A Town I Loved Instantly

I think I remember taking this picture before we traveled to Fort Bragg. This is the town I really loved, and I would move their in an instant. The people, like everyone else we met, were incredibly nice, and it was large enough to have things you want in a city, yet it also had a "small town" atmosphere.

After all these years, I miss that, and I am looking for some place like this to make us a home.

The morning picture was a rushed one after leaving Williams. We were on our way to Fort Bragg to see the coast, and then we wanted to go to Willits for a short stop before arriving at Avenue of the Giants.

Winding a path along the state highway was not done easily, but the scenery was beautiful. It was, however, unfortunate that few places offered a person the opportunity to take any pictures along the way, and besides, we were trying to get to see the redwoods as quickly as possible. That was what we wanted to see on this trip.

But before arriving at the seashore, there were more beautiful pictures to be taken, even if only out the car window while we sped toward the redwoods.As we drew near to Fort Bragg and the coast, there were some small lakes, and then we went through the area called Blue Lakes.

Another thing that amazed me was the idea that you could still see palm trees in Northern California, and the lakes here didn't leave anyone with a question in their mind about how they got their name: The Blue Lakes.

Again, we raced by the area without stopping to take a picture. Imperfections in the photographs actually are an indication of our new digital camera's quality, because we seldom had a camera we could use to take pictures out a moving vehicle. Anything taken out the front window also shows bugs on the windshield.

Though it sounds like I'm saying it because of the scenery we would have missed, I'm glad we didn't attempt to drive this road at night.

It twisted and turned, and occasionally the road took sharp turns at the edge of the lake, not a good idea at night. This part of the road actually was less winding than after reaching Fort Bragg.

Regardless of the road conditions, I would not have missed it, and I would like to drive it again, except next time we will do it at a slower pace. We did the trip in three and a half days, a lot driving for a trip well over 2000 miles, but it was the only thing that time would allow this year. I have no regrets, other than I wish I lived there.

There is, however, one other regret: a wish that I had stopped once or twice to get a scent of the trees and grasses in the mountains before arriving at The Blue Lakes.

I've never been in a place where ripened summer grasses were so beautiful, but I grew up in a different place, which I will always remember fondly, but it was different than what I saw on the road.

The road was so bad as we wound our way into the hills from the seashore to Willits, that I actually felt a bit carsick, which I thought was impossible. I haven't been carsick since I was eight years old, and with the exception of getting really sick in a small plane and a number of times on a fishing boat off the coast of Oregon, I've never reacted that way. And I didn't get really sick, but I did feel it. My Annie however, stopped speaking at one point and grasped a small bag with both hands.

But everything considered, I want to do it again, just with stops to enjoy what I saw.

Williams, California

Gramzella's Resort was where we stayed, and in all fairness, it was very clean, although the carpet--like most hotels--was less than really clean. Everything else was fantastic, and the building, though built some time ago, was an example of high quality building. There were no creaking sounds when you walked across the floor, and most importantly, you would never have known that it was pet friendly. Not only was it very clean, but the hotel was also very quiet. The dogs there were actually cleaner than some people I saw during the course of this summer on our travels.

The breakfast was not bad, but we only picked up a few things for Jack, and then we went over to the resort's restaurant. Breakfast was fantastic. They also had a deli, where I was able to get some great California olives. Greek, Sicilian and those with pimentos are very difficult to find in our country, especially good quality ones. The prices were also very good. But the best part was the sour dough bread.

It was fun to see how curious Jack was about everything. But he didn't like the smell of the antique wine press.

The other thing that was fun to find there was the balsamic vinegar that we like to use in both cooking and dipping rye bread when we find the time to visit Crumb Brothers Bread in Logan.

At the rear of the store, Jack also found something that he enjoys in the mall in Idaho Falls--Italian ice cream or gelato. He liked the chocolate, but strawberry was his favorite today.

I keep hoping that I can take my grandchildren to Vienna to watch them discover the one at Schwedenplatz, where I always took my students during exchange tours.

The First Stop in California

Our first stop in California was an In-N-Out Burger in Sacramento. It was probably a mistake, because we wanted to make it to Willits the first day, but never having made the trip in that area, we had no realistic idea of what we could actually do.

Jack was upset. He wanted McDonalds, but we had done that already early in the morning for him, but he had his heart set on whatever toy they were doing with a kid's meal. Jack's Pop Pop is not a fan of Ronald's franchise. The toy thing is an incredible con, so Jack was upset as we forced him to enter with us.

