Hey, Bud!

Yesterday I was working in the yard with my white iPod earbuds tucked securely in my ears. My boys were doing the same, which makes effective communication almost impossible. I know wearing headphones while doing yardwork with my sons smacks of lousy parenting - it probably is - but at least we don't argue this way...

But we do have out share of this...

My son waves frantically at me as I am mowing the lawn.

I look at him, raise my eyebrows, and lift one palm up, gesturing "What?"

He makes a slashing motion across his neck for me to kill the mower.

I stop mowing and reach down to pull the rubber end off the spark plug, because the throttle cable is broken.

I say "What?"

His lips move, I hear nothing.

He points to his ears.

Oh yeah. I take one of my earbuds out.

He repeats what he said. I still hear nothing.

I take out the other ear bud and fumble to push the pause button. Finally I can hear him.

"Dad, can I go in and get a drink?"

(Grr.) "You bet!"

He puts his earbuds back in, and turns to go in the house.

"Hey, bring me one too, please." I shout after him.

He keeps walking, oblivious.

I grab a tiny rock, and toss it at him. He stops and turns around, confused.

"Brink me one too. please." I repeat.

He shakes his head and points to his earbuds.

I motion for him to remove one. He does.

"Please bring me one too, please."

"One what?"

"A drink"

"OK"

"Thanks"

I turn back to the task at hand, put my earbuds back in, hit play, put the rubber cap back on the spark plug, and re-start the mower.

From out of nowhere, my son taps me on the shoulder, scaring me to death. I jump and whirl around.

He laughs at me.

I reach down, kill the mower, pause my  iPod and take out my earbuds. Again.

"You scared me!"

"I know - that was funny."

'Thanks. What do you want?"

"What do you want to drink?"

"I don't care. Water is fine."

"OK."

One again, I put my earbuds back in, hit play, put the rubber cap back on the spark plug, and re-start the mower.

I look up, and my nine-year-old is waving frantically at me...

. 

Still Curfewsing: The Speech

Earlier this month I posted about the ongoing psych-op we call "Curfew" (Original post here). What I didn't anticipate was the terrific response. Apparently I hit a topic that many of us are interested in - with a wide array of opinions. It quickly became my #5 all time post, and my #1 most commented-on post. This was surprising to me, because I had been told that I was the only parent on the entire planet that still believed in the archaic curfew system.

Before I go on, I need to clarify one thing:  My returned missionary FOML has never complained or questioned when we have asked him to follow some guidelines as to when to be home. He "gets it", probably doesn't like it, but he is just good.

So, to add another layer to the discussion, I would like to share with you "The Speech". This is a speech that I would give during annual youth interviews to 15 year-olds. It wasn't so much as speech, as a discussion, but here is the gist of it:

So, are you excited about turning 15?
Yes.
There's not much different about 15 is there?
Not really.
What about next year? That's a big one.
Yeah 16 will be cool.
What are you most excited about?
Dating. Driving.
Sixteen is awesome. Do you want me to tell you one one of the great secrets of how to have more fun in high school?
Uh, sure?
Here's the deal: The more freedom you have, the better high school can be.
Yeah, but how can  get more freedom. My parents are really strict.
Haha. I love your parents. Do you know what a "Trust Fund" is?
Yeah, it's where rich parents save up money to give their kids.
Right. See this jar with candy in it?
Yeah.
Imagine that is a jar with money in it.
Yeah, can I have a mint?
Sure...Let's call that jar your "Trust Fund".
OK. thanks for the mint.
You're welcome. Now, imagine that every time you do what you are supposed to do, your parents drop a quarter in the jar.
I get it. They trust me more.
Right. So, while you are 15, the best thing you can do is to try and build up your Trust Fund as much as you can.
How can I do that?
Lots of ways - and you probably won't like them all: Every time you come home when you are supposed to, every time you do your chores without being nagged, every time you tell your parents who you are with, and where you are going, they put more money in the "Trust Fund".
Sweet. How else?
When you help do the dishes, when you work on your Scripture Mastery, YM/YW stuff, when you turn off inappropriate shows or music, when you are nice to your brothers and sisters - every time you do these things, you are building up your Trust Fund.
Yeah, but I'm only 15, I can't do any good stuff yet.
Exactly! But in a year you will be 16. You will want to go on dates, stay out later, borrow the car, etc. I promise you that if your parents look at the jar and see that it is full, they are a lot more likely to give you the freedom to do the things you want to do. What you do this year will dramatically effect how much freedom you have next year. I can't promise that you will always get what you want, and your parents gotta have rules, but you will have more freedom and you will all be happier.
Yeah. Because they trust me.
Yep. Do you want an extra tip?
I guess so?
When you get home at night, spend a few minutes telling your parents about what you did that night - with details. They love that stuff.
Extra money in the jar?
Absolutely. Now here's the tough part. If you don't do the things you are supposed to do - if you miss curfew, if you fight with your parents, if you try and have a boyfriend/girlfriend, if you are snotty or cranky all the time , if you won't pick up your room - you will find that your parents will dump out the Trust Fund, and you'll have to start over. Same thing happens when you are older: You can build up the trust for a long time, but you can lose it all with one big bad choice, or a bunch of dumb little choices, or even a lousy attitude. Then, when you ask them to let you take the car, or stay out an extra hour to finish a movie, they are gonna look at the empty jar...
And say "No".
Right.
That stinks.
Maybe, but it does make sense.
I guess so.
If you want freedom, you have to build the Trust Fund, and keep it full.  It take s a lot longer to re-earn trust than to earn it in the first place. So, if you want to have as much freedom as possible in High School, don't do anything that will take make your parents dump out your trust fund - and you need to start now.
OK. I'll try. Can I have another mint?



