Did you know?

So, I've played golf with my nephews several times over the past few months. Interesting fellows. Actually, funny and enjoyable fellows. We've discussed quite a few topics while driving (no pun intended) to and fro. Our latest discussion had to do with family history. It seems my nephews don't know much about our Arnett/Gale family history. I don't blame them much because they really aren't all that interested and any stories Cliff told them went in one ear and out the other. I think I have more interest in the Gale side because I served a mission in Australia. I tell people all the time I'm basically just on my way to Australia. Wow, what a great reference to a great movie. Anyway, I told the youngens that they were of Aussie heritage which they discounted immediately. I told them they have an ancestor who was named Wandell Pacific. I told them to look up the James Gale getting lost story on LDS.org. I told them they still have relatives in Australia. I told them about Pancho Villa. I told them everything I know. Casey and Pierce just kept quiet. I had to ask if they were awake. AJ didn't believe any of it. Maybe it's because I kept telling him I got a birdie on every hole.

Anyway, to my siblings I ask, did you know your Great grandfather's name is inscribed as a founding father on the plaque in Snowflake, AZ. Did you know that his wife Elizabeth was the first Mormon woman to enter Mexico during the Mormon colonization. Did you know James Gale was the first Sunday School Superintendent in the colonies. Did you know that the meeting held by Moses Thatcher (apostle) to organize and send the men to Mexico was held in St. David. Did you know that Moses Thatcher was ordained as an apostle but was not made a member of the twelve. Did you know I read all of Aunt Doris' life history over the Christmas holidays and learned and incredible amount of things I never knew about her and her family and even my family. Did you know I never told Aunt Doris thanks for sending me one. Just thought I let you know.

Did you know?

Safety for the soul

I discovered why today. Why is such a good question. Why is there? Why do things happen? Why do bad things happen? Why are there so many songs about rainbows? Why blog? Why care? Why now?

Anyway, (just curious why isn't there a word "anywhy"), I realized why I growl. Yeah, I growl. It's not a mean growl or a vicious growl, but it's a low toned growl, or as Pam says, it's a deep hummming sound. She does it too. We both do it now and here's how it started.

When our dog, Duffy, grew out of puppyhood he started to growl --not with his teeth showing, but just a gutteral hmmmmmm. At first, we thought he might be unhappy with us or mad, but we learned his growl was just his way of talking to us and letting us know he was there. Whenever you pet him, he hmmmmms. Whenever you hmmmmmmm, he hmmmmmmms back. Whenever you don't pay attention to him, he hmmmmmms. So now Pam and I talk to him by hmmmmmmming. Actually, we talk to each other that way also. It's amazing how much you can say with just one hmmmmmmmm. It must be gutteral, of course. A high pitched hmmmmmm can be confused with screaming.

We sing in church that way now too. Maybe that's why they call them Hymns. We sit on the very last row (really the chairs in the overflow) in the very corner and just growl the Hymns. No words, just low pitched hmmmmmmmmmms. It's very contentual. I just made up that word. It's soothing, it's provides safety for the soul. It release whatever tension that builds up.

So, back to why? I've been sick with the cold or flu, I don't know which. Incidentally, I got a flu shot for the first time ever because Pam made me, and now I'm sick. This flold, I made that up too, has been bad. I gave to Ashley, while giving her a health blessing with Cameron. Anyway, it's been bad. Pam also has been having a difficult time with her jr. high kids this past week. It's just been rough for both of us. So this evening, at dusk, we went outside and sat by the pool in lounge chairs and growled. I would growl, then she would follow. Then we would growl together. Soon Duffy came over and growled with us. I wish we had a video of it. It was pure communication. No words were necessary. In fact, words don't do this story justice so instead I'd like to just say, hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I hope you understand.

Have you ever been scared?

Yeah, I know I've stared down a mass murderer and I've sung in the Salt Lake Tabernacle for General Conference. I've been tackled by an NFL Hall of Famer and blew my knee out. I've been in three major car accidents with barely a scratch on me and I've fallen helplessly through a ceiling. All of these things caused some level of fear and trepidation. 

I admit to being fearful on occasion, but I'm not usually scared. Except for the other day. I was taking a rare shower. It seems the older you get, the less you shower. Not because we don't stink, but because it's just a hassle.  Shaving is also a hassle. I don't recommend anyone shave unless they absolutely have to. Come to think of it, going to the bathroom is a hassle. Don't do it either unless you absolutely have to. Eating, of course, is never a hassle. My advice to to learn to eat laying down. There is no wasted motion and it's easy to fall asleep after the last morsel has gone down the throat.  

