I was answering a simple “How is it going?” response in an email from a friend and mentor. I gave him a fairly long, yet honest answer. He had a two line response. This has prompted me to share with anyone listening, so to speak, the lesson.
I have a friend and mentor who is struggling to teach me the lessons he has learned. I say struggling, because I am not an easy student. I hold on to my “self-defeating” dialogues with great force.
He has used the following story several times. I recently used it to describe where I am in life.
“As a young man living in Hawaii, I loved to swim in the ocean. On one occasion, I took a young lady to a part of the coast that wasn’t frequented by a lot of swimmers. In fact, it had a No Swimming sign posted. I asked her if she were a good swimmer and she responded affirmatively. We jumped in and in no time found ourselves in a rip tide, being dragged out to sea.
I understood the situation we were in. We needed a plan to begin working our way back to shore. My friend revealed she wasn’t the swimmer she claimed to be and was afraid of how deep the water was.
I got her to calm down and shared rule number one: it doesn’t matter how deep the water is. It only matters that you stay on top. Then I shared rule number two: A strategy for success. We would swim towards the shore when the waves pushed us that direction. We would tread water when it pulled us back. This would help us keep our strength, and we wouldn’t be fighting the wave, expending energy.
Although it took several hours, we found ourselves on shore, safe.”
In sharing that this seems to be where I am in life, with another friend, moving forward when the waves are working for me, and holding my own when they aren’t, he suggested” The Savior, His Atonement and His Gospel provide the buoyancy….but I guess we still have to dog paddle.”
Well spoken. The Savior provides a plan to return to him. He has followed this plan. He has set the lighthouse to help us, even in the dark. He wants us to succeed. He also shares his love and reminds us that it really doesn’t matter how deep our troubles are, it just matters that we stay on top.
Thanks for listening.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Faster Than A Speeding Bullet!
I grew up Jimmy Olsen, Cub Reporter of the Daily Planet, friend of Superman! And yes, I had been told Superman was really Clark Kent.
Remember the tag line that opened the show "Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound..."
We all used to think Superman was pretty face, but this past week I discovered the speed of the internet! Hang on, cause this one is going fast.
Last Monday I received a call from my mother that she needed to get to the hospital ER. She mentioned that she had called my brother-in-law and was also en route. Well, as she finished dressing, I looked and didn't have his phone number in my smart phone. SO, I called my sister. She didn't answer. SO, I called my other sister, who would have his number in her phone. She did, so she called him, and diverted him to the hospital to assist in a priesthood blessing.
She also posted on the family facebook page that grandma was headed to the hospital and everyone should offer a prayer in her behalf.
My niece, who is serving in Afghanistan saw the post and called her mother in St George, UT. She wondered what was wrong with Grandma. She only had four weeks left, and didn't want anything to be horribly wrong. Her mother, my sister had no idea, and felt bad that she was out of the loop.
Truth-be-told, I had not gone 30 blocks from home, and was still miles from the hospital. From Salt Lake to Afghanistan to St. George, UT in less than 5 minutes.
That's gotta be faster than a speeding bullet any day!
Remember the tag line that opened the show "Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound..."
We all used to think Superman was pretty face, but this past week I discovered the speed of the internet! Hang on, cause this one is going fast.
Last Monday I received a call from my mother that she needed to get to the hospital ER. She mentioned that she had called my brother-in-law and was also en route. Well, as she finished dressing, I looked and didn't have his phone number in my smart phone. SO, I called my sister. She didn't answer. SO, I called my other sister, who would have his number in her phone. She did, so she called him, and diverted him to the hospital to assist in a priesthood blessing.
She also posted on the family facebook page that grandma was headed to the hospital and everyone should offer a prayer in her behalf.
My niece, who is serving in Afghanistan saw the post and called her mother in St George, UT. She wondered what was wrong with Grandma. She only had four weeks left, and didn't want anything to be horribly wrong. Her mother, my sister had no idea, and felt bad that she was out of the loop.
Truth-be-told, I had not gone 30 blocks from home, and was still miles from the hospital. From Salt Lake to Afghanistan to St. George, UT in less than 5 minutes.
That's gotta be faster than a speeding bullet any day!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Putter Putter Putt Putt
I have to start this post with an observation and an apology.
This is the third post in as many days. Don't mind me, I just wanted to note that. I am supposed to write for 15 minutes a day what I am grateful,which has put me in a writing mood.
Now for the Apology:
The apology goes out to Lori Snow Olsen.
I was mean and cruel when we were younger. To have ever called you "Putter, Putter, Putt, Putt!" may have been humorous at the time, but I have found that I am much worse. Much worse. . In fact, I am supposed to be cleaning RIGHT NOW but wanted to stop and blog instead.
For the rest of you, when we were a young couple, Lori would seem to putter as she cleaned our home. She went from cleaning project to cleaning project.
You know, be cleaning the living room, take a glass (probably left there by me), into the kitchen, just to start cleaning the sink and then would decide to take the dish towels into the laundry room. There she would start the dryer, and look at the bathroom, which shared the space with the w/d, and start doing the mirrors. She would sigh and lament that it didn't seem like she was getting anything done.
I would call her Putter Putter Putt Putt. Lovingly, of course.
Let me be clear here -- this scenario is illustrative and not from actual memory.
To fix that, Lori created a song and a game. The song and game was "Clean Clean, Like A Washing Machine."
Now, you might think she made this game and song up to get the kids going, but if memory serves me right (which is getting dicey lately) she made it up for me and her. A 30 minute time limit was set and we would go around our home cleaning and singing and get 'er done!
Today I have cleaned most of my apartment -- Spring Cleaning -- and have to chuckle. I am worse than she ever was. I go from room to room to room to room. Good thing my place is less then 700 sq ft.!!
So, Please accept my apology.
Now, if I could only remember the words to that song....
This is the third post in as many days. Don't mind me, I just wanted to note that. I am supposed to write for 15 minutes a day what I am grateful,which has put me in a writing mood.
Now for the Apology:
The apology goes out to Lori Snow Olsen.
I was mean and cruel when we were younger. To have ever called you "Putter, Putter, Putt, Putt!" may have been humorous at the time, but I have found that I am much worse. Much worse. . In fact, I am supposed to be cleaning RIGHT NOW but wanted to stop and blog instead.
For the rest of you, when we were a young couple, Lori would seem to putter as she cleaned our home. She went from cleaning project to cleaning project.
You know, be cleaning the living room, take a glass (probably left there by me), into the kitchen, just to start cleaning the sink and then would decide to take the dish towels into the laundry room. There she would start the dryer, and look at the bathroom, which shared the space with the w/d, and start doing the mirrors. She would sigh and lament that it didn't seem like she was getting anything done.
I would call her Putter Putter Putt Putt. Lovingly, of course.
Let me be clear here -- this scenario is illustrative and not from actual memory.
To fix that, Lori created a song and a game. The song and game was "Clean Clean, Like A Washing Machine."
Now, you might think she made this game and song up to get the kids going, but if memory serves me right (which is getting dicey lately) she made it up for me and her. A 30 minute time limit was set and we would go around our home cleaning and singing and get 'er done!
Today I have cleaned most of my apartment -- Spring Cleaning -- and have to chuckle. I am worse than she ever was. I go from room to room to room to room. Good thing my place is less then 700 sq ft.!!
So, Please accept my apology.
Now, if I could only remember the words to that song....
Friday, April 8, 2011
Blow Out Through Your Nose
 |
| Lego Truck Wars with Aiden and Parker Olsen |
My son and daughter-in-law are spending this weekend on their sixth wedding anniversary. Maybe 5th or 7th. must be seventh.. Each year Cody spends time and doodles, photo shops pictures in a unique way as a gift to Kimberly. I see six on the wall, & I saw the one he is giving her tonight. I digress.
