Carter Mountain Orchard Apple Festival

I'm not sure, but I don't think my grandchildren had ever been to an orchard, and the visit on this beautiful day in Virginia had to be something fun for them.

We arrived early in two cars, and luckily, there was only a short occasional wait, as we drove the narrow drive up the hill and watched for a parking spot.

My family let me out at the entrance, and I followed my nose to this spot that sold freshly made apple spice doughnuts. They were gone before I arrived. I picked up peach and apple salsa, bottles of both apple and five pepper jellies. Before they found me, I found fresh apple cider--warm and cold. Now it wasn't like the stuff my friend made with a handful of raisins and some secret alterations. But we had to let that sit outside for two or three weeks, before we could drink it.

I found a bottle of peach cider as well.

Cles and Lydia found me. By then, I found newly baked doughnuts they put on the shelf. There was a scramble, but as awkward as I am, I seem to move quickly when it comes to doughnuts. I guess it's like putting cheese in a maze for a rat.

As soon as I emerged out the door, just behind me, I noticed Cles already bought a dozen. But my sizable contribution came in handy. We polished all but six. And they still tasted incredible the next day.

Did I mention that little Sammy liked them too. I was so excited that I sat and teased her, making her laugh and dance. It's a disadvantage being a grandparent sometimes, because you forget why you don't do that just after they drink a bottle of formula.

I drew the attention of everyone. "Oh, shit," I said. I held little Sammy far in front of me, but she still projectile "yacked" all over my shirt. Luckily, it was a moment I had my mouth shut. Old guys do that you know. They sit or even walk about showing the inside of their oral cavity. I don't know why. Maybe it's an attempt to get more oxygen, or a way of concentrating on balance--mental and physical. Anyway, at least I had my mouth shut and glasses in place at the time.

People laughed. One man my age looked at me with a grin and moistened eyes. "Oh, doesn't a moment like that bring back memories grandpa?"

I was too focused on avoiding the stream of white stuff to feel offended at someone calling me grandpa. At least no one called me "hon."

The day with everyone was just another example of the fun we had in Virginia.

Apple Festival In Charlottesville At Carter Mountain Orchard

One reason I wanted to make this trip was to see this festival first hand. Cles told me about the fun he and Leslie had there, and it was something I knew we had to experience firsthand.

The view overlooking Charlottesville, similar to Monticello, on another adjacent mountain, had a beautiful view of the valley below.

The weather had been warm, and the leaves had only begun to change to their fall colors. It gave us a taste of what would appear a few weeks later.

Grandma and Leslie took the grandchildren into the orchard to pick some apples.
I wish I had gone with them. My family takes care of me, because rather than saying what they plan to do, they just do it. Had I gone, I would have risked falling as I walked on uneven sod and ground in the orchard.
Anna had fun that morning too. Unlike the rest of us, she color-coordinated her clothing that morning into her favorite combinations--usually consisting of pink, her signature color.
My Annie is always in the middle of the fun. Leslie and Annie watched the kids and Leslie took some incredible pictures.
The only thing more entertaining that seeing them smile for a photograph is taking all three of my children to a movie. They share a family characteristic: all three have a bizarre sense of humor. While Lydia was in Idaho Falls, I took the three to a movie. There were parts that I found humorous, and my grandchildren obviously did, but the rest of the full theater remained silent. Their laugh was the "mean" laugh. It's the one that brought me notoriety as a child and adult.

The Drive Through Shenandoah National Park

The fact that this picture is of a spot only a short distance from my son's house explains what we heard the night we arrived in Charlottesville.

Cles and Leslie's house is on a road with other homes, but the woods surrounding the back and sides give it an incredible sense of isolation from the madness of the world.

It was late, when we arrived from Dulles. The contrast of flying into DC and traveling through areas with lots of people made an unforgettable impression.

There was a light rain, and the sound of the drizzle on the broadleaf trees, was interesting. I don't think I've heard anything like it before.

And crickets. Besides missing mountains, it's what I long to find some day, and if I can hear frogs and kill deer and mourning doves, I would feel like I'm in heaven.

I bought a little machine a few years ago, thinking that turning it on at night with the sounds of a mountain stream and crickets would help me sleep soundly. It worked with real crickets, so I thought I would give it a try.