Oh, so back to taking a rare shower. No, I wasn't scared because I saw myself in the buff. Although, I've learned not to look because it's depressing. Anyway, I was in the shower going through my shower routine which includes brush my teeth. That's right I have toothpaste and a toothbrush in the shower with me. Don't make a federal case out of it.  Next, I take a long scrub brush with stout brissles and scratch my back. As I was picking up the brush, I noticed that a part of the brissles were just a little darker brown that the other part. As I put it up close to my back, the dark brown brissles began to move. I immediately dropped the brush and was astonished to see a large scorpion scamper around the bottom of the shower basin. The brush then became my club as I beat the scorpion in to oblivion. 

Fear doesn't describe what I felt. The word scared does. I was scared. If that scorpion had stung me on my back it would have hurt. He might have stung me several times before I could have gotten him off. He/she could have laid eggs under my shoulder blades. I could have been host to hundreds of baby scorpions during their gestational period all the while having them feed off my skin for sustenance. It could have been a tragedy of epic porportions. But, alas it wasn't, I was just scared. 

A tribute to my greatness

                                                       Unk, the Lego mini-fig

Rarely in life, do we get the recognition we deserve for our accomplishments. We do not seek for these things, yet on occasion, some entities like governments, associations, guilds, military organizations and/or educational institutions feel compelled to bestow on deserving people individual honors which show their gratitude for accomplishments and honors above and beyond the norm. 

In all humility, I accept the honor bestowed upon me by my fellow members of the human race. I know I am such noble company as Batman, Darth Vadar, Indiana Jones, etc. I am deeply humbled that my name is now linked with theirs forever. I will do my best to live up to the standards they have set. In fact, I intend to raise the bar higher and carry on the rich tradition of my fellow recipients. And last but not least, thanks to the little people, for being littler than me.

I've decided to post again!!!!

That's right. I'm blogging again after my self-imposed exile. I have much to talk about. I have lots to say. I have many things to show. I have done many things. I have endured many things and hope to be able to endure all things.

My latest venture is to play a little prank on those many people who go to holiday boutiques in my little part of Arizona. As many of you know, I live in a neighborhood that has only one entrance and exit. You come in on the same street you exit. I'm going to print up some Holiday Boutique signs that read, "Gilbert's Largest Boutique" with arrows pointing in to my subdivision. Then, I'm going to have arrow signs and guys dressed in orange traffic vests leading the "boutiquers" around and around and around in my neighborhood and then leading back out. I will have it video-taped and put it on you tube comparing the vehicles to the ones previously video-taped in movie theater parking lots for midnight premier showings of "Twilight".

By the way, I am not immuned from shopping mayhem myself. I go to poor people's boutiques called garage sales. What's interesting is I usually find a lot of the things that were sold at real boutiques from the previous year.

Also, I'd like to introduce my friends and family to an unique blog I recently found out about. It's highly entertaining and thought provoking. I recommend it to all and, in fact, hope you all will link it to yours. If I knew how, I would. I'm waiting for Devry or Lacy to show me how. Anyway, here is the name of it. chadjeffreyarnett.blogspot.com Check it out.

Little help please?

A cousin of ours is traveling to the colonies in  Mexico next month to attend a wedding. The wedding will be that of an African-American young man and a Mexican-American young woman. The African-American man was born in Zimbabwe and the Mexican-American woman was born in Colonia Dublan.  Both are caucasian. That's an interesting tidbit that means nothing, but it's not what you would think knowing where they are from. Anyway, our cousin, is taking them on a tour as such of the Colonies. We have some history there with the James Gale family and other slightly distant relative. 

It seems, though, I recall hearing a story or stories about someone on Grandpa Clifford's side of the family who knew and played with Pancho Villa before he became Pancho. They knew him as Doreato or something of that nature.  So, here are my questions. Who was it that played with him? Where was it? and finally, where did these stories in my head come from? If anyone has information leading to the capture of these Pancho Villa stories, please respond accordingly. 

I have been given an assignment to detail the story to the soon to be wedding couple for our dear cousin.  If any one is in contact with your Uncle's Al (Floyd, Sonny boy), Harvey, Clinton (Jay), or Gary, please have them tell you the story. I don't think I made it up. I think I remember Alfred telling me about the story, but then he also taught me how to scavange at junk yards and how to be a dumpster diver. Maybe, I'm mixing my stories about Pancho Villa and finding a Pancho in a dumpster.  Could anybody help a brother out?