I wanted to give them a chance to get away, if they wanted. Caveat was they had to take Laney. Stranger Danger era. So, while they spend a night almost alone, I have had a time of my life with grandsons Parker and Aiden. Pizza, Movies, Lego Car Wars, and even baked chocolate chip cookies. Man things. What fun.
Here is History repeating itself.
Lori used to laugh and share the story about when she was a young girl her parents went out for the night. One of siblings, I think it was her sister, stuck pinto beans up her nose and breathed in. Panic! Can't breath! Call for help!
Well, while I was in the kitchen working on the cookies, smell yummy chocolate here, the boys were working on their assignment -- pick up the Legos so was could watch a movie. Panic voice. Crying, "Aiden stuck a Lego up his nose!" Bloody nose from picking at it. What is a Grandpa to do? Chuckle. :)
Calm down Aiden. Get in my lap. Blow real hard into the tissue. No, blow through your NOSE real hard. Chuckle. Let's clean up your face. Chuckle
You know, in some cosmic sense, I knew exactly what to do because of that humorous story Lori would share.
Jammies, a couple of stories, "Little bunny Fru Fru" sung, and prayers, the boys are sound asleep. Now in the quiet of the evening, I have a story to share with Aiden when he gets to be old enought to embarrass him in front of some girl friend.. Chuckle, chuckle. Why wait until he is that old. Chuckle Chuckle
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Will this snow ever stop?
This on is kinda off the cuff. I'm sitting here in my apartment in good old downtown Salt Lake City watching the snow fall. April and snow aren't so uncommon bedfellows. I have been around long enough (old man reference) to have seen snow in April. And May. And June. And July.
I am grateful for the snow-pack. Regret I didn't get to the ski hills this year. But I have had a few experiences with late snow.
As a very young lad, I was with the Olsen and Kirkman clans in the Cedar Breaks park in July when it decided to snow. Between the two families there were 10 kids under 12. We had set up camp, and being the bright boys we were, Stephen and I had set up a big tent, with our father's help, right in the middle of what became a river (exaggeration here) after a freak summer snow storm. Wet, cold, crying ( the girls) we broke camp and found a motel that had a few rooms available. We speak of it today whenever we gather as part of the OK Family reunion. (Olsen-Kirkman)
I also remember the first year I had a job working at a Boy Scout summer camp. I had a job on the waterfront staff at Camp Steiner. Probably 1969. anyway, We were all ready to get into camp the week before the first actual week of camp, to set up, and prepare. The Council canceled the first week of camp because of snow. There was still too much of it to gain access. The camp is in the Unita Mountains, near Mirror Lake. Even then, when we did get into camp we had to shovel snow away from some of the cabins and sheds. As part of the waterfront staff, it was my job to help build the floating docks. The lake is glacier fed. Snow is it's only source. It was coooooooold! Loved it. I was only one of a few that qualified for their
Swimmers Buddy Tag the first week out!
I know there are other spring snow stories in my past, but I have regaled you with enough today. Enjoy the water this summer!!
I am grateful for the snow-pack. Regret I didn't get to the ski hills this year. But I have had a few experiences with late snow.
As a very young lad, I was with the Olsen and Kirkman clans in the Cedar Breaks park in July when it decided to snow. Between the two families there were 10 kids under 12. We had set up camp, and being the bright boys we were, Stephen and I had set up a big tent, with our father's help, right in the middle of what became a river (exaggeration here) after a freak summer snow storm. Wet, cold, crying ( the girls) we broke camp and found a motel that had a few rooms available. We speak of it today whenever we gather as part of the OK Family reunion. (Olsen-Kirkman)
I also remember the first year I had a job working at a Boy Scout summer camp. I had a job on the waterfront staff at Camp Steiner. Probably 1969. anyway, We were all ready to get into camp the week before the first actual week of camp, to set up, and prepare. The Council canceled the first week of camp because of snow. There was still too much of it to gain access. The camp is in the Unita Mountains, near Mirror Lake. Even then, when we did get into camp we had to shovel snow away from some of the cabins and sheds. As part of the waterfront staff, it was my job to help build the floating docks. The lake is glacier fed. Snow is it's only source. It was coooooooold! Loved it. I was only one of a few that qualified for their
Swimmers Buddy Tag the first week out!
I know there are other spring snow stories in my past, but I have regaled you with enough today. Enjoy the water this summer!!
Monday, March 14, 2011
The lights are still on at the church!
I recently made an off-hand comment on face book about the late sunset of the second day of Daylight Savings. I commented how nice it was to be past 7 p.m. and still be light outside.
My niece, a young mother of two beautiful girls, replied “you don’t have children to put to bed!”
NO I DON’T!! Lucky me. I remember those days. Trying to convince young children that despite the light, it really was night time and time for bed. AND, it only gets worse as the summer wears on and it remains light until 9:00 and beyond.
I don’t rightly remember what I did as a parent. I know I was usually covering a meeting for the city council, or county, or a ball game at the school. OR, I was selling something across the kitchen table, or drawing circles on a whiteboard. It probably wasn’t fair, but that’s the way it worked out. I know we had to beg, bribe, compromise, and often wear the kids out so they dropped in their tracks.
Daylight Savings isn’t kind to young parents.
My mother reminds me that I had a curfew delegated by some fancy spotlights at the church at the end of the street. There were three large spotlights that lit up the steeple. They would turn on at dusk. When I was a little, little kid, probably the range of my niece’s girls, my mother said she compromised one March evening that I had to come to bed when the lights turned on. That was good enough for me. I remember checking the lights when I heard her call to come in. “the lights aren’t on yet,” would be an occasional reply.
I learned what a great compromise I had made as the dark nights of winter rolled into the long nights of Daylight Savings summer. She would call, at what should have been a decent bedtime anytime of the year, and I could yell back, “the lights aren’t on yet!” Trapped, she had to let me stay out to play “kick-the-can” or “No Bears Are Out Tonight.” (I know many of the yunguns have no idea, but these were elaborate games of tag.)
Oh yea, the long days of summer. Only problem was those games of kick-the-can turned into nights to mow the lawn, pull the weeds in the garden, and other adult-type chores.
There was those summers in Arizona. Late-night softball tournaments. Mmmm, the memories of long summer nights.
__________________________
Photos: Granddaughter Faye is learning to read. She does a pretty good job for a three-year-old.
Parker had his Fifth ( Yes 5) birthday party. Big piece of Red Robin Mud Pie!
My niece, a young mother of two beautiful girls, replied “you don’t have children to put to bed!”
NO I DON’T!! Lucky me. I remember those days. Trying to convince young children that despite the light, it really was night time and time for bed. AND, it only gets worse as the summer wears on and it remains light until 9:00 and beyond.
I don’t rightly remember what I did as a parent. I know I was usually covering a meeting for the city council, or county, or a ball game at the school. OR, I was selling something across the kitchen table, or drawing circles on a whiteboard. It probably wasn’t fair, but that’s the way it worked out. I know we had to beg, bribe, compromise, and often wear the kids out so they dropped in their tracks.
Daylight Savings isn’t kind to young parents.
My mother reminds me that I had a curfew delegated by some fancy spotlights at the church at the end of the street. There were three large spotlights that lit up the steeple. They would turn on at dusk. When I was a little, little kid, probably the range of my niece’s girls, my mother said she compromised one March evening that I had to come to bed when the lights turned on. That was good enough for me. I remember checking the lights when I heard her call to come in. “the lights aren’t on yet,” would be an occasional reply.
