Author: Ron

An Anxious Ride

 

The blazing afternoon sun sucked what little moisture was left out of the air.  The blast of highway wind did the same to my skin. I knew if my puckered lips straightened, they would crack and bleed.  My dry throat ached for a drink, but I didn’t care.  I had four hundred miles to go before I wanted to stop for anything.  Only common sense held me back as I straddled my motorcycle which was capable of so much more speed than I had ever dared to try.

I thought of Frederick, who a few generations earlier, was also traveling in the hot summer weather.  He was on a train.  It was the fastest mode of transportation available in 1914.  I imagine back in 1914, he got a telegram that started his journey.

For me, it was a phone call.  A few hours earlier, I had been sitting in church with my family.  When my cell phone buzzed in silent mode, I thought it would be another problem at my work.  I looked down at the display expecting to see “DEF”, the work abbreviation.  Instead “LAURIE” flashed at me.  This can’t be good.  My dad was back in the hospital.  I bolted from the meeting so I could answer the phone. 

 “Mom wanted me to call and let you know what was going on.”  With that, my sister started right into the report.  The news was not encouraging.  In Dad’s condition, any infection or virus could be life threatening.  After the call, pieces of the report still rang in my head.

“Throat swelling up… A new lump… hard to breath… he can’t talk… they will do an x-ray looking for pneumonia.” 

Now my Beautiful Wife was standing next to me and I tried to relay the information.  As she asked, “Don’t you think you should go?”  I was already trying to figure out the logistics.  I had brought my company pickup truck home that weekend.  But I couldn’t take it to Idaho.  My work was a hundred miles in the wrong direction.  I decided to take the truck back to work trade for my motorcycle.  By comparison, I was lucky.  I was only a half a day away. 

I thought again of Frederick.  Living in Chicago, for him it was a three days journey to Southeastern Idaho.  He must have left almost immediately when he heard that his father, John Everett, had suddenly taken ill.  The frequent stops the steam locomotive must have made to take on water, fuel, and passengers would have been frustrating for Frederick.  Since his siblings knew when he would arrive, it is likely he had left several telegrams informing them of his progress along the way.     

            As I rolled from side to side, taking the hilly curves a little faster than usual, I added it up in my head.  “It would be about 6:00pm when I arrived at Rexburg.”  I wondered if there were any more updates.  There was no cell service through these hills.  When I stopped for gas, I checked my phone for missed calls.  Nothing.  That was good I think.  I didn’t take the time to make any of my own calls. 

Back on the road, my mind raced from one thought to another.  I thought of my dad.  He’d had set backs like this before.  He had always pleasantly surprised family and the medical people alike at his resilience.  However, in the two days since he’d been admitted to the hospital, new developments and complications seems to combine against him.  It was now starting to sound like the worst case scenario.     

Then another image came back into my mind.  I thought of my Great-Great Grandpa, John Everett.  In 1914, he was 93 years old.  The summer heat of the day gave way to night time.  John saw the reflection of the setting sun on his bedroom wall for the last time.  He was on his death bed, and he knew it.  He had been sick for three days.  Seven of his eight living children were at his bedside with him.  The only one missing was Frederick, a doctor who lived and worked in Chicago.  He was traveling back home as fast as the steam locomotive would carry him.  John Everett had lived a full life.  In 1835, at the age of 14, he left his Prussian home as he became a cabin boy on a sailing ship.  At age 28, sailor John Everett claimed to have visited every major sea port in the world except the American West Coast.  This was the year he gave up the sea for another love.  The love of his life was Hellen Tanser.  They pioneered west by ox team and covered wagon.  Now the sailor was a farmer.  John and Hellen had ten children and raised eight of them.  Hellen had died in 1900, fourteen years earlier.  So with seven of his children at his bedside, John had only one thing left in this life to wait for.  He knew that he had asked before, but time had lost it’s relevance to him. So he asked again.  “Where is Frederick?”  “Papa, Frederick is still coming.  He just hasn’t arrived yet.  He’s coming as fast as he can.”   

The thought sent me spurring my motorcycle like Pony Express rider, as I leaned a little more forward and twisted the throttle a little bit more.  Rexburg was close now.  I slowed as I took the exit and started up Main Street.  Madison Memorial Hospital is up on a hill on the other end of Main. 

As I impatiently waited for a red light to change, I thought again of John Everett’s final words.  It was now between midnight and 2:00 am.  John asked one last time, “Is Frederick here yet?”  “No Papa, he’s not.  But he will be here tonight.”  John let the unwelcomed answer settle for a moment and then he said, “Well it is too bad.”  After that, John Everett lost consciousness and soon past from this life.

I now had tears in my eyes when the light finally changed to green and sent me the final few blocks to the hospital.  I was kicking myself now, “Why didn’t I leave earlier, when I first heard Dad was in the hospital?”

When I arrived, I found Dad gravely ill, but alive and surrounded by family.  I spent the night with him, as well as the next day.  His condition continued to worsen for a time and I was very thankful that I had made it when I did.

Numerous doctors, nurses and other medical people have admitted since that they thought we were going to lose Dad that time.  But he pulled through and is doing very well these six months later.  Maybe it’s a throw back to his egg farm days but Dad is now known as “A Tough Old Bird”. 

I’ve been back to visit my parents once since that time, and I look forward to all my visits back home.  In fact, I’ll be headed back this weekend for another short visit.  I thank modern communication, modern transportation, modern medicine, and the God who gave them all to us that I can still visit with my parents as I do.  I am truly blessed that my outcome that day was vastly different than Frederick Everett’s was almost a hundred years ago.    

             

It’s my space and I can do what I want with it, right?  Well today, I want to use it to send a message to my Beautiful Wife.  So please pardon me, everyone else, while I get a little bit personal. 

 

 

The Reason I Love You

 

It’s not because you’re beautiful.  Although you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. 

 

It’s not because you’re smart.  Although your intellect challenges me to keep up.

