The Flying Baileys

Tough Girl

2011-11-20T17:25:00.001-08:00

Kate has been taking Tae Kwon Do for some time now. Yesterday was a big test, to see if she could become a "black belt deputy 2." The tests involve sparring with others, and of course, breaking perfectly good boards in half with a bare hand or foot (or in this case, two boards, one with each). A student has to show in practice that they can do all that is required, including breaking boards, before they can undertake the actual test, performed in front of the parents of everyone in her academy class and others.

The day before the test, Kate worked so hard, and hit a board so many times, that she got the cut and bruise you can see on her middle finger knuckle above. Yet the very next day, she came for testing, and blew through the board with that same bare, un-bandaged knuckle, bruising her forefinger knuckle in the process. She passed with flying colors. While I have no idea what a "black belt deputy 2" is, it must mean in part "ONE TOUGH GIRL." One thing I do know, however, is that Kate totally rocks. I am also starting to realize that since many of my bones are thinner than the board she broke, I may need to tread more lightly in the "parental suggestions for improvement" category.

Like I needed that--parenting is hard enough as it is. Luckily for me, she is just a great girl, so I remain naively hopeful we can get through her impending teenage years with my bones intact. Wish me luck!

For Aldy on His Birthday

2011-11-13T22:54:00.001-08:00

November 10, 2011

Dear Aldy,

You are seven years old! I can’t believe that, but what I dobelieve is that you are the greatest ever. I am beyond amazed that I have a child who is only sevenyears old, and yet I don’t feel the need to worry about you at all – youwill do just fine in life, come what may. That sounds crazy given how tough theworld can be, but I know it is true. There is just something about you little buddy. No matter what happens, you will beable to work your way through it, and not just survive, but thrive.

The reasons would make a list a mile long, but let me writea few:

You are a really good person. You are always trying to do what is right, to understand other people, and to be fair and kind and helpful. You are just a great kid that way. Those qualities will be really important when you grow up, too.
You are a great friend. I can hear it in your voice whenever you talk about your friends and cousins – you love them, and they mean a lot to you. You are always excited to see them, and your affection is so genuine. I hope you never take for granted the joy and love that comes with being a good friend. It is one of the most important things you can ever be.
You are true to yourself, and have incredible integrity. If something is not right or doesn’t feel good to you, you just won't do it, period, no matter how much pressure there is to cave in. It may not seem like it some times, but I love this about you. Always listen to your heart and the Holy Spirit, Aldy, and do what they tell you, no matter what. If you do, everything will work for your good in the end. I know you will resist any pressure to do wrong, sell out, give in, or go with the mediocre flow, and it makes me so happy. It is an important key to a wonderful life.
You have an amazing ability to focus. I have never seen anyone with your ability to concentrate and see a project through to the end. Thousands of Lego pieces, with three-volume instructions? No problem, even if it takes two days straight, with virtually no breaks, to build it. 'Nuf said.
You are really smart. Speaking, reading, writing, even learning math in Chinese as a first grader. Reading verses from Isaiah without assistance during family scripture study. Complete computer-savviness even before you could read. Beating your father at Angry Birds every time. Calculating Pi out to the 20^th decimal point – ok, so maybe beating dad at Angry Birds isn't so impressive, and maybe I made that last one up, but really, need I say more? You just rock.
You are persistent, and won’t take no for an answer. While this can be excruciating for your parents, with some fine-tuning it will be a great skill for you one day. You already get so much more out of us than you should just because it wears us down to have to say no. We are very hopeful that our pain becomes your gain – in persuading others about your ideas or inventions, whatever they may be.
Simple things make you happy. The other day, you told me “Dad, I love the seasons.” And so it is with you. Short, declarative statements about simple things that make you happy. The first snowfall. A rainstorm with water coursing down the gutter. A beautiful day. A funny joke. Unwrapping presents. Riding your bike. Sand and waves on a beach. The perfect way two things fit together. Little, simple things make you happy buddy. And that is such a great way to be. Never lose that quality, and you will be in for a long and very contented life.
You are by nature polite. From the very earliest days, you were always saying “please,” “thank you,” and “excuse me.” It may seem like a small thing, but civility and respect are qualities you have always had. The world is in short supply of both, and whenever something is that rare, it is bound to be valuable. Always be that way, Aldy, even if no one else around you is, and it will pay off before all is said and done.
You have no guile in you. To this day, you refuse to lie, even when there are consequences to telling the truth. Wow. I have so much respect for you I can’t even begin to describe how impressed I am by your honesty. I will always believe you buddy, because you have never given me a reason to do otherwise, and so far, it hasn’t even crossed your mind to do that. You are wonderful.
You say really great prayers. I love family prayer, and waiting to hear what you will say. You give it so much thought, take whatever time is necessary, and say what is in your heart. Prayers do more good than we will ever know, and yours are special. Keep up the good work!

Last But Not Least, You Are A Great Brother. You are so patient with Keegan. You let him pal around with you talking non-stop like he does, pestering you with questions, insisting on doing things his way, and yet you rarely lose patience with him. And you love Kate so much, and are so good with her. Family is the most important thing on this planet, Aldy, and you already know how to do it so well. Thank you.

I love you so deeply, little buddy. I am the luckiest dad in the whole world. Happy, HappyBirthday!

Love,

Dad.

Back to England -- In My Mind

2011-11-06T21:35:00.000-08:00

Well, with a couple of exceptions, I left off blogging in the middle of England (geographically as well as mid-trip) -- in Sheffield to be exact. I need to finish recording that trip here before I forget everything, and really, the north of England is beautiful, absolutely worth a visit for anyone considering a European destination, so I thought I would share those memories with anyone who still cares to stop by this poor neglected URL.

DORE

After traipsing around my Dad's old haunts in downtown Sheffield, we headed to the very nearby town of Dore, to visit English family of my aunt Dot (formally Dorothy, but she could never go by that in a million years). Here they are:

Mary, in the center with my mom, is Dot's sister in law, and a very spry 86. To her left is her daughter Jane, with Jane's husband Duncan just behind. Kate (not pictured because she had to leave before lunch), is Jane and Duncan's daughter, had just become a Solicitor -- an english lawyer that does anything and everything but appear in court.

After a lovely visit in Mary's home, we wandered off with her, Duncan and Jane to the center of Dore, which is quite the quaint little town.

There we dined at a true English pub, the Hare and Hound (really, can there be anything more quintessential than that?), where we had Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding. It was was fabulous, as was the hearty laughter that only the self-deprecating British can truly achieve.

Memories of my Grandma Winnie flooded through me as we ate. She had cooked dinner for us almost every Sunday of my youth, and more often than not it involved a very good helping of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, smothered in gravy, with a vegetable side, usually carrots or peas. Crowded around the small round table in her modest kitchen, we ate every last scrap of the pudding and every last drop of gravy, only peripherally aware of its roots in this distant land. It remains one of my favorite dishes to this day (along with her Chicken Pot Pie), and I will never turn it down when given the opportunity.

We spent only a few hours with Mary, Duncan and Jane, but there is something about family in another country, no matter how distant the connection--even a short time together seals a bond that you hardly new existed before meeting. The fibers of your DNA just seem to know that these people are a part of you, and that really means something, even if you have never seen them before, and may never see them again. It was a very sad goodbye after we finished. Dad is so fond of Mary and her family, and the likelihood that he would not see them again, paired with the love and connection he felt for them, hung heavy in the air. Yet what a wonderful thing it is to love other people, and share a Sunday brunch with them, as if thousands of miles and decades of time don't matter much at all.

A last note for the record -- turns out in addition to being quaint, Dore is historically significant as well. Here in 829 the "must have been tough as nails with that name" King Eggbert defeated King Eanred of Northumbria, becoming the first Overlord of all England. Here is the sign to prove it:

With that, it is off to York.

Mirror Lake with the Bells

2011-07-29T23:33:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we escaped the heat to join our neighbors, the Bells, for a day at their campsite on Mirror Lake. The Uinta mountains are only an hour and a half drive away, and every visit leaves me thinking, "What am I thinking?!! I should be here every weekend!" Now if I could just get the yard to cooperate with that notion, life would be grand.

On the way up, we stopped at the Provo River falls on the Upper Provo River. The kids love scrambling around here, and Aldy wanted a picture. So good to see him like this, given that two weeks ago he was in a hospital bed.

The Bells have one of the sweetest hammocks ever. Doubles as a group swing. Very popular attraction.

Here is the crew down at the lake, enjoying the mild temperatures, and watching the entertainment. That consisted of Jacob, doing his best survival guru impression, and showing how a log could be used as a handy personal flotation device. Kid will be an adventurer some day, no doubt about it.

Sarah was a very persistent little fisherman . . . er, fishergirl? Here she is telling Keegan, "I'll catch a fish for you, Keegan." She could be a keeper, bringing home the fish and frying it up in a pan.

Keegan, bless his tender little heart, would probably make her let the fish go. He loves creatures of all kinds, and if they are not too delicate, always manages to let them go after a proper period of confinement.

This girl, whoever she is (waaaay to old to be Kate, right? I mean, she looks so much older than the Kate I know, certain similarities -- smart as a whip, reading fiend, beautiful-- notwithstanding), wants a dog real bad. Swears she will clean up the poo and brave blizzards to walk him. The only problem is that her mother is allergic, and, tragedy of all tragedies, we have recently learned that hypo allergenic dogs, so diligently researched by a certain pre-teen, are now clearly a myth. Great. What is a fella to do? Guess we'll have to make do with occasional visits.

How is that for a trail of flowers? Little white fellas were everywhere.

The Bells do love their fishing! Sarah was still hard at it when we left, with Tyler trying to help is sister understand the fine art of casting. All in all, a great day. Thanks guys!

Almost Heaven, W . . .

2011-07-10T22:07:00.000-07:00

yoming. Wind Rivers, Wyoming, to be exact. (Sorry West Virginia, but you didn't stand a chance.)

We packed the kids into the lean, mean camping machine for a four-day camping trip over the July 4th weekend, and had this place almost to ourselves.

It was a killer campsite, just off the lake, with jagged peaks all around and a sweet tent site.

We have seen many a beautiful place in our travels, but this is about as good as a mountain range and a mountain lake can get.

The boys had a great time at the lake's only beach.

Kate was the brave one -- that snow does not travel very far before dumping into the lake, and boy did you know it from the first toe dip. She was undeterred -- at least until it came to the armpits. For some reason, that was a barrier even she couldn't break.

Will it float? Happily, they couldn't get it dislodged, so we didn't have to find out the hard way.

King of the Stump. I have never seen someone so comfortable in bare feet on forest floor and rocky dirt as Keegan. You would think those feet were pure rawhide instead of the baby soft load of tickle that they really are.

The Highline Trail through the Winds, a roadless wonderland of wilderness, begins its 100 plus mile trek right here, along the Green River Lakes.

We didn't quite make the 100 mile . . . . er, two mile mark, before certain little legs gave out. Luckily, there are some pretty fine resting spots along the way.

Keegan, however, wanted everyone to know that he went "extra" distance, and was "a champion hiker." So now you know. He is a real trooper, and such a joy to hike with, where every flower is a wonder, every stream a playground, every animal a friend and every insect or bug something to be "saved." I would like to give salvation like that (aka slow and torturous--though well intentioned--mauling) to a few million mosquitos we got to know altogether to well. That was the only downside to this otherwise Yosemite-esque local, though.

From this spot, the Green flows fully formed as the river that will create Flaming Gorge, Dinosaur, and Canyonlands, hundreds of miles away. The amount of rock it has carried away and buried in the sea is just staggering.

And yet as it meanders along the vast glacial valley of its ancestors, this river is a fisherman's ( and a photographer's) paradise. Moose, beaver, bears and other creatures great and small live along its banks. Fish big enough to treat my kids legs like oversize worms surely lurk in the velocity of its current.

We were treated to three nights of spectacular sunsets, gourmet dinners, warm fires, more S'mores than anyone has a right to eat, and

amazing alpenglow in the wee hours of twighlight, by a lake so still that the only sound comes from big fish slurping up (possibly bigger) bugs before the dark of night. And then we were greeted by . . . .

this sunrise over our campsite. A thunderstorm threatened, so we quickly packed during the early morning hours and quietly took our leave, but without truly leaving. The Green River Lakes will be with us for some time to come, I think. With any luck, we will find our way back here, either to backpack before our old legs give out, or to canoe a still lake in the peaceful evening, even if they do.

One More For The Road

2011-06-19T22:06:00.000-07:00

Fittingly, given my post last night, this Fathers Day ended with a spectacular sunset. Kate and I ran out of the house and drove up the road five minutes, then spent 20 minutes or so talking as we watched God paint living sky and dying sea with the roses, yellows and oranges only He can make. I told Kate one of my deepest beliefs is that God made sunsets to tell us He is always there and that He always loves us. It was as good an ending to a Fathers Day as I can imagine. So here is one more sunset photo, for the road.

Melts Me

2011-06-19T10:50:00.000-07:00

Keegan made my whole day today. I was buckling him into the car, and he said, "Dad, you know what I love about you? "

"What?" I asked.

"Everything."

He is the best. His favorite thing to do is snuggle in the wee hours of night or day. He can’t sleep alone to save his life, he just really needs someone (usually Alden or his mom) to cuddle with. One night a couple of weeks ago, none of those options were available, but I was in bed, and I asked him if I would do. “Oh, I guess so” was the less than enthusiastic response. But then he got in and snuggled up, and after a few minutes, he quietly said, “Dad, did you know that butterfly kisses are really special?” Immediately followed by, “I am going to give you two butterfly kisses!” Which he did.

So what's not to love about being the dad of Keegan? Not a thing.

Home

2011-06-18T01:56:00.000-07:00

We spent this evening getting reacquainted with a dear old friend, and had a wonderful time. Recently I read a story about a hospice nurse of twenty years who had compiled a list of the most commonly expressed life regrets. Not making more time to spend with family and friends was one of them, and I feel that in my bones most days. Another was not keeping a diary or journal. I don't know why blogging has been so hard for me of late, but clearly I need to take time to do what is important or I'll have regrets when I leave this world.

Tonight, however, there were none, as we slowed down and enjoyed good conversation and being around our wonderful house with the sound of kids playing in the background. We sat in our back yard as the sun painted pink and orange light on the Bountiful Temple, which on a very good (OK truly remarkable) day, can look like this:

Later we walked out to our front yard just in time to see the sun set over the Great Salt Lake. I will never get tired of that sight. Here are a few examples why, and why I really should slow down and enjoy this special place every night:

I could go on, but I am sure you get the picture (sorry, couldn't resist). Honestly, where else can you see something like that just by stepping out your door, or driving just a few minutes up the road? How blessed are we.

