This has been a blog post long over due. It's over due because I've only written once since May. It's over due because this is a friend I've been thinking about for a long time. It's overdue, because my hope is that I can share happy reminders of what a good person my friend Tim is with his family. It's also overdue because, in mortality, he won't hear these words.
I'm also using his real name here, because that's just who Tim is. Tim's just a good guy. I only met Tim a few times, but each time we got to talk I learned something a little more about him. Here are five things that I know about Tim. They may be small, but they're what he shared with me.
Tim LOVES trains. As best as I can recollect, Tim has one of the most extensive and complete train sets of anyone I'd ever met. I know he had boxes full of trains and loved to collect them. He talked at length about how he'd collected them from the time he was small and how much his trains meant to him. I think it's really neat to have a hobby and something to collect like that. I think of my own life and I've had a couple of hobbies and collections of small things growing up, but his was truly impressive.
Tim taught me a couple of important things. One of them was really impactful to me in terms of how I respond to what I believe. When I met Tim I was a 19 year old LDS missionary and so most of our conversations centered around all things religious. When talking to us about what we believed about life after death, a subject that he was more interested in than some of the things we talked about, he related a story to myself and my missionary compañero. He told us that every once in a while a set of Jehovah's Witness missionaries would come out to his farm to talk to him. As they told him about what they believed, he pulled out his shotgun, pointed it at them and asked, "Do you fellas believe in Life after death?" He told us that they quickly scampered away. Tim maintained that a person of faith should be willing to die for it. Some people may view him as a little (or a lot) extreme, but that always stuck with me. I don't think Tim would have put them to the test had they stood their ground, but I do think that he held himself to that standard as well.
Tim drove long-haul truck for a long time, and he told us about some of the stories he had from the road. It was him who taught me that semi-trucks will tap their brake lights to other trucks to thank them for letting them pass. The same goes for flashing lights to trucks showing them they have room to pass. Tim also told me that when he would pass those crosses on the sides of highways showing people who had died there, he would offer a prayer for those involved. He would also pray for ambulances, police and firetrucks on their way because they put their lives in danger to help others. Those are things that I've adapted to myself.
Tim offered to make us Squirrel and Dumplings when I lived near them. He said squirrel wasn't in season but he liked it. Tim hunted a lot, but he used all of what he killed and wasn't wasteful. He would probably have been able to make anything be pretty good. Some people are morally opposed to hunting. That's fine. I think that Tim exemplifies what makes hunters good; he has respect for what he killed and he used all of it. Tim wouldn't break the law or abuse his weapons for the thrill of the kill.
Tim was one of those hard core crazy conservatives who was industrious and did things his own way. He probably scared people who didn't share his views, and that's alright with me. He made his own ammo. He owned guns. He was a God fearing man. He raised a good family. It's a family in the ways we all know family to be. Complicated, passionate, but ultimately full of people who can take care of themselves. My mom always told me that her goal in life was for me to turn into a civilized human being. I think Tim and his wonderful wife did a pretty good job of that. He spoke openly about the things he felt, but never felt the need to be needlessly rude. He'd defend what he believed without being vicious. He's the kind of person that I love and who I think makes the world a better place.
I know that compared to others, my feeling here is limited, but I miss Tim. I didn't know him really well. The man lived more than double what I'm at right now, and I only have a couple paragraphs worth of memory about the man, and some of my information may not even be recalled perfectly. I just wanted to take today to remember him. I hope those who remember him every day can take a little comfort in knowing that he impacted others in a great way.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
A Gem and a Jewel
A little background about myself sometimes seeps through these posts. In some ways, it's because this is really a journal for me. I love dearly the people I write about, and I don't want to lose them. I also think that, while the mutual respect I have for many of these people lives, it's nice to spend time thinking about certain people and what has made them so great in my life.
Today I had an experience that really compelled me to write about my friend today. But first, a flashback.
When I was in third grade, my parents noticed that I often came home with papers that said, "Scott forgot his homework today!" My parents called me into their room and told me if I could go a week without getting a slip like that, they'd reward me. I didn't last a single day. That was a habit, or a choice in many ways, that never stopped plaguing me. I was one of those weird kids that wasn't dumb, just lazy. I would ace my tests and get C's in my classes because I didn't do the homework. I graduated high school with a 2.9 GPA (Not stellar, especially compared to my friends, family and future wife) but I got a 30 on the ACT that exceeded many of my peers. Even my 2.9 was a gift of having TONS of Fine Arts classes I got A's in and a great History teacher who gave me C's when I deserved F's (because otherwise I'd have failed to graduate at all).
Today (Thursday) I was in class, and my teacher (a PhD who I think the world of) asked if any of us had started on our homework for Monday. I was the only one in a class of about 14 to raise my hand. The teacher and several students made comments like, "Oh, well duh! No surprise there!" It's amazing, when you view yourself as one thing to have a public perception that you're not that thing, and to have it be relatively earned. It was nice.
The friend I'm writing about today always saw within me the capacity to create that reaction, and she treated me that way when I least deserved it.
This friend is someone who in school would have been my polar opposite academically. She graduated early as a 17 year old, worked her tail off, and was on her own teaching English when she was 21 years old. She is an aspiring writer, and has great talent at what she does. She always shoots for the moon and has great goals. One of my favorite quotes from this friend is, "My life might be normal, but that doesn't mean my thoughts are average." This friend was my journalism teacher in 11th grade, and let a knucklehead like me be the editor of her paper. She dreamed bigger though. She wanted to run an underground newspaper that talked about the things that students cared about, with pen names, and all sorts of code. She wanted to have my friend and I write and then pass it on to younger students as time went on, so it would always remain a 2-4 person job that was part of a select group of thinkers and writers. Cool, right?
This friend was my teacher only one half of one year, but became a friend who I could talk to about anything. She's only six years my senior, and relates well. She would talk about how she viewed people if they were characters in another time and another place. I think the observations she had about people were the kind of thing that inspired me to write this blog. People are absolutely fascinating. We read biographies, blogs, and articles about people. We watch plays and movies that tackle topics of interest. At the end of the day, all the most important things we ever do in society are about people. Sometimes that gets lost in numbers, causes, or other trivial outliers, but everything starts with people. This friend, who I'll call Jewels, understood how priceless and fascinating people are.
Jewels is also a person who has a good grasp on life. She has a really adorable little girl, and is a great mom. Being a mom has always been one of her passions, and she has a good husband she's devoted to. She's handled personal tragedy well, and really weathers tough storms. She has remarkable balance in her life. She's a good teacher because she not only teaches her subject well, she teaches about life through her subject. She's excited about getting kids reading. She loves helping kids write and really exploring things they've never been able to communicate before. She helps kids like me become men like I'm trying to become. It's teachers like her that made me want to be a good teacher. I have other teachers I owe a lot to, but this one is not only an inspiration; I also have the fortune of counting her as a friend.
Today I had an experience that really compelled me to write about my friend today. But first, a flashback.
When I was in third grade, my parents noticed that I often came home with papers that said, "Scott forgot his homework today!" My parents called me into their room and told me if I could go a week without getting a slip like that, they'd reward me. I didn't last a single day. That was a habit, or a choice in many ways, that never stopped plaguing me. I was one of those weird kids that wasn't dumb, just lazy. I would ace my tests and get C's in my classes because I didn't do the homework. I graduated high school with a 2.9 GPA (Not stellar, especially compared to my friends, family and future wife) but I got a 30 on the ACT that exceeded many of my peers. Even my 2.9 was a gift of having TONS of Fine Arts classes I got A's in and a great History teacher who gave me C's when I deserved F's (because otherwise I'd have failed to graduate at all).
Today (Thursday) I was in class, and my teacher (a PhD who I think the world of) asked if any of us had started on our homework for Monday. I was the only one in a class of about 14 to raise my hand. The teacher and several students made comments like, "Oh, well duh! No surprise there!" It's amazing, when you view yourself as one thing to have a public perception that you're not that thing, and to have it be relatively earned. It was nice.
The friend I'm writing about today always saw within me the capacity to create that reaction, and she treated me that way when I least deserved it.
This friend is someone who in school would have been my polar opposite academically. She graduated early as a 17 year old, worked her tail off, and was on her own teaching English when she was 21 years old. She is an aspiring writer, and has great talent at what she does. She always shoots for the moon and has great goals. One of my favorite quotes from this friend is, "My life might be normal, but that doesn't mean my thoughts are average." This friend was my journalism teacher in 11th grade, and let a knucklehead like me be the editor of her paper. She dreamed bigger though. She wanted to run an underground newspaper that talked about the things that students cared about, with pen names, and all sorts of code. She wanted to have my friend and I write and then pass it on to younger students as time went on, so it would always remain a 2-4 person job that was part of a select group of thinkers and writers. Cool, right?
This friend was my teacher only one half of one year, but became a friend who I could talk to about anything. She's only six years my senior, and relates well. She would talk about how she viewed people if they were characters in another time and another place. I think the observations she had about people were the kind of thing that inspired me to write this blog. People are absolutely fascinating. We read biographies, blogs, and articles about people. We watch plays and movies that tackle topics of interest. At the end of the day, all the most important things we ever do in society are about people. Sometimes that gets lost in numbers, causes, or other trivial outliers, but everything starts with people. This friend, who I'll call Jewels, understood how priceless and fascinating people are.
Jewels is also a person who has a good grasp on life. She has a really adorable little girl, and is a great mom. Being a mom has always been one of her passions, and she has a good husband she's devoted to. She's handled personal tragedy well, and really weathers tough storms. She has remarkable balance in her life. She's a good teacher because she not only teaches her subject well, she teaches about life through her subject. She's excited about getting kids reading. She loves helping kids write and really exploring things they've never been able to communicate before. She helps kids like me become men like I'm trying to become. It's teachers like her that made me want to be a good teacher. I have other teachers I owe a lot to, but this one is not only an inspiration; I also have the fortune of counting her as a friend.
