A Few Thoughts On This Last Day Of 2011

I took a group to Germany, one of the last I did in my hometown, and during the trip, two students were drunk at an activity. I sent them home. Berlin was a city, where it was not hard to find trouble, if a student looked for it, yet at the same time, they found plenty in the tiny town of Malad, which is no surprise. I grew up there too.

I'm not sure if it happens to all families, but mine tends to have years, where everything goes "weird." In the 80's, for example, I totaled two cars in two accidents, where students of mine T-boned my in accidents that could have been very serious. In both cases, the cars were rendered "a done deal." The last one was a situation, where it bent the frame of the car.
I had a lump appear on my left knee. Surgery was necessary.

Before a trip to Germany, I helped my dad assemble a spray rig to be placed in the back of our pick-up truck. As I hurriedly walked around one corner, the sunlight was just right, and I walked into a section. A sharp point punctured skin one-sixteenth of an inch above and below one eye. The wound was quite deep, and I needed stitches.


Doctors diagnosed my father's cancer.

It gets worse. One of those students was my nephew.

Our family had a difficult time with the decision that happened that year. An administrator forced me to adopt an impossible policy, one that was so forceful and strict, that I believe it actually made students more apt to make poor decisions. Sometimes people do things out of spite.

I was a fool. The school board liked the way I handled things previously, and they didn't want the new idea I felt forced to adopt. Things are sometimes not what they seem.


On the positive side, had I not made a move in '88 to the Idaho Falls area with my family, everything would have been different for us. There were so many opportunities for us to experience in the Idaho Falls area. Chances for Ann and for me to develop professionally.

You never know what will happen.

I'm not going to go into specifics about how horrible 2011 has been, other than I will say that Ann and I have had health issues--not serious ones as in the past, but nonetheless, they were significant.

Then my mother had a severe stroke. That has numerous complications as well. My sisters and I are at a crossroad. It's one, where everyone has understand what is most important, or better said, who is most important.

The rest of my family had difficult times too. It was not a good year. It was one full of car accidents and other horrible situations, that affected a niece and a nephew.

So on the Eve of 2012, I sit here and begin to think about the good things that I remember--some, that happened a few years ago and other things, that happened this year.

Some people do not understand our family's passion for Disneyland.

Television ads talk about it being a place, where dreams come true. Personally, I would never go that far, but it is a special place for my family.

It's a place, where we spent glorious times with my children. They represent a short time away from the madness at work, a short time with our own small family.

When I arrive there, I don't run from ride to ride any more. My only hope is finding an electric cart that offers speeds to get from one spot to another.

The music and the scent of food there are like I always remember. Prices are much higher, but for an instant, we rediscover what we once found there.

This year was one lucky enough to find us there three or four times.



A last trip last summer was the perfect conclusion for a year, when we actually planned to go one more time. I was not to happen. Too many things prevented it. My mother's stroke, tough financial times, sickness all made it difficult to do it without making life more
complicated. 

Those visits in Reno were uncomplicated. I drive a diesel, so the seven hour drive is not one that is a financial drain. The $50 one way is not a problem, and food is actually cheaper there. We buy groceries. We cook. It makes for an incredible time.

What does a grandfather learn from a visit like this?

Tommy loves sports. His favorite football team is the San Diego Chargers, so any jersey I buy him will be that color, regardless of the fact that I hate the management there and their way of dealing with players and coaches.

Oh, and Tommy likes the Jets too, mostly because LaDainian Tomlinson--a former Charger running back--plays there.

We won't begin to talk about the Lakers, because I don't want to spend that much time on this blog, but if it's one that Tommy wants me to do, it will happen. For the record, I haven't liked the Lakers since the days of Magic and the other players of that time, and even then, I was a Celtic fan, so I rooted for the Lakers only if the Celtics and Jazz weren't in the running for the championship.

I know that Ann loves pink, that she still likes Hello Kitty stuff, that she enjoys clothes.

And I know, that like all my grandchildren so far, she is very intelligent and loves to read.

She is this fragile flower, so sensitive, so kind, so gentle in any way. Her grizzly bear Pop Pop would have a difficult time with the typical creeps that prey on little ones. I pray for her and Tommy and Sammy every night, hoping that God, in the Spirit of an old Celtic prayer, will hold them in the hollow of his hand.