 

It’s not because you’re perfect.  Although you can do not wrong in my eyes. 

 

It’s not because you’re ambitious.  Although there isn’t a lazy bone in your over-worked body.

 

It’s not because you’re the mother of my children.  Although they, each one, all nine, are beautiful inside and out, just like you.

 

It’s not because you’ve stuck with me all these years, and through untold tears.

 

I love you because you are you.  I love the whole package that makes you, YOU. 

 

Albert Einstein once stated his theory of relativity in terms that even I can understand.  I read that he once said, “If you sit on a hot stove for a minute, it will seem longer than any hour.  But if you sit next to a pretty girl for an hour, it will seem shorter than any minute.  That’s relativity.” 

 

So I’ve known you for only a moment.  But I hope to be with you for a long, long time.

 

Thank-you for being YOU

It Tastes Like Puke to Me

 

Some of my more sour childhood memories seem to have sweetened with time.  Among those were the very earliest I have of being sick.  Like all large families, we learned to share and share alike. 

I think we took this “large family culture” to the extreme when we got the stomach flu.  We seemed to pass it around like the mashed potatoes and gravy at Sunday dinner. 

Mom would set up sick bay in the girl’s bedroom, downstairs where it was convenient to her “makeshift nurse’s station” and the one bathroom in the house.   My clear memories of those bouts with stomach flu included the associated stomach cramps and diarrhea, which were treated with Paragoric.  This stuff was among the nastiest stuff my 6 year old taste buds had ever experienced. 

Our family doctor had also prescribed that Mom give us Pepsi to sip.  This was intended to help settle our stomachs.  I am sure I had had a few soda pops at other times as well.  But never a cola like Coke or Pepsi.  My early youth soda pop memory had Shasta pop like orange or grape flavor as the choices.  Our very conservative family values didn’t have room for the caffeinated pops that we were told could be addictive.  So literally the only time I tasted one of those colas was when my Mom was following the doctor’s orders to give us some for our sick stomachs. 

Of course, in the height of stomach flu, after sipping on the Pepsi for awhile, I’d get that burning deep down in my stomach, followed by the watery mouth.  As soon as I realized what was happening, the heave spasms would start and it would all come up.  I think that the Pepsi tasted about the same coming back up as it did going down.  That is really the only time in my life that I intentionally drank colas.  So even now I associate the taste of them with having stomach flu and puking my guts out.  

In my ‘formative years’ of around 8, I discovered my life long love of a soda pop flavor.  In 1967 I attended the Haroldsen Family reunion.  This was a Saturday afternoon gathering for all of Christian and Anna Haroldsen’s posterity.  Although they had both been gone for decades, I believe that all nine of their children were present.  My Grandpa, George Haroldsen, was the oldest of the nine children.  Of course I saw more aunts, uncles, and cousins than I could shake a stick at.  Even with games for the children, visits for the adults and a very nice program including my dad’s cousin, LJ Cook playing a mean accordion (I couldn’t understand why a Cook was at a Haroldsen reunion), the long buffet tables of food were the highlight of our get-together. 

The absolute best part of that reunion for me was the discovery of the brew happening on the end of the long buffet table.  I watched as the sugar was splattered with some sort of dark potion.  The next thing that got my attention was all of the steam or smoke or whatever it was that was pouring out of that barrel.  I stepped in close and put my hand out to try to touch the mysterious cloud as it slipped over the edge and drifted toward the ground as it disappeared.  I could hear the full rumble of the brew boiling inside the barrel.  When I could finally get a cup of the brew, I fell in love with the best tasting pop ever.  That day the brew master kept it coming.  And I kept coming back for more.  From that time on, I kept my eye open for anything that said Root Beer on the label. 

This was also the time that I had joined the Cub Scouts.  We were out at the local lake for one of our summer time pack meetings when they passed around the bottles of soda pop to go along with the hotdogs.  My den leader asked me, “What kind do you want?”  “Do you have Root Beer?”  I was handed the chilled bottle with the name “Frostie Root Beer” in bright red and white letters.  This was years before Wendy’s Restaurants came along and named their chocolate ice cream treat “a Frosty”.   I think this was the first time I got to drink a whole bottle of pop by myself.  (Of course I’m not counting that family reunion when I drank 10 gallons of the dry-ice root beer, one paper cup at a time.)

My next favorite Root Beer experience was the occasional stops our family made at the A&W stand.  The contrast of sitting in the over squished rambler station wagon on a hot summer day, watching the car hop fasten the tray to our half open window, and then Mom or Dad handing back the frosted mug, filled to the brim of my favorite treat was dramatic to my senses.  It was so cold that the edges of the inch thick mug would stick to my lips as I took my first swig.

Those happy memories hooked me on my favorite drink more than the cola’s caffeine would have.  It is no wonder to me that all through my teenaged soda pop guzzling days, I chose whatever kind of root beer was offered over any other kind of soda pop.  My Grandpa Tillack made a mean bottled Root Beer using yeast.  And I learned how to do that dry-ice brew I first discovered at the 1967 Haroldsen reunion.  I’ve never even tasted some of the other varieties of soda pop offered.  I don’t know what Dr. Pepper or Mountain Dew or any of that new stuff they call soda pop today even tastes like. 

Occasionally, when ordering a Root Beer with my meal, they mistakenly serve me a Coke or Pepsi.  I’ll take a sip and immediately think of my childhood days with stomach flu.  Yup, it tastes like puke to me.  So if they don’t have a Root Beer to offer, I’ll just settle for a cold glass of water like my Beautiful Wife does.   

Zeitgeist – The Movie, 2007 – My Spin On It

I was asked my opinion of this movie which is displayed on You-Tube.  So here it goes.

 

The Merriam – Webster online Dictionary defines the word Zeitgeist as: The general intellectual, moral, and cultural climate of an era.

Zeitgeist – The Movie 2007, is clearly more of an attempt to influence rather than report the general intellectual, moral and cultural climate of our era. 