I did have the chance to drive out near the lake one evening a couple of weeks ago. Stilts and Avocets have taken over the world out there, blissfully ignoring fences and failed farm tools, their innate memories knowing that they were here long before we came and that they will still be coming here long after we leave. Here are a few photos.

This last Avocet was very concernedly trying to gather her chicks under her wings as I drove by, but this one little fella just would not come to save his life. Must have been from Jerusalem.

No need to drive to enjoy the beauty of birds though. Lazuli Buntings, Rufus Finches, Jays, Western Tanagers and Grossbeaks frequent our deck, thanks to bags of seed from Costco, bless their corporate heart.

Here are a few photos taken from inside the house:

In the words of the great Sachmo -- What a Wonderful World. Here's to no regrets.

It Has Been Raining -- So I Am Thinking of England--Sheffield, England

2011-04-03T18:58:00.000-07:00

I can't pinpoint what made me such an irregular blogger -- if I could, I would banish it from existence, because I know that unless you record things, they slip away, and with them goes a little bit of the joy you find in this life as well. I can only try to be better, and there is nothing like a rainy conference weekend to provide opportunity :-) So here goes a longish post, chronicling our visit to Sheffield, as part of our trip to England. If you find it too long, there is one story about my grandpa below that is really worth the read.

Why, you may wonder, would we choose Sheffield England as our first international destination after a 10 year hiatus? ROOTS! I have been so blessed by my father, who was born there, and my grandpa Bert and grandma Winnie (tell me those aren't English names!) and their extended family, that I have felt drawn to Sheffield. It clearly produces really special people, and that is no small thing.

When we last left off, we were in picturesque Bakewell, visiting Chatsworth House and Haddon Hall. The next morning we stopped at the Chatsworth marketplace (below) for picnic food (all local, fresh and superb), then drove the 15 miles to Sheffield.

En route, we just happened upon a stream flowing through Mill House Park, the perfect place for a picnic and, it turns out, a flood of memories. My dad had been looking for this park for some time. He remembered swimming in an outdoor pool there when he was very young. We found no pool, but dad, as he often did on this trip, walked up to the oldest couple he could find, and began talking, asking if they were from the area and if there had been a pool here. They were so kind (as such couples always were), and spent much time talking to us about how things used to be. They confirmed there had been a pool, just where the children's playground is in the photo below.

As we talked and ate our picnic, the memories flowed. My grandfather had been too terrified of water to teach my dad to swim, so his uncle Doug, who had married Bert's younger sister Mabel, took the time to teach him at this place. What a good man he was, to spend time with his in-law nephew like that. As we talked of it, dad's eyes misted up. Small gestures become so meaningful over time.

Dad also remembers this pond, and fishing from a boat on it. Funny to me that grandpa Bert was scared of water and swimming, being an Englishman living on an island where sailing is supposed to be grafted to your bones. It is almost as funny as the thought of dad fishing. He is an Englishman that hates eating fish. Both of them must have a non-conformist streak buried deep inside somewhere (in my dad's case, maybe not quite so deep :-).

We saw cricket players out for a game in what passes for a sunny day here--Dad recalled wanting to take a cricket bat to America when they left, which Grandpa didn't allow because he thought it was crazy. He would be right about that, of course, but it made me think of a poor little English boy, coming to a place where everything was so different. That could not have been easy, on my grandparents or my dad.

The park was, no surprise, filled with beautiful flowers and trees, all neatly manicured just so.

From Mill House Park we headed into downtown Sheffield and the Hotel Leopold. Sheffield itself has recently been, and continues to be, completely remade into the largest University town in England, with new buildings and shops pushing out or shouldering up to their industrial-era ancestors. Girtie, our GPS friend, kept giving directions that were no longer valid and in some cases possibly life-threatening, but somehow, we made it anyway. Here are a few photos from the heart of downtown Sheffield:

Not what you expected, is it? Not what I thought I would find in an old steel town. After getting settled into our hotel, we went looking for the places where my dad used to live. Danbury street, where my dad's first home used to be, no longer exists anywhere in the city.

The following story about my Grandpa may tell you why, and also why I love him so much. Here is the story, as related by my dad:

“I was born in England in a steel city called Sheffield. As World War II started it became the main target for the German bombing attacks in order to destroy the steel production that that city had. I was born into the (LDS) church, an only child. Two days before Christmas in 1940, German planes came over Sheffield and carpet-bombed the city. Sheffield was built in a way that the industrial part of the city was on one side. They bombed that area first. Then they came back the second time and picked up about 100 yards from where they left off and bombed the residential area.

“My father (grandpa Bert) was away on fire watch in the industrial part of the city, trying to put out the fires from the prior bombing. He had left me, a young child, with my mother at home. When the bombs started coming that second night, my mother hurried us into an air raid shelter in our yard. The Germans bombed my dad’s home, which suffered a direct hit, two days before Christmas. It destroyed every personal possession he had in a matter of minutes. He came home, and with the help of neighbors, dug us out of that bomb shelter. Then he tried to salvage anything he could from that rubble that had once been his home. There must have been a lot of pain and anger in my family over that bombing.

Years later, after my father died, I was going through his possessions. He hadn’t kept very much. After the bombing he had never owned very much. But I did find some old photographs, and among them was a picture of Bernard Schwartz, and on the back of it was written “To Bert, I will be eternally grateful for your love and kindness. Bernard Schwartz.”

Asking others about this photo, I found out that after the bombing, and after we had relocated into a new house, my father took it upon himself to go to the commander of a German prisoner of war camp outside of Sheffield. He asked if there were any German prisoners of war there that were members of the church. There was one; his name was Bernard Schwartz, likely a Luftwaffe pilot. My dad asked for permission to bring him home to our house and kept him there during the war so he wouldn’t have to suffer inside that German prisoner of war camp. He brought him home, fed him, took him to church, and was responsible for him during the latter stages of the war.”

When I say that I have been blessed by my heritage, now you see what I mean. My Grandpa loved the church, believed the gospel, and never flinched from that belief. I never remember him with anything but a huge smile on his face, particularly when seeing his grandkids. He never needed material things, just family and gospel.

I think on some level that bombing also affected my dad. He has never cared about material things (outside of maybe books and the occasional tennis racket). All he really cares about are family, people, and the gospel. That is such a rich heritage to have. I am so grateful for it.

Here are a few pictures of my English family:

This is me leaving on my mission. Grandpa Bert is the one standing on the right. My "uncle" Ken, (actually my Grandpa Bert's nephew--big family) is on the left, and my Grandpa Aldin (Mom's side) seated.

Here is a little better picture of my grandparents. My grandma Winnie and grandpa Bert are on the left, with grandma Etta and grandpa Aldin on the right.

This is uncle Doug talking to my Grandpa Aldin. My Grandma Winnie is on the left just behind Bert, and next to her is Aunt Dot, Ken's wife--one of the funniest people I have ever met.

These are my Englishmen, and I love them. They all had that wicked English sense of humor, and they could never be together for more than five minutes without laughter filling the room. As I said, Sheffield makes very good people, who have each blessed my life. I was excited to explore their places.

So off we went to find them. The photo that started this post is my mom, dad and I on Regence Street in Sheffield -- now a part of the University of Sheffield dentistry complex. My grandpa Bert's parents, Tom and Florence Bailey, lived on this street during the war, but their house is no longer there. My Dad remembers visiting, and playing in the alleyways behind the houses. He also remembered the old building below, which used to be a public swimming pool in the neighborhood.

The Church at the top of Regence Street is St. George's church.

The graveyard around it contained this tombstone, for Elizabeth Hardy, wife of Thomas Hardy of Hound of the Baskervilles and Tess fame. I studied his large body of poetry while at Cambridge University the summer of 1986. Some of his best poems were written after the death of his wife, and prompted by memories of her.

Finding old things was not easy, though. Old Sheffield is being plowed under, bit by bit, as a vibrant, reborn university town grows over it. Here is my dad walking past some of the old buildings about to be hidden by new construction.

As we walked about, he recalled that my grandpa had worked at Dormer Twist & Drill, on Cemetery Road in Sheffield. My great Grandma Mim Ludlum (short for Miriam) had worked for Harrison and Housen Silver factory. We could not find those places, but here is a quick side story about my great grandma Mim and my grandpa Bert.

Mim's husband (great grandpa William Ludlum) was a veteran of World War I, and had been gassed in that war. He died shortly after the war (having spent all of the post war in a sanatorium because his lungs had been burned away), leaving great grandma Mim and my grandma Winnie ( a young, only child) alone. Grandpa Bert married Winnie when she was still very young, after converting her to the church. Great grandma Mim was not too pleased about her daughter becoming a Mormon, but having nowhere else to go, lived with Bert and Winnie from that point on. (She came to America with them, and I remember her sitting and knitting at grandma and grandpa's house.) She would never join the church, despite what must have been many efforts. Finally, at age 80, one day she just said "Bert, I have watched the way you have lived your life all these many years, and that Church of yours must be true. I want to be baptized." And so, at age 80, my grandpa Bert baptized his mother-in-law. He was such a very good man.

Anyway, while we couldn't find many places, we were able to find 19 Northumberland Road, the house where my dad and his parents lived after the Danbury Street home was destroyed. Here are my mom and dad outside it in the picture below.

The house was actually a social hall owned by the Druids (sounds mysteriously cool but was actually just an English version of the Lion's Club). My grandpa rented the top two rooms (where the windows are on the top floor in the picture above), and paid rent by cleaning up the rest of the hall for the Druids after their events.

The house is now home to a dental clinic, of all things (what is it with dentists in my life, anyway? Seems like they weave themselves in no matter where I go--probably karma for the braces I should have had in junior high but did not get.)

Dad recalled escaping from the top window above and sliding down this drainpipe to run away from two missionaries that had come to the house -- don't know what they were going to do to him, but it must have been something horrible like having to sit still for a visit.

Dad also remembered that during the war the government had come around and cut off all of the cast iron fences around the house, because it was badly needed for the war effort. Evidence of the removed railings is still there.

This Children's and Women's hospital was right in the neighborhood, and may have been where my dad was born, or where he had his appendix out as a young boy. (I also nearly had a ruptured appendix -- wonder if that has a genetic connection?)

We looked everywhere for Crookesmore school, where my dad went to grammar school, but could not find it. Dad said that if we want to know about his childhood, we simply have to watch the movie "Hope and Glory," but did have a number of stories about his school, most of which involved being "caned" for doing this and that wrong, such as, in one case, burning down an abandoned building.

For those who don't know what caning is, the offender would be hauled in front of the whole school and the headmaster (principle) would make him hold out his hands, and proceed to whack them as hard as he could with a cane. If you flinched or pulled back you received extra strokes. Dad's friend, Ambrose Fiddler (don't you love these names?) would give him mercury to play with and to coat his hands with before he was caned, claiming it would make it hurt less. Dad says that didn't work. He still has a scar on his hand from one of the canings ( I think the burned building one) so the headmaster was not going easy on him. Dad would have been younger than 11 at the time. (Gee, wonder where that sadistic headmaster stereotype comes from?)

Just around the corner from Northumberland Road we found Weston Park, which dad remembers fondly as a place he played during his childhood. Dad also recalled watching tennis there, the beginning of a life-long passion for that sport.

From there we headed back downtown, where dad stopped another elderly couple (below) to ask them about the way things were. Again, they were so nice and just happy to spend time with us talking about old Sheffield.

Dad remembered seeing pantomimes being performed in this old theater, and spending Saturdays at the Public Library (below).

All told, it was a day of great memories, that really made me think how lucky I was, to have been born of goodly parents (and grandparents). We went to bed that night quite content from the days activities.

Next Up: Dore and York.

Farmington Bay at Sunset

2011-02-13T22:53:00.000-08:00

Stake Conference this afternoon focused on how precious time and agency are. Great counsel was given about decision-making and choosing the best over the good. Maybe I should have done other things this evening with my time, but a long, hard week left me longing for beauty and quiet, a place to unwind and be slow. I headed out to Farmington Bay with the hopes of seeing the graceful flight of some bald eagles, which usually congregate there this time of year.

There were no eagles this day -- the weather has been so unusually warm (almost scarily so) that it may have them elsewhere. But every time I come here I think "I should do this more often." It doesn't rank very high among the great smells in the world, but sights and sounds more than compensate.

As sun fell toward night, I watched my little town in the warm evening light, and thought about the hundreds of hours I spent not far from this spot, working with a grandfather whose love of "fussing" (finding and applying himself--and us--to any task that might improve the world) and belly-deep chuckle still make me smile.

The lifegiving peaks of the Wasatch range towered in the distance, a nice reminder of yesterday's ski trip with the daughter I love so much. The power of the sun and light amazed me as windows many miles away painted streaks across the bay in front of me.

Without another soul in sight, I watched gold come to life in every drop of water in heaven or on earth.

And the sounds. Hundreds of snow and Canadian geese welcomed compatriots with the happy honking only a goose can make. Ducks quacked, seagulls did whatever they do, and there was no other noise to interrupt this orchestra of primordial sound.

As I turned to walk back to my car, owls flew around me in the near dark. All told, it was exactly what I needed. Perhaps that means I chose the best over the good, though convention might suggest otherwise.

The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of

2011-02-07T00:11:00.000-08:00

Being Alden's dad is, quite simply, a dream come true. I find myself wishing everyone could have the experience, because it really is one of the greatest things in life. While food phobia and occasional skillsaw whining keep him a reasonable distance from translation, I could not love this little guy more than I do. Why?

Well, let me list just a few of the many reasons to love Alden.

He Is Just So Happy. Whenever you ask Alden how he's doing, the response is always the same: "Great!" Never, good, or ok, or fine. Just great, and always with the exclamation point. And it is true. You should hear the exuberant joy in his voice -- it sounds like everything you ever wanted a little boy to be -- full of wonder, excitement, fun, adventure, and love all wrapped up together in a miraculous ball. I may have said this before, but I get so much joy out of the straightforward, basic statements Alden makes with that wonderful voice. They may be things like, “Mmmm, Coke is good!” or, when told tomorrow is Saturday “Oooh! Saturday is my FAVORITE day!” or “Dad, I love snuggling with you.”
One evening I tried to get Alden to clean up the Legos Keegan had just dumped all over the floor. He said, “not now dad. I have to build a little masterpiece first.” Which leads to . . .

He Is The World's Greatest 6-Year Old [Lego] Builder. This one will not surprise any reader of this blog, but I have to say, the concentration he shows when it comes to Lego, or building anything for that matter, is pretty remarkable. He just loves it and it shows, from the extended tongue, to the super-chapped lips, to the I-did-it grin at the end.

The age range on the box for the item above said "9 to 14 years of Age." I relayed that piece of information to him and asked, "do you think you can do it?"