Grateful for the birth of Jesus in more ways than one

Read below then ask someone over 50 why?

Jesus Garcia, our hero

The train that blew up

The small town of Nacozari occupies a valley nestled in the foothills of the Western Sierra Madre (Sierra Madre Occidental) in the state of Sonora.
A hundred years ago this month, a young locomotive driver had to make a desperate decision: save his own life or try to save the lives of hundreds in his home town? Choosing the latter, he drove his dynamite-laden train away from the town but it finally exploded, killing him instantly. He was only 50 meters from safety. Just 50 meters further, and he could have abandoned the locomotive to its fate and jumped off the burning train to save his own skin.
His actions saved the town. Jesús García became a national hero. In his honor, November 7 is celebrated each year as Día del Ferrocarrilero (Day of the Railroad Worker).
By the end of the nineteenth century, Nacozari (the name means "abundance of prickly pears") was a lively frontier town of about 5,000 people. A worldwide copper boom promised to be the town's path to future wealth. Copper was needed for engines, motors, power plants, telephones, telegraph, pipes, rods and wire; demand was rising rapidly. Workers flocked in.
In 1895, Nacozari's copper mines were owned by Moctezuma Copper Corporation, a subsidiary of Phelps Dodge. The following year, an important copper reserve was discovered nearby at Pilares. The company enlarged the town, building homes, stores, workshops, warehouses, furnaces and ore concentrators. All the supplies had to be brought in by mule train; most items came from Arizona or California. Ore was packed out of the mines, also by mules.
In 1899, the company built its own 8-kilometer-long narrow gauge railway from the mine at Pilares to Nacozari, for easier transport of ore to its concentrators. The elevation difference along this line is considerable, more than 600 meters (2,000 feet) from mine to town. Following concentration, the ore was taken to Douglas, Arizona, for smelting. These exports of ore became much easier in 1904 when a standard gauge railway line from Agua Prieta was extended to Nacozari.
Jesús García had been born Nov 13, 1883 in Hermosillo, Sonora. His mother moved with her eight children to Nacozari in 1898. García started work with the company railroad as a waterboy, quickly winning promotions to switch man, brakeman, fireman, and finally, by the age of twenty, to maquinista (engine driver). His work ethic was much appreciated by his employers. In 1904 they paid for García and seven colleagues to attend the World Fair in St. Louis, Missouri.
García drove locomotive number 2, transporting mineral ore and supplies between the loading yards in the town and the mine. The hazards faced by locomotive drivers included stray donkeys wandering onto the line, saboteurs tearing up the rails, and brake failures. In October 1907, García had managed to halt a train whose brakes had failed by reversing the wheels and dumping lots of sand on the line. The train finally ground to a halt only four meters from the end of the line.
García was a popular young man and engaged to María de Jesús Soqui. He serenaded her regularly, hiring the best local bands each time, and is reported to have done so on the night of Wednesday November 6, 1907.
The following day, García was working as usual, and had several return trips scheduled to the mine. The mining company had three locomotives, all made by Porter of Pittsburgh. García operated a 0-6-0 locomotive built to order in 1901. The engines relied on wood for fuel and had to carry copious supplies of water and also sand (to increase the friction between rails and wheels).
When García arrived for work, he was told that the train's usual conductor (a German named Biel) had been admitted to hospital, so he would have to manage without him. By mid-day, García had completed two trips down from the mine with dozens of loaded ore cars. While other workers tended the engine and loaded the cars for the next trip, García had lunch at his mother's house. Neighbors later confirmed that his mother shared her premonition of doom with him as they ate.
Just after 2 p.m., García set off again towards the mine. Locomotive number 2 was pulling several cars, the front two of which were open cars containing 70 boxes of dynamite, detonators and fuses. This was strictly against company regulations which stated that dynamite must be carried only in the rear cars. Other cars that day contained bales of hay. As they pulled out of the lower yard, stray sparks from the train's chimney stack were blown back onto the first cars, causing a box of dynamite to begin smoking. Railway workers aboard the train desperately tried to douse the smoke, but their efforts failed, and the box caught fire.
García realized that if the train exploded near the lower yard, the resulting detonations of the company's dynamite stores and gas tanks would almost certainly destroy most of Nacozari. He also realized that if he jumped from the train, it might run out of steam and roll backwards towards the town before exploding. He ordered everyone else off the train and opened the throttle wide, hoping to put a small ridge between him and the town, and perhaps reach Camp 6, a secondary loading area en route to the mine. If only he could pass Camp 6, he must have thought, he could safey leap from the train and the train would continue on into uninhabited wilderness.
By 2:20 p.m., García had driven the train six kilometers out of the town and was entering Camp 6 when the cars exploded. García was killed instantly by the massive blast. He died barely a week before his 24th birthday. At least 12 bystanders were also killed in the resulting carnage. Amazingly, the engine remained on the tracks; it was later sold to the Mereci Southern Railroad of Arizona.
The blast was heard up to 16 kilometers (10 miles) away. It shattered the glass in many of Nacozari's buildings. Twisted metal was hurled through the air, to rain down several kilometers away.
But at least García's quick thinking and brave actions had saved the main part of town. Within days, he was being hailed as a hero.
Two years after the accident, the town unveiled a permanent memorial to Jesús García, the Hero of Nacozari. Sadly, his fiancée did not live to see this; she died broken-hearted less than a year after García. On November 9, the state congress decreed that Nacozari would henceforth be known as Nacozari de García. García was awarded, posthumously, the American Cross of Honor.
Ten years after the train explosion, García's ashes were reinterred close to his monument in Nacozari. In 1944, the federal government declared that the National Day of the Railroad Worker would be celebrated every November 7.
Jesús García became a national hero, after whom numerous streets, schools, bridges and parks have been named. There are monuments to him in many towns, including Hermosillo (the Héroe de Nacozari Stadium was home to the Coyotes de Sonora football team), Mexico City, Zacatecas, Veracruz, Tapachula, Guadalajara, Mazatlán, Naco, Aguascalientes, Ciudad Obregón, Empalme, San Luis Potosí and Tierra Blanca, as well as in other countries both near (Cuba, Guatemala) and far (United Kingdom, Germany).
Several popular songs or corridos were written about him. The best known is Máquina 501. The composer of this corrido took a little poetic license with the engine number. As we have seen, García drove locomotive number 2; 501 was the number of the last locomotive ever operated by the mining company. When it was eventually retired to Nacozari's main square, it was renamed the Jesús García.
Click here for an mp3 file of Máquina 501, as sung by Francisco Charro Avitia. (right click for option to play file in a new tab or window)
Garcia's brave actions were turned into a movie El Héroe de Nacozari (1935), directed by Guillermo Calles, and have been the subject of several books, including Kate Tuthill's award-winning "Hero of Nacozari".