 

I would like to make the point that I see a lot of factual details in this movie.  But I am very wary of all the speculation or down right lies that are carried along with the facts.  The whole packaged deal is portrayed as “obvious truth.”  I learned along time ago about sorting out irrelevant facts.  So first let me tell a story from my childhood.

 

During my years of elementary school, my lunch hour was usually spent standing in a school cafeteria lunch line.  The school cafeteria provided lunch for four different elementary schools, the Jr. High, and the High School.  So the lunch line usually came out of the basement cafeteria, up the stairway, down the school halls, and then outside and down the sidewalk in front of the school. 

It usually took most of the lunch hour, standing in line waiting for lunch.  There was always a lot of talking, horseplay, and even fighting in the lunch line.  I preferred to just blend in the crowd and eaves drop on all the conversations going on. 

One day I listened to a boy I knew to be what I later termed a “Know it all”.  He was standing right in front of me, poking fun of the boy who was right in front of him. 

The boy being made fun of was mentally retarded. “Know it all” told him that he was a retard.  He said he could tell that he was a retard because he had a zit behind his ear. 

“Know it all” then started looking at some of us by standers.  He then said to me, “You’re a retard too”.  He then pointed to my ear.  I touched my ear and sure enough, I could feel a small zit right behind my ear down by the ear lobe. 

I was surprised.  I hadn’t noticed it before.  This started me thinking, “Had it been there my whole life?  Was it just starting?  Would that mean I was just now becoming retarded?”  It was a small zit.  “Did this mean that I was only a little retarded?”  I did notice that the zit behind the retarded boy’s ear was quite large.  And he was obviously retarded.  I kept thinking to myself, “That zit behind my ear would explain all those dumb things I had done”.  I no longer paid any attention to my heckler.  I was deep in thought about my newly discovered miss fortune. 

It was a few days latter as my zit behind the ear was going away that I started to wonder, “How did he know all that stuff about zits and mental retardation anyway?” 

It finally sank in to my brain that he was using an ear relevant fact.  That is, that zit behind my ear was only relevant to my ear. 

However, he had succeeded in convincing me of a lie by pointing out a fact that I hadn’t realized before.  Even though it was not related to the point he was trying to make.

In the years since the zit behind the ear incident, I’ve learned to recognize irrelevant facts as such.  I’ve found that irrelevant facts are used everywhere.  They are used to explain why we should have small families, how we descended from apes, why it is beneficial to drink & smoke, and etc.   Nevertheless, the fact remains, when a truth is told with a lie, that lie is still a lie. 

Now as I, as everyone is, am bombarded in all forms of the media with information which is presented as fact, I watch for “The zit behind the ear” facts (facts that I hadn’t realized before).  And when I see them, I can more easily see the lies those facts are trying to hide.

 

 

The message of the movie is clearly intended to open the eyes of the American Christian public, to see a great conspiracy which has duped us all.

 

Their position –

They make the case that there is no god, or higher power that created the universe. They declare that a select few who really know the truth use religious myths to gain power and control over the general population of the world. 

 

My response –

          First of all, I would like to say that for a movie which is presented by “Intellectuals” who are trying to make an “Intellectual” out of me by winning me over to their way of thinking through their reasoning, I found it extremely tacky to play the voice of a stand up comic routine making fun of the way religion is always asking for money.  

I am paraphrasing because I only watched the movie once (several weeks ago) but the comic says something like, “God is all powerful… but he’s always asking for money… can never get enough money… can do everything else but he can’t seem to manage his money… always broke.” 

This attack on my Christian values ignores the Christian belief that God did create Heaven and Earth, and all things that are on Earth including me.  If God did create all, then when I tithe, I am only giving back a small portion of what already belongs to God.  I am indebted to him even for the air that I breathe. 

That stand up comic wouldn’t have gotten any laughs if he was trying to make fun of a landlord in the same way. “He comes back every month for more rent… he never seems to get enough… that landlord must not be able to manage his money…”

All the while, they make no mention and give no credit for all the good church related donations do in the world.  The amount of dollars spent on church related charities everywhere from a small local church helping the neighbor in need, to the many rescue missions to famine struck third world countries is immeasurable. 

 

Their position –

          They made the case that all religions are based on astrology and the zodiac.  I listened to the narrator make the case that ancient man studied the sun and stars thousands of years before the dawn of Christianity.  And that these myths and legends were the basis for the story of Jesus Christ and his Earthly ministry thousands of years later. 

 

My response –

I wondered, If God Created the stars of the sky, and the rotation of the sun, and everything else astronomical, as I believe he did as the creator of Heaven and Earth, then it was he that placed those symbols in the heavens millions of years before he came as the Savior of the World.  Symbolism is a great teaching tool.  I believe that even the stars in the night sky testified to ancient man of Jesus Christ’s promised coming.  And to modern man, it is a testimony that the creator of heaven and earth did come to save all who wanted saving. 

           

Their position –

They make the claim that Jesus Christ couldn’t have been a real religious figure two thousand years ago because of the similarities this story has to the much older stories such as the Egyptian Sun God, Horus, and Greece’s Dionysus.  

 

My response –

Again, I am wondering if my belief that God created all things, and that his prophets, such as Isaiah, told of what was going to happen… that they told of a Promised Messiah… then who is copying whom?

I have seen this same pattern of trying to discredit a story many times before.     Anti-Mormon writers use this same tactic. Only the Zeitgeist writers used as their source, writings published by the secular humanists organizations such as American Atheist Press, and Prometheus books.  They scavenged thorough volumes of literature, searching for any simile, any story or legend from anywhere that has any similarities.  And then they claim that the Christian era is simply a literary copy of what they found.  They say “he’s got this little detail from here and that little detail from there…” until they have buried the religion under attack with their carefully puzzled together fables.  This they call proof that the story is false. 