"Yes Dad, I can build anything with Legos. I am really good at it." And so he did. After several uninterrupted hours, there it was, and he was all grins.

His talents are not limited to Lego. This past fall we were working in the garden together, but had to stop because a wheelbarrow was definitely needed, and ours had a serious flat. After repeated attempts at re-inflation, we went to Lowes and bought a replacement tire. Arriving back at the house, I handed my then-five-year-old the package, a wrench, and a screwdriver, and said, "do you think you can change out the wheel on our wheelbarrow?" Off he ran with the package, down to the shed, and before I could really even get to raking the garden fully, he came back and stated, very matter-of-factly, "Dad, I did it. Come and get the wheelbarrow." Sure enough, there it was, perfectly done except for a little necessary tightening. He just amazes me sometimes.

He just loves to build, whatever the item may be. Case in point, his mom bought both a vacuum and one of those steam racks you see advertised on TV. Alden was so excited he could hardly stand it, ripping open the packages just so he could assemble them, which he did without much trouble, despite the paucity of adequate instructional images. Not bad for a guy who is still just learning to read. Needless to say my mind is racing way ahead of itself on the possibilities here, and for those of you who know of my mechanical prowess, all I can say is that there must be a God and I think he really likes me. :-)

He Loves To Party. Birthdays, Christmas, you name it, he revels in it as deep as can be. Most years Alden's birthday begins about a month before hand, with him insisting that we buy his presents well ahead of the actual day. Having given his promise, he absolutely will not open them before the day, but will carry them about, just looking at the package in sheer, delicious anticipation.

And that is not even the half of it when it comes to Christmas. This year, he repeatedly asked when we could get "decorations" -- this started before Thanksgiving. When his mom finally told him we could put up Christmas lights on the house, he said “Oh, Thank you!” He ran around telling everyone how many days until Christmas, and frequently says "I just love Christmas." Then, late the night of Christmas day, a
fter what seemed non-stop mayhem and pandemonium, he was headed out to bed. Reaching the door frame, he yawned, paused for a moment, then looked back and said “Wow! That was really fun having Christmas.”

More than a month later, I saw him toting our video camera around with him from room to room. I asked what he was doing. "Looking at our video from Christmas. 'Cause I really miss it."

He Is All Boy. This story has been told so many times I can't recall if I have related it here before or not, but it bears repeating. One night, Alden and Kate asked for “a sleepover,” which meant sleeping in the same room. It really is an excuse for them to stay up late and play together, but it is kinda cute that they want to do that, so we let them. On this occasion, it was to be in Kate’s room, which I must note has a lot of pink and Barbie's galore. When the time came, Alden walked in and within five seconds said “Ugh, its all girl things. I’ve got to go get some boy things!” There began a long procession of trips back and forth to his room, first for the V-19 Torrent Star Fighter, then the F-22 Raptor, then the bionicle, then the transformer, etc. Finally, after about five trips, he said “Ok, I can stay now.”

He Is a Great Brother. He will hug and snuggle Kate as many times as she asks, and that could take a toll on most boys, since she is the Queen Mother of all cuddly love. And he is so patient with Keegan, playing with him hours on end, dutifully repeating everything Keegan tells him to say when they play Transformers, or Star Wars, as the case may be. Moreover, even though Keegan repeatedly destroys in five seconds flat the "masterpieces" Alden has just spent hours in building, Alden very rarely uses physical violence to express his disapproval. Keegan has no clue how lucky he is.

He Will Never Lie. I know I have said this about him before, but he continues to amaze me. He seems completely incapable of telling you something he doesn't feel or believe, no matter how badly you want to hear it. We are now reading the New Testament together as a family, and I think of him like Nathanael, "in whom there is no guile." It is one of the many ways in which he is a miracle.

He Is Just So Stinking Smart. I think we have reported that Alden is doing a Chinese immersion program in Kindergarten, which he is slated to continue up through 6th grade. He absolutely loves it. We have a nightly tradition of sitting around the dinner table and asking each person what was sweet about their day, and what was sour. For at least the first three months of school, Alden's "sweet" was "going to school." And get a load of his tests:

Maybe I am just another obnoxiously proud parent, but dang, that is pretty amazing. And you should try attending parent-teacher conference. The whole thing was conducted in Chinese! Alden was the only one who knew what was going on, and had to translate, which was probably the point but was something to behold. (Huge, huge thank you to our chronically under-funded public schools and hard working educators, who do such great work with slim resources. My son is so engaged, which is such a big relief.)

Last week we went to Alden's Chinese New Year celebration/program. Here are a few pictures.

As you can see, he is absolutely smitten with his teacher (he was so excited to give her this little box gift). In fact, all the kids just love her to death. She has been here in the US less than a year, and is only now learning english, but her methods of teaching are all very active and participatory, and it really shows. We are so grateful to her.

During the program, I ran into an old friend who happens to volunteer one day a week in Alden's class. She told me how much she loved Alden, and then told a couple of stories I have to share (thanks Leslie!). Part of my friend's duties one day involved showing the kids a picture of a computer and a picture of a crayon, and asking, 'which one is heavier?' Alden looked at her sideways for a moment then said: “Well, they’re both made of paper . . . .”

Leslie also related that one day she showed the kids various shapes, and asked them to name the shape. Alden was the only one to get “trapezoid,” pronouncing it perfectly. Both Kath and I turned and looked at each other with puzzled expressions when we heard this. Where does he get that? Leslie also says that he is doing math naturally in his head. When shown a grouping of squares in even rows, some with dots in them, and some without, he adds the dots by rows rather than counting them out.

Of course, he got his math genes from me . . . :-0

He Will Always Make You Smile. With Alden, there are daily events that just leave you smiling (or laughing uncontrollably, as the case may be). By way of example, one night a few weeks ago, he was rough-housing with Uncle Rob, and wouldn’t you know it, his privates came in sharp contact with Uncle Rob’s shoe. It was his first time, and he got real quiet, walking around half bent over, looking very concerned. Finally, when it wouldn't go away, he pulled his pants down to look at the jewels, as if needing reassurance there was no grotesque disfigurement involved. Uncle Rob chose that moment to say, “Oh No! It looks like we’ll have to amputate!” The look of sheer terror on Alden's face was something to behold. I am still laughing to this day.

And then there was this evening. He headed off to bed, but soon returned with an alarm clock from his room that wasn’t working. He asked us to fix it and set it for “early in the morning.” "Why?" we asked. “Because I want to see the sunrise, it is just so beautiful on the clouds.”

How can you not love this wonderful little boy? He just melts me. I am a very, very lucky man.

Christmas Wishes

2010-12-25T06:53:00.000-08:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

I sit in this quiet, soon-to-be-filled-with-pandemonium morning, having enjoyed a most wonderful holiday season. My heart is so very full. It is just amazing to me that all this comes from one small child, born in a manger, in a then insignificant backwater of the Roman Empire. The son of working class people, he never put a word on paper, let alone wrote a book. Never travelled more than thirty miles from home. Never was part of the "in" crowd, associating only with "publicans and sinners." Never owned a home. Relied on the generosity of others for the necessities of life. Lived only 33 years. Died among thieves, amidst widespread condemnation by those in authority, betrayed and denied by some of his best friends. At the end of his life, he had perhaps 120 souls who really followed and believed what he taught.

And yet think of all the love and generosity and kindness and good will; the beautiful music; the laughter and friendship; the belief and hope and faith in the good and the right, that is spread throughout the entire world in this magical season--all because of that one person. Surely, that is a miracle.

May God bless us all, as he does and has so wonderfully, through that one small little baby.

England post 3 -- Bakewell and Haddon Hall

2010-12-14T22:44:00.000-08:00

Crazy at work. Holiday madness. And yet, the continual England post lives on, albeit at random. It was such a great trip, I have to capture it, even six months late.

Our night in Monsal Head was followed by a day with two more Peak District highlights: the picturesque town of Bakewell and the otherworldly Haddon Hall, a true gem.

But first, here I am, sitting in our trusty and very fuel efficient Audi touring wagon, getting ready to drive to Bakewell. Why this picture? BECAUSE DRIVING IN ENGLAND IS ONE OF THE MOST STRESSFUL THINGS YOU CAN POSSIBLY DO, and any post about the place would be sorely lacking without talking about it.

Oh, it is not just that I am actually sitting in the driver's seat above -- shifting with the left hand, trying to remember that your left rear is the blind spot, having to glance to your left to see in the rear view mirror, cars driving down the wrong side of the road, treating right turns like left turns . . . . all of this can be managed. But throw in the strange signage -- e.g. "Caution, Uneven Camber!" or "CAUTION! HEAVY PLANT CROSSING" (I kid you not--what the heck am I looking for, wandering trees?), and Gertie, the GPS system, telling you "go right on the roundabout, third exit" when you are actually supposed to go CLOCKWISE on the darn things (that requires an initial vere to the LEFT, by the way), and you have the makings of copious furrowed-brow sweat. (Which doubles in volume each time Gertie says "turn around when possible" -- and she did that way too often).

But all of that is not the worst of it. No, the worst is that virtually all roads are only a single lane wide. For two cars. Going the opposite directions. At ridiculous speeds. With about a million blind curves per mile. That would be bad enough as it is, but then you realize, almost entirely too late, that your every instinct, honed over years of driving, tells you to SWERVE TO THE RIGHT when you are about have a fatal, head-on collision, while his equally well-honed instincts are to SWERVE TO THE LEFT (which would be the correct thing to do in this confounded mess of a transportation system). The fact that we didn't obliterate ourselves and some poor backward British soul is nothing short of a miracle.

So when I say we managed to arrive safely in Bakewell after a short drive, you now know what that really means.

In any event, Bakewell is a wonderful place, known for its Bakewell pudding (a puff pastry shell with a layer of jam, covered with a filling of eggs, sugar, butter and almond flavored icing ) as well as Bakewell tarts (a shortcrust pastry with a layer of jam and a sponge filling with almonds), both of which deserve their reputation for being dang good. You add that to the place being about as quaint as one could ask for, and you have a very nice experience indeed. Here are a few pics, much the worse for the cloudy sky, but oh well.

Mom and Dad walking around the central park in the town. Any one who says the English aren't the world's best gardeners is completely insane. Anyone who knows me knows I love color, and when you get flowers all around like this, I am just a happy camper.

Bridge, willow tree, River Wye, geese -- now if it would just stop raining, it would be perfect.

The other wonderful discovery from Bakewell -- the oddly named "Cornish Pasty." Not what you think. It is like a chicken or beef or lamb pot pie to go, wrapped in an empanada like crust, and complete with wonderful vegetables and spices. The picture below is me on a determined hunt for pasties along Bakewell's main market street. Couldn't get enough of them. Seriously, I want to open a Pasty stand in the U.S. just so I can have them, even if no one else comes. (Do wonder about the crowd I might attract with a "Get Your Pasties Here" sign, though. Could be bad.)

After a short morning in town, we headed off to Haddon Hall, below.

Haddon Hall is a fortified medieval manor house dating from the 12 th Century. That is sometime in the 1100s for those of you not paying sufficient attention. Yet it is still the home of Lord and Lady Edward Manners, whose family has owned it since 1567. It has been described as "the most perfect house to survive from the middle ages", and is surrounded by terraced Elizabethan gardens.

Here it is, standing over the ubiquitous River Wye.

Kath and I headed up the pathway from the car lot, looking at the carriage house and stables, complete with topiary. Pretty sweet for what amounts to a medieval garage.

Check out that door. It gives you a sense of what this place holds inside.

The courtyard is paved with uneven, rough hewn stones, and as you look around, you see things like the detail in the photo below that tell you this place was built before the words "architecture" or "structural engineering" really came to have any meaning.

You start the tour by walking into a large wood paneled dining room. I have never felt so transported back in time. You could practically hear the armor clinking on a bunch of drunken knights with food in their beards and a roaring fire crackling out from this huge fireplace. When these guys say medieval, they really mean it. I mean, 1100, we are talking Saxons and Jutes and Celts and no William the Conquerer, just yet. That is OLD. Check out the pictures of this room, and you will see what I mean.

Can't you just see the mugs of ale and hear the boisterous banter? If that table could talk . . . .

Of course, all those festivities had to be supported by a kitchen. No mixmasters here. Just a place to hang the cows and chickens when you slit their throat, drain their blood (for use later -- blood pudding anyone?), and collect the fat that boils off them as they roast by the huge fireplace. Nothing quite like the smell of an animal fat candle, right?

Much more civilized is the simple but amazing chapel, whose pews have seen a fair bit of use. Guess if you are out slaughtering people with swords and maces during the day you need a place to pray at night.

This piano was very cool. Thanks for the pic mom.

Don't know about you, but that works for me as a door to the garden. The British just know what to do with flowers, that's all there is to it.

Here is an overview from the main garden terrace. Ugly, no?

Another picture of the main garden terrace. The picture of us with my folks that leads this post is from the same terrace area. Colors everywhere. Just amazing.

Such beauty. . . . on the left :-).

So there you have it, Bakwell and Haddon Hall. Up next, Sheffield!! (That is, if we survive the drive.)

Peak District--Magic Monsal Head

2010-12-03T23:34:00.000-08:00

So we spent our first night in England in the Peak District, less than 30 miles from old, industrial Sheffield, in a tiny spot outside of Bakewell called Monsal Head. Castle Cliffe B&B, run by Neil and Jackie Mantell, is just such a place to stay. Let me explain.

This is Castle Cliffe. In addition to being wonderfully located, the breakfast is all local -- farm fresh eggs (such a huge difference I could hardly believe it), thick, thick bacon (which the British are so fond of, I hear they take it with them when they travel abroad -- perhaps justifiably so), and a roasted fresh tomato to die for, plus other sundries. Makes for a very tasty start to the day. But there is more.

This is the Castle Cliffe Neighborhood. Dang crowded --with sheep!

Then there are Castle Cliffe's nosy neighbors. Guess a place can't be perfect now, can it?

To make matters even more unbearable, Castle Cliffe sits on top of Monsal Dale, above, which makes for a lovely morning run (Kath) or picture taking stroll (me). Hate it when I have to exercise in the morning after a rainstorm. Smell alone could drive you nuts :-).

Oh, and here is the Monsal Railway Viaduct, which we could SEE FROM OUR ROOM. Darn thing doesn't even have trains anymore -- has been turned into a walking/biking path, of all things. So much for train-spotting, dang it!

Then of course there is the River Wye, burbling away through the night. So hard to sleep with that going on, you know? And don't even get me started on the trout jumping. Noisy little fellas.

And I suppose you couldn't really call the area verdant, lush, rich, flourishing, pastoral, sylvan, etc. -- 'cause you know, none of those words would really apply, right? Nah! But all told, it was an ok way to spend your first night in England, I suppose.