Monday, May 20, 2013
You Know How This One Ends
In our society we tend to make a big deal out of "Last Words." When we lose someone, we worry a lot if we were on bad terms with them, had just had a fight, or if we forgot to say something simple like "Goodbye" or "I love you." I don't think this is without good reason. As you may have read in this very space, I lost my Grandma about a year ago. This was big for me because it was the closest relative I have known to pass away, and it was at a point in my life where lots of things were new to me. I'd been married less than six month. I'd stopped my full-time missionary work about a year before. I was living somewhere I'd never been before, and starting a new semester of school without being totally sure what I wanted to study. My first nephew was about to be born, and other things were in flux for me. I'll never forget the phone call I got late one night from my dad telling me that we probably had a couple of days, or a week at most with my Grandma. The next day, as she was driving back to Utah from Washington with my dad and Grandpa, she called everyone in her family individually, and we talked for just a couple of minutes. I told her I got straight A's, and that I was going to be a theater teacher, and I hoped to play games with her when she got back. Then I told her I loved her.
The next day my wife and I drove down to Utah from Idaho, where we were living. We hoped to see my Grandma that afternoon, as she had only driven half way home the previous day, and wasn't doing great. I was playing ticket to ride with my brothers and my wife when we got the news that she didn't make it. As sad as I was that I didn't get to do it in person, and as painful as those next few days were, I look back and have solace that in those last few days, I got to say good bye.
But, this isn't a post about my Grandma. This is a post about some other last words that are about to become famous, at least within the small scope of people who read what I write.
One of the coolest things about being a missionary is the fact that I met tons and tons of wonderful people; people who I'd never meet any other way. When my missionary companion and I knocked on this man's door, he let us in right away. His house always reeked of tobacco, but was a comfortable place, and very clean. There was a clock on the wall that never worked, and lawn ornaments on a well kept lawn. If it hadn't been for other missionaries who had taught him previously, I'm not sure we could have broken the communication barrier. Mr. Bernard was hard of hearing, and had bad vision. He wasn't able to read much from the books and pamphlets we left with him. Our visits to him seemed to me to be far less about teaching and far more about hearing stories from this man who had been born in the roaring 20's.
And did he ever have stories.
Mr. Bernard would tell us about his work as a stablehand for Kentucky Derby race horses. He met many professional athletes during his work and got close to them as they'd regularly come to make bets on the horses. He told stories about being in WWII, the air force and working with those from the UK in the Royal Air Force. He told some stories about his family. Not a ton of any of these, because, in all honesty, I only knew him a few weeks.
Sometimes, however, we did teach him. We were missionaries, and fairly focused ones. As nice as any sweet old man is, we had a duty to the work we'd signed up for. Mr. Bernard would tell us each week that he wanted to "get to church one of these Sundays." He also would always tell us when we left, "Don't take any wooden Nickles!" After one of our visits, he forgot to say this and so my missionary friend poked his head back in the door, and said, "Hey! Don't take any wooden nickles!" Mr. Bernard laughed his lungs out. From then on, it was a race to see who could say it first.
It was summertime, and the little church my missionary friend and I were assigned to had maybe sixty people who came regularly. We would always stand outside and shake people's hands as they came in the door. It was to our great surprise and delight one sunday when we saw a white truck that had always sat in Mr. Bernard's driveway come rolling slowly (and seriously, he couldn't have been going over 10 MPH) down the road. A rather lengthy line of cars was behind him. He rolled right up to the entrance to the parking lot, and kept going. Fortunately, my missionary friend was a track star who runs a sub five minute mile, so he sprinted in his suit over to the truck, and led him back to the church parking lot. He came in looking snappy, and smelling strongly of tobacco, but happy as could be.
He sat down in the back of the little church and talked to me all during the service. We talked a little as I would explain what was happening, and due to his poor hearing, our conversations were very loud whispers that everyone could hear. When the Sacrament (or communion as some call it), was being blessed, he leaned over to me and whispered, "Is this the Lord's supper?" I affirmed that it was. He sat an thought for moment and asked a question no one else I ever invited to church asked me. "Can I take the Lord's supper?" I explained that it was meant to represent the atonement, and our covenants we make at baptism, but he was welcome to partake if he so desired. As he did, he reached an ancient hand to take the bread and said, "This do in remembrance of me." The same happened for the water. He kept whispering questions through the whole meeting, and really made everyone smile at the presence of this curious and humble old man.
After church he shook many hands and was very friendly. He said he needed to go home, but would come again the next week. We invited him to a baptismal service for friends of ours that weekend, and he said he'd like to come. We were very excited that someone from such a small town, who was so old, and who had been baptist for so many years was willing to listen to a could of boys who combined were less than half his age.
We went to visit him on Tuesday, and had an experience a little different from the norm. We made small talk, and told a story or two, but then he asked us some questions about our church services. He told us he'd read some of our book, and that he wanted to know what we believed. We shared what we thought was important, and then he stopped us and said, "Boys, do you know what I keep having you come back here?"
We didn't, honestly. We hoped, but we didn't know.
He said with the kind of valor that makes your bones chilled, "I want to know when I stand before God that I'm doing what's right." We sat in silence for a few moments and then he thanked us for our time, prayed for us, and bade us good bye.
Well, you know how this one ends. That Saturday, we had a very beautiful baptismal service for some dear friends. Afterwards, we went to his house and knocked on the door to ask why he wasn't able to make it. To our immense sorrow, someone else answered the door. "Is Mr. Bernard here?"
"Mr. Bernard passed away this week. I'm sorry." Then the door closed.
I sometimes wonder if he knew what was coming. He was a smoker in his 80's. It's not like he was spry, and in the prime of life. Often he would tell us of what a labor it was just for him to get out of bed in the morning. Even when you hear those kinds of things though, you just don't think that one day you'll go to see him, and he'll just be gone though. One of the truths of mortality is that we all die. Some old. Some young. Some tragically. Some painfully. Some quickly. Some slowly. Somehow, someway, fair or not, we all die. I think it's most important that we remember that we may not all be able to say, "I've got just a couple days, I'm going to tell everyone good-bye." We may not all have an internal clock that tells us we're about to go. We sometimes won't get the chance to make things right with those who leave us. Life is tough, and unpredictable even at the best times.
I think what we can do, though, is do our best each day to do our very best. We can look to the future and say, "When I stand before God [who, or whatever that is to you], I want to know that I'm doing what's right."
Just like Mr. Bernard.
Oh, and don't take any wooden Nickles.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
This is why I Got Married
A wise person, several years ago, told me that you should marry someone who laughs the same way you do. That wisdom has been flawless and is one of the gems that makes my marriage strong. I have a wife who frequently tells me that nothing makes her happier than being able to get me to laugh really hard. Today, she did just that, and she did so in the face of unfavorable circumstances.
My wife is beautiful. She frequently gets compared to the actress Amy Adams who played Giselle in Disney's Enchanted. She responds to those people who make such a comparison by saying that it is not she who looks like Amy Adams, but Amy Adams who strikes a remarkable comparison to herself. She once used this favorable comparison while competing at Girl's State Competition to garner votes by singing a "Happy Voting Song." Not only is my wife beautiful, but she's clever.
Today, however, she was sad. She feels like she's losing one of her closest friends because that friend doesn't reach out to her or respond. She feels like she's forgettable and replaceable and just not someone that people look at and go, "Gosh! I want to be friends with her!" She feels like she's stuck in a weird place of life where friends her age either have children and are busy or they're single and can't relate, or their otherwise occupied, or in the case of our best friends, are four hours north.
So today, my wife was just sad.
We came home from church and decided she what she needed was to put on a warm sweater. So she did. Then she needed chocolate. I keep a kitkat hidden in the house for these very occasions. But, if you give a sad wife chocolate, she'll probably want something substantial to go with it. So she finished off the biscuits and gravy we had had for breakfast. As she was eating them and thinking deeply about her predicament she said, "Biscuits and Gravy. This is soul food. We should make this more often. Like for breakfast tomorrow."
Slowly, she started to laugh about other things. It was good to see. We played some Uno against each other and she decided now was the time to tap into her box of See's candy she'd gotten rather than partake of the KitKat. Each loss took another chocolate from the box. She didn't lose much, but after one in particular loss, she took a Scotchmollow from the box and looking at it said, "This is pusf."
I was confused, too.
She said it again. "Pusf." Really? Pusf?
Then with a big grin said, "Poor Unfortunate Soul Food."
The ability to quote Disney in a delightfully humorous way is what makes her such a remarkable woman. The ability to do so on a rough day makes her a champion. And the ability to do it while being so darn cute is what makes her my wife.
Pusf. Classic.
My wife is beautiful. She frequently gets compared to the actress Amy Adams who played Giselle in Disney's Enchanted. She responds to those people who make such a comparison by saying that it is not she who looks like Amy Adams, but Amy Adams who strikes a remarkable comparison to herself. She once used this favorable comparison while competing at Girl's State Competition to garner votes by singing a "Happy Voting Song." Not only is my wife beautiful, but she's clever.
Today, however, she was sad. She feels like she's losing one of her closest friends because that friend doesn't reach out to her or respond. She feels like she's forgettable and replaceable and just not someone that people look at and go, "Gosh! I want to be friends with her!" She feels like she's stuck in a weird place of life where friends her age either have children and are busy or they're single and can't relate, or their otherwise occupied, or in the case of our best friends, are four hours north.
So today, my wife was just sad.
