Influences...

The other day I stepped on a big 'ol ugly spider scampering across the floor of my garage.  I recalled a joke I had heard...and told...many times and years ago.

"What was the last thing to go through the bugs mind as it hit the windshield?  His ass."

Just like that spider and the bug on the windshield it can be said, "They never saw it coming."  I've heard many humans utter those words...usually about someone else, and rarely about their own life.  Humans rarely take the time to reflect and look around to see what may be lurking in the shadows.  I'd venture to say that even fewer take the time to become aware of the darkness and/or light that plays tag with each of us within.  Did I say aware???  For hell's sake, even admit to any of it.  Awareness is our foundation of existence. It is the observer within us, the essence of life. Without awareness there is no consciousness, no mind, and no life. It is the core of our being.  It is what gives us the ability to see "it" coming...that separates us from the likes of that spider.

It is time for me to take that inner trip once again.  Over then next week or two I am going to spend some time enjoying the three books that have added the most to my life:

• The Little Prince, by Antoine de St. Xupery - it's influence on friends, family, & relationships
• Walden, by Henry D. Thoreau - it's influence on finances, simplicity, and being still
• Siddartha, by Herman Hesse - my life influence on finding peace, the atman within, and respecting the journey of others

Dance Like No One Is Watching?

I've heard that phrase soooo many times...and seen way too few people do it.  I am guilty of it myself.  Apparently these guys below don't really care.  Which brings me to this short and simple post.  

Source

I'm curious...when I blog about something, anything, should I blog as though nobody is reading or everyone is reading?  Is a blog meant to let others know what is going on in this melon atop my shoulders, or is it a means for me to figure out what is in there to begin with?  There is a lot of stuff running around in my head.  I'm surprised it doesn't make me tired.  A lot of those marathon thoughts are truly interesting...some are just brittpratt (bullcrap).  I know those thoughts, I spend time with them 24/7...sometimes I wish I could escape.  =)  But I'd have to say that if really given the chance, some pretty cool thoughts could be put down for the ages.

The older I get though, the less I find people really care about the thoughts of others.  There are many valid reasons:

• Finding the time to listen or read
• Respecting the one whose thoughts are presented
• Understanding their journey
• Insecurity...feeling that the intelligence gap is too great
• Just plain not caring
• Or perhaps, like Siddartha, one desires to find and learn ones own lessons.

The last one is the most admirable, but the least applicable to 99.9999% of the people I am acquainted with.  Which brings me to the subject of my post.  It seems to be the way I can continually be known...to and by myself.  I have many that love me...but few that care to know me...save my Astri and myself.  I think that is enough of a reason to write now and then.  Enough of a reason to dance (or blog) like no one is watching (reading)...but I'll be looking in a mirror so I know how crazy I look.

Smiling Faces

Most fathers hope...trust...desire...even plead to a higher power, that his children will somehow reflect the better part of his life.  We all want to pass on that part of us that could not be obtained from any other source in life.  Our children are without a doubt a melange of hundreds, if not thousands, of individuals that have played a part in their life.  We've heard it said that "...it takes a village to raise a child."  But I have heard just as often the phrase, "hey, the village called...they want their idiot back."  Years ago I had three of the hoodlums in the same place, at the same time, and attempted to get a picture of them together.  Let's say it took more than three attempts.

Let me not forget the "Photo-bombing" oldest.  (Not that my pose is all that GQ either).

Now, throw the wonderful addition of grandchildren into the mix.  The next generation where we truly see the self-definition of heritage.

We have a total of five g'kids, however two of them are much younger and have not yet been trained in the ways of our family.  However, from the photo below it is apparent that one g'daughter is getting tutoring from her aunt.

The continuum of life, character, integrity...goofy-ness???  Yes, my grandkids are as goofy as those that I personally sired.  I could post a long list of the character traits I'd desire my kids and g'kids to claim to have gotten from me...determination, work ethic, a rationale mind, a quest for simplicity!  But what do they claim from me???  My sense of humor and goofy-ness!!!  Every time something is said, do you know what I hear?   "We get it from you Dad!"  =)  I think it is a cope-out and I am the scape-goat.

One case in point, on their behalf is a photo of when Lizzie and I got married.  Two of the kiddos were present and we decided to do a "silly" photo pose.

However...this was thought of after the photographer took the one below.