I learned what a great compromise I had made as the dark nights of winter rolled into the long nights of Daylight Savings summer. She would call, at what should have been a decent bedtime anytime of the year, and I could yell back, “the lights aren’t on yet!” Trapped, she had to let me stay out to play “kick-the-can” or “No Bears Are Out Tonight.” (I know many of the yunguns have no idea, but these were elaborate games of tag.)
Oh yea, the long days of summer. Only problem was those games of kick-the-can turned into nights to mow the lawn, pull the weeds in the garden, and other adult-type chores.
There was those summers in Arizona. Late-night softball tournaments. Mmmm, the memories of long summer nights.
__________________________
Photos: Granddaughter Faye is learning to read. She does a pretty good job for a three-year-old.
Parker had his Fifth ( Yes 5) birthday party. Big piece of Red Robin Mud Pie!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
This ought to be a no-brainer
Where should I go to get help about using the resources of the LDS Church as well as the internet, youtube, and more should probably be the internet, right?
During the past four years I have been an very "non-participating" active member of my church. I am LDS, so going to church is a "high priority" for my future "desitnation." :) I coined a phrase many years ago about people who were "less active" in church going -- but still had testimonies of their beliefs -- as "non-participating" rather than a more cruel "inactive". For the past four years I have faithfully attended church, but have sat on my hands in auxiliary classes, kept my voice silent and have primarily sat in a seat challenging others to dare to get to know me. In fact, I even had someone ask me "do you dare teach a class?" To which I challenged "do you dare ask me?"
It was right after this I approached a member of my Stake Presidency to "mentor" me. I asked that we meet once a month outside of our regular assignment and discuss the gospel. Our first month we assigned each other to study the prayers of Book of Mormon prophets.. This was a revealing exercise. This brought a discussion as to how the LDS Church is embracing the internet. It has launched several websites, initiatives, and allows people like me to blog about my beliefs without trying to proof-read what I share.
I have made a new friend -- MMM Middleage Mormon Man http://middle-agedmormonman.
During the past four years I have been an very "non-participating" active member of my church. I am LDS, so going to church is a "high priority" for my future "desitnation." :) I coined a phrase many years ago about people who were "less active" in church going -- but still had testimonies of their beliefs -- as "non-participating" rather than a more cruel "inactive". For the past four years I have faithfully attended church, but have sat on my hands in auxiliary classes, kept my voice silent and have primarily sat in a seat challenging others to dare to get to know me. In fact, I even had someone ask me "do you dare teach a class?" To which I challenged "do you dare ask me?"
It was right after this I approached a member of my Stake Presidency to "mentor" me. I asked that we meet once a month outside of our regular assignment and discuss the gospel. Our first month we assigned each other to study the prayers of Book of Mormon prophets.. This was a revealing exercise. This brought a discussion as to how the LDS Church is embracing the internet. It has launched several websites, initiatives, and allows people like me to blog about my beliefs without trying to proof-read what I share.
I have made a new friend -- MMM Middleage Mormon Man http://middle-agedmormonman.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Lesson on Reverence - Past and Present
Today, January 23, 2011 was Grandpa Day. I’m not writing about this exactly, just to say it has been a long time since this Dad, (whether in Dad or Granddad form) got to put a little baby to sleep. Usually mom or Grandma slip in to take over. Let’s just say today was a pleasure.
Now, on to my story.
Lori and I were asked to watch Parker, Aiden and Laney while their mom and dad, (Cody and Kimberly) spoke in church. Kim lead off, speaking on REVERENCE. What a topic for a mother of two wonderfully curious and competitive boys 4 and 3. I’m sure 5-month old Laney doesn’t count.
Anyway, Kim shared with the congregation her desire to teach her boys the power of reverence, and the sacredness of the chapel. She shared a exerpt from a talk about another mothers’ experience of taking her children, dressed in Sunday attire, into the chapel on a different day than Sunday. Kim saw an opportunity to teach her boys a similar lesson in REVERENCE. She reported that she donned a skirt, and dressed Parker, Aiden, and Laney in their Sunday outfits, and with supportive Cody in tow, went to the church, and entered the empty chapel.
Here they had a short discussion about the proper spirit and attitude of the room, the service and the need for REVERENCE.
It brought back memories when Lori, fit to be tied with two young boys, probably no older than these two grandsons, tried a similar tactic to elicit REVERENCE. Lori got the idea of “Practicing Church” . I can’t remember how often they practiced, but I know it was more than once. The boys would sit and face the window wall and have to be quiet for 15 minutes at a stretch. I think the 15 minutes represented the time between the opening song and the Sacrament service. I can’t remember.
All I know is it made an impact on them. Not that they were suddenly “perfect examples of REVERENCE, but it has been a great “do you remember when mom made us practice church” story when the kids gather together or when they are comparing the atrocities that their parents made them suffer as children.
I admire the efforts that mothers go to in order to teach their boys the power of reverence.
I don’t remember practicing church when I was a child, but I know my mom had her hands full.
Here’s to all the moms in the world as they work to teach the little children~!!!
Now, on to my story.
Lori and I were asked to watch Parker, Aiden and Laney while their mom and dad, (Cody and Kimberly) spoke in church. Kim lead off, speaking on REVERENCE. What a topic for a mother of two wonderfully curious and competitive boys 4 and 3. I’m sure 5-month old Laney doesn’t count.
Anyway, Kim shared with the congregation her desire to teach her boys the power of reverence, and the sacredness of the chapel. She shared a exerpt from a talk about another mothers’ experience of taking her children, dressed in Sunday attire, into the chapel on a different day than Sunday. Kim saw an opportunity to teach her boys a similar lesson in REVERENCE. She reported that she donned a skirt, and dressed Parker, Aiden, and Laney in their Sunday outfits, and with supportive Cody in tow, went to the church, and entered the empty chapel.
Here they had a short discussion about the proper spirit and attitude of the room, the service and the need for REVERENCE.
It brought back memories when Lori, fit to be tied with two young boys, probably no older than these two grandsons, tried a similar tactic to elicit REVERENCE. Lori got the idea of “Practicing Church” . I can’t remember how often they practiced, but I know it was more than once. The boys would sit and face the window wall and have to be quiet for 15 minutes at a stretch. I think the 15 minutes represented the time between the opening song and the Sacrament service. I can’t remember.
All I know is it made an impact on them. Not that they were suddenly “perfect examples of REVERENCE, but it has been a great “do you remember when mom made us practice church” story when the kids gather together or when they are comparing the atrocities that their parents made them suffer as children.
I admire the efforts that mothers go to in order to teach their boys the power of reverence.
I don’t remember practicing church when I was a child, but I know my mom had her hands full.
Here’s to all the moms in the world as they work to teach the little children~!!!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Holiday Memories
So, at this count I have had 55 Christmases. Not that I can remember them all, but since it is a bit quite around her, it is kind of fun to see what Christmases I do remember. And, actually, I remember many more Christmas seasons than I thought I would. You see, I don’t really remember very many details from past history.
If you were to ask me my favorite gifts from the past I would tell you I have two fond memories. Two simple gifts that come to mind with warm memories.
The first happened while we lived in Twin Falls. I can’t remember if it was 1986 or 1987, but it was the year that Lori surprised my with a song she had written. I don’t remember the words. It was a pleasant tune, and she had a difficult time singing it amongst the tears. I loved it that she really gave of herself, as difficult as it was. That memory jumps out first.