The moment I walked in the door, I was excited to be there. There's nothing like an old fashioned burger and fries, and their milk shakes are great too, but my new conscience permanently altered by Weight Watchers would only allow so much.

But I knew I could talk myself into self-indulgence at least once during the next two or three days we would be traveling. It was after all the first day of the trip. And I already smiled knowing that there would be other spots just like this one--oh, how foolish I was at that moment.

Jack didn't do a burger, but he graciously consented to an order of fries. "I guess," he said. He sat, arms folded and blue eyes sadder than any Willie Nelson song about those peepers, whether it was raining or sunny.

But a puzzle the smiling sales people gave him warmed him up to the idea of eating a good burger without a crappy toy to hide the fact that you were not only eating something that didn't taste very good, but it was overly priced and unhealthy too. At least here we experienced only one out of those three things.

Oh, and Jack loved the lemonade too.

He watched us eat our own burgers, and he could smell how good they were. Each one was just like he liked it too, with a sauce that was like a mixture of ketchup and mayo--almost like our area's fry sauce but a bit more fluid. I never use the word "runny" except for cold and flu season, and I refused to spoil this meal by even thinking the word to myself as I ate and savored the food I had craved for over a year. Jack noticed how we enjoyed every bite. I gave him one more chance to get a burger before we left, and this time, he was enthusiastic about his answer.

The ride changed immediately as soon as we started for Willits. Ann and I started to get tired, so we stopped in the small town of Williams.

But here's a tip for the day--never be so tired that when you check into a hotel, you notice that every person there has a dog.

We slept well, but on the way to check out, the owner of an older basset hound showed off his dog in the lobby. "He always howls when he's hungry, and I haven't given him his breakfast yet."

The sad-eyed dog cast his nose at the ceiling and let out a howl that would have driven any creature up a tree. Everyone smiled, except my Annie, and though she had this cute look on her face, it wasn't her trademark smile.

Standing in front of the hotel, we were loading everything into the car. It was a great day. Our clock on the car said 10:30 a.m., but we realized that we gained an hour. We were grateful for Pacific Standard Time.

An expensive GM SUV by Cadillac stopped. The electric window came down, and a woman began talking to my Annie while I packed the car. "What's the hotel like," she asked.

"Oh, it's one of those old-fashioned ones well-built in the 50's, 60's or early 70's, but it's clean."

"There's no shag carpet is there." The woman in the caddy was adamant about that. "You know how shag carpet is," she added.

"Oh yes, I know." Annie paused for a moment. "But we felt kind of alone here."

"Why's that," the lady asked? I could tell she was still considering the choice of hotel before booking it.

"Well, we were the only ones in the hotel without a dog or dogs."

Horror spread across the woman's face. "Oh! Oh, thank you," she said. I thought she was going to cry for a moment. It was like she experienced an epiphany or something. The electric window closed magically, and Jack extended his arm and fingers ala Jedi Knight style. The car exited the lot and sought the freeway ramp.

This time Annie smiled broadly, just like I always remembered she did when something pleased her, like throwing a cup of cold water on me in the shower or tickling my toes or taking the cherry from my caramel ice cream dessert.

Growing Up in Malad as a Malad Dragon

This picture reminds me so much of my youth in Malad. The family dog was an English Springer, and we spent a lot of time playing with him when he was a pup. We picked him up close to Memorial Day Weekend in 1971, shortly after my graduation from high school.

On Sundays, we--the youth of the town--spent the time "cruising," which is funny considering how small the town was, but it was a social event. There were three great things about the 60's--cheap gas, mini skirts, Jimi Hendrix.

Each of us could recognize a car by lights on a car, headlights or taillights.
When I returned from college with a friend from SLC, I remember her laughing at my honking at a car at night. I recognized the car by the lights.

The other tradition was to spend time on Sunday afternoon with friends at the local drive-in. I would take my dog, and while wearing this huge black felt wide-brimmed hat I picked up in Yellowstone, I would order myself a blackberry milkshake.

My English Springer Curly would sit in the back of my Model A Ford truck for his treat. There was a metal pan there, and I would let him sit and lick a small soft ice cream cone from my hand, until it was at the edge of the cone, and then I'd put it in the pan. I remember people laughing at me with me dog like that.

