Further Adventures Of Flat Tommy in Early Spring

My Annie downloaded her camera a few days ago, and suddenly we discovered these last precious gems.

Jack loves the VW New Beetle, not only because it's cool--especially with Grandma driving--but it's also got this whole sunroof thing.

The first time he noticed the chance to do this was driving through that famous tree, while visiting the redwoods in Northern California.

But this day was special. Any day in a car with any one of my grandchildren and my Sweetie is special.

I knew, however, that I had officially become an "old fart," when I looked at this picture. It's not enough that I'm crippled like I am, but I can't seem to appear in a picture without my mouth gaping open like this.

I wonder if Marley, the partner of scrooge, could loan me that large fabric napkin, so I could drape it around my head and tie my mouth shut. My hat might be a bit snug, but at least I wouldn't look like a weird-o, or at least as big a weird-o.

And did I already mention how excited Jack was to travel with us to Arco for my Annie to do some work she needed to do there in schools. Jack and I partook of a

snack at one of the local restaurants.

And then we, if I remember correctly, traveled to the German restaurant and had some great food from the Germans in Howe, who now own their place again. It's now officially a place with exceptional German food again.

Without a doubt, it's more than worth the trip. The only thing that bothers me are the locals who come in and order a burger without looking at the menu.

It's like the ethnic food irritates them. It's that whole weird feeling about "feriners." I omitted the interesting euphemisms that usually precede the word.

The Goulasche Suppe, which is typical Hungarian dish, is the best I've had since being in the states, and it was better than some I had in Germany, except of course at that one place in Düsseldorf. That bowl was a bit spicy, like it should be, and it was incredible too.

My guess is the Germans at Howe have to please the American palate. That is the sad part about ethnic restaurants, especially German places. The soup, however, was still fantastic, even if it wasn't as spicy as I wanted it to be.

Anna Loves Her Sunglasses

While we were in Disneyland the last time, a little girl had a pair of these glasses, and she was playing with them. We bought Anna the Minnie Mouse outfit the last time we were all there together, so I figured the glasses would be just another way my little princess could accessorize.

Ironically, I would have hated anyone who purchased stuff like this for my daughters. I always thought it was silly, but when you become a grandfather, you realize it's about these precious little ones. And I suddenly realized it wasn't about me.

The way the dark lenses open was something that I knew Anna would love.

And she did.

The Hat Thing

When I was young, we wore a cowboy hat for one reason--to keep the sun from our faces and ears. I lived during a time when old farmers started to see the negative effects of too much sun on their ears, nose and face.

We wore straw hats, not fancy by any means--just simple straw hats.

Now my grandchildren enjoy cowboy hats, and as long as they're younger than 9 or 10, I have no problem with the whole scenario.

Jack already had a hat he used whenever we went on trips. He used it for a similar reason that I did at one time. When the afternoon sun began coming through the window during any road trip, he would put it on and lower the brim to shield his eyes from the brightness of the day, especially at dusk.

I'm not thrilled about the whole Wyatt Earp thing of shooting at each other, even if it is through the barrel of a forefinger. Like gift giving, it's the thought that counts--except this time the message has a negative vibe.

Sometimes, however, I forget that I had toy guns. I had a toy rifle that looked like a lever action Winchester. It was along the lines of Wild West rifle, but it shot caps. There was also this plastic projectile.

I always kept close track of my things, but those tiny bullets seemed to go missing, especially after I fired them at someone like my sisters or another adult in the family.

There was this cool Colt pistol I had too. They called it a "Fanner Fifty." It went with the rifle, and it shot projectiles too. I grew up in the days when safety was not a factor when it came to building toys. The only credential that was important was their value in terms of being a great plaything. Nothing else mattered.

We finally found a hat in my Jetta for Jack, a paper In-And-Out Burger hat. For me and Jack, there's nothing like a good burger, and even if it has nothing to do with cowboys and the whole mystical thing about the West, it still is a great hat.

Anna loved her hat too. Picking it out was a bit more complicated. First, she found a pink one. It was bright pink, the shade of that horrific over-the-counter medicine.

She picked out a second one, and it was incredibly classy, and within five minutes, she found Justin cowboy boots that matched. I almost went for it.

I fell under the spell of my princess. My eyes glazed, my mind froze, my hands seized the tiny white boots designed with pink fringe. Then my Annie brought me back to reality. A $50 pair of boots is a stupid thing to do, when a child's feet grow so quickly. I put them done.

My Annie didn't have to slap me or anything. In an instant, my little Anna's captivating smile and Bambi eyes no longer had power over me. Her brain control powers makes Obi-Wan look like an amateur. Not even that powerful old Jedi could have exerted the power over me that my priceless princess did.