Perhaps they should blame me...but for some reason I cannot find ANY other photos of me making a face.  So until they come up with some...don't you believe them for a second!

One Soft Kiss

This Sunday marks the third anniversary of Astri and I getting married.  Looking back, the only days that compare are the births of our six children.  I revel in the idea of looking forward with Astri.  I've seemed to have changed many times over the years; each time I feel I became a better man.  Working through the personal errors, challenging my character when it needed it...I feel I am the best man now that I've ever been. It is a blessing is to have become that man by the time I found Astri.  Knowing that I've become an even better man over the four years we've known each other.  I hope the man I have become will find a continued path; that there is an avenue in Astri's life and in those of our children where this man will have served a purpose...beyond just just a repository for berlinakranser and Astri's carrot cake! <wink>

A couple of years before I met Astri I was feeling a bit creative.  Being a scientist that doesn't happen often, so when it does I need to take full advantage of it.  I am a thinker...and a talker.  At times it is not such an easy act for me to put my thoughts down in prose.

During that "creative" time I was thinking about where I was in my life and where I wanted to be.  Relationships are always a part of that...be it work, personal, or those with our children.  I just happen to start thinking about the freshness of a new relationship.  We have all heard the song "It's in his kiss."  I was thinking about that first kiss, and really how important it is, a memory we never want to let go of.  I asked myself what I would want in that first kiss.  What is below is what I came up with:

After expressing it on paper I found a lady to transcribe it in the calligraphy you see above.  I rolled it up into a tube and put it away.  Then I met Astri.  Our first kiss was exactly as I had written.  One evening I pulled it out and showed it to her (THE POEM!!!).  She had had the same feeling as I described in the poem also.  I had never displayed the poem before, but after our wedding we framed it with a photo from our $35 wedding.  The memory just keeps getting better and better.  I love my Astri!

What the Hell is That???

Okay...Astri and I need some help.

Astri was taking a few photos for her blog that were related to the Norwegian pewter plates she has collected for many years.  The artist passed away a short time ago, so no new plates are to be made.  She just completed her set with the very first plate in the collection...a hard find.

The first picture below is a simple photo of a few of the plates above our fire place.

Now...this is where we need help.  Immediately after this photo was taken I sat down on a piece of furniture just to the left of the photo area.  Astri took another photo from the SAME spot less than one minute later.  The top of my head can be seen in the lower left hand corner of the wall mirror.  But...what the hell is that behind my head!!!  We have spent hours trying to figure it out...showed it to some of our kids, etc.  We have no idea what it is...can you help????

A weird spirit behind me?

Here is a closer shot of the mirror photo.  Our youngest is really creeped out by it.

Rosin Up That Bow

In an earlier post I made a brief comment about how it is nearly impossible for American's not to laugh at certain words (Norwegian in this case) that sound like a reference to some bodily function. (Festivals)  I have another one.  This one relates to a geographical region of Norway...Hardanger.  I think 99.9% of the world would say, "What? I don't get it."  Well, let me refine my assumption...most American males are chuckling now.

The first time I heard that word I chuckled like a 12 year old boy.  But as I began to see photos of the Hardanger region and fylke, that childish chuckle eventually left (most of it) and was replaced by an awe of the areas beauty.  Now, I have another reason to admire the use of the Hardanger name.

Astri and I attended a Scandi Jam dance workshop last evening.  The various dances are a hoot...a lot of fun...as long as I don't have to spin more than three consecutive times; then the next step in the dance is me picking myself up off the floor.  At one point of the Scandi Jam two young men appeared with Hardingfeler...Hardanger fiddles.

I am not even going to TRY to explain much about their differences, but a line or two here will represent my entire knowledge.  I am posting simply because I was impressed with their beauty and sound.

Having spent most of my life in Texas, listening to a fiddle was tantamount to enjoying the culture.  Watching the likes of artists like Doug Kershaw, Charlie Daniels, and Mark O'Conner rosining up their bow, hair from the bow flying in all directions as they worked their "axe" is a life event on its own.  Similarly I love the sound of a smooth violin playing the likes of Vivaldi.

