The Hunt for Wed October

Glorious stroop waffles from The Mighty Baker

With apologies (as in 'sorry, not sorry') to the creative masterminds behind 1990's cinematic opus, "The Hunt for Red October," wherein Sean Connery played a hardened Russian submarine commander with an inexplicable Scottish brogue and an even more inexplicable hair piece, in today's post, I give you "The Hunt for Wed October," wherein I'll briefly catch you up to speed on what went down in the Den in October.

The latter half of the month was spent behind the Zion Curtain indulging in culinary goodness, like stroop waffles from the Mighty Baker, tacos and more tacos than are probably permitted under the regime of Dear Leader Trump, and way too many Vikings from Sodalicious. There was also the matter of this little event:

That's the RM, emerging triumphantly from his 21st October wedding ceremony, with his new bride, the lovely MC. His Rockette-esque high kick reflects his excitement, as well as his innate ability to always keep it classy (a quality he obviously gets from his father, natch). And speaking of keeping it classy, no, he is not flipping the bird there. He's proudly showing off his finger that now sports a wedding ring. This little event is what brought us back to the Zion Curtain and it goes without saying that yeah, it was pretty awesome. It was more than awesome. It was perfect. As we went through the events of the wedding, from the groom's dinner, to the wedding and the two receptions, to the weather which was glorious, on multiple occasions, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I would say to one another, 'Could this be any more perfect?' To say that we were blessed would be a foolish understatement. To be surrounded by family and friends, as we welcomed a new member to our family, was joyous.

Proud to stand with our son and his new bride

Our growing collection of children. Turns out
I really, really like these people.

I can't say enough good things about our new daughter-in-law and her family. She is a product of great parents, who have raised a wonderful young woman. We were able to spend some time in their home, meeting their family and friends at Reception #2 in Twin Falls, ID., and these are people who are loved. It was really good to see how the RM seems to fit in as well with them. That's important because when you marry, you get a new family, whether you like it or not. I scored on the In-Law Lotto when the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML married and I think the RM has done the same. We'll see what MC has to say about her in-laws, meaning me since I'm the "handful"...(that test will come at the end of the year after a week with us for Christmas Vacation). That said, she fits in beautifully with our daughters and our son-in-law and as you can see from the picture above, they look great as a family.

As we had our children together, I was reminded of how fortunate I am. Then with each moment I spent with these two, that feeling of fortunate exploded into the incomparable joy of being a grandpa:

I could bang on for days about the fun we had each and every day. These two, who are the lights of my life as if that weren't obvious, were stuck with us for 13 days straight and as far as I'm concerned, it could have gone on forever. We laughed. We created tons of paper spaceships without a single paper cut. We had In-n-Out. Grandpa may, or may not, have let his four year old grandson drive a car around a gated community. Allegedly. We had two nights of Halloween shenanigans. We just had fun every day.

Suffice to say, Wed October was a very good month for us. It was so good to see old friends, like the RM's buddies from Connecticutistan or the Boys of the Dirty 630. We had dinner with a couple of friends from our early married days at BYU and it was just like yesterday (also thanks to A & B, the greatest stalkers ever, who once again showed up to say hi out of nowhere!). I had a chance to reconnect with a few friends from freshman year, 1984, that I had not seen since, wait for it, 1985. Thirty two years, people, but what a great reunion! There was more than a little laughter there, let me tell you.

At the end of "The Hunt for Red October," Jack Donaghy Ryan says to the inexplicably wigged Captain Ramius, "Welcome to the new world, Captain," and that kind of sums up Wed October for us.  As the RM married, he entered a new world called marriage. With MC, we gained a new daughter-in-law and she joins a new world called having me for a father-in-law, the poor thing. It's a new world for our family and I like it. I really, really like it.