You never experience the true meaning of love, until a little one recognizes you and suddenly wants to be close to you. I never experienced anything like that, until I became a parent, but as a grandparent, I was even more receptive to it.

You do that, when you don't have to worry about issues like making a living.

My goal during my years of fatherhood was being the world's greatest German teacher. I spent an unbelievable amount of time and money doing everything possible to enhance my language skills. I like to think I would do things differently now. 

Sammy is an enigma, a pistol. She is one that is so fun to tease. Sammy has the typical Welsh personality, although there are also influences from Northern Europe as well. Viking blood runs hot.

While visiting in Reno, I discovered that Sammy--unlike my other grandchildren--has this Achilles Heel. Both my father and I could be rendered helpless by a person's simply grasping a foot and placing a finger between the big toe and the next one. While tickling Sammy senselessly, I discovered that.

She twisted and turned and squealed in laughter. Finally she grabbed her mother and bit her on the arm. I was one of those "you had to be there moments," but it was funny.

Did I say I loved to tease my grandchildren. Only Anna hates it. Ann is like that. Lydia is like that. It doesn't mean I don't tease the three of them at times.

To make things additionally interesting, Ann allowed me to be self-indulgent during one visit in late fall. We traveled to Yosemite, something I've wanted to do for 40 years or more. The pictures speak for themselves.

The year 2011 was in the words of Dickens--The Best of Times, The Worst of Times. What can you say about life. At 59, I no longer can do things I once did, but there is so much richness in family.

He has a joy that is infectious. His laughter makes everyone smile.

This year has been a great one, another super experience at school, where he has lots of friends. He has this support system with a young bunch of third grade "intellectuals."

Yes, they still believe in Santa Claus, and yes, they still love Star Wars and Phineas and Ferb. Jack wears T-shirts to school that are a mish mash of super heroes, galactic warriors, and a whole lot of Wimpy Kid stuff.

Like my other grandchildren, his personality was evident from the beginning. And Tommy was always his best friend.

It's a blessing to have Kristin and Jack in Idaho Falls. Every day brings something new. Moments like that make me smile. Jack doesn't understand, how when we talk about stories from his younger years, that it's a way of preserving what we cherish. The same is true of all my grandchildren.

To make things even better this year, we found out that we will have an additional grandchild to spoil early next summer--as if it didn't take a lot to get me to Virginia already. I miss it. I could live there permanently, but visiting is great too.

It's things like that early summer visit in Virginia or a visit to Reno in the spring that give me something to look forward to during the dark, cold months of January, when the hounds of winter have their way with us.

And speaking of hounds, yet another thing is great about 2011. It was the addition of our little Bulldog, Jack's new pet called Zero.

There are days, where he has these moments, short times when he nips and chews and craps and pees--all of which in times and places, where you least want it to happen, but like everything else in life, we love him anyway.

Maybe unconditional love is something you learn from dogs.

Malad Courthouse--A Treasury of Memories

There were no handrails in the 60's, and I would have noticed something like that, and so would every young person in the valley. But since they were just a short ride, no one would have spent very much time sliding the full length of them.

That's what they did at the old Second Ward Chapel, but the railing was at least 15-20 yards in length, or it seemed that long.

The Oneida County Library was once in the basement of this building. I loved books, although I usually checked out books about planes and ships and other things. I loved the pictures and architectural drawings.

When I think about that tiny library in the basement, I think about my junior and senior classes with Joe Davis. The first class was U.S. History. Government was what we took from him our senior year, and for both classes, he required a lengthy research paper--something that not many teachers require, but most importantly, something that prepared me for college.

I think about Dr. Seuss. I loved those books when I was very young. And I think about my junior English class. Not only did Mrs. Zundel require a "critical paper," which compared and contrasted a number of short stories or novels or any combination of things like that. It prepared me for college too, and for those projects, I spent a lot of time in the county library, the high school library and the library at Utah State.

The rolling lawn was something that seemed more spectacular in the late 50's and 60's. We would roll down the lawn during any season. When we became bored with something like that, there was always something to do like visiting the Malad Drive-In.