All that was a very Britsh way of saying: "THIS PLACE TOTALLY ROCKED! WE LOVED IT!"

Next up: Bakewell, Haddon Hall and Sheffield.

Its About Time . . . That I posted Pictures from England

2010-11-28T21:36:00.000-08:00

We went to England with my Mom and Dad this past August, a great trip with, of course, thousands of photos taken. (How could I do otherwise?) Sorting and editing has been quite a task. But with 2 feet plus of snow on our deck, and more falling all day today, I am listening to Louis Armstrong's Cool Yule on iTunes and thinking it is far past time to begin what will have to be several posts.

To start, you should know that I am a very nervous flier. Not always -- just when Kathleen and I fly together without the kids. I know, in abstract fashion, that I should be more nervous getting in the car without them. But the steering wheel provides at least the illusion of control over your fate. Plus, if there is a care accident, there is always the chance one of you will survive -- not so with a plane. If it goes down you are both gone baby gone, no questions asked. Hence the reason we had not, in the last 10 years, travelled very far together without the kids in tow.

As we prepared to Board our 11:00 am flight to Atlanta (the interim stop on our way to Manchester, England), the thought of potentially leaving our young kids without parents, and that later in life they might barely remember us if at all, weighed heavy on my heart, irrational though that thought might be. Then, just prior to boarding, a group of about thirty LDS missionaries walked up to the gate. They were beginning their missions by flying to the Manchester England MTC -- on our flights! Complete peace replaced the anxiety present only seconds before. No way was this plane going down. When is the last time you heard of a plane-load of thirty missionaries crashing? Never going to happen, period. It may seem small and silly, but I really am grateful for that moment. A very good omen to start a great trip.

Why in the world, you may ask, do we fly to Manchester England with my parents for our sans-kids first trip in 10 years? Good question. Simple answer: it is close to Sheffield!

Still puzzled? Well, in 1935 my father was born in Sheffield, England, an hour from Manchester. He lived there through World War II where his first home was bombed flat, and continued to live in Sheffield until well after the War ended. You should also know that my Dad is really, really special. Anyone who knows him will tell you this (and he knows just about everyone in these parts). I love him more than I have power or words to convey. He is and always will be my first and best friend. I consider myself the luckiest person in the world to be his son. So I have always wanted to see where he grew up, and hopefully learn a little more about him and my English heritage. Kath was kind enough to be enthusiastic about going -- I married the greatest girl ever -- so off we went.

I don't know what images come to your head when you hear the words "Manchester" and "Sheffield," but mine were positively Dickensian. I had never seen pictures of either, and envisioned miles upon miles of grey industrial hulks, all sooty brick and towering smokestack, with dour workers milling about. While I knew that the Peak District was a National Park between the two cities, I also knew it was a former mining area, and thought nothing really beautiful could come of it. I could not have been more wrong (see first picture, above).

Our flight was perfectly timed, so that if we slept from Atlanta to Manchester, we would arrive at 7:00 AM Manchester time with a 6 hour nap under our belts. I did just that, with a timely assist from two Advil PM. My wife, with the help of a gripping book, did not. Bummer, but she didn't let it get her down. We rented a car in Manchester and undertook the nerve-wracking wrong side of car, wrong side of very narrow road thing from Manchester into the Peak District.

We drove directly to one of the prime attractions there -- Chatsworth House, the ancestral home of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, who still occupy it. Begun in 1569 by Bess of Hardwick and her husband, William Cavendish, the King's Treasurer, it lies on the east bank of the Derwent River, and is set in expansive parkland, backed by wooded, rocky hills. It is considered among the very best of the English Country Houses, and I have no doubt this is true, as the photos below attest.

Here we are headed in the servants' gate to the "back yard" if you will. Upon seeing the price tag to tour the place, my Dad observed that after all these years the rich lords were still being supported by the common people. A very English observation :-) The pictures below are from the Grand Entry, which is the first room you see on the tour. Really unbelievable.

The art, as you can see, is incredible, as were the furnishings, tile and detail. It has been a long time since I toured Europe, but in my memory, this place stands up to just about anything across the continent. Very worth seeing. Here are some additional snaps of the interior.

Laptop with Wi-fi and we are good to go here.

This was a hidden door to a music/concert room. Very cool violin. Its painted. Amazing, no?

Nothing like a little modesty and simplicity for the Master Bedroom.

And you thought "crown jewels" was just a euphemistic phrase. Yes, those are diamonds. Sheesh.

I could do without all of the other stuff, but this library was to die for. I also really loved this statue. Not often you see marble doing a very convincing impersonation of a diaphanous veil.

Just a modest banquet hall for your hundred plus guests. No problem there.

While the interior is amazing, I loved the grounds above all. There are over 90,000 acres, designed by Lancelot "Capability" Brown. You have to love the English. Only they could come up with a name like that. Whatever issues naming may have given him, you have to admit old Capability did a dang nice job in the Garden. Here the proof:

So the bowery looking thing behind this totally hot babe is actually two shaped apple trees that have grown together. Apples still growing like it was totally normal to be that way. You cannot believe the variety of flowers and plants at this place. Spectacular.

Now that would make one totally rockin jet ski course :-). Ugly American? Who, me?

I loved this flower garden. Made me happy just being there, seeing all those amazing little miracles growing in such profusion. But here is what truly amazes -- 90,000 acres of ridiculously vibrant plant life, AND NOT A SINGLE SPRINKLER. I suppose you can guess what that means for the weather, including while we were there. I think maybe two days out of 10 were rain free. But it really didn't bother us much, and the gardens make it worth the perennial cloud cover.

This maze was one of my favorite places on the grounds. Not because of the maze itself, but because of the quintessential English scenes that were going on all around it. Families setting up Croquet and playing Lawn Checkers (a giant cloth checker board with wood checkers the size of small hula hoops), with picnic baskets everywhere. Three English ladies sat at the entrance, peering into the maze, not wanting to step foot across the threshold. We asked if they were scared to go in, and they said no, they were just checking on their children. My dad immediately replied, "Oh, you're only scared that they might actually find their way out then." They laughed out loud. His droll English humor was in fine form. It was a great day just walking around the grounds with him (my Mom and Kath, our two midnight readers, had ended up napping on the lawn -- another fine English thing to do).

Nice duck pond, eh? Ski boat with a slalom course really would be out of place, I suppose. . .

So there you have most of our first day. Who knew you could find this in between Sheffield and Manchester? We loved the Peak District and would highly recommend it to anyone headed to England. Chatsworth House is only the beginning. I will post more about where we stayed (and our nosy neighbors) tomorrow.

Thinking of Summer and Family

2010-11-07T21:26:00.000-08:00

Well, much to the joy and gloating of many an Arizonan, we here in Zion are preparing for snow tomorrow. That left me thinking about warmer fun, like the trip we took with Kathleen's family to Bear Lake in August. It was a great trip for me, even if all I had done was get up to see the sunrise above. But happily, Kathleen's family is one of the great joys in my life. I love being with them. To a person, they are wonderful people. And how fun it is to see my kids interact with theirs -- no doubt cousins have a special bond that just works. Unless, of course, you have just been told you are the shortest one, and you vehemently disagree. Just ask Keegan, who was not thrilled with his spot in this photo, and kept insisting, despite all evidence to the contrary, that he was NOT the shortest. So sorry little man. Genetics can be brutal.

Boats and water seem to bring out the best in kids, though, and we had happy campers all the way around. Never is Keegan happier, however, than when he has the undivided attention and affection of his mother. Between that and being on a fast boat, he was in heaven.

The boys loved the sand, and Kate tried to channel her California Girl self by spending hours balancing on a windsurfing board.

Shortly after this photo, Jared, his wife Kelly, their boy Jude, and their soon-to-be-born-in-England girl, Hazel, left for the mother country, to study at the London School of Economics. We are missing that very handsome family quite a bit these days. Alden keeps asking, 'When can I meet Baby Hazel?' We are all anxious to meet her, but have no idea when that will happen. To make matters worse, we also recently found out that Nate and his family may be moving to England as well.

We are not fond of this flight from our native state, and so decided to post a couple of photos to remind them of everything they will be MISSING (just try and find water skiing in England you two -- those people are pasty white for a reason, you know).

Besides, how could I pass up the chance to post a picture of Jared in that really sweet speedo he loves to wear. I don't know, maybe the boy was always destined for Europe, where they don't snicker at those things. . . . :-)

Total hot babe slaloming. She doesn't like to miss out on the fun.

Whether it be the Soon to Depart Moons, the Already Gone Moons, or the Long Gone Moons (Shaun and Trish, that would be you, Mr. and Ms. never come home for Christmas), Utah is not the same without them.

Case in point -- just last night, Kathleen's siblings (see photo of the Utah crew above) and their spouses made the annual pilgrimage to the Temple, in remembrance of Kathleen's mom, who raised a truly amazing family of eight great kids (one of whom is absolutely spectacular). We missed those who couldn't be there. It is such a wonderful thing to be in the Temple surrounded by people you love. Thanks for letting me in, Moon clan. It would be a joy and a privilege, even if I didn't get to marry the really spectacular one :-).

Fall in the Rockies Part Deux

2010-10-24T16:36:00.000-07:00

We have just returned from Church, and outside the wind is howling, driving sheets of rain sideways. When I look up tomorrow, Fall will be gone. And what a Fall it has been. Gorgeous, pleasant days, cool, perfect nights, and magnificent sunsets through most of September and October. Makes it hard to watch winter come. So I thought I would revisit a couple of our fall activities, starting with a personal day I took a few weekends ago to see fall colors.

I know, you are thinking, 'hey, didn't he just post about that?' Yes, I did, but I just can't help myself.

Color gives me faith in God. There may be some perfectly logical, scientific/darwinian reason for leaves to turn molten gold and fire red as they face the ice of winter. But to me, the brilliant colors in each of those perfectly structured leaves is God's way of saying he will not forget us, that he will be there when the dark days come. Who sees fall leaves and does not feel joy? What purpose can this explosion of color possibly serve, really, other than to testify of God's love?

Because of that, Fall is an event for me. Ask my wife. I get incredibly antsy as that time of year approaches, and the back of my mind is constantly thinking about how to get out in it. Such was my state of mind a few weekends ago, when I abandoned all sense of responsibility and drove over Alpine Loop behind Mount Timpanogos, then up through Wasatch Mountain State Park, and over Guardsman pass into Big Cottonwood Canyon. Hope you enjoy the photos as much as I did the trip.

As I took the photo above, a bull elk was bugling and thrashing about in the forest out there somewhere. It echoed off the rock walls and seemed to travel for miles.

For me, Wasatch Mountain Park (the panorama above and the three photos below), near Midway, was an undiscovered gem. I drove around it for hours before heading up to Guardsman's Pass.

There is something magical about wandering into an aspen forest in the fall. Everyone should have the experience of just soaking it in for a few unregimented hours.

Lucky boy that I am, I had that chance one morning this Fall. I wandered for hours. And I will remember that for a long time -- at least until the spring flowers come.

Bountiful or Arizona?

2010-10-20T23:34:00.000-07:00

We have some very good friends, the Drews, whose only flaw, as near as I can tell, is that they keep trying to tell us that Mesa Arizona is the place to be. Well, to each his own, but after a short drive this evening, above Bountiful in all its fall glory, I beg to differ. Candice, this one is for you :-). The photo above is from our back deck, looking out over our little town.

This evening's moon rise, taken about five minutes' ride from my garage. The photo below was two minutes further up the road.

In all, I drove no more than thirty minutes from my house, up Skyline Drive. The colors were fantastic, the moon was a lot bigger than these photos portray, and my day went from dragging and energy-less with a killer cold to a really spectacular experience. It was amazing up there.

I realize that this signals the approach of snow, and that certain Arizona types simply recoil in horror at the thought. But you have to admit, there is a lot of appeal to changing seasons, and nowhere is that appeal more evident than fall in the Rockies.

Did I mention that this was less than 30 minutes from my house?

So what say you Candice? Are you and Chris ready to move? Or do you have some photos taken thirty minutes from Mesa you care to pass along? The gauntlet has been thrown . . . !

Conference Weekend

2010-10-15T22:55:00.000-07:00

We took advantage of General Conference weekend to listen on the radio as we took a late season drive to the Uinta mountains. What can be more inspiring than seeing the beauty of God's world in fall, and hearing the words of his prophets, all at once?

We went up the Mirror Lake highway and along the Upper Provo River. It was overcast and late in the year for leaves, but we were still rewarded with stunning patches of yellow amidst the pines. The kids loved the river, the falls and Mirror lake, weather notwithstanding.

The only sad part of the trip for me concerned health -- of both forests and children. First, I have never seen the forests look so sick. It has been a dry year, true, but there is something deeper about the stress they show. Just look at all the dead pine trees in the photo below. They didn't look like that when I was a kid. They were always lush and verdant, brimming with life. I don't know about global warming one way or another, and it certainly is a big question, in my view, whether it is man made or not (there have, after all, been much warmer periods on the earth before man existed, if you believe what the archeologists say, and I understand it may only take one really big volcano to knock us back to the ice age in any event). That said, something sure is happening, and I wish it weren't. Pines are too beautiful to be this distressed. I tremble at the thought of what one ill-placed match could do.

There were more pressing matters this trip, though -- Alden was recovering from a wicked croup virus that Kate had brought home earlier in the week. Both he and Kate managed to over come it after about three very intense days, but on this trip, Alden was still hurting, and Keegan was about to begin a seven day ordeal.

This beautiful, lively little boy would soon be spending days and nights in our bedroom, fighting a fever that medicine could barely control and coughing the deepest, most raspy cough you have ever heard. While those things were bad, they were not the worst. Every wheezing breath sounded like it was being sucked through a coffee straw. He grew exhausted just from trying to breathe. And the rattling in his throat and chest, particularly at night, caused me to lay awake for hours, listening to make sure the next one came.

It really weighed on me. This was different from Alden's and Kate's illness. They each had maybe two bad nights, then seemed to improve. Keegan never really improved. Medicine sometimes worked, but sometimes it didn't. There were a series of midnight trips to Walgreens, 2:00 A.M. steam baths, and much casting about for help. Finally, the following Saturday, we went to the doctor, who was concerned about pneumonia. She wanted an X-ray, but we couldn't get it done on Saturday. Thinking Sunday was not an option, we planned to go first thing Monday morning.

Saturday night began badly, however. He was very feverish, and struggling to breathe when we returned from a cousin's baptism. He fought the nebulizer we tried to put over his face, crying a broken-hearted, raspy cry and ripping it off time after time. By Sunday after church, he had a fever of 102.5 degrees, which an advil/tylenol cocktail failed to lower. He was exhausted and lifeless, breathing only shallow breaths.