We came home from church and decided she what she needed was to put on a warm sweater. So she did. Then she needed chocolate. I keep a kitkat hidden in the house for these very occasions. But, if you give a sad wife chocolate, she'll probably want something substantial to go with it. So she finished off the biscuits and gravy we had had for breakfast. As she was eating them and thinking deeply about her predicament she said, "Biscuits and Gravy. This is soul food. We should make this more often. Like for breakfast tomorrow."
Slowly, she started to laugh about other things. It was good to see. We played some Uno against each other and she decided now was the time to tap into her box of See's candy she'd gotten rather than partake of the KitKat. Each loss took another chocolate from the box. She didn't lose much, but after one in particular loss, she took a Scotchmollow from the box and looking at it said, "This is pusf."
I was confused, too.
She said it again. "Pusf." Really? Pusf?
Then with a big grin said, "Poor Unfortunate Soul Food."
The ability to quote Disney in a delightfully humorous way is what makes her such a remarkable woman. The ability to do so on a rough day makes her a champion. And the ability to do it while being so darn cute is what makes her my wife.
Pusf. Classic.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Cookies!
This the first of what could be many posts about someone who impacted my life more than I ever hoped they would.
I hope I've done enough explaining about missionaries at this point that I can simply say, this friend was one of my companions for three months (or two transfer cycles [or 12 weeks {or 84 long days}]) Only one companion of mine ever demanded an "ET" or "Emergency Transfer" meaning that there were such serious conflicts between the two of us that they couldn't be resolved and we had to switch it up. This is that story.
We'd come home from eating dinner with a nice, though someone unstable old man who I'll call Steve McLaughlin. Steve is a story for another time, because like all guys called 'Steve' he's a ball of fun. Anyway, we'd eaten with Steve and we had something of his that we'd borrowed so when he dropped us off at our apartment, I grabbed it and headed back out to give it to him. When I came back, my companion was nowhere to be found. After a brief search, I discovered that he was in the bathroom. So I sat down and started to read. After a while of reading, I realized he was taking a rather long time, so I went to knock on the door when I heard him talking to someone. I was very confused by this turn of events, so I listened. I realized rather quickly that whoever he was talking to was getting an earful about some jerk who was a control freak, didn't listen and hated my companion, who, for this story I'll just call Teddy.
Turns out, Teddy thought that control freak was me. Uh oh.
My first response was surprise because though he wasn't my best friend, he was also not someone I abhorred to be with... yet. So I walked back to the couch, but could now hear him more clearly. I listened with gritted teeth for a few minutes. After a while of more slander being laid out there, and this had taken at least 15-20 minutes, I finally just yelled, "If you have such a big problem, why don't you come out here and talk to me about it?"
This was followed by silence and then, "Elder Savage has been eavesdropping! See what a bad person he is!"
Right Teddy. You're talking angrily on the phone in the bathroom in a small apartment with hardwood floors that create echoes. Yep. I'm the bad guy here.
So anyway, he comes out and hands me the phone (didn't even flush. I mean come on man!) and I am told by a friend of mine on the other end of the phone, "Listen, I know you're upset, but just keep your mouth closed and we'll get this figured out."
So I do as I'm told. I just live with it. In quiet fury. Plotting his untimely demise.
That phone call ends and there's about ten minutes of silence. I mean how are you supposed to do anything (much less when the 'thing' you're supposed to do is teach people how to have peace in their homes and lives) when that just happened?
Then the phone rings again. Teddy answers, but it's for me.
It's PJ. The Man. President Jensen. The person who takes care of all of the missionaries Someone we love deeply and are dreadfully afraid of all at once. He takes ten seconds and says, "Hi. Sorry about all of this. I thought this would work, and I was wrong. You're too intense for him. You'll have a new companion in the morning. Please give the phone back to --" and I just handed him the phone.
Now, one of the things that I take a little pride in is that I work well with other people. My mom taught me to play nice. I happen to have many great friends you can read about. I am a talker, and a decent listener. So why this? Why now? I felt like I'd failed. I recognized this friend of mine could be somewhat more sensitive than my other friends (as I write about him again, and again you'll get more of this) and I thought I'd done a good job. I hadn't. This was day 4 of us being together. His birthday, a weekend, and now Monday night. Yuck.
Then came the worst part. As he started packing his bags, and trying to suppress smiles of having won he came over to where I was and started telling me things like, "You're a good guy, we're just different people." or "I'm really excited for you, this will be a good opportunity for both of us." and "Maybe this is what God had planned, you know? He works in mysterious ways." And even "Listen. It's not your fault you're a horrible person, I'm just better than you and deserve to get as far away from you as possible. Or maybe I'm just a big whiner, and annoying and you're lucky to be rid of me because I'm crazy, but probably you're just the devil incarnate and no one will ever love you and you should just go die."
... you know, or something like that. My memory is a little fuzzy on the details. Either way, I felt very talked down to by someone who had just crapped all over me. So, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I walked into the kitchen, pulled out a large knife and stabbed him repeatedly in the chest until he couldn't scream any more.
No wait, sorry, that's what I wanted to do. Here's what really happened.
I walked into the kitchen pulled out a large knife, slit him across the throat and skipped away as he fell to his death... no, sorry, that was the red velvet cupcake incident. We'll get to that one.
I walked into the kitchen, pulled out a jar of M&M cookie mix that happened to be in there and fired up the oven. As he continued to go between talking down to me and sorting his clothes back into his suitcase I pulled out butter, milk, whatever ingredient went into the cookies, mixed and baked and did exactly what my mother would have had me do. I pulled those cookies right out of the oven, and they were perfect. Soft, warm, and would have melted right in your mouth. He was in the kitchen talking to me as this happened, perhaps hoping to steal one of my precious cookies. I placed them carefully on a plate and made sure he didn't get to steal one of them. I handed the whole plate to him.
He was confused by this.
"What is this for?"
"Eating, generally."
"For me?"
"Yes, for you Teddy."
"Why?"
I told him the truth. It was because I didn't hate him. I told him I was sad things weren't going to work out, and that we hadn't really given it a fair shake, but that I understood his decision and hoped him to have the best of luck. He was once again very quiet after this. Though he did take my cookies.
So I sat down and read some more and he sat and nibbled on cookies. After a few minutes he looked at me and said, "Do you think we could make this companionship work?"
"Teddy," I responded, "With the Lord's help I can make anything work."
And there you have it ladies and gentlemen. We ended up staying together twenty one times longer! Our days were just as crazy. There were other attempts to get an ET, but he was rejected on the grounds that I make fabulous cookies from there on out. This man, though it may not seem like it now, would deeply move me and humble me in ways I couldn't imagine, and to this day, I'm very grateful we happened to have a jar of M&M cookie mix in our cupboard.
And not many sharp knives.
I hope I've done enough explaining about missionaries at this point that I can simply say, this friend was one of my companions for three months (or two transfer cycles [or 12 weeks {or 84 long days}]) Only one companion of mine ever demanded an "ET" or "Emergency Transfer" meaning that there were such serious conflicts between the two of us that they couldn't be resolved and we had to switch it up. This is that story.
We'd come home from eating dinner with a nice, though someone unstable old man who I'll call Steve McLaughlin. Steve is a story for another time, because like all guys called 'Steve' he's a ball of fun. Anyway, we'd eaten with Steve and we had something of his that we'd borrowed so when he dropped us off at our apartment, I grabbed it and headed back out to give it to him. When I came back, my companion was nowhere to be found. After a brief search, I discovered that he was in the bathroom. So I sat down and started to read. After a while of reading, I realized he was taking a rather long time, so I went to knock on the door when I heard him talking to someone. I was very confused by this turn of events, so I listened. I realized rather quickly that whoever he was talking to was getting an earful about some jerk who was a control freak, didn't listen and hated my companion, who, for this story I'll just call Teddy.
Turns out, Teddy thought that control freak was me. Uh oh.
My first response was surprise because though he wasn't my best friend, he was also not someone I abhorred to be with... yet. So I walked back to the couch, but could now hear him more clearly. I listened with gritted teeth for a few minutes. After a while of more slander being laid out there, and this had taken at least 15-20 minutes, I finally just yelled, "If you have such a big problem, why don't you come out here and talk to me about it?"
This was followed by silence and then, "Elder Savage has been eavesdropping! See what a bad person he is!"
Right Teddy. You're talking angrily on the phone in the bathroom in a small apartment with hardwood floors that create echoes. Yep. I'm the bad guy here.
So anyway, he comes out and hands me the phone (didn't even flush. I mean come on man!) and I am told by a friend of mine on the other end of the phone, "Listen, I know you're upset, but just keep your mouth closed and we'll get this figured out."
So I do as I'm told. I just live with it. In quiet fury. Plotting his untimely demise.
That phone call ends and there's about ten minutes of silence. I mean how are you supposed to do anything (much less when the 'thing' you're supposed to do is teach people how to have peace in their homes and lives) when that just happened?
Then the phone rings again. Teddy answers, but it's for me.
It's PJ. The Man. President Jensen. The person who takes care of all of the missionaries Someone we love deeply and are dreadfully afraid of all at once. He takes ten seconds and says, "Hi. Sorry about all of this. I thought this would work, and I was wrong. You're too intense for him. You'll have a new companion in the morning. Please give the phone back to --" and I just handed him the phone.
Now, one of the things that I take a little pride in is that I work well with other people. My mom taught me to play nice. I happen to have many great friends you can read about. I am a talker, and a decent listener. So why this? Why now? I felt like I'd failed. I recognized this friend of mine could be somewhat more sensitive than my other friends (as I write about him again, and again you'll get more of this) and I thought I'd done a good job. I hadn't. This was day 4 of us being together. His birthday, a weekend, and now Monday night. Yuck.