After spending three or four nights sleeping and getting up in the morning without feeling rested, I realized I could sense--even while sleeping--the difference between the real thing and a strange machine making simulations.

I use it occasionally during the day, mainly to entertain grandchildren, but I don't use it at night, not ever.

There are, however, a few moments, when I am angry or tense that it is nice to have.

It calms me, just like the effect that music has always had on me. There is a type of serenity I feel when I find the right place. It's like taking a deep breath on the first day of summer, amid lilacs in blossom and robins in a morning dance. That's that hop they make on a lawn, chirping and listening and scanning the green for a crawling protein source.

But then again, I did always listen to Led Zeppelin just before I played football. It helped me feel rage, and I was ready for the first play of the game.

The only problem with that was my having created a monster rage that I needed to control not pander, but it was a handy tool for football.

I remember when Dr. Mulvey, my good friend and oncologist told me that he had never met anyone with such a passion for music. My Welsh grandmother would have smiled to hear that. She was my elementary music teacher, and she reminded everyone in class that passion for music was part of being Welsh.

Grandma also told us that we were warriors and poets too.

The poet part was not something anyone wanted at that time. I remember wanting to write a poem, when I was in high school. It was that 60's thing, but I didn't know how to start, and most of our teachers struggled helping us write a reasonable essay. Poetry was not on the agenda.

I learned that much later.

I miss those sounds of nature. My music will go with me anywhere, especially thanks to I-Pod. My entire music collection fits on my new 160 GB player, although it may be soon full before I add my soundtracks, jazz and classical music Cd's.

But I will find a place where I can enjoy nature again like I remember it.

I dream of having a small barn, surrounded by a little pasture. And what dream like this would be complete without a John Deere riding mower.

Pictures Of A Great Day At Shenandoah National Park

It only took us a few hours to do the drive. But the view was so incredible, something I will never forget.

The park encompasses part of the Blue Ridge Mountains, but you can also see them in the distance.

We hoped to see black bear that day, but Cles mentioned that they were skittish. It seems they associate people with hounds and guns out here, so they keep their distance from where people tend to be.

Had we started earlier and made it to Big

Meadows, we may have seen one, but

even that would have been difficult, except at a very early hour.

In that meadow, however, Cles told us about whitetail deer, and how hundreds grazed there with people walking near them. The occasional deer we saw at the side of the road were only the size of a very large dog, so I don't think there would have been a problem like getting too close to elk in Yellowstone.

And as for a deer attack, I only saw something like that once in a film clip shown on The David Letterman Show. My dad, however, had a scar from a deer

he shot. Thinking it was dead, he approached it to field dress the animal, and as he grabbed the antlers, it gored him a bit on his hand.

I don't remember the rest of the story, whether he was able to finish the job of taking the deer or not. The point my dad made was making sure an animal was really down before doing that.

My dad always had a point to telling a story, usually involving teaching me something I needed to remember to avoid "history repeating itself."

That last phrase was something my father was very particular about in his storytelling.

He was a firm believer that when the dog bites you the first time, it's all about "Shame on you!" After that, it's our own inability to recognize a lesson learned earlier.

My father was the first person to teach me about metaphors. He was my mentor, my best friend.

I've decided that not everyone has an opportunity like that in life. Only the lucky ones know this, and if they are wise, they seek to create that with their own children.

A friend at the last school, where I worked for 16 years always found me fun and interesting. He said this to me once: "Damn, I would have loved to have met your old man [dad]."

I added that last reference, because even after his passing at 57 in 1991, I still can't refer to him any other way than dad.

I called him daddeo once. I'd been watching this show about beatniks in the late 50's one evening. It was called The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis.

My dad told me--under no uncertain terms--where I would find the imprint of his 10 1/2 C Redwing Shoe, if I ever called him that again.

That's why I know metaphors. He called the action a "reminder." It didn't happen often, but it was effective, because it was used like salt and pepper on a meal--just enough to let you know you were eating food. Too much or too little spoils the meal. Life is full of metaphors.

The National Park Near Charlottesville

The first thing we visited, while in Virginia recently, was Shenandoah National Park. The day was a bit cool, just enough for a light jacket. At first, Tommy wanted to remain at home, rather than drive in the car.

I don't remember what we said, but once he decided to go with us, he hurried and found shoes, sweatshirt and pants.

