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.

A Trip To Driggs And A View of Idaho's Side of the Tetons

Outside a restaurant in Driggs at the small airport, there is an incredible view of two things--the Tetons and a number of planes that take off during your meal.

Jack was with us last Monday, and we watched a number of small planes take off in the short time we were there. Jack's eyes widened each time the engines accelerated, just before the race down the runway and a climb into the sky.

Today was a trip for Grandma and Pop Pop. Jack stayed home to have fun with his mom, but I wish he could have seen the two gliders that landed today, but the most interesting was the small one-engine Navy jet. I can't identify fighters from the Korean and Viet Nam Wars like my son can, but it was incredible to see and hear the jet make its way into the sky. Jack would have loved seeing that.

Ann does contract work for the Idaho Department of Education, helping schools improve by observing and giving suggestions from the training she does. Just like she does with everything else from making jam to teaching children, she does extremely well. A short distance away from that restaurant is the school, where Ann did some work this year and will continue in September.

I'm just in this thing for the drive with my Sweetie. It gets me into some great spots to take pictures, and besides, it's nice to listen to what Grandma calls "Jonie's Groovy Music." My I-pod is a modern day miracle, containing a good portion of my music collection in a small instrument small enough to fit into the palm of my hand. It contains everything, except for my jazz, classical music, and some of the modern things I like to hear on occasion.

The only objection I had during the entire day was the jerk sitting at a table near us. It's impossible not to encounter people like that during a day in the public. But at the restaurant, haunted by wealthy visitors, it's often to meet eccentric people with big mouths and little class if any at all.

Last time, an old guy had the voice of Sam Elliott down. You'd think that someone trying to talk like a notable actor of Westerns would say something profound, but other than a few minor euphemisms and ignorant political rambling, he said nothing. He was just annoying.

But today was something more. This kid mentioned going home to Minnesota, but he didn't have the accent. He didn't say, "Oh, ja," or pronounce the word "about" in an interesting way that people do from Canada or Wisconsin or even parts of North Dakota. They say "a-boat," and any word with an "o" in it sounds pretty much the same way. Oh, and I've not met many Minnesota people who were loud and obnoxious.

This guy was a contractor working in Driggs for the wealthy and famous people there. He occasionally spoke of native Idahoans, like when he told this child with them this: "We don't much like people of your type who wear their Paawjamas in public."

I felt better when he said he lived in New Jersey for nine years. But I've been in Newark a couple of times, and if I were from Jersey, I wouldn't have claimed the guy sitting at that table.

He helped me remember what my father once said about contractors: "I've never met a person who was still in love with a contractor after the job." For the most part, it's not just a stereotype, although this guy seemed pretty stereotypical.

Ann and I finished the meal by sharing a slice of caramelized cheesecake. They used one of those little "flame thingers" to create a crust on one side, just like you see on that Cream whatever dessert that Jack and I love so much. The sweet tasting thing helped me forget the clown sitting next to us, until he made some comment about his fries. But since they were sweet potato fires, not something related to anything Idaho, I forgot the bore, and we started home.

We stopped at the top of the hill overlooking the beautiful valley beneath the Tetons for a few pictures. If I were ever to own a tract of land, I would love to have something with a stream running through it.

There was a bit of breeze on this summer day. And it was formally the first day of summer. It would have been nice to hear crickets, but I suppose that early afternoon is too early for that. The meadow lark was nice, but the view itself was enough to make the visit spectacular.

But you can't forget the Tetons, the reason I wanted to be here so badly. Last Monday saw a bit of rain, and clouds covered the peaks like a shroud. Today's picture is something I dedicate to the lonely French trappers from the nineteenth century, who so lovingly enjoyed the view of these majestic peaks.

Great Pictures In Yellowstone

Ann and I talked about returning to Yellowstone this summer. We didn't make it there once last year, so getting a chance was something we've been trying to do since April, but the weather has not cooperated this year. Today was the first Saturday we've been in Idaho Falls, that there wasn't snow or cold weather.

Not only was the weather nice, but the walking was good exercise I've needed for some time. I couldn't do the fist stop. Somehow, I believed the mud pots wouldn't give me any good pictures. That was a mistake that we'll have to take care of during our next visit. I forgot about the crystal blue waters in a number of springs there.

I didn't want to miss Grand Prismatic Spring. It was always my favorite stop, whenever I took visitors to the park. The only problem is that, regardless of the weather, steam often makes the spring impossible to see.

The mineral deposits there are as beautiful as the sky-blue waters in the mouth of the waters, disturbed only by an occasional bubble that rises to the top of the hot water.