The second favorite gift I received just two or three years ago. Lori gave me a simple square glass candy jar full of mints. Butter mints, chocolate mints, peppermint and spearmint candy filled the jar. I love soft mints to eat at church as opposed to chewing gum. Keeps the breath “minty fresh”! However, I admit I can eat them too quickly, which makes me cough, and I am sure embarrassed the heck out of Lori.
I digress.
The best part of the gift is that she promised to keep the jar full of mints for one full year. No easy feat, but she did it. I still have the jar, and I now struggle to keep it full of mints.
Perhaps the most misunderstood gift I ever received was the year I received a blood pressure monitor. I came to learn that it was a way that Lori was telling me that she loved me and was concerned about me. I still have that gift as well. I even use it a couple of days a week.
I have many memories from before my marriage. I was lucky enough to get a Fiat hatchback when I turned 16. My dad had cast a car and a key in some sort of resin and put it under the tree. When I opened the gift, my parents opened the curtains and there is it was, a Fiat with a big red bow. I remember the year I got a Springbar Tent, a five-speed banana seat bicycle, skis, and other things. I remember way back when I was entertained by boxes, when stacked together made a store and a post office, It included pretend dry goods to sell, a cash register and even pretend coins.
There was the year that I heard banging all night long. My dad had put together a train track with buildings and trees and mountains. Must of taken him all night long.
I remember doing similar activities. Like the year I painted a bicycle for Bret, snuck in gerbils and all the fixing’s so the boys might still believe in Santa. After all, mom would never allow such a gift, so there must be a Santa.
Then, there are the trips to Pine Valley for the holidays. That is another blog.
Merry Christmas. May fond memories spring to mind when you look back.
If you were to ask me my favorite gifts from the past I would tell you I have two fond memories. Two simple gifts that come to mind with warm memories.
The first happened while we lived in Twin Falls. I can’t remember if it was 1986 or 1987, but it was the year that Lori surprised my with a song she had written. I don’t remember the words. It was a pleasant tune, and she had a difficult time singing it amongst the tears. I loved it that she really gave of herself, as difficult as it was. That memory jumps out first.
The second favorite gift I received just two or three years ago. Lori gave me a simple square glass candy jar full of mints. Butter mints, chocolate mints, peppermint and spearmint candy filled the jar. I love soft mints to eat at church as opposed to chewing gum. Keeps the breath “minty fresh”! However, I admit I can eat them too quickly, which makes me cough, and I am sure embarrassed the heck out of Lori.
I digress.
The best part of the gift is that she promised to keep the jar full of mints for one full year. No easy feat, but she did it. I still have the jar, and I now struggle to keep it full of mints.
Perhaps the most misunderstood gift I ever received was the year I received a blood pressure monitor. I came to learn that it was a way that Lori was telling me that she loved me and was concerned about me. I still have that gift as well. I even use it a couple of days a week.
I have many memories from before my marriage. I was lucky enough to get a Fiat hatchback when I turned 16. My dad had cast a car and a key in some sort of resin and put it under the tree. When I opened the gift, my parents opened the curtains and there is it was, a Fiat with a big red bow. I remember the year I got a Springbar Tent, a five-speed banana seat bicycle, skis, and other things. I remember way back when I was entertained by boxes, when stacked together made a store and a post office, It included pretend dry goods to sell, a cash register and even pretend coins.
There was the year that I heard banging all night long. My dad had put together a train track with buildings and trees and mountains. Must of taken him all night long.
I remember doing similar activities. Like the year I painted a bicycle for Bret, snuck in gerbils and all the fixing’s so the boys might still believe in Santa. After all, mom would never allow such a gift, so there must be a Santa.
Then, there are the trips to Pine Valley for the holidays. That is another blog.
Merry Christmas. May fond memories spring to mind when you look back.
Friday, December 17, 2010
It is okay to speak to strangers
I’m sure this will be for me more than you, but I hope you learn and don’t repeat my mistakes. I have a mentor who says “Rules are made to keep other people out of the way.”
He shares this along with the concept that rules don’t apply to him because he doesn’t want to be limited to another’s beliefs. Before you try to peg him a an anarchist, he isn’t that at all. He is a loving, caring individual. He just learned to not accept limiting-beliefs. He works his hardest with me to see the error of my ways.
I don’t know where some of my limiting beliefs come from. Many I have set up myself. I have made rules that I felt I had to live by.
For instance, my daughter always struggled with my inquisitive nature when she was in high school. I wanted to know how her day ways, her friends, thoughts. She would complain that I asked too many questions. So, I made a rule with her. “No more than three questions.” It seemed to work. We’d often joke that I had my three questions, she could go on with her day un-bothered. It seemed to worked.
Now that she is grown, and on her own, I find it hard to visit with her on the phone. I am limited to asking three questions. Or so my belief tells me. We can go weeks without talking. Thank goodness for face book. I am suffering from my rule -- my limiting belief.
I wonder how many times I grew up believing an adult’s reprimand, “You only get one.” or “You’re the oldest, so you need to share with everyone else first.” I wonder how many times I have set rules from my children, limited their belief, in a similar way, an innocent statement.
Lori and I worked hard to allow our children to explore, within reason, their talents, interests, abilities. But, looking back, I wonder how many times I set a rule that didn’t really apply to anything. A rule that wasn’t really a rule. Limiting their belief without knowing it.
It’s like the rule “Don’t talk to strangers.” Parents drill this into their kids. Teachers tell the kids to be quiet and only speak when spoken to, or raise their hand for permission to speak.
No wonder the number one fear most adults face is “public speaking“. No one ever pulled their child aside at age 19 or 21, and say “It’s now ok to speak to strangers.”
I help facilitate a simulator, a game really, that has no rules. Not that there isn’t a pattern to playing the game, but one of the first concepts I teach with this game is that “you don’t have to wait for someone else to be successful before you can be.” Players who understand what I say, start rolling the dice and moving as fast as they can.
That’s the rule I am living in 2011. I am not going to allow my limiting beliefs limit me. The rules that I believe exist to keep me in my place aren’t really rules. I hope my children don’t wait until they are my age (55) to discover their limiting beliefs. AND, if I put those beliefs there, I truly sorry. I give them permission to “talk to strangers.”
He shares this along with the concept that rules don’t apply to him because he doesn’t want to be limited to another’s beliefs. Before you try to peg him a an anarchist, he isn’t that at all. He is a loving, caring individual. He just learned to not accept limiting-beliefs. He works his hardest with me to see the error of my ways.
I don’t know where some of my limiting beliefs come from. Many I have set up myself. I have made rules that I felt I had to live by.
For instance, my daughter always struggled with my inquisitive nature when she was in high school. I wanted to know how her day ways, her friends, thoughts. She would complain that I asked too many questions. So, I made a rule with her. “No more than three questions.” It seemed to work. We’d often joke that I had my three questions, she could go on with her day un-bothered. It seemed to worked.
Now that she is grown, and on her own, I find it hard to visit with her on the phone. I am limited to asking three questions. Or so my belief tells me. We can go weeks without talking. Thank goodness for face book. I am suffering from my rule -- my limiting belief.
I wonder how many times I grew up believing an adult’s reprimand, “You only get one.” or “You’re the oldest, so you need to share with everyone else first.” I wonder how many times I have set rules from my children, limited their belief, in a similar way, an innocent statement.
Lori and I worked hard to allow our children to explore, within reason, their talents, interests, abilities. But, looking back, I wonder how many times I set a rule that didn’t really apply to anything. A rule that wasn’t really a rule. Limiting their belief without knowing it.
It’s like the rule “Don’t talk to strangers.” Parents drill this into their kids. Teachers tell the kids to be quiet and only speak when spoken to, or raise their hand for permission to speak.