.

A Bublé Moment

There are times when I go to bed feeling as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Money, work, family, and the disintegration all around me can weigh heavy. But there is always tomorrow...

Have you ever...

Woken up the next morning with an entirely different outlook on life? A new dawn? A new day?

Have you ever...

Been filed with new solutions to old problems? Brimming with hope and excitement to right the wrongs around you?

Have you ever..

Been filled with so much energy and so much motivation that you can't possibly stay in bed for one more minute?

No?   Me neither.



.

Texting With My Teenager: Boy For Hire

"Do not hire a man who does your work for money,

but him who does it for love of it."
Henry David Thoreau 

Heee-Yeah! - Riiiiight!
Perhaps ol' Henry spent a little too much time at the pond?


Kinda funny that Nathaniel Hawthorne said this about Thoreau: "He has repudiated all regular modes of getting a living, and seems inclined to lead a sort of Indian life among civilized men- an Indian life, I mean, as respects the absence of any systematic effort for a livelihood".

Master, My Baby is Raging

Yeah, been there, done that. Five times. Now we are enjoying the point of our lives where the FOMLs will reverently sit through sacrament meeting, only interrupted by the sound of fingernails on the backs of white shirts.  It was a long road. Mind you, our kids were really quite good, so I have no room to complain. I am grateful that the Lord sent relatively peaceful kids to our union.

Unlike some of the kids at church today. Yikes! Don't get me wrong - I'm not a tyrant about crying kids. I completely understand that it happens. What I don't understand is why the parent doesn't eventually take the kid out of the meeting. Do they keep thinking "almost there, almost there"? Let me reassure you: You are not "almost there". You have lost this one. Go out, regroup, and try again later.

I don't say this out of harsh judgement, or out of spite. Which is how I would have said it in my younger years. As I have grown older, and much, much wiser, I have had opportunity to sit on the stand and watch the baby battles unfold from the front. I have watched as parents frantically try to stop a baby from crying right in the middle of the sacrament with binkies, bottles, breasts and Cheerios - all to no avail. I have watched the worried glances and mouthed conversations as the panicked parents pass the baby back and forth, hoping one can accomplish what the other can't. I have watched the sheepish/embarrassed/apologetic/angry expressions as one of the parents stumbles out of the pew with the victorious babe in arms. More than feeling irritated by the drama, I just grin, remember the days, and offer up a prayer of gratitude that it isn't me.

To those people who get bent out of shape when a baby cries, I would offer this gentle counsel: Repent you jerks.

I have learned this:  Mom & Dad - Relax! It is not that big of a deal. Babies cry. Toddlers have blow-outs. Kids need "to go". Life happens. Even especially during church meetings. I fear that the tension conveyed by the frantic parents only compounds the baby's stress, making it even less likely to calm things down.

Relax. Take a deep breath.

Here are a couple of quotes to think about:

This one is attributed to Brigham Young, but I can't find a reference for it...

"Crying babies are like good intentions: Both should be carried out immediately."

and this one that I can attribute:

"The reverence we speak of does not equate with absolute silence. We must be tolerant of little babies, even an occasional outburst from a toddler being ushered out to keep him from disturbing the peace. 

Unless the father is on the stand, he should do the ushering."

President Boyd K. Packer "Reverence Invites Revelation", October, 1991 General Conference

Hey moms! Did you catch that?  Next time one of the kids is pitching a fit and needs taken out, pass him to dad.  If he complains, tell him you are just following counsel from President Packer. Then sit back and enjoy the meeting - guilt free. You're off the hook! (Thank you notes are accepted and appreciated)

Love those little ones while you can. Pretty soon they'll be old enough to sleep through the meetings by themselves.