I decided to take him to the hospital for the X-ray. Just as we went to get in the car, my mom and dad arrived. My dad is the best man I know, and a thought hit me forcefully -- we need to give him a Priesthood blessing. We did so in the back seat of the car, with Keegan slumped over in his car seat. It was short, but we felt an urgent inspiration to bless him with health.

By the time we reached the hospital (five minutes away), his fever was gone. He ran to the fish tank, smiling that trademark face-splitting grin that is the most wonderful thing in the world. He himself answered the intake nurse's questions about his symptoms, emphatically insisting that he did not have a rash. The x-ray was negative. His fever never returned. That night he breathed well, and the next night we felt comfortable enough to put him in Alden's room.

There are some, perhaps many, who would chalk this up to coincidence, and truly, I don't understand why God chooses to bless some but not others with health. But you should have seen him before we gave him the blessing. He was so sick. The turnaround was unbelievably immediate. I just feel so strongly that this was something special. I have no idea why of all people and at this time we were so blessed. But I do know how grateful I am for the Priesthood, and a Father that exemplifies Christ each and every day.

We are all back to normal now, but my faith is a little stronger, my heart a little more hopeful about the world, than it was in the midst of a distressed forest just the week before. May God bless us all.

Mountains All Around Us That We Can't Seem to Climb

2010-10-10T20:57:00.000-07:00

When I was about Alden's age, we lived in a very small, coal-fire heated home, high in the foothills of the mountains known as the Wasatch Front. Our home could only be reached by dirt road--no small task in the snows that descend in winter. A creek ran nearby, and my summer days were filled meandering up and down the trails that ran along side it.

My one-time home is now surrounded by an avalanche of foothills developments, but the mountains and streams remain. I love them. From those early mountain wanders comes the part of me that wants to go just a little bit further, up one more hill, or around one last bend, just to see what is there; the part that actually sees the beauty surrounding us every day; the part that steps out of the routine, and explores new things. More deeply, the wonders I found, flowers and fishes, trees and colors, animals and warm sun, first gave me the conviction that there must be a God, who took chaos and survival of the fittest and turned it into all of these beautiful, ordered, miraculous things.

When we moved back here from San Francisco 3 years ago, I was excited in part because I wanted so badly to share those early experiences with my children. But something always seems to get in the way. Soccer, shopping, primary programs, garden, yard work, aging knees, too-small shoes, or any of a hundred other things -- most needed, some even important -- all seem to keep me from really sharing with my kids one of the most formative parts of my youth.

I also worry that my experience may just be totally irrelevant for them -- they don't have that much desire to be outside half the time, and hot, sunny summer days are made for computers in air conditioned homes, not traipsing through cool mountain streams for hours on end.

Yet I persist in believing that one afternoon building a dam together on a mountain stream would be worth two years of soccer games. So we continue to try, and even managed to hike a few times this summer -- Milcreek Canyon, Holbrook Canyon, Tony Grove Lake, and as always, Soapstone Basin for the wildflowers.

I don't know if it will ever be the same for them as it was for me, with a creek two-minutes-walk away and nothing else to do. But I hope these small efforts some how help them find the things I did in the cradle of a mountain home.

If nothing else, it has given Keegan the opportunity to play "I am King of The World -- In my Underwear!" Now where else can you have a fine experience like that? (Don't ask -- lets just say it comes under the ubiquitous category of "lessons in potty--training".)

By the way, if you haven't been to Franklin Basin or Tony Grove Lake at the height of wildflower season, you are missing a real treat. The pictures do not do it justice. But if you are lucky enough to go, you may just catch a badger playing around the beaver dams in Logan Canyon on your drive home, and that alone should make it a great trip!

Here is hoping that next summer will bring more hiking, and less to-doing.

The Summer Began with an Experiment

2010-09-21T20:32:00.000-07:00

Ten years. Ever since we first saw those huge, beautiful, brown, please-don't-ever-leave-me eyes on Kate as she entered the world. That is how long it has been since we took a vacation together, just the two of us. (I note here that her brothers both inherited the same ridiculously enthralling eyes.) But apparently there is a time for everything, and so the summer began with an experiment: Could our children survive three nights without us? More importantly, could we survive without them? Could we actually enjoy being footloose and free, thinking about fun without the kids? Or would the guilt overwhelm any glimmer of glee that an escape from the bowels of parenting might provide?

Opportunity to answer those eternal and all-important questions came in the form of a very kind invitation from my employer. Flying J owns a private yacht (left over from the glory days), complete with Michele, a man who is a real live French Chef, and who can turn any Costco outing into a gourmet meal without even breaking a sweat. When my colleague, Fred Greener, and I finished selling the Bakersfield refinery in May (a critical part of the company's emergence from bankruptcy protection), our incredibly generous CEO asked us if we would like to pick a weekend and take our spouses on a cruise out of San Diego.

Well, that sounded nice, but it was very clear that Adrenaline Junky Danger Boy (aka Keegan) would NOT do well on an ocean going yacht (see the post before last), so we had to make a decision -- leave them all or not?

Oh, what the heck, right? Never up, never in. So we pulled the trigger--and almost didn't survive. Us that is. The kids were just fine. At least two of them didn't even want to see us when we got back. More fun to be with the cousins, don't ya know. So much for all that parental can't-let-my-children-suffer-one-whit-of-loneliness angst. Note to self: get over it already. Besides, the one who did miss us kept kissing us and saying "I missed you! I love you!" over and over again when we got back, so it was all worth it.

Anyway, after all that, thought you might want to see a few pics from our early summer experiment.

Here is the "FunRunner II". It was a good ride!

We woke up in the middle of Avalon Harbor in Catalina, which is visible, on a good day, from Long Beach. Below is my colleague Fred. Basically, if Fred is awake and within sight of water, it means there will be fishing. In fact, there may be fishing even if water is not in sight, but being this close proved irresistible. Notwithtstanding the many stories I have heard, it quickly became apparent that he only knew how to catch little ones. :-)

Actually, what they lacked in size, these Calico Bass made up for in quality (with help from Michele, of course). Fred has become one of my very close friends, so it is perfectly acceptable for me to tease him about fishing.

On that front, I have no idea how an Idaho farm boy/bedrock Conservative (As in Tea Party? We don't need no stinkin' Tea Party! Somebody give us a real revolution and overthrow the Government, dang it!), became fond of me, a lived-in-the-big-city-for-most-of-his-life guy, most recently of San Francisco, for Pete's sake (apart from considering my native charm and winning personality, of course). But I think perhaps it is because bankruptcy is like war -- once you have been in a foxhole with someone while everyone else is shooting your way, you become like family. Anyway, he is a dear friend and it was a lot of fun spending time with him and his family.

After a day of shopping and a very fine couples massage for Kathleen and I (no pics of that -- so sorry -- know how you really wanted those), we left Avalon harbor to head north and east along the Catalina Coast. It provided some natural scenery that is amazing when you consider how close to LA (and all those liberal California people) it is.

Brown pelicans are pretty darn ugly when sitting, but they are so graceful in flight that they have always been one of my favorite things to see on the California coast.

Here is where we moored, further up the coast, near a scout camp, of all things. It had a fine view of a very large cormorant rookery.

Kathleen conquered one of her greatest fears while there -- an open water swim. She Rocks.

On the way back the next day, we encountered a whole pod of dolphins. I was only able to snap a few pics, but I have to say that no matter how many times you see this, it is always magical.

As we entered San Diego Harbor, the Sea Lions, true to form, did their best not to greet us.

The harbor itself is full of man made wonders. In addition to nuclear submarines (so much bigger than I thought they would be) it contains several aircraft carriers, like the Midway, below (a 1960s era ship).

The Midway is completely dwarfed, however, by even bigger carriers, such as the Nimitz (68) and Carl Vinson (70) below. (The Ronald Reagan, also based here, was away on duty). It is hard to tell here, but those things are absolutely huge!

The harbor was also full of guided missle destroyers, cruisers, and others that stretched literally as far as the eye could see. It is pretty tough to float by all of this and not feel absolutely patriotic. God Bless our troops, sailors and airmen. We hold them to such high standards and give them such hard things to do, and they somehow manage to do it. Just amazing.

We finished off our trip with a quick visit to Cabrillo Point, I think the only national monument in California that we had not visited.

All in all, a very good trip. It was good enough, and non-traumatic enough, that we immediately began plotting our England adventure when we returned. More on that later!

Where Have We Been Part CXXXVIII (Or Something Like That)

2010-09-12T22:11:00.000-07:00

So, where have we been all these months? BUSY! Since we last blogged (not counting last week's post about Keegan), we could be found doing any of the following:

1. Planting flowers in our perennial weed patch so the ward doesn't contemplate us as a potential service project.

2. Planting an Herb Garden to more fully benefit from my wife's ongoing refinement of serious culinary talent (favorite new thing: Thai basil -- it is killer).

3. Planting a Garden Garden (see no. 2 above). Doing so actually required installation of a deer proof fence, since the blasted critters seem to think I grow things just for them to eat (and yes, you can put me down for the next Bambi Killers Unite rally; I almost went shopping for semi automatic weapons until my wife noted the high likelihood and poor manners of collateral damage).

4. Weeding and harvesting said garden. We could stop here, and it would be a completely sufficient explanation of our absence from blogging and all other activities--the fact that you can pay 79 cents for a cucumber in any grocery store is a flipping miracle. But it does make for one cute gardener showing off her first produce (radishes, of all things!)

5. Potty Training our youngest. At times Keegan seemed determined to see us extend diaper purchases forever, but he has finally decided (knock on the now idle diaper genie) that poopy butts are not such a great thing. Nice to know I won't be changing diapers at age 50! (Bonus: I think I have at least a few years before mom and dad start :-) Note: I will spare you the pictures here.

6. Closing the sale of a refinery in Bakersfield California (only someone who has done this really has any understanding of what that sentence entails). No pictures here either -- trust me, you are not missing much.

7. Taking a San Diego Cruise on a private yacht, paid for by my work as a reward for number 6. My CEO is really great to work for, a very generous person.

8. Searching for wildflowers in the Uintas (my favorite wildflower spot -- Soapstone Basin) with the kids.

9. Testing out the new Camelbacks while Hiking Dog Lake Trail in Millcreek Canyon -- I love having the Wasatch Front in our back yard.

10. Marking a new Independence Day -- July 23rd -- as the company I work for, Flying J, finally emerged from Bankruptcy after 18 excruciatingly long months. Happily I still have a job, which was totally up in the air for at least 16 of those 18 months. Whew!

11. Camping and Hiking near Tony Grove Lake.

12. Taking our first trip without kids in 10 years (wahoo!). Went to England with my sweetheart and my parents to visit where my Dad grew up (and much more, such as Bamburgh Castle on the Northumberland Coast).

13. Enjoying Bear Lake with the Cousins on the last full week of summer.

14. Losing baby teeth, and sending Mr. Adult Teeth :-( off to Kindergarten, in a special Chinese immersion program, no less, that he will do through the rest of grade school.

Much more to come on a number of these, but, as I hope you can see, it has been enough to leave one poor old man too tired to blog on most Sunday evenings, which is when I usually find the time. Hopefully, things will calm down and I can be a little more faithful in reporting on our lives.

Keegan Bailey: Adrenalin Junkie

2010-09-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

Ok, so we have been away a long time. I am sure that no one really missed us much, but if anyone did, I promise to update on our very full summer very soon. In the meantime, a couple of Keeganisms to tide you over. In the photo above the boys had just won victory in a monumental tug of war with MuShu, a Pug we are taking care of for a week. Adrenaline junkie that he is, Keegan loves to be chased, even by dogs that outweigh him 2 to 1. Just look at that face, and in the one below. Sheer joy.

If any further proof of junkiedom is needed, consider the following. Alden has a bunk bed in his room, and the upper bunk stands about 6 feet at the mattress, a bit higher on the side bars around it. I was putting the boys to bed in Alden’s room (they both sleep on the bottom, double mattress because Keegan can’t stand to be alone in his room), and was busy putting Alden’s pajamas on with my back to the bed. Suddenly, I heard this loud THUMP! on the floor behind me, followed by Keegan shouting “I DID IT! AND I DIDN’T EVEN DIE!”

He had jumped from the top bunk, by standing on the chair rail around the bed. When he does that, his head almost reaches the ceiling. It just busts me up that a three year old stands there, thinks that he might actually die, and does it any way. Heaven help me, and keep him from high places.

He continues to be the great character in our family, and says something almost every day that leaves you grinning from ear to ear. Wish I had written them all down, but here are some samples:

Kathleen brought home some Pirate Booty the other day. Keegan opened it and began to chow down, stopping only to exclaim, with two fistfuls of booty in hand: "Pirate Booty really rocks! Mom, you are the best. I love you!"

When he is really happy, which is usually after eating, or particularly when we have a family ice cream fest, he will run around and kiss each one of us, and say, with as much conviction as a little body can muster, “I love you Mom! I love you Dad!” and so on to each member of the family (visiting dogs included).

He also has a tender heart. About a week ago he caught a spider in his room, and let it go outside. As he did so, he said, “Now it is in the sweet, sweet day!” That is so typical of him, in that he loves the outdoors with all of his very big heart, and joys in finding creatures great and small.

He is not always so kind though. As Kathleen and Keegan went to the doctor's office a while ago, they came upon a long hall. Breaking free of his mom’s grip, he ran pell mell, turning for just a moment to shout “See you later, Loser!”

And don't even think about getting in his way when he is tired. When he needs to sleep, you just have to let him, when and wherever that may be.

Last night, after a full day in which he must have yelled "MuShu!" a thousand times while they ran about, he went to bed only to find Mushu laying on the blanket next to his pillow, which kept him from getting in. His only words: "Somebody move the Pug!"

Simply Amazing

2010-05-09T19:49:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know this already, my wife is simply amazing. There are more specific examples than one can or should count on this front, but I'll try to give a small sampling.

Amazing as in gave birth to three of the most beautiful, intelligent and warm children ever.

Amazing as in up every morning at 5:00 a.m. to work out with her friend/partner, Joanna Bell (above) without fail; lost 27 pounds in 6 months, and topped it off by taking fourth in her age bracket at her first mini-triathlon, just yesterday.

Amazing as in works as a stock analyst every day, understanding complex economic and financial matters, while planning and executing a very busy family calendar of tae kwon do, soccer, swimming, skating, and piano; cooking gourmet quality, healthy meals almost every night, overseeing the kids' education with a keen eye, meeting teachers and principles and making sure homework gets done.

Amazing as in doing all that while managing family finances, washing laundry, reading stories at bed-time, directing ward choir, and baking dinner and pies for friends and neighbors.

I know what you are thinking -- no way is that the true picture. There has to be some huge flaw, some hidden underside -- otherwise, why would she have married a run-of-the mill, pudgy schmuck like you?