No wonder the number one fear most adults face is “public speaking“. No one ever pulled their child aside at age 19 or 21, and say “It’s now ok to speak to strangers.”
I help facilitate a simulator, a game really, that has no rules. Not that there isn’t a pattern to playing the game, but one of the first concepts I teach with this game is that “you don’t have to wait for someone else to be successful before you can be.” Players who understand what I say, start rolling the dice and moving as fast as they can.
That’s the rule I am living in 2011. I am not going to allow my limiting beliefs limit me. The rules that I believe exist to keep me in my place aren’t really rules. I hope my children don’t wait until they are my age (55) to discover their limiting beliefs. AND, if I put those beliefs there, I truly sorry. I give them permission to “talk to strangers.”
Friday, November 19, 2010
We share a common enemy!!
I double dog dare you to convince me I don’t have the greatest grandchildren in the world. Come on. Just Try!
I love having grandchildren. Do you know why grandparents and grandchildren get along so well? They have a common enemy. (Drum roll) Grandchildren are your reward for allowing your children to make it to 21 alive, (drum roll). No really, I have two wonderful grandsons, who are all boy. I have one granddaughter who is all girl, and a second beautifully precious 3-monthish granddaughter that is all chubby cheeks and smiles. She, I am sure, will be as precious as her brothers and cousin.
My oldest grandson, Parker, is so much like his dad. He is deliberate in his actions and his choices. He is shy one minute, and all noise the next. He has the sweetest eyes that melt grandma-great’s heart when he visits. Parker is reluctant to ask her for a piece of candy, (probably coached by his parents not to ask) so he stand near her with his big blue eyes, just waiting for an invitation from grandma-great.
His little brother, Aiden, on the other hand, has no problem asking. He has no problem flashing his wide smile, and venturing off to see what the world has in store for him. He is a confident one. He is also all rough and tumble. Big brother beware. Dad, you need to keep your guard up. Mom, you have your hands full. Little sister, I may get a little rough, but no one had better tease you or give you a hard time, cause they will have me to deal with.
The third in this family is my youngest. Born in September, Laney is a doll. So unlike her brothers. I look forward to her spirit shining as she matures.
Faye, my other granddaughter, is all girl. Drama Queen. She has beautiful eyes, (I think it is a running theme in my second generation, they all have beautiful eyes with wonderful expressionistic faces!) She plays with the two boys in the neighborhood that are similar in ages. They will use the sticks they find as pretend guns and swords, clubs and bats. She used the sticks as a magic wand, transforming objects into items of her desire.
Universally, there is nothing like my hearing my grandsons holler with pleasure that “It’s Grandpa” when I ring the door bell at their home. It causes instant commotion, (sorry Kim). There is nothing sweeter than when my granddaughter is concerned when I go to get something out of the car, “Where you going grandpa Jim?” She hasn’t tired of me yet.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Life is like a batting average!
The summer of 2010 I had a great experience watching as my son began his coaching career. He was coaching his oldest son, Parker, in the ways of baseball. Technically it was T-Ball, which is very different from baseball.
True, in T-Ball there are all the elements of baseball. There are bats, balls, bases, gloves, unruly fans, aka parents, and a chance to play in the outdoors on a team.
Different in that everybody gets to swing at the ball on the T. Everyone gets to run the bases, no one gets called out. And no one really knows what is going on, except for those unruly fans, In the end, the most important lesson is what “after game treat” was brought to share among the team members.
I share this as the World Series of 2010 is in mid-stream. The San Francisco Giants and the Texas Rangers are playing the best-of-seven to see who gets to claim the title “World Champion.” Texas has never been to the Series, and San Francisco hasn’t won a Championship since 1964.
I share this information to lead up to a thought I came across in the writings of Og Mandino, a great philosophical author on the elements of success. He wrote a series of “Worlds Greatest Salesman” and introduce scrolls, which read often, would help anyone interested in rising above mediocrity to find the inner fortitude to do so. I was introduced to them while serving as a missionary for my church, back in the 70’s.
Today, I struggle with the elements that create success, and how it is defined. I also struggle to remember that one of the elements of creating success is that there is a ratio of contacts to sales that is true in every business. This quote comes from The University of Og Mandino.
Success has the intrinsic character of a batting average. It is not all of a piece, not every hour nor every day is uniformly successful. Rather, there are upturns in success separated by valleys of failure. I successful television producer, responsible for turning out an intensely complex and difficult program every day remarked.
“I’d go crazy if I tried to judge every day’s performance against an absolute standard of perfection. All I try for is a good batting average. I know very well that sometimes I’ going to foul out, but so long as I get my share of singles and doubles, perhaps an occasional home run, I don’t mind the inevitable errors or strikeouts.”
So, too, a successful life will have its days or even years of failure. These are not blights upon such a life, but merely the inevitable failings which bear testimony to the fact that success isn’t easy.
Success is not anything like T-Ball. You do not hit each inning. You do get thrown out, and sometimes you even strike out “looking.” If you are going to put the ratios to work, you must at least “go down swinging.”
True, in T-Ball there are all the elements of baseball. There are bats, balls, bases, gloves, unruly fans, aka parents, and a chance to play in the outdoors on a team.
Different in that everybody gets to swing at the ball on the T. Everyone gets to run the bases, no one gets called out. And no one really knows what is going on, except for those unruly fans, In the end, the most important lesson is what “after game treat” was brought to share among the team members.
I share this as the World Series of 2010 is in mid-stream. The San Francisco Giants and the Texas Rangers are playing the best-of-seven to see who gets to claim the title “World Champion.” Texas has never been to the Series, and San Francisco hasn’t won a Championship since 1964.
I share this information to lead up to a thought I came across in the writings of Og Mandino, a great philosophical author on the elements of success. He wrote a series of “Worlds Greatest Salesman” and introduce scrolls, which read often, would help anyone interested in rising above mediocrity to find the inner fortitude to do so. I was introduced to them while serving as a missionary for my church, back in the 70’s.
Today, I struggle with the elements that create success, and how it is defined. I also struggle to remember that one of the elements of creating success is that there is a ratio of contacts to sales that is true in every business. This quote comes from The University of Og Mandino.
Success has the intrinsic character of a batting average. It is not all of a piece, not every hour nor every day is uniformly successful. Rather, there are upturns in success separated by valleys of failure. I successful television producer, responsible for turning out an intensely complex and difficult program every day remarked.
“I’d go crazy if I tried to judge every day’s performance against an absolute standard of perfection. All I try for is a good batting average. I know very well that sometimes I’ going to foul out, but so long as I get my share of singles and doubles, perhaps an occasional home run, I don’t mind the inevitable errors or strikeouts.”
So, too, a successful life will have its days or even years of failure. These are not blights upon such a life, but merely the inevitable failings which bear testimony to the fact that success isn’t easy.
Success is not anything like T-Ball. You do not hit each inning. You do get thrown out, and sometimes you even strike out “looking.” If you are going to put the ratios to work, you must at least “go down swinging.”
Friday, October 22, 2010
A Second Chance
I received a call from a friend of a friend, who was interested in learning more about my business. I had never met Troy in my life. My life was about to add another story,
I met Troy for lunch and, as is my nature, asked him to share his story with me. This, in brief, is some of what I learned.
Tory had been in the advertiging business, selling penny per/household coupons. As we talked, I knew of his business, and we shared names of printers that we had both used in our past. He was quite successful and had a wonderful business model, with little competition. He was in print, radio and television. He owned several Corvettes, a large home, had six figures in the bank, and was on a roll. He loved fast cars. He had a "Kit Ferrari" custom built. He believed he was on top of the world and had no need for God nor his religion. He could do it all on his own.