I've been there in every season but winter, and seldom is the view as good as it was today. An occasional breeze drove the veil of white steam away from yawning mouth of the huge whole in the ground. The mineral deposits were spectacular.

The spring itself was beautiful too. At first, the photographs revealed only a hint of blue concealed by steam, but each breeze briefly swept the veil away several times.

Wind was gentle there. But it was strong enough to cause the blue to deepen and show the depths of the spring itself.

It was a beautiful day. The pictures were phenomenal and the day was perfect, except for the fact that I couldn't smell the scent of pine once while in the park. It's either living proof that I have become an old coot, or the rainy weather has had its effect on the scene, not allowing the trees to offer the musk I remember whenever we spent time in the park.

It reminds me of a situation when I was in my early 40's. These old retired swimmers, probably long since doing laps in the happy hunting ground in the great beyond, talked about options to aftershave. One used rubbing alcohol. He figured the ambience was just as good as any expensive cologne. The other argued in favor of another interesting chemical--Witch Hazel.

The edge of the spring found a small patch of yellow flowers.

Jack was a good sport about the walk, and the views of ponds and geysers were fun too.

The smell of sulphur was a bit much. He held his nose during the entire walk around the mud pots. That's the one I missed. There's something about the smell of that area that didn't appeal to me, so I stayed in the car and listened to music.

It worked out well. I saved my legs for the walk I always preferred.

Ann took this picture of the minerals between the spring and Excelsior Geyser. Jack found a stick, shaped like Yoda's small crooked cane. Grandma and I know little boys. And we're sure Jack wanted to write his name at the edge of the walkway. It's a given. It's like when they write their name in the sand while performing a necessary bodily function. Their pragmatic view is of "watering the weeds" and creating an artistic statement at the same time.

The view of Excelsior Geyser was also beautiful. The blue waters, the minerals, and the bench were welcome sights.

However, either they built that bench for four-year-old children, or they expected Hobbits to visit the park. It had to be no higher than 15 inches off the ground. And although I do have swollen and hairy feet, I am not a Hobbit.

It took Jack and Grandma and hosts of guardian angels to help me rise to my feet.

Now, I know the beauty of the spring and all, but my Sweetie is still a babe. And I love her smile, even when she's giving me that patented grin she always has given since she was very young.

The Excelsior Geyser is one I always hoped to see erupt, but logically speaking, it would be something to see once before suffering from scalding water. In the nineteenth century, it shot over 300 feet into the air, which is for me hard to believe. That would be an eruption that would shoot into the air the length of a football field. It would be beautiful, but I think I'll prefer just imagining how beautiful it would be to see.

Today was one of those days you remember as being a good day. Jack spent time smiling and having fun with us. Grandma was making me smile like she always has. And we found fantastic pictures.

I couldn't resist taking one more picture of the geyser, especially this one with the reflections of the clouds peering from the face of the still waters.

The blue sky is how I remember my youth on our ranch in Northern Utah. You forget how beautiful the sky looks like on a day like this, unless of course, you have months of clouds with snow, sleet and rain.

It has been a year with horrible weather. There has been no real spring, but today was an incredible day.

I was hoping for a good shot of Emerald Pool near the geyser, but what I found was even more fun--the face of the water reflecting the summer sky.

Great Memories In Minnesota

The three grandchildren were fun to watch together. For Jack, visiting his cousins is more fun than anything else he can imagine.

It was difficult to get a picture of the three without one of them teasing someone else.

I wish I knew who taught Jack about doing the rabbit ears thing for a picture, because it took at least 10 minutes to get one or two pictures of the three of them without two fingers making bunny ears.

The next picture was more serious. Either the sun was hurting their eyes, or in the words of Anna, "We "gotsa go pee."

Jack wore his Welsh Festival shirt from the celebration in Malad last year. I love the dragon.

Tommy stayed with the basic Star Wars look.

And Anna, well pink is her signature color.

Grandma and Samantha joined the crew for this picture. The weather was beautiful in Minnesota. For us, it was a glimpse at summer. We saw nothing but rain all the way from Idaho Falls through Montana and North Dakota. Only in Minnesota did the sun finally appear, which seemed ironic somehow.

On the way home, we rediscovered rain, seeing nothing but cloudy and rainy weather through the South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana and Idaho.

In my life, I have never experienced a year like this. Only at the end of my eighth grade year did I see rain like this year. Due to weather that year, my dad was unable to finish spring plowing until the conclusion of school. We began plowing around the clock as soon as the weather cleared, using a small offset plow behind our D-6 Caterpillar. It took about ten days of plowing without ever shutting the tractor off. I began at a little before six and continued until lunch. My dad would relieve me long enough for me to eat lunch, and then I would trade him again.