Then came the worst part. As he started packing his bags, and trying to suppress smiles of having won he came over to where I was and started telling me things like, "You're a good guy, we're just different people." or "I'm really excited for you, this will be a good opportunity for both of us." and "Maybe this is what God had planned, you know? He works in mysterious ways." And even "Listen. It's not your fault you're a horrible person, I'm just better than you and deserve to get as far away from you as possible. Or maybe I'm just a big whiner, and annoying and you're lucky to be rid of me because I'm crazy, but probably you're just the devil incarnate and no one will ever love you and you should just go die."
... you know, or something like that. My memory is a little fuzzy on the details. Either way, I felt very talked down to by someone who had just crapped all over me. So, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I walked into the kitchen, pulled out a large knife and stabbed him repeatedly in the chest until he couldn't scream any more.
No wait, sorry, that's what I wanted to do. Here's what really happened.
I walked into the kitchen pulled out a large knife, slit him across the throat and skipped away as he fell to his death... no, sorry, that was the red velvet cupcake incident. We'll get to that one.
I walked into the kitchen, pulled out a jar of M&M cookie mix that happened to be in there and fired up the oven. As he continued to go between talking down to me and sorting his clothes back into his suitcase I pulled out butter, milk, whatever ingredient went into the cookies, mixed and baked and did exactly what my mother would have had me do. I pulled those cookies right out of the oven, and they were perfect. Soft, warm, and would have melted right in your mouth. He was in the kitchen talking to me as this happened, perhaps hoping to steal one of my precious cookies. I placed them carefully on a plate and made sure he didn't get to steal one of them. I handed the whole plate to him.
He was confused by this.
"What is this for?"
"Eating, generally."
"For me?"
"Yes, for you Teddy."
"Why?"
I told him the truth. It was because I didn't hate him. I told him I was sad things weren't going to work out, and that we hadn't really given it a fair shake, but that I understood his decision and hoped him to have the best of luck. He was once again very quiet after this. Though he did take my cookies.
So I sat down and read some more and he sat and nibbled on cookies. After a few minutes he looked at me and said, "Do you think we could make this companionship work?"
"Teddy," I responded, "With the Lord's help I can make anything work."
And there you have it ladies and gentlemen. We ended up staying together twenty one times longer! Our days were just as crazy. There were other attempts to get an ET, but he was rejected on the grounds that I make fabulous cookies from there on out. This man, though it may not seem like it now, would deeply move me and humble me in ways I couldn't imagine, and to this day, I'm very grateful we happened to have a jar of M&M cookie mix in our cupboard.
And not many sharp knives.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
The Face In the Mirror.
This blog post might be the most telling about me so far. I try not to talk about me much. I think it's clear that with such great friends in my life, they rub off on me. I think if nothing else, it should be clear that they teach me to see the good in the world because the good in MY world comes from them. However, this post, which will reveal a good deal about me, will also be exceptionally telling about me because I have a friend who is SO much like me.
This friend is the one who anyone in my family would see right away as my closest comrade. We do lots of things that are amusing mostly to us. A handful of examples come to mind:
We like a lot of the same music, and some fun things happened because of that.. When we were both younger, we would often play a game where we would have to speak only in song lyrics. The catch was, you'd have to use a word from the other person's song lyrics in order to use your next set of song lyrics. It was a little more complicated than it sounded, but since we listened to the same music, it worked out pretty well. He and I went to the concert for my favorite band the only time I've seen them live. We hear songs the same way in odd ways. Like with Taylor Swift's song, "Love Story" she says a line, that goes, "They try to tell me how to feel." We both heard it as, "Good Charlotte tells me how to feel." There was a time when my sister was dating a guy who we'll call umm... Travis. Travis was just a little bit feminine... and would do things like blow my sister off for dates to go tanning with his guy friend. Travis is married and has a kid, but he certainly was a little feminine. Anyway, one time my sister was driving this friend and I somewhere and we had an entire conversation of sentences that started with the phrases, "Dude, looks like." And "Somebody Told Me." If you don't catch those references, that would be Aerosmith's "Dude Looks Like a Lady" and the Killers' "Somebody Told Me [you had a boyfriend that looked like a girlfriend.]" Again, this stuff cracked us up.
I also will take this time to divulge a somewhat obscured secret that this friend and I played Yu-Gi-Oh. We weren't lame about it though. It wasn't like we'd sat around the house and played against each other (which we did). We spent copious amounts of time studying the pojo.com forums, waiting for the newest upper deck announcements for the banned list, or the creation of new booster packs. We played in competitive YuGiOh tournaments each Saturday down at the local card shop, where the winner won more packs of cards depending how many people showed. $5 entry fee, usually three rounds, plus finals winners played winners, and so forth. The way we talked about getting excited to win a few packs you'd think we were gambling for cigarettes with hobos, which wouldn't be that far a cry from what we were doing considering some of the people who would show up to the local shops. Every few months we'd go to the huge regional tournament where hundreds of social rejects, geeks, and Seto Kiaba wannabe's gamers, fathers with sons who used their children as an excuse to play a children's card game and blow hundreds of dollars on cardboard. I mean if you think parents pushing their kids to play football is bad, you've never seen the YuGiOh dads. who are out for a good time, and of course kids like us who just wanted a Saturday off of work when we told our boss we were sick or something to do instead of before going on a date. Those were the ones where guys would show up and stack their top 8 play mats to flaunt their winning ways. I can't pretend I didn't love that. It also happened to be pretty profitable when I sold a card I was lucky enough to win in a random drawing won through sheer grit for $550 dollars (That's not a joke) and bought my sweet laptop with that dough. We may have been nerds. But we were the Kings of the Nerds, and we still managed to be pretty decent people, and you can'd manage to be both if you don't have a good friend to keep you balanced.
This friend of mine has been someone I could always talk to. He was someone I knew would tell me the truth about girls I dated, and would talk me up if he could, and I did the same. We always tried to stand up for one another and it was nice to know that even if I took a girl on a date who was totally disinterested in me, at least he was there to make it fun. We went to church dances together until we realized that we were 17/18 and the girls we thought were cute were 13/14 (I ended up marrying a girl in that range, and so did he). There was the time that he went to ask a girl who was kind of a wall-flower to dance and she turned him down in a kind of rude way, which he felt bad about. I thought maybe she just didn't want to feel like a charity case, so I went to ask her to dance. When I did, she got a big smile on her face and said, "I'd love to." Ouch. So part way through the song, I said, you know the guy who asked you to dance last time? He's my best friend in the world. She went and found him later for a dance.
We often did stupid stuff together. I threw a soda out my window once... and it opened all over him... because I threw it out his window. He convinced me to put glowstick in my hair for a dance... and I got it in my eye. I convinced him that if he bought a box of iced brownies from the grocery store and put them on a plate, the girl he liked would think he made them (she didn't.)
He was also there for me at some of my lowest points. When I called my best female friend at the time a word I'm not proud of (It didn't rhyme with stitch, but it wasn't good), and I called her home phone a good 25 times in a row [which I'm sure made me look like a stalker], he kept encouraging me that I'd be able to reconcile (I did.) When a girl who had toyed with my heart strings several times did it once more, he was there to pick me up. He reassured me of myself, and was just great.
The funny thing is, I wasn't able to be there for him during some of his roughest times just due to the way things shook out. I felt at some points like maybe we'd drifted. But I've never called him without being able to have a completely natural conversation, no matter the subject matter. We talk about spiritual things, family things (Because we're cousins), we talk about girls, and now wives (who we love dearly), finances, sports (lots and lots and lots about our Oakland Raiders), jokes, music, and everything. We've had some disagreements, but only one real fight. He lived in my room for a month. We joke about everything, and know all kinds of things about the other. And they're not always the important things. In fact, i don't know lots of the important things, and he might not either. But we know how to make one another laugh. Our conversations often lack depth, but we can talk, and I've needed that at a lot of points in my life.
This person is so much like me, and gets me so well, he's kind of like the face in the mirror.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Lovin' On Everybody
Wow! Two Blog Posts in One day!
So, I have a confession. I like to make people laugh. I love watching people be surprised, and laughing despite themselves. Anytime I can make my best friends, particularly my wife, laugh about something that they shouldn't, or wouldn't under regular circumstances. Sometimes that causes me to make inappropriate jokes or to do things that, in attempts to be funny, just count as kind of rude, or sad.
Today I did just that, and I did it to a friend I've probably done it to many times.I played a joke she didn't find funny, and it made her sad. And it was her birthday none the less.
This friend is someone who I have referred to in the past as my most dedicated reader. The person who always asks me, "When are you going to post again?" Due in large part to her persistence (and my good fortune in continually meeting good new people) I have gone from posting two out of the first five months I had my blog, to posting close to once a month (with a few explosions in between), to now I'll have posted eight times in the first ninety-two days of the year, or an average of every 11 days. Not too shabby if you ask me.
I want to talk about a funny experience with this friend, and how it both rings true and false at the same time. This friend graduated high school a year before me, and was all of six months older than me (She's an April Fool's Day baby). We took a foods class together, which was one of many fun things we did together. One day, our teacher, who was many good things (mostly in the kitchen) but tactful was not one of them, saw this friend of mine, and I think she was a minute or two late to class. The teacher, rather than asking her why she was late, or letting the situation slide, decided it was the proper time to tell my friend that she, "always sees her lovin' on everybody out in the hall."
I found this comment highly amusing. My friend did not.
No one would deny the fact that my friend was a very huggy person. She was flirtatious. She was friendly. She dated many boys in high school. She and I had minimal romantic history, though we were both big flirts, and we did go to prom together.
However, two things should be known about this girl. First, is that it didn't matter how many boys smooched her or took her out, or how many people she hugged or flirted with, or whatever else. It didn't matter because her heart always had and always would belong to one boy. That boy happens to be awesome, happens to be her husband, and happens to be the father of her precious little boy. Sometimes, even people who get written off as big flirts turn out to be the most stable ones of all.
