It's been a while since I had such a sudden wave of nostalgia. It kind of blindsided me...came out of nowhere.
Ever since we got married, Nan and I have reserved Friday nights for our date night. Sometimes things get in the way and we miss a week, but even then, we try to have a make-up night.
I don't do movies often, so most of our dates center around one of our favorite restaurants. Nan always likes this best, as she likes to spend money on food rather than some other form of entertainment. Often, one or the other of our children will accompany us. It's a pleasure for us to have them there and I hope they feel the same.
My parents were the same way. I don't think they could afford to go out to dinner as often as we do, but I know they enjoyed the time together. From time to time we would join them. It was a special time for us. After mom passed away, we made a special effort to include dad for these outings.
This evening, sitting at our table, Nan and I were enjoying our meal. There was a young couple sitting at a table not far from us. I think they had three children with them. At any rate, there were a couple of empty chairs at the table. The young mother kept glancing at the door, and eventually she smiled and greeted an older couple who I presume were her parents. It was probably the young mom's birthday as the parents left a gift in front of her.
Memories of the times with my parents flooded my mind. They were kind and thoughtful people. I looked at Nan and she knew what I was thinking...must have been something in the air that made my eyes water.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Farmer and The Bandit
Because my neighbor was hauling some equipment when I was finished with my irrigation turn, I told him I would turn the water on his large field when it was time...It's the kind of thing neighbors do.
Having adjusted the stream of water, I started to walk back across the field. I heard a rustle in the alfalfa and turned just in time to face the little bandit. He was running about ten feet away and stopped in his tracks when I turned to look. I'm not sure which of us was the most surprised.
He must have been hiding in one of the irrigation pipes because he was soaked to the skin and looked like a drowned rat.
I thought of the board laying by the head gate about twenty feet away. I could always give him a whack with that if I could just get to it in time. He must have read my mind, because he bolted that way trying to get to it first. My sore knees just wouldn't move that fast.
Instead of stopping for a fight, he crawled through the fence and disappeared into the brush.
There I stood, waving a 2X4 club at nothing.
The family of raccoons, that have been eating some of the corn patches around the neighborhood, must be sitting around their family room rolling on the floor laughing as he told his side of the story... some gimpy old geezer running, trying to keep up with him...
Having adjusted the stream of water, I started to walk back across the field. I heard a rustle in the alfalfa and turned just in time to face the little bandit. He was running about ten feet away and stopped in his tracks when I turned to look. I'm not sure which of us was the most surprised.
He must have been hiding in one of the irrigation pipes because he was soaked to the skin and looked like a drowned rat.
I thought of the board laying by the head gate about twenty feet away. I could always give him a whack with that if I could just get to it in time. He must have read my mind, because he bolted that way trying to get to it first. My sore knees just wouldn't move that fast.
Instead of stopping for a fight, he crawled through the fence and disappeared into the brush.
There I stood, waving a 2X4 club at nothing.
The family of raccoons, that have been eating some of the corn patches around the neighborhood, must be sitting around their family room rolling on the floor laughing as he told his side of the story... some gimpy old geezer running, trying to keep up with him...
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
On The Fly
When I was a kid, I learned that my dad, my hero, the person I most wanted to be like, was a fly fisherman. Not just any kind of fly fisherman, but a dry fly fisherman.
Sure, he would take our family to one of several lakes or reservoirs that weren't too far away, only because we couldn't fly fish. He was designated as the person who would bait the hooks. Sometimes at Deer Creek reservoir with several of us there, the perch would be biting so fast that he didn't have time to fish for himself.
As I got to the ripe old age of six or seven, so it was that my dad took me with him and tried to teach me to fish with a dry fly. He taught me to cast, to watch the fly float down a stream, and to hook a fish when it took the fly. The theory was there, but to a youngster, the coordination and particularly the attention span and concentration were lacking and took a few years to develop.
