2 hOUrs aS SANtA

     This year I got to do something for the Christmas season that I've never done before. I got to play Santa at my family's Pre-school. The guy they regularly get had a scheduling problem, so I was asked if I could fill in. I said sure. When the day arrived I arrived and went into my Grandparents' old house to change. Apparently the person that they had borrowed the Santa costume from was a BIT shorter than me because the pants only came to about 3-4 inches below my knees. Now I realize that they were probably meant to be short so you could tuck them into the boots, but with the boots on, I would still be showing far to much leg for Santa. Luckily my Grandma had an old Santa suit with longer pants. Then came the second size issue. The boots were a full size too small. It took a huge effort to finally pull them on my feet, but even that task was finally completed and then it was just the finishing touches. At one point, my wife came in and I asked her if I needed a pillow to which she quickly said NO. (not quite sure how to respond to that) Finally the time came to go out and meet the children. I spent the next two hours sitting and visiting with the kids. It really was a fun experience. The kids would come in groups of about 4 and I would have about a minute with each. 
     There were two kids that stand out. The first was a little girl. (all the kids were 4 years old, by the way) This little girl came up and sat on my lap and I talked to her the way Santa alway talks to children. When I finally asked her what she wanted for Christmas, she kind pulled away and looked at me funny. She then said, "I've already told you like three other times." It was really hard not to bust right out laughing. I thought quickly and told her that I talk to soo many children this time of year that that is why I always check lists twice. She seemed to accept that. Of all the responces I thought I may get, THAT was NOT one of them.
     The second was a very cool experience. This time it was a little boy. Before I go into that I need to set up something. Sitting next to me were three bins(bags) with little toys labeled "boy", "girl," or "nutral." As each child was through, a helper would give a present to the child and then the child would go to a table and open the gift. This particular group came when my helper was taking a potty break. The boy came up and we exchanged pleasentries for a bit and then I asked the magic question. He told me that he really wanted a toy bow and arrow set. I told him that a toy bow and arrow is a big responsibility and that if he got one he was never to shoot it at anyone. He nodded his head and said, "Oh, I know!" I wished him Merry Christmas and reached in the bin labeled for boys and gave him his little gift. He wa the last in the group so I was able to watch him open the gift. It turned out to be a small toy bow and arrow set. He just looked at it for a second then back at me. I gave him an exagerated wink and he beamed! I think this particular boy may believe in Santa well into his thirties. It was fun to see the magic for him. All in all, it was a fun way to spend a couple of hours. I tried to be more than a standard "what do you want for Christmas" Santa, but talk about what they had asked for, or if they asked for something I knew a little bit about I could expand on it with them. My geekiness really helpped out there. When I finished I went back to the room where they had all gathered and wished them all a Merry Christmas one last time.

Then I went back in the old house and had to get those small boots actually off my feet. haha

hEaLiNg HaNDS

     Something I love doing more than pretty much anything is singing. I love music! It’s magical. Music has powers that can’t be found anywhere else. Music can bring you to the verge of tears, or the edge of rapture. I’m one of those people you see/hear as you drive around that is singing at the top of their lungs. Windows up or down. Songs from male singers or female. I love music! I’m sure that there will be more entries regarding music, but in reality, this one has almost nothing to do with music, and yet, it does. Confused?

     Back in 1998 I had started a new position at work. I had taken what would become the first of my sales routes. This one covered Arizona, New Mexico, and western Texas, as well as south eastern Utah. I had been doing it for a few months. I liked it well enough. I was gone for 10-11 days at a time. This was before I was married and I really loved being out driving around. (I guess some things just never change) Anyway, I started having odd pains in my chest and abdomen. At first I chalked it up to my new lifestyle of sitting for long periods of time and greasy foods, but as time went on it got worse and worse.  Eventually I went to the doctor to find out what was going on. By now Ann and I were engaged. The doctors couldn’t seem to figure out what was going on. At first the thought it was probably my gal bladder, though that was quickly ruled out. Then strange growths we seen on my lungs.  I was terrified that it might be cancer, but after a couple of weeks the growths had doubled in size. The doctor told me that that was actually good news. WHAT? He said that it was growing far to fast to be cancer. That was good news. So what is it? Well, that part they still didn’t know. Test after test were run and everything came back negative. Meanwhile I was feeling worse and worse. I’d gone in for a biopsy on one lung and still nothing. Eventually it was determined that the doctors were going to have to go in and actually cut a piece or two of whatever it was off my lungs and have a better look. The day came and I went under the knife. They had to deflate my left lung to do what they needed. When the surgery was completed I was in the ICU for a day or two. I remember being told that my friend Justin had called or come to visit, but because I was in the ICU I didn’t get to see or talk to him. I was eventually moved to a regular room where I spent a little over a week. Ann and my family would come to visit. Crazy thing was that the doctors still didn’t know what the heck was growing in there. I actually started planning my funeral at one point. Morbid I know, but what else was I going to do all day in the hospital bed?

     I was finally release to go home, but my lung capacity was still not good so I was hooked up to oxygen. (My friends told me later that they thought they would be attending my funeral as well.) Then all of a sudden the things started shrinking in size! What the heck?! The main doctor told me that he was pretty sure it was Coccidioidomycosis, though tests were still coming up negative. (by the way, they never did figure out what it was. How crazy is that?) I was on oxygen for a little over a month. I had exercises to strengthen my lungs and I did them. I couldn’t sing. I couldn’t hold a note because I didn’t have the lung capacity. I was getting better though. Then one day I was driving up the street and I had a CD playing (of course) and a song began playing. This song was already a favorite of mine, but it was about to jump even higher on the list. I tentatively started singing and I wasn’t running out of breath. I was doing it. I was singing again! I raised my voice even louder as the song progressed. When the song finished, I had sung every word. I actually had to pull over I was so excited. It was the moment where I knew I was going to be fine. I could sing. My lungs were strong. To this day, “Healing Hands” by Elton John will cheer me up better than almost any song. See, totally not about music, and yet totally about music.

i kNow TherE's a JOKe in thErE SomewheRE

     I have decided that going on the road in November is something I may try to avoid as much as possible in the future.