But there's always another year and another visit.

A time will come when my Anna will not have feet that grow so quickly. And she will get a matching hat and boots, as long as she is under the age of 10.

I don't do cowboy stuff.

But my nephew did show me some boots that I probably will get for myself. I guess there's a bit of cowboy inside me still, even if I don't have to worry about keeping the sun from my ears.

Firehole Drive

The waterfall on this route in Yellowstone is one reason to make the turn that puts you on a one-way road. But a second reason is the chance to see a spot in the river, where you can swim in shallows heated by natural hot water coming from vents and springs.

I'm too old for that. Besides, I may have donated $25 to Save the Whale Foundation, but I really don't want them grabbing me, pushing me toward a fast current, and hearing those words that make me feel badly: "Willy, swim to the ocean and find your family!" It's the thing about being huge that sometimes is so sad.

By the time we took these pictures, we were at the end of the day. The children were beginning to make the annoying noise. I know they've never seen that Jim Carey movie where he and his "dumber" friend are in a truck with a hit man, but my grandsons have that noise in their repertoire. It's just one of several, and although I'm not sure I had the look on my face that Lydia did in this picture, I began mumbling irrationally--"Sshhhhh, Shhshhh, Shhhshhhh, Shoosh!"

I don't think I was about to say the ultimate "farm" word. You know, the one that describes the organic material that makes flowers grow, although--besides being that organic stuff--it pretty much defines the cuisine at Eastern Idaho Regional Medical Center. The "s" word is like a "catch all." It fits into so many convenient categories, but I try my best to avoid it when my grandchildren are in the car with me.

And when I slip, my Annie reminds me, even when the grandchildren aren't around, although she says it sometimes more than I do. But I love her more than mayonnaise, so she can say that "s" word or the other one she sometimes uses too, when she burns, hits, or bruises her fingers or toes.

I love her. She makes me smile, even sometimes when I'm grumpy.

With the walking I did in Yellowstone that day, even if it was only a few short hikes around smelly sites of interest, my joints in my knees ached. It was like the drum solo in Led Zeppelin's "Moby Dick" on their second album I loved so much when I was a teenager.

Thank goodness for Tylenol. It made the day more pleasant for other people in the rental car that day.

But it was a beautiful day in Yellowstone, and I still want to return with lawn chairs this summer. My Annie, Jack and I will sit in a safe spot and listen to the wind blow through the pines. We just have to find a place near our car that provides a "good vibe" spot without threat of being eaten by bears or gored by elk, moose or buffalo.

But I have driven on Interstate 15 through Utah, and I figure if I can survive that, I can make it through anything.

Did I Mention We Saw A Second Grizzly In Yellowstone?

I learned an important lesson a long time ago--never underestimate the stupidity of people. Already having said that our first trip to Yellowstone saw no animals between West and Old Faithful and back, our second trip with the whole tribe seemed to be a "repeat." I saw a ranger at the mud pots, and after asking him about our dilemma, he gave me some ideas about where to travel.

Immediately we began seeing animals. We saw the first grizzly, the only bear I've seen in Yellowstone in 40 years, and then we began seeing buffalo. Just before we started the descent into Mammoth Hot Springs, I noticed some cars had stopped. There was general panic as people began grabbing cameras.

Suddenly, I saw the large juvenile bear. The animal was only 15 to 20 feet from the side of our car. Jack and Tommy were ecstatic. I don't remember Anna's reaction.

The bear ignored everyone. What I couldn't believe is that people began getting out of their cars. I guess they wanted to talk to Yogi Bear. I was shocked, but I realize that a bear like this can outrun a horse, a bear like this eats people.

Helping a bear get through the winter like that was not something I aspired to at any time of my life. I left the engine running while my Annie snapped pictures from her side of the car. I could have left immediately without a problem. Besides there were plenty of idiots who stepped outside their car to get a look. The bear would have chewed upon them before resorting to biting at our rental, even if it was a Chrysler van. My attitude about that brand of car is evident in what I would do if I were a bear like that: bite off the hood ornament, stomp up the hood and crouch down on the top and leave my token of appreciation for an industry that never made a product they would stand behind. But that's another blog.

And then as quickly as we spotted the amazing animal, it disappeared into a tiny patch of Quakies, pine and tall grass.

It was just another example of an absolutely beautiful day in a place that has so many incredible vibes, as long as you don't get eaten or gored, but since our family learned how not to be stupid--at least in most extreme instances--everyone in our car pretty much survived the day well.