The picture at the right shows my sister wearing my hat. My cat is also behind her. Her wearing that hat would have made me angry at that time, but since she would eventually wear it with wet hair once or twice while I was in Germany and basically ruin it, it doesn't really matter, you little shit.

We named the dog Curly, and we trained him to be nice with my cat. The big yellow tomcat was Rastus, and I trained him like you would a dog. He would sit back on his back legs and beg while I held the best cuts of meat after any meal.

After serving my two-year mission, the cat showed up one night briefly, just before I went back to college. I had only been back a night or two from Germany, and he hadn't been around for months. I fussed over him that night, and then he went back outside. We never saw him again.

Funny thing about that was how badly I hated cats, but I loved that one, which explains why I trained him like I did. Growing up on a farm brought me a connection to the land and a love of animals. I'll always be that way, and I'll like a cat again, if I can train him to be like a dog, which hopefully is not an indication of some deep-seeded flaw that means I'm some sort of bigot or something.

The picture above shows the hose on the patio. There was a water pump my dad purchased, and when we had a "water turn," we would flood the back pasture area, and we would pump water from a spot where the water would pond to the lawn with those orange hoses. Letting it soak up meant keeping the yard green, and in those days, it was also fashionable to have sweet clover growing in the lawn. I miss that too.

My grandmother was a music teacher at Malad Elementary, and she reminded us that we were of Welsh heritage: musicians, poets and warriors. Personally, I liked the last one the best, and we took pride in athletics in the town. We played against schools much larger than we were in terms of student population, but we were more than competitive.

It was always a dream to play running back, and in my sophomore year, the coach asked to learn plays as varsity fullback, but I injured my knee within a very short time of that, and before the end of the season, I had a season ending injury that required surgery.

I played two more years as an offensive guard. They used my speed in a different way, a pulling guard. I had hoped also to play nose tackle, but playing as an offensive lineman and doing all the special teams work left me without enough "air" to do it. I wasn't tired. I just couldn't get any air. Years later I realized I had asthma, which I'm sure played a role in my not playing an entire game on offense and defense.

The musician part was also important, and our band was exceptional. Our teacher Don Castleton spent so much extra time with us, helping us compete as a group, whether as a concert group, marching band or pep group. The high school had a very good reputation as doing very well.

The marching band always appeared in local parades, but we also participated in those for the Idaho State Fair and various celebrations in Utah, which also included the Days of '47 Parade on July 24th.

Pep band was also fun. We had the best seats in the house in the old gym, and everyone enjoyed listening to us. By the time we were in our last years of high school, we played a number of rock pieces, although the crowd liked our Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass material the best. Classmates preferred newer things.

The experience in music was very important. It gave me incredible experiences, which included Idaho All State Band participation and other awards.

Mr. Castleton helped us a great deal. He taught us confidence and instilled in us the desire to excel as soloists.

It helped us realize that there was more to high school than just sports. Unfortunately, I never had the same experience discovering the importance of doing well academically. I did well, but taking school less than seriously shaped my choices at college.

My first year of college found me sitting with an advisor, who asked me what I accomplished in high school. I began relating my varsity sports activities, having lettered in three sports. The man sat, his chin resting on his hand. He yawned. Then I began telling the things I did musically. That's when he picked up his pen and began taking notes. I wish I had learned that lesson four years earlier.

Regardless of the outcome, my experience growing up in that tiny Welsh community shaped my life. We did the warrior thing and the musical thing, but writing poetry came much later. I was almost 35 when I published my first one, and I've only had a few appear in print, but it's still an additonal "fun" part of living up to that Welsh tradition.

Reno Rush Hour Traffic

The traffic in Reno was not fun. We arrived just at the peak of rush hour, when people are not only returning from work, but they are also on their way to begin a long Labor Day weekend. It was like a mobile version of World Wrestling Federation. The tag team with pick-up trucks always wins, and in spite of my patience my cancer taught me, I used what Jack calls "bad words" several times when young male drivers dangerously cut in front of us. Then I saw the light and realized that over the years I had at least a dozen European hand gestures that would come in a very practical manner in a number of different circumstances, but then I decided against that too. Jack's first grade teacher may not know the exact meaning, but if he used them with Pop Pop's facial expression and blood vessels bulging in his tiny throat, it would be a dead give away.