     I wrote a little while ago about what happened to me last year right before Thanksgiving, well though not as bad in most ways, I had another crappy November business trip.

     This year I was doing my new truck stop route for work which I started back in January. It’s a big route that takes me across northern Nevada, down to central California, up through Oregon to Tacoma, Wa. then over to Spokane, Wa., down to Boise, Idado and then across I-84 to home. It takes me two weeks to complete. I love being out, but I really hate being away. (If you think those are the same things, you’re sorely mistaken.) 

     I had a new location to set up this trip and wanted to make sure I had plenty of time, so I’d done a couple of late nights and early mornings. I was running about 1 stop ahead of schedule. That may not seem like much, but moving one location up early in the trip can actually shave off a whole day by the end of the trip.  I was feeling very good and enjoying my favorite things to listen to while driving. Podcasts. (See my last post) I was just entering Oregon at about mile marker 6 when I felt a jolt and the car just stopped working. Some things worked, some didn’t. Luckily my brakes were among the working because I was coming down a pretty big hill. Really I had just come over a small mountain pass so the roads were not only steep, but curvey as well. The POWER part of my breaks was gone, but I was still able to stop without incident. (phew) I got out of the car and began to look it over. Everything seemed in place to my EXTREMELY untrained eye. I got back in and tried to start it up again, but all I got was a sound I had never heard before and it wouldn’t even turn over. To make matters worse, it was starting to snow. (wonderful)  I had no idea what to do. I didn’t want to call a tow truck just yet. I guess I was hoping that some Good Samaritan would stop and be able to say, “Oh just do this.” and get my car going again. I have to say that I got pretty peeved when not one, but TWO police drove right by me without even slowing down. (Must have been in a hurry to set up a speed trap or something.) I really didn’t even know which town I was closest to so I could start looking for a tow truck. Finally a Hwy Patrol stopped, but all she could do was tell me that Ashland, OR was 6 miles away. I found a towing company with my phone (ahh technology) and finally got towed into town. Once there the mechanic did some checking and told me that he was almost positive what had happened. Apparently my timing belt had slipped (or whatever it is that they do which is bad) and that most likely caused even more damage. He said that to just do what he needed to do to make sure would cost $2000 just in labor cost and then parts would be even more. I guess that at this point I should mention that we had just paid off this car ONE WEEK before and I’d put new back tires on it just 5 days earlier. It turns out that the car isn’t even worth $2000, although it was worth far more to me. You see, this was the very first car in my life that I had paid off completely.  All the other ones had been traded in (or totaled last November) before being paid off. After weighing all the options (of which there really weren’t a lot) I started making calls to try and sell my newly paid off car. I found a company who offered me a good price so, just like that, I had a buyer.

   Of course now I still had the problem of being in the middle of my route with no car. I looked into renting one, but a one way rental would have cost more than I just got for the car. My company then said they would use air points to fly me home and then I could get a car and drive back. (That was very nice of them.) So Saturday morning (Nov 5) I flew home and spent the rest of the day with my family which was a nice break. I then borrowed my mother-in-law’s car (she doesn’t drive so it was readily available) and on Sunday I drove the 18 hours back to where I was. Monday morning we finalized the deal on my old car and I was off. Leaving the old car behind was pretty emotional because that car is more my office than my space at our home office. I’ve driven that car to and through 11 western states and it’s always been good to me. I know its quirks and such. It was almost like a friend. In less than a year, BOTH of our cars were gone while I was using them on road trips.

   Anyway, now instead of being ahead of the game I was 2 days behind schedule. No way to really make it up, but there’s a part of me that says, “We can do this. Drive and work fast and we’ll make up the time.” (totally NOT possible by the way)  Well, I got to my first store and took care of things there and headed out. Things could only get better now, right?

I wasn’t 30 miles away when I got the flat.

Friends I've Never Met

     I think the internet is a wonderful thing. It’s made the world a much smaller place. It’s made it possible to make friends you never would have otherwise.  Let me give you a couple of examples. Once, while in the hotel in one of my many visits to Las Vegas, I was surfing for geeky related things and I found something called micro heroes.  These were small gif files of superheroes with heads too large for their bodies.  I was enthralled. These things seemed easy enough for me to make and there were entire web sights dedicated to these little guys. I’m a very visual person. I love looking and things and designing things and Micro Heroes gave me an outlet for both. I started making my own and “collecting” (a real habit of mine) ones that others had made.  It was then that I discovered that there was a group of people, a club if you will, who shared their creations with each other. I signed up for my first internet “group.” I would receive emails from Robert, Kat, Matthew, and a whole slew of others who were just as geeky as me and who just wanted to show off their latest Micro. We talked to each other through these emails and told each other how cool their latest work was. It was nice to have “friends” who were interested in similar things. On one trip to Phoenix I actually got together with Robert for lunch. I remember a coworker marveling that I would just go to lunch with a complete stranger. I told him that it wasn’t really a complete stranger. After all, we’ve shared Micro Heroes and we both liked comics. He still had trouble grasping.