I’d like to give an example which I think illustrates what they try to do and how flawed the reasoning can be.  Using this same reasoning, I can prove that John F. Kennedy didn’t really exist.  That he is just a fabrication of modern literature.  You see, so many key details of John F. Kennedy’s life were just copies of an earlier President of the United States that he was obviously just made up as part of American Folklore.  Here is the proof.

    

Abraham Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846.
John F. Kennedy was elected to Congress in 1946

 

Lincoln failed to win the Vice Presidential nomination in 1856.
Kennedy failed to win the Vice Presidential nomination in 1956.

 

Abraham Lincoln was elected President in 1860.
John F. Kennedy was elected President in 1960.

 

Lincoln defeated Stephen Douglas who was born in 1813.
Kennedy defeated Richard Nixon who was born in 1913.

 

Both were particularly concerned with civil rights.
Both wives lost children while in the White House.

 

Both Presidents were shot on a Friday.
Both Presidents were shot in the head.

 

Lincoln‘s secretary was named Kennedy.
Kennedy’s secretary was named Lincoln.

 

Both were assassinated by Southerners.

 

Both were succeeded by Southerners.

 

Both Presidents had Vice Presidents named Johnson.

 

Lincoln‘s Vice President was called Andrew Johnson who served in the House of Representatives in 1847.
Kennedy’s Vice President was called Lyndon Johnson who served in the House of Representatives in1947.

 

Both successors (their Vice Presidents) were named Johnson.
Andrew Johnson, who succeeded Lincoln, was born in 1808.
Lyndon Johnson, who succeeded Kennedy, was born in 1908.

 

Both assassins were known by the three names.
Both names are composed of fifteen letters.

 

Lincoln was shot at the theatre called "Ford."
Kennedy was shot in a car named "Lincoln", made by Ford.

 

Booth ran from the theater and was caught in a warehouse.
Oswald ran from a warehouse and was caught in a theater.

Booth and Oswald were assassinated before their trials.

Source:  http://www.meilach.com/samscorner/president.htm

 

        Using this same argument, in a few hundred years, our great grandchildren could “prove” that John F. Kennedy never really existed.  I’m not taking the time to really research this out like the big boys have.  I have many other things that are much more important to me to spend my time on.  But if I spent the time, I believe that I could find documents from the past and use the same line of reasoning to “Prove” that the secular humanists who have produced Zeitgeist never really existed either.

 

Their position –

            They purport that religion is only a tool, used by the few who know and control, to rage war, death and destruction.  This gives them the power to increase their control and increase their wealth. 

 

My response –

        They claim that religion feigns peace while raging war. But it ignores the billions of peaceful acts of kindness and help which has been inspired by religion throughout the centuries.  Of course, the effects of faith and any thing spiritual is not even mentioned in the movie.  No mention is made of the many studies which show that patients who have religious faith have an advantage in recovery from sickness than those without faith.  No mention is made that religious faith inspires people to live better, happier lives than they might without their faith.  No mention is made about the millions of people who are inspired to be kinder to their neighbors because their faith. 

Aside from the academics of understanding everything related to religion, to its origin, and its place in society.  I feel an undeniable spiritual connection to a higher power… to God.  I am a better person because of this connection.  I am a happier person because of this connection. 

 

 

Their position –

It is their position that those select few who control the world’s money system, have used financial crises such as the Great Depression of the 1930’s and the many wars including The Great War, WWII, Vietnam, and our present wars in Iraq and Afghanistan to amass their financial fortunes and to take away our personal freedoms and rights.

 

My response –

            As I watched this movie, much of it was not new to me.  I am very familiar with the conspiracy theory boldly declared in the 1970’s through the John Birch Society, and Gary Allen’s book, “None Dare Call It Conspiracy.” 

There is one man from my hometown that I watched with interest as he took every precept taught by the “John Birchers” to heart.  He declared the income tax illegal and refused to pay or file the tax forms.  He wouldn’t have a bank account or anything else that the IRS might track or seize.  Life was conducted by cash only for him.  I wondered how much of his life he spent looking over his shoulder, trying to hide his livelihood from the government and those conspirators he despised.  I always thought that it was ironic that this man’s day to day freedom seemed to be more restricted because of his passion to preserve his freedom. 

            Over the years, I have come to the conclusion that at least some of what they purport is true.  I am disgusted with what some of our trusted politicians have done in the past to propel us into war.  One example is what “Washington” knew about the attack on Pearl Harbor, They knew what was coming but did nothing.  It was a chance to get into the European war with the whole country’s support. 

The more I learn and know about these kinds of politics the more I’m disgusted with them.  But I also know that there is nothing new here.  The same kind of treachery has been going on throughout the ages.  That is a big reason why I am not at all excited to find “Royalty” in my genealogical research.  Back in the dark ages, it was kill or be killed.  Clans formed for protection.  The petty kings were those who were most aggressive at conquering a territory.  The bigger kingdoms were formed by those who were even more power hungry (and more cunning).  They were also the most skilled at war and treachery. 

I see some similarities today.  But I do think that we are better off today then my ancestors were.  I am watching the conspiracy theory with interest.  I don’t know what more I can do. 

It’s like global warming.  I know about it, but I don’t know what more I can do about it.  I don’t think anyone living in a developed country tries harder to consume less, use less energy resources, and impact the earth less with waste than I do.  But unlike Al Gore and all the Hollywood types who have jumped on the band wagon, I have lived my whole life this way, long before anyone said we were heating up our planet.  I can’t see that living like my “John Bircher” friend did, will help me or their cause.

 

Their position –

And finally, as part of this great conspiracy, they claim that the terrorist attacks on 9-11-2001 were devised by those who really control the US government as a means of setting up our “war on terror” which our nation is now waging.  They say this also set the stage to further erode the balance of our constitutional freedoms in the name of stopping all terrorists.     

 

My response –

            I started this blog with a personal story, so I think I’ll end with one as well.  I think this story illustrates how I feel about their claim that our government actually set up the 9-11 attacks. 