We soon, however, wished that the hectic had continued. At least in all the confusion and rude driving behavior, we were able to drive an even speed. At the outskirts of Reno, traffic narrowed to one lane, and we waited for almost two hours. We began to panic. We left at 8:30 a.m., hoping to arrive in California that evening.

By the time we

reached the California border, it was getting late, and we also began to feel the effects of the long drive. Ann and I were exhausted. Jack was doing very well. I had filled one I-pod with over 250 movies, and we only changed them every couple of hours. It was a magical trip for him. He could look out the window at the beautiful scenery at short breaks, but more importantly, he could watch movies he had not seen in a long time.

The sign showing welcome to California was a welcome sight.

Reaching the sign informing us that we were in the Pacific Time Zone was nice too, although we were very tired, even if we did automatically receive an extra hour of daylight.

But the real California welcome sign was yet to come.

Jack felt disappointment at first. For him, there is nothing like McDonalds. It was a fantastic experience for him. he loved the fries, but the burger was the best.

The Redwood Roadtrip

We left the house in Idaho Falls, filled the Jetta with diesel, picked up some soft drinks and snacks, and then we started on the road. Jack ate something simple, but we stopped in Blackfoot at McDonald's for a breakfast sandwich.
Ann put the battery in the camera, and while driving the first day, she took these photographs. Although it was nice to have something that took high grade images and "high def" video clips, it's the first time that we saw bugs on the windshield on the picture itself. Usually, the speed of the car left a slight blur that made that type of thing less noticeable.

The blue sky on the first leg of the trip was stunning, and we took a number of pictures with sapphire blue heavens and large clouds.

The Spontaneous Trip To Northern California

I have coaxed to see the redwoods for years, but it just never seemed to happen. We planned doing it this year, but we have had too many things to do this summer.

Ann had a meeting with Jack's new teacher on Thursday, September 3. She mentioned the fact that she wouldn't be in class the next day and that a substitute teacher would be there in her place, so Ann asked if it would be alright to miss the day and take Jack on a trip. She arrived home and asked me if we could go that night. I love spontaneous road trips.

We just couldn't get things ready to leave, and we were very tired Thursday night, so we packed everything, hoping to leave at 6:00 a.m. on Friday, September 4. The last thing we did that evening was something that had to be done. A trip like we hoped to take without a camera was not going to happen, and I refused to take pictures with a disposable camera, so we went to several stores. Fred Meyer didn't have the new model Ann wanted. She wanted a Canon, the same brand as her old camera.

While in DC this summer, I lost Ann's Canon digital camera. Cles carried it for me, but he was worried about my walking. I was proud of how much could actually do while there, more than I had done in a very long time, but I was in a lot of pain at the end of the last day, and on the way back to the hotel from the Air & Space Museum, I sat down on a bench. Cles placed the camera down near me, and he went to get some water for me and Jack. An elderly woman and child sat next to me, and the camera was gone in an instant.

It's sad how dishonest things have become, but in this country, it's been that way in larger cities for a long time. Germany was always refreshing, because I never saw it happen there, but during the last few trips, I occurred there too--just not as often as it happened here, but I haven't been back since 2001. Hopefully, things are still mostly the way I remember them over there at least. However, the funny thing about the experience is that we can always replace photographs, and in terms of the camera, the new one is phenomenal.

To make a long story short, we asked the manager in Idaho Falls to see if the Pocatello store had one, and they did. We planned to leave Idaho Falls early so that we could stop and pick it up, and then we went to the Walmart on Utah Avenue, the clean one in Idaho Falls.

Ann and I bought the Canon digital, which they had in stock. It takes better movies and pictures than the older camera, so other than the photographs we lost, everything else is better. We were ready to leave the next morning at 6:00 a.m.

I returned home, called Fred Meyer in Pocatello to cancel the camera they held for me. A girl answered. She seemed confused when I asked her to cancel my hold, and she assured me that people don't come by to get them regularly, and I told her that I wasn't the "usual person." When I give my word to show up to buy something, I show up as promised. Call it another value my father taught me.

"Always remember that your word is something important. Generations of our family have maintained a standard, and it's important for you to continue it. 'Your word' is something that is very important." I never forgot that lesson, and I still think it's important.

At 8:15, we had the car packed completely, and by 8:34, we were driving on I-15, making our way to Twin Falls and beyond.