The hardingfele is a very different animal however.  Imagine a Stradivarius violin and a set of Scottish bagpipes having a "love child."  Underneath the set of four playing strings there are an additional four or five strings that run under the neck and are tuned, to much different tones than a standard fiddle/violin.  These sympathetic strings resonate as the other strings are played, adding a haunting, echo-like sound.  The sound is very unique to parts of Norway.  That "haunting" sound I mention was, however, enough for churches in the 1800's to compare the instrument to the devil, have hardingfele burning parties, and outlaw them still in many churches.

One point of interest is that the hardingfele (actually an interesting item to google) in the photos above are made by a gentleman here in Orem, Utah (just south of Salt Lake City).  I understand it is the only shop in North America to make these fiddles, and there are about 200 to 300 hours of craftsmanship put into each one. There is an incredible amount of inlay work using mother-of-pearl and abalone shell on the fingerboard, highly decorated with inked trim around the body, and a lion's head as part of the scroll at the top of the pegbox.

I'm not sure I could listen to one for same amount of time I can to a classic violin or cajun fiddle...but for the amount of time I can Scandi dance until I get dizzy and fall down...the timing is perfect.

Festivals

Yeehaw!  Rodeos and Festivals seem to be one of a Texan's favorite past-time...after BBQ, beer, and dancing anyway; but they are at least in the top 10.  I spent a cumulative total of 22 years in the Texas-Louisiana gulf coast.  I considered myself a Texan for most of my adult life.  However, having been in Utah for a total 9 years, I not sure I can continue to claim Texas, but I don't really want to claim Utah.  Hmmm...Texan...Utard...hmmm.

It was a general past time of mine, later in my Texan timeline, to seek out festivals around the state.  Because of the "wild west", Texas has a town of some sort just about every 20 miles in some direction.  I hear the reason was that 20 miles is about all one could travel in a day on horseback.  This being said, it gives way for a lot of small towns to have festivals to draw in $$$ (if speeding tickets aren't a great enough revenue source).  During my festival phase, I would on occasion get talked into a few bull-doggin' events as can be seen below.  It only took a couple of times for me to wonder if beer and dancing wasn't a better, if not safer, hobby.

Although there are hundreds...maybe even a thousand different festivals around the State of Texas in a given year, one of the most popular and fun is the Renaissance Festival in Plantersville, Texas, about 30 miles northwest of Houston.  Astri and I visited our son and g'son in Houston last autumn and attended it.  This is not your typical festival since it seems to draw ALL types.  Many of the visitors enjoy dressing up and participating, but I have more fun people-watching than watched.  Here are a few photos of the "RenFest."

Now...lets leap 3000 miles across the Atlantic Ocean to Norway...more specifically the island of Smøla.  This is a fairly large island (øy) along the western coast, southwest of Kristansund.  Astri has family on the island...another post...yikes.  Actually it is more like a big flat rock probably dropped by some Norsk god who missed the mainland.  I don't recall one item of vegetation that was taller then me.  They do how ever have a very large and interesting wind farm on the island.

Anyway, Astri's mom happened to mention there was a festival in the town of Veiholmen.  It's population in 2003 was 325, but since 2004 it is no longer considered an urban settlement by Statistics Norway, and its data is therefore not recorded separately (Wikipedia).  This wasn't just any festival...it was a rowboat festival!  Those Nordmenn sure know how to party!  The town was actually quite quaint, although when we go there it was 3:00 pm and the streets were being rolled up.

We finally made it to the festival...here is a photo of the rowboats...ALL the rowboats.

Maybe the celebration was a bit early and we missed out?  At least I got a good chuckle on the road sign that means "speed bump."  As an American, it is hard to not to laugh when one reads "Fart" on a public sign...hehe.

  

This "Bud's" for You

I am an American by birth...and an American by choice.  I love this country; in my mind there is no better game in town; this is my homeland.  I'm fairly sure this how most people around the world feel about their own countries also, as they should.  I am also very inexperienced when it comes to world travels.  A few years ago I spent three "tours" of 27 days in Equatorial Guinea, on the island of Bioko, as part of an environmental assessment for the World Bank.  As the plane touched down I immediately understood why I've never seen it mentioned in any tourist magazines...but I digress...

