Our New Grandchild Addition (About To Be Spoiled By Grannie Annie and Pop Pop)

Samantha Karen Zollinger is our new precious little one. This is a great picture of Tommy holding her, just after she and Lydia returned home from the hospital.

And Anna is excited too. It's going to be fun to see the three of them this spring. I am envious about the fact that my Annie will see our new little one first, so she can help with a few things.

But it's also fun to realize that we'll all be in Florida this summer, hopefully spending a bit of time at Disney World. I'm excited to take Jack, Tommy and Anna on the E.T. Ride at Universal too.

Spring Elementary Programs At Malad Elementary

When Ann and I were in elementary school, there were two musical programs per year. My grandmother was the music teacher. There was always a Christmas Program in the auditorium, but in springtime, there was a Spring Program which we did in the high school gym. And each class participated, so there were six grades performing at each one.

I remember this program. Usually, there was something at Easter, but I remember doing square dancing for this program. My Annie is the cowgirl in red t the bottom of the picture in the middle.

The pictures above and below both left and at the right and in the middle show my Annie and me when we were at the age when we would have been performing in those programs. It's sad that there aren't more pictures of these somewhere, showing Ann and me in the costumes that our mothers usually had to make. In first grade, I was a bear for the Christmas program.

And here is one more, although it might have been just before we entered first grade. Ann and Marilyn and Marlene Smith, or the "Smith Twins" as people called them, were all ready for the Fourth of July parade in Malad in the 50's.

Something We Never Did On The Dryfarm

This picture of Tommy jumping into the pool during swimming lessons is incredible. It was something that we did in our youth as well, but that was mostly for young people living "in town."

The closest thing to a pool on our ranch was a temporary large reservoir of water that a road construction company created on our neighbor's place, and after my cousin tried to get me to go swimming there, my father made sure I was with him during the day. It was kind of the beginning of my becoming a ranch hand.

We had a large family "dry farm" operation. And the term "dry farm" means that there was no irrigation. Conserving moisture by keeping weeds in control was how we were able to run the farm successfully, something my family has done on this ranch since the 20's.

Hard work helped them survive The Great Depression.

To make a long story short, there was no swimming anywhere close. Soon I was 16 years old, and I did not know how to swim, and since I needed the skill to get my Eagle Scout badge, my dad had me become a "town kid" one summer for the short stint during June swimming lessons. I began with five-year-olds, doing the jellyfish float, but I eventually learned what I needed to get my Swimming and Lifesaving Merit Badges. It was also fun to be with friends during the summer too, even if it was just a short time.

So given that information, you have to understand how proud I am to see grandchildren doing things I couldn't do until I was in high school.

My Granddaughter Anna the Ballerina

Anna takes this activity very seriously, and when her passion for something captures her focus, it shows in the sparkle in her eyes.

While in Minnesota last summer, my two grandsons would run from room to room, swinging engaged light sabers and playing war.

Ann ran in tow, following them and engaging both boys in battle. If you looked closely, her gentle brown eyes would suddenly turn black, and the click of plastic would sound above the background noise of television or anything else.

And occasionally, Anna would grimace when Tommy or Jack would accidently strike her knuckles or fingers, but after shedding a tear and crying out briefly in pain, her attack would begin again--black eyes more fierce and her swinging light saber more ferocious.

But pink is her signature color, and at this point in time, my little padawan now prefers a pink or purple boa as the weapon of choice, but her eyes still sparkle with that same passion I witnessed last summer.

Now she is on the path of a Jedi ballerina.

Granted, the galaxy is no a more artistic place for her choice of hobby, but even more importantly, it is her toes with "owies" and not her knuckles.

Whether it is to see my little Anna dance or swing a purple Star Wars light saber, I look forward to returning to the wintery world of Minnesota to see Ann's new hobby, not because I like ballet, but because it is fun to see the passion little Anna has for life, and whether catching frogs, collecting stones, or fighting Sith warriors, my little granddaughter's eyes will always reflect what she carries in her war-like heart.