A Trip To The Coast

I love this set of videos, because it captures the sound of the ocean as waves rolled toward the sandy beach. The day was beautiful, until we arrived at the coast, where the weather was foggy and a bit damp. The sounds and scent of the ocean made the experience incredible, but that's because the closest thing I remember to seeing the ocean was watching hillsides covered with summer grasses or wheat.

Nothing in my mind is as soothing as the sound of ocean water, the feel of the spray in the air and the salty scent of seawater. I love listening to pines and waterfalls and rivers and streams, but this is something else entirely.

As cold as it looked, it really was quite comfortable standing on the beach. There was a slight drizzle, but the fog remained until we drove higher along the coastline to cliffs that overlooked the ocean. My only disappointment was not seeing the blue water of the Pacific. That will be another trip down the Oregon coastline next summer.

We spent a great time waiting for the perfect wave to crash against the rocks, but every one we thought would splash didn't do it at all, and those we thought were too weak for a movie clip turned out well. I guess moments like this are like people sometimes.

The best part of these clips is that we can enjoy it vicariously again by looking at this blog, but we won't feel the spray on our face or smell the magic in the ocean air.

Jack's Nap

Ever since he was just tiny, sometimes Jack would get "heavy eyes" in the afternoon, and on one visit to an Italian Restaurant in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, everyone still remembers it. Ann and I spoiled him. Jack loved spaghetti, but he ate it with his hands when he was just small.

In that restaurant, Jack had his dinner spread completely across his face. He looked like one of the characters in Lord of the Flies, all besmeared with marinara for war paint--in his hair, his pants, his shirt and up to his elbows. My son's in-laws watched in awe, at least we thought that's what it was at the time. I hope it wasn't in absolute horror. Jack didn't make any noise in the restaurant. We just planned on getting a couple of napkins and cleaning him up before we left.

But during the meal, more exactly after he finished his, like the ancient T-Rex, he found slumber, and his head almost dropped into the plate. We moved the plate to the side, and he stayed in the high chair the restaurant was so nice to provide us with at that time.

We still talk about that visit. We talk about that, and we talk about his seeing lightning bugs for the first time in North Carolina. Our daughter-in-law would catch them in her hands, shake them a bit, and turn them loose. They would flutter in a small glow in the darkness. "Tink!" Jack stood amazed, seeing one of his favorite characters from Neverland flutter before his eyes.

These are the stories I remember about Jack and about Tommy and about Anna. But recently, we took Jack to a local restaurant, and he fell asleep like he once did, and memories flooded back to me.

What's Wrong With People Today? (Please Don't Read This If You Subscribe to Right Wing Politics)

div>

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Given the violent nature of our culture, the emotional responses of a extreme right wing fringe element, the ignorance that persists universally across the nation, this idiot actually brought a loaded gun to a town hall meeting. My disappointment is that they didn't throw him in jail for a very long time. And even more disappointing is the fact that there was no provision for metal detection that appeared to detect this situation.

I just don't understand where this will ultimately end. Personally, I don't mind if a person wants to use a gun for hunting, but the notion of protection and carrying a concealed weapon seems mute, not because it couldn't be an important for a person to feel protected, but because of what people like this do with that right.

Freedom is not a guarantee. If it infringes on the rights of others, it is not a given opportunity. At least that's what I learned in my high school civics class.

The only thing I found refreshing is hearing that he was neither Republican nor Democrat. He voted for Ron Paul. But he was also evasive--ignorant about current events and issues, but he knew what not to say that would have landed him in jail. And I believe that is where he and others like him belong.

So, what is wrong with people? They don't get their way in an election, so they disrupt and riot, yet the images are striking--mostly white and lower middle class if even that. It is always shocking to me to hear people talk about the hate they have for taxes, when those who make what they appear to earn at a blue collar job is not a high tax bracket, and not only that, they are also the people, whom Obama promises to offer tax relief in the form of restoring the same levels as existed during the Clinton Administration. I just don't understand people like this.

And the reason I don't understand them is as follows: they don't want to pay any tax at all. That became evident during the interview, when he began citing examples of how taxation is not constitutional.

If people like this have their way, our country would be void of centralized government and any institution that would educate the masses. I wonder how long it would take our country to attain Third World status.