(One day, if I get the courage up, I'll delve into how to raise reverent kids - and I promise it won't be about food and entertainment.)

The Riches of the Temple. What?

But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt,

and where thieves do not break through nor steal. Matthew 6:20

An important part of LDS theology is the importance of temples. We believe that attending the temple can provide great treasures of knowledge and inspiration.  But I'm not talking about that right now.  I'm talking about this guy:

Yep, you got it. It's Sundararajan - the retired police officer. Personally, most policemen I know don't look like Mr. Sundararajan. Perhaps he was undercover. What does Sundararajan have to do with temples? Be patient, and I'll tell you.

Sundararajan lived near his local Hindu temple, called  "Sree Padmanabhaswamy" in Trivandrum, India. (I promise I am not making any of this up.) 

Here is the temple: (I think the building next door is the customer service center that I call when I have questions on my credit card bill.)

The local legend was that there was a treasure in the temple that had been accumulated over many years. Sundararajan was concerned that the temple and the alleged treasure wasn't guarded. So, he had a wild hair, (get it, wild hair? Man, that's funny! OK. If you don't get it, look at his picture, then you'll get it.) Anyway, Mr. Sundarajan asked the government to come down and inventory what they could find, and see if it needed better security.

So, a couple weeks ago, the government went to the temple and opened up the underground vaults to get an idea of what this mythical treasure was all about. They did find some treasure. The found some gold, some silver, some emeralds, some diamonds.  All told, they estimated the worth of the treasure to be somewhere in the neighborhood of $22 million dollars.

Wait! Did I say $22 Million?  I meant $22 BILLION worth of hidden treasure.

Ropes made of gold, sacks of diamonds, crowns, golden statues, 2000lbs of gold coins - you know Indiana Jones/National Treasure type stuff. There is even one more vault that they are afraid to open because there are markings on the door saying that if you open it, you will incur the "Divine Wrath". Again, I'm not making any of this up, even though this all reminds me of the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland.

Rather than incur the "Divine Wrath", they formed a committee to talk about who should open it, or if anyone should open it. Kind of a Hindu "hot potato". They also formed committees to decide what to do about the treasure they found. Some say it belongs to the deity and should stay put, others say there could possibly be some people in India that could use a few bucks. (For example, the education budget for the entire nation is $11 billion) I'm sure they'll be fighting about it for years to come.

Whatever they choose to do with it, you gotta be surprised that it even exists, let alone the size.  Turns out the the Maharajas over the past few hundred years had been acquiring a lot of wealth, and kept it locked up in the temple vaults. A lot of the treasure is from donations from the local worshippers. Sad, but you gotta admire their devotion.

I have been to many of the LDS temples, and my guess is that on a good day, the cafeteria and the clothing counter might amass in the neighborhood of $500. Personally, I am glad to that our temples are not repositories of vast treasures - at least to my knowledge...

---

A final note: Mr. Sundararajan achieved his goal to have the vaults opened on earlier this month. Sadly, he died two weeks later on July 17th. He was 70 years-old.

News article on temple treasure

News article on unopened vault

News article on death of Sundararajan

Power of the Shirt

It might look like a plain, gray BYU t-shirt. But it is deceptively powerful. The power does not lie in the fabric, the stitching, or even the mighty cougar standing atop the BYU logo. 

I have several BYU shirts. Blue ones, gray ones, and the seasonal football shirts with the cheesy slogans. Why? I am a proud alumnus of BYU. I had a great experience, and remember it fondly. (If anyone from alumni fundraising is reading this, I am just joking, I have no money, and I don't believe in telephones.)

Sorry - back to the power.  The power of my BYU shirts lies in the simple fact that they have within their cotton-poly strands the ability to alter my behavior. It is true. I'm not necessarily proud of it, but it is true. No, they are not magic, and they do not have the power to repel various stains and tears, but they help me be a better person.

How so?

Look at the shirt. What do you see?  Brigham Young. The famous Mormon prophet. The American Moses. The Lion of the Lord. A colossal name known throughout the country as one of the great figures in US history. Two things come to the minds of most Americans when they read his name:  1) Lots of wives, and 2) Mormon.

When I wear my BYU shirt I am essentially declaring my religion. It is like wearing a sticker on my chest that says "I'm a Mormon."  I don't own any other pieces of clothing that says anything about me as personal, or as important, as this.

Nobody looks at a Mickey Mouse shirt and assumes that the wearer was raised a Congregationalist, or looks at a Tiger Woods shirt and thinks "I'll bet that guy is Buddhist." Even a University of Utah t-shirt only promotes the possibility of Mormonism, but also the possibility that the wearer is all about not being Mormon.)