The view from drive on the the skyline was spectacular, although a week or two later would have shown the beautiful fall colors--red, yellow, orange--that shouted from the hills.

The first pictures were ones, that not only showed the hardwood trees in the woods, but they also gave a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the background.

The first night that Ann, Jack and I arrived at my son's house, we could hear the rain drops falling upon the leaves, crickets chirping in the darkness, and after the storm cleared from the skies, I noticed that if stars could shout, their light would have shattered windows in everyone's house. I haven't seen stars that bright in years.

In fact, I haven't seen night sky like that in a very long time. The clear view reminded me of our family's ranch in Northern Utah.

There's nothing like memories to give a person the false security of thinking things were actually better in the past. But in the case of that ranch, there is nothing false about it. It was an incredible way to grow into early adulthood. Maybe that's why I learned to love Virginia's mountains and skies. Although different, there is still something familiar about it there, something that reminds me of those uncomplicated days in Snowville.

And did I mention already the fact that the Blue Ridge Mountains appeared in the distance.

It was a beautiful day in the park that day, one that prepared us for the things we would do on the trip. The best part was that it was only 15 minutes away from my son's house. There was not a long drive to get there.

After returning to high plains desert, I still miss the Virginia woods: the chirping of crickets and frogs at night, the scent of hardwood forest, and the feel of country air. These were things that made everything so peaceful and so reminiscent of the lifestyle of my youth in desert mountains. There is no sage in Virginia, no cedar trees, no cactus. It's very different, but at the same time so beautiful.

One Good Thing To Remember In August

July and August of this year were not great times. In fact, the two months were probably some of the worst I have seen in almost 58 years.

One thing tempered the mess. Lydia and Tommy and Anna and Samantha flew to see us and stayed for three weeks.

Like our recent visit in Charlottesville, good times pass too quickly. Like it always happens, the first day is one of hugging Tommy and Anna and trying to convince Samantha that we are not strange people. In July, there were few days, that didn't consist of Tommy and Anna getting multiple hugs from Pop Pop and Grandma.

"I didn't get a hug from you today," Ann and I would say to them. They would run to us, grinning widely. Then only a few hours later, we would repeat the ritual. It's what grandparents do.

Like each visit, we did something every afternoon. Jack loved having two cousins to have as fellow Jedi padawans, and when that became tiresome, they found another game.

Lydia and Ann did board games. I sat and watched movies with grandchildren piled on my arms and knee, and like every visit, suddenly it was over.

Any trip to the airport is always sad at the end of a visit like this, but the silence in the house is what is most depressing. That happens each time, but I'll take that kind of brief disappointment anytime in exchange for the great moments of family at home.

The visit was one that was so much fun, that I forgot to post an entry like this on August 28, Lydia's birthday. Cles came to visit in September, and although the visit was brief, it was another one of those experiences--looking forward to spending time together, enjoying every moment, experiencing the emptiness after departure.

So after the fact, here's to Lydia's great day: August 28. It's one that was the beginning of memories that still make us smile.

A Special Day for A Special Son

My children were all fun, each one with different things that made me smile, but today is the day celebrating my son's birth. It's a strange set of circumstances.

For example, my son's birthday is 10-10-10, which is interesting enough, but there is another factor. October 2010 has some things that won't happen again for 823 years: the month of October of this particular year has five Fridays, five Saturdays, five Sundays.

One of our earliest pictures of Cles was in what we called a "bean-bag chair." It was large and black and contained materials that kept it full enough for an adult to sit on it. Cles took naps in the chair we owned.

This was the first birthday celebration that Cles had. He grinned broadly.

I remember taking this picture in my parent's house on Bannock Street in Malad, and the light was quite dark in the room. I took the picture with my Rollei 35, a camera I still have.

But the camera is just a thing. The clothing in the wagon probably went to other cousins or friends the same age. That's what you did at that time. The wagon is something we sold at a garage sale. I regret that now, and felt so badly, that I bought a similar one from an Amish store in Ohio. They shipped it.

Taking care of the original would have been much cheaper.

And where would life be without remembering this plastic horse. When Cles or Lydia lifted the yello reins, the horse would whinny. A clopping sound soon began, kind of like the noise that the Monty Python group did in Search for the Holy Grail.

Through the years, some things never change. Cles always had a way of making all of us smile, although occasionally his teasing went over the line.