It was also the place, where we had to roll eggs up the hill with our noses during the athletic club initiation. I think authorities call it hazing now. The losers were supposed to eat their egg, or if it burst into goo on the lawn another replacement.

But initiation was such a bad thing. When someone asked me to do something distasteful, I told them "where to stick it," and I don't mean I suggested they try to attach an egg to their nose and join in the fun.

There were fun parts of that night, except for the fact that our "masters" made us eat a raw onion like an apple. Then they stood us on the street of the town.

It was a time when young people went "cruising," even in a small town like my hometown. We had to stop every third or fourth carload of girls and kiss everyone in the car. I didn't refuse that, and I certainly didn't see it as distasteful.

The night in late fall was fun. Anything I did was something that still makes me smile. On the southern side of the court house, a small Presbyterian Church still stands. It had a prominent bell. It still does, according to what I remember seeing on my last visit to the area.

During our junior year, when some classmates and I went through that whole initiation thing, that you had to do to become members of the high school's athletic letterman club, a small bunch of us decided to ring the bell one.

The evangelical minister was interesting. He liked to do a bit more than drink at night. In fact, occasionally he really "tied one on," which means he drank a large amount, which usually led most Welshmen to "howl at the moon." He wasn't Welsh, so he seemed quiet for the most part, unless of course someone rang that bell. And since he wasn't Welsh at all, we just recognized the fact that the man was what we as young people called "shit faced."

His words slurred. Thank goodness for that, because hopefully no one under the age of thirty heard his language.

It was after nine o'clock at night. We climbed up the metal frame, which had a couple of layers of barbed wire to prevent "young characters" from ringing it after hours. The wire didn't work. It just made things more fun. It just made it more of a challenge.

We began ringing the bell. The response shocked me, because I'd never heard "a man of the cloth" use farm boy "lingo" like that. Then he threatened to call the Oneida County Sheriff. That did the trick, because we took off momentarily. When no officers arrived, we returned. The second time, the minister really brought out "the heavy guns." He used words I'd never heard an adult use before, except the drill sergeant in charge of my group at Boy's State the summer after my junior year. We had this huge water balloon fight that nearly escalated into a brawl, so the military dudes were on their toes that night. Ours stood on a balcony on the third floor. I let one fly, and unexpectedly, it hit him in the head. We were young. He was on the third floor, so we ran into the shadows while he artistically began creating nouns, verbs, adverbs and adjectives that was amazing to us.

From the shadows, we waited before dashing to another entrance to the dorm.

As for the shouts from one of Malad Valley's alternative spiritual advisors, I couldn't resist when I heard him. "Bless you too father," I shouted. My friends laughed. He continued another brief verbal frenzy, and then the adult seemed more sure of his steps. He retreated into his house. Within minutes, sirens were howling and lights were cutting through the darkness. We ran down the hill toward a bridge by the service station now known as Ekstrom's Auto Repair.

I miss youth. On that night, we tripped through metal junk and other things that blocked our way in the darkness, and we hid under the bridge. It was fall. The water was cold, but it was only six or seven inches deep on one side. We waited there for about 20 minutes, and then we decided we'd driven that poor minister to heresy enough for one night.

We went home.

The memories of youth still make me smile. You only live once, and besides, men almost in their 60's can't hurl water balloons or taunt ministers without someone questioning an adult's sanity.

Don't Mess With Sammy (Because She's A Dancer)

Lydia sent this Christmas clip, which is so fantastic. I had to add it to my blog.

Artists In The Family

It's easy to be proud of my grandchildren. They have so many interesting gifts: they do extremely well in school, excelling in reading and math and science. I liked to read and loved writing, but math and science .  .  .  Well, let's just say that there were no deluded thoughts I had of becoming a scientist.

In fact, my choice to study Geology and become a geological engineer was something that would never happen, because I couldn't do math.

My grandchildren won't live under limitations like that.

I love that kind of idea. And Anna won't have a math professor place her and any other female students in the back of the class, since women didn't need to do well in a class that didn't prepare them for baking cookies.

So much for growing up in the 60's, when things should have been different.