For those who disagree, please accept my apology, because this man is why I can't ever accept being a Republican or a Conservative. I believe strongly in social issues that benefit society, and I believe in a centralized government that guarantees rights and maintains the infrastructure. Oh, and they educate stupid people too, but everyone makes choices, and even though the opportunity is there for people to improve themselves and free their minds of prejudice and ignorance, they also have the right to choose a different path, like this man who openly carried a loaded weapon to a town meeting, where the President of the United States was present, and even more importantly, held a sign that implied that you "water the Tree of Liberty with the blood of tyrants."

If Obama were the person that conservative talk show people said he was, someone would have taken him to an isolated place and shot him in the head. But that won't happen. Nixon used the IRS to intimidate opponents, and he used the FBI to spy on them. Other presidents, even in very recent history have done similar things that were even worse.

And then another protester shows up in Pennsylvania, another local that emphasized that he wasn't an outsider. The outsiders, if they were there, were unidentified; however, I still believe that they may be there. I wish journalists would document it, that way no one would have to speculate on where this madness originates.

But one things is certain, they share ethnic and cultural roots: white, poor and extremely stupid. And why do I think that? They are all white. And no there appearance does not lead me to believe they are anything but very low Middle Class, and as for intelligence, they merely regurgitate the same crap that you can hear in any hotel lobby coming from the refuse of FOX News.


But people like Rush Limbaugh are leaving their mark as well. As stupid as it seems, these people who berate anyone who does not agree with them and scream and disrupt to put an end to change through a democratic process also are buying the idea of Rush, that some obscure symbol on the Health Care memo has a Nazi symbol. No one can offer proof that it exists, and regardless what anyone says, these people believe everything coming from Limbaugh and others.


So the Nazi symbol Hackenkreuz is on the news today, spray painted at the office of a Georgia Democratic Senator. At least I think he was in the Senate, although it could have been the House. Regardless, he is serving in DC. These people have no idea what they are doing, what they are saying, what they messaging through their WWF style discussions. The interview above shows the process, and it also shows how the "victim" embellishes the story. Again Senator Spectre and others are overly patient.


I so wish that we had thinking people. Jefferson said that "where there is a free press and everyone can read, there is no danger," but he didn't see what powerful people can do with propaganda in terms of influencing the masses. I feel no fear. I'm just sad about it. Our country has reached a point where no one understands what discussion is. And that is what will put our Constitution in danger.


The man uses terms associated with Nazi and Soviet era concepts. It is a clever tactic that incites ignorant people. It worked in German in the 30's. If our country falls victim to a demagogue, it will not be one that encourages town meetings. It will be those who rule by fear, by intimidation, by single-minded narrow-mindedness--three reasons why I absolutely hate the conservative talk TV and radio, not because I'm a liberal, because I'm not. I hate it because it is the antithesis of patriotism, of democracy, of decency. It's a belief that it's "my way or the highway." I just hope for a day when people will return to sanity and recognize that improvements can only come when people of varying opinions work together. That is not happening now.

The Dutch Restaurant In Rochester

I love ethnic restaurants, my favorites being Greek or Middle Eastern. Occasionally, I find a German Restaurant that has a menu better than what I can do myself, but that is rare. It's because a hot dog on a plate with Libby's Sauerkraut does not German cuisine make. The same is true about Chinese places.

While in Rochester, we found this Dutch place, so I had to go there. I lived in Oberhausen for about five months in the early 70's. A friend gave me some wooden shoes, which Germans in the area used to work in their muddy gardens. The shoes are great. And much of the food I remember eating there had a bit of a Dutch twist to it, especially the Pfannekuchen, which we often ate in the evenings, and I still make it when I have apples and some great jam. It's a must when grand kids are here.

But the Dutch place in Rochester was interesting. The stuffed cabbage was very good, and it was very much like what we made for ourselves and sometimes ate when invited to some one's house during those times. But the place is just a franchise. My disappointment came when I asked if any of them were from Holland. Most of Minnesota is Scandinavian, so it was not surprising to hear that the two older people at the register were a mixture of Viking blood from Norway, Denmark and Sweden. There was even a bit of German in the mix, but none of them knew anyone in their families, who spoke a foreign language. Their families had been in America since the 1800's: so much for my thinking that some people from Holland opened a restaurant there.

I guess I'll just have to rely on the Dutch Deli in Salt Lake City to get my chocolate sprinkles, cabbage roles, curry ketchup and a few other things, but if you are ever in Rochester, you have to order the dutch pancake just to hear the people bring it to your table.