     Anyway, that was my first foray into an online community of any kind, but it wouldn’t be my last. Set the time machine forward a few years and my wife bought me an MP3 player for Father’s day or our Anniversary (I forget which it was) and within a few weeks I had discovered these things called podcasts. I could find programs on the internet that talked about comic books??? That was crazy! I remember the first one I downloaded was a podcast called Raging Bullets. All DC comics! I was hooked. The hosts would talk about DC Comics, but the also talked about being part of the Comic Geek Speak (CGS) forums.  I had never joined any kind of online forums before and wasn’t sure what to expect. I started listening to CGS as well and they often spoke about their forum members like they were friends. I took the plunge and joined. I was very much a “lurker” for the first little bit.  The first thing I noticed was that a lot of the people there all had odd names. There were people like Peter, Bryan, Paul,and Shane, but there was also Dr Norge, Rainbow Cloak, and Filthy McMonkey and many, many others. I’ve done my share of chatting via AOL and Messenger so I was familiar with screen names. I picked the one I always use and finally started interacting. I started becoming familiar with the personalities behind the names. Little by little and bit by bit, these strangers became acquaintances and then friends. We discussed not only comics, but politics, family triumphs and tragedies, or the latest movie or TV show. We even have a yearly “Secret Santa” which is just a fantasticly fun thing every Christmas season.  We feel so much like friends and family that I felt and feel like I would be totally at home meeting them in real life. I actually would like nothing better than to meet Sean, Darren, or Scott. (Norge, Cloak, and McMonkey)  These are people from all over the globe and from many different walks of life. People I know I never would have met otherwise. And the internet brought us together.  One in particular has become one of my very best friends in the world. And we have never met.

Lesson from a river

     I'm usually not one of those people who see lessons in daily things. I've heard people say things like, "as I saw that tree growing the way it was and it reminded me of..." or "as the clouds rolled in over the hills I was reminded that..." and it seems great that they can see such profound lessons in such everyday things. Me, I usually see a tree or clouds. However, there was one time that a lesson was taught to me in such a way.
     I was in Colorado on business. (that seems to happen a lot in these stories) My friend Russ was with me on this trip as well, (I really should tell you all about this great friend and man sometime soon) which means there were more stops than normal. I had told him that if he saw something that he wanted to take pictures of to please let me know and I'd stop for a few minutes. It was mid to late April so as we drove down roads and through canyons there were plenty of photo ops to be had. There was still snow on the ground and it even snowed while we were driving through one of the many canyons we drove through. It was during one such stop that I had this lesson taught to me. We had pulled off the road so Russ could take a new set of photos. As he went around taking his pictures, I stood and looked at the river below us. I've mentioned before how much I love rivers. Yet as I looked at this particular river my thoughts didn't turn to their normal reminiscing.
     I noticed that there seemed to be two different rivers converging into one. The water from one river was green clean and the water from the other was brown and muddy. The green water was calmer looked easy to stand in, while the brown water was a lot swifter and seemed like it would be easy to slip and fall. It was odd, but you could actually see a division between the two rivers even after they had joined together. However, it didn't take long until the green water was gone. When the clean and muddy waters combined the waters didn't become all clean. Quite the opposite happened. In the space of not many yards the new "combined" river was entirely muddy. There was no trace left of the beautiful green water, only the muddy waters. I remember wondering why the clean water didn't wash out the mud and make the whole river clean. The answer came to my mind, "Because it's just easier to let the the mud flow into it than it is to try and filter out the mud."  I realized that they only real way that the green river could have stayed "unmuddied" is to stay separate.
     In life, it's not always easy to "remain separate." I know in my life (and I'm sure in yours as well) there have been times that I figured I could get close to the muddy water without letting the mud make me dirty as well. Remember, there was a spot where both rivers flowed side by side. However, it also didn't take long until there was only one river. One muddy river. I've tried to remember that over the years. There have been time where I was more successful than others, but I have also had times where I decided that it would be better to not even risk the mud. See, I told you I loved rivers.

There would be no party that day.

On this, the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I just wanted to jot down a few memories. I had gotten up as always and was getting ready for work. We had the TV on the local news as we always did in the morning. We were getting ready to celebrate the 1st Birthday of our first born, Parker. But, there would be no party that day. We watched, along with the world, as the stories in New York, Virginia, and Pennsylvania unfolded. We watched the second plane crash. We watched the smoke rise. We watched and report and report came in. I thought of my Mom who was in New York state and scheduled to fly home a day or two later. Eventually I pulled myself away from the TV. Life had to go on I figured. I had to go to work. There was nothing I could do from where I was. I drove to work with the radio on the news and when I arrived I saw a small group of co-workers doing something strange. As I pulled up I noticed that someone had brought a small black and white TV outside because we could get no reception inside. There we stood. A group of 5-6 people. All huddled around a small black and white TV. United in grief and shock and growing anger. At one point the lady next to me let out a small sniff and intake of breath and without really thinking about it I reached my arm around her to give whatever degree of comfort I could. The rest of the day has always been a blurr for me. I remember talking with different people in the office about what had happened and what was still happening.  I remember the different reactions from all the different people. The only other thing I remember doing for sure was sitting down later that night and writing a letter to my son. I wanted him to understand what had happened that day, and the feelings associated with it. I remember telling him that, no matter what he would hear in the years to come, he should never hate those involved. Rather, to focus on the heroism and outpouring of love and unity that was sweeping across our great nation.
     In the years since then we've always tried to emphasize that it's Parker's birthday on September 11th. That even though a terrible thing may have happened on that day in 2001, that an incredibly good thing had happened on that day in 2000. Our family started. Make no mistake in what I'm writing. I feel for those who lost friends and loved ones on that day in 2001. I know it was a terrible tragedy. I feel a swelling of grief and also patriotism each year when 9/11 rolls around, but even more so I feel grateful that on that day I became a Dad and my wife became a Mom. I honor those innocent victims and brave workers who lost their lives on that awful day, but for me, "never forget" has TWO meanings when I think of September 11th. There may have been no party day, but there have been in the years since.