Product Endorsement Time:

We could not have pulled off our groom's dinner without the goodness of two companies. For those of you behind the Zion Curtain, or for those of you who go behind the ZC from time to time, please support these two:

180 Tacos - their catering team is great! Food is fantastic and they do a terrific job!

The Mighty Baker - I can't say enough good about this place. Pete is great to work with and man, they make great stuff.

Also for those of us on the East Coast who are used to paying $150 for eggs, milk, and bread from the local Quick-E-Mart, you will die a thousand deaths at how good their pricing is. I'm still reeling.

Prompt 2 - First Time In Your Life

In another installment of 'What did I do in that writing class,' I'll share the second prompt and what I wrote that day. For our second prompt, we were asked to write about the first time we experienced something in our lives. I was initially tempted to write about what it's like to live under the pseudo-authoritarian regime of a thin-skinned, mysogynistic megalomaniac and Grade A pathological liar but that seemed too fantastical, too unbelievable and this was a course in non-fiction writing (and yet here we are in Trumplandia, but I digress). So I went with something I know - on becoming a dad for the first time:

I became a father for the first time 27 years ago. I was young, some would argue that we were too young to become parents. We were barely out from under our own parents' roofs. The thought of becoming a father, though, was mostly exhilarating, until the day of our daughter's birth. It suddenly became an all-consuming terror. As my wife labored to deliver our daughter that day, I was filled with an overwhelming paralyzing fear, with questions assaulting me at every moment. The pain I was feeling had to be on par with the pain that gripped my wife with each contraction. It wasn't. But doubt plagued me with each of those contractions. How could I care and provide for this little girl who was about to be born when previously one of the most pressing questions in my life had been collar up or down? How would I handle this? How was I going to care for her needs?

Once she arrived, the nurse placed my daughter into my trembling arms. I took in a long, deep breath and looked into her tiny eyes. I, for better or worse, was one of the first people she was seeing. I wanted her to know she was in good hands. As I looked into her eyes with a growing sense of awe, something in me snapped me into our new reality. I touched her little hand and said, "Hi. I'm your dad. And we're going to figure this out all together." That's been my unspoken motto as a dad ever since. 27 years later and two more children, I'd like to think I've figured a few things out about being a dad. It's still a work in progress.

I don't think I've ever been more scared of anything in my life than I was the day I became a dad for the first time. Writing about it a few weeks ago brought back a flood of feelings - fear, awe, excitement, terror, joy. The funny thing is that if I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

#storieseverywhere

22 January 1970

Forty seven years ago, on 22 January 1970, a milestone in commercial aviation was achieved when a Boeing 747 completed its first revenue flight for its first customer, Pan American World Airways. The arrival of the newly crowned "Queen of the Skies," as she will forever be remembered, at London Heathrow opened up the world to the masses in a way that could not have been anticipated. Suddenly, hundreds of people at once could traverse the globe in a matter of hours. Overnight, the world became a much smaller place.

As a certified airline dork, Pan Am aficionado, and world traveler, this is a special day. My first trans-Atlantic flight took place fourteen years after that first commercial flight and it was between those same two cities - New York JFK and London Heathrow - on a Pan Am 747 that looked every day of its fourteen years. I did not sleep a wink on that flight, as I wanted to take in every second on board the legendary Queen. Sure, she looked like she'd been rode hard and put away wet, but this was Pan Am on one its marquee routes. Sitting in Economy that night, I was a few rows back from the vaunted Clipper Class and I remember seeing through the occasional break in the red curtain that divided our cabins, the passengers being served multi-course meals, reclining back in their seats further than I thought possible, and saying to myself, "One day I'll travel that way."