            Anyone who has read many of my past blogs already knows that I was born in the egg business and have been actively involved in the egg business for almost all of my life.  My dad was an early innovator who bought a yesteryear chicken farm and transformed it into an early version of what the egg business is today. 

I know more about the development of the egg industry than I can find in any series of books to read about it.  Very few people who are still in the egg business have made a living from it as long as I have.  Obviously included in this life long study and knowledge of the egg industry is a deep and long understanding of how eggs are marketed throughout the nation (actually even throughout the world). 

So this story takes me back to many years ago.  My beautiful wife and I had been introduced to a nutrition program.  This company selling these food supplements and vitamins had their experts going around promoting their product and teaching all about the importance of food supplements and nutrition in general. 

As part of this instruction we learned many interesting and helpful tidbits of information.  I was taking it all in, listening to every detail.  “This product will help you if you have this condition, or that product will help with that condition.”  We had a large three ring binder with even more information. 

I was on the fast track becoming a nutrition expert myself.  And then it happened.  The lady conducting a certain segment of this training started giving off statistics about how bad the food we buy in the stores really is for us.  In this stage of her presentation, she made the statement that “On average, fresh shell eggs in the store are 6 months old.” 

As she continued to carry on with her rant about how much nutrition is lost because fresh food isn’t really fresh, I zoned out.  She had made a big deal of eggs as the example, stating it several different ways, so I knew she had meant what she had said. 

I knew that on average back then eggs in the store were less than thirty days old.  (Now it’s even less.)  Even when they tried to cold store eggs by heavily oiling them and keeping them just above freezing, what you got after 90 days was so bad that it was almost never tried, especially in the retail markets. 

I didn’t hear anything else that woman said.  I didn’t care anymore.  She had lost her credibility with me.  She had stated as a fact, something that I knew to be false.  This was something that either she either knew was a gross exaggeration or she wasn’t the expert that she purported to be.  So now I didn’t trust anything else she would have to tell me. 

            That’s the way I feel about what was presented in this movie about a 9-11 conspiracy.  They have lost credibility with me so I don’t trust the other “facts” that I don’t have inside information on.  I heard enough miss information in the religion segment, like when they said, “Jesus Christ was born of the virgin Mary on December 25^th.”  Any student of early Christianity clearly understands that we celebrate Christmas on an ancient pagan holiday, and it’s not considered to be the actual date of his birth.  But this little detail was very important to the point they were making.  They knew better… this is a lie they are passing off on to us.  I don’t trust them.  And so I can’t believe the message because the messenger has no credibility with me.  So I’ll have to get my 9-11 conspiracy theories from another source.     

All Alone

In my mind’s eye, I can hear the wind whistle through the poorly built bunkhouse.  Christian sat all alone on his bed, staring blankly at the rough cut board wall.  His mind was far from this farm in Barshaw Alta, Canada, where he was a hired hand. 

            Sunday was his only time off from work.  No one else was around the farm now.  And he still had several hours of daylight to kill.  He picked up the weathered envelop which had been addressed to him, and reread the letter inside.  His son, Oliver, laboring as a missionary, had sent it to him months earlier.  Like Christian, Oliver was now living away from family and loved ones in his field of labor.    

            Christian set the letter down, and pick up his own pen and a blank post card to make his reply.  Ever so carefully, to write clearly but small.  He has a lot to say in such a small space.

 

            April 28, 1918 – Dear son, I recieved your welcome letter some time ago and should have answered before but something always comes in the way.  Hope you will excuse me. Am glad to hear from you and to here you are getting along all right.  Can say I am well I am working on a big farm.  We have got in over 300 acres wheat all ready but that is only the beginning.  I am running a gang plow every day.  We are having fine time.  I still have to wear cap and overshoes.  My bed fellow got sore at the boss and quit last week so now I have to sleep alone again.  I see by your letter that you are a stranger in a strange land.  Well I have been that many times so I know about how it is.  We have to feel our way like I call it for a while.  But you have a good home to go to.   That is more than I can say.  I don’t supose I will have a home till I get a little room under the ground.  I intend to try and get along as best I can.  I had a letter from Eleanor the other day.  They are well but I understand Reuben in not very well.  That is too bad.  I supose he works too hard.  I get a letter from your Aunt Mary once in a while that is about all.  Here is a fine lake close to the ranch but I don’t know how long I will stay here.  I may stay all summer and I may not.  Hope you and companion are getting allong  fine and doing some good.  I find good and bad people wherever I go and I supose you do the same.  I have left my trunk with all my best clothes in Edmonton over 100 miles north of here and I can’t go anywhere on Sunday and it gets kind of lonesome for me sometime.  I don’t know of anything particular to write about and am allways a fraid I shal write any thing that would make you feel bad.  Hope you will excuse these few lines with best wishes to you and Elder Spencer.  I remain your Father…C.J. Haroldsen… Please write a little when you have the time.

 

This letter, written on a postcard 90 years ago has a haunting tone for me.  Some of the phrases whisper from the past to me when I feel those same emotions.  “… a stranger in a strange land…  it gets kind of lonesome for me sometime… am allways a fraid I shal write any thing that would make you feel bad…” 

I watch people.  I try to read their thoughts, their feelings.  I believe we all have similar feelings at some time or another in our lives.

My work gives me lots of opportunity for lonely introspection.  Late at night after the processing crew is gone, my paper work is complete, and the cleaning and maintenance crews are busy doing their thing, I try to write.  Often the work on my family history novel is slow and frustrating as I struggle to really understand how my ancestors felt so I can put it into the words of my novel.   In this contemplative state, I often give up for the night and go to bed.  There, all alone like my Great Grandpa, I lay waiting for another hard day of work to come to once again occupy my mind.  The wind howls around the buildings.  I can hear a dog bark, or maybe it’s a coyote.  The dust kicks up as a storm front moves through the desert waste land I call home at work.  And somewhere in the darkness of the night, I can feel Christian’s emotions as he waited for another day to put him back on the gang plow.  That’s when I need to get up and write his story.  But I’m fearful of having enough strength to make it through the next day on MY OWN gang plow.  As I plow through my day, I think of my family, past and present.  I watch those I work with.  Not everyone sleeps alone in a far away bunkhouse.  Most have family and associates around almost all the time.  But I am learning that if I see someone who doesn’t suffer from loneliness to some degree, I just don’t know that person well enough to see it.  I am learning that it is a rare and precious gift to find someone who understands me.  They don’t have to think like me, but someone who truly understands and respects me in spite of my flaws, is the ultimate friend.  