All I can say in response is that the above is absolutely true, with nary a hidden dark side in sight (unless you count an inherited, irrational belief that all places can be reached in time as long as you leave home five minutes beforehand).

As for why she married me--well, you just have to realize that at times, the world makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. That can be a bad thing, but in this case, for me, it is one of the great miracles ever to happen on the face of the planet.

Alden, (who loves Lego with a 24-7 passion that has to be seen to be believed) decided he loved his mom so much that the other day he spontaneously made his own special Lego heart to give to her, just to tell her how he felt. We all feel the way he does -- we know she is very special each and every day.

Love you sweetheart. Happy Mothers Day.

Our Little Super Hero

2010-04-29T20:49:00.000-07:00

I know it is not Halloween and I have posted photos like this before, but tonight as I put Keegan to bed, he fought it mightily. In the midst of the struggle, I noticed that he had a Batman action figure in his room and remarked on it. This followed:

Keegan: "Dad, when I go to sleep, I can become Batman."

Dad: "What happens then?"

Keegan: "Then I can save the world!"

He was asleep five minutes later. The world should be safe tonight, I think. How I love my little guy.

Carrizo Plain National Monument

2010-04-18T20:50:00.000-07:00

If you came to this place in May or later, you would ask, "who on earth would make THIS a national monument?" (The answer is Bill Clinton, which might explain a lot, particularly for most of you who still read this blog). Even if that did explain a lot, you might still ask, "why?"

But if you come earlier in the spring, about a week earlier than I did two weeks ago, you might have a different thought. The California wildflowers here can be spectacular. We were about a week late, but still managed to catch some photos showing why it can be a special place.

But of course, one of the real reasons, is that it is also home to the most spectacular surface example of the San Andreas fault. Nowhere else can the way in which the Pacific plate slides past the North American plate be seen so clearly. Here is a photo.

Driving along that road (to the right of the obvious fault), and walking along that ominous crack in the earth, makes you nervous, no matter how remote the odds might be. If you have to be in Bakersfield, this place is only an hour west, and worth the visit, especially in February and early March.

Not Quite Camping But . . .

2010-04-18T20:25:00.000-07:00

I don't know if it is sacrilege to have campfire smores when you are not camping, but I don't think the kids really cared. There is a lot to be said for a back yard fire pit and a warm (enough) spring night :-). So glad winter is finally over with, we just had to celebrate, didn't we?

Moab in March

2010-04-11T21:15:00.000-07:00

At the end of March, work finally offered a Friday with room to breathe, so we headed to Moab. March in Moab is not your sunny-St. George-with-warm-weather-and-pool type vacation. Rather, it sits at about the same elevation as Salt Lake, with similar temperatures during winter months. This March Friday was no different -- cloudy and cold, with rain threatening or pouring down all day. So rather than hike, we put the Acadia through its paces, and started the morning with the kinder, gentler Bailey version of four wheeling.

Luckily, in this place, kinder and gentler can still yield spectacular views, even on a cloudy day. Above, Kate enjoys an overlook of Kane Spring Canyon, just southwest of Moab.

After returning from Kane Spring, the weather was still cloudy in town, so we decided to take a little road trip further south (notwithstanding the drive the day before -- I love car DVD players) down to Needles Overlook in Canyonlands National Park, a place I had never been before.

The weather was slightly better (??? --right-- it actually hailed on us as we drove in, and was dang cold) but the views were breathtaking. Keegan had fun scrambling around even in the chilly breeze. Below is the grand panorama that greeted us.

Kate found all kinds of nooks and cranny's to crawl into, including the one below. She just loves being outside and exploring -- it always brings a smile to her beautiful face.

I also had a lot of fun looking for photos -- it is one of my life's great passions, though I wish I could spend more time perfecting my art (one of these days, I really will learn Photoshop, I swear). Below are a few snaps of the place that hopefully capture some of the feeling of being there.

Just as we finished, we got a call saying the rest of Kathleen's family had arrived in Moab, and wanted to meet us in Arches at sunset, so we booked out of there, just in time to catch them in the Windows section of the park. Aldy was kind enough to pose for the photo below to give this arch a sense of scale.

Unfortunately for him, it also acted as a wind tunnel, and nearly blew him off his feet. He was so cold his teeth were chattering. He toughed it out with a little help from his aunt Kari and her coat.

The thing that makes Moab and Arches so special is the the proximity of high blue and green mountains with the red, orange and yellow sandstone. This place is a wonderland of variety, and beauty unlike anywhere else on earth.

We decided to make the most of it, and took off early the next morning for Delicate Arch, which is a mile and a half one way, with a pretty good grade, particularly up a huge sandstone hill. My boys really made me proud! Keegan made it most of the way to the Arch before needing assistance, and Alden walked the whole way (holding Dad's hand most of the time -- hated that, really I did -- Not!). Of course, Kate and I had done this a couple of years ago together, and she made it without even breaking a sweat -- in fact, I last saw her about a hundred yards into the trail, and didn't find her again until we reached the top and heard the quintessential "what took you?" as only she could say it.

Here is Aldy, standing on a ledge, leaning precariously against the wind (one mother nearly hit me over the head for even letting him stand there), so that he could get his celebratory picture. As you can see, it was still cold, but he seemed to have fun anyway. What a great little guy.

Here is the fam, with the famous Arch. Thanks to Uncle Nate, we may have our Christmas Card photo taken care of already. :-)

You have to admit, those are some pretty cute little hikers there. No doubt about it, Moon genes are very good genes indeed.

You can't really understand how big this arch is, or how precariously it sits on a cliff top, until you stand underneath it. There is a sheer drop of several hundred feet just off to our right on the back side of the arch. Aldy, finally wisening up, was not too thrilled by that. Still, he gave it a shot as long as Kate and I were holding his hands. Truly an amazing place -- if I believed in vortexes, this would be a biggie.

After our hike, we headed back to Arches campground, and the perfect camp site. Lunch never tasted so good.

The campsite is a wonderland of scramble, and I don't think we heard from the kids again until we called them all in. Below are some pics of the fun, and the amazing views that are available in this place. It may be one of the best campgrounds in America.

Those are the La Sal mountains in the background, with the biggest Kids Playground on the planet providing foreground color. Below is a view from inside Skyline Arch, which is pretty accessible from its back side (though the front side (right) has a drop of at least a hundred feet).

Evening gave me the chance to run out and chase the rising moon at Balanced Rock. One of the benefits of the cold weather was that almost no one else was around, making for a really great moment, filled with deep gratitude for the God that created such a spectacular planet.

Above is our last view of the park as we left. The flaming red on the Colorado river gorge was just amazing -- the photo cannot do it justice.

Early the next morning, we arrived at home, and woke up to the typical clean up duties. Of course, no trip is complete without having to clean out the cooler once you are done. Alden and Keegan took a bit of an unorthodox approach, but these are boys who love a bath, any time, any where, as long as the water is warm. As you can see from their faces, we had a great time from start to finish. Life is good.

The Power of Kate

2010-03-20T21:47:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, Kate has been taking Tae Kwon Do from Grand Master Kim for several months now. She really likes it, and has become quite good at going through the forms.

Every so often, the students "test" to determine if they can graduate from one belt color to the next. It starts at white, then goes to yellow, then orange.

Kate has been a yellow belt for a bit now, but today was her day to test for orange. She was very nervous of failing in front of the class, but calmed down and went through her fighting forms with great precision, speed, and the loudest post-strike "Hah!" in the room. Then came the moment she feared most -- board breaking. This time, she had to do it with a bare-footed front kick. One slip up, and there could be purple toes for weeks . . .

But as you can see from her determined face, there was no risk of that.

The board didn't stand a chance. The photo above is worth clicking on to see large. We are talking perfect strike there.

The Weapon.

The evidence -- good bye yellow belt.

Hello, orange belt!

That face is worth a billion bucks, if you happen to be her dad (don't tell Grand Master Kim that, though, he might raise testing prices!). Not a bad way to start a Saturday morning.

Falcon Kill?

2010-03-20T21:38:00.000-07:00

Saw this in our back yard the other day. The feathers belong to a bird that never saw what hit him. I think this must be a falcon, just because one day, a long time ago in San Francisco, I watched out my work window as a Peregrine slammed into a pigeon at such unbelievable speed it left only an explosion of feathers in its wake. Still, even after looking at a guide, I am unsure what type of bird this really is. All I know is that he smacked that other bird dang hard. Any birder's out there? (Steve? Alan?) Would be nice to know what killer raptors are hanging out in the neighborhood!

Grown Up Beautiful

2010-03-16T20:13:00.000-07:00

It is long past time for me to write about being Keegan’s dad. Though I have called him Captain Trainwreck (and similar sundries) in past posts, when this picture came out of the camera I immediately thought, “OH! He is so grown up!” followed almost immediately by “My word, he is so beautiful!” (Hence the title of the post.) Time passes so fast, and life with Keegan needs to be recorded for the joy it is, before it all gets away from me.

I’ve been thinking about what fun he is for a bit now. During the last weeks of September last year, Keegan, who had been our champion sleeper, suddenly began waking 5 and 6 times a night in sheer terror, screaming, disoriented, inconsolable. Nor would he allow his mother to leave his side, even for a few minutes (also completely out of character). There began a long stretch of sleeplessness for us, with a third little body inevitably in our bed every night, kicking and thrashing away. Frustration grew; understanding did not. I was on the verge of being mad about it, but then one night at the Jager’s house in California we felt what seemed a huge soft spot just back from behind his right ear. This was no goose egg. This was mush.

Many questions and few doctor visits later, I found out that he had suffered quite a fall directly onto his head in September, and unbeknownst to all of us, had fractured his skull. Scans showed some internal bleeding, which the doctors believed was “resolving,” and would not need further treatment. It was, however, expected that the severe concussion-like symptoms would continue for months, with super-vigilance needed to keep him from jarring, falling or hitting his head again. (If you know Keegan, this task is impossible. Period.)

We seem to be through it now, and he is much improved (i.e. as big a goofball as ever, see Chocolate Frenchy, above). While it scared the stuffing out of me at the time, the ordeal has been a blessing in disguise, in some ways. First, I became the designated PKBP--Put Keegan to Bed Parent. He refused to go to sleep unless his mom was snuggled up with him – great for him, bad for mom and me, who slept very little lying next to perpetual motion incarnate. Desperation set in, and somehow we learned that if I sat in the rocking chair holding him with his head on my shoulder, patting his back while singing to him, he would fall asleep.

As a result, I have spent some of the best hours of my life with a beautiful little head on my shoulder, singing church primary songs. Our favorite is “I feel my Savior’s love, in all the world around me, its spirit warms my soul, with all the things I see. . . .” We also sing, “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here, has given me an earthly home, with parents kind and dear . . . “ almost every night. Other favorites include "Families can be together forever" and "How could the Father show the world."

I’ve discovered that everything you need to know about life you can find in a primary song. How I enjoy them, and how blessed I am to be able to sing them to this beautiful little miracle I love so much. When I am old(er) and much grayer (if that is possible), in my own rocking chair, I will still carry the memories of this time with me, and they will still make me smile.

I have also paid a little more attention to the great things about Keegan during this time--all the things he does that makes him special and keeps us laughing. In no particular order, here are a few of the things you should know about Keegan:

He is so expressive. I challenge you to not grin from ear to ear just watching him talk -- it is simply impossible. All the joy of life, and all the emotion in it, seem to burst from the seams of each word he utters. Eyes big with wonder, hands a parade of motion, chest out with the deepest breath possible for a little guy, just to make sure he has enough air to say all he wants--it is pure fun to engage him in a conversation.

He is enthusiasm incarnate. Every little person seems brim-full with joy at being alive in the world, but never has that joy been so disproportionate to the size of the person holding it. It bounces in every step Keegan takes – never a walk; always a life-loving strut, arms swinging wide, head up and looking all around, determined, diaper-wiggling steps, or all-out run. He is even enthusiastic when he sleeps, as his hair will attest. (It is like this every morning and the boy hates hair brushes!)

He has the world's most beautiful eyes, and gives the world's greatest hugs. His eyes can express more emotion in a glance than most people can using everything they have. And don't even get my wife going about the eyelashes -- long as the prairie is wide. But best of all, he gives the greatest hug in all the long history of hugs. Every one starts with a full running leap, followed by arms flying as far around your neck as their short little selves can manage, feet kicking, teeth grinning, eyes shut tight amidst the biggest squeeze ever made by such a little guy. To be hugged by Keegan is to know the meaning of a hug.

He is very perceptive. Batman never smiles, and Keegan knows it. Just try to get him to smile while in character as the caped crusader -- never going to happen, even with a well placed tickle. He notices plenty of other things as well, at least one of which is quite troubling. A little while ago, we had the following diaper table conversation, which tells you just how much a three-year old really knows about how the world works:

Me: “Keegan, hold still!

Keegan: “Why?

Me: “Because you are supposed to obey me when I ask you to do something. I’m the dad.”

Keegan: “No dad, I only obey you if you obey me too, ok?”

Me: “That is not the way it works Keegan, I am the dad and that makes me the boss, so you have to do what I ask.”

Keegan: “Dad, YOU are not the boss. MOMMY is the boss!”

Just to make sure I understood the point, a few nights later, he was insisting on sleeping in our bed again, and as usual, I was arguing with him about it, and told him he could not sleep in my bed. We went back and forth in yes/no fashion a few times, which drew this final response from him: “Dad, mommy didn’t say no, so I win.”

Dang. I hate it when kids know more than they are supposed to.

He always seems to get what he wants, one way or another. Here he is in his best "King of the World" pose, which is so appropriate. Case in point: as his condition improved, I sought to reassert my authority (yeah right) to control my own bedroom--by trying to make him sleep in his own bed, without his mother. One night, after at least a half an hour doing everything I could to get him to stay in his own bed, he escaped my grasp and ran upstairs, with me chasing behind him and yelling, “Keegan, why aren’t you sleeping in your bed?”

Keegan, running his little legs as fast as they will go, yelled back “Because I am sleeping in mommy’s bed!”

Me: “Oh no you are not!”

Keegan: “Oh yes I am!” At which moment he slammed and locked my bedroom door right in my face (and pushed his mother away when she tried to open it from the other side). We were both laughing so hysterically at that point, at just the audacity of the whole thing, and we didn’t have the heart to force him back down to his room. Somehow, I don't think that is the last time he will get his way over my strenuous objection.

He is not ticklish. Really. The other day, Grandpa Bailey was engaged in a favorite Bailey household activity – tickling Keegan, who laughs hysterically at the slightest of touches. In mid-belly laugh, he stopped suddenly, and announced very seriously, “Actually, Grandpa, I am not ticklish!”