The First Few Days In Idaho Falls

After picking Lydia up in Salt Lake City, there were some necessary things to do. First, I had asked my mother to bake some cookies for me, which is something that I have never done in my adult life. My mom did it often without my asking when I lived at home.

I hoped it didn't give the surprise visit away. We stopped in Brigham City to eat at Maddox, and then we drove the hour drive to Malad.

My mom was ecstatic. She only has two great-granddaughters, and Samantha is the most recent. It was fun to see my mom so excited, but for me, I was relieved that I hadn't given away the surprise.

The next morning, we drove to Sun Valley. James Taylor and Carole King, two artists Ann and I love to hear, performed there, and we were very fortunate to get tickets.

Ann has been a member of the Carole King fan club since the early 70's, so she was able to get them. Many people in Sun Valley couldn't get them, even hours after their going on sale.

Ann and I went to the concert. Lydia watched the grandchildren, and then the next day we walked around some sites that were fun for the kids to see.

The first thing was the ice rink.

It always reminds me about the haylands in Malad. Farmers would flood their meadows in the late fall, repeatedly allowing ice to form and make for water to melt in the spring. At least that's how it appeared to me.

All I know is that my friends and I loved to skate there during the winter. Fields stretched for miles, and occasionally we would play a bit of ice hockey or do jumps on spots where the sheets heaved into the air a bit.

Those memories always rush into my mind whenever I see an ice rink. Farmers, if they still own those meadows, now use sprinklers. Some things were better before technology.

Then we see this place that has a sign in German: Konditorei. In Europe and especially Germany, it meant finding incredible bakery goods with all kinds of fancy pastries, and it also meant having a spot to find Italian gelato.

We took our chance and lost.

After we ordered, Ann spots a place selling what we wanted outside. But the grandchildren never knew the difference, and regardless whether it was the real thing or not, I still ate something that I shouldn't have eaten.

That's what happens when you try to lose weight. The whole guilt thing steps forward and introduces you to the many faces of guilt.

But I survived to live another day and to work off additional bits of self-indulgence.

It was a perfect summer day, a day with a hint of heat, yet there was also a little chill.

In spite of everything, the grandchildren still had fun.

And we took pictures, lots of them. I learned the lesson that everyone makes when you're young. It's so long ago, I can't remember if not taking pictures was something I did, because I thought I would remember everything, or because it was too expensive to develop pictures all the time.

Some mistakes happen because people are stupid. I will always regret not having more pictures.

The only problem with taking lots of pictures is the reaction that children sometimes feel deep within their tiny souls. "Do we have to have another picture."

Obviously the answer to that question was yes, because I took this one and a lot more. And I found that Anna particularly liked having a photograph of the different flowers they had planted along the way. They were just too beautiful to miss.

And for the most part, the three all smiled on cue.

Jack has been looking forward to having Tommy and Anna in Idaho Falls for a very long time. He talked about it with his teachers. Jack even drew pictures about it.

For him, having fun with cousins is like a little bit of heaven. Only Disneyland is more fun, but that is not a close second.

Several times, after being asked, Jack would say that he wanted to visit Tommy and Ann rather than ride toward the beaches of Southern California.

He preferred this event over any of the visits to the parks there, including Legoland. He preferred this over eating at In-And-Out-Burger, and he preferred it over going to any National Parks or visiting any museums, even if it meant having his picture taken repeatedly in front of flower planters.

Jack likes museums and National Parks, and I know he loves his cousins, but I'm not sure he cares much about the flowers.

The day was magnificent. The sky was a pale blue, and the weather was summer weather.

It was an incredible day, although Pop Pop took lots of pictures in front of flower planters, and although the Konditorei was not a real Konditorei.

The day was an incredible one.

Thar be Bison in the Meadow

We made one trip to Yellowstone in late June or early July, and as strange as it seemed, we didn't see a single animal. I had never seen that happen, and we often traveled to Yellowstone during the summer.

Lydia, Tommy, Anna and Samantha were staying with us, and we decided that we'd try one more time.

We made sandwiches. And we left Idaho Falls early. We arrived at Old Faithful, after making several stops, and still we found no animals.

I checked with a ranger, and after spending time at all the stops, we decided to drive to Mammoth Hot Springs.

It worked, and even before we arrived at the junction, where you turn left to return to West Yellowstone, we found several large bulls. The grandchildren were ecstatic.

Pop Pop was excited too.

Yellowstone Vibes

Time goes so slowly when you're young. At seven and eight, you look forward to things like birthdays and Christmas--days that stimulate senses. It's these memories that remain fresh in your mind.