Secondly, the teacher wasn't wrong either. This friend, this gloriously motivating, and tirelessly friendly friend loves on EVERYONE. She can't help it. My friend is affectionate. Or, as she would say, "mi amiga es muy afectuosa" She just has it in her mind body and soul. She likes children. She calls everyone "friend" and she means it. She's willing to say what needs to be said to people, and she listens well, too. She likes making other people laugh. She likes to say nice things about people, not because she likes being liked [maybe that's part of it] but mostly because she likes making people see their own good. She's a hugger, and gives really great and reassuring hugs at that.
There's a lot of good I could say about this friend, and I'm sure on other occasions I will. We've been friends for seven years, and I have great hopes we'll be friends for many more (especially since I now consider her husband a friend. He's really great). She's one of the few who has remained my friend even though we're no longer in High School and we're both married. Those things can often cause separation even among the best of friends.
So, Happy Birthday friend. I hope this makes up for me telling you I'd already done this. :)
So, I have a confession. I like to make people laugh. I love watching people be surprised, and laughing despite themselves. Anytime I can make my best friends, particularly my wife, laugh about something that they shouldn't, or wouldn't under regular circumstances. Sometimes that causes me to make inappropriate jokes or to do things that, in attempts to be funny, just count as kind of rude, or sad.
Today I did just that, and I did it to a friend I've probably done it to many times.I played a joke she didn't find funny, and it made her sad. And it was her birthday none the less.
This friend is someone who I have referred to in the past as my most dedicated reader. The person who always asks me, "When are you going to post again?" Due in large part to her persistence (and my good fortune in continually meeting good new people) I have gone from posting two out of the first five months I had my blog, to posting close to once a month (with a few explosions in between), to now I'll have posted eight times in the first ninety-two days of the year, or an average of every 11 days. Not too shabby if you ask me.
I want to talk about a funny experience with this friend, and how it both rings true and false at the same time. This friend graduated high school a year before me, and was all of six months older than me (She's an April Fool's Day baby). We took a foods class together, which was one of many fun things we did together. One day, our teacher, who was many good things (mostly in the kitchen) but tactful was not one of them, saw this friend of mine, and I think she was a minute or two late to class. The teacher, rather than asking her why she was late, or letting the situation slide, decided it was the proper time to tell my friend that she, "always sees her lovin' on everybody out in the hall."
I found this comment highly amusing. My friend did not.
No one would deny the fact that my friend was a very huggy person. She was flirtatious. She was friendly. She dated many boys in high school. She and I had minimal romantic history, though we were both big flirts, and we did go to prom together.
However, two things should be known about this girl. First, is that it didn't matter how many boys smooched her or took her out, or how many people she hugged or flirted with, or whatever else. It didn't matter because her heart always had and always would belong to one boy. That boy happens to be awesome, happens to be her husband, and happens to be the father of her precious little boy. Sometimes, even people who get written off as big flirts turn out to be the most stable ones of all.
Secondly, the teacher wasn't wrong either. This friend, this gloriously motivating, and tirelessly friendly friend loves on EVERYONE. She can't help it. My friend is affectionate. Or, as she would say, "mi amiga es muy afectuosa" She just has it in her mind body and soul. She likes children. She calls everyone "friend" and she means it. She's willing to say what needs to be said to people, and she listens well, too. She likes making other people laugh. She likes to say nice things about people, not because she likes being liked [maybe that's part of it] but mostly because she likes making people see their own good. She's a hugger, and gives really great and reassuring hugs at that.
There's a lot of good I could say about this friend, and I'm sure on other occasions I will. We've been friends for seven years, and I have great hopes we'll be friends for many more (especially since I now consider her husband a friend. He's really great). She's one of the few who has remained my friend even though we're no longer in High School and we're both married. Those things can often cause separation even among the best of friends.
So, Happy Birthday friend. I hope this makes up for me telling you I'd already done this. :)
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Whispered Words of Wisdom
"All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my Angel Mother." --Abraham Lincoln
I tend to think I'm a fairly good person. I like me. As you can tell by this point in my blog at least 23 other people like me. I think that I'm only partially to credit for this. I mean, part of my likableness is simply things that I control, or that were gifts from God. My contagious laughter being one. My cute wife being another. People like me for these things, and I'm sure others.
However, I want to take a moment to share a little bit of who ELSE made me this way, and even who helped make others this way, as well. That would be my mom. My mom has been 29 for *[redacted]* years. Some say it's the Nutrogena. Others will swear up and down that it's the love of all things Disney that courses through her veins, and interestingly enough, all over the walls of our home. And the floors. And the dining ware. And the closets. And the DVD shelf. And her internet history. Still others will say it's the delights of having such children as myself, my sister and the monsters still at home. I think those things are part of it. The biggest part of it is the things that she thinks though. The way my mom views the world has not only caused her to be a delight to be around, it has also positively influenced her darling children [me] her other three children, many of our friends and even dear cousin Steven who spent far too much time in our home growing up.
My mom, especially for my family, is relatively quiet. She doesn't respond in any way that's really over the top, so when she responds strongly to something, it's easy to see how genuine she is.
So I want to share some of the things that my mom said.Some are self-explanatory. Others may require a little bit of back story My original idea for this post was to write 100 of these and be done with it, but I think it's far more fitting to write as many as I can think of now, and add to it as the list grows. I'll break these into three categories 1.) Expectations -- what my mom hoped I would be, or do, or what she expected in terms of my actions. 2.) Warnings. Some more grave than others, but all not wise to trifle with. 3.) General Wisdom. these are things my mom said that were just gems to hang onto.
Expectations
"My hope is that by the time you have left my home, you are a decent human being." This not meaning decent as in "average" but decent as in good, and fair.
"Be Kinder than you have to be. Much Kinder"
"A Clean room is a Happy Room" or "A Clean room is it's own reward."
"A job worth doing is worth doing well, and doing so the first time."
"It doesn't roll downhill." This comes from times when I would be angry and lash out at my little brothers, because I could. It was a reminder that my anger needed to stay targeted, if I was to have it at all. It couldn't be allowed to hurt those hadn't instigated it.
"I just ask that you don't throw the first punch." My mom was always ok with defending ourselves and others. We just couldn't instigate. The number of times my mom would call bullying for what it was is a large number indeed.
"Act your age, not your shoe size."
"Ok, fine. 17... 9." This was in relationship to, again, the way I treated my little brothers. As a 17 year old I was held to somewhat higher of an expectation than the 9 year old brother.
"If I thought you were only smart enough to get C's, I'd be ok with you getting C's."
"School is your number one job right now. Everything else comes second."
"Those are other people's children. I expect better." My mom always made it very clear that simply because "someone else" did something, didn't mean she was ok with it.
"No one can MAKE you feel that way." and "No one can MAKE you do anything."
**"Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part." This was for the many times I'd forget something and make outrageous demands of my mother. My mother let me fail as many times as I would allow myself to in order to teach me that someday I'd have to take care of my own stuff. I still fail at this in some ways, but I'm infinitely better off than I was. And, often, my mother, after telling me this, would meet my outrageous demands.
Warnings
"If you do drugs, I will Kill you." You know those commercials that come on TV that say, "talk to your kids about drugs?" This was our conversation. I've been clean for 8,555 days and counting.
"Do that again and I will break you into so many millions of tiny pieces, they'll need a vacuum cleaner and a magnifying glass to find all of you." But always said with love.
"I'm going to hug you until you hug me back." When I got angry, sometimes this is how she'd calm me down.
*"You're only hurting yourself." This would happen anytime my parents would let me get out of timeout, or back away from whatever threats they imposed, and I would, out of spite, hang on to it. When I wouldn't come to dinner, or when I'd stay angry, or when I wouldn't do things that benefited me because I was being stubborn, this was the truth I got from my mom.
"Soap." We didn't say a lot of bad words around my mom.
"You will always be in less trouble if you tell the truth. Lying will make it worse, every time."
"If you act like you're six, I'll treat you like you're six." This ties in with many other things my mom said, but ultimately, it came down to the difference between rights and privileges. Few things are rights. Many are privileges.
"You're still not to old to be spanked." I think I am now, but apparenlty I wasn't as a teenager.
Gems
"Sometimes all you can do is be there to pick up the pieces." this was told to me in relationship to a conversation I had with my mom about a friend who was making really stupid choices and had ceased listening to me as a friend. It's been a good reminder at times to wait until people are ready to listen to talk, and a helpful reminder to me that I can't stop people hell bent on being stupid from being stupid. I can make it clear that I care, and I don't approve, but that's as far as it goes sometimes. Then you just have to be there to pick up the pieces.
"Your life would have been very different if I had died. I just can't believe either of your grandmothers would ever have thrown gummy bears at your head."
"I'm the Mom. I know everything." This was true for many reasons, but not the least of which is that she'd never dodge a question. If I asked my mom anything, she'd tell me "I don't know" or what she really felt. She didn't hide anything from us unless she had to.
"When other people would ask me if I miss you terribly, I would tell them, no, of course not. I'd much rather have him there then here right now." This is how my mom would respond when people would ask if she wished I was home when I was and LDS missionary for two years and didn't call home but 4 times.
"I can be your friend, or I can be your mother, but if you make me choose, I'm going to be your mother."
*"I want you to imagine this scenario. Imagine that everyone in the world could put their problems into a box. Those problems could be anything from not having friends, to papercuts, to cancer to a bad day. It could be any number of things big or small. Now, if everyone got together with their boxes, and we all walked around and looked in everyone else's box, we'd see things that vary far from our own. I think, at the end of the day, we'd come back to our own box, and be grateful for our own problems."
My mother is great, and she's great because what she wants most is to be a great mom. She does many things, but to her, she's happiest when we're happy and successful. I hope everyone has, or some day gets to be, a parent like that.