Lucky Me

     It was Nov 22nd of last year. I had left on another trip as I do. I was going to be going to many Maverik (gas station) locations across Wyoming. I was going to cover a lot of territory in just 2 LONG days. Each stop would likely be about 5 minutes so there would be tons of driving, but then I'd have the rest of the week off for Thanksgiving.  Well, at least, that WAS the plan.
     I had finished the location in Thayne, WY and was heading to Lander. I had driven through Jackson Hole and was on a state hwy and it was snowing on and off and had been all day. I've driven in adverse conditions many times before and knew there is a reason they're called "adverse." As I drove along the road the snow was starting to pick up. Then it happened!
     I hit a patch of ice on the road and the SUV started to swerve. I tried to correct, but to no avail. I crossed into the oncoming traffic lane (luckily there was no one in that lane) and headed rapidly for the shoulder. I had no control of the car and knew I was in trouble. The next thought that went through my head was, "this is how I'm going to die." I knew I was going to roll. Then I remember actually almost hearing a voice saying, "relax." I did. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst. I really did plan on NOT opening them again in this world. I felt the SUV start to roll. It rolled at least twice and I think it may have rolled a third time, but I'm not sure. I kinda lost count. During the roll my foot moved back on to the gas pedal without me realizing it, so when I finally stopped rolling the car went even further into the reeds. My first thought was "move your foot" and then "I'm not dead." I opened my eyes and looked around. The contents of the SUV were strewn around and one window was gone. (Another lucky thing was that I usually take my little Honda Civic, but my wife had said, "why don't you take the Trailblazer. It'll be safer and I won't need it.)I reached up and felt the top of my head and brought my hand down to the sight of blood. Luckily for me, there had been another car about 1/4 mile behind me that had seen me roll because the state trooper told me later than as far as I had stopped off the road (about 150 ft) and so far into the trees and such that it would have been unlikely that anyone would have seen me. Anyway, the guy behind me stopped to see how I was. He told me a little later that he was expecting to find me dead too. (guess it really was my lucky day) I wanted to call my wife and tell her what had happened, but my cell phone had apparently become one with the Wyoming snow at some point during one of the rolls, so the kind gentleman allowed me to use his. Ann wasn't home, so I left a very brief message. I was really starting to get cold now. The winds had kicked up and the snow was really blowing. My wife always keeps blankets in the car for any need, and I had also taken an extra one with me as well as a mummy sleeping bag, for some reason. (It's something I don't usually do. Again, lucky I guess.)  The man got a couple of blankets for me. Each blanket has a name of a member of our family embroidered on it, so I took even more comfort feeling like I was being kept warm by my family.  When the police arrived they told me to just stay put. They didn't want to risk moving me just in case, so we needed to wait for the ambulance to arrive from Jackson Hole which was about 30-40 minutes away in GOOD weather. By the time the ambulance arrived it was dark. I felt bad as the rescuers loaded me on the back board and then hauled my overweight butt all the way back to the waiting ambulance. We then headed back toward Jackson. An hour later we arrived. In the mean time, I had finally gotten in touch with Ann, and she and her brother were on their way to Jackson as well. (5 hrs away in good weather)
     In the hospital I was checked out, x-rayed, and cleaned up. I reached up at one point and said I could feel glass in my head. The nurse told me not to touch it so I didn't accidentally make it worse. I was told that I had a concussion and other cuts, and I was sore as well.  Here's where things started getting a bit surreal. I was told after a while that I was free to go. Now keep in mind that my car was still 30-40 miles away filling with the blowing snow. I thought the nurses and workers would keep me there until Ann arrived to drive me home.  Especially because I was the ONLY case in the ER. However, I was told that there was a motel that workers use when they get snowed in that was about 1/3 mile away and that I could stay there. By now the wind was really blowing and the snow was in full blizzard mode and working on becoming a full blown white out. Surely one of these workers would drive me to said motel, right? NOPE. No taxis in that weather either.  I told them that I could still feel glass in my head again and this time I was told, "Oh, that will come out in the shower." WHAT?! Anyway, I was turned out into that cold Wyoming blizzard with nothing more than my jacket and the blanket I had asked them to grab when they took me out of the car. I was told to walk down the road and the motel was on the right about 1/3 mile down.  I grabbed my travel bag which I had also asked them to grab and out I went. After I had walked for a while I still couldn't see the motel that was supposedly there. Finally I noticed it on the LEFT side of the road. If they hadn't had Christmas lights already up, I may not have realized what I was looking for. I got a room and decided to shower so I could get the glass out. Crazy. The hospital said they would tell Ann and her brother where I was when they got there. I got out of the shower and turned the heat in the room way up. I was quite cold. I climbed in bed and started watching the Chargers play on Monday Night Football. (Lucky my favorite team was playing) After a couple of hours, the phone in the room rang and it was Ann calling to tell me that they couldn't get any further than Soda Springs, ID. Still hours away. They were going to get a room and start again in the morning. With nothing else to do, I stayed in bed and finally fell asleep.
     The next morning, I opened the curtain to look out the window and was greeted with the scene of a complete white out. The wind was blowing even worse than the night before and the snow had covered everything. Ann called before too long and told me that they couldn't get to me. There were roads all over Idaho and Wyoming that were being closed because of the storm. Even the Interstate was closed in places. She said how sorry they were, but there was nothing to be done. I told her to go home while she could. (I didn't want BOTH of us missing Thanksgiving). Luckily they headed back home just in time as the road out of Soda Springs was closed less than 10 minutes later.  I checked the small airport, but was told that everything was grounded and cancelled. No big surprise. I walked to the office and paid for another night and started figuring out what I was going to do. I hadn't eaten since lunch the day before and was on the far side of town with no transportation so I looked in the yellow pages for some place that delivered. I called a Chinese place and told them I wanted to place a delivery order. After a few seconds of silence I was told, "We don't want to deliver. You find somewhere else. OK?" *click*  I guess in retrospect I can't blame them, but it was just one more thing at the time. After a few hours the snow let up a bit and I tried calling a pizza place and was finally able to eat.  Still trying to find a way out of Jackson I was told that there was a shuttle bus that runs to the Salt Lake Airport from Jackson and back each day if needed. Maybe they MIGHT still be running, but the airport was going to be closed for a couple of days at least. I called and (luckily) they said that they were planning on going the nest day (Wednesday) and they had plenty of room. They said they leave from the Maverik parking lot at 6:30 in the morning and that I needed to be there by 6:15. Well, I knew where the Maverik was, of course, and it was on the complete other side of town and I still had no way to get there. In fact, I still had no idea where my car even was. I called one taxi service and was told that they already had someone to pick up the next morning, but that maybe the other taxi service might have an opening. Luckily they did. I got things arranged and then spent the rest of the day just hanging out in the little room and trying to figure out just where my car had ended up. I was finally able to track it down and (luckily) it was very close to the Maverik.
     The next morning I woke early and got ready to go. I'd been told that the car would be there at 5:50, but 5:50 came and went with no car. A little after 6 the phone rang and I was informed by the taxi driver that the cold had frozen his car and it wouldn't start. Wonderful! He said he had called someone to come get me though and sure enough, a van pulled up about 5 minutes later. (Lucky) When I got to the Maverik I asked the driver of the shuttle if we could stop where my car was. I explained the situation and he kindly said we could, but that he could only give me about 5 minutes to gather whatever I could. When we got there I hurried as fast as I could and grabbed everything I could in the allotted time. It was like being on some demented reality game show or something. By the end of the 5 minutes my hands were so cold that I couldn't feel them as the wind had picked up again and everything was covered in snow. Luckily, the drive to SLC was, for the most part, uneventful. However, while we were driving through Parley's Canyon just outside of SLC, someone cut off the driver and he had to swerve and the bus fish tailed a bit. I was NOT amused. We arrived at the airport, and after a short wait, Ann and my mom pulled up. Luckily, someone on the bus had had a cell phone they let me borrow so Ann could meet me there rather than me calling once I got there.
     All things considered I really HAD been lucky.