One of my dad's favorite places to fish was the North Fork of the Provo river. My dad loved to fish the upper Provo. The first fish that I can remember catching on a dry fly was at the North Fork. There was a little ripple just North of the bridge and I was casting and floating the fly. I wasn't watching much, just imitating what my dad was doing. Of a sudden, there was a trout on my line. I can remember to this day how excited I was.
It was at this time that it finally sunk in, that you have to watch for the fish to take the fly. Often they will just come up and look at it, take it and spit it out before you can react, or swat it with their tail. More than once I have hooked a fish by the tail as I reacted to it.
Only a few times in the nearly forty years since I got married have I taken time to fly fish. When Nan and I had no children, we took a camping trip and fished the river above Tabiona just off the reservation on the road to the upper still water. We camped by the river and I tried to teach her to fly fish. I caught a few trout and a couple of whitefish. I don't think Nan was able to get the hang of it.
I taught my son Ben to fly fish when we would go camping at the Spruces in Big Cottonwood canyon. He seemed to pick it up pretty good and was able to catch a fish from time to time. One time as he was flipping his fly in the air, he made a once in a lifetime catch...he hooked a dragonfly.
This year at our family outing at Warm Springs Resort in Hannah, we fished the Duchesne River where it ran through the property. It had been years since we dusted off the fly rods, and neither of us could catch a fish, although we had quite a few strikes.
This past weekend we went to visit our good Friends, Charlie and Joyce, at Fish Lake. As is usual for our visits, we spent a lot of time fishing from their boat in the lake and catching some good sized trout. We took our fly rods with us, and Charlie took us to a couple of places to fish in the streams. One place we fished, I didn't catch anything, but Charlie and Ben both caught a couple of Cutthroat trout. They released them back into the stream. On Saturday afternoon, we took a little drive and came to the Fremont river. A little above the reservoir, we found a place to fly fish, and it wasn't long before I found a little place where there were some small fish. Not big enough to keep, we had fun catching them and it was good practice watching the fly float and the fish going after it. These were German Brown Trout.
Alas, my thoughts again return to my dad. He was old, his body worn out, but the desire to fly fish was still there. He drove up the mirror lake road to a place he liked to fish. He left mom in the car while he hiked down the long and steep embankment to the river. I don't recall if he collected any fish, but knowing him, he probably had a fun time tempting them. When he got tired, he decided to go back to the car...only he couldn't get up the steep hill. Mom didn't know he was just down the hill, and was probably reading a book and napping. Dad, finally got down in his hands and knees and crawled up the hill to the car and my mom. That was the last time he fly fished.
I suspect our interests will be different, but wouldn't it be nice if, when we died, we found our little place in heaven had a little brook running through it and the trout were jumping and we had a fly rod in our hand.
Sure, he would take our family to one of several lakes or reservoirs that weren't too far away, only because we couldn't fly fish. He was designated as the person who would bait the hooks. Sometimes at Deer Creek reservoir with several of us there, the perch would be biting so fast that he didn't have time to fish for himself.
As I got to the ripe old age of six or seven, so it was that my dad took me with him and tried to teach me to fish with a dry fly. He taught me to cast, to watch the fly float down a stream, and to hook a fish when it took the fly. The theory was there, but to a youngster, the coordination and particularly the attention span and concentration were lacking and took a few years to develop.
One of my dad's favorite places to fish was the North Fork of the Provo river. My dad loved to fish the upper Provo. The first fish that I can remember catching on a dry fly was at the North Fork. There was a little ripple just North of the bridge and I was casting and floating the fly. I wasn't watching much, just imitating what my dad was doing. Of a sudden, there was a trout on my line. I can remember to this day how excited I was.
It was at this time that it finally sunk in, that you have to watch for the fish to take the fly. Often they will just come up and look at it, take it and spit it out before you can react, or swat it with their tail. More than once I have hooked a fish by the tail as I reacted to it.