*Posts not in the original
**Post from the most recent update
***Most recent update: May 10, 2013
I tend to think I'm a fairly good person. I like me. As you can tell by this point in my blog at least 23 other people like me. I think that I'm only partially to credit for this. I mean, part of my likableness is simply things that I control, or that were gifts from God. My contagious laughter being one. My cute wife being another. People like me for these things, and I'm sure others.
However, I want to take a moment to share a little bit of who ELSE made me this way, and even who helped make others this way, as well. That would be my mom. My mom has been 29 for *[redacted]* years. Some say it's the Nutrogena. Others will swear up and down that it's the love of all things Disney that courses through her veins, and interestingly enough, all over the walls of our home. And the floors. And the dining ware. And the closets. And the DVD shelf. And her internet history. Still others will say it's the delights of having such children as myself, my sister and the monsters still at home. I think those things are part of it. The biggest part of it is the things that she thinks though. The way my mom views the world has not only caused her to be a delight to be around, it has also positively influenced her darling children [me] her other three children, many of our friends and even dear cousin Steven who spent far too much time in our home growing up.
My mom, especially for my family, is relatively quiet. She doesn't respond in any way that's really over the top, so when she responds strongly to something, it's easy to see how genuine she is.
So I want to share some of the things that my mom said.Some are self-explanatory. Others may require a little bit of back story My original idea for this post was to write 100 of these and be done with it, but I think it's far more fitting to write as many as I can think of now, and add to it as the list grows. I'll break these into three categories 1.) Expectations -- what my mom hoped I would be, or do, or what she expected in terms of my actions. 2.) Warnings. Some more grave than others, but all not wise to trifle with. 3.) General Wisdom. these are things my mom said that were just gems to hang onto.
Expectations
"My hope is that by the time you have left my home, you are a decent human being." This not meaning decent as in "average" but decent as in good, and fair.
"Be Kinder than you have to be. Much Kinder"
"A Clean room is a Happy Room" or "A Clean room is it's own reward."
"A job worth doing is worth doing well, and doing so the first time."
"It doesn't roll downhill." This comes from times when I would be angry and lash out at my little brothers, because I could. It was a reminder that my anger needed to stay targeted, if I was to have it at all. It couldn't be allowed to hurt those hadn't instigated it.
"I just ask that you don't throw the first punch." My mom was always ok with defending ourselves and others. We just couldn't instigate. The number of times my mom would call bullying for what it was is a large number indeed.
"Act your age, not your shoe size."
"Ok, fine. 17... 9." This was in relationship to, again, the way I treated my little brothers. As a 17 year old I was held to somewhat higher of an expectation than the 9 year old brother.
"If I thought you were only smart enough to get C's, I'd be ok with you getting C's."
"School is your number one job right now. Everything else comes second."
"Those are other people's children. I expect better." My mom always made it very clear that simply because "someone else" did something, didn't mean she was ok with it.
"No one can MAKE you feel that way." and "No one can MAKE you do anything."
**"Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part." This was for the many times I'd forget something and make outrageous demands of my mother. My mother let me fail as many times as I would allow myself to in order to teach me that someday I'd have to take care of my own stuff. I still fail at this in some ways, but I'm infinitely better off than I was. And, often, my mother, after telling me this, would meet my outrageous demands.
Warnings
"If you do drugs, I will Kill you." You know those commercials that come on TV that say, "talk to your kids about drugs?" This was our conversation. I've been clean for 8,555 days and counting.
"Do that again and I will break you into so many millions of tiny pieces, they'll need a vacuum cleaner and a magnifying glass to find all of you." But always said with love.
"I'm going to hug you until you hug me back." When I got angry, sometimes this is how she'd calm me down.
*"You're only hurting yourself." This would happen anytime my parents would let me get out of timeout, or back away from whatever threats they imposed, and I would, out of spite, hang on to it. When I wouldn't come to dinner, or when I'd stay angry, or when I wouldn't do things that benefited me because I was being stubborn, this was the truth I got from my mom.
"Soap." We didn't say a lot of bad words around my mom.
"You will always be in less trouble if you tell the truth. Lying will make it worse, every time."
"If you act like you're six, I'll treat you like you're six." This ties in with many other things my mom said, but ultimately, it came down to the difference between rights and privileges. Few things are rights. Many are privileges.
"You're still not to old to be spanked." I think I am now, but apparenlty I wasn't as a teenager.
Gems
"Sometimes all you can do is be there to pick up the pieces." this was told to me in relationship to a conversation I had with my mom about a friend who was making really stupid choices and had ceased listening to me as a friend. It's been a good reminder at times to wait until people are ready to listen to talk, and a helpful reminder to me that I can't stop people hell bent on being stupid from being stupid. I can make it clear that I care, and I don't approve, but that's as far as it goes sometimes. Then you just have to be there to pick up the pieces.
"Your life would have been very different if I had died. I just can't believe either of your grandmothers would ever have thrown gummy bears at your head."
"I'm the Mom. I know everything." This was true for many reasons, but not the least of which is that she'd never dodge a question. If I asked my mom anything, she'd tell me "I don't know" or what she really felt. She didn't hide anything from us unless she had to.
"When other people would ask me if I miss you terribly, I would tell them, no, of course not. I'd much rather have him there then here right now." This is how my mom would respond when people would ask if she wished I was home when I was and LDS missionary for two years and didn't call home but 4 times.
"I can be your friend, or I can be your mother, but if you make me choose, I'm going to be your mother."
*"I want you to imagine this scenario. Imagine that everyone in the world could put their problems into a box. Those problems could be anything from not having friends, to papercuts, to cancer to a bad day. It could be any number of things big or small. Now, if everyone got together with their boxes, and we all walked around and looked in everyone else's box, we'd see things that vary far from our own. I think, at the end of the day, we'd come back to our own box, and be grateful for our own problems."
My mother is great, and she's great because what she wants most is to be a great mom. She does many things, but to her, she's happiest when we're happy and successful. I hope everyone has, or some day gets to be, a parent like that.
*Posts not in the original
**Post from the most recent update
***Most recent update: May 10, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Mr. IV
Is everyone ready for a little Roman Numeral humor? Great! I have a friend today, who I will call Mr. IV, because I've known him "IVever!" Get it?. Oh-ho! Classic.
My parents had some best friends who had IV sons. Two of them were fairly close to my own age, and even though my family moved a lot growing up, these friends were always a part of our lives. Today, I'm going to talk about the oldest son, Mr. IV. Mr. IV has always been really a good natured sort. He has a really loud infectious laugh that makes you laugh even if things stink. Our childhood friendship included things like jumping on the trampoline in his backyard, playing computer games, planning to recreate movies (like Anastasia) in play form for our parents, telling jokes, swimming, and doing all the fun things that kids do. When my family lived in California, his mom came out with him and his brothers to visit us even though they lived in Utah. We have pictures of all of us at the beach being buried in the sand and having sand boobs. We were kind of weird.
As we got older, my family moved to Utah, but our families kind of grew apart a little, and we didn't see each other as often, but when we did, we had a good time. I still think of Mr. IV's family like my cousins. I love 'em to death. When we graduated high school, Mr. IV and I hung out more. He wasn't as comfortable around girls as I was, so I set him up on a date one time when we went to the only decent Roller Coaster park in Utah. Unfortunately, I set him up with his 2nd cousin. He laughed about it and had a good time. We both left on our LDS missions around the same time, and we got to see each other off as he went to Europe, and I went to the best state in the USA to share the good news.
Jump ahead a few years, and of our two families that were really close, he and I probably talk the most out of anyone on either side. That doesn't amount to much since we only talk from time to time. But we still hung out a enough to know what was happening in one another's lives. When I was dating my then-future-wife, we went to the Malt Shoppe near us and sang along with a Karaoke machine "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies in harmony, which highly impressed my girlfriend at the time. We did several other things together where I feel like I did my small part in encouraging him to ask out a girl he really liked, and he totally manned up and went for it.
As things got serious between them, she knew she had to tell him something that may very well make or break their relationship. Mr. IV's girlfriend at the time had MS, for which there is no known cure. Mr. IV wasn't deterred. He totally loved this girl, and married her. They have the same struggles as a lot of new married couples (we're all a little young and a little poor) but he's happy. You know why? Because he's always happy. He just is.
I've reread and tinkered with the writing of this post a little bit. In all honesty, I can't quite depict this friend very well. We've been friends forever. I'm glad I have him. He is optimistic, and I think he likes everyone. He's not a doormat, but he's got a good heart, and I think it's the epitome of masculinity to be willing to marry someone who he may have to take care of while she's suffering for a long time. I hope they find a cure, and I'm sure he does, too. But it's not like he's going to jump ship if they don't. I really look up to my friend.
My parents had some best friends who had IV sons. Two of them were fairly close to my own age, and even though my family moved a lot growing up, these friends were always a part of our lives. Today, I'm going to talk about the oldest son, Mr. IV. Mr. IV has always been really a good natured sort. He has a really loud infectious laugh that makes you laugh even if things stink. Our childhood friendship included things like jumping on the trampoline in his backyard, playing computer games, planning to recreate movies (like Anastasia) in play form for our parents, telling jokes, swimming, and doing all the fun things that kids do. When my family lived in California, his mom came out with him and his brothers to visit us even though they lived in Utah. We have pictures of all of us at the beach being buried in the sand and having sand boobs. We were kind of weird.
As we got older, my family moved to Utah, but our families kind of grew apart a little, and we didn't see each other as often, but when we did, we had a good time. I still think of Mr. IV's family like my cousins. I love 'em to death. When we graduated high school, Mr. IV and I hung out more. He wasn't as comfortable around girls as I was, so I set him up on a date one time when we went to the only decent Roller Coaster park in Utah. Unfortunately, I set him up with his 2nd cousin. He laughed about it and had a good time. We both left on our LDS missions around the same time, and we got to see each other off as he went to Europe, and I went to the best state in the USA to share the good news.