He already hates being short. For most of his life, Keegan has been about 5^th percentile height and 50^th percentile weight (no shots from the peanut gallery on where he got those genes, please). He already doesn’t like it. The other night he and Alden were bathing together, as usual, when Keegan said, “Stand up Aldy, I want to see how tall I am.” They both stood up and hugged, belly to belly, and Alden said, “Not taller yet -- you are still up to my chin.” Keegan responded, “Darn, I really want to be tall.”

Sorry little buddy, it is just not in the genetic cards.

He is figuring out what bodies do, sort of . . . We have been trying to potty train Keegan for what seems like a year now, and unintended consequences are about the only thing we have to show for it. On any given day, you can hear Keegan repeatedly saying, in mixed company or otherwise, “Dad, when you eat, you poop!” (Said as if it was really big news every time). Also one day, in less than ideal circumstances, Keegan emerged fresh from a bath and ran around the house naked, shouting, “Hah! My Penis has a Gun!” over and over again. Where do these things come from?

He can melt your heart in one sentence or less. Just before Christmas, Kathleen used a sharp tone with Keegan after he made a mess for the umpteenth time. He said, “Mom, it is supposed to be happy holidays, not mad holidays.” Later, when his mom and I went out on a date together for the first time since he fractured his skull, we returned to him grabbing us both by the neck, giving us both a hug like only Keegan can, and saying, “Guys, I really missed you. I am so glad you are home.”

He loves being chased. Our little man is a certifiable adrenaline junkie, and there is absolutely nothing he loves more than goading you into chasing him. So, for all the girls I am sure he will one day lure, with ease, into that favorite sport--there is one last thing you should know about Keegan:

His first french kiss was a Dog! (And don't think the old man isn't going to pull that photo out a time or two starting at age 16!)

Zion in Winter

2010-01-17T20:06:00.000-08:00

For Christmas we gathered almost the entire Bailey family together -- my mom and dad, brother Ryan and his wife Hanni, Sister Shalise and Steve, (brother Matt was a scrooge), and with all of our kids spent the weekend in St. George. It was cold. Dixie of Utah my foot. Phoenix has nothing to worry about, believe me. But in Phoenix, you can't see Zion in winter, and that is worth frozen extremities any day, if you ask me.

Intrepid souls that we are, ice and snow did not dissuade us from taking at least a couple of short hikes. And was it ever rewarding. Not only did the kids get to "ice skate outside" (much to my horror at times), we were rewarded with views that could not be beat.

This picture does not do justice to the Great White Throne. There was no way to capture the scale of that thing. Amazing.

Here we are at the gateway to the Narrows. The shot below perhaps gives a sense of the immensity of this place.

Here I am with my dad and boys along the Narrows trail. Dad and mom both worked here after graduating from high school in the 50s. It was nice to be back with them some 50 years later.

After leaving Zion, my dad, mom and Shalise's family spent some time with my family in Snow Canyon, playing on the sand dunes there. The photo below is Keegan and my dad. (Check out the look on Keegan's face-- he is full of it, I'm telling you.)

My only memories of this place were as a kid many years before, with my parents watching me and my siblings as I now watched my kids. Coming back with my kids and my parents was an interesting experience. Sweet with both memory and new fun, of course, but also odd to be here as a parent, together with my parents.

I found myself wishing hard that my parents were young again. They treated us to such wonderful times as kids, and I wanted them to have the same experience all over again with my kids, to share in what I was feeling watching them. As much as they enjoy my kids (and frequently remind me that it is much more fun to be a grandparent than a parent), with my parents in their 70s Father Time hangs a little heavier over the joy of these moments. It makes carefree, uninhibited exuberance a bit harder to come by. How nice it would be to have them as same-aged family or friends, seemingly with time to spare and just watch my kids enjoy life and grow up. I don't really believe in regret, it is a pointless emotion, but if I have a regret in life, it is that Kath and I did not start our family a little sooner. Nothing to do about it now, of course, except make the most of the time we have left with all of us on the same planet, and so that is what we did.

Here is Kate taking a flying leap.

Alden and his cousin Liam were in heaven. Just blow that picture up and look at their faces -- everything that is wonderful about little boys can be seen right there.

Needless to say, a little sand in the hair is a small price to pay in a place like this -- good thing there were showers at the house we rented.

Here we are at the end of the day, a great day to be alive and with family. I will post later about more fun with the Bailey Fam in St. George.

Where have we been (2009 edition)?

2010-01-10T19:42:00.000-08:00

Okay, so we have been away for a while. Sorry. Where have we been? Partying, of course! You see, from October 31 to Christmas is always a big party for the Baileys. First comes Halloween, a perennial hit, then in order: Brett's birthday (Nov. 5th), Alden's birthday (Nov. 10th), Keegan's birthday (Nov. 24th), Thanksgiving, then Christmas. Wahoo! Between that and work, I have had little time to do anything else. I will try to make up for it though. Below, posts from each of those events (except Thanksgiving--too busy cooking, I guess).

Halloween 2009

We started off right, with Keegan being as big a goofball as he could possibly be (and trust me, that is big) during the carving of pumpkins.

The kids were, respectively, Hermione Granger (Kate), a Star Wars Clone Trooper (Alden) and Batman (Keegan). We bought their costumes early, and I think Alden and Keegan did not take them off for a moment during the full week before Halloween. They were in heaven.

In case you didn't know this, being Batman is very, very serious business, and he never, ever smiles when his mask is on. Never. In fact, if you feel you have to smile, it requires lifting the mask, letting everyone know it is really Keegan, and then smiling.

Cousin Jude was our first trick or treater. They look like they could be trouble one of these first days, don't they? It was a very successful evening, with Keegan even eating so much candy in one fell swoop that he said, "I'm sick" and promptly threw up. Nice finish, no? Who are that kid's parents anyway?

Aldy's Birthday

This boy is something special, no doubt about it. He is the most persistent force on the planet (next to gravity and erosion, of course, though he is gaining on the latter almost daily). He knew what he wanted, and wore his mom into going to Target with him three weeks before his birthday to make sure she bought the correct presents (Star Wars Legos and a Batmobile). She did so on the condition that he would not open them before his birthday. He agreed and kept his word to the letter, but proceeded to tote all three boxes (which were too big for him to carry in one load) into every room he occupied during the three weeks, as well as carrying them with him on every car ride. At night, he would line them up in his room and fall asleep looking at them. One day, he lined them up very precisely on the breakfast table while eating and, looking dreamily at them said, "Dad, don't you just love how my presents look?"

Needless to say, what it lacked in surprise, Aldy's Birthday made up for in sweet anticipation. Here are a few photos.

Here he is doing his best Scooby Doo impression with Grandma.

Uncle Ryan and aunt Hannie came by, with a Star Wars toy that did not require assembly, thank goodness.

Here he is opening a transformer from Grandma and Grandpa, with my family around him. It was one of the few surprises of the night, but a big hit--at least after the 2 hours it took two or three adults to figure out how to transform it. The engineer that makes up those directions needs to be pushed off a very high bridge somewhere for the sake of parental sanity.

Post party he spent literally hours on end, without interruption, assembling his Star Wars legos. (The one on the right had like 400 pieces and was incredibly complex.) He spent every minute of the assembly process with his tongue hanging out, intensively following every step of the 100 page instruction booklets (Transformers need to hire that guy). He did the entire thing by himself, with minimal help. Just amazing.

The result was severely chapped lips (just take a close up look at those) and a proud self discovery. At the end, he said, "Dad, I am good at building things, aren't I?" There can be no doubt about that. He really shows a discipline and ability to concentrate that is beyond me even at age 47 (impending senility could have something to do with that, I suppose). In any event, he is just a great boy, who is so endearing we can't help loving him completely and dearly.

Keegan's Birthday

If Alden is endearing, Keegan is "cheeky," as my very english Great Grandma Mim would say. He is just a character. Here we are holding hands and singing happy birthday to him. Note the persistent Batman regalia, almost a month after Halloween. You can guess what his birthday wishes involved.

As you may recall, he is a big cake and icing eater -- and nothing gets in the way of that, ever.

Did I mention he was cheeky?

Bat Copter's and Bionicles, and he was a happy little man, especially once the construction expert in the family put the latter together for him.

Christmas 2009

We followed all that up with a great Christmas day. Keegan's brother and sister helped him figure out the finer points of present opening, and we were off to the races.

By the way, anyone who thinks he is not seriously beautiful just needs to get their eyes checked. Dang, he is a handsome little guy. Thank goodness I married up -- no other explanation for it!

Kate scored an iPod this year (as well as the new Percy Jackson book) and was off to her own world quicker than you could say boo. Teenager-dom is so close I am already shaking in my shoes and thinking about buying my first ever gun.

Aldy scored an Optimus Prime and a huge bionicle thingy that kept him occupied for most of the next two days.

Keegan got a Blue Beetle to go with his Batman set, and was happy as a clam. He carried it around with him for days.

Here he is with Grandpa, saying that this was "just what I always wanted." I don't think he even knew what it was.

Grandma Gayle made a special quilt for Kate, who really does love her Grandma very much.

We finished off Christmas Day with a great Moon family gathering, and it was a perfect way to top off the day. But that was only the beginning of the fun. More to come in the next post!

The Hand in the Family

2009-12-13T19:47:00.000-08:00

Just in case you were wondering who has "hand" in our family, meaning who wears the pants when she wants to, the attached video ought to make it clear which of our family members cannot be messed with once they put their mind to it.

"Holbrook" Canyon

2009-10-23T19:13:00.000-07:00

Sunday I drove home from checking on my folks' house, in nothing more than sandals, shorts and a T-shirt, and passed by Holbrook Canyon (above), home of Barton Creek, looking fall-worthy as a place could be. Of course, anyone who knows anything understands that it is really Bailey canyon and Brett's creek. I literally grew up here. We lived in a small house that my parents rented for $75 a month. It was the highest house on the hill near this canyon, and you could only access the house via a dirt road and an old stone bridge that crossed this creek. There were no neighbors, just my brothers and me. Mom was courageous enough to let us roam absolutely free, so from the time I was 4 until junior high, almost every waking day found me in this canyon, building dams or forts, throwing rocks, hiking, chasing lizards, fishing, dodging rattle snakes (we never told mom) -- you name it.

Given all that, I couldn't resist an impromptu late-afternoon hike, lack of shoes notwithstanding. Within minutes, magical colors surrounded me and drew me on. I ended up hiking for several hours, higher in the canyon than I had ever been.

The photo above is the spot where I camped the very first time I backpacked -- with my best friend Doug Folsom, at age 12, with nary an adult in sight. I don't know if times were different then or if we are just more paranoid now (thank you, TV news), but between fear of child abductions or the risk of them starting the next great conflagration, it would be hard for me to let a 12 year old son out like that. Which is a shame, because those were very formative experiences and are some of the best memories I carry. We used this same fire-ring to cook tinfoil dinners our mothers had prepared. Amazing it is still there, 35 years later.

The second time we went camping alone (probably the next year) we stayed here. It is a perfect camp spot, with overhanging, protective trees and a soft grass bed. (That fire ring also has at least 35 years of use.)

The technicolor trails were everything you could ask for: quiet but for the sound of the babbling creek; cool, crisp air flowing down the canyon; and a damp earthy smell that I swear exists nowhere else. I smiled ear-to-ear the whole time I was there, and walked with a bounce and exuberance not altogether familiar to these aging legs. As I snapped away, I realized that more than any other place in the world, this was home for me. I was finally home, after a long time away. That is a really good feeling.

I was footsore and blistered by the time I wandered out at dusk, but ever-grateful to have broken routine and explored what was, and still is, my back yard. It rained and blew hard the next day, and I have no doubt many of these leaves did not survive it. Change is omnipresent and merciless. But every so often, for a moment, it can be cheated, with past and present colliding in a happy confluence of memory and beauty that recharges the soul. Those are rare and great days indeed.

Antelope Island Sunset Part 2

2009-10-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

Not possible to take enough pictures of Great Salt Lake sunsets from Davis County, if you ask me. I really missed them while away from my Utah home all these years. They bring an at times inexplicable affirmation that all is right with the world after all, no matter the craziness that surrounds me. For whatever reason, I feel compelled to share that small bit of sanity. Sorry if it is too much and too often.

So Cal Part Deux: Sea World and Laguna Beach

2009-10-15T19:37:00.000-07:00

After the nirvana of Legoland, we braced for letdown at Sea World the next day. We need not have worried. I know that among certain sectors these places are controversial. I can respect that, though I would note that none of the people in those sectors have really lived in the kill or be killed wild. A nice cozy abode with plentiful fish may well be the preferred alternative of most sea life. Even if it were not, as the images below show so plainly, the cause of preserving wild things in wild places has no greater friend than this land of captives. (Sometimes, life is paradox.)

My children were enthralled. Light shown on their faces, wonder and glee from every pore. Scientists use the cold, hard, over-involved term "anthorpomorphization" to characterize this reaction; I prefer the warm and simple "empathy." And in my book, there is nothing wrong with that.

All that said, we had a blast. Thank you Sea World, keep up the good work.

Kate could not have been more in her element.

Hard to decide who has the bigger smile -- the dolphin thinking about fish or Keegan watching him think about fish.

Check out that tongue!

Love those cheesy poser grins. Shamu did not disappoint, though. Check out the photos, and then the reactions of my kids at watching her.

Next up, the Ray pond. Alden was fit to be tied when we got there. Check out the transformation.

Easily the most beautiful smile on the planet, right below.

Handsome little guy there, no? He got all confident from the fact that he touched the Rays without any obvious consequence.

Turtle Dude knows how to spend a warm afternoon. We could all take a few lessons on that.

Kate and Colieus. Isn't she great!?

Lucky for us, Sea World had its own water park, and that is where we ended the day. Needless to say, any place with a water park is "the best!"

At least until you get cold, anyway. Look at that poor shivering little guy.

Alden in his element. Has loved playing in water since his first bath.

After spending the following day lounging at the beach, we hit the tide pools in Laguna. Kids had a blast with the Hermit Crabs. Crabs, not so much (see kill or be killed, above . . . )

Reluctantly, we finally had to leave to catch a plane. Thanks again to our good friends Paul, Marilyn and family (below), who let us crash Le Hotel Jagerhaus. We had a great time!

SoCal Part 1: Legoland

2009-10-12T19:34:00.000-07:00

We used the school vacation/UEA Conference to go visit our dear friends the Jagers in SoCal last weekend (and we would visit and say that about them even if they didn't live so close to Laguna . . . really we would!). The trip was a success from the moment we stepped on the airplane. Alden, who is steeped in all things Star Wars, was fascinated by the airplane. He insisted on the window seat, and watched every second of the takeoff ("Dad, this is the fastest plane ever!").