But generating an assumption of Mormonism is not power. The power lies in my behavior change...

Sometimes I struggle with patience, selfishness and kindness. I know for a fact that I am more patient with people I don't know when I have my BYU shirt on. I am less likely to show anger, or to be sarcastic. I suddenly have all sorts of patience for the woman ahead of me in the grocery line who decides to pay with loose change from her purse after the checker is done ringing up the last of her groceries. (I digress...) I am even more likely to stop and help someone, or let someone cut ahead of me.

Yes, I'm flawed - but honest!

My improved behavior isn't as much about how the person will perceive me personally, but how the person might define the Church by how I behave. I feel a sense of responsibility to present the Church in the best light that I can. The kicker is, I should feel like that all the time - no matter what I'm wearing. And I don't even own a CTR ring.

Sometimes I find air travel very frustrating. Airports, airplanes, customs, TSA, etc. Often I will intentionally wear a BYU shirt to remind and motivate me to be patient and kind.  I have had strangers in both Europe and Africa shout "Go Cougars!" when they see me. If the Cougar fans notice my shirt, so do others.

The goal:

Behave as if I had a BYU Shirt, or an "I'm a Mormon" sticker on my chest all the time. Or, better yet, get to the point where the image of Christ shines in my countenance. (Alma 5:19) That is the goal. And if my lowly BYU shirt helps me along the way, I'll take it.

Curfewsing, Ain't It?

"You treat me like I'm a five-year-old."

Those were the last words I heard before I fell asleep last night. Just another day in the perpetual curfew wars. A war where I covet a white flag of surrender. Are we alone in this battle? The way that it has been explained to me, I am the only parent in the western hemisphere who still clings to the antiquated idea of a "curfew". With the exception of those kids who belong to families that live in compounds with their cousins, and don't have flat panel TVs. You know, like the Amish.

Right now I have 3 sons living at home over the age of 14. One high schooler, one post-high school/pre-mission, one post mission/pre-independent. They are all good young men, mostly obedient, and very social. The problem is, they all have their own opinions as to how late they should be able to stay out at night - so "one size" definitely does not "fit all."

When the FOMLs come home, they check in to let us know. This week, due to HP7.2, those check-ins have come at 11:00pm, 11:30pm, Midnight, 1:30am, 2:40am, etc. I plan on being tired all summer.

I know it sounds selfish, but I like to get a few consecutive hours of sleep when I go to bed, and I have lost the precious ability to sleep in.

My EC and I talk to my boys about this, and we just can't seem to find a consensus. Here are some of the statements that invariably come up from the FOMLs:

1) You don't need to wait up - just go to bed.
2) When I was on my mission I didn't have to check in. (OK, my RM is way too good to say this. It is possible that I said it to my parents. Often.)
3) If I were away at school, you would have no idea what time I came in.
4) You treat me like a five-year-old.
5) I'm the only kid I hang around with that has a curfew.
6) You don't trust me. (This is supposed to be the "nuclear option")

When I hear these things being said, I say to myself "that is a bunch of crap." But when confronted with the boys face-to-face, I usually respond with something wise like "that is a bunch of crap."  (My wife keeps reminding me that everything I think does not have to be spoken)

Sometimes the dialogue improves from there, sometimes not. Our position, when articulated, is this:

1) When you are living in our home, we feel that we are entitled to know when you come home.
2) When you were on a mission you followed much stricter rules, and were always home early.
3) If you attend a church school you do have curfews. Midnight everyday except Friday, 1:30am.
4) Only a five-year-old would complain that they are being treated like a five-year-old.
5) Bologna.
6) Arrgh!  We do trust you, but we trust you a lot more before curfew than after..

That is the dilemma.  Kids throw out these ridiculous generalities, and we respond poorly. And I'm still tired.

We used to joke that the Holy Ghost went to bed at midnight.  Personally, I don't think that is true - I think he just gets really tired of whispering to people who aren't listening, and, rather than be ignored, he just want to relax with a pint of ice cream. (Maybe I'm personalizing this too much...)

About the whole trust thing: You can trust someone and still not want them to put themselves in a dangerous situation. For heaven's sake, the bishop needs a chaperone to do interviews!

Last October in General Conference, Elder Larry Lawrence said "I have always believed that nothing really good happens late at night, and that young people need to know what time they are expected to come home...There is a great deal of wisdom displayed when parents stay up and wait for their children to return home. Young men and women make far better choices when they know their parents are waiting up to hear about their evening and to kiss them good night." (Full address here.)