To me, the most heart breaking line Christian penned that day was, “I don’t supose I will have a home till I get a little room under the ground.”  I don’t believe Christian was really thinking of a physical place as his imagery suggests.  In his subconscious, home was a place where he wanted to be, where he was understood, and accepted in spite of his flaws.  The more I think about this, the more I want to be that haven, that home… for my family, my loved ones… those who have passed on, as well as those presently around me.  And if I can truly feel that way toward those I know, then I will never be all alone either.

 

 

Inherited Wealth

 

           My 6 year old fingers held the nickel at the coin slot of the school’s candy machine.  I wanted so badly to release it and pull the lever for the candy bar.  I knew that I shouldn’t do it, because the coin was a refund from over paid milk money that my 1^st grade teacher had given me to take home.  I wasn’t really going to put the money into the machine.  It was just my way of drooling over the candy while waiting for the school bus to take me home. 

Suddenly my friend, Austin, smacked my hand and the coin tinkled down into the machine.  I was frozen in shock as he pulled the lever which dispensed the candy bar.  I couldn’t have felt worse if I had just robbed the local bank at gun point.  I knew that the money should have gone back to my parents.  They were the ones who had provided the milk money in the first place.  As I stood and held that candy bar, I wanted nothing else but to put it back into the machine and to get my nickel back… my parent’s nickel.  I wouldn’t let Austin have any of the candy bar.  I didn’t eat it either.  I didn’t want it anymore.  I just stood and tried to figure out how to get my money back. 

I had a long wait for the bus because first grade got out much earlier than the older kids but we all rode the same bus home.  I was still sitting next to that candy machine when a man came and opened it up to refill it.  He thought my glum demeanor was because I wanted a candy.  So he offered to give me one for free.  As I held up my own candy bar, I told him that I didn’t want the candy, I wanted my money back.  I think he thought I was greedy and unthankful.  He was obviously disgusted with me.  I didn’t care.  I was still feeling full remorse for stealing that nickel from my parents.  Clearly, they had done a wonderful job teaching me honesty by the time I was 6 years old and going to school. 

In spite of my parent’s policy of strict honesty, over the years we had seen many examples of dishonesty on our small farm.  One of my earlier memories of it was when one of Dad’s loyal employees, Wanda, came to him and warned him about some of the other ladies who worked on our egg candling crew.  Dad had made it an employee benefit to “just take the eggs you need for your family, home.”  Wanda told Dad, “They’re robbing ya blind.  They must be taking eggs for every relative they have.”  But Dad seemed more concerned with honoring his promised “egg benefit” than he was about some of the employees taking advantage of him. 

In our little farm egg store, we had an old (even back then in the 60’s it was considered old) cash register.  This cast iron monster must have weighed 200 pounds.  At night the till was locked, but I guess at least sometimes the money was left in it.  One night, the whole cash register was stolen.  Investigation showed that the thief walked in the half mile through the back fields leaving light foot prints in the snow.  The foot prints back out through the fields sank into the snow much deeper as he carried his loot to his waiting get away car.  The thief made off with several hundred dollars.  Several weeks later, the sheriff found our broken open cash register where it had been dumped off along with some checks.  Of course, all of the cash was gone.

Once a farm employee, Greg – a college student who worked for us part-time, reported that one of our egg delivery money bags had been stolen.  In the ensuing investigation he finally admitted that he had taken the money.  Dad got the money back, and he didn’t press charges.  In fact, he even let Greg continue to work for us, just not around any of the money.  Dad wasn’t in a hurry to condemn someone who had made a mistake.

Another employee was one of many who ran home delivery routes for us.  She had worked for years when there was a disagreement over loading her delivery van in the morning for the day’s route.  I was too young to know the details of what her grievance was, but when she quit, we started getting calls from customers that we had no record of.  She had many cash only customers on her routes who were delivered our eggs as she pocketed the full amount of the payment. 

Our little farm store also sold a few other things along with the eggs.  Milk and other dairy including ice cream was a logical tie in.  We also had a nice display of candy, which was popular with the neighborhood kids.  Once we discovered that certain candies were disappearing along with the coin in our cash register.  (We now pulled all the currency out of the cash register every night, but left maybe 5 or 10 dollars of coin in the open drawer.  Dad said if someone broke in to steal the cash, he wanted the drawer open so they wouldn’t destroy the cash register trying to get to the few dollars that might be inside. So we always left it open at night.)  So we tried to stake out the farm at night to catch our thief, but he had been so inconsistent that it took a week or two to get any good leads.  One night while out on patrol, we found a neighbor kid in our yard.  Allen would hang around a lot anyway, so when he said he was just out for a walk (1/2 mile from his house and in our farmyard at 10:30pm) we were suspicious but didn’t have any real evidence that he was our “cat burglar.”  Then finally, we found where he must have been getting through our “Fort Knox” nightly lock-up.  Our egg processing building had a small freight door rather high up on one wall.  This 2 foot square door was our obvious “Achilles heal.”  We took great pleasure in blocking the door from the inside including a sign that Allen would read by flashlight when he tried to enter.  “Ha, Ha, Ha Allen.  No more free candy.” 

Down inside, Allen was a good kid who finally got it right.  He actually came to my Dad several years later with an admission of guilt, an apology, and several hundred dollars in restitution. 