Thanksgiving in my memories was one filled with aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents and parents. It was a day where these comforting scents came from the kitchen: a turkey roasting, filled with dressing, pies baked the day before, Christmas pudding and caramel sauce. I remember uncles that made me laugh, and the memories still do, their jokes and their demeanor, and their fun way of telling stories. You look forward to it, and after spending the day with cousins running and having fun and eating all those good things, the day begins to change. The sun sets. The moon rises.

As quickly as you arrived, your family climbed into a car and started the drive home.

One cousin passed away in the past few months. Most are still living, but a few show signs of age. That's the irony. My grandparents disappeared from everything but my memory. Grandfathers went first, one when I was 3 and the other when I was 9. My grandmothers lived many years, but both disappeared by just kind of fading away. It was sad to see them change so quickly as they turned 90.

I only have one aunt left. She is the lone survivor of those incredible memories, and she still looks young, and she still has the same sense of humor she always had.

One year when I was very young, my impatience began to appear. I wanted Christmas to arrive. My grandmother taught me how to tell it was close to the Great Day when Santa arrived.

She told me to watch for snow in the foothills. It worked in most cases. But it was the beginning of my wishing my life away. Now here I am at almost 58.

I spent my life thinking about life in ten year installments: what will I do in the next phase, where will I live, when will I prosper?

And now my little ones ask similar questions. "When is Christmas? How long is it before my birthday?"

I try to teach them to avoid my mistakes, my impatience, my ignorance. You only learn to savor life when things look bleak. And if you are lucky enough to survive, you understand how important it is to enjoy every minute of life. I try to teach them that important key to living a happy life.

I teach them to enjoy every moment.

Hopefully my point of view will be something they remember about me, yet I hope they remember the days at Disneyland I spent with them. And there's always the little things that made everyone smile, specific stories I'll save for individual blogs.

I finally understand that having grandchildren means having the moment to relive youth through their eyes.

Having fun like this is what you do when you're old. Besides, if I walk around pulling faces in a picture, people either think I'm having onset dementia, or they think I'm making a silly fool out of myself. That's the dilemma of becoming old. That's the problem with wishing your life away.

Enjoying the moment is the way to embrace life. Now I do it through the eyes of my grandchildren.

Lions and Tigers and Fozzie Bear too. Oh My!

The last time I saw a bear in Yellowstone Park was sometime in 1970 or possibly in the late summer of 1971. My parents went there every year.

In August of '71, my dad arranged everything on the farm, so we could go on a trip as a family one more time, before I began my first year of college.

Regardless when it was, the appearance of bears happened immediately upon entering the West Entrance. Sows would bring their cub or cubs, and other bears would sit on their haunches too, begging for any food that people would slip through open windows.

That changed before I returned home from Germany in 1974. The bears were gone. I complained too, but the rangers reminded me that the situation was not a good one for the animals or people either. I was angry for a long time about it.

And until 2010, I never saw another bear.

And then we hit the jackpot one summer day. A huge Grizzly strode into a meadow from the edge of the tree line.

Luckily, I had my digital, that Ann purchased for me for Father's Day, because with the lens, I was able to take some good shots, although the animal was at least 250-300 yards away.

I wish I could have been alert enough to take the picture when the animal stood on his legs and peered into the trees at whatever made suspicious noises. He disappeared into the trees. And I only have three words to say, "Wocka, Wocka, Wocka!"

Old Faithful--A Return To Visions Of Past Pictures

Personally, I think you have to be old to understand the fascination that adults have with Old Faithful. When you're young, you look at the spot in Old Faithful Inn where it basically places a time of eruption--give or take 10-20 minutes--on this board. Now for anyone under the age of 30, the feature may be boring, especially if you've seen it every year for a majority of a young lifetime.

However, old people view things differently. Joints ache and tell of storm. My dad always called the

painter's wisp of high flying clouds were a predictor of storms, and they remain something that, in my opinion, is a better prediction than any of the personalities on television. You know, the ones who sometimes make bad jokes and predict the weather. With aches and pains, old people can only view youth with envy, as children climb, jump and skip about waiting for "Old Faithful" to work the magic.

These poor individuals sit quietly in wheel chairs. The sportier ones have those speedy electric carts, some even with the long antenna and a short triangular flag at the top.

I could never figure why the antenna and flag were so important. It's not like it's a device designed by E.T. to phone home or something. It's just this strange compulsion to have something bobbing about while the aged racer zips in and out of traffic.

Maybe it's a way of his grandchildren keeping track of him.

In my case, I don't need the antenna.

