A Memorable Weekend; But Will I Remember It?

The CZ 550 in 9.3x62mm. Well nigh perfect.

I had fun yesterday. I taught both Sunday School and Priesthood today. All of this went pretty well. But will I remember it a few weeks or months from now? If the answer is yes, it will only be because of my journal and this blog. I was just mentioning to Mary minutes ago how great it is that she so often catches up her family blog. It will be a precious family history some day. Each child will want to have a copy, and they'll sit together as young adults and laugh over the pictures and stories about themselves.

We Latter-day Saints are a record-keeping people. Always have been. Always should be. So I'll record some details of this weekend.

Earlier this week, brother Rosen called and asked me to take his Gospel Doctrine class while he was out of town. I cheerfully acceded to the request, but, even as I put the phone down, it occurred to me that it was the second Sunday, always my turn to teach the High Priests. At first I was mildly worried. Then it occurred to me that for 20 years I had taught several classes per day, five days per week, 36 weeks per year, and hadn't come to any harm from it. So I relaxed.



The Sunday School lesson, on early missionary work in the restored Church, was a pleasure to teach and even allowed me to discuss some of the political climate of the day as the Members of the Twelve were leaving Kirtland to go on missions. It was the Jacksonian era. Other big names like Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, Daniel Webster, Davy Crockett, the Alamo, Nicholas Biddle, and his Second Bank of the United States all crowded into the forefront of my thoughts. I briefly described the Bank War and the Panic of 1837, and two persons in the class mentioned the financial troubles the Saints were having right along with the rest of the country. I got to talk about "moving the deposits," the most controversial thing Jackson ever did. Even killing Dickinson, hanging Armbrister and Arbuthnot, and invading Florida had not made him so many enemies. But he was Andy Jackson, and he'd never been known to back down from a fight. And he won that fight, too. The Bank was destroyed, Biddle was the loser, and, when it all caused a financial panic the year after Jackson moved back to Nashville, it was Martin Van Buren who got the blame.



I regret that Jackson never met Joseph Smith. I think they'd have liked each other instinctively.



The Priesthood lesson on the importance of building temples and Joseph Smith's personal anxiety to see it get done was an easy thing to discuss with a bunch of old guys like myself. Many of them are much better men than me, though. I think that the majority of them never have those selfish tendencies to hanker after worldly goods that I live with.



Saturday was a delight. Sheryl miraculously found enough money for us to buy a marked-down scope for my 9.3x62mm rifle which had battered the old scope to pieces. It kicks a little.





When I rezeroed it at the public range yesterday, I finished with the 286 grain Nosler Partition going 1 inch high at 100 yards, the 286 grain Woodleigh round nose going 1 1/2" right of that, and the 286 grain Woodleigh solid going about 1 1/2" directly below the Nosler. So my hunting and stopping loads all go to about the same place, the mark of a fine rifle. And no one has ever put criticism of a CZ rifle in print that I know of.



There is something unutterably satisfying about knowing that one is in possession of a medium bore rifle that is accurate and is also the equal of any creature that walks on this continent. I just couldn't stop smiling yesterday evening. And this evening I got to talk with Joseph on the phone for about half an hour!



If I could be guaranteed that all weekends would go as this one did, I'd be perfectly satisfied.