My interpretation of Elder Lawrence's talk is that I will be tired for another 15 years.

If nothing else, the FOMLs should be grateful that I have never done what Bonnie Parkin (Former Church RS President) used to do: "We had curfew and told our sons that the Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight. When they didn't come home, a few times the Holy Ghost told me to go out and find them. That surprised a few of their dates!" (Full adress here.)

Um.  Yikes?

---

So, I have no real solutions, but here is our current summertime stand:

High school Freshman: 11:00pm. Tuesday-Sunday. (Monday nights are FHE - everyone stays in -subject of a whole 'nother post, and much drama)
Post-High Schooler and Post-Mission: Midnight Tuesday-Sunday, Except Friday-1:30am. (BYU curfew)


Additional points to consider:
My house - my rules
My car - my rules
Yes, there can be exceptions
No, it doesn't matter what I did when I was your age


I'm sure some of you are reading this and thinking:
1) He's a TYRANT!
2) He is way too easy.
3) There is a curfew at BYU? I wonder if I ever went to bed before 3:00am.
4) The new Harry Potter is out? How did I miss that?
5) I believe in having a curfew for my kids, specifically because I didn't have one.

Chime in!  I would love your opinions on this matter. Meanwhile, I'm gonna go take a nap.

Changing Change

I had a gourmet breakfast this morning: A fast food breakfast burrito.  (I know, I know) The service was quick, the person working the microphone spoke passable English, and I even remembered to ask for salsa. (Because what crazy person would expect salsa to accompany a breakfast burrito.)

Everything went swimmingly until I got my change back. The tiny window attendant stood on her tip-toes to reach out the window to hand me my change. She had it all stacked up in the following order: Bills on the bottom, then the receipt, and all the loose change on top. Now I'm sitting in my serial-killer truck (link) with my arm extended, holding a tower of change. I slowly bend my elbow to get my arm in the window, and all the change slides off the receipt and falls on the ground. And no, I do not have motor skill issues.

The cashier pretends she didn't see, and quickly shuts the window. I try to open my door, but I am too close to the window. Just then a car pulls up behind me.  Grrr! What to do? Nope. I didn't have any answers either. So I pulled around again. Hey, it was almost a buck! That'll pay for my afternoon beverage!

I pulled up to the microphone and a cheery voice asked if I would like to try the "spicy chicken combo" (at 7:00am) I said no thanks, and pulled up behind the car that was behind me.  When they left, I pulled up, as far to the right edge of the lane as I could. Then I got out of the truck. Once again, the girl quickly shut the window, but this time she looked a little worried. I scooped up the change on the ground, got back in my truck and drove to work.

At a stoplight, I checked the change to see if I found it all. I did. In addition, I got an extra quarter, a dime and two pennies. Whoo-hoo! I figure the extra 37¢ was how much it cost to drive around the building the extra time. And I knew I was not alone.

The Book of Mormon talks about "Slippery Riches" but I don't think this is what Samuel the Lamanite had in mind (Helaman 13:31).  Since when did stacking the coins on top of the bills become the common way to give change? It makes no sense. My hand is built to hold coins in the palm, leaving my fingers free to grab bills and receipts.

I remember back in the olden days when I worked grocery and retail, we were taught to give change back carefully, and narrate the process. If the bill was $2.50, and they gave me a Five, I would count it back like this:

The total was $2.50. Here is 2.75 and 3, (Putting two quarters in the palm of their hand)
and here is 4 and 5 (Putting two dollar bills in their hand)

Is that so difficult?

Yeah, I think it is. I'm afraid that a lot of people don't have the math chops to actually do this accurately. Unfortunately, when you get your change in a stack, you have no idea if it is correct. You either have to stop and count it with the cashier watching (and the people behind you waiting), or you just take their word for it and move on - balancing the stack as you leave the counter. The problem is, the change is often wrong. It happens to me all the time. I give a twenty, they treat it as a ten. They give too many, or two few dollars back. I'm not cranky enough to stop them and make them do it right, but I do watch very carefully and try and catch it when it happens.

Oh yeah. Debit card. Nevermind.

Things I Learned From Gilligan, Marcia & Sherwood

As many of you might have heard, Sherwood Schwartz passed away yesterday. In case his name isn't emblazoned in your memory banks, he was the creator of not one, but two of the most important television shows of all time. Shows that helped define my childhood, and made me the man that I am today. The Brady Bunch and Gilligan's Island.

Whether broadcast in Prime Time, or after school, I never missed either. Looking back, it is remarkable that either of those shows were ever televised in the evening. As a tribute to Sherwood (I feel we should be on a first name basis by now) I am dedicating today's post to him.