For 45 minutes he made not a peep, staring out his window. Then he gently nudged me on the arm, and said, "Dad, to you want to watch the wing with me?" How wonderful it is to vicariously see the world with four year old eyes again, and remember what an amazing miracle it is just to fly.

Aldy is also a certified Lego and Star Wars fanatic, so first stop had to be Legoland. We had never been there before, and I must say, if you have kids between 3 and 9, it is a riot. Just look at what greeted Alden at the entrance:

Can you say "nirvana?" Even his cheesy, I am posing grin can't hide the happy little boy he was.

The trip was filled with firsts, including first fake car drive (below) and first roller coaster ride (above). After the roller coaster, he said "Mom, that first one was just a LITTLE bit steep." You should magnify the picture and look at his face. Priceless.

The real hit of the trip, though, was the water park. We had been warned to take a change of clothes, and it was a good thing we did. The kids played for hours. Here are a few photos.

After the water park, we made a symbolic visit to the old homestead. Still can't believe that whole thing is made of lego.

A few calmer rides and long walks later, we were done, but not without a good farewell to Bob and Albert.

We finished of the day with a trip to California Pizza Kitchen, where Keegan dug into everything with gusto. After eating a bite of their artichoke spinach dip, almost the whole restaurant heard him exclaim, "Ooh, I love that! I love eating. Eating is very fun!" A while later, he said of the pizza "That was tasty!" Now there is a little man after my own heart.

Still to come: Sea World and Laguna.

Great Salt Lake Sunset

2009-10-11T21:28:00.000-07:00

To any faithful soul who actually still reads my blog -- so sorry for the hiatus. Much has been going on at work (my boss quit), children have had health issues ( flu, flu, flu, fractured skull -- I kid you not) and we have been traveling. More will come shortly, but for now, a few pics from Antelope Island last night at sunset. I love this place -- it is amazing. I have never been out there at sunset without feeling totally energized. How lucky we are to live near.

Grand Teton Mega Post

2009-09-12T21:07:00.000-07:00

Work drains me deeply these days. I read recently that job uncertainty is more stressful than unemployment, and I am beginning to believe it. After nine months of wondering whether I will still have a job or not, the stress is showing. I actually thought the other day that it may just be possible to grow tired of this life. (Nothing suicidal there, mind you, just a "maybe it will be OK to die when that time comes" kind of thing.) I have never thought that before, so needless to say, I was in need of a serious recharge.

Having just attended a wonderful Ken Burns lecture about the spiritual renewal that seems inevitable in our national parks, I pushed a reluctant family into a Labor Day trip to Grand Teton National Park. Of course, it started out as a complete disaster. Work required me to be in Houston all week, in a bad hotel bed, no less, and packing had to wait until the night before we left. It trailed into the following morning, and a planned 10:00 AM departure turned into 1:30, with a tired and cranky me facing recriminations for keeping Kate out of school when she could have been there, and arguments about whether we should have left earlier. A tense drive followed, worrying about getting a good campsite at Jenny lake, and arriving just before sunset to find that sure enough it was full. Gros Ventre, the other nearby campground, was open but seemed not ideal. Grumpiness and stress abounded.

Then out of nowhere, Keegan piped up from the back seat: "Dad, I want to see the buffalo." Where he came up with this I have no idea, as the last time we talked about buffalo was almost a year (half his life) ago, on Antelope Island. Where ever it came from, he may as well have said "let there be buffalo," because suddenly there they were, 50 of them, Tetons towering behind, right off the road leading to our second-choice campground.

We turned from the buffalo just as the biggest harvest moon I have ever seen peeked over the hills to the east. So big and bright that Keegan exclaimed, "look mom, its a SUNNY moon!" And indeed it was. We pitched our tent aided by its light, and just as we had finished, a pack of at least a dozen coyotes howled and yipped in delight, the song dogs singing for what seemed like hours into the night. It was the last sound we heard as we all fell asleep.

The next morning found me up before dawn, watching the sun rise on the Tetons just as that beautiful full moon set behind them. Here is a photo:

Sunrise here is breathtaking and serene all at once, pure magic. After sunrise I wandered down to Schwabacher's landing, and found a huge beaver pond with a perfect reflection.

The day was largely spent with the kids soaking in String Lake, while Kath and I lounged on the beach.

Late afternoon found us headed back to the beaver ponds where we watched at least three, and maybe four, beavers building dams, swimming, chomping on saplings, and generally doing beaver things. How cool is that? We watched for hours, until the sun set behind those magnificent peaks.

Sunday morning I was up before dawn again, photographing away. After a few snaps from the Snake River overlook, I headed up to Oxbow Bend, and had one of the best mornings in recent memory. The water was glass. Mount Moran was magnificent. Pelicans floated in the bend as the sun flashed through a mostly overcast sky, lighting up the foreground and parts of the mountain. People watching spoke only in hushed and reverent tones.

A pack of six river otters began catching fish, then squabbling over it on the far river bank. Suddenly, a beaver popped up in their midst, scattering them. They tried to chase him off, but were too scared of teeth and tail to be convincing.

Just as these shenanigans were concluding, Bald Eagles flew overhead.

How can you top a morning like that? Not easy, if you ask me, but a quick morning drive by glass-like String Lake added to the experience.

That afternoon the family took a boat ride across Jenny Lake and hiked past Hidden Falls to Inspiration Point. Each of the kids came back with blood on them somewhere from various falls and scrapes, but were real troopers, all things considered.

We proceeded on to Mormon Row, where we photographed this classic Teton view.

Afternoon found us less than 20 yards from 3 huge bull moose. Check these guys out.

Now that is a moose. Take a second look at that rack!

Sunday evening and Monday morning were much the same, with a stop by the visitor center for good measure. Keegan is such a goofball. Look at him, then note his T-Shirt in the following photo.

I returned still tired but very renewed. Ken Burns is right -- above all, these places are spiritual, where renewal inevitably occurs. In the past, Grand Teton has been a beautiful place that we drove by on the way to Yellowstone. That will no longer be the case -- it is a wildlife spectacle, with one of the finest backdrops on the planet; a place where the work-weary world recedes, and the energy of creation seeps into your bones. How grateful I am for our National Parks. Here's to you, John D. Rockefeller Jr., FDR, and all others who preserved this place against violent, anti-federal government opposition. Thank you for a wonderful gift.

Camp Floyd

2009-08-15T22:22:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago we participated in a Utah State Parks event, designed to teach kids history and science at state parks. This one was at Camp Floyd, the place where Brigham Young agreed to let Johnston's Army, then the largest military force in the United States, stay in 1858. The event involved some wonderful volunteers who dressed us up as US soldiers, in traditional uniforms, and taught us the fine art of "drilling," because that was what Johnston's Army did most of all.

The army ostensibly was there to put down a suspected Mormon rebellion. However, as we learned on this weekend, Johnston was a southerner, dedicated to the secessionist movement, who was eventually killed fighting for the Confederate cause. It is suspected that he, who had played a large role in convincing president Buchanan to send the army west, actually did it in order to have the troops out of the way when the Southern states seceded from the Union. In addition, we learned, as Keegan points out above, that it was a stop on the Pony Express, during the brief life of that famous institution.

Cutest Soldier Ever.

It took Alden a bit of warming up, but when they finally brought out the guns, he was even willing to don an ill fitting cap and play along.

Sad to say, Keegan already knows which is the business end of the gun, and has some definite ideas about where it should be pointed.

This picture just cracks me up. Enlarge it and look at Keegan's face. The one eye you can see says so much about him. How can you not be totally in love with that? Meanwhile Kate took it all very seriously, and I think learned a lot. Alden just hated the thick wool coat, and let you know it whenever you even tried to put it on him.

Coat off, and all is well.

In the end, it was a fun experience for all. Kudos to Utah Parks!

Flaming Gorge and the Gates of Ladore

2009-08-03T21:14:00.001-07:00

My wonderful father-in-law, Brent Moon, and his wife Val left on a mission August 3, and will be gone for 18 months. In their honor, the family had a last big party on the Wyoming half of Flaming Gorge this past weekend. I have married into a truly great family (photo of the handsome crew, with one exception, above), and it was a joy to be with each of them.

If you have ever been, you know that Wyoming is synonymous with windy -- I think you could put a wind-power turbine on almost every inch of the state, and probably power the entire western US in the process. Nonetheless, we found a wonderfully secluded spot that miraculously provided plenty of glass for water skiing over the course of two plus days. To top it off there were few other boaters except for mid-day on Saturday. Here are a few photos from our campsite.

The kids -- particularly Alden-- enjoyed the boating, skiing and tubing to no end.

Below is my favorite photo from the trip, taken while Uncle Nate allowed Alden to drive at full speed. Note the position of Alden's hands on the steering wheel, his daredevil smile, and the expression on Nate's face. And Nate is a certified adrenaline junky. 'Nuf said.

It is hard to put the charm of Alden's boyish innocence into words, but here is one small example. We were down on the beach after a long boat ride, and he jumped up saying, "I think I need to go poopy!" There seemed to be great urgency, and he kept repeating it as he ran to the pit toilet up the hill (with me chasing madly behind him to "help"). As we tried to get his wet swimsuit off, it kept sticking, and I remarked that it must be too tight. He stopped, despite the urgency of the moment, and carefully explained in slow, clear terms that his dad could understand, "No dad, its friction! There is too much friction! I learned it from Ms. Frizzle." He then proceeded to do the deed, and as he did, exclaimed, " I was right! I did need to go poopy!" as if he really could have been wrong, and was genuinely surprised. This was immediately followed by, "Boy, I am sure glad Heavenly Father made pit toilets!"

He is a fun little guy to be around, even in the depths of a heaven sent (not to be confused in any way with "scent") pit toilet.

Keegan has some unique "charm" of his own. Why is it, for example, that when I look at this photo, I think of an old english man playing with model sailboats on a pond somewhere?

The nights were moonlit and filled with the sound of coyotes howling, and the days were sunny but not too warm. If not for the occasional desert wind gust (strong enough to topple tents, mind you) it would have been pretty ideal.

Saturday afternoon everyone left but us Baileys, and we decided to pack up and make a mad dash for the Gates of Ladore, in Dinosaur National Monument. The dash was rewarding in itself -- we saw many Pronghorn Antelope, innumerable bunny rabbits (a crowd favorite in our car) and even two badgers. Arriving around 11:00 p.m., (and narrowly escaping a too-many-DVDs-dead car battery), I was greeted by this moonset over the Gates. Need to work on my night exposures, but it was pretty cool to see.

John Wesley Powell began his first exploratory float of the Colorado River system and Grand Canyon in Green River, Wyoming, on (surprise) the Green River, just above Flaming Gorge. After spending much time floating down something that was well known and looked like this:

he suddenly came upon the Gates of Ladore, which mark the entry into Canyon Country proper, and look like this:

Imagine heading toward that not having the least knowledge of what lay ahead -- impassable falls, endless, unscalable cliffs, limited or no food, hostile tribes, or what have you-- and knowing that there was no turning back. No one had ever run these rivers before -- they were completely blank on every map of the day. That map would soon be filled in with names like "Upper Disaster Falls" and "Lower Disaster Falls." These were very brave and resourceful men.

Happily for us, it is simply a very beautiful place. It also happens to contain the most perfect echo I have ever heard. Here are Keegan and Kate shouting for all they are worth to test it out.

All in all, another great weekend.

Albion Basin

2009-07-19T22:01:00.001-07:00

Six months ago Uncle Salty Pants had the foresight to schedule a group campsite at Albion Basin Campground for this past weekend. I don't have time to write a lot, but will say this:

More wildflowers than you ever have the right to see in your lifetime: check
Great alpine hiking: check
105 degrees in Salt Lake Valley, 78 degrees at the campground: check
Ptarmigan anxiously watching her chicks crossing the road: check
Rufous colored Marmots: check
More ground squirrels than you can throw a rock at trying to steal your lunch: check
Giant moose with velvety antlers: check
Mountain lake to dip your toes in on a hot day: check
Happy children and very good company: check
24 blissful hours without thinking about work: check

World's cutest camper, right there.

White Columbine at the campground.

The cousins and Devils Castle.

The Campers.

The Lunch Thief.

Cecret Lake.

Cousins holding hands. Cracks me up.

I can't tell you how much I needed that this weekend. I am ever thankful for those tender mercies.

Its Happened

2009-07-16T22:54:00.000-07:00

Well, the bomb dropped at work this week: Flying J plans to "merge" with Pilot, its chief rival in the truck stop business, whose headquarters are in Knoxville Tennessee. Pilot's management will control the company, and as they say, "legal is a headquarters function." So long job. Don't know how long it will take, but I am deeply sad. It has been a great place to work, and I have had more fun being inside a company managing challenging issues than I have ever had in a workplace. It is hard to think you have finally found a home only to see it move away. Please keep my family in your prayers.

Sequoia National Park For Three Amazing Hours

2009-07-12T21:56:00.000-07:00

A recent business trip took me and a work colleague, Fred, to Fresno. About an hour and a half away was Sequoia National Park, and when business finished early, neither of us could resist. In truth, it is one of the most unique places in the world. You see, there are all other trees, and then there are Giant Sequoias. At first sight they make you think perhaps Paul Bunyan really did exist, because that outsized tale in all its glory fits easily into these outsized trees.

There simply is no way to really portray a Sequoia in a photo. The seemingly tiny, thin trees surrounding the spiral giant above are in fact 150 feet tall. It would take several men with arms outstretched just to touch at middle finger-tips and surround the bases of those smaller trees, which have pine cones the size of my forearm. To realize that at one time the Sierras were covered in the far larger Sequoias is to feel the world primeaval. The fact that these living things were also around at the birth of Christ imbues the trails among them with a reverence I have experienced only in very sacred places.

In this place you are tempted to look up all the time, but I am thankfully here to tell you that it would be a grave mistake. As we walked among the tall trees in the early evening, the fellow below jumped out about forty feet away, and began shredding a tree of its bark like cotton candy off a paper stick. Happily, grubs are apparently more interesting than people, and as soon as it was done with them, the bear walked briskly away, leaving us to continue our walk.

A forest like this will breathe life back into you, and both Fred and I were in deep need of that salve. These trees survive searing fire and direct lightning strikes with a shrug, and that tangible resilience and permanence literally emanates from them. It feels like cool water in the blowing desert sands of the world.

The tree above is the General Sherman, known as the largest tree in the world by mass. Yet for all their size, and the exaggerated wrinkles in their bark, Sequoias are smooth and soft to the touch, with a fine fuzz finish on the outside.

Your neck may creak by the time you are done, but you will never tire of looking up.

Perhaps the best part, though, is that critters notwithstanding, we were virtually alone on our Tuesday evening walk. Apparently, people don't go out of their way to see trees. If you haven't been, you should go. You will never regret doing it.