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