I've been very fortunate to travel that way many times ever since. I've flown in the very front of that plane, in its upper deck, and even in a middle seat in the very last row (let's never, ever, ever speak of that atrocity again). The 747 made the world smaller for me. She has carried me to places like this:

London, Frankfurt, Chennai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Seoul, Shanghai, Manila, Sydney, Tokyo,

Honolulu, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Minneapolis, Chicago, Washington DC, New York City

As she carried me to all those places, I could not have imagined all the things that I would learn and experience. When I disembarked from that first transatlantic journey at 17, I had no idea that London would show me what a truly global city it is. In Tokyo, I discovered tastes that I never dreamed would cross my palette. In Manila, I discovered a people so full of kindness that I remember the lessons they taught me to this day. In Hong Kong, I found that a city truly is a living thing and there is nothing as vibrant as that great city. In Chennai, I discovered a people so layered in mystery and beauty that I still have difficulty articulating the experience to this day. In Sydney, I reveled in meat pies and did so with some of the friendliest, most adventerous people I've ever known. As I've traveled the world on the 747, I discovered a beautiful, diverse world full of stunning vistas, amazing cities, and people who prove that we are far more alike than we are different.

That lesson, that we are far more alike than we are different, is one I am trying hard to remember as my own country is as polarized as it has ever been. It's amazing what a smile and a kind gesture can bring you when you are in another country and not able to speak the same language. It's been incredible to see what happens when you express a bit of interest in someone else's culture when traveling. Some of the most amazing meals of my life have happened by asking simple questions in a local market. Language and culture barriers collapse over the joy of shared meals. 

I am forever grateful for the experiences I've had in this world, many of which were as a result of a flight on a 747. The airplane was, and is, amazing, but its the people in those places that plane carried me that have enriched my life. They taught me that our differences aren't so vast and that this world is  a gift.

I need to remember that lesson right now and apply it to my fellow countrymen. Something tells me we're going to need to remember that something awful in the coming months and years.

On Christmas Eve

The ghosts of Joan Rivers and Rabbi Krustovsky are a touch of genius!

It's Christmas Eve. It is on this night that we prepare to celebrate the birth of...well, let's see what Bart Simpson had to say about it:

"Aren't we forgetting the true meaning of Christmas? You know...the birth of Santa."

Suffice to say, Bart missed the mark on that one. But who can blame him? In our consumption soaked society, the real reason for the season, the birth of Jesus Christ, is, at best, an afterthought.

His birth for millions around the world is not an afterthought. It truly is the reason for the season. Tonight families and friends will gather in churches, in homes, or wherever to honor Him and prepare further for Christmas Day. In Little Havana, pigs that have been slow roasting for days in backyard pits will shortly appear on plates, laden with yuca, frijoles negros, and plantains and those people feasting will celebrate loudly and joyously. As a result, Christmas Day is the quietest day of the year in Miami. In our home, we dined on brisket and roasted green beans among other good things. We didn't celebrate as loudly as my Cuban friends but we did rejoice. Two of our children are home with us and it has literally been years since that has happened.

For that and so many other things, we are especially grateful this Christmas Eve. No matter how you celebrate, may this Eve be a special one in the lead up to an even better day tomorrow.

Homecoming

2014 / 2016

Two pictures.
Two years.
Two countries served.

One farewell hug.
One awesome homecoming embrace.
One mission served.

One missionary home.

This past Wednesday, TMFKATB returned home. I know this comes as a surprise to all of you because there's been nary a mention of it here. I've really downplayed it. Oops! Sorry for that #KatrinaPiersonHistory moment! It's been the complete opposite and thank you for indulging our family as we've documented the lead up to his return. I'll wrap it up today with a few highlights from his homecoming.

Wednesday morning started as it normally does - early, with me ensconced at my desk in my home office. About an hour into my day, my email alert chimed and there it was. An email from Delta announcing that TMFKATB's flight was delayed by four hours and no alternate flights were available.  Suffice to say, it was not welcome news. Ironically I'd joked the week before with one of Delta's most senior leaders by all that was holy that he was making sure all went well on 8/17. Guess who got my first email after getting the delay notice? Long story short, within about 90 minutes and through the miracle of playing "Let's Switch Airplanes!", the original flight was restored and all was on time again and all was well in the world.