My dad had been burned so many times that you’d wonder if his occupation was firefighting.  I was once using an old shovel to clean the floor in one of our chicken coops.  Dad was there helping with a push broom.  He said to me, “Be careful with that shovel.  I paid $1300.00 for it.  I look down at the old rusty shovel in shock.  He then told me that he had loaned a friend the money and had received the shovel as collateral.  Obviously, he knew he’d never see the money again.

Dad learned from these experiences and made adjustments.  One thing I remember him always saying was to keep the temptation for people to be dishonest to a minimum.  “Keep it out of sight.  Lock the doors.  Help keep the honest people honest.” 

As I reflect back on my childhood days on our farm, I want nothing more than to continue the legacy my parents perpetuated from their parents.  We always had enough money to meet our needs and once in awhile even a little extra for some fun, but we were never considered wealthy.  But the wealth of learning how to live honestly in spite of dishonesty all around me is a great treasured gem I received as a child.  It’s what made a six year old recognize whose nickel it really belonged to at the candy machine so many years ago.  My subconscious rings with maxims like, “An honest days work for an honest day’s wage.”  Like my dad, if I say I am going to do something, my honor is at stake.  So, “My word is my bond.”   

Truly, I have inherited a great wealth from my family.  The best part of this wealth is that no matter how trusting or gullible I am with other people who might want to steal my treasures, they can’t steal this one from me.  If I lose it, it’s my fault only.  More than money, land, or jewels, I want to be able to pass this treasure on to my children, and theirs.                

My Thankful List

 

In this traditional season of Thanksgiving, I’ve been thinking about how thankful I am for my Beautiful Wife.  Then the thought occurred to me that in all my years of researching and studying the lives of my ancestors, I’ve read very little of them recounting what they were thankful for.  To me, their “Thankful Lists” would be fascinating to read. 

Verbally, my parents freely express to me their gratitude for their many blessings.  And my sister, known in Spaces as Mitchowl, makes her “Thankful List” a regular monthly feature on her space.  So I thought it was time that I take a stab at making a thankful list.

I don’t know if it were how the stars were aligned back in September of 1981, or if Cupid was on vacation in Southeastern Idaho when his bow slipped and the arrow struck an unsuspecting Ricks College coed, or what… Actually I do know, it was a wonderful, gracious, gift… straight from God to me.  Nothing else could have enamored such a beautiful, fabulous, dame, to the all time socially klutzy guy.  But I am ever so thankful that it happened.  I’ve been continually thankful for this blessing for over 26 years now.

My childhood home was a charmed setting for my growing years.  Our big family living on our small farm, near our small town, has left me with big wonderful memories and higher values.  I am thankful for the life I lived as a child.  I could write volumes of stories of the character building experiences I learned in my youth.  I am also thankful that our small town college brought a Beautiful Redhead from Southern California into my life.   

I am thankful for the nine stunning children that my Beautiful Wife gave me.  Each one, bright, unique, talented, with a touch of my Beautiful Wife radiating from them.  The next generation, now two strong, have shown me that being a grandpa is also a wonderful experience.  Having my Beautiful Wife beside me as the Grandma makes it even better… our two little girls really, really love their Beautiful Grandma.  I rate pretty high just by association. 

Over the years, I have always had good enough work opportunities to support my growing family.  Even though it wasn’t always exactly what I loved doing, I am very thankful that I’ve always had work and the associated income to provide for my family.  But I am afraid that my work has come home with me too much, and even worse, I have brought my home to the work too much.  My Beautiful Wife has had to deal with many of my work problems and many times she has had to live where she didn’t want to live, because of my work.  I am thankful that she has been willing to do this for me… for us… for our family.  She is as Beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. 

I have taken good health for granted for most of my life.  Even today, I can work guys half my age into the ground with no problem.  Most of them have no idea that I’m twice as old as they are.  But my secret to such good health and strength is who’s been taking such good care of me with her always healthy lifestyle for the last quarter century.  I am thankful for my Beautiful Wife.

Music… I love all kinds of music (since rap isn’t really music) I even learned to love country when Sammy Kershaw came out with his song, “She don’t know she’s beautiful” – guess who I think of when that song is playing?

I’m thankful for today’s communication.  With my cell phone, I can talk to my parents daily no matter where I am.  Emails keep me in touch with friends and family and the internet connects me to family I am meeting all over the world.  Someday I might even try texting so I can talk to my teenaged daughters again.  My favorite communication blessing lately is my Beautiful Wife’s space.  When I am away at work, I am her most faithful visitor to read her diary style entries, watch her video blogs, and to look at her beautiful pictures. 

Food… no one likes, or is as thankful for good food as I am.  But then no one gets to eat my Beautiful Wife’s cooking as I do.

Home… I’ve lived in many, many houses in the past.  No matter what the circumstances, my Beautiful Wife has made each one a home, and a place I wanted to be.  But our new home is more special to me because it is where she wants to live.  I am very thankful for it. 

This essay style list is very incomplete but already too long.  Next time I’ll try to just do a simple list like my sister Mitchowl does.  Did I mention that I am thankful for my Beautiful Wife?   

    

Dreams – An Introspective

 

Prussian born John Everett started out as a sailor at the age of 13.  He loved traveling by sea and had plans of visiting every major sea port in the world.  At the age of 28, he had almost accomplished this dream.  The United States West Coast contained the only major sea port he hadn’t yet visited.  This was now 1849, in the middle of the California Gold Rush days.  There was no hotter destination for any ship then was San Francisco.  But then John got distracted by a pretty face.  Helen Tanser was on the ship, traveling from Liverpool to New Orleans.  That was John Everett’s last voyage.

Johann Tillack was also Prussian born.  His family had worked the same small farm for many years.  32 year old Johann, along with his mother and three brothers, set their sights on the Australian Gold Rush, which was in full swing in 1855.  Johann had high hopes for this new dream.  And to some degree, he was successful.  He told of picking small gold nuggets right out of the stream with his pocket knife.  But Johann liked to spend his free time in the saloon.  The combination of drinking and gambling had soon left Johann as broke as a poor Prussian farmer.