WE WON WE WON WE WON!!!

So the HMA reunion was held this past weekend. We had a golf tournament and I kicked the young guys fannies. We held a Blythe Kidde Days and I kicked the little kiddies fannies. But, most importantly, we held a "So You Think You Can Dance" competition and yep, you're right my family won. We had an independent judge so you know the compeition was fair. What's more, my entire family participated as opposed to other families.

Here is a photo of the winning routine (courtesy of Megan's blog).

You will never believe it!

She got funny in the last five years and now this. Who is this person?

Finally and a sign of the times!

This is so much better than the MTC.

One happy girl. She kept screaming when she saw him. The security people became a little alarmed.

Hugging Aunt Cathy while Cliff looks on. Cameron was supposed to be taking the video, but I guess he got distracted.

The official Arnett "hero" pose.

The sign says it all.

Pam's face says it all.

We posed for this while we were waiting for an Airport parking guide to show us where we parked the car.

A very happy mom.

The badge everyone who came to our house got to pin on.

Looking forward!

Man, it's been a long two years.
I read today where the MTC is not allowing parents to go into the MTC due to the swine flu. They just drop their kids off at the front door. Where was that when Chad went? That's the best way to do it. Just drop them off and drive away. How much you want to bet there will be several car accidents around there due to limited visibility?
We are looking forward to the HMA reunion. Our family has chosen to do the "Riverdance". I will be Michael Fately, that's right I spelled it right. We are bringing up some extra cardboard in case we want to re-create some Blythe scenes like the La Paloma or The Horny Toad or Courtesy Coffee shop.