No, this is NOT Norway

Jeg kan være en amerikansk, men jeg er gift med en norsk...I may be an American, but I am married to a Norwegian.  A norsk that loves what both countries have to offer.  She maintains a blog where I am commonly, and lovingly, referred to as the NVO (norsk via osmosis).  It only took one trip to Norway with her to see why she still carries that love and wants to share it with me.  Although most Norwegians speak very good English (thank gawd), I went away with a desire to learn the language of my wife's heritage (she speaks very good norsk).  I have been amazed at some of the similarities between norsk og engelsk (since both are Germanic languages)...but I digress (I should have majored in "digression" in college)...


There are many subtle sounds in the Norwegian language that I cannot yet detect.  To me they sound so similar, but can make a huge difference in meaning...west (øst), cheese (ost), autumn (høst).  They may be spelled and readable as different words, but trying to hear the differences or pronounce them...huff a huff.  This is just one of many examples.

Molde

One true life example that did not involve me, but I was a close observer, involved my wife while we were shopping in Molde.  Astri was looking for a pewter plate to add to a collection she has, made by a Norwegian artist.  Within a small shop she located one she "thought" she was missing (only to find out when we got back that it was one she already had).   Wow...this story is taking a long time...come on NVO, get to the point!  Even though Astri is and looks Norwegian, my guess is my American decent was apparent as I stepped through the door.  Astri and the lady chatted in and out of Norwegian and English.  Near the end of the chat it came up that Astri's mother lived in Norway.  When asked where, she replied, "Bud."  Now "Bud" is just over a couple of hills and fjord's, maybe 45 minutes, surely she had heard of it, but apparently not.  Now, for all you silly Americans, "Bud" is NOT pronounced exactly like the American beer (now owned by a Dutch company if my memory serves me right).  You have to take the "u" part and drop your jaw downward as you say it...and the "d" is silent.


The next two minutes was like Keystone Cops in a talking picture.  The exchange between Astri and the sales lady put me in a chuckle.  How many ways can you pronounce a three letter word?  They began a back and forth conversation of that one word, each with a subtle difference.  It was like watching the volley in a tennis match with "Bud" being thrown back and forth for what seemed like two minutes!   Finally the sales lady says, "Oh....Bud!"  I've looked in the dictionary and I cannot find any word that could get confused with Bud.  They laughed for a bit about the exchange.  Then, isn what I would like to think was a typical Norwegian response, asked us, complete strangers, if we'd like to go out with her family that evening crabbing along the rocks.

Molde

Astri and I still get a lot of mileage out of that story.  Anytime we say something to each other and it isn't understood, you'll more often than not hear us in the volley of "Bud? Boo-d, Bood? Buud  Boo?....."


This Bud's for you!

Dad Humor, Pt.2

In the earlier post on "Dad Humor" I mentioned some of the items we get from our kids when they are young.  Here are a few of the items I have; not only have, but they are displayed.  I've had them displayed for over 20 years.

This was one of Leilani's first attempts at a cross-stitch...and maybe her last?

Jessica carved this out of a piece of sandstone.

Jared and Rebekah made these casts of their hands.  I put them in a frame later to display and protect.

Bad Ass Hats

One of the things I like about being a guy is hats.  More often than not, when I wake up in the morning my hair seems to have migrated to the top of my head (no, I will NOT post a pic).  Being a guy, and with my job also requiring some field work, all I need to do is throw on a hat and call it good.  No time to brush it?  Pull out a hat.

The question arises though what to do when a bit more class is required and my hair has that "just out of bed" look (get your mind out of the gutter).  That is where the "bad-ass hat" comes in (or drivers cap as most call it).  A baseball cap just doesn't cut it for a casual night out.  They need to be reserved for the ball field or yard work.  And anyone who wears one backward needs to have their head slapped around to fit it on straight.

Posted here are pics of me and my sons two kids (Bryson and Jack).  They both look just like him!  Maybe I can get my son to get rid of that old tattered ball cap and wear one.  =)  It'd be nice at a family reunion to get photo of me, my son, and all three of my g'sons in a hat like this...but we'll leave Jack out...maybe.  The last photo is my oldest daughter at about Bryson's age...in the baddest-ass hat of all.

Papa Ron and Bryson

Papa Ron and Jack

Leilani...now this is one bad-ass hat

Dad Humor

One of the best parts in the beginning of our relationship with our kids is when they cuddle up in our laps and want us to tell them a story.  For the first few years they believe that we almost walk on water.  We get the coffee mugs, t-shirts, b-day cards with glue and glitter, plaster of paris hand prints, and everything you can image that has "World's Best (or Greatest) Dad" embossed on it.  Not just as mementos, but because those mini-humans that started out as just a twinkle in our eye, actually believed it.