Only a few times in the nearly forty years since I got married have I taken time to fly fish. When Nan and I had no children, we took a camping trip and fished the river above Tabiona just off the reservation on the road to the upper still water. We camped by the river and I tried to teach her to fly fish. I caught a few trout and a couple of whitefish. I don't think Nan was able to get the hang of it.
I taught my son Ben to fly fish when we would go camping at the Spruces in Big Cottonwood canyon. He seemed to pick it up pretty good and was able to catch a fish from time to time. One time as he was flipping his fly in the air, he made a once in a lifetime catch...he hooked a dragonfly.
This year at our family outing at Warm Springs Resort in Hannah, we fished the Duchesne River where it ran through the property. It had been years since we dusted off the fly rods, and neither of us could catch a fish, although we had quite a few strikes.
This past weekend we went to visit our good Friends, Charlie and Joyce, at Fish Lake. As is usual for our visits, we spent a lot of time fishing from their boat in the lake and catching some good sized trout. We took our fly rods with us, and Charlie took us to a couple of places to fish in the streams. One place we fished, I didn't catch anything, but Charlie and Ben both caught a couple of Cutthroat trout. They released them back into the stream. On Saturday afternoon, we took a little drive and came to the Fremont river. A little above the reservoir, we found a place to fly fish, and it wasn't long before I found a little place where there were some small fish. Not big enough to keep, we had fun catching them and it was good practice watching the fly float and the fish going after it. These were German Brown Trout.
Alas, my thoughts again return to my dad. He was old, his body worn out, but the desire to fly fish was still there. He drove up the mirror lake road to a place he liked to fish. He left mom in the car while he hiked down the long and steep embankment to the river. I don't recall if he collected any fish, but knowing him, he probably had a fun time tempting them. When he got tired, he decided to go back to the car...only he couldn't get up the steep hill. Mom didn't know he was just down the hill, and was probably reading a book and napping. Dad, finally got down in his hands and knees and crawled up the hill to the car and my mom. That was the last time he fly fished.
I suspect our interests will be different, but wouldn't it be nice if, when we died, we found our little place in heaven had a little brook running through it and the trout were jumping and we had a fly rod in our hand.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
A few months before my sister passed away, she sent me an email. The concluding sentence has forever touched my heart.“ I know that the Lord has been very good to me and to the rest of the family. I know that His will prevails over all things and whatever he decides after my petition, I want you to know that I am good with it -- and not just because I HAVE to be -- I am really good with it.”
I would like to address submitting to His will and how we get to that point in our lives.
1The Savior showed us a great example of a prayer of submission. He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane as He worked out the Atonement that His Father's will would be done. He knew that His Father's will would be for Him to do what was so painful and so terrible that we cannot comprehend it. He prayed not simply to accept the Father's will but to do it. He showed us the way to pray in perfect and determined submission.
1So many of us are kept from eventual consecration because we mistakenly think that, somehow, by letting our will be swallowed up in the will of God, we lose our individuality (see Mosiah 15:7). What we are really worried about, of course, is not giving up self, but selfish things-like our roles, our time, our preeminence, and our possessions. No wonder we are instructed by the Savior to lose ourselves (see Luke 9:24). He is only asking us to lose the old self in order to find the new self. It is not a question of one's losing identity but of finding his true identity! Ironically, so many people already lose themselves anyway in their consuming hobbies and preoccupations but with far, far lesser things.
1Acknowledging God's hand includes, in the words of the Prophet Joseph, trusting that God has made "ample provision" beforehand to achieve all His purposes, including His purposes in our lives (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 220). Sometimes He clearly directs; other times it seems He merely permits some things to happen. Therefore, we will not always understand the role of God's hand, but we know enough of his heart and mind to be submissive. Thus when we are perplexed and stressed, explanatory help is not always immediately forthcoming, but compensatory help will be. Thus our process of cognition gives way to our personal submission, as we experience those moments when we learn to "be still, and know that I am God" (Ps. 46:10).