In fact, he had approached his church leaders to remove his name from their records. Hasta la vista!
He says God had other plans. As he left the church building, and before he arrived home, he had crashed his fancy Corvette If you know anything about this car, it is pretty-much fiberglass on wheels. He was in a coma that lasted around 30 days.
When came to, he had lost parts of his vision, mobility, abilities, and more. It wasn't all of what he lost, but the road from there shows the extent of his losses. He quickly realized he may have "had it all" but in reality, the bank owned most of it. That, in a nutshell should describe where his life has gone.
Today he is a humble man, working his way out of debt, out of a horrible situation. As part of his "second chance"at life, he was asked out-of-the-blue to participate in a movie shoot for the LDS Church. He had no acting background, and they liked that. It was his look that they loved. He has now actually had several photo shoots, articles in newspapers, featuring his likeness and radio interviews announcing the that LDS Church is looking for people who have the appereance of "middle-east ancestry" for future movies about the New Testament.
He is very grateful that God gave him a second chance. I learned to quickly love this man, his journey, and his story. He plays a roll that in someways very much is true to life. In his darkest hours, those who could help, those he trusted turned. The good Samritan was there by his side. And remains there today, in his heart
Wonderful story.
Follow this llink to read more about the film and to watch the 5-minute clipl
http://new.lds.org/church/news/lds-motion-picture-studio-seeks-actors-for-new-testament-project?lang=eng
I met Troy for lunch and, as is my nature, asked him to share his story with me. This, in brief, is some of what I learned.
Tory had been in the advertiging business, selling penny per/household coupons. As we talked, I knew of his business, and we shared names of printers that we had both used in our past. He was quite successful and had a wonderful business model, with little competition. He was in print, radio and television. He owned several Corvettes, a large home, had six figures in the bank, and was on a roll. He loved fast cars. He had a "Kit Ferrari" custom built. He believed he was on top of the world and had no need for God nor his religion. He could do it all on his own.
In fact, he had approached his church leaders to remove his name from their records. Hasta la vista!
He says God had other plans. As he left the church building, and before he arrived home, he had crashed his fancy Corvette If you know anything about this car, it is pretty-much fiberglass on wheels. He was in a coma that lasted around 30 days.
When came to, he had lost parts of his vision, mobility, abilities, and more. It wasn't all of what he lost, but the road from there shows the extent of his losses. He quickly realized he may have "had it all" but in reality, the bank owned most of it. That, in a nutshell should describe where his life has gone.
Today he is a humble man, working his way out of debt, out of a horrible situation. As part of his "second chance"at life, he was asked out-of-the-blue to participate in a movie shoot for the LDS Church. He had no acting background, and they liked that. It was his look that they loved. He has now actually had several photo shoots, articles in newspapers, featuring his likeness and radio interviews announcing the that LDS Church is looking for people who have the appereance of "middle-east ancestry" for future movies about the New Testament.
He is very grateful that God gave him a second chance. I learned to quickly love this man, his journey, and his story. He plays a roll that in someways very much is true to life. In his darkest hours, those who could help, those he trusted turned. The good Samritan was there by his side. And remains there today, in his heart
Wonderful story.
Follow this llink to read more about the film and to watch the 5-minute clipl
http://new.lds.org/church/news/lds-motion-picture-studio-seeks-actors-for-new-testament-project?lang=eng
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Meeting A President's Challenge
It was November, 1976, and I was about to leave Minnesota and fly home to Salt Lake City. I had just about completed my church mission. All that I had left was the interview with the mission president.
I had the privilege of serving with President Douglas Callister. He was a young, dynamic individual. Still in his early 30’s he had served his church as a Bishop and a Stake President. He was the grandson of the very well loved Apostle LeGrande Richards. He was something special. He had taught me more lessons that I could share in a brief blog
*He introduced me to the scrolls of “The Greatest Salesman In The World,” written by Og Mandino. Each scroll encouraged me to seek more than who I was.
*He taught me that people rise to your expectations. He told the story of a regional church leader that expected 100% attendance at all regional meetings. It wasn’t long until he got it. When his turn was over, another regional leader remarked, you are a good region, there is no reason why we shouldn’t have 80% attendance at these meetings. It was the next meeting when he got his results.
*He taught me to love the “Parables of James E. Talmage“. An early Apostle, Talmage had written “parables” for a church magazine. They had been later compiled into a book. I asked him about these parables, and he said they were from a book that was no longer in print. Hadn’t been published for a while. I was discouraged. As a student at Dixie College, I walked into the Dixie Drug, which had all the items a drug store sells, as well as a book section, and you can appreciate my joy as I found a single copy of this wonderful treasure.
*He taught me many other lessons. Some of them stuck and, sadly, many of them didn’t. I do remember that the final challenge in my exit interview was “The next time we meet, before you say anything, show me your temple recommend.”
Well, our paths have never crossed until this past week. I don’t attend reunions, afraid of being judged -- I don’t remember names -- I … you name it, I have the excuses lined up for miles. I never expected to see him again, in person.
He now serves as a member of the First Quorum of 70. It was Saturday night and I had decided to attend a session in the LDS Temple in Salt Lake. He was standing at a door, watching as we filed in. I took the chance, shook his hand and said “You don’t remember me, but I was one of your missionaries.”
It was then I recalled his challenge, and was grateful that I didn’t need to show him my recommend, it had allowed me in, to see him.
I had the privilege of serving with President Douglas Callister. He was a young, dynamic individual. Still in his early 30’s he had served his church as a Bishop and a Stake President. He was the grandson of the very well loved Apostle LeGrande Richards. He was something special. He had taught me more lessons that I could share in a brief blog
*He introduced me to the scrolls of “The Greatest Salesman In The World,” written by Og Mandino. Each scroll encouraged me to seek more than who I was.
*He taught me that people rise to your expectations. He told the story of a regional church leader that expected 100% attendance at all regional meetings. It wasn’t long until he got it. When his turn was over, another regional leader remarked, you are a good region, there is no reason why we shouldn’t have 80% attendance at these meetings. It was the next meeting when he got his results.
*He taught me to love the “Parables of James E. Talmage“. An early Apostle, Talmage had written “parables” for a church magazine. They had been later compiled into a book. I asked him about these parables, and he said they were from a book that was no longer in print. Hadn’t been published for a while. I was discouraged. As a student at Dixie College, I walked into the Dixie Drug, which had all the items a drug store sells, as well as a book section, and you can appreciate my joy as I found a single copy of this wonderful treasure.
*He taught me many other lessons. Some of them stuck and, sadly, many of them didn’t. I do remember that the final challenge in my exit interview was “The next time we meet, before you say anything, show me your temple recommend.”
Well, our paths have never crossed until this past week. I don’t attend reunions, afraid of being judged -- I don’t remember names -- I … you name it, I have the excuses lined up for miles. I never expected to see him again, in person.
He now serves as a member of the First Quorum of 70. It was Saturday night and I had decided to attend a session in the LDS Temple in Salt Lake. He was standing at a door, watching as we filed in. I took the chance, shook his hand and said “You don’t remember me, but I was one of your missionaries.”
It was then I recalled his challenge, and was grateful that I didn’t need to show him my recommend, it had allowed me in, to see him.
Monday, September 20, 2010
A Good Olsen
We all have our favorite stories to tell.
By we, I mean parents. I find that I enjoy sharing one or two stories that show just how good I was at parenting. And, by I, I mean we, Lori and I.
One of those stories is about my son Bret, and how I couldn’t wait to hear his answer in a Sunday School class setting.