Honor Guards

     I have heard the term "Honor Guard" before and I understand it's definition, but today I learned what that term really MEANS. I was asked to sing "America the Beautiful" at the funeral of a fallen soldier. I was told it would be a funeral with full military honors, including at least one General and probably the Governor. I was truly honored to do my little part to honor someone who "gave all." I was nervous and more than a little apprehensive as I got in my car to drive over to practice with the sweet lady who was to play the piano for me. Little did I realize just how many wonderful experiences and lessons awaited me in the hours ahead.
     As I entered the neighborhood where this lady lived, I realized that this was also where the fallen soldier's family lived. It was at once easy to pick out their house. It seems that the Boy Scouts from her ward were on the ball. The yard of this family was covered with probably 40 flying American flags. It's hard to not be moved by a sight like that. To be honest, it was those powerful feeling of gratitude and such that were worrying me most. I'm a very emotional person as anyone who knows me can attest, and I really wanted to do a good job. Not for me, but for this brave soldier and his family. The next neat little experience came as I entered the home of this wonderful lady who was to accompany me. In walked this little woman who was probably in her 70s. As I shook hands with her I was amazed at those hands. They were very arthritic and so soft. We walked over to her piano and I expected her to pull out some great arrangement, but that's not what happened. She said "tenor right?" and I said yes. She said let's start in "C" and see how that works. Those soft little arthritic hands then began to play a beautiful intro without a single piece of music. I went through the first verse and it sounded very good. She suggested we try another key as well to see if that was even better. After maybe 10 minutes we had put a nice little arrangement together.
     I then drove to the church where the funeral was going to be held. As I entered the chapel, I noticed all the flowers and such that accompany a funeral, but there, at a table at the front, were three Meritorious Service Medals, three Purple Heart Medals, and three Bronze Star Medals. As the people started to arrive there were the usual compliment of suits and dresses, but there were also a good number of men and women in dress uniforms. Then the first Honor Guard arrived. A loud roar could be heard from outside as someone entered the building. I went out to see what it was. The parking lot was filling with motorcycle riders. The Freedom Riders had arrived. These men and women weren't dressed like the other people arriving. These man and women were in sleeveless leather and denim vests, dew rags, sun glasses, leather chaps, and other riding gear. I'm sure that in most cases, the people walking into the church would normally have avoided people dressed as the Riders were. After all, people that are different from us usually make us uncomfortable. These men and women began to take flags off their bikes, or unpack them from small trailers. They surrounded the building. Every entrance was a pathway of denim, leather, and red, white and blue.  These men and women stood (some even using walkers) as honor guard to lead others to pay their respect.  No one that walked into that meeting house from that moment on ever touched an outside door. There was an "honor guard" to open every door whether you were entering or exiting. It was a truly moving sight. Only two or three of the Riders actually entered the building. That's not what they were there for. They were honoring this young man in their own way. They all stayed outside in the 90+ degree heat while the funeral was being held.
     As the medals were handed to this soldier's parents and brother, each current and former soldier in the building stood at attention to honor their comrade in arms. When the Brigadier General in attendance got up to say his words he addressed himself as simple a soldier as he honored the fallen.  Over the next hour or so, military words, Mormon testimonies, and family memories joined to pay honor in their own ways.  My turn came half way through the service. A calm came over me and stood and honored him in a way I can. I've learned over the years of singing in different situations such as this, not to look at certain people so I kept my eyes roaming. Never letting them fall long enough to register emotions on faces. If I do that, I can suppress the emotions trying to break through. When I finished, I sat down and the Governor (who was sitting behind me) put his hand on my shoulder and just gave a little squeeze to say well done. Then as the funeral ended and the casket of this brave young man was taken out, the Freedom Riders were already at the exit standing, flags held, again creating a living walkway of honor. I stood at my car waiting for the funeral procession to get underway. When the hearse and limo began to move, the thunderous roar came to life again as motorcycles of all shapes and sizes roared to life almost as one. As we left the parking lot, the next Honor Guard appeared. As we drove through the neighborhood toward the cemetery, there were people standing at their front doors with heads bowed and some with hands over their hearts. Moms and dads standing with their children like they were almost watching a parade. There weren't a lot of them, but I made a point to notice every one. Did they know the young man? Maybe. Maybe not. But I think they knew what was going on and this was THEIR way of paying honor.
     At the cemetery, there were even more uniforms. Not only military uniforms, but police from different agencies standing at attention. Again, the denim and leather wall appeared. This time, in honor of his birth country, people held not only American flags, but Brazilian flags as well. There were gunmen standing in the distance ready to salute one of their own, and a solitary buglest on the hill ready to play a final farewell. The next honor guard were the soldiers bringing the casket to it's final resting place. The only word I can think of to truly do them justice is majestic. They stood holding that flag which was draped over the casket with a respect I have seldom seen. The grave was dedicated and they stood. The guns fired and they stood. TAPS was blown and they stood. The precious flag was then folded and and held close to the heart of one soldier, then given to the General. He then took the flag over and handed the flag and offered a salute to people who outranked even him. A mom and a dad.
     As the graveside service began to break up I saw one more "honor guard." Throughout the whole thing the members of the Freedom Riders had kept a respectful distance, but now one approached the casket. He stood a few inches from the casket and reached out a trembling hand. He finally placed his hand on the casket and bowed his head and said something only he, God, and maybe the soldier being honored there today, heard. He then walked away without another word.
     I tried to take in as much as I humanly could. You could not have been there and not been touched by the respect and honor paid to this hero, soldier, friend, brother, and son, by the many, many Honor Guards that surrounded him on this summer day. Rest in peace and thank you for giving what many never will.