Memories in Tattered Pictures

I will always think of my youth when I see this picture. It was a complicated time, where all young men looked at an uncertain future. It was always there--a veteran of Nam falling to the ground in a fetal position during the early 70's after a firecracker popped during the Fourth of July festivities. When he rose to his feet, the young man in his mid 20's had a shrapnel wound that stretched from his mid forehead to the base of his nose. One eye was glass, but the good one seemed lifeless too. Another former soldier drove in his jeep all night in the streets of our hometown, prowling for peace and driven by demons. He was a young man who once laughed and gave warmth to those around him. There were others who returned with minor problems, and there were a few who would never return, but they remained a part of collective memory: both of what had been and the vacuum their death left behind.

But this memory reminds me of the birth of grasses and wild flowers in the mountains that cradle my hometown. A storm in early spring shrouds the distance in shades of cobalt blue.

In spite of everything else, there are memories of simpler times. Days of summer summer and the joy of embracing a new pup. It was yet another example of how we always fail to appreciate the warmth of the present, hoping for a time of happier times.

There was no focus, neither to notice the beauty of summer day, nor to appreciate the strength to run without the ultimate ache that time so aptly adds to the human equation, yet there were things that were so different. It was a time when a person could have sweet clover growing in a lawn without neighbors thinking it was improper lawn care. Their tiny leaves and white blossoms would weigh down with dew on any summer morning.

It was a time when you could be fun, without worrying whether or not something made you "different." In so many instances today, an individual's persistence to be like everyone else seems contradictory. Forced compliance almost makes us seem more eccentric in a sea of madness, where people have to watch an instructional video before they dance or go to a summer sports camp before they play on a team.

I'm so glad I grew up when I did, in spite of the worries I thought I had.

I wonder sometimes if others view their youth as a "magical" time. For me, it was a vision of what makes people smile in their sleep. It was a time that makes me realize that not everyone was so lucky to have a youth that had love cradle them in the hollow of loving hearts and minds.

I know that if I could return for even a moment, it would be to whisper into the ear of my youth, and I would hope that gentle word would be like a shout--that it would be something to shape my future and my thinking. It would help me understand how my positive experience shaped my life.

I saw an eighteen-year-old girl driving a new Jaguar yesterday on a busy street in Idaho Falls. My childhood makes me realize that I was the fortunate one, lucky to be surrounded by those whose wish was to direct me toward a brighter future. There was no fancy car or even a lot of money to spend on foolish distractions. But those things were something I had to a degree too.

We never wondered what it was like to have a Christmas filled with anything but wonder and laughter.

I can still sense the scent of pinion pine if I concentrate, the type of tree that always rose to the ceiling of our house. Colored lights and strings of

tinsel covered a circled about the green with other familiar ornaments that hung from the branches.

These are things that I hope I bring to my own children and grandchildren. Viet Nam is now a vacation attraction, and any given domestic airport or form of public transportation in this country could witness an act of violence. Like my generation experienced during the 60's, distractions exist that sometimes makes us forget something important.

This last picture is on the same lawn where cobalt blue skies showed seasonal storms, and it's the same lawn where I held our English Springer pup, but life goes on and offers so much happiness. The best part is that we have the past, but the present offers memories that I could never have imagined on Memorial Day of 1971 when I lay down on that clover-covered lawn with a dog.

I could never have imagined the magic of grandchildren, or the happiness at hoping that children emerge looking at life as one with endless possibilities. Pictures make me realize I have a blessed life, but I occasionally wish I could do it again, but unlike others, I would relive everything the same way I did the first time.

Doing anything differently would possibly mean that I would not be where I am at this moment in time--enjoying life and understanding it, even if I only notice a small part of it.

The Lesson I Learned About Life

I truly believe that coping with death--both that of loved ones and that of the looming reality that waits for each of us--is a benchmark that will define us as individuals. The picture at the left was from the situation at Christmas '04.

In the weeks before my release, my oncologist, who is one of the best in the country in my opinion, struggled helping me overcome a deadly infection. And in order to treat it, they needed a biopsy.

They had this cuckoo of a dermatologist in Idaho Falls do the procedure, and when the doctor took it from my chest, he carved chunks the size of the tip of a finger, which may not have been a big deal for most patients, but I was not only suffering from the after effects of chemo, but I was also taking doses of Warfarin, a blood thinning medicine.