For those of you that didn't go to the Arnett Duncan-Franklin-Virdin reunion. Here is the recap. It was good. For those of you that go to Candy's Family Treehouse or Fort, or whatever it is called, and will read cousin Rex's history of Franklin, I wrote a song about Buck and Molly for the reunion.

It goes like this.

Oh Buck and Molly Oh Buck and Molly
This is the story bout Buck and Molly
About their Triumph and their Folly
Molly was a mare with goldent hair
and Buck was the male not quite so pale

Oh Buck and Molly Oh Buck and Molly
Together they made quite a team
A real Arnett hay baler's dream
At first they always pulled apart
Until Grandpa Tom taught them the pulling art

Oh Buck and Molly Oh Buck and Molly

Every Arnett from far and near
Has come to this place so they can hear
How these horse became temple lore
And each time the story is told it grows more and more

Oh Buck and Molly Oh Buck and Molly
The moral of this story it goes like this
Never bale hay without a kiss
And always keep your spouse by your side
Cause Uncle Charles, he never ever lied
About Buck and Molly Oh Buck and Molly

Official announcement

Elder Chad Jeffrey Arnett of the Germany Hamburg Mission will be arriving in Phoenix, AZ Friday June 12th at 3:46pm at Terminal 2. He will be welcomed by his mom, dad and any others that wish to go to the airport. That evening he will be receiving friends and family at his home accompanied by his longtime friend and dog Duffy.
Elder Arnett will be giving his homecoming speech Sunday June 14th at 9am at the Pioneer Ward Building on Guadulupe Road between Higley and Greenfield. That evening, the real festivities begin as Chad will begin his transition to "being in the world, but not of the world" with Paco's Salsa and Chips, and other culinary delights. The party will include a special musical tribute for Chad written and performed by his father.
Also, there will be another "Chadfest" this summer celebrating Chad's 21st birthday (Remember, he went out as an 18-year old and will be returning as a 20-year old.)
The date for "Chadfest 2009" has yet to be determined, but those that are on a "need to know" basis will be informed via text messaging, email, telephone, smoke signal and the newest internet medium, "Wrinklespace". "Wrinklespace" is a soon to be invented internet site by Chad's dad which will be a combination of Myspace and Facebook for people over the age of 40.
Oh, who can forget Chadfests 2004 and 2006... the music, the private lake, wakeboarding and tubing, the people, the food, the organ bonfire, the revelry. More of the same is on the way.

Not posting until Dana submits a new post

I've noticed no one has asked me for a new post during the past few weeks. At first, it hurt my feelings, but then I realized that no one really cares if I post or not. Come to think of it, I don't care if you care. I don't write this thing for comments anyway. If I did, I would write something outlandish and prosaic to illicit responses.
I'm not going to post a new offering until Dana makes a new post on her blog. I know she is pregnant and busy, but seeing the gestational progress of Marshall Ryan Brisckdjkjjjjsjxkkjjlskjlckjlljjjjsjsjxxxxlkjs just isn't enough (nice name, by the way).
That is not, I repeat not a real post. If it was, then I could just put a counter on my blog showing the growth of the hair on my eyebrows or in my ears. Okay, so I don't have hair growing in my ears, but I do have this one that grows on my left earlobe. It is really annoying. I only notice it when it grows long. Other people must also notice it because I do. I'm tired of pulling it out every few weeks. In protest of Dana's lack of "postal integrity", I'm going to let it grow until she posts again. I may have to borrow Pam's curling iron to dress it up some if it becomes too long.
O'Dana, please post something real and new so I can pull my earlobe hair.
On a different note, I went to another convert baptism this last Saturday. Our ward has had two of them in past month. What's more, these people have made great sacrifices to join the church. One has had to give up her relationship with her aged mother (the mother won't talk to her now) and the other has had a dramatic lifestyle change. Both baptismal services were very inspiring to me knowing what these people put on the alter to join the church and also to envision what my son Chad has done to help some people in Germany.
So, listening to the talks on baptism and the Holy Ghost made me think about what it means to be like Christ. Not to be negative, but there are so many things we can't (maybe I should say I can't) do to be like him. For example, I can't turn water into wine, or raise the dead or fast 40 days and 40 nights, etc. There some things I can do to be like him, but I don't or can't do them perfectly. I can love my neighbor, keep the commandments, etc., but I don't do them all the time or perfectly all the time.
There is one thing that I have done perfectly, however. I followed His example... His exact example, in fact, by being baptized by one having authority. There is something to be said for that. He did it not because He needed it, but because He set the perfect example to fulfill all righteousness. I did it too in a chapel baptismal font in a small town on the border of California and Arizona. I was baptized by one having authority, the same authority as received from John the Baptist himself. I'm not perfect and won't be, but that ordinance was. It was one of the few things I could do and be exactly like Christ.