20 insane minutes

My now 5 year old daughter decided to make quite the entrance when she entered the world. I wrote this as an email to friends and family to announce her arrival and thought I would post it here as well so I know where it always is. Honestly, it was so surreal that it was something out of a sitcom or romantic comedy. The date was Monday, May 8th, 2006 and we were just about to have Family Home Evening when...

   This little girl was in a HUGE hurry to arrive once she decided she wanted to.  Daddy thought he was going to be one of those stories on the 10 o'clock news where the husband delivers the baby on the side of the road while chatting with 911.  First contraction was about 6:15ish and we left for the hospital about 6:20.  Daddy is driving just above the posted speed limit, but still safely. A little over 2/3 of the way there mommy announces (quite loudly) that baby is about to make her appearance.  Daddy starts driving even faster and starts to makes some "questionable" driving maneuvers.  He calls the ER and tells them that mommy may be delivering in the car and could they please meet us at the curb with a gurney.  We pull up at the ER where, thankfully, there is a gurney waiting. Mommy is unloaded and whisked through the doors while daddy parked the car. Realizing that they would never make it if they use the regular elevator mommy is rushed into the closer "service" elevator where nurses start prepping mommy and then straight into the nearest room when the doors open which, it turns out, is NOT a labor and delivery room.  Meanwhile daddy is running back into the hospital trying to locate his missing wife.  A lady at the ER check in desk realizes the look on daddy's face and asks "screaming pregnant lady?" Daddy says yes and is told to go to the correct floor. As he exits the elevator, a kind nurse finally points to a room and says "right there" and daddy opens the door to a room FULL of people, including his screaming bride.  As he looks at the mother of his, soon-to-be three, children he notices that the baby is already crowning and he navigates the tide of people to reach his correct place at his wife's side just in time to hear the Dr. (who by the way was NOT her normal Dr. and who just happened to be at the nurses station when the screaming pregnant woman was wheeled out of the service elevator) say "push."  With no time for a Tylenol, let alone an epidural, the brave woman pushes.  The head pops out and the Dr. backs away, holds his arms out and asks if one of the nurses who has clean hands could please roll up the sleeves of his shirt and tuck in his tie. (that's right, no time for wearing scrubs)  Another push and little 6lb 13oz, 20 1/2", Zanna Nixon makes her appearance into this world at 6:41.   So ... what did you all do during those 20 minutes?

R Randy R

     Have you ever had the experience where you meet someone (an acquaintance really) and then years after your last meeting you meet them again and it forever alters the path of your life? No? Pity really. For me that person was someone I met when I was working for a telemarketing company. Yes, I was one of those pesky people who would call you right as you were sitting down to dinner or about to watch your favorite show. This was pre-caller ID so you pretty much answered any call. The thing is, we only called people who had requested a free Book of Mormon. When we'd get someone who would go off the handle about how they had told the person that took their order that they wanted no contact, we would calmly say we just wanted to make sure they received what they had ordered. Usually took the wind right out of their sails. But enough about that. One of the supervisors on the other side of the room was a guy named Riko. I didn't deal with him much, but we were at least friendly. The extent of our "friendship" was a hello when we'd actually be on the same side of the room for some reason. I knew he was married and that he went to Hawaii on his mission. (lucky dog) That's about the extent of it.
     I eventually quit and gave little thought to pretty much everyone there. I started going to a single adult ward and had started making new friends there. After a little while someone mentioned that he was getting a new roommate and his name was Riko. I thought this can't be the same guy because, after all, this was a SINGLE adult ward. Well, it turns out that his circumstances had changed and it was indeed the same Riko. Little did any of us realize how our lives were about to change. You see, Riko played Dungeons and Dragons and not only that, but he got a group of guys from the ward to play. Eventually, I asked if I could come over and watch one night and they said sure. From then on, I had a group of friends that would last for many, many years. We would play each week. The group would gain and loose people over the years, but there was a core group that always seemed to stick. We moved from place to place over the years. (I can count at least six different places that we played at least once.) We would do things outside of D&D like Super Bowl parties, backpacking trips, barbecues, and Christmas parties just to name a few, but that game was what kept us really together. People would get married and still we played. People had kids and still we played. Holidays would come around and still we played.  We have been playing for nearly 20 years now with that same core group. I even met my lovely wife because of this group. She was dating one of the OTHER guys that played.
     Not only did we play D&D, but Riko and I would spend countless Saturdays just hanging out in his house playing Madden Football on his old Sega Genesis, watching movies, going to comic book or gaming stores, (many times those would be the same store. Handy.) or just driving somewhere with absolutely no plan at all. I was closer with him than my own brothers. We would sing bad karaoke and laugh at bad jokes. I even went home teaching with him a time or two. With his wife working most Saturdays and me still single it was a perfect fit really. When I finally did get married, Riko was one of my two Best Men. (Sorry everyone for the long reception line.)
     Now, these many years later are we still as close? Sadly maybe not. Life will do that. However, we still play D&D, and I love staying behind and just talking with my friend like we used to. We even worked the same second job for a few months recently and it was a great opportunity to really reconnect with my friend. I should have told him before now how much I enjoyed those months. Now I'm talking about him as if he's dead or something and he's not. A lot of who I am today I owe to Riko. He was a major influence on my life though my 20s and into my 30s. I owe a lot to him and to the others in that group. That group which still surround a home made gaming table every two weeks for five hours. I honestly don't know where I would be without them and it's all because someone I barely knew, happened back into my life. How lucky was that?

