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.

Dear Mr. President,

I thought a lot of you last night. My wife and I watched the Fourth of July concert in DC and the fireworks afterwards. In that program alone I heard the words "God bless America" about 100 times.

Then we watched a very similar program from NYC. Again, patriotic and religious phrases were used over and over, almost as if the people had decided that you were wrong when you said that "we are not a Christian nation." It could be that you were wrong. Hundreds of thousands of people in both DC and New York were gleeful about every pro-American statement that was said or sung. And I didn't see a single arrogant person in the crowds.

Then came the annual Boston Pops concert and fireworks display. This year it was hosted by Craig Ferguson, a Scot who was proud as punch to keep his nightly audience apprised a couple of years ago about the progress he was making towards gaining American citizenship. I was watching the night he announced that he was finally a citizen. The studio full of pretty average Americans cheered themselves into a frenzy. I watched his face closely and I think I saw tears. But it was hard to tell through my own. You see, being an American is a precious privilege, especially for one who has struggled to get the title or to defend that nation.

Craig Ferguson mentioned at the beginning of the show last night that he was "here with about 900,000 of my closest personal friends" and was cheered mightily for that. Later in the show he could be seen clambering over folks to reach groups of soldiers so he could sing with them. The source of all this joy was a single thing. They were Americans; they had the rights of Americans; and those rights had not yet been taken away from them, despite the efforts of so many to do just that.

Sir, I believe the reason that you do not think like an American is because you are NOT an American. I think you are a sham and created lie. I think you are a manufactured entity who has been trained to make unfulfillable promises. The fact that you have a nice-looking family does not in any degree diminish the truth that you are an enemy of the state. You are undermining one or another of every part of the Bill of Rights with almost everything that you do or say. I am convinced that you actually believe that having your life protected by armed force is more important than any other citizen having the same right. I believe that you don't know the first thing about free enterprise. I believe that you are a trained fifth columnist who is leading us not just into Socialism but into actual dictatorial Communism, the same as we fought from 1945 until about 1991. (Not to mention our ongoing struggles with China and North Korea, etc.)

I'm seeing more and more African-Americans in the crowds of people protesting against your plans and policies. Perhaps they realize as do I that "Voting for a man because he is black is just as racist as not voting for him because he is black."

I have news for you. The Framers and the Founding Fathers were inspired in their great debates and great creative writings by Jesus Christ, himself. And the day is coming when you will kneel and humbly acknowledge the truth of this. Jesus Christ is the god of this land. It has always been a special land. He has made the same promise to every nation or people who have ever lived upon it. As long as they serve him and obey his commandments, he will fight their battles and prosper them. But, "when they are ripened in iniquity," He will sweep them off. It has already happened a couple of times. As long as you are in office, we are on the downward slope to rebellion and destruction.

James D. Haeberle

Chubbuck, Idaho

Who'd Have Thought It?

Rolling History in a Parade at ISU

I told Johnny about this earlier today, but it occurs to me that it couldn't hurt to mention this to the group. When you do something for 20 years and people tell you that you're doing it well, you really miss it when it's taken away. For over 6 years I've been denied the pleasure of teaching History, except for those moments that I could sneak it into a Sunday School or Priesthood lesson.

Several nights ago our Relief Society (Shayne delighted in calling it "Rerief Soriety") president told Sheryl that several sisters had requested that their "work meetings" be classes in US History for a while and that a specific request had been made that I be the instructor! It has been passed by the Bishop and the Stake President, and a bunch of sisters from another ward also said they wanted to attend. For that matter, so does the Stake President.

Two miracles in one week. Sheryl's trashed heart is healed overnight and my many prayers that I might some day be of use again in the one thing I know I can do well being answered in such a huge and unexpected way. There's no money in it, but no one really teaches for the money, at least not in Idaho. I never told the people in Madison District 321, but I'd have done the 20 years just for fun if only my family had been provided for otherwise.