By the way, any math skills or science skills had to come from Ann. I not only hated math, but I disliked the teacher, who taught advanced math, chemistry and physics at my high school, even more than the passionate way I disregarded those subjects.

Tommy did a picture too, and it is incredible how creative both Tommy and Anna are.

Jack loves movies, and his pictures are a way of sketching a story he has in his mind. Since he was small, he would tell "Star Wars Stories." I may have encouraged it, because before every nap, I told him a story like that, making it up as I went along, and I also would tell a Disneyland story, about any trip we had taken to the park.

So now Jack creates story boards, thinking how he will develop a plot.

When we visited Disneyland, just after they reopened the Star Tours ride, the people working for George Lukas were there, and we ran into them. Jack entertained them with his ideas, and then he told the adults, that when he made his movie, he would hire them.

The adults were fascinated and told him how excited they would be to work with him.

My grandchildren amaze me. I brag about them. I wallow in their achievements, their hobbies.

It's what you do, when you are a Pop Pop.

Our Christmas Pup

We had to give a family our last English Bulldog. The dog is one we received during the Christmas Holidays, and he was very little, when we first brought him home. In fact, he was too little--about six weeks old.

Ann and I cradled him in a blanket and held him like a small infant.

When we purchased him, I had to force Ann to go to the pet shop, where the breeders had a business in town. She refused to look at the little guy or hold him, but then the owner put the pup in her arms, and he licked her.

"He kissed me," she giggled. As soon as we sat in the car, she began saying that we were going to buy the dog. He was in our home a short time later.

I played with him on the floor. He was like a member of the family. Then came my cancer. Ann was nervous about my getting an infection, because our dog Guido Maximus wanted to jump into my lap. He wanted to play with me, and he would stand in front of my chair and paw at me with his one paw. He did it gently, but the nails were sharp.

We had to find a family to take him. It was like losing a member of the family.

Ann refused to think about getting another dog.

A family had some boxer pups, and one was incredible, but she refused to get out of the car. There would be no more of this "having a dog kiss her type thing" to get another pet.

Then Jack did something, because he desperately wanted to have a pet. He played with the neighbor's cat in all types of weather, sitting on the porch in front of our house. The other neighbors had a boxer pup, and the dog would sit on our front lawn waiting for Jack and me come out to give him some attention. But the ultimate was a note he slid under my wife's door, while she worked on some important papers for her job she does in schools. It sealed the deal, but Ann was still just a little upset by the whole idea.

Then the breeder sent this picture. It was like the kiss that our last dog Guido gave her in the pet store that day. She is as excited as Jack about the pup, or maybe as excited as Jack.

Pop Pop is excited too.

When The Dudes From "Yummy Meats" Come Knockin'

When Lydia visited us the last time in Idaho Falls, everything went as usual. We had fun, played games in the evening, spoiled grandchildren and most importantly, we either went to a movie or watched something on TV in the evenings.

I'm not the type of person, who enjoys being rude. Oh, did I really say that, because there are actually times, when it is fun. There's something about the look on a person's face, when they say or do something incredibly stupid, something especially rude. I am a Christian, but sometimes I feel that being a good member of the order means helping Karma find it's way to those, who really deserve it. 

What can I say other than emphasizing the shit really does happen. You hope it happens more often to those who deserve it.

But it doesn't. Look at Donald Trump. Making billions of dollars allows him to live in kitsch with a very bad haircut. I could never get away with that. Well I do have a bad haircut, but I'm not even half as rich as The Donald.

One night about 7:00 in the evening, a knock happens at the door. I put the movie on pause and listen to the voice. Kristin answers. She is the nice person in the family.

A representative from "Yummy Meats" is there, and as usual, he says that we are so lucky to find ourselves being disturbed by him. Why he was in the area to deliver meat, and someone wasn't home, so he has a deal for us.

I've had that deal before. I mean I am old and all, and I know that politicians think it's alright for me, as a retired person living on my pension and Social Security payments I supported all my working life, to eat canned meats made especially for dogs and cats living in Beverly Hills, but that doesn't mean that I intend on doing that. And I won't do "Yummy Meats" for that reason.