Just Another Day At School For Tommy

While Visiting Mayo Clinic in September of '08, Ann and I were able to see Tommy get on the bus and ride to school each day. It was a sad day for Anna, because she no longer had a playmate during the day, and Tommy did not like anyone coming outside while he waited for the bus.

We tried for several days to get pictures, but he told us each time he didn't need us to escort him to the bus. And I should have remembered my years as a first grader, when I rode the "town bus."

And there was no option for younger students, when I was a first grader, and Kindergarten was not a reality at that point, so my experience happened when I was one year older than both boys.

Hazing was a cultural event. I spent my days understanding just how a volleyball felt during a match. An older student would pick us up and throw us at another high school student. As soon as we hit the target, they in turn would throw us at someone else.

My ride was like that every morning, not a great way to begin school. But the experience worked out to be a learning experience for all of us: we learned obscene gestures and foul language that we expressed freely during the entire trip to school, a trip that took about 40 minutes as we sailed through the air those mornings, howling and cursing while older students enjoyed the moment.

At least I remain confident that Tommy didn't have to relive that hell that I experienced, and hopefully, he didn't learn new vocabulary words--both verbally and otherwise--that my friends and I learned so quickly on the one mile ride to school in the very late 1959 and 1960. The fun that high school students had with us just made us mean.

There was Jimmy. He filled a squirt gun with lighter fluid, and he lit it, so that it blew flames like a blow torch. When he wasn't tormenting us, he took out his clarinet and played a horrific high note that made dogs in the neighborhood howl in pain. And there was Buck. He was just mean. Later they say he took a break from dealing drugs and began work as a police informant, which explains why I enjoyed most police shows where detectives "rough up" those kind of people. In the back of my mind, I hope he gets what I believed was "his due" almost 50 years ago.

But Tommy's experience was a good one. We never had a chance to get pictures in September that worked, so we took this on the last day of school. He was glad to have us at his house, and he didn't even mind that we stood on the curb to wave. It was a different story in September.

It was an embarrassment for him to see us fuss over him in front of his friends, and there was no hugging, holding his hand or giving him a little kiss on the cheek before leaving to climb aboard the bus. That was stuff you did only when he was three and four, not at the ripe old age of five or six.

Regardless of the changes, we relished the chance to be there to take this picture, and we saved our hugs for when he arrived home in the afternoon.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that the minister who lived next door also was the one with the gift for the bus driver. They were very nice people, and it was their last day in Rochester. By the time we returned in late July, they had already moved to their new home in Minneapolis.

Where The Buffalo Roam

I remember when I was very young, no older than third or fourth grade. My family took a trip to Yellowstone. We always followed the same route, leaving Malad in the morning and driving to Lava Hot Springs. After going for a swim and spending time there in one of the small hotels, we left the next day for the park.

During one of those trips, we stopped at a souvenir shop, and I spotted this porcelain buffalo head on a small frame. I kept it for years. Before buying it, the man said that the chances were that the animal would never survive another decade. I'm glad he was wrong.

Who was to think that those beautiful animals would dominate the park like they do now. And on our way home from Minnesota, we saw one in Mammoth Hot Springs. It shocked me to see tourists within six or seven feet of this young bull, small enough to still have a few years before becoming a dominant male, yet large enough to seriously hurt some of the people who took pictures.

I thought about that silly trinket I bought all those years ago, and I realized that this picture was so much better in so many different ways. My only regret is that we didn't take a movie clip of it on our digital camera.

Minnesota in June of '09

It would be nice if I understood the complicated nature of why people function and behave like they do, but since I have lived over 56 years and still really don't understand why I do some of the things I do, how can I really know why others act like they do? My hope is that my three grandchildren will each have a life that is somehow even better than what I experienced. If we can't achieve that as parents and grandparents, and most importantly, if we can't hope for that as parents and grandparents, there is not only something wrong with us but something wrong with our culture.

I have my six month doctor's appointment Tuesday of this week, June 23 of 2009. It is one where my oncologist will examine my bloodwork to ensure that everything is still alright. The positive side of this whole process is the fact that going this long without a problem is a very good sign; however, every time this appointment approaches, I find myself recognizing just how precarious life is, yet what I determined some time ago is that no one really knows when their "number is up" and when they will join the big skinny-dipping party in the sky. We are all in the same situation when it comes down to it.