Jump ahead a few years, and of our two families that were really close, he and I probably talk the most out of anyone on either side. That doesn't amount to much since we only talk from time to time. But we still hung out a enough to know what was happening in one another's lives. When I was dating my then-future-wife, we went to the Malt Shoppe near us and sang along with a Karaoke machine "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies in harmony, which highly impressed my girlfriend at the time. We did several other things together where I feel like I did my small part in encouraging him to ask out a girl he really liked, and he totally manned up and went for it.
As things got serious between them, she knew she had to tell him something that may very well make or break their relationship. Mr. IV's girlfriend at the time had MS, for which there is no known cure. Mr. IV wasn't deterred. He totally loved this girl, and married her. They have the same struggles as a lot of new married couples (we're all a little young and a little poor) but he's happy. You know why? Because he's always happy. He just is.
I've reread and tinkered with the writing of this post a little bit. In all honesty, I can't quite depict this friend very well. We've been friends forever. I'm glad I have him. He is optimistic, and I think he likes everyone. He's not a doormat, but he's got a good heart, and I think it's the epitome of masculinity to be willing to marry someone who he may have to take care of while she's suffering for a long time. I hope they find a cure, and I'm sure he does, too. But it's not like he's going to jump ship if they don't. I really look up to my friend.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
I Am Not Lord Voldemort
Today I had a really neat realization. Something that I had long considered to be an impossibility for me is a reality. When I was in High School, someone was asked "If you were holding the wrist of _________ and the wrist of _______ and could only save one person from falling off a cliff, who would you save?" I thought about that question, and in my self-centered high school way, I thought "Who would pick me in a choice like that? At least over all their other friends?"
That was a bad question to ask.
I thought about it. It's unfair to ask of family, even though I have a cousin who is as close to me as anyone, and a couple others I love a lot. I knew that the girls I was friends with all had a girl who was a closer best friend, and even if they didn't eventually they'd marry someone else. I didn't have a whole ton of friends that were guys. At that point in my life, I came to a strange realization. I had lots of close friends. I knew that in a time of need I could call on many of them. Even if one said no, I always had more friends. That was the realization I had. In the midst of all my friends, I was ultimately kind of alone. Even with many loyal friends, no one truly put me first as a friend.
I was Lord Voldemort.
In my mind, a best friend was someone who would call and tell me when they were dating someone, even if it wasn't very serious. A best friend would be the first person to come visit you after something terrible like having surgery on both your knees.They might even bring you Jones soda.A best friend would move heaven and earth to attend your wedding.A best friend would be someone you trust enough to have to make flirtatious comments about your wife, and not have it be (very) weird. After all, my wife is super hott. A best friend would be someone who would call me just to talk. A best friend would be the person that when anyone says, "Who is Scott's best friend?" the answer would always be the same. A best friend would be so many things that you could make cheesey lists like this forever, and you'd never hit bottom.
And then a funny thing happened today. My best friend called me. I realized today that even though he hasn't always been my best friend, he IS my best friend.
We met in 6th grade. He had hit puberty like 10 years earlier and had a deeper voice then than I have now. He had about a dozen pins sticking out of his leg from a horse crushing his leg. As time went on, he got more sensitive about his hair. We liked several of the same girls. We always played opposite one another in our High School plays (Grandpa Joe with Willie Wonka and The Hero vs. the Villain in our Western Melodrama). We have shared hundreds of inside jokes, we've never been in a fight to speak of. I discovered that he giggles like a 10 year old girl when caught off guard by a tickle. We wrote letters to one another on our LDS missions. I've been there for him through a lot, and he me. And he reaches out to me.
My deep voiced friend? He's truly my best friend. It was a nice realization today.
That was a bad question to ask.
I thought about it. It's unfair to ask of family, even though I have a cousin who is as close to me as anyone, and a couple others I love a lot. I knew that the girls I was friends with all had a girl who was a closer best friend, and even if they didn't eventually they'd marry someone else. I didn't have a whole ton of friends that were guys. At that point in my life, I came to a strange realization. I had lots of close friends. I knew that in a time of need I could call on many of them. Even if one said no, I always had more friends. That was the realization I had. In the midst of all my friends, I was ultimately kind of alone. Even with many loyal friends, no one truly put me first as a friend.
I was Lord Voldemort.
In my mind, a best friend was someone who would call and tell me when they were dating someone, even if it wasn't very serious. A best friend would be the first person to come visit you after something terrible like having surgery on both your knees.They might even bring you Jones soda.A best friend would move heaven and earth to attend your wedding.A best friend would be someone you trust enough to have to make flirtatious comments about your wife, and not have it be (very) weird. After all, my wife is super hott. A best friend would be someone who would call me just to talk. A best friend would be the person that when anyone says, "Who is Scott's best friend?" the answer would always be the same. A best friend would be so many things that you could make cheesey lists like this forever, and you'd never hit bottom.
And then a funny thing happened today. My best friend called me. I realized today that even though he hasn't always been my best friend, he IS my best friend.
We met in 6th grade. He had hit puberty like 10 years earlier and had a deeper voice then than I have now. He had about a dozen pins sticking out of his leg from a horse crushing his leg. As time went on, he got more sensitive about his hair. We liked several of the same girls. We always played opposite one another in our High School plays (Grandpa Joe with Willie Wonka and The Hero vs. the Villain in our Western Melodrama). We have shared hundreds of inside jokes, we've never been in a fight to speak of. I discovered that he giggles like a 10 year old girl when caught off guard by a tickle. We wrote letters to one another on our LDS missions. I've been there for him through a lot, and he me. And he reaches out to me.
My deep voiced friend? He's truly my best friend. It was a nice realization today.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Friends In Name Only?
Friends, and what they are, and how we feel about them as defined in today's world is a complicated thing. The only way someone can really answer the question, "How many friends do you have?" is based on their social media right? As of this moment, I have 748 Facebook friends with another one pending. That seems so silly to me. How can a friend be "pending?" Who is to say how someone can be a good friend, or what that even means? We try really hard to figure this sort of thing out so we feel secure in what we have in terms of relationships with others. As humans, we're social creatures more so than any other living thing.
I want to add a wrinkle to what perceptions we have about friends. I'm also going to call this friend by their real name.
I have a group of friends who I met as a teenager because we had a mutual interest in reading books by a particular author. We met over a summer, and we would meet together every day, and talk about the inexplicable things that pop into the minds of fifteen year-old youth. We decided to come up with a name for our own little group of friends, and called it the Muffin Club. Super original. Muffins are right up there with bacon, monkeys, cheese, the word "random", and a handful of other things that 15 year-olds think are funny for really no reason. So through this summer, and surprisingly as time went on, even though we didn't go to the same schools, we kept the MC alive.
The group consisted of me and about four girls. I thought I was SO cool. One of these girls, Eponine, would end up becoming one of my closest friends. We talked regularly, and out of all the people in that group, she and I were the closest. to this day, we still keep in excellent contact. We dated for a little bit, and I was actually the first boy Eponine ever smooched. That didn't end too well, but she forgave me, and we went back to being friends. I went on an LDS mission, and she consistently wrote me good thick letters. In fact, on the toughest day I had when I wanted to quit and punch my missionary companion squarely in the nose, I got a really encouraging letter from her. She went on her own mission to Russia, and I wrote her all of twice. So that was four years of our lives where we didn't see one another.Since she came back we were attending schools in different states, I was married, and the only time we'd really talk was at 2am when I was working graveyards, and she would type in Russian while I practiced writing in Chinese. We didn't see each other again until last week when I met her at the school I transferred to.
I should also take this time to mention that we met online.
Yep. It's true. This nice girl was one of those people who went by a screen name (Eponine) for the first several months of "knowing one another." We were talking about it, and we've spoken face to face less than ten times. Yet she's one of my best friends. When we were talking face to face the other day I realized things I never knew about her. She communicates a lot with her eye brows. Her hair had been cut much shorter than I remembered it because I'd really only seen it in pictures for the past several years. Her laugh sounded different than I had remembered, or maybe just imagined it in my head.
I also contemplated on the fact that she's never "been there" for me, nor really I for her. I've never called her when my car needed a jump start or when I needed a ride. If I had a date back out on me at that last minute, which happened all the time, I never called her. She never invited me to her shows. One of the few times I set her up on a date with someone I knew, it ended up being her second-cousin.
But our friendship is still legitimate. I think what makes her such a good friend is the fact that we share ideas, and we talk. Even if long spaces of time go by we still have a friendship we can fall back on. That makes me happy.
-Scott
As a PostScript, the last blog I wrote, the one about burned Bridges? I sent that blog post and a "Happy Half-Birthday!" post to the person I wrote it about, and she read, and responded, and is talking to me again. We're even Facebook friends. Never give up on friends.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Burned and Broken Bridges
For the first time in the life changing and ever impressive history of my blog, I'm writing about someone who doesn't talk to me. I've written about old friends who I don't talk to as much as I like. That's not what this is. I've written about passed on loved ones. That ain't this either. I have even written about a Mortal enemy who redeemed herself in Phoenix-like fashion. I hope someday I can write that story about this friend, but today isn't that day.
This friend is someone who I've known for 10 years. For me, that's a really long time. It's about as long as I've known anyone except for my deep voiced Butler, my first childhood crush, and a really short girl whose hair I used to pull. Those are three different people who all deserve their own posts -- but I digress.