I worked until noon and then jumped into help the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML with the last few things she wanted to do to prepare for his arrival. This included mowing the lawn, which I could have held off doing so that TMFKATB could do it for me since he hadn't had the opportunity in the last two years. But I mowed the lawn because #fatheroftheyear. We got his 'Welcome Home' sign hung and the flags of Mexico and Utah secured in the lawn. Once that was done, it was time to head to BDL.

@universe.byu.edu

This was NOT the scene at his BDL homecoming. No hordes of screaming relatives. No Haka rituals. No professional videographers calling for the returning missionary to come back down the escalator because the lighting was just a little off. Ours was far more subdued. Here it is:

It was, and is, a moment we will never forget. Watching the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML sweep our boy into arms was priceless. Embracing him again was as good as it gets. I hardly wanted to let him go. There were tears, laughter, and a whole lot of joy.

That joy has not dissipated. There have been some very tender moments that are best kept private. There have been very funny moments as we continue to watch him adjust to 'civilian' life. On his first night home, he fell onto his bed as if it was the greatest thing ever created. He keeps grabbing his chest where his name tag sat for two solid years. It's clear he feels exposed without it (There's something to that - taking off my tag was toughest part of my coming home). He has called me to repentance on multiple occasions as well (which is probably deserved, if I'm being honest). It's been funny to see what he's missed. I suspect that will keep happening...

We are overjoyed to have our boy home and grateful for his service. We are grateful to all of you for your support these past two years. We are beyond blessed.

Joy is the simplest form of gratitude. ~ Karl Barth

And he's home

She held him first

Sometimes a paucity of words is the best way to let a story tell itself. The events of the last few hours lend themselves to letting pictures tell the story.

I'll no doubt write a little more about today's joyous homecoming but for now, the pictures speak for themselves.

My boy!

Assessing who's taller

BDL is no SLC Missionary Arrival
Boondoggle but our signs and balloons
worked very nicely

Holding him tight again (there's been a lot
of that in the ensuing hours)

He's home. He's really home.

We won't be forgetting this day any time soon. We are overjoyed.

On Fathers Day

One of my favorite pictures of my three
(I know I've posted this oldie but goodie
before, but as I said, it's one of my favorites!)

It is a wise father that knows his own child.

~ William Shakespeare

My adventure in fatherhood began twenty six years ago with the arrival of Our Lady of Awesome. In fairly short order (not Irish Twin short, but short enough), CAL and TMFKATB joined the mix and it truly has been an adventure ever since.

As with any adventure, there have been tremendous highs (seeing any of your children finding their happy), some challenging lows (heartbreak, daughters right before they turn 13), some moments of panic when you might have gotten lost ("Hi kids, you're in the middle of your critical formative years and guess what? We're moving. Again!"), and even some moments of wondering will this ever end (How many times can we go to the ER in a year with TMFKATB? How long does college last again?). This is an adventure I wouldn't trade for anything, because along the way, I've gotten to know my three children. I've not reached the enlightened wise state that the honorable Mr Shakespeare refers to, but that's the beauty of fatherhood; it is an ongoing thing. As long as they'll let me, I can still be their Dad. You can call me a lot of things (a lot of which are unsuitable for printing here, I know), but the best thing I've been called is Dad. Getting to know my children has been the greatest joy of my life. I strive to be better because of them. My life is better because of them and I hope they've picked up a thing or two from me along the way.

I said my fatherhood adventure began twenty six years ago but I misspoke. It started long before that. It began when I became my late father's first born. Placed into the arms of my mother and father when I was just two days old, I was introduced then and there to the unconditional love of a father.  Just as his love was unending, so was his patience. Trust me when I tell you that we, his three children, worked hard to try it, but he won. His love and patience won. There's a huge lesson there. For me, though, the biggest lesson from my father taught me was his love for my mother. I cannot adequately put into words that love, so my hope is that my children have learned a similar lesson from me - that to love their mother is the greatest gift I could have given them. 