As a tribute, here is a list of things that I learned because of the Brady Bunch and Gilligan's Island:

1) My parents were either to poor, or too cheap, to have a live-in housekeeper.

2) Never trust a jungle boy with your raincoat balloon. Even if he looks like Kurt Russell.

3) Repair vases with water-resistant glue. And for heaven's sake, develop a good poker face.

4) Always look for concealed vines before entering a cave.

5) "Something Suddenly Came Up" is strangely effective in most circumstances.

6) Never hide in a hollow tree when woodpeckers or Jonathan Kincaid are present.

7) Always return evil Tiki statues to the burial ground before you go surfing.

8) Stay away from glue and feathers when posing for satellite photos.

9) Pork chops should be eaten with...(of course)...applesauce. (Yeah, too easy)

10) You can make anything out of coconut shells and bamboo. Anything.

11) Feigning terminal illness is the absolute best way to get a sports celebrity to show up at your house.

12) Redheads are high maintenance. And conceited.

13) If my parents had shown up with a "Cousin Oliver" he would have ended up buried in the backyard.

14) None of my fillings could ever pick up AM radio - only an occasional CB trucker. I feel cheated.

15) Every time Robert Reed kissed Florence Henderson it was a lie. A damned lie.

Personal note: Once when my EC was pregnant, we watched a rerun of the Brady Bunch episode where Bobby idolizes Jesse James until he has a nightmare where Jesse James kills the entire Brady family. I looked over at her and she was crying her eyes out. True story.

An even more personal note:  Yeah, Marcia was hot. Ginger, not so much.

I guess even though Sherwood is gone, he would want us all to have a "Sunshine Day"

A Box of Memories: Collegiate Vinyl

Back in May I discovered a magical box that contained the last vestiges of my record collection. I posted a sampling of the music that I purchased during my High School years. (link here)

The eldest FOMLs asked me to hurry up and write part two, with a recap of the records I bought during my college days.  These are records from 1979 to 1984, before I was able to make the switch to CDs.  So, in essence, this is my final vinyl. As I mentioned before, much of the most important music from those years is not necessarily in my vinyl collection. My friends and I were masters at taping each other's albums, and living off of cassettes. We especially loved taping from the kids lucky enough to have CDs. (The technology was too new to even consider the morality of copying the music.)

So, here is a baker's dozen of my college albums:

Led Zeppelin "In Through the Out Door"

I wore this record out. My roommates were good sports about it.

Rush "Permanent Waves"

Could have just as easily chosen "Moving Pictures" but I always thought the girl was cute.

Oingo Boing "Good For Your Soul"

Who woulda thought that Danny Elfman would end up a big-time movie composer?

Phil Collins "Face Value"

Where I learned that the best art usually has its roots in pain.
Apparently he was quite happy later, when he wrote Sussudio.

The Pretenders "Learning to Crawl"

When Chrissie Hynde sang "I've got a kid, I'm 33" I thought, man, she's OLD!

(I have always found the name "Chrissie" strangely alluring.)

INXS "The Swing"

INXS was a dominant force through my life in the '80's. Actually saw them perform at BYU Marriott Center.  I think a lot of girls that went to that concert visited with their bishops the next day because Michael Hutchence made them think really bad thoughts.

Kenny Loggins "Keep the Fire" 

Saw Kenny perform twice at the Smith Fieldhouse on consecutive nights.  He made me appreciate that one of the keys to a great performer is the ability to seem like you are truly enjoying what you are doing.  He was amazing. Spent an awful lot of time in D.T. playing Loggins on the guitar freshman year.

Simple MInds "Once Upon a Time"

I do remember that this was part of a Columbia House promotion where you would get 15 albums for 1¢, then spend the next two years trying to get out of the contract.

Gary Numan "Dance"

Strange and wonderful stuff. Thanks JB.

Rickie Lee Jones "Pirates"

Quirky, jazzy, completely unique. Exactly what you would expect a college boy to stay away from.

Amadeus Soundtrack

I worked at a theater that showed this movie, and saw it about 50 times. Loved the music, still listen to it often. Because of this soundrack, I am a sucker for Mozart.

John Cougar "American Fool"

This is before John Mellencamp has his cougar removed. I thought this was good, but the next one was "Scarecrow". It was truly an important album, and I proceeded to buy his next 10 CDs.

Sting "Dream of the Blue Turtles"

Sting's first post-Police solo album. This was his best, and every album afterwards got progressively less impressive. (Yet I still bought them.) I did see him perform at Park City while touring for this album, and it was one of the best concerts I have ever seen. Perhaps the best.

So, there is a selection of what I owned.  In retrospect, I think I had pretty good taste in music and women. Still do. I love my wife, and hate "The Tallest Man on Earth."