A cold floor in October

     The date was October 28^th, 1981. Ok, I’ll admit I had to look up the actual date on the internet, but I do remember the events of that date. It was game six of the World Series, of the strike shortened 1981 baseball season. The New Your Yankees were playing the Los Angeles Dodgers for the 3^rd time in 5 years. The two teams not only had recent history between them, but as any baseball historian could tell you, a LOT of history between the two clubs, as they have met each other in the Fall Classic a record 11 times. This was to be their last meeting in at least 20 years. (Who knows what the future may bring)

     My Dad grew up cheering for the Bronx Bombers of yesteryear. Names like Rizzuto, Ford, Berra and Mantle. He passed his love for the Yankees on to me. I cheered for names like Jackson, Dent, Nettles, and Gossage. I remember trying to swing the bat like Reggie Jackson and I remember crying when my dad told me that Thurman Munson had been killed. But, I digress. Back to October 28^th.

     I remember lying on the TV room floor watching the game. It became apparent by the middle of the game that the Yankees (down 3 games to 2) were in a lot of trouble. They were down by a lot of runs and things didn’t look good. I didn’t want to watch the Yankees loose. I liked the Yankees, but I don’t know if you would call me a FAN just yet. Anyway, with the game drawing closer and closer to its inevitable conclusion, I pulled the blanket up over my head so I wouldn’t have to “watch” them loose. It was then that I became a fan. My dad got down next to me on the floor and gently pulled the blanket off my head. He said that if I was going to be a true fan, then I needed to learn how to watch them loose and well as win. He said that a true fan stuck with their team through the bad times as well as the good. He stayed there with me and we watched our beloved Yankees loose to their hated rivals. That day the Yankees lost the World Championship, but gained a life long fan. (I’m sure given the choice; they would have picked the former) Not only did my love of the Yankees explode, but my love for the game did as well. I had a shirt during those days that read “I live, love, eat, drink, and sleep Baseball” and I did! I memorized stats, I collected cards, I watched games on TV, and through it all I wore pinstripes on my heart. I cheered for names like Winfield, Baylor, Mattingly, and Sax. I also watched manager after manager get fired (and some re-hired and then re-fired multiple times)

   What my dad taught me that night in 1981 proved to be prophetic and timely as the Yankees wouldn’t grace the stage of another World Series for 15 years, when names like Pettitte, Williams, O’Neill, and a couple of rookies named Rivera and Jeter, would not only bring an American League Pennant, but the World Championship back to the Bronx.

     Through it all, my love for the Yankees has never faltered. I still remember lying on that floor that night. I still remember being at a Yankees/Angels game in California years later and seeing the look on my father’s face as a special award was given that night to Mickey Mantle. And I remember that to this very day, that if we have NOTHING else to discuss, my Dad and I have the New York Yankees. And I have a cold October night in 1981.

Rollin', Rollin', Rollin' on the River

     There are few things in nature I love as much as a great river. I love driving by one, I love watching the way the water rushes and rolls, I love sitting by one. Most of all, however, I love tubing down a river. While I was growing up, my grandparents used to park their camper up at South Fork camp ground up Ogden Canyon for an entire week in July and family members could come and go as they please. Usually my best friends Duane Park and Darin Bair and I would go up for the entire week. We would tube, hike, tube, eat, and did I mention tube? We would tube in good weather and bad. We would tube runs that lasted a few minutes to runs that lasted a few hours. Sometimes we would tube until our legs were almost purple. We would finish each run and then start walking back up the road to get in again. While walking, we would usually beat out rythms on our tubes and listen to our shoes squish as the water was forced out. As we re-entered the river each time we would "pay homage to the river gods" by wetting one side of our tubes and then flipping them over and wetting the other. We would do this before EVERY run. We were kinda superstitious about it. It seemed like any time we failed to do so we would lose a tube to a stray branch or lost fishing hook. Of course that was not the cause, but we really kinda half believed it and we always paid "homage." In fact even up into adulthood as we would go up there we would still wet and flip before each run. We would spraypaint our names on our tubes and would mourn greatly when we would "loose" a great tube. (not all tubes are created equal) We would keep old shoes for no other reason than to become "river" shoes. (This was long before the days of water socks.) We learned very early that a long sleeve, or at least a 3/4 sleeve shirt was to be prefered to a short sleeve to prevent a nasty case of "tube rub." When we would take newbees up with us we would try to warn them to wear a longer sleeved shirt, but we were rarely listened to. That is until the SECOND time people would go with us. We would always laugh and say, "You only get a case of tube rub ONCE!" For the uninformed, "tube rub" is the rash you get on the inside of your biceps from paddling your tube. nasty stuff.
     Anyway, to this very day whenever I see a river, I think of how much fun it would be to be tubing it. I judge the depth (nothing hurts quite like slamming your butt into a stray rock if the river isn't deep enough), the swiftness, and the surrounding rocks and flora. It's been years now since my last run, (not by choice) but not a river passes my window without my mind racing back to the river of my youth and the great times we had floating down it, the rythms played on tubes, and the homages payed to the River Gods. Good times...good times.