This friend, who shall be heretofore called "Bridget" was in my health class in seventh grade. She was cute, and I was awkward as has hopefully been made clear to this point so I can stop saying it. She was also super sweet though. She had a bright tinkling laugh and really bright eyes. She's probably is five feet tall in shoes (though I haven't seen or talked to her in nearly four years, so I'm not sure) and never grew after seventh grade. I learned later that she played guitar and sang and had many talents.
The event of how we met can be summed up in one word that, if she ever reads it, already knows is coming. Bridget was reading out loud from our health book and said the word, "Heredity" which she pronounced "Here-ditty". I laughed and repeated her. She blushed and then kept reading. Somehow that worked, and we became kinda friends at that point.
Over the next five years, we were in plays together, and we went on a couple of dates. We were buddies, and pretty good ones at that. She and I talked on the phone regularly, and we kinda liked each other on and off, but it never really clicked.
Bridget also had her share of unfair breaks. Some guys that she dated were not good to her. She had some unfair breaks in her family life. She was always that girl with a heart of gold that wanted to love and be loved and never take anything else too seriously because sometimes life just stinks.
So what happened to us? As best as I can tell, it was one argument. It was over Facebook It was with a group of people. It was over something political. It was also the only time we ever fought. It was right before I left to be an LDS missionary for two years so I didn't hear from most people I knew, and wasn't shocked that she didn't contact me during that time. Missionaries don't use Facebook call home/leave their area, or things like that while they're gone. Their contact comes in form of e-mails to parents once a week and letters from those old fashioned and caring enough to send them.
So she didn't write me. It happens.
What DID happen was she started living her own life. She married a guy much different from myself, but one who, by all appearances takes care of her. He seems a little scary looking, but I think that's what he goes for. She's going to school. They work worked. She stayed fairly static to what I've known and written about her, and, really, I'm pretty sure she's happy. Her life followed the path of what I probably expected the longer I knew her.
What I didn't expect though is that when I came back, she wouldn't let me be her friend. We let our 2nd grade music teacher and our Jr. High Acquaintances mother be our Facebook friends, but she wouldn't let me. She didn't have the same number, and she was married now, so it's not like I could call her. Every once in a while she runs into one of our mutual friends, and I invariably get brought up. She validates the fact that she stopped being friends over a Facebook disagreement. She mentions to them that she's "thought about" getting in contact with me. And every time, I just wonder why she doesn't do it.
I called her Bridget, because in this gap we've created, I'd like to "Bridge-it." I know, I know. I don't need to be best friends again. I don't need to be invited over for dinner, or have your child named after me. I'd like to be able to talk though. I'd like to be able to wish you a happy Birthday, or to tell you when I'm excited about something. We have so many similar interests, and stories, and I don't want that all to be wasted. I think somewhere inside, you don't either. Please let go of whatever stops you. All I want to know is...
Why can't we be friends?
This friend is someone who I've known for 10 years. For me, that's a really long time. It's about as long as I've known anyone except for my deep voiced Butler, my first childhood crush, and a really short girl whose hair I used to pull. Those are three different people who all deserve their own posts -- but I digress.
This friend, who shall be heretofore called "Bridget" was in my health class in seventh grade. She was cute, and I was awkward as has hopefully been made clear to this point so I can stop saying it. She was also super sweet though. She had a bright tinkling laugh and really bright eyes. She's probably is five feet tall in shoes (though I haven't seen or talked to her in nearly four years, so I'm not sure) and never grew after seventh grade. I learned later that she played guitar and sang and had many talents.
The event of how we met can be summed up in one word that, if she ever reads it, already knows is coming. Bridget was reading out loud from our health book and said the word, "Heredity" which she pronounced "Here-ditty". I laughed and repeated her. She blushed and then kept reading. Somehow that worked, and we became kinda friends at that point.
Over the next five years, we were in plays together, and we went on a couple of dates. We were buddies, and pretty good ones at that. She and I talked on the phone regularly, and we kinda liked each other on and off, but it never really clicked.
Bridget also had her share of unfair breaks. Some guys that she dated were not good to her. She had some unfair breaks in her family life. She was always that girl with a heart of gold that wanted to love and be loved and never take anything else too seriously because sometimes life just stinks.
So what happened to us? As best as I can tell, it was one argument. It was over Facebook It was with a group of people. It was over something political. It was also the only time we ever fought. It was right before I left to be an LDS missionary for two years so I didn't hear from most people I knew, and wasn't shocked that she didn't contact me during that time. Missionaries don't use Facebook call home/leave their area, or things like that while they're gone. Their contact comes in form of e-mails to parents once a week and letters from those old fashioned and caring enough to send them.
So she didn't write me. It happens.
What DID happen was she started living her own life. She married a guy much different from myself, but one who, by all appearances takes care of her. He seems a little scary looking, but I think that's what he goes for. She's going to school. They work worked. She stayed fairly static to what I've known and written about her, and, really, I'm pretty sure she's happy. Her life followed the path of what I probably expected the longer I knew her.
What I didn't expect though is that when I came back, she wouldn't let me be her friend. We let our 2nd grade music teacher and our Jr. High Acquaintances mother be our Facebook friends, but she wouldn't let me. She didn't have the same number, and she was married now, so it's not like I could call her. Every once in a while she runs into one of our mutual friends, and I invariably get brought up. She validates the fact that she stopped being friends over a Facebook disagreement. She mentions to them that she's "thought about" getting in contact with me. And every time, I just wonder why she doesn't do it.
I called her Bridget, because in this gap we've created, I'd like to "Bridge-it." I know, I know. I don't need to be best friends again. I don't need to be invited over for dinner, or have your child named after me. I'd like to be able to talk though. I'd like to be able to wish you a happy Birthday, or to tell you when I'm excited about something. We have so many similar interests, and stories, and I don't want that all to be wasted. I think somewhere inside, you don't either. Please let go of whatever stops you. All I want to know is...
Why can't we be friends?
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
This Is A First.
Many times I've said, "This person is not the love of my life."
As much as I like all the people I write about, and I do like them quite a lot, no one compares to my wife. I have in the past not wanted to blog about her in this sphere because there's no way I could do justice to describe her. However, I realized that I can spend lots of time talking about how great she is. So all you ooey gooey touchy feely readers of my blog, be prepared that I've now come to terms with including the occasional post about my wife. I think these will be shorter because I have more of them to do, and I feel that these should be more specific rather than long and tangent laden like my other blogs.So I want to talk about three of the things that I really loved about my wife at first.
First, this may come as a shock to many of you, but I happen to tell a lot of stories. I talk a lot, and when I talk, I tend to forget that sometimes people don't know who "Amber, Bones, Jess, Q-Bear," or any of the hundreds of people who have impacted my life are. I can't just rattle off names like "Sullivan's, McClelland's, Ogles'," and expect people to connect the dots of who these people are that have spanned the whole course of my life.
With one exception. From the very first date we went on, and ever after, my wife Natalie has remembered my stories, and laughed at them. When I would tell stories later and say, "So I was out with Danny on this horrible double date" she would say, "Danny's the one who you do the pistol thing with, right?" I love that, and really need it.
Secondly, some people think it's rude or something to consider someone a "trophy wife." Natalie really is. My friends who don't know her say, "tell me a little about Natalie." So I always give off a massive list that scratches the surface of her accomplishments. It goes something like this: "She plays viola, violin and piano. She was a national qualifier in speech and debate. She dances clog, ballet, ballroom and a little bit of other things. She choreographed an award winning piece. She was the top of her class. She's had two A minuses in her LIFE, and none of them came in college. She's beautiful, and funny. She acts, sings, is my best friend and wins at games ALL The time." That's just the basics of my complex and wonderful wife.
The third thing is something that has happened later, but it makes me so proud every time I hear it. I have, on a couple of occasions, had friends tell me that they want their future marriage to be like ours. That doesn't happen without my best friend.
So for today, that's the little bit you get to know about my wife. More to come, you know, all in good time.
As much as I like all the people I write about, and I do like them quite a lot, no one compares to my wife. I have in the past not wanted to blog about her in this sphere because there's no way I could do justice to describe her. However, I realized that I can spend lots of time talking about how great she is. So all you ooey gooey touchy feely readers of my blog, be prepared that I've now come to terms with including the occasional post about my wife. I think these will be shorter because I have more of them to do, and I feel that these should be more specific rather than long and tangent laden like my other blogs.So I want to talk about three of the things that I really loved about my wife at first.
First, this may come as a shock to many of you, but I happen to tell a lot of stories. I talk a lot, and when I talk, I tend to forget that sometimes people don't know who "Amber, Bones, Jess, Q-Bear," or any of the hundreds of people who have impacted my life are. I can't just rattle off names like "Sullivan's, McClelland's, Ogles'," and expect people to connect the dots of who these people are that have spanned the whole course of my life.
With one exception. From the very first date we went on, and ever after, my wife Natalie has remembered my stories, and laughed at them. When I would tell stories later and say, "So I was out with Danny on this horrible double date" she would say, "Danny's the one who you do the pistol thing with, right?" I love that, and really need it.
Secondly, some people think it's rude or something to consider someone a "trophy wife." Natalie really is. My friends who don't know her say, "tell me a little about Natalie." So I always give off a massive list that scratches the surface of her accomplishments. It goes something like this: "She plays viola, violin and piano. She was a national qualifier in speech and debate. She dances clog, ballet, ballroom and a little bit of other things. She choreographed an award winning piece. She was the top of her class. She's had two A minuses in her LIFE, and none of them came in college. She's beautiful, and funny. She acts, sings, is my best friend and wins at games ALL The time." That's just the basics of my complex and wonderful wife.
The third thing is something that has happened later, but it makes me so proud every time I hear it. I have, on a couple of occasions, had friends tell me that they want their future marriage to be like ours. That doesn't happen without my best friend.
So for today, that's the little bit you get to know about my wife. More to come, you know, all in good time.
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