King Benjamin explained it as follows:
Mosiah 3:19
19 For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him…
Elder Neil Maxwell Said:
The submission of one's will is really the only uniquely personal thing we have to place on God's altar. The many other things we "give , are actually the things He has already given or loaned to us. However, when you and I finally submit ourselves, by letting our individual wills be swallowed up in God's will, then we are really giving something to Him! It is the only possession which is truly ours to give! " (Alma 31:38).
Many years ago, as a lonely homesick young serviceman, I struggled to find my identity. I eventually turned to a chaplain who recognized my problem and helped me to find my self worth. He had me memorized a poem called ”gratitude.” In doing so, he made me recognize the blessings that were mine…things I was taking for granted. Things like walking, talking, seeing and hearing. In order for me to accept what was going on in my life and to bend to the will of God, I had to recognize what He had given me.
In D&C 59:21 it says
21 And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.
As we experience trials, struggles and joys in our lives, might we take time to reflect on the source of our blessings and express our gratitude for all things. Not just the easy things or the good things…for sometimes we learn most from the struggles and trials given to us.
# 1 Elder Neal A. Maxwell, "Swallowed Up in the Will of the Father", Ensign (CR), November 1995, p.22
I would like to address submitting to His will and how we get to that point in our lives.
1The Savior showed us a great example of a prayer of submission. He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane as He worked out the Atonement that His Father's will would be done. He knew that His Father's will would be for Him to do what was so painful and so terrible that we cannot comprehend it. He prayed not simply to accept the Father's will but to do it. He showed us the way to pray in perfect and determined submission.
1So many of us are kept from eventual consecration because we mistakenly think that, somehow, by letting our will be swallowed up in the will of God, we lose our individuality (see Mosiah 15:7). What we are really worried about, of course, is not giving up self, but selfish things-like our roles, our time, our preeminence, and our possessions. No wonder we are instructed by the Savior to lose ourselves (see Luke 9:24). He is only asking us to lose the old self in order to find the new self. It is not a question of one's losing identity but of finding his true identity! Ironically, so many people already lose themselves anyway in their consuming hobbies and preoccupations but with far, far lesser things.
1Acknowledging God's hand includes, in the words of the Prophet Joseph, trusting that God has made "ample provision" beforehand to achieve all His purposes, including His purposes in our lives (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 220). Sometimes He clearly directs; other times it seems He merely permits some things to happen. Therefore, we will not always understand the role of God's hand, but we know enough of his heart and mind to be submissive. Thus when we are perplexed and stressed, explanatory help is not always immediately forthcoming, but compensatory help will be. Thus our process of cognition gives way to our personal submission, as we experience those moments when we learn to "be still, and know that I am God" (Ps. 46:10).
King Benjamin explained it as follows:
Mosiah 3:19
19 For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him…
Elder Neil Maxwell Said:
The submission of one's will is really the only uniquely personal thing we have to place on God's altar. The many other things we "give , are actually the things He has already given or loaned to us. However, when you and I finally submit ourselves, by letting our individual wills be swallowed up in God's will, then we are really giving something to Him! It is the only possession which is truly ours to give! " (Alma 31:38).
Many years ago, as a lonely homesick young serviceman, I struggled to find my identity. I eventually turned to a chaplain who recognized my problem and helped me to find my self worth. He had me memorized a poem called ”gratitude.” In doing so, he made me recognize the blessings that were mine…things I was taking for granted. Things like walking, talking, seeing and hearing. In order for me to accept what was going on in my life and to bend to the will of God, I had to recognize what He had given me.
In D&C 59:21 it says
21 And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.
As we experience trials, struggles and joys in our lives, might we take time to reflect on the source of our blessings and express our gratitude for all things. Not just the easy things or the good things…for sometimes we learn most from the struggles and trials given to us.
# 1 Elder Neal A. Maxwell, "Swallowed Up in the Will of the Father", Ensign (CR), November 1995, p.22
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