I'm not sure where he learned that skill. I think his mom did that.

But life is full of great memories, of times when unfortunately, you never really appreciate moments that are great. Those moments are the times we spend together, enjoying conversation, telling stories, playing board games.

My dad and I never made Cles a cowboy, but he--like each of my children--had a way of getting into our hearts. And one essential thing he taught me and the rest of us was this: never for a moment think about being a fan of Duke.

He made sure that he made each of us tar heel fans. Seeing this game was one of those classic moments, and he still makes the attempt to turn my grandchildren into UNC fans too. Ultimately, he makes every effort for us to bleed tar heel blue.

So on your birthday, we didn't send a card, but I am sending this greeting with one last picture of me wearing my UNC Santa hat. I figure if stores can begin stocking Christmas items shortly after Labor Day, I can wear my blue Santa hat any time.

George Washington's Rules of Civility

While in Charlottesville visiting our family, we took a walk down what they called "the mall," this outside area with wide pedestrian walkways and shops on either side. I'd seen them in Europe in the early 70's, and it was similar yet different; however the shops were all interesting. One stationary shop, which always attracts my attention because of my interest in fountain pens, appeared fun. I bought a small book there, Mind Your Manners! Given what I see on the road, in restaurants, in television programming, it's a book worth discussing on a blog like this one.

Rule 1: Every Action done in Company ought to be with Some Sign of Respect to those that are Present.

I loved this rule, although I wish there had been an addendum here, because at my first school, it wasn't always just what was said when people were standing or sitting in the company of "would-be" friends and colleagues. I worked with this building administrator, who would sit with a number of male employees, and whoever wasn't there--with only a couple of exceptions--were victimized by frank but extremely cruel discussions of that person's character and standing within the workplace. Ironically, students at that school called this man "The Green Weeny." It seems he always wore the same green suit, a late 60's polyester leisure thing, which looked extremely bad for wear, especially under the arms where slight white stains appeared in circles under each arm.

"Just look at "so and so," he would say as a married couple approached the doors of the school. "They always arrive this way, and she always carries the large box, loaded with classroom materials." I heard the man say that every morning when they arrived. I resented it, because they were both people I respected and liked, which makes me just as weak, since I didn't do or say anything to stop the silliness.

First, they always arrived on time, which was extraordinary, since at least one of his confidants always came in the back door 15-20 minutes late. Both were very good teachers, and the husband always had this fantastic sense of humor. And then one day, the husband said something as he entered the school, "Who are you boys talking about behind their backs this morning?"

I think I laughed at the most that day, not only because of the velocity involved in a smug grin disappearing from the principal's face, but because of the incredible timing involved in the whole situation.

Rule 2: When in Company, put not your Hands to any Part of the Body, not usually Discovered.

Now, this one is a classic, although it should appear in the dressing rooms of all sports teams, especially professional baseball. A syndicated writer, who wrote short columns and funny short essays and novels, once said that she would buy a house or car from any one of these players, because the same honesty that allowed them to scratch, itch and spit in public, would hopefully require them to be forthcoming in every way about flaws of the for sale item in question.

Rule 3: Show Nothing to your Friend that may affright him.

This one was interesting, because James Henry, the compiler of the book, added this comment: "Strive not to scare the begezzus out of of your companions."

I only remember this happening rarely, because I always figured that if you did it too often, the victim would be desensitized, which significantly affects the amount of satisfaction I often took in accomplishing something like this. However, on one occasion, I walked into a high school library to pick up audiovisual equipment, and this staff member, who always had make-up and penciled eyebrows done to perfection, had awakened late one morning. I walk into the library, while she hides behind a small mirror--one of those compact things women carry in those gigantic purses. She looks up at me, and automatically I took a pen and pencil from the top of the desk and formed them into a cross. "Get behind me Satan!" I said the first words that came out of my mouth, because I couldn't remember the exact discourse that any vampire slayer would use. Her unadorned image was scary, but the whole situation was really quite funny, at least from my perspective.

Rule 4: In the Presence of Others Sing not to yourself with a humming Noise, or Drum with your Fingers or Feet.