Not long after emigrating from England to Eastern Canada, 16 year old Frank Rubbra and his brother set out looking for adventure.  Soon, they were both down in South Africa, fighting for Great Britain in the Boar War.  His adventure was cut short when he contracted Yellow Fever.  He lived about 8 years longer, but he never really recuperated from his illness.   

These three men, all of whom are my ancestors a few generations back, were then young and full of anticipation as they pursued their dreams of adventure and success.  As I have studied their lives along with my other ancestors, preparing to tell their life stories in a historical novel for my children, I have seen the pattern repeatedly.  The youth have ambitious dreams for the future.  Then they find interruptions and obstacles to those dreams, postponing their fulfillment.  Then subtly, compromises creep in, stealing away the original dreams and offering something else.  Eventually, realization dawns that life isn’t happening as was anticipated when young. 

The lives of these three men, all of whom are my grandfathers a few generations back, have become a symbol of my own failures and disappointment.  Like John Everett, the sailor, I had goals when I was young that probably won’t be realized.  There are other things, more important, that now require my limited time and money.  Johann Tillack, the gold miner who lost it all in the saloon reminds me of my own weaknesses and of the many mistakes I have made (and do make).  If I could do it all over, I would be so much closer to realized dreams.  And Frank Rubbra’s lingering sickness which eventually took his life makes me think of the obstacles in my life that I have no control over.  Circumstances in the past and present that seem to dictate the future.

Now I’m watching my own children maturing as they enter this same phase in their lives.  I hear of some of the dreams and plans that they are formulating.  I watch their successes and set backs.  I give advice when I can.  I want them to find their dreams more than I want my own.  When I hear of their successes it makes my day.  And when I learn of problems, I think it troubles me more than them.    

I think my father said it all, when he told me at my latest visit, “When it comes down to it, the only thing that really matters in this life is our relationships and family.”  I have pondered that statement a lot.  

When John gave up seeing San Francisco Bay to marry Helen, I think he thought it was a pretty good trade.  Then when their children came along, his “sea legs” grew roots even further down into terra firma. 

Amidst all his mistakes, Johann did one thing very right.  He found the love of his life, Mary Sophia.  Anything to do with drinking and gambling became a thing of the past, as they raised a large family. When Johann died in 1904 at the age of 81, he was surrounded by a large circle of family and friends who loved him.  That was worth far more to him than all the gold in Australia.  He died a very rich man in what really matters.    

            Even Frank Rubbra, returned to Canada, found the love of his life and started his own family before his untimely death.  He called his little girl, who was my grandma, his “Little Blue Bell.”  His sickness robbed him of much, but it didn’t rob him of what my dad says really matters in this life, family and friends… loved ones who will always remember and miss.

I have thought about my Beautiful Wife and my own children.  My Dad’s words ring true to me there as well.  I would trade any of my own goals and dreams in a heartbeat if it would help them realize theirs.  But the truth is my big wonderful family is the realization of my fondest dream.  It’s is no wonder to me, that some of my less important dreams of yesteryear have been put on the eternal back burner.  I guess from that perspective, in some ways, I might even be part of the fulfillment of John’s, Johann’s, and Frank’s best dreams.

 

 

Landmarks

 

            A childhood memory from back in the 1960’s has resurfaced to the front of my mind today.  At the time, I had just learned about the Lewis and Clark Expedition in my grade school class.  Partly because of the continuous responsibility we had with our egg farm, it wasn’t often that we as a family would travel very far from home.  So even an over night trip from our home in Rexburg down the six or seven hours it took back then to travel to Salt Lake City or Provo, where my Uncle Ed lived, was memorable to me. 

            This particular visit was made in the cold of winter.  I can remember that because we traveled in what we later called our old blue van.  It was cold in  the back of that van.  An animal cracker box looked very close to its actual shape, and the motor was under metal lid literally between the driver’s seat and front passengers seat.  At the time, this was our best home delivery egg van.  We could bolt in bench seats (which more resembled benches than seats) to accommodate all us kids. To a nine year old, a 6 or 7 hour car ride seems more like days long.  I remember lying on the cold floor of that van, the only place where I could stretch out, and stare out the windows at the mountain range as we slowly made our way back home. 

As I lay there, I remembered the story of Sacagawea, who as a small Indian girl who lived in the Pacific Northwest, was stolen by another warring Indian tribe and was taken by them to their homeland back to the east.  As she traveled with her captors, Sacagawea looked for and memorized landmarks so she could eventually find her way back home.  Of course that is why she was so valuable to Lewis and Clark as their Indian guide into the Pacific Northwest.

So while thinking about this story, my nine year old mind wondered if I would be able to find my way back home.  As I stared at the Wasatch Mountain Range, I studied the shapes and tried to memorize landmarks so I could find my way back home too. 

Today, we traveled along this same place to attend a family reunion for my Beautiful Wife’s family being held North of Salt Lake.  As I drove, I looked at those same landmarks of the mountain range and remembered my childhood thoughts when I had first studied them.  Those landmarks have become some what of a symbol to me showing me the way back to my childhood home.  Tomorrow morning I’ll travel that same path, only this time all the way to my hometown of Rexburg.  As I ride along, I’ll be looking at those mountains and I be wondering about other landmarks which can lead me back home.  I’m looking forward to a great visit with my parents and other family who still live there. 

But besides the contour of those mountain ranges which I memorized years ago, I wonder what other landmarks are leading me back home.  Certainly, number 1 on my addenda is to get lots of quality visiting in with my parents and other family.  But something else draws me.  I’m not sure what.  Memories… reminiscing… walking the streets and traveling the roads I grew up around.  Maybe I be visiting the remnants of our old egg farm.  Maybe I need to secure more landmarks back to my past… to my memories… so I will never forget… so I can accurately write about the wonderful family I descend from.