Kristin tries to tell the nervy salesman we're not interested, but he won't listen. He's pushing to get into the house to fill my freezer with the crap he has in a large box on his shoulder.

The TV is already on pause. "We're not interested," I say loudly turning toward the door.

"But you have to try this." The sales dude tries to give me his "Spiel," but I've been on that road to nowhere before. 

"No, we've already eaten your product, and it isn't good, and it's twice as expensive as anything in a store."

The salesperson tries to interrupt. Lydia puts her hands over her ears. "I'm not hearing this," she says out loud. "La. La. La. La." Lydia is singing this weird song in a monotone, something I've not heard before, but she's singing loudly, and then she repeats herself. "I'm not hearing this."

I'm still being me. "Bye now," I am still looking over my shoulder and talking loudly. The salesman is still trying to get past he front door to my freezer. "No, go away now! We're really not interested in your poor quality product.

Lydia still has her hands over hear hears, and she puts her head between her knees, which press firmly trying to drown out my comments. I hear her mantra: "La, La, La, La."

The door shuts.

"Oh, my gosh Dad," she says. I put the movie back on play. She laughs. She shakes her head from side to side. Kristin joins us to watch the movie. They smile at each other, which leads me to believe, that I have become like the two old guys in the balcony in The Muppet Show.

But at least I don't have to eat "yummy" steak or chicken or whatever it is, when I can't tell the difference.

A Hat No Redskins Fan Would Wear To The Stadium

The thing that makes memories of young children so magical is the way they pose for pictures. They have no inhibitions, no agendas.

You don't see them having to have a certain article of clothing that they see on TV or something worn by a favorite pop store or athlete.

No adult, especially a Redskins or Vikings fan, would wear a Donovan McNabb jersey, and most would prefer to wear a "new"Mad Hatter hat, the one worn by Johnny Depp in the last movie instead of this old one that was identical to the one in the early Disney film, which played in theaters when I was young.

The fact it was a movie I saw as a child could also mean that it basically was something even my parents saw as children. Later I found that to be the case with a movie like Bambi.

The notion of Bambi is something I find interesting, especially given my family's passion for deer hunting.

However, the fact remains. I love it, that I can get Jack to pose like this for a picture.

Sammy Goes Weeeeee!

While in Layton visiting my mom, Sammy enjoyed walking with Pop Pop and Grandma. We grip her hands firmly, and then we swing. She raises her legs a bit. Swinging back and forth as we walk makes her giggle.

It's this fun game we've played for a while.

She's outgrown the other games she and I played: the tiger growls, the wolf howls. Things change so quickly, and suddenly little ones think they're too sophisticated to play along with strange adults, who try to do something that is now "beyond them."

Jack and Tommy now are fussy about the animated films we once enjoyed. They are now for little kids. I try to tell them that they are both only eight years old, but after all, they are both third graders now. They remind me of that often.

And Anna, she once had an imaginary friend by the name of Ema. Yes, Ema's name only had one "M" in the spelling. The name appeared on a small chalkboard near our phone during one of the summer visits, when Lydia and the kids come to entertain Kristin, Grandma, Jack and Pop Pop.

We left the name on that board. This summer, I asked Anna who Ema was, while pointing at the name she once had written on the small chalk board. Anna shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. Her eyes glanced about, and then she looked at the floor.

She was now sophisticated too.

It's a disappointment to see my little ones grow older. But I still enjoy them. It is, after all, five years before the oldest two become teenagers. That is a dark time, a time when tremors seem to affect "The Force."

Enjoying them and each moment is what counts right now.

Please Pass The Defibrillator

The mobility issues I have as a result of radical chemo therapy are a major factor in the way I live. I do my best to walk, but my joints hurt, and if I walk a long distance, it taxes me physically. I had a couple of times when I took those walks, and it really bothered people.

"Your face looks gray," they told me. Their eyes were large, and they felt uncomfortable. It wasn't that they didn't like "hanging out" with an old fat guy. The issue was simple: it scared them to death that I would have a heart attack or something.

On one occasion, I told a group of people I met in DC, that I didn't dare fall asleep during a meeting, because I feared I would awaken to sirens and a small squad of people, who after tearing open my shirt, would slap a defibrillator on my chest.