Now I only knew a few people this annoying, and most of them were music teachers. "Old School Music Instructors" took a break from their roles, mainly I think because there are only so many times, that humming the notes to Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, could entertain the mind of even the most artistic band teacher, but the new ones never gave it a rest. One choir teacher in particular was an example of this. It shocked me that no one in the faculty room addressed the situation during lunch, but I somehow learned to cope with it. I just decided that if he choked on food, I would never administer first aid to him in any way, but since he was a male, there's that whole issue of mouth to mouth rescussitation any way.

Rule 5: If you Cough, Sneeze, Sigh or Yawn, do it not Loud buy Privately; and Speak not in your Yawning, but put Your handkerchief or Hand before your face and turn aside.

This rule should go without saying, especially for most Europeans I knew. Their sense of space was much different than what Americans really appreciate. It must be the whole thing about living in wide open spaces, because I, for one, never liked someone talking inches from my face--except from my Sweetie of course. And for those who want a modern perspective, the compiler of this book had another interpretation as well: "Company should be spared the sight of the interior of your facial cavity."

Rule 6: Sleep not when others Speak, Sit not when others stand, Speak not when you Should hold your Peace, walk not on when others Stop.

Somehow, I don't think George Washington would have liked Walt Whitman and the whole "walk to the sound of your own drum" thing. Personally, I liked Walt Whitman, until I read his poem, where he penned the words "Oh, luscious me."

Rule 7: Put not off your Clothes in the presence of Others, nor go out your Chamber half Drest.

The compiler again addressed the issue to allow 21st century readers appreciate the wisdom: "Before going nude, be sure to set the mood."

Again, personally I think people look best dressed. Although I once thought differently about certain individuals like Ursula Andress, Raquel Welch and Sophia Loren. But when I was 17, my brain was not fully developed. You have confidence that somehow disappears after the age of 40 or earlier. I don't want anyone seeing me, and I sure as hell don't want to see anyone else that way, excepting my Sweetie of course.

Our Version Of American Idol

When I went through some dark times of the whole "chemo thing," there were a few television shows I enjoyed--Simon Cowell on American Idol and Judge Judy. Both shared some things in common--their abrasive natures and their control of a situation. Maybe the last factor was what I craved at the time, because my life was anything but the example of control.

I had no notion of any concept of permanence, and because of all the uncertainty, I suffered horrible panic attacks: a thing I occasionally felt before the fight with cancer, but nothing like what I experienced during this time.

One evening, while watching American Idol and enjoying Simon's insults, there was the classic number of mostly poor singers, who went for this whole final note thing. Suddenly we heard piano in our other room, and then we heard Jack singing and playing, just like he had watched and heard on television. That year, and each season they do something that ends up going to far and coming off as really silly by the conclusion, judges emphasized "the big note."

It's the one that approaches something primal, something glass shattering, something that makes your eyes moisten with tears. If nothing else, it's the compassion you feel for someone making appearing as a fool on national TV.

For our Jack, however, it is a cherished memory, a moment that defined him as an individual he still seems to be. Few days go by that he doesn't do something that makes me smile.

And each of my grandchildren do things like this that make me smile too, like Tommy's annoying sound he makes to tease me or his welcoming me with his dinosaur toys in the front window, like Anna's ballerina steps, like Sammy's growls. And by the way, Tommy did that too.

They are all things that make each grandchild an individual. It's what makes life so much fun.

Great Music and Some Album Art From The 60's

My dad loved Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass, and I loved this album. There was something about it that made me realize just how much I loved whipped cream on strawberry shortcake and pie and pudding and some flavors of Jell-o.

During summers, we would work all week, and on Saturday evening, we would arrive in Malad around 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. Dad would put music on the stereo, usually Herb Alpert.

There were other albums by them he liked, although he played this one occasionally, but this early album was my favorite. Our high school pep band played a large number of songs from this album and several others too.

The album art irritated my mother. We would arrive home from the ranch, and I would go to the stereo. A number of albums sat in view at the side of the stereo, and I always placed this one in front. "Who keeps putting that back there?" She always gave my dad a dirty look when she said it. I enjoyed watching it play out, but then after doing it three or four times, my mom realized that I had done it. I told her I just enjoyed the music.

I did, but I also liked the artwork on this album.

I'm not fourteen anymore, but when I saw a new satirical version of the album, I had to do this blog and post it as well.

I wouldn't have caught any hassle over this picture, but then again, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed the music half as much.