Now, of course, I'm becoming filled with self-doubt and worry. Will I still be good at it? Will the "holes" make much difference? Surely I'll have no problems with the groups themselves. These are adults, so you naturally expect more courtesy from them. However, I noticed a strong tendency among some parents over the years at parent/teacher conferences. Those who know a lot about one facet of History want to quiz you to see whether you know it as well as they do. It might be a hobby subject of theirs which they've studied for 50 years, but they'll be sure to look narrowly at you if you show any weakness by admitting that there was even one detail that they knew and you didn't. Over the years, I would wait nervously for that misfortune, but I think they only got me a couple of times.

I know that this opportunity is an answer to prayer. Perhaps it answers not only my prayers but also those of others who like me. I'm grateful to the Lord and also to anyone else who put in a good word for me.

A Wedding and a Military Leave

Two events worthy of note have occurred lately. Mellissa Bosen, daughter of Doug and Teresa (Wilde) Bosen finally settled for just one man. She had been pursued by literally dozens of fellows for years and years, but this kid, two years her junior, seemed to have all the right traits. Here you will see the newlyweds and all the beautiful people who came to the reception. Well actually only about half the beautiful people. I concentrated on showing you lots of the cute munchkins and a few of the great beauties in addition to the bride herself.

First, you will pass through a few shots of the returning soldier, Josh McBride, who just went back to the war this morning. He is not aware of anyone shooting bullets at him, but many mortars have been lobbed in the general direction of himself and his co-workers. He laughs his usual demonic laugh and says, "They're really bad shots." And they must be, because he says the closest a mortar round has come to his position was when three of them came down 75 yards from him. Mortars did better than that during the Colonial wars!

You'll also see the IF Temple flowers, or at least some of them. They were in rare form the day of Mellissa's wedding.

Radio Controlled Cars - A Post Chiefly for Joseph

I was reading and answering emails from all of you yesterday afternoon when I heard the unmistakable sound of tiny, high rpm engines approaching the front of our house. I saw that one of them was just arriving at a point where I could see it through the 10" of space between the bottom of the Venetian blind and the sill. It spun out and sat fairly still, although its considerable horsepower caused it to wriggle in anticipation of its next stunning move.

I ran out onto the front lawn and saw a young man and a young boy, whom I assumed to be father and son, trying to get their RC cars to climb the curb. Then they ran them around for a while in mock races of only 10 or 15 yards. I shouted "I'm loving this!" The young man, responded, "Yeah. They're pretty fun!"

They were both delighted to find someone who wanted to know all about their hobby. It turned out that these were not electrically driven cars, nor were they driven by mixed oil and gas. They employed a piston engine which was pull started and ran on nitrous oxide. Anyway, I think that's what the young fellow said. It was pretty loud out there.

It turns out that the young man has just started dating the big sister of the boy. In early conversations, they discovered that they both owned the same type of super-fancy RC car. The man told me that they can run $600 - $700. He also told me that they run an actual 70 miles per hour! Much to the objection of my ears, he showed me how the tires stand up tall like those of dragsters when you hit the accelerator. The last picture I took was of the young man's car as it rocketed past me, left to right. Our camera is quite archaic for a digital model. Sometimes you can squeeze the trigger and the camera will think about it for a minute or two before it snaps the picture. It did that on this shot. I knew it was about to take the picture, because everything went black. But the car was already almost abreast of me and still the camera hadn't fired. Shooting habits kicked in. I simply led the target instinctively, hoping that it would still be in the frame when the camera clicked. When I began to see things through the camera again, I saw the car zipping out of the frame on the right. I was pretty sure that I had missed it by not leading enough. But the shot above is what I actually got.

A Few Changes in Life

Our stake was split on Sunday. This puts us in a different ward from most of our friends. Pretty sad. It may be that it'll make little difference in the long run. It seems that our house is about to be sold out from under us. We have no idea whether the VA, whom we've already called, will stake us to a home loan so we can keep this place which we've loved for three years. Another couple looked at it today and seemed to like it a lot. If we move, we have absolutley no idea of where we could go. Affordable places are not livable and vice versa. There are some neighborhoods in "old town Pocatello" which are no longer safe because of crime. Nice town houses abound, but that involves stairs which we just can't manage all the time. Money and employment continue to be our chief lack.

So I thought I'd put out some recent causes for smiling which we've enjoyed. Molly is easy to recognize. The blue-eyed boy is Connor William Rozar, Heather's son.