For days, they couldn't stop the bleeding. I remember my oncologist expressing to the PA, that they were losing blood as quickly as they could give me transfusions. And I heard him say, "I don't know what we're going to do.

It wasn't a good situation at all. In fact, one member of the class of 1970 from our high school bled to death from a nose bleed they couldn't stop, and this was much worse. That night, my oncologist had a dream that gave him the idea to stop the bleeding, which I won't go into particulars, because most males don't like to admit that someone wrapped a wound with an article of feminine hygiene. But it stopped the bleeding.

I could have died from the infection. I didn't. I could have died from the bleeding. I didn't.

And then about a week after this picture happened. I lost the use of my legs, and I lost the ability to reason. My doctor feared the cancer had spread to my spinal cord and brain. They did tests.

It was a week of struggle. No one knows what a dark place it is when an individual is going through such a fight.

So knowing my background, I responded to an article on the Internet, which described a dilemma. A woman had a young child. The father abandoned them while she was still pregnant years before, and suddenly now, the man wanted to establish a connection. He was dying.

The article talked about the sad situation concerning a child struggling to think about a father dying, and it described the little boy looking for his father in rooms and other places, so the interview and article posed a question: what should a person do in a situation like this?

This is my response that I typed and submitted:

This article is so complex. No one should advise another person in their business, because regardless what might appear in print, readers do not know the story. I feel for the mother, who tried to accommodate her son's wishes, in spite of the fact that her ex-husband abandoned her. She has to make the decision; however, the little boy will have issues with this.

My paternal grandfather died when I was three. I still remember him, almost 54 years later. He taught me to recognize the sound of a meadowlark, to enjoy toy trains, to savor afternoon rides with him in his dark blue 98 Olds. I will never forget him.

And yes, after he died, I searched for him in my grandmother's basement. Once during a holiday dinner months later, my grandmother asked me what I was doing down there. My answer brought her to tears. I also would call out to him while looking at the sky.

At 57, I am a product of having come to terms with this. Doctors diagnosed my leukemia AML in 2003. I fought. I survived. But I wondered just what I should do--distance myself from my grandchildren to avoid their sorrow at my passing or savor every moment with them. I did the obvious, and I enjoy every minute with them.

The day will come when the child will come to terms with what happened. None of us stand insulated from the fact that death looms in some way on the horizon. Escapist methods will not work, because years later, this little boy will emerge as a man who also will have confronted the situation.

By the way, I will never regret having had the memories with my grandfather, before he passed away in 1956 at age 49--the result of a massive heart attack.

I only hope my four grandchildren, two grandsons and two granddaughters, will remember me for making them breakfast, taking them frequently to Disneyland, watching children's movies with them, and finally, driving on a long trip with my Sweetheart and their grandmother through Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota and parts of Minnesota.

I hope they remember me, because I was not afraid of death, and because I savored life.

I will never regret making contact with my grandchildren, because I want them to remember me as the Pop Pop, who bought them blue T-shirts with mastodons and sharks. And I want my granddaughters to remember me as the Pop Pop, who bought them pink things, even though I hate the color pink.

My opinion doesn't matter, nor does it matter that I felt the same way about Disney Princess dresses. I see they have them too.

And as for my grandsons, they will never wonder about any dinosaur or prehistoric mammal or train or Star Wars toy that seemed difficult to find, because their Pop Pop found them.

You just can't have enough light sabers or appropriate other helmets and battle gear.

And one thing for certain, Disneyland will always be a place where my grandchildren will remember me and think of the laughter and smiles and churros.

So the lesson for me, which I didn't mention in the article was this. Yes, I coped with death on many levels--losing close family members, friends and colleagues. But when it came to the lesson, which is the "Lesson" rather than "lesson," it's about learning how to treasure every moment of life.

It's not about the miracle of my survival, because I should have died many times, and very gifted doctors and nurses have told me so, both here locally and at Mayo Clinic, that there is no logical explanation for my being alive. I don't worry about that, and I don't worry about when this magical time will end.

The lesson is savoring every moment, realizing how full my life is on so many levels. I guess I learned what was most important--family.