I knew someone who worked for years and finally retired in his 60's. Ann and I saw him and his wife at a concert in Idaho Falls that Roger McGuinn--a founding member of The Byrds--played in October of 2003. I was going through severe treatments, but at that point, I was still not having to spend a lot of time in the hospital. When he saw me, he said how sorry he was. I always hated pity, but I had always liked him, and I knew he meant well looking at me like he did and all, but there was one monumental problem: within a short time, he went into the doctor complaining of abdominal pain. Within weeks, he died of cancer.

A second man did the same thing. This time, I was at a retired IEA Member luncheon, and a former teacher from Rexburg expressed the same thing. He too had that sad look in his eyes. While on a hike on the Buttes during that summer, something happened with his pacemaker, and he met his maker too. The list keeps going.

In each instance, I felt badly, because their departure was so untimely, so unexpected, and then I realized something. No one knows when that time comes calling.

It's not so bad, when I really look at it logically. I recognize how precious life is and reexamine what is most important in my life. But I also find myself looking for that old spectre that will eventually reappear. I find myself waiting for the "other shoe" to drop.

I shouldn't waste time worrying about it, because I know when my time arrives--whether noticing something that just doesn't seem right or while walking somewhere--I too will become a memory.

But when that time comes, I hope my three little ones will remember those last years we spent together, especially this last trip to Minnesota and back. It was one that found Jack and me alone for the twelve hour trip on the first leg. Ann flew to Rochester, because Lydia needed some help while she was sick.

That trip was magical in some ways. Jack watched movies, but during the drive, we stopped several times. One in particular was somewhere in Wyoming, just before passing into South Dakota. Restrooms were scarce, so Pop Pop and Jack had to write their names in the sand, but while taking that brief break, I noticed the grinding chirp of crickets, the melancholy sigh of a mourning dove, and the call of a small bird we always called a kill deer: a bird that would always nest near a small stream or marsh. It had long legs. And it would run a short distance and then drop over and play "possum." It was its way of protecting its nest. Those were sounds I was able to help Jack notice, and then I remembered how my grandpa taught me how to recognize the trill of a meadow lark.

But I was never lucky enough to have had the chance to take a twelve hour road trip with him. He was gone by the time I was three, yet I still remember him clearly, and my other grandfather, although he lived until I was in the third grade, never really had a chance like that either.

That would have been fun for me, and so I hope Jack will remember it in that same way.

And I will hope that Tommy and Anna remember the trip we took back to Idaho Falls with us the same way. All three grandchildren had fun. They watched movies, they played with toys, they giggled over silly things they said and did together. It's the stuff I remember doing with my cousins occasionally, but then again, I never remember being lucky enough to take a long road trip like that.

When I was young, I thought that something different than this trip would be the thing I would want to experience, like smoking the tires of a Vette with the top down, racing along a highway on a summer night and feeling the wind tossing my hair.

That's just some fantasy that we see in a movie or on a television program. And most of the time, dreams like that feature a person sitting alone. Funny thing is that I know people who live that dream, and they live it alone. Now, don't get me wrong, I miss smoking the tires on a car, and I always hoped to do it in a vehicle that I owned rather that something that belonged to my parents.

So cleaning bugs from the window of the car at a station is an adventure when you make the trip with people you love. You notice things like, "I never knew there were so many bugs in the world like this until I drove through South Dakota," and you say things like, "I'm so glad the bikers aren't at Sturgis yet, so that the three little ones don't have to witness someone's grandma on the back of a Harley with no top." Ann and I will always be grateful that we didn't have grandchildren with us when we stopped once to see the biker extravaganza.

And even finding bad restaurants occasionally can be fun, like we did here in Montana at a Pizza Hut, where the owner sold the part of the restaurant with the tables to a new owner who created a gambling parlor. We ate outside away from the smoke and the cuckoos looking to find happiness by pulling the dirty handle of a slot machine.

So the thing with the Vette never happend--that dream where I ride in a silver flashy convertible with pipes, a large engine and all the dangerous fun options. Ironically, I don't really even regret not doing that now, especially since the laughter and smiles of little ones is much more fun, although at the end of the twelve hours on the road, I occasionally had to remind myself how much fun we were having.

But I have no problem looking at these pictures now and recognizing how much fun we had. So when it comes down to the whole issue of worrying about something I can't control. I will always remember this trip and others like it, and I will always remember my three precious grandchildren, just like I hope they always remember me.