I am in no way a perfect father or husband. "Epically flawed" (not Homer J. Simpson-level flawed, but you get my drift) is probably a more apt description but I've tried and continue to try each day. Being Dad to my three children is a role I relish each day, even though none of three are under our roof anymore. I look forward to trying each and every day to being their Dad. I couldn't ask for anything more.

A rose among the thorns

Yale University @yale.edu

The stunningly patient and mighty fine SML awoke this morning with an URGENT need to go to that purveyor of all things Swedish (except there was not a Volvo, Saab, or ABBA department to be found), IKEA, for dishes. Yes, dishes. Don't ask.

This being Connecticutistan, per the Politburo that runs the state, it means that no "big box" retailer can be located conveniently to anyone and that it must involve at least a 45 minute drive (hence increasing the chance you will have to get gas and plough more tax dollars into the coffers for which you will receive ZERO benefit), so it was off to New Haven for us.

New Haven. It sounds so pastoral, so New England, doesn't it? After all, it has the word 'haven' in it. A haven, as defined, is a place of safety or refuge. It even suggests a place of tranquility. Well guess what? The word 'haven' needs to be suing New Haven, CT for defamation of character as it is anything but a tranquil place of refuge or safety. What it is is a place of high crime, significant diversity and poverty issues (talk about income gap), and a craptastic infrastructure (suffice to say, methinks the New Haven Visitors Bureau shall not be asking me to write this year's tourism brochure). It is also a place of roses among thorns. Wait...what?

Rose #1 - The Yale University Campus
After a successful incursion at IKEA, we made our way over to the Yale campus for a bit of a walk around. If you've never been to the storied campus and you've envisioned an old campus in the leafy foothills of New England, snap out of it. The only foothill is an onramp onto the I95, just south of the university. Instead you have a beautiful old campus, punctuated with greenery, and smelling of history, smack in the middle of the sickly ('Get a transplant, STAT!') heart of New Haven. As we walked through a couple of the colleges, the engraved arches, the heavy iron gates and stately wooden doors to the buildings quietly honored the rich history of the university and the learning that continues to this day. It certainly helped that since Mother Nature has yet to go all 'Snow SheHag' on us that the campus was fairly green in places. We talked a bit about the beauty of the campus and its 'rose among thorns' status and that has stuck with me today.

Rose #2 - Shake Shack
Right across the street from the Yale campus is an outlet of Shake Shack, definitely the other rose in the thorn fiesta that is New Haven. We went there for lunch post-IKEA, mostly as a reward to me because I managed to get through the IKEA without loudly complaining. This proves that even though I am entering my 50th year, I am still an arrested adolescent. Lovely. It gave us the chance to try their new Chick'n Shack sandwich, and I can happily give a "Go Eat This!" rating. That's based on just one bite as it was the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML's lunch order. I can't not go to the Shack and not get a burger. That would be a travesty.

So post-Shack / IKEA, I've been thinking about roses among thorns. Our lives are full of them, I know mine is. In Kolkata, India, I saw it in the light in the eyes of the people who had less than nothing and are largely scorned as they smiled at me from their shacks (and I'm being generous in that description) on the outskirts of a huge outdoor marketplace there. In that same city, I saw roses in the form of the sisters of the Missionaries of Charity order as they tenderly cared for the 'thorns' there. The 'thorns?' The forgotten, rejected, 'untouchable' people, not thorns at all. I've seen it in random of acts of kindness all over the world. I've heard it in the laughter of my grandson. That laughter is a powerful reminder that there is joy and goodness in this world.

A complaint-free trek through IKEA.
The sensation of a bit of the grease, yes grease, from a really good burger dribbling down your chin.
The beauty of an inspiring university campus.

Roses among thorns, indeed.

