Just Not a Typical Week

There! That ought to do it. I think I've now added enough cute or pretty pictures to offset all I have to say about the last several days. We moved, and that becomes physically more difficult and emotionally more traumatic each time. But, of course, it pales in comparison to what our loved ones have suffered during the same period.

Sheryl has a cousin named Laura Jo. Laura Jo's daughter, Alisha, lived in Jerome with her two children, a boy 7 and a girl 3. A week or so ago they disappeared and the community fasted and prayed and searched for them for four days before they were found - in their car - deep in a canal.

I had never attended a triple funeral before, nor even a double one. Closed caskets, of course. Four days under the water is hard on the complexion. The first little blonde baby below is the daughter of Meci whose mom, Julia is another of Sheryl's cousins. By the way, they used only two caskets, because the children were small enough to use only one. After the graveside service, we returned to the chapel for the typical big Mormon lunch. Now, Alisha had been in the process of being divorced from the children's father. I had heard him addressed two times from the pulpit, but I still hadn't spotted him. After we'd been eating for a few minutes, he was pointed out to me. Dirty work boots. Faded Levi's. A Snap up the front cowboy shirt, itself faded and the top two snaps casually undone. And, firmly affixed to his arm, a new young girlfriend. She had a fairly cute face, but her attire was on a par with his.

He looked happy! Not just "handling it" happy, but quite pleased with life. Twice I got up, ostensibly to go to the serving table, but really so I could pass within inches of him and study his face. Jolly. Not a care in the world. Not a single sign of tears in recent days or of a heavy heart that day. OK, so he'd stopped loving his wife, if he'd ever loved her. But he'd also lost two children! If such a thing had happened to me, I'd be a puddle on the floor. But then, I love my kids.

The previous Sunday, Johanna had called me to give me the horrible news that Len's younger brother, Alex, had been killed by a falling tree. His was the most heavily attended funeral I've ever seen. Alex's wife, a statuesque blonde, was clearly heart-broken when I met her, despite her brave efforts to be polite. Their daughters both spoke during the meeting and did an excellent job. I don't know how active Alex had been in the Church, but clearly his greatness of character had influenced his family, friends, and co-workers in vast and positive ways.

Marcus Aurelius, one of the "Five Good Emperors," once said "Tell me with whom thou are found, and I will tell thee who thou art." Hundreds of people clearly felt that to work or play or live with Alex Humphries made them much better people. I recall his driving a long ways to help us when my Jeep quit en route to Joseph & Mary's wedding. He was one of the only men I've ever seen who didn't look silly in a pickup that big. I also recall meeting him when he was in high school and showed up at the elk camp Len and I had already setup. It was snowing heavily
as Alex strolled around through his headlights and stood there, waiting for Len's reaction. Len looked him over. "Moon boots!" he exulted. They were the newest thing back then, and Alex was clearly pleased as punch to have his elder brother's approval.

We've been praying for both these families to have the presence and comfort of the Holy Ghost who is also known as "The Comforter."

So after all this, I thought maybe we'd be given some time to heal up emotionally. But it was not to be. John emailed a bunch of us to tell us that a 40 year old bishop whom John had known as a high school athlete,had been murdered as he sat in his chair in the Bishop's office. Two rounds through the heart for no apparent reason. He leaves a wife and six little boys, one of whom had only recently received his name and blessing. I went in to tell Sheryl about it and found myself crying yet again.

The Gospel is true. It lets us know that we'll see loved ones again, even in the flesh. This is wonderful to know. But it doesn't do much about the protracted pain in our chests right now and for a long time into the future. I remember being surprised every time I walked into a room and no one looked up and stared in horror at the gladius hanging out of my chest after Shayne left. Surely I thought, anything that hurts this much must surely be obvious to everyone. But no. Everyone just saw the same old me and expected the same old performance in everything I did. I don't know about you, but I'm going to increase my knee time. It's the only thing I've ever known to bring real help for a broken heart.