Then it happens...our clever and funny jokes, the ones that would get them to laugh for hour upon hour...the ones they'd ask us to tell over and over...now become spoken words where the only response is a deep groan.  Our on-stage monologue of funnies has now become "dad humor."

I think I first cataloged in my mind that I had reached the honorable level of "dad humor" one afternoon when I made a joke in a department store (a really funny joke I might add) and my daughters' first reaction was to look around to see if anyone heard me, or to her, if she needed to be embarrassed.  From then on it was a toss of the coin on whether my jokes would illicit a laugh or a groan.

How is it I can think I am soooo funny that I could financially support a small third-world country if only I took my humor on the road, yet those rug-rats turned soon to be tweeners can only roll their eyes?  And now,  with those youngin's ranging from mid-30's to 21...I thought I could over come them with my wit via Facebook.  Didn't happen.

My sweetie and I frequently view their "Walls."  We've been informed now that it is better known as "creeping" on them.  I'll view a post, a pic, a link...and without even giving myself a moment to reflect I find myself commenting with the first thing that comes into my mind (which is a scary place to begin with).  "Oh My God" I exclaim.  They are going to think I am so clever and funny!  But soon, after those comments of wit are met with "huh?", "you are so weird", "what are you talking about?", or even worse they hit the little "x" and delete it all together! I guess that third-world country will have to wait for indoor plumbing.

There will be a day when their kids, grandkids, nieces and nephews will do the same thing to them.  It is then, after my ashes have been returned to the earth, that they will finally laugh at my jokes and realize how funny I was.  But that is okay, somehow I'll know it, and it will be enough.

Don't Wait...

"One day", you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!"
And a little later you added:
"You know - one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..."

(Riverton, Utah)

Were you so sad, then?", I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?"

(Fish Lake, Utah) 

But the little prince made no reply.

(Phoenix, Arizona)

Sunsets do have a calming effect when we are sad.  I've wondered for years what made the little prince so sad that he'd sit through forty-four sunsets (albeit his planet is only the size of a house).

For me and Lizzie...we love sunsets when we are happy and in love too.  Why wait to be sad to enjoy a sunset?

Standard of Saving, Pt. 1

I am quite curious, 1) how many people know they got a 2% raise on their paycheck starting January 1, and 2) what the people that did figure it out did with the extra cash.

On January 1 all tax payers got a 2% reduction in their social security tax.  That would mean your net pay increased by about 1.5%...since Uncle Sam will tax a bit of that 2%.  I'm figuring that most people said to themselves, "Cool, more money to spend"...on stuff.  I even have one coworker that said they were not going to tell their spouse so they could have a little more "fun money."  Spending it would be fine if it was spent putting extra money on paying down the debt most people have amassed.  But most little birds I've exchanged songs with lately tell me differently.  They've gone and raised their standard of living, albeit for one year, just a little bit more.  Then when 2012 arrives and the extra "fun money" is gone, it will be difficult to reduce that increased standard of living and then they go deeper in debt.  Why not raise your Standard of Saving instead!!!

Lizzie and I are on a quest to pay our house off in 26 more months...quite aggressive, but we have a plan.  Part of that plan is putting 15% into our individual 401k's first, with the remainder going toward our mortgage.  So when this "raise" came about, rather than spend it we decided to put it into our "plan."  At 15% my 401k is not max'ed out, especially since being over 50 I can also contribute an additional Catch-Up amount.  So I decided to simply raise my 401k by 2% for this year...a total of 17%!  No big deal?  Let's do some math...

Let's say you make $75,000 a year.  That 2% would be an additional $58 (pre-tax), or about $43 more on your check if you are paid every two weeks...$1125 for the year (while giving the government $375 of it).  Now, if you took that 2% and put that into your 401k, now it is pre-tax money.  To mantain the same net bring home, the same standard of living, you could actually contribute almost $75, because it is pre-tax.  You would have increased your 401k by about $1950 for the year.  If it was added to your mutual funds at an 8% annual return it would total about $2027 for the year.  So, instead of blowing $1125, you've just made $2027!!!  If you are not currently contributing to your 401k and your company has a match, you could actually make over $4000 for the year in your retirement account...all while maintaining the same standard of living (SOL), because you applied your new Standard of Saving!!!