Is this funny?

So, I have been asked to entertain at our ward campout in a couple of weeks. It's an encore performance from our last High Priest's party. I sang a few of my funny songs (you know, shoot your dog, and you make me sick and can I borrow some money) and then had everyone sing a verse of the blues centered around church, etc. I guess it was funny. When it was over, I smashed the acoustic guitar into pieces like a rock star (it was a junk guitar). It had everyone rolling except one couple wanted the guitar for their grandchild.
So, this time I'm thinking of starting out my routine by asking everyone around the campfire to help me look for my little green ball that I lost while getting up. I'm going to ask everyone to look around their chairs and on the ground. When they can't find it, I'll say, "thanks anyway, I'll guess I'll have to start a new one", as I pick my nose.
Pam says it's not funny, because it is so gross. I say it's perfect for a campfire gag. Maybe a few people will gag. I'm thinking of showing everyone the picture Candy has of me as a ute with my original green ball.

Getting the Word Out, Are you a Duncan Punkin Roller?

Dear Family,
I've been asked to send out this email inviting everyone in the Tom and Annie Arnett Family to a Campout. Spence and a few cousins are wanting to repeat what we did two years ago in Cibola. Remember it all started with a dozen of us going, and it expanded to 78 family members. Spence will take charge of the food again, which means "total success". We are considering a few areas to set up camp. We could use the help of our older cousins to guide us to the best spot. We plan to visit the homes of our families that lived there. We want to visit Grandpa and Grandma's graves at the Franklin Cemetery and spend an hour or so cleaning up the area. Our biggest hope is that Aunt Doris can join us and be the keynote speaker around the campfire Friday night.
Please pass this along to your families. We've looked for the best weekend to do this, and we think this is it. All of us that went two years ago to Cibola felt we a part of some kind of special experience. I expect the same will be said about this trip. We will take plenty of water and arrange for portable toilets. Each family will just need to make their own camping/sleeping arrangements.We would love your feedback, ideas, and especially your attendance. We look forward to hearing from you.

We have a few more details on our Duncan Trip May 1-2. We were able to reserve the old Virden Ward building (Village of Virden) for our accommodations. They have room at this place for groups up to 200 people. We will still cook everything outside but there is a cultural hall for our Friday night gathering. You'll need to bring your own sheets and blankets or sleeping bag for everyone in attendance. It's almost too good to be true that this place was available. When they found out I was Rex's cousin, they about gave me the key to the town.
So far the itinerary for the weekend is to visit homes, interesting sights, grandparents graves and Duncan High for a group picture. We would like everyone to bring a hoe or shovel so we can complete our cemetery service project fairly quickly. We all know that Spence's cooking is "over the top". That alone should bring you to this event. And, if any of your family members have never been to Duncan, they'll surely be surprised. This word needs to get out to everyone so nobody will be left out. I am calling on my cousins Dora, Steve, Jeff, Wayne, and Gaylen to forward this info to your respective families. We'll provide more details as we get input from our cousins who actually lived there. But for now, put it on your calendar and get the word out to your families. We believe we can do the Friday dinner, Saturday breakfast, and pay for our accommodations for $10.00 a person. Please email me with any ideas.

Chet Arnett

Home Invasion

So, tonight exactly at 12:03 am, our home was invaded. I was sitting in a lounge chair in the guest bedroom watching Conan because I couldn't fall asleep. I was in that room because I didn't want to disturb Pamela who had gone to bed around 9pm. She get's up at 5 am every morning so nine is about her usual time to doze off. I wasn't able to see her off to nighty nite because I was updating blogs and checking online stuff.
Anyway, back to my harrowing experience. As I was watching TV, someone with a knitted pull down beanie mask and turned up coat burst into the bedroom where I was. The only thing I could see was a nose, eyes and a mouth. I was terrified and began to scream. I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest and I was looking for something to fight off the attacker with. As I was getting ready to leap out of my chair, (I'm not sure whether to run away or attack), I realized it was Pam. She had gotten up to go to the bathroom and was wondering why I wasn't in bed. She came looking for me.
What I didn't know was she was cold when she went to bed earlier and had put on the beanie pull down cap and the coat.
When she came into the guest bedroom, she thought nothing of it. When she realized I was trembling in fear she looked at me funny. I then told her to look in the mirror. She did and we both got a big laugh out of it. Only thing is, I'm still awake at 1:30 am. Oh, and did I ever mention that my wife is really funny now after 20 plus years?