At the 60th anniversary reunion, the Fort Hall PowWow, and even on the street where we used to live, we have found cute people. They delight me. May they have the same effect on you.

The Results of Prayer and Intense Worry

It looks like we'll be moving backing to LeRoy Wilde's downstairs apartment again. I resisted pretty firmly for a few days, but it's there and much more affordable than where we are. The back fence seems to be almost Miss Sadie-proof. A little modification will make it perfect.

My short story Saturday night at the reunion will be Damon Runyon's The Hottest Guy in the World. If someone prefers something else, you have but to contact me and make your will known. I had given serious consideration to reading Mark Twain's Taming the Bicycle, but I thought the younger children might not be able to catch some of its subtleties. Journalism in Tennessee is hugely funny, but it's pretty violent, too.

We rejoiced today to hear that South Dakota has apparently prevailed over Pennsylvania so that Zannita Armell can get her daughters back from the white supremacist who is their literal father. Aric has to get her down to the SLC airport by 7:30 tomorrow morning.

I was pleased to learn this week that former student Jeff Thomason is now illustrating children's books and drawing still cartoons. He's quite good.

I'm going to go rest what's left of my brain. Tonight's picture is from a small bunch I took a few days ago on my cell phone while we were walking Mico and Miss Sadie around the track. If you are a fan of urchins, as I am, this is a great neighborhood.

Time Properly Wasted

Let me begin by quickly summing up our status in the struggle to remain housed. We have all but eliminated the rentals. As I said to Mother, the decent ones (such as the one we're being asked to leave) are unaffordable; and the affordable ones are indecent.

Recently we both got the feeling that we ought to try buying. This would be utterly impossible for us but for the fact that the same spirit that is nudging us periodically now is an old friend whom I recall giving me a shove back in 1973 to join Uncle Sam's Flying Circus. Because I followed that powerful prompting, look at the blessings that I've received:

Shayne

Joseph ($15)

Autumn ($25)

Hyrum ($11.50)

The Old GI Bill which helped us through school after I left the service.

A VA home loan which helped us buy the house on College Ave.

We're waiting now for the VA to tell us whether we've qualified again for such a loan, and, if so, how much we can expect. Until we know these things, all we can do is look at an occasional house and hope that we'll have the bucks to get it. One house which seems very attractive to us is in St. Anthony. We were looking at pictures of it just yesterday on the computer. I don't yet know whether it was one of the houses that Len told me about recently on the phone. We hope to go up to see it soon.

Now to my muttons, as Twain would say. I killed a couple of hours with Aric Armell and his son from Colorado, AJ yesterday morning. We had 15 eggs that were way out of date. We drove to "the Cedars" a place where we've done lots of shooting before. We spread the eggs around on the hillside.

Now it had been my presupposition that, since my Savage Mako .22 LR is zeroed to strike dead on at 50 yards, we would probably set up the rifles at some distance between that and 100. But I was forgetting that, to Aric, all rifles are sniping rifles. He drove the truck back to 225 yards. I sighed. If we'd been shooting .22 Centerfires, that would have been fine. But plain old .22s have a little trouble at such distances. We had used them on gongs out to 500 yards before, and they had so little energy left by the time they got that far out that the "ding!" was almost inaudible when it came strolling back to us at about the speed the bullet had started out with.

But the gongs were about 15" wide and 2 feet tall. We could paint them bright colors so that they were easy to see. These grade AAA Large eggs weren't all that large, especially at 225 yards. We could almost always hit within inches of them, but in two hours, only Aric had hit one. The dust we'd kicked up on the others made them more and more difficult to see. Someone had tied up a frying pan at about 200 yards, and when you hit it, it would ring a little and spin around. I hit it a few times and felt a little better. But I still felt bad about hitting no eggs at all.

One might say that this was a waste of time and a disappointing one at that. But any day out shooting is better than any day when you don't. It is either time wisely used or time properly wasted.