Please Stop Saying That: Looking for the "Art" in "Patriarch"

• This is the third of a series of things that we hear at church on a regular basis that I wish people would stop saying. They are not big, honkin', scary things, just little expressions that you hear frequently that just don't quite work. (Grammatically or doctrinally) The introduction to this series is here. The first post is here, the second here.

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I was seventeen when I received my Patriarticle blessing. I had never met our Stake Patriarticle until that day, but he was great. Please don't confuse a Stake Patriarticle with the Partriarticles of old - for example Noah - he was the Patriarticle who built the Article to escape the flood with the animals.

Had enough?  I've got more?

In England, they have a Queen. She is the country's Monarticle.

OK. I'll stop now.  For those who aren't familiar with Patriarchal Blessings, they are wonderful. Here is a link to the Church website to learn more about them.

Sadly, there are approximately 3 million members of the church who do not know how to pronounce Patriarchal correctly. Most of them live in Utah.

I had the opportunity to serve as a Bishop and interview many people to receive their Patriarchal blessing. After the interview I would ask them to read the word "Patriarchal". It was amazing how many people pronounced it "Patri-article." It's like how most politicians can't correctly pronounce "nuclear". But I digress...

To do my part in helping my fellow man, here is a short lesson on the correct pronunciation of Patriarchal. Ready? Proceed.

Say "Patriarch".

Patriarticle.

No, just patri-ark, like the boat.

Patriarch.

Very good. Now say "ULL" as in seagull.

"Ull".

Very good. Now put them together.

Patriarch Seagull.

No. Just the "ull" part

Oh. Patri-article

That was close. Try again.

Patriarticle. (louder)

Not quite.  This time I'll say "patriarch" you say "ull".

OK.

Patriarch...

...ull.

Good. This time you say both parts.

Patri...arch...ull.

Congratulations! You did it! Do it one more time.

Patriarchal! Patriarchal!

Perfect. I'm so proud of you.

Thank you for teaching me how to say patriarticle correctly.

.

Beachiness

Don't be jealous, but the EC and all 5 FOMLs just finished up a week at the beach. Nevermind, feel free to be jealous while I gloat.  It was a great time.  While I was enjoying myself, and on the rare occasions that my brain was working, I made a few mental notes to share with you.  Here are a few observations from my week:

Most of us don't look so good in a swimsuit. Unfortunately, this makes many of us feel bad. But, no matter how bad you look on the beach, wait a little while, and someone will come along that makes you look freakin' FABULOUS.

Tattoos are the plague of this generation. (Well, one of the more visible plagues)

Chaffing. Shudder.

I love watching parents teach their kids how to love the beach and ocean - whether it be swimming, sand castles, boogie boards or paddle ball. It makes me smile and respect that parent. It also makes me wish that one of them would take one of my kids and teach them all that cool stuff while I read my book.

The only thing more irritating than trying to stop an evil child from stomping your sandcastle is noticing the child's idiot parents silently watching him do his damage.

The sheer power of the ocean is awe-inspiring. Especially when it is mashing your face into the sand beneath a wave. Over and over and over and over again.

Dean Koontz "Breathless" - one of the worst books of all time.

One child always underestimates the importance of sunscreen reapplication. And we all hear about it for days afterwards.

Oh, to be young again.

I also noticed that my "needs" at the beach change as the week progresses.

Day 1
Swimsuit
T-Shirt
Sandals
Sunglasses
Towel
Chair
Umbrella
Sunscreen
Book
iPhone
Headphones
SwimEar
Cooler
Ice
Water bottles
Fruit
Granola bars
Sand toys
Shovel
Boogie Board
Skim board

Day 3

Swimsuit

T-Shirt

Sunglasses

Chair

Umbrella

Sunscreen

Book

Cooler

Diet Cokes

Doritos

Sand toys

Boogie Board

Day 5

Swimsuit

2 liter Mountain Dew

Box of Yellow Zingers

Yep. Perfect day.

Tomorrow: Drive home.

Dinner and Unintentional Entertainment

As you can probably tell by my sporadic posting, I am on vacation with the fam. One of the beautiful things about having older kids is when you have just about had enough "quality family time" you and the EC can declare it "Date Night" and leave them to their own devices. Tonight those devices consisted of RedBox and Mac n' Cheese. I imagine they are as glad to get a break from us as we are from them.

So we went out to dinner, just the two of us, to a nice Mexican restaurant that we have loved for years. We were seated in a quiet corner of the patio, away from the masses. Perfect. The strolling Mariachi band even found us and played us a romantic song. It felt like it should have been for a special occasion. My EC was particularly lovely, laughed at my jokes, and only ate about half her food. Perfect. I was able to enjoy mine, and also her leftovers - after I reassured her there was no point in taking what little was left back to the four boys to fight over.