To sleep or not to sleep, book writing and dreams

And now for something completely different.

I can't sleep at night. I think I know why but I still can't fix it. I probably need one of those breathing masks, actually I know I do because I spent $2,000 for them to tell me I do. But, I can't bring myself to get one. First of all, it's another $2,000 and secondly, wearing one makes me look like Dr. Hannibal Lector. What's worse, it make me feel like him.
When I don't sleep well, I have strange dreams. I mean really strange dreams. No I don't dream of ABBA songs, which would really be strange, but my dreams border on bizarre. I won't go into most of them, but I will tell of one I had recently.

I was fishing on the famous Arnett canal just where it meets the old Colorado River. I was on one side of the canal fishing and my father was in a small boat with a small outboard motor entering into the canal from the river and starting to go up the canal. He stopped to pick up a young man, (I don't know who he was), who wanted to water ski. It seemed odd because the motor was so small and so was the boat, but Howard wanted to help him and he proceeded to let him water ski behind the boat. They didn't get very far up the canal when for some reason Howard beached the little boat on the side of the canal and he got out to do something. The young man got out and waited for him to come back. I was watching this whole thing as I fished from the other side. The water level in the canal began to lower and the boat was completely out of the water at an angle on the side of the canal. Howard still wanted to take the young man water skiing so he got on a bulldozer and began to push the little boat down into the water. The incline was too steep and the bulldozer began to tip over back over front. I watched this with terror. I saw this whole thing unfold as I was on the other side of the canal and further down toward the river. In slow motion the bulldozer completely flipped over on my father and landed on him knocking him unconscious. Both he and the bulldozer were in the water with the bulldozer on top of Howard. I could see his white cowboy hat on his head which was pinned under the bulldozer as it was unexplainably floating up the canal toward the pump. The youth was frantic, but he could do nothing. I was terrified knowing there was nothing I could do. I thought of jumping in my truck and driving up the canal as fast as I could, but I knew I couldn't get to him quickly enough and that by the time I got there he would be dead. I just watched in horror as my unconscious father was pinned under a floating machine. I woke up quite disturbed. If dreams mean anything, I'd like to know what this one means. Where's Joseph with a colorful coat when you need him? By the way, this one is tame compared to most I have.

So, in response to Candy's response to my last blog entry.... geez, all I said was there are no guarantees in life. I wanted you to comment but I didn't want to read a Jane Austen novel (just kidding, I have to mention when I'm joking now, because heaven forbid if I hurt Lacy's feelings). Also, if I'd known you knew who I was talking about, I'd have disguised things a little more. Cliff called me today to see who it was I was talking about. He didn't know him. Incidentally, the bank he worked at for a long time (not really his bank, now it's a different bank - but same building, was robbed today). See there is justice in this life. Also, I'm writing a book now based on my experiences -- mostly in Blythe. It's called, "What they can't tell you in General Conference and why." Catchy title, huh? There will be a chapter on "Life according to Howard", including his Howardisms and another one called, "Why can't I have as deep of thoughts as my sister?" Also, one chapter is going to be titled, "Does God really want us all to be Mormon?"
I've got several more chapters I'm working on including, "Is Eternal progression linear or in 3D?"). If you have any chapter titles you'd like me to add, feel free to give submit them to me.
The book is approximately 2000 pages so far, but I'm working to edit it down to about 10 pages including pictures. I figure it will be a best seller, but I don't think Deseret Book will pick it up. I might have to self-publish it.