He worked all day, doing things to keep the tractor and plow going. Then he relieved me around 10:00 or 11:00 p.m. He would plow all night. In the morning, I would start again. Both of us did that until we finished. That was one year in my almost 58 years of life.

I have not seen anything like this year. But one thing for sure, the trip to Minnesota for a bit of medical treatment not only gave Ann and me a brief glimpse at good weather, but it also was a needed chance to see family one more time before their move to Florida.

The pictures we took there were classic.

Jeff's Graduation In Minnesota

The time in Minnesota this time was so short. We arrived. We did the appointments at Mayo, getting more information on how to wrap my legs and keep them from swelling.

And then as quickly as we arrived, it was time to return home.

There was no time to enjoy the sounds of frogs at dusk or to enjoy a good movie surrounded by grandchildren. Everything went so quickly, just like life. Things pass too quickly.

Lydia and Jeff left in the evening for the graduation festivities, and grandma and I watched the grandchildren. In between, we picked up some pizza and cheesecake at Mr. Pizza, and I didn't even feel guilty forgetting about adding points as I ate Strawberry Rhubarb Cheesecake and Triple Chocolate Cheesecake and Key Lime Cheesecake. Oh, and I forgot the slice of Pistachio Cheesecake Ann and I had one other night.

The visit was quick, but it was a great way to end our trips to Minnesota.

Shopping in Boise for Samantha

On our last trip to Boise, we took a lot of pictures for Tommy for a school project--his "Flat Tommy" assignment.

When Ann, Jack and I walked to this nice Chinese restaurant, we passed a little boutique. The clothes were incredible. I particularly liked the hat.

As soon as we arrived in Minnesota in early June, I took some pictures of Samantha in her new outfit.

Grandma spent more time sp

oiling our second little Zollinger Princess, holding her as much as possible. As for me, Samantha has this thing about growling. Before we arrived, Lydia let me hear her over the phone.

I asked Lydia to put it on speaker phone. I first howled, giving Samantha my imitation of Pop Pop Wolf Man. And then I would growl. Lydia laughed at Samantha's response. Her eyes grew big, and she stared at the phone.

In Minnesota, Samantha and I spent time each day growling at each other. As strange as it sounds, it was fun to see our little one make the connection: figuring out the face with the sound on the phone.

I only wish she would be able to remember the fun as clearly as I can. It happened each day, and hopefully, Lydia recorded a short clip of Samantha growling. It was one of those things that little ones do that make them unique.

Cles & Leslie's Trip to Italy and Greece

I love the pictures that Cles sent of Italy. He has told me a few stories about his return with Leslie to Florence. I'm not sure if he went back to the Uffizi Gallery: an incredible art art museum there, but he told me about things that made him laugh when we were there together with my group.

Europe has pedestrian walkways that began to appear in the city centers during the late 60's and early 70's. In Florence, they had a large number of vendors. It was illegal for them to sell their wares--mostly sunglasses and purses and other things with expensive names. Their products were fakes, and in Italy, policemen constantly monitor the streets.

Cles told me that the picture in Florence he took is the area where they set a portion of the film Hannibal. The square near the reddish tower in the center is the area where Lecter hung the policeman from a window in a museum.

When we were there, all of the people selling things were from various countries in Africa. After spotting an officer, they would grab the four corners of the blanket before them, and run with their things down the street.

In the event the authorities don't catch them, they fine anyone buying any of the items. Cles always laughed when they took off in their frantic dash.

My favorite spot when Ann and I did our Greek vacation was on the front of the ship early in the morning. Sunrise and sunset was always spectacular, but just after breakfast, we would always step to the side rails outside the dining area and watch dolphins dive in front and alongside our cruise ship.

Mornings and evenings the water is a bit choppy as in this picture, but occasionally, the Aegean is like glass. I will never forget the time there.

"Once I was the apprentice. Now I am the master!"

Whenever I took Cles to Europe, regardless of his age: either a sixth grader or a sophomore in high school, he would stalk pigeons and chase them. It made me angry, especially when the group was eating, and after a flutter of wings, pigeon feathers would begin to rain down on ice cream, french fries or a brat.

Ironically, Cles takes this picture in Venice of a small Asian child with a fascination with doing the same thing.

I particularly enjoyed Cles doing the Jaws theme in the background, and even more enjoyable was Leslie's laugh.

I can't imagine how fun it would have been to have been there for that trip, unless you were a pigeon.