I even told them my concern was it might trigger smoke detectors in the building when my hairy chest caught fire during the course of the electric shock. No one thought it was funny. They didn't even crack a tiny smile. But as usual, I laughed. I always react that way to my own jokes.

My son always had a way of taking a picture that was not what you wanted, and I probably taught him that tendency. When we first bought a movie camera with great sound, we filmed Annie snoring on the couch.

Was it funny? Oh yes, it was funny--hilariously funny, but my Annie senses something like that. It's like this superpower she has, when someone makes a remark about snoring. But the sound of a movie camera was fain, but she roused out of a deep sleep.

I caught hell, big time. What made it even more complicated was my son's cackling.

Karma is a funny thing. Almost twenty years later, my son caught this wonderful photograph at the rehabilitation center, where my mom stays trying to recuperate from the effects of her stroke. Finally, I don't see humor in it either, and I now understand why my wife was angry about being filmed. I obviously don't have any superpowers of hypersensitivity.

I guess I'm pretty much insensitive. Maybe that's my superpower.

But one thing about it. My wife is cute when she snores, and there's nothing cute about my picture, but at least I didn't sleep with my eyes half open as I sometimes do.

It's scary. The reality of sensing the smell of burned hair on that day in the lobby would not have been funny. I guess those people in the meeting were right on track.

Sad Times in A Pathetic Year

I don't know what it is about my family, but the Ward family sometimes has years, where everything goes poorly. I'm not just talking about complaining about little things here.

My son reminded me that in the midst of one of those years, he was in the truck with me and my father on the way to the ranch, something we did every Saturday during winter.

My father sees this black cat on the roadside, and he says out loud: "If that thing crosses in front of us, we're going home and going to bed for the rest of the day."

It didn't. We drove to Snowville and fed cattle, which we would have done anyway. My father was never superstitious. It was just a random comment about the type of year we had.

I totaled two cars, injured my knee and had surgery, walked into a spray rig and punctured the skin deeply a fraction of an inch below and above one of my eyes. My dad struggled with health issues. Our crops succumbed to drought, and then grasshoppers arrived. It was like something biblical.

This year has been that kind of year. Our family is larger now, but it began to happen the same way. During the worst part of those times, my mother had a massive stroke. Life, as we knew it, will never be the same.


After my mom's stroke, Lydia and Cles came to visit. It  was the first time in over five years, that we were all together. I just wish I had worn something besides sweats and the shirt I had that day. But no one notices, because the smile I have on my face in the large picture looks like a scene from Dennis The Menace. You know. It's that scene, where the small boy plays with Walter Mathau's character meanly. The little guy drops false teeth into the sink. The two front teeth breath away and go down the drain. The little Dennis character then finds a replacement: chiclets gum. When a newspaper photographer comes to take a picture for the local paper, Mathau smiles with those chiclets.

He looks like Bugs Bunny. Take a gander at my picture. For family members, please strike me in the head with a medium sized rock if I smile that way again for a family picture.

The time was tough. It was difficult to think of something to allow yourself to smile, although our youngest granddaughter Sammy did that for us.

She ran and played. We teased and had fun with her. In spite of everything that happened during those weeks in October, the afternoon was nice to find us together again.

My mother told me the next day how much the visit meant to her at that time.
Sammy was beside herself that morning. She is at an age, where it is difficult to understand, why adults want her to sit still. It just doesn't happen easily, and in trying to get a picture, it's more like a wrestling match, that Sammy wins each time. She twists. She turns. She kicks her legs.

It makes the other children laugh. Why, it makes me laugh too.

The last few minutes involved getting Lydia and Jeff ready to go. Sammy ran about in the parking lot. I think Lydia sincerely believed that it would be a way of wearing the little one down a bit, but Sammy doesn't work that way. I wish I had that kind of energy, that kind of mobility.

The moments to take pictures were too brief. Sammy stretched the time a bit, something I appreciated at that time. Time passes so quickly when we are together like this. Even in situations, when the stay is more than five days, it skips by too quickly.