One last thing - why has Yale not erected a statue to its most revered alum, C. Montgomery Burns? Talk about a travesty....

Grandfathered

Grand, indeed.

With the arrival of our granddaughter, Jane, nearly three weeks ago, we upped the grandchild count to two. Those are not gross Duggar freakshow family numbers, but for the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I, two is pretty much perfection right now.

I was able to spend this past weekend with my grandchildren, my daughter and son-in-law, and as an added bonus, CAL came down. With TMFKATB just minutes away in his assigned area of missionary service, it was the closest thing to a perfect virtual family reunion that we've had for awhile. If I had to sum up the weekend in one word, it would be this: JOY.

It started as I drove down the I15, my heart swelling with joy, knowing my son was nearby, serving God and the Spanish speaking people that he has grown to love with all his heart.

The joy overflowed when I got further behind the Zion Curtain and held these two in my arms:

Happy

Holding Jane, this beautiful blend of her mother (my daughter) and my son-in-law, was awe-inspiring and life affirming. As the Boy Awesome climbed up (it was more like an assault, if I'm being honest - this kid is ALL boy) on me so we could get the picture above, my joy was complete.

Being grandfathered, unlike the unwatchable Fox series of the same name (seriously, it's hideous - Stamos' best work was on 'Full House' - and I literally just threw up in my mouth as I wrote those words), is pretty much the best thing ever. Having the Boy Awesome use me as his personal tackling dummy for the entire weekend was great. Taking him on a Grandpa/Grandson only trip to my alma mater, BYU, so we could get him a "Go Cougars!" shirt was awesome. Learning that he insisted that his sister wear a BYU shirt the day after we left made me smile from ear to ear. Here's the proof:

Never too early to be a Cougar fan!

While we were on campus, I ran into several kids from our days in Chicago. It was great to see the Boy Awesome interact with them. He particularly liked playing football in front of the Wilkinson Center with this guy (he's an elementary ed major and is going to be an amazing teacher - read more about his exploits here):

Barely got them to stop tossing the
ball to get this picture

There was also a bit of joy because it was Halloween and Grandpa got to walk around with the Boy Awesome with his dad as he worked the neighborhood in pursuit of the usual Halloween treats.

The Cowboy - the horse lasted about
half a house.

With his buddy, Captain America

Negotiating a trade with the Man in the
Yellow Hat from his favorite books,
"Curious George"

The Cowboy and the Pumpkin

Suffice to say, it was a delightful night. I suspect my smile matched the big ones carved into the pumpkins throughout the Awesomes' neighborhood. I smiled broadly later that night as I watched my daughter and her son-in-law negotiate bedtime with a two year old who was determined NOT to go to bed. As I listened to them talk to their boy, I was transported back to my own mostly futile attempts at negotiating with my three children when they were that age. These kids are a lot more skilled than I, I can tell you that.

It's fair to say I am a HUGE fan of this grandfather thing. There's a little less pressure being a grandfather, but like a father, I know I've always got to be my best self with my grandchildren. I've got to be there for them. I've got to be the grandfather talked about in this quote:

To a small child, the perfect granddad is unafraid of big dogs

and fierce storms but absolutely terrified of the word boo.

~ Robert Brault

So, to my grandchildren I say bring on the boo! Grandpa's ready to be scared

Presenting Our Baby Jane

Our Grandbaby Jane

In 1962, an American film about two not aging well has-been actresses, starring two not aging well leading ladies whose collective celebrity had long since gone the way of, oh I don't know, the Titanic, was foisted on the public. The two leading ladies? Joan Crawford and Bette Davis, just a couple of broads who detested each other, both of whom would later be remembered for their highly questionable approach to motherhood. The movie, you ask?

Whatever Happened to Baby Jane

If you've not seen it, you need to. It is a tour de force in scenery chewing. Seriously, it's an 11 on the over-the-top meter. We're talking DefCon 5, but seeing a completely nutty Bette Davis still thinking she's her child star alter ego, Baby Jane, is pretty funny stuff. Her Jane is a train wreck.