It was already quite late, and the place had cleared out a lot while we were dining. After we finished, our waitress had vanished - we figured that she had forgotten about us. We weren't bothered, and enjoyed the quiet time to talk. Eventually she came back, took our dessert order, brought us soda refills, and left us alone again.

Somewhere in between the main course and dessert I realized that there was a closed circuit camera system watching over the patio - and us. I became immediately concerned about what was going on on the other end of the video feed. (Translated to English for your convenience)

Hey Manuel - look at this - that guy at table 17 finished his chimichanga already!
No way- it's too big - I just took it out to him.
It's true. He finished it - ate all the frijoles too. Hey Pablo, come look at this...
What? I'm busy...
Check this guy out. He means business.
What? Do you want to bet on this guy?
Yeah.
OK. Five bucks says he takes his wife's plate and finishes it too.
You're on for five bucks!
No, I think he'll just reach over and eat off her plate. I'm not betting.
Hah! Told you he'd take the whole plate. You owe me five bucks.
Wait - wait. Maria is going back. Who wants to bet on dessert?
Ten dollars says he gets dessert.
I'm in!
No way he has room for dessert. You are on for ten bucks.
Nope, no dessert. He just asked for another refill.
That's his third. He's going to be up all night.
Wait..wait..he's calling her back...Dessert!

All right you guys - quit watching the camera and get back to work.

(Five minutes later)
Psst, Manuel. The wife ate two bites of the deep fried ice cream, and he finished it off.
All of it?
Even the fried tortilla.
I hate that guy. He cost me $15. He better leave a good tip.

(I did leave a good tip.)

Vacation Church

Yep. We go to church when we are on vacation. WE ARE SO STINKIN' RIGHTEOUS!

In all honesty, this is a fairly new development in my life - we didn't attend on vacation when I was a kid, and we didn't early in my marriage. We went through a phase where we always seemed to forget our church clothes when we visited the in-laws (much to their chagrin). But for the past 10 years or so, we have made an effort to attend wherever we are gone over a Sunday. It has become part of our expected family tradition. And since we are clever, we have our boys attend at times with no tie, or wearing tennis shoes, or jeans - despite their best efforts to forget their church clothes.

It a has been a good thing. Personally, I feel it hard to teach the incredible importance of the sabbath, and taking the sacrament weekly, if I am willing to wave it off to hit the beach, or to sleep in, or to get early admittance into Tomorrowland.

Today we attended a ward that was probably at 800% normal attendance because of vacationers. You could see the stress on the deacon's faces, and the smile on the bishop's.

When we first walked in, I was a little put back. The usher that was passing out the programs was greeting people as they entered the chapel. I said hello and reached out my hand for a program. He promptly took my hand, shook it and welcomed me to church.  I still stood there with my hand out. He looked at me again and smiled - and just stood there.

Could I have a program?
Are you a visitor?
Yes.
(Silence)
Is there a problem?
Not at all. Here you go.
Thanks!

I took my hard-won program and went to my metal chair in the overflow. Did I do something wrong? Are they experiencing a ward budget crisis? I guess I didn't really NEED a program - I am just curious as to how other wards do things. So, I settled in, a little put off, and prepared for the meeting.

Most of the time I visit other wards, it is on Fast Sunday, and we attend Testimony Meeting. I was thinking about it, and it mostly has to do with the holiday calendar.  Memorial Day, 4th of July, and Labor Day all fall around the first of the month, and often the next Sunday is Fast Sunday. I like it. It seems you have a much better opportunity to get a feel for the saints in that congregation than if you are listening to a High Councilor or some other assigned speaker. Sometimes you learn that the congregation is made up of really interesting people (read crazy).

Today, I found that the saints in this congregation were wonderful. The testimonies were powerful. Nobody went "off the rails." I felt like we were at the right place at the right time. We left feeling good, conversing about some of the testimonies we heard.

Over the past ten years I have attended church on five continents in a half-dozen languages. I have learned that the Lord's church is the Lord's church. Everywhere. Whether the nuances and procedures are the same or not, it doesn't matter. The Spirit of the Lord shines through when good-hearted people bear testimony of the truth - regardless of the wealth or poverty, language, culture or legacy of the people.

It was a good day.

Oh... We didn't stay for block. We aren't there yet. I do have a small concern that if we were to stay all three hours, while on vacation, it just might be the final push that would result in me being translated. I feel that this would be a hardship on those people left behind who are dependent on me, and I think that would be unfair.