I was serving in my church as a Sunday School teacher for kids 16 -- 19 years old. This was a fairly large class, as it covered just about all the kids in high school in our ward. On average we had 15 -- 20 kids in attendance. It was a lot of fun.
What made the class even more fun, was my son, Bret, was in the class. And, although he was a pretty good kid, he liked to debate and ask questions as “one of the gang.”
On one Sunday, our discussion was about keeping the Sabbath Day holy and attending church. Many of the kids complained about their parents demands, antics and pressure to get up in the morning after a late Saturday night to attend church. Why should they be forced to come to church?
Out of the blue, one of Bret’s friends looked at him point blank and said “You can’t tell me your dad never forced you out of bed to go to church!” I looked at my son, wondering what his reaction was going to be. After all, these were his peers. What was he going to say.
Bret’s face turned a little red, having been put on the spot. He paused and gathered his thoughts for a moment and looked at his friend, ready to give his answer. I was waiting to hear it as well.
“I can honestly say that my dad has never forced me to attend church,” he said to unbelievers. “I was raised that Olsen’s went to church on Sunday. I wanted to be a good Olsen, so I have never questioned what I was going to be doing on Sunday morning” he concluded.
As the contestants in the Family Feud game show would cheer, “ Good Answer, Good Answer.”
I love sharing this story. I can honestly say Lori and I never had an argument with our kids about going to church. We might have rushed them through the get-ready-to-go process a time or two, but we never had to force them into the car for the short trip to the chapel.
I share this story today as I enjoyed attending the Primary Sunday program with my grandson as the star. Because of other commitments this day, I shared the bench with my two sons, their wives, three grandchildren, my daughter and Lori. I look forward to the day when the grandchildren are 16 years old and they summon their thoughts together and declare, “I wanted to be a good Olsen!”
By we, I mean parents. I find that I enjoy sharing one or two stories that show just how good I was at parenting. And, by I, I mean we, Lori and I.
One of those stories is about my son Bret, and how I couldn’t wait to hear his answer in a Sunday School class setting.
I was serving in my church as a Sunday School teacher for kids 16 -- 19 years old. This was a fairly large class, as it covered just about all the kids in high school in our ward. On average we had 15 -- 20 kids in attendance. It was a lot of fun.
What made the class even more fun, was my son, Bret, was in the class. And, although he was a pretty good kid, he liked to debate and ask questions as “one of the gang.”
On one Sunday, our discussion was about keeping the Sabbath Day holy and attending church. Many of the kids complained about their parents demands, antics and pressure to get up in the morning after a late Saturday night to attend church. Why should they be forced to come to church?
Out of the blue, one of Bret’s friends looked at him point blank and said “You can’t tell me your dad never forced you out of bed to go to church!” I looked at my son, wondering what his reaction was going to be. After all, these were his peers. What was he going to say.
Bret’s face turned a little red, having been put on the spot. He paused and gathered his thoughts for a moment and looked at his friend, ready to give his answer. I was waiting to hear it as well.
“I can honestly say that my dad has never forced me to attend church,” he said to unbelievers. “I was raised that Olsen’s went to church on Sunday. I wanted to be a good Olsen, so I have never questioned what I was going to be doing on Sunday morning” he concluded.
As the contestants in the Family Feud game show would cheer, “ Good Answer, Good Answer.”
I love sharing this story. I can honestly say Lori and I never had an argument with our kids about going to church. We might have rushed them through the get-ready-to-go process a time or two, but we never had to force them into the car for the short trip to the chapel.
I share this story today as I enjoyed attending the Primary Sunday program with my grandson as the star. Because of other commitments this day, I shared the bench with my two sons, their wives, three grandchildren, my daughter and Lori. I look forward to the day when the grandchildren are 16 years old and they summon their thoughts together and declare, “I wanted to be a good Olsen!”
Sunday, August 29, 2010
The More Things Change
Today there were four Priests (16 -- 18 year old boys) preparing the sacrament. Three of the boys had white shirts and ties, and one boy had a suit coat on. All of the Deacons had white shirts, ties, and some sort of khaki type pants.
I remembered when I was a kid that age and how I dressed. I was like many of the other kids, at the height of fashion. It was the late 60’s and bell bottom pants were all the rage. So were turtlenecks. Most of the Deacons wore sport coats and bell bottoms. Today, it is important to wear white shirts and ties. In the 60’s, it wasn’t as important. In fact, many of us wore white turtlenecks under our coats, or a fancy sweater.
While I sat in the meeting today, I had a vivid remembrance of me standing in front of the congregation with a dark green sport coat, a purple shirt, purple & black striped tie, flair-bottom pants and blue and white patent leather shoes, with a 2 ½ heal. Boy did I look hot. I got the outfit as a graduation from Junior High School.
Thinking back on it, I probably looked like a clown. Of course, we all did. All 12 of us were hip and happening.
I don’t know why remembered that today. Perhaps it is because I haven't changed that much since then. Today I am wearing a cream colored suit with pink and silver tie, while most of the other men my age are sitting next to their wives in a dark blue suit with conservative pin stripe and a power tie.
As they say, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Another Angel Moment
I believe in Angels. Especially Guardian Angels. I have been blessed by angels all my life. Some angels were from this side of the veil. These Angels have helped make my life a wonderful blessing. These Angels were in my life when I needed them the most. Some of them have left me, but a few of these earthly Angels are still around to protect me and support me.
I also believe in ethereal Angels. These Angels are from the other side of the veil. They come and go and serve us, protect us and inspire us. I like the protecting kind the best.
As I said, I believe in Angels cause I am blessed by them. In fact, I was blessed just last night, or maybe it was this morning.
I was coming home after spending a few days helping Holland after surgery. I couldn't sleep and was anxious to get home. So, I got on the road around 2:00 a.m. Just outside of Leeds Utah, the little battery light came on. Then it went off. I looked at the gauge and the little needle began to go down. I was in trouble. I kept driving, hoping to get to Cedar City, but it wasn't to be. Just 12 miles south of Cedar I lost all power, even battery. I was stuck. I opened my laptop and fired up the broadband. I looked up a tow truck on line. I tried to call, but there was no service. I walked to a rest stop 1 mile away, called the two truck, and got a ride to Cedar. It started to hit me that for some reason my laptop got a connection, but my phone couldn't.
The driver didn't know how I got a signal, either. He said it was a REAL DEAD ZONE.
Still, I had his number. Still I knew who to call on the pay phone. How did it happen?
I know. Another angel blessed my life.
I also believe in ethereal Angels. These Angels are from the other side of the veil. They come and go and serve us, protect us and inspire us. I like the protecting kind the best.
As I said, I believe in Angels cause I am blessed by them. In fact, I was blessed just last night, or maybe it was this morning.
I was coming home after spending a few days helping Holland after surgery. I couldn't sleep and was anxious to get home. So, I got on the road around 2:00 a.m. Just outside of Leeds Utah, the little battery light came on. Then it went off. I looked at the gauge and the little needle began to go down. I was in trouble. I kept driving, hoping to get to Cedar City, but it wasn't to be. Just 12 miles south of Cedar I lost all power, even battery. I was stuck. I opened my laptop and fired up the broadband. I looked up a tow truck on line. I tried to call, but there was no service. I walked to a rest stop 1 mile away, called the two truck, and got a ride to Cedar. It started to hit me that for some reason my laptop got a connection, but my phone couldn't.
The driver didn't know how I got a signal, either. He said it was a REAL DEAD ZONE.
Still, I had his number. Still I knew who to call on the pay phone. How did it happen?