The three little Zollingers climb into their rental van. Pop Pop then performs the ritual. "Let me help you with the seatbelt I assure them. With the click, I begin to tickle each one. Making sure that not one of the three feel slighted, I tickle them, until their squeals and laughter satisfy me.

Lydia and Jeff pull out. They stop briefly. Sammy is squealing. She hates being strapped into a seat. "The fun now begins," she said. Lydia smiled bravely. Jeff grinned too.

Cles pulled out in his orange Dodge Charger rental. As quickly as the visit began, everyone was gone.

Life is like that.

That is the way I view my mom's tragedy. Shortly before my birthday, I stopped in for a visit in Malad. I intended to stay only 30 minutes. Four hours later I left for Idaho Falls. It was late when I arrived home, but within a few days after my birthday on October 27, my mom had a stroke and lay helpless on her floor for almost 10 hours.

I feel horrible about it. It's been that kind of year. But I am so glad for the time I spent with her just before my birthday. And I'm glad I had time to enjoy family that weekend in Ogden at the rehabilitation center, where my mom works so hard and so bravely.

I'm also happy that I kept the card my mom gave me the night of my last visit in Malad. It will be something I will always keep to remind me just what a difference she made in the lives of our family.

Life is so short. Those we love are with us such a short time, and then as quickly as we watch others age, our turn also arrives. A time when you move slowly, when you love life more than it seems to love you.

The Idaho Falls House Husband, Pretending To Have Had Extensive Facial Repair

You have to understand one thing about me. I detest reality TV, but I watch it to spend time with my wife and occasionally either one or both of my daughters. It still doesn't change the way I feel, and sometimes they ask me to go into the other room.

They're nice about it. It's not like they talk to me like a dog or anything. They don't say this: "Go on! To to your room!" But they do make me understand that they really don't want to know my feelings about men wearing pink boas or whatever or women having had so many facelifts that their forehead looks like the top of a snare drum.



I still have noticed however, that some of them have issues with smiling. The reconstruction is so extensive, that they either look like some large house cat, or they can't smile normally.

With this blog, I seek to recreate what I saw on the Wives of Orange County or whatever the snobby bimbos in LA call themselves.

I wanted to stretch the skin on my face, but I'm like one of those Chinese dogs, and since I don't want to pull back on my ears until they meet at the rear of my head, I figure I'll just have to have those nasty wrinkles--something those women don't have.

In order to recreate the moment seen on TV, I even told myself a joke. It's easy for me, because I've always been able to laugh at my own humor. It's a sign of a healthy self-concept, although my wife once told me it is actually a sign that I'm the only one, who thinks I'm funny.

So I smile, and for a moment, I wish I were in sunny California, not in the sprawling home of a bunch of socialites, but on Main Street Disney.

My New Picture of Annie

Ann bought me a new camera for Father's Day a few years ago, and I instantly began making the same mistake I've made for decades: taking pictures of landscapes and things rather than people.

It's a natural thing for me to do actually. We all are creatures of habit. My family farmed, and we seldom took time to take pictures, except for holidays. Even then, the pictures were very rare.

For many years, the camera we had in our family was a Kodak Brownie. My parents bought that for me as a gift, and although I took a few pictures of family members, most of them were landscapes.

Somewhere in my mom's house are stacks of pictures I took in Yellowstone. I keep hoping I took some family photographs, but I doubt that I did. It's a sad commentary.

I began to change. It's because I noticed that I didn't have any pictures of my wife. We have done so many things together, and in spite of our being together for the better part of three decades and slowly approaching a fourth, I don't have many photos to show a sample of those times.

A few summers ago, I tried to take pictures of Ann, but she would hide her face or turn her head. It just wouldn't happen, which I found amazing, since my wife always loved being in a picture, when we were young. Ann was the one who made us smile.

Today was a good day. She returned from her contract work for ISU. She enjoys it. It's a way of staying in teaching by helping schools cope with new changes. She looked beautiful, like she always has, so I took some pictures.

She still has those chocolate chip eyes, that often sparkle with mischief, and regardless what she may say or tell others, she loves to tease me with different things during the day. She makes life better by being there.

That's what you look for in searching for someone to marry.

It's why we've been together since May of 1974.