"Pop Pop!" My grandson uses voice inflection to show different emotions. A deep voice is what he uses when I get impatient in a store or about drivers who seem rude to me. He doesn't like his Pop Pop adding to the chaotic sense of rage that seems to fill the environment--highways, air waves, movies and television.

A higher tone with a sense of panic is what he uses if I fall or stumble. I took a dive in the garage once. When you're old, you have this faint memory of feeling invincible. It's that sense of confidence you developed first at the age of 16 or so. And at almost 58, it now seems to have faded like the dandelions on my front lawn. The yellow bloom, even though I hate it for what it is, dries and leaves the fragile seeds that float in the air.

The day I fell in the garage found me tripping on a rug. I feel on top of an aluminum ladder, bruising my shoulder, ribs and arms. I had a lump on my head. I laughed.

My grandson found no humor in it. His voice was shrill and he sat up in the back seat of the car, after unbuckling his seatbelt. I waved to him, but it didn't make any difference. He cried out one more time.

The crash inside the house caught my Sweeties attention too. She looked into the garage, her face drawn with concern. Before I could get to my feet, she was at my side in the garage.

Now even though my mobility and my speed and even my hair color are no longer dependable, I don't see rangers running to Old Faithful's side when the geyser falls send hot water and steam into the air.

It's the upside of being an old coot, or in the words of German youth--ein alter Knacker. Regardless of the language or culture, only the Chinese seem to honor old people, but I'm lucky.

My family doesn't make toys tainted with lead and other dangerous chemicals, and we don't make bad electronic devices and other products to be cursed by the world. They do, however, revere me--like Chinese honor their aged ones--and my wife and children and grandchildren help me when I'm under the weather or when I'm awkward or when I'm even a bit crotchety and grumble about the world and those damn kids who drive their fancy cars. You know, these pieces of modern metal convenience are things, that I won't ever afford.

But honestly speaking, if I ever do get my hands on one, I'll not only drive it too fast in the neighborhood, but I'll smoke the tires too. I just hope I get one before I'm too compromised to pop the clutch on one.

I'll smile if I think some other crotchety old fart is complaining about my driving.

Here's a sad clip of BYU's Response to Utah's Acceptance Into the Pac-10

Utah moves to the Pac-10! from Semper Ute on Vimeo.

Going Hollywood

This is a picture Ann took of Samantha while in Minnesota in mid-January.

While on our last trip to California, we bought some things for the grand kids, and I did find Anna a great pair of shades.

Joni Mitchell sang about Foster Grant and ZZ Top did the same about "Cheap Sun Glasses." I guess everyone loves to get a bit obscure at times.

In my case, I added tint to most of my glasses, and even when I was young, I loved a pair of shades. The 60's and early 70's were the best time to buy them, and although they came in all shapes and styles, I preferred round, but I did have some triangular ones with dark blue lenses. The coach we all idolized brought me back to reality one afternoon in the fall of '69.

"Hey Jonie, where'd ya get those pimp glasses," he said. I almost pulled off both my ears removing those wire contraptions, and at the time, I didn't even know what a pimp was. That was before Starsky and Hutch. After that show with Huggy Bear the pimp and snitch--wearing a pink boa, purple suit, and large hat with an ostrich feather--I never wore anything reminiscent of Janis Joplin again.

I think I may have been wearing those pimp glasses during this trip, the last one I would do with our family. My dad took it for me, since I was just a short three or four weeks from going away for college.

During that four or five days, I was a royal pain in the gluteus maximus. I teased my sisters, tormented my parents, and in spite of everything, my dad still played some of my music: Who's Next by the Who and Fireball by Deep Purple.

"If you don't bother your sisters, I'll play your music." I was excited, but I was the only ecstatic one in the car. After one of my sisters would squawk or even make a peep, my dad would press eject on the cassette stereo, and silence filled the car. "Look at the beautiful trees," dad would say. The thought of one more desperate whine was what my sisters savored. The car would stop, and dad would have me sit in the front. Jill would pinch my ears and cheeks with her damn toes. I'd glance over my shoulder and throw a threatening look their way, but Jill knew there wasn't time for me to pound them, because I was just about on my way to school.

After ten miles, dad would stop, have mom retake her seat, and he'd let me listen to one of my cassettes again. He loved Neil Diamond, but he'd put in anything in the stereo, except for Grand Funk Railroad. The thunder of base guitar, thump of drum and screech of guitar drove everyone in the car crazy, except for me of course.

The trip will be another topic of an eventual blog. The people we met in Southern Alberta would be the seed that grew into my bias about Canadians. I am sort of like Will Rogers. I never met a Canadian I liked.