Let me encourage all of you to find peace in your current SOL (funny how it is the same acronym as Shit Outta Luck), or reduce it, and increase your Standard of Saving!!!

Purging the Well

I love it when parts of my job/profession translate into real situations.  Even more so, when it is something that I can carry with me and utilize my entire life.  Part of my job has been to characterize the potential for groundwater contamination.  Initially that would require the installation of a well to monitor the quality and depth to groundwater.  A well has a section of pipe that is slotted so that water can enter the well to be withdrawn.  When water is not being pulled out you can see from the illustration below that the water above the screen and inside the well will eventually stagnate.

I learned how to apply this to my life with the "help" of one of my daughters.  We've always gotten along very well, but she has, on occasion, had this thread where she felt she needed to...shall we say...express herself.  By the time my mind finally registered what she was "expressing" she was well underway, and I just be on the verge of getting upset myself.  It would have been very easy to pinch off what she was saying, turn the table around, get defensive, or over power the conversation...but truth be known, I actually found it easier to just be quiet.  This was the stagnant water being purged from her well.  Not to say that there wasn't a knot or two in my stomach the first time or two, but it took so much less energy to just listen.

The purging always took less than a couple of minutes; had I let my feelings get in the way the purging would have never been completed, the well would have remained stagnant, and both of us would have a thread of bitterness in us.  As with the well example, as the stagnant, smelly water is pulled out of the well, it is replaced by cool, fresh water entering the well from the formation.  Eventually it is that pure water that begins to leave the well.  That is exactly what would happen with my daughter.  After a minute or two, as she purged and was actually able to hear the words of her heart belching out of her mouth, she would suddenly stop.  Every time, and I mean every time, she would lock eyes with me, shake her head and tell me "Dad, I don't really believe what I just said."  She needed to hear the stagnant water that had developed within her.  As soon as the fresh water reached the surface she was able to taste the difference.  That fresh water was my little girl.  Allowing her to purge that water is what made it possible to come to resolution on whatever the issue might have been.

The question each of us have to ask ourselves is what happened to allow that water to become stagnant.  What could we have done to keep the well purged, the water fresh, the taste sweet.  Purging is not carte blanche for the "well" to say whatever it wants.  But can be an occasional necessity when the well sits unused for too long.  The groundwater well is an example of giving grace and understanding when a well needs to purge.  As a dad, I learned that I could mitigate these situation by being more aware of simple "well maintenance" and purging the well more often under lighter condition to keep the water from becoming stagnant in the first place.  I learned that this was an issue of how we communicated in those between times.  When a well needed purging, in either direction, it was usually because we ignored something in the interim.

Here is to all of us that enjoy the taste of fresh, sweet water.

Every Sparrow...

Matthew 10:29-31 talks about "That not even a sparrow falls to the ground without Our Dear Heavenly Father knowing about it."


Do you think he yelled "Oh Crap" a couple of weeks ago when over 1000 birds just fell out of the sky and died in Arkansas and Louisiana?

Life Shapers

I am not a philosopher, I can't "wax-eloquent", and I have a difficult time putting my thought down in prose.  That is probably because capturing them is like herding cats...they run around inside this melon on my shoulders at just under the speed of light; making it very difficult to catch on to them long enough to explain them.  And when I do...another one distracts me and here we go again.  My only recourse is to stop trying to grab hold of them and reflect.  It is like ignoring a child (or and adult for that matter).  When you aren't paying attention to just them, they tend to slow down and try to figure out why.

I noticed that with the first filly my mare gave me years ago.  If I walked after her she'd just run away...for hours.  Horse burgers sounded really good a number of times.  I decided I had few options: 1) eat her, 2) sell her (if I could catch her), 3) make her run until she was so tired she thought she'd die (which is a common method amongst the wanna-be cowboys), or 4) use their natural curiosity to my favor.