No guarantees

I had occasion to once again ponder the meaning of life this past week. I'm certain none of you do that, but with the passing of several of my former acquaintances, I have been reflecting and deflecting some thoughts that mostly come to me just as I fall asleep -- which isn't very often these days. It seems as though the older I get, the harder it is to sleep. Why is that? No, that's for another blog entry.
So, here is the result of my pondering on the meaning of life. Our goal should be to try to get out of this life alive. Of course, that's impossible, after all as cousin Mark so aptly put it in his film, "Baby Boomerang," even the people Jesus healed and brought back to life eventually died. But, still I think our purpose in life is to try to be alive.
I've contrasted the lives of several different people who I have known that recently died. One was exceedingly wealthy in both temporal and spiritual means. He was a great benefactor and extremely generous along with a great family man. By all that we measure a person by he was an outstanding individual, so much so they had to hold his funeral in 3 different stake centers and broadcast the proceedings to 2 of them.
Then there was another man who tried his best in life. By all accounts he too was a good family man and while not wealthy he worked hard at his career choice and provided for his family. Unfortunately, his wife ran off with another man and took his children. Who knows why? Maybe he had it coming, maybe he didn't. The company he worked for left the town he lived in and he had to bounce around to other jobs, etc. He tried to stay active in his religion for many years. He held callings, he did church service but eventually he lost his faith to a degree and pretty much gave up. I only mention his circumstances because he was someone who had a positive effect on my life. He appeared to really try and do what was right, but for reasons unknown to me, his life just didn't go the way I thought it would and he probably thought it would.
He didn't have a funeral -- only a memorial service. His former wife wasn't there, although several of his children were. He never remarried, though he found a companion later in his life. For a few weeks after his death, I couldn't even find an obituary about him anywhere. Finally, someone had one printed in a local newspaper that I could read. That really made me happy.
Now the truth is, I really don't know why the lives of these two men were so different. Maybe we get what deserve in life and one deserved the "great life" and one deserved the "not so great life". I honestly don't know. But this much I do know, and I don't mean to sound callous, they are both dead. Their earthly journey is finished. In fact, both died the same way of the same ailment.
One had it all and will be remembered as a great individual. One appeared to have a great life and then it just wafted away, much like a torn apart cattail in the wind.
So, what is my conclusion? There are no guarantees in life, that's what. I know we are taught that the family that prays together stays together, that if you hold family home evening your children will not go astray, that if you read the scriptures daily you will have family harmony, that if pay your tithing you will have your temporal needs taken care of, that if you do this, you will get that, ya da ya da ya da. I know that these things help to insulate us from dangers and temptations, etc. I do believe all that, but I also know that when it rains it brings both roses and mud and that it rains on both the just and the unjust. People are people and because we are just that, we make mistakes, our children make mistakes, people get sick and die sometimes with cause -- sometimes without cause, there is war and injustice in the world and as Uncle Cliff says, "life is a photo finish".
Life is like buying a new car. When you choose the car you want it comes with a warranty not a guarantee. There is a big difference. There is no guarantee that the car will not ever break down. In fact, that's why the car manufacturers offer a warranty. They know it will. When it does need to be fixed, they will fix it for free. That's the beauty of the warranty. You can also buy an extended warranty.
So, what does this have to do with the meaning of life? We have no guarantees. In fact, the Lord knows that parts of our lives will break down and need to be fixed. It's part of the contract we entered into. The great thing is, He has provided us with a free extended warranty. He will fix what ails us, free of charge for as long as we need it. There is only one caveat, we have to take ourselves to Him to receive the fixing. If my new car broke down and I decided I didn't want to have it fixed for free under the terms of the warranty, then that's my problem and I'm an idiot.
So, I've decided I'm going to check my warrantee again and see what the terms are. That's how I'm gonna get out of this life alive and at the same time try to be alive during this life.

Surprize birthdays and ice cream

So I called HB, father of Sydnee, to ask what her favorite treat was. You see, yesterday was her birthday. I know it was Lex's too, but Lex doesn't live here and she didn't cut my hair when she was here last. So, Cameron, Pam and I decided to have a surprize birthday party for her. It turned out incredibly well. Here's why. Syd hates surprize birthday parties, especially when they are for her. By the way, HB, said Syd would like any type of ice cream which is good because we got vanilla.
Pam, made a sign with balloons and put it on the door. She also put candles on some brownies and made some decorations. Cameron invited some of their homies and I provided the comic relief. There was only one problem. The cash register broke at Syd's work and she had to close up and didn't get to our house until around 10pm. We were expecting her more like 9ish which all well and good except Pam goes to bed around that time -- having to get up at 5am each morning.
So, Syd comes in and turns beet red. I'm not sure if it was from embarassment or something else. That's when she informed me that she hates surprize parties. Nevertheless, the festivities were fun. Syd got in a few zingers to some of the crowd. In fact, Sydnee got the last laugh. As everyone was leaving, she asked if anyone wanted to go out for a beer. Pam and I didn't go, we had to get to sleep.