That's scary.

See what I mean? She a mess.

So why the 'Baby Jane' references? Because we now have our own Jane and she is perfect!

Our granddaughter was born yesterday, October 16th, entering the world just before 1PM, weighing 8 lbs., 3 oz., and measuring 19 inches long. She came in a pound lighter and two inches shorter than her brother, so the delivery for her mother, Our Lady Of Awesome, was a whole lot easier (spoken like a man who A) was not even there and B) has never experienced childbirth, so my editorializing is 100% worthless).  Our sweet Jane also came into the world with a whole lot more hair than her brother did. She came into this world with three generations of mothers waiting for her: her mother, her grandmother, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML, and her great-grandmother. Although she won't remember it, Jane has been already been so richly blessed by having the three of them in the room as she was born. These amazing women will be Jane's examples, support and they will love her fiercely. Also waiting right there was her father. He will be her protector, her shoulder to cry on, and he will love her just as fiercely. Jane's brother, at two years and change, seems pretty fine with her arrival. He will soon wonder why she can't play with him yet and why he is not allowed to push the baby swing like it's a battering ram (this may take some delicate negotiating on the part of his parents). He'll soon be the one to not let any bully mess with his sister. He will love her fiercely.

I won't get to meet our sweet Jane for another two weeks (curse you, stupid, stupid work commitments!). For her, though, that's probably for the best. Let her get adjusted to this new world before Grandpa shows up, crying uncontrollably at the sight of his new granddaughter (the crying is a lock, so why pretend it's not going to happen?). Also, since 'indoor voices' is a concept I'm not a big fan of, at least she'll have had two weeks preparation before I turn up.

In the meantime, I'll just revel in pictures like these that are coming fast and furious:

Mother and daughter,
heart to heart

Sweet Jane, working the Utah do' rag

Welcome, sweet Jane, to our family. We are so glad you are here. Our joy is overflowing!

Happy

Yeah, I don't know what's happening here. I just know that
TMFKATB is all kinds of happy

On the subject of TMFKATB's weekly letters, I know that I've beaten our sense of joy on Mondays to death. I get it. The horse isn't even worthy of the glue factory, I know, but somehow I keep sharing this sense of excitement with you. All I can say is thank you for putting up with it and for still being interested in reading about his service.

Having served a mission myself, I know that when you are composing those weekly missives, you sometimes wonder if you share everything or if you edit. For instance, thirty years ago as I served, I chose to edit some of the 'gunplay' I witnessed, or had jammed into my forehead, while I was in Miami. Somehow I don't think my mother would have reacted well. In addition to the day-to-day things you experience that you edit out, you sometimes wonder if you include some of the downs that happen. A mission is not all sunshine and roses, but I know I didn't necessarily share all the challenging times in my letters home. Not so with TMFKATB. He's been pretty darn excellent about sharing everything. When he was in Mexico and in the process of blowing out his GI system, we knew in graphic detail just what it was doing. He's been great about sharing the highs and the lows and we're grateful for that.

Today's letter was all about the highs. It was about the most joyful letter we've gotten. He and his companion are hitting on all cylinders and they are seeing the rewards of their hard work. They are seeing the impact of their service and it's brought them enormous joy. For TMFKATB, he's had some experiences over the past few days that have helped him to be a bit more bold without being obnoxious (most twenty year olds are not exactly known for their conversational finesse, so this is a great growing experience). He's seeing miracles, large and small, in people's lives. He summed it all up in this one sentence to me:

Dad, I am so happy right now!

And you wonder why I look forward to Mondays so much. I'll take a line like that and cherish it. You can't wish for more than that for anyone.

Say what you will about life behind the Zion Curtain, but
they sure do know how to make a mean sunset!