With her halter in hand, a chair, and one of my favorite books I sat out in the middle of the pasture.  Her mom would follow me around like a fly on stink, so I put her in the adjoining pasture.  I sat, read, and waited.  It took a little over an hour, but soon she (Scooter) became curious and slowly walked over to me, wanting to see what I was up to.  As she got closer I'd start reading out loud, stop and look at her, pause, and go back to reading.  Soon she couldn't stand it and came right in.  I let her sniff a bit, then I'd wave my hands and scare her off...picking up my chair and moving to a different spot.  It didn't take long before she was in my space again, wondering what I was doing.  I repeated this for about four hours.  By the time I was done she followed me around like I had carrots in my pocket.  Not only was I teaching her that her curiosity was a good thing, but that she could trust me not to try to capture her.

My horses were one of the most influential things in my life.  They comprise one set of the ideas scattering around in my melon.  Others of influence in my past would be my parents, my children, and my three favorite books.  These are the primary instruments that shaped my life.  However, the most exciting part of life now is taking all the things in my past that made me...me...and finding a partner, wife, and best friend to take them to levels I had never considered existed.  The ingredients are mixed and the cake is in the oven...and she is the one that makes sure it doesn't fall.  There are many parts of my past journey that we cannot share together beyond those racing thoughts, such as my past with the horses.  The shaping of my life continues, reflecting on what is most important in my life is what feeds the continuing evolution of my spirit.  One chapter of this reflection my Lizzie and I do share has to do with the three most important books in my life, to find the atman within me:

• The Little Prince, by Antoine de St. Xupery
• Walden, by Henry David Throeau, and
• Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse

In Over My Head...Part 2

So, I now have a huge hole in the side of my house...hoping with all the hope I can muster within me that the corner post is solid in the foundation.  Since the concrete saw will not return for a good week, I figured it would be best to at least go ahead with the other part of the weekend plan and begin constructing the deck.  The subfloor of the house is a couple feet higher than the "dog run", so I had to elevate the deck and build steps down to the garden area.

At least now I was in my realm as a carpenter!  This part seemed to flow as expected.  It helped that I had the assistance of a friend.  By the end of the weekend I had the deck finished.  It seemed like the weekend would never arrive as the wind and a bit of rain beat against the plastic covered hole the next couple of days.  But soon enough I had a larger hole cut and the door installed.  In the end...it turned out magnificent.

Lizzie and I spend a lot of time out on this deck.  We love relaxing, watching the sunset, and looking down on our vegetables, herbs, and flowers throughout the growing season.  This was a tremendous task to approach by myself.  There was no plan to follow, just the 'ol one-step-at-a-time approach and make the next step based on the previous results.  We had no idea how we would close off the small area between the new door and the corner of the house.  We decided to put glass blocks in the space...the blocks were exactly 8 inches square...and the space turned out to 8 1/8 inches!  A perfect fit.  Guess Lizzie and I are living right!

In Over My Head...Part 1

Troll Stua

Winter is still in full force here in the Land of Utards...a few months of skiing, snow shoeing, and ice fishing remain.  Still though I am looking forward to Spring and what Lizzie and I will be planting in our garden.  Our "farm" is divided into two "fields"...we have the "Lower 40" and the "Upper Garden."

Lower 40

The Upper Garden didn't look like much of a garden when we started.  It was actually a typical side yard that was used as a dog run...even had an old tractor tire half buried for who-knows-what.  What began as a simple idea in MY mind to plant a garden on the side of the house in that wasted space, all of a sudden had SuperGrow added to it by the time Lizzie got hold of it.

Before you could say Jack-the-Bear, I was taking out a window and installing a sliding glass door...out onto a deck...overlooking the soon to be garden.  Sounds simple enough until you throw into the equation the house was built in 1955, was a sold brick house with post and beam walls and no idea how the posts were set.  So what does 'ol Digger do?  How about we start with cutting a huge hole in the side of the house!

I remember from my days as a carpenter to always measure twice, and cut once.  So to be safe, I measured the wall when I marked it, measured it again when the brick cutter got there, measured again when he finished, and a fourth time before he left.  I had plans to complete this job during the 4th of July weekend, so I tore out the brick, set my king studs for the door frame, and measured one more time...only to discover that all the times before I had failed to take into account the king studs; the hole in my house was 3 inches too small.  =(

Being the holiday weekend, the brick cutter had gone on vacation, but said he could come out the next weekend and cut the hole bigger...for just about the same cost as the first hole!  So out came the plastic. Now if I lived off of Hoo Shoo Too Road in Louisiana this would have been normal window dressing...but not in Holladay, Utah.