Wow, that looks cool!

I pick favorites football teams on sight. That's not to say I choose them right away, but rather by what they look like. When I was in 2nd grade everyone seemed to be either Dallas Cowboys or Pittsburg Steelers fans. I wanted to be different, but as a 7-8 year old I had no idea even what teams were out there. I remember opening the Sears holiday cataglog (remember those?) and going to a page where you could order kids football helmets for every team. I looked at the different helmets and saw the lightning bolt on the side of the San Diego Chargers helmet. How cool is that!? A LIGHTNING BOLT! I was now a Chargers fan and have been ever since. A few years later the USFL started up and thanks to a special insert in Sports Illustrated that showed the helmets of the new teams, I became a New Jersey Generals fan. The Oakland Invaders were a close second, but lightning bolts weren't quite as cool by then. The Frankfurt Galaxy, the Scottish Claymores, and the Orlando Rage.  All picked because of how they looked. I guess that's one of the advantages of not having a local team, you can pick any one for any reason. Now Baseball...that's a WHOLE different story.

I Usually Don't

I've been traveling for my job since 1997 and I've been to many place in the west. I drive everywhere. I never fly. Not out of choice, or out of a fear of flying. I love to fly, but I just have to drive so I can stop at many different places along the way. Most of the time I'm either in such a hurry, or just a creature of habit that I really don't stop to see things along the way. The exception to that rule is when I take my friend Russ with me, but more on him some other time. Today I was driving from McCall ID down to Boise. For a while I was following a river. I've done that countless times. Follow a river I mean. I used to make a regular trip up to Salmon ID and I would follow the Salmon River for 2-3 hours. I look over at the scenery all the time, but a usually don't stop. My "enjoyment" of the world around me last mere seconds and is usually seen through glass. Well, today I stopped and got out to look, not once, not twice, but THREE times in the course of 30 minutes. I've driven that stretch of road before. I've seen the river. Today I ENJOYED the river. Granted, it wasn't for a long period of time, maybe 5 minutes at two of the stops and 10-15 at the last, but for me, that's an eternity. I took pictures and even climbed down on to some rocks near the last place. I stood there and felt the mist on my face from the rushing water. I listened to the roar of the water. I smelled the fresh mountain air. (Russ would be proud.) Did it delay me? A little. But that just didn't seem to bother me as much today. I still finished what I had to do and just got to the hotel 30 minutes later than I would have. I think I won. Maybe it's because of this blog. Who knows? If it was because of this, then it's already been useful. Here's a few pictures and even a video. For some reason, my phone decided to stop taking pictures while out on the rock at the last location, but you can still see it from higher up.

I Hope He Never Is.

From the time my oldest (now 10) was between 18-24 months old he started to travel with me for my job. Many of my accounts came to know him and he them. We could go into a store and I could tell him what to do and he would do it. I've changed diapers in parking lots and rest stops. Gone swimming in countless hotel pools. And I've even lost a fairly nice set of head phones when I made the mistake of letting him wear them to watch a movie while we were driving once.  He was my best buddie in the whole world and my co-pilot along many miles of road. On the times that he wasn't with me, he would meet me every night. I would call home when I was about 1/3 mile from home and as I would turn the penske truck into the spot next to out little house, he and my wife would be standing there waiting. I would pull up and put the truck into park and then signal and he'd come a runnin'. He would climb onto my lap and help me drive as I would turn the truck around behind the house. Once parked again he would play with the lights or wipers, or heater, or something else and just laugh with me.
     I really miss those times. Once he started pre-school it was harder and harder to take him because of his school schedule. The younger son went with me a few times, but he was just never the traveler that his brother was. What started as at least monthly trips, dwindled down to maybe once a year. (twice if we were lucky) The special bond we shared wained. I admit I'm to blame more than him. I miss what we had something fierce and now I'm not sure how to get it back. In a few weeks he will go with me for my next trip and this one will be for almost two full weeks. I'm excited and scared at the same time. I want to reconnect with him in and maybe rekindle what we once had, but I'm afraid that I won't know what to say. I want to be not only a good dad to him, but his friend. I want him to know that he can come to me for anything. He's sooo much like me that it's painful for me to watch sometimes. I think I know better than anyone what he's going through. I was terribly shy when I was his age and so is he. I had no idea really who I was and he is the same. If anyone should be albe to understand him is should be me. I think he feels the same way too. It's like he wants to have what we once did, but doesn't know how to either. The other day I was sitting at my desk playing a game on the computer and he came down and stood by me for a little while and then said, "Dad. I know I'm probably too old, but can I sit on your lap?" I held my arm up and he sat down on my lap and just watched me play, as I just had my arm around him. You know, I hope he never is too old to sit on my lap. I hope he never is afraid to ask if he can. And ohhhh how I hope that I'm never dumb enought to say NO.

Enrty the First

So I have no idea how long this will last. It's kind of an experiment really. Just random thoughts, pictures, and othe things from inside my mind and outside my eyes. (Basicly just a gianormous waste of internet space. Ok, maybe more miniscule) I guess in a way this will almost be an online journal that anyone can read. Pretty much like me.

I've been gone from my family for over a week now on this latest trip and it seems like forever. The 10 yr old now has his own room (well, I guess technically all the kids do now), and the family celebrated the 4th of July without me. Life seems to be moving so fast lately, but I guess that's what life does.

More later when I compose my thoughts more...maybe