engaging with the others at our Book Blogger's Summer Social.  She may not be in the islands, but the islands most certainly are in her!

I feel so blessed to make connections from my remote and neglected past.  God is so good in that regard.  You'll remember another, quite similar post from this past spring - I Don't Believe in Coincidences and also Remembering to Trust or Meet Joe Hapi.  I was able to track down Joe through Facebook a couple of years ago!

All I can say is a little prayer to my Heavenly Father, "Malo 'aupito!"




Post Script:

I drove home with another prayer in my heart.  One of faith and courage and trust.  Qualities encouraged by my brother and received by contagion from Sion Latu.  I asked Sweetie out the day after my return and that night made a proposal of marriage.  Miracle of miracles, she accepted!  The next week I went to boot camp, came back at Christmas, and married her in the Provo Temple.  We spent the next two years together, stationed in San Diego, California.  We lived in a ward leavened with one third Polynesians.  Life is so good!