I know. Another angel blessed my life.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
On The Road
Today I find myself in the waiting room at Dixie Regional Medical Center waiting for my son Holland. He is having surgery on his foot. He asked if I could come and help. It is a comfort to know that your children are really never too old to need love and support.
He is having surgery on a bone that I have never heard of. It is in his big toe, left foot. He probably hurt it on his mission in Fiji. Who knows.
It is fun to visit for a few days. Holland is living with his brother's family. Bret, Lori Michelle and Faye have made room for him for a few weeks until he moves to Phoenix. It is a pleasure to watch my children interact as families. For instance, I didn't know Lori Michelle (I call her that so as not to confuse her with Lori, the mom) was such a tease. It is a hoot to watch as she riles up Faye about her toys, eating, and Marley their dog. Poor Bret as I am sure both girls gang up on him. :)
I have also had zucchini in several new ways. Last time I was here I had macaroni and cheese and zucchini. This trip I had zucchini fried and even had an apricot and zucchini smoothie. Lori Michelle even has Holland eating zucchini -- and I never could get him to eat it as a kid.
Anyway, while I am here I get to babysit the cutest little Olsen in whole world. Faye loves movies.Which is nice, as this family doesn't watch TV. That makes it all the easier to babysit. So,I will pull out my really old bag of tricks and babysit both my baby and my grand-baby.
Love, you never get too old to enjoy its affects! :)
He is having surgery on a bone that I have never heard of. It is in his big toe, left foot. He probably hurt it on his mission in Fiji. Who knows.
It is fun to visit for a few days. Holland is living with his brother's family. Bret, Lori Michelle and Faye have made room for him for a few weeks until he moves to Phoenix. It is a pleasure to watch my children interact as families. For instance, I didn't know Lori Michelle (I call her that so as not to confuse her with Lori, the mom) was such a tease. It is a hoot to watch as she riles up Faye about her toys, eating, and Marley their dog. Poor Bret as I am sure both girls gang up on him. :)
I have also had zucchini in several new ways. Last time I was here I had macaroni and cheese and zucchini. This trip I had zucchini fried and even had an apricot and zucchini smoothie. Lori Michelle even has Holland eating zucchini -- and I never could get him to eat it as a kid.
Anyway, while I am here I get to babysit the cutest little Olsen in whole world. Faye loves movies.Which is nice, as this family doesn't watch TV. That makes it all the easier to babysit. So,I will pull out my really old bag of tricks and babysit both my baby and my grand-baby.
Love, you never get too old to enjoy its affects! :)
Sunday, August 15, 2010
An Eagle in a Chicken Coop
When I was in high school, our LDS Seminary had some very talented teachers. Two of the teachers were photographers, and created a multi-media presentation to inspire us to be better. Part of the show told of a fable about an eagle that grew up thinking it was a chicken. With slides, music and movies, this story has been one that I have remembered off an on in my life. Today, I walked out of church wanting to read this "fable" as I am feeling like I am an eagle, living the life of a chicken. I found the story online and want to share it with you.
Enjoy!
A fable is told about an eagle who thought he was a chicken. When the eagle was very small, he fell from the safety of his nest. A chicken farmer found the eagle, brought him to the farm, and raised him in a chicken coop among his many chickens. The eagle grew up doing what chickens do, living like a chicken, and believing he was a chicken.
A naturalist came to the chicken farm to see if what he had heard about an eagle acting like a chicken was really true. He knew that an eagle is king of the sky. He was surprised to see the eagle strutting around the chicken coop, pecking at the ground, and acting very much like a chicken. The farmer explained to the naturalist that this bird was no longer an eagle. He was now a chicken because he had been trained to be a chicken and he believed that he was a chicken.
The naturalist knew there was more to this great bird than his actions showed as he "pretended" to be a chicken. He was born an eagle and had the heart of an eagle, and nothing could change that. The man lifted the eagle onto the fence surrounding the chicken coop and said, "Eagle, thou art an eagle. Stretch forth thy wings and fly." The eagle moved slightly, only to look at the man; then he glanced down at his home among the chickens in the chicken coop where he was comfortable. He jumped off the fence and continued doing what chickens do. The farmer was satisfied. "I told you it was a chicken," he said.
The naturalist returned the next day and tried again to convince the farmer and the eagle that the eagle was born for something greater. He took the eagle to the top of the farmhouse and spoke to him: "Eagle, thou art an eagle. Thou dost belong to the sky and not to the earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly." The large bird looked at the man, then again down into the chicken coop. He jumped from the man's arm onto the roof of the farmhouse.
Knowing what eagles are really about, the naturalist asked the farmer to let him try one more time. He would return the next day and prove that this bird was an eagle. The farmer, convinced otherwise, said, "It is a chicken."
The naturalist returned the next morning to the chicken farm and took the eagle and the farmer some distance away to the foot of a high mountain. They could not see the farm nor the chicken coop from this new setting. The man held the eagle on his arm and pointed high into the sky where the bright sun was beckoning above. He spoke: "Eagle, thou art an eagle! Thou dost belong to the sky and not to the earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly." This time the eagle stared skyward into the bright sun, straightened his large body, and stretched his massive wings. His wings moved, slowly at first, then surely and powerfully. With the mighty screech of an eagle, he flew.
A naturalist came to the chicken farm to see if what he had heard about an eagle acting like a chicken was really true. He knew that an eagle is king of the sky. He was surprised to see the eagle strutting around the chicken coop, pecking at the ground, and acting very much like a chicken. The farmer explained to the naturalist that this bird was no longer an eagle. He was now a chicken because he had been trained to be a chicken and he believed that he was a chicken.
The naturalist knew there was more to this great bird than his actions showed as he "pretended" to be a chicken. He was born an eagle and had the heart of an eagle, and nothing could change that. The man lifted the eagle onto the fence surrounding the chicken coop and said, "Eagle, thou art an eagle. Stretch forth thy wings and fly." The eagle moved slightly, only to look at the man; then he glanced down at his home among the chickens in the chicken coop where he was comfortable. He jumped off the fence and continued doing what chickens do. The farmer was satisfied. "I told you it was a chicken," he said.
The naturalist returned the next day and tried again to convince the farmer and the eagle that the eagle was born for something greater. He took the eagle to the top of the farmhouse and spoke to him: "Eagle, thou art an eagle. Thou dost belong to the sky and not to the earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly." The large bird looked at the man, then again down into the chicken coop. He jumped from the man's arm onto the roof of the farmhouse.
Knowing what eagles are really about, the naturalist asked the farmer to let him try one more time. He would return the next day and prove that this bird was an eagle. The farmer, convinced otherwise, said, "It is a chicken."
The naturalist returned the next morning to the chicken farm and took the eagle and the farmer some distance away to the foot of a high mountain. They could not see the farm nor the chicken coop from this new setting. The man held the eagle on his arm and pointed high into the sky where the bright sun was beckoning above. He spoke: "Eagle, thou art an eagle! Thou dost belong to the sky and not to the earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly." This time the eagle stared skyward into the bright sun, straightened his large body, and stretched his massive wings. His wings moved, slowly at first, then surely and powerfully. With the mighty screech of an eagle, he flew.
(In Walk Tall, You're A Daughter Of God, by Jamie Glenn, pp. 22-4.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Getting Older and More Forgetful
I have always been "forgetful" when it came to leaving the house. I generally had to go back and get keys, papers, wallet, or something else. I have learned there is a way to prevent some of that. For instance, I now put my keys in a basket by the door so I can grab them as I leave the house. I try create lists to remind me what I am going to do for the day, and what I need to take with me.
Getting forgetful isn't the worst thing about getting old, but dang if I can remember what leads the list. :)
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