Peeping

With my mother-in-law and The Chief Pilot in town, we've had an opportunity to see a bit more of this corner of New England that we are calling home. They came up to do some peeping, leaf peeping, that is. Turns out leaf peeping is a thing (read here to see what the source of all things true on the interwebs has to say about it).

Leaf peepers got real for me earlier in the week when I encountered a tour bus full of them, over from Europe.I was at a hotel on the Massachusetts/New Hampshire border for a meeting and it was there where the Euro-peepers had holed up for the night. I watched them lead an assault on a hotel breakfast buffet that made the Battle of the Bulge look like a playground quarrel. These people laid waste to the bacon spread in a way that was equal parts inspiring and terrifying. As I noted on Facebook as I witnessed the assault, had this manner of bravado been on display in the early days of World War II, the Nazis would not have stood a chance. But I suppose these people needed to fortify themselves for their frolic in the foliage.

Inspired by those Euro-peepers, I joined my in-laws and the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML for their last day of peeping today. Having motored through different parts of Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Connecticutistan in the last couple of days, I can now say that this place is the most beautiful of all the places we've lived. It really has been spectacular to take in the explosion of color and diversity of landscape. It reminds me a bit of a hymn that truly works my last nerve, 'For The Beauty of the Earth.' This world really is a beautiful one. It really is a gift. Here's a couple of things we saw today:

NOT in Madison County!

It's been a good day of taking in the beauty around us. It's funny how we let our 'busy' get in the way and how we can miss some pretty spectacular things. I'm glad I got to take a time out today to take a bit of it in.

Words of Wisdom

It's the morning of second day of the semi-annual Mormon version of the Hajj (OK, admittedly, that may be stretching the range a bit on comparisons) known as General Conference. In all things Mormon, it's kind of a big deal. It's a total of ten hours of guidance, instruction, learning, and reflection. And gorging. There, I said it. Yes, gorging. Wait...why? Because, thanks to the modern miracle of satellite TV and the purveyor of all things true, the interweb, we take Conference in at home, with a veritable buffet set up the entire time. It makes for a good time.

The three sessions I've attended so far have been rewarding and instructive and well-worth the time we've dedicated to being a part of the conferences. Indulge me as I share a few of the take-aways:

• The past is to be learned from, not lived in. Faith is always pointing towards the future.
• Blessings are often subtle, observable only to the humble and attentive.
• Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.
• We all need each other.
• Meekness is not weakness.

On their own, some of these statements may seem simple, even trite. To me, they are neither. Each represent an opportunity for me to learn, improve, or apply. There's still two more sessions today from which I expect to add more opportunities to improve and grow. The challenge for me is to now go out and apply what I've learned. Consider the gauntlet thrown down!

Nine Holes

My Waterloo

Golf has never been my sport. I played a bit in college and I even got a set of clubs for college graduation. I should have known that the game was going to be a challenge for me when I was teaching at the MTC while at BYU. Several other teachers from my district and I went out on our day off to play a round at Hobble Creek in Springville, UT. I was still a rudimentary golfer at best, but where I was not novice was my creative cursing in moments of frustration. Said talent was on Academy Award-winning display during this game. Probably not the best group to display an unbridled tongue. While this was not the last time I played golf, my teaching career at the MTC was over not long after that, but not because of the golfing debacle.

Anyway, I can probably count on two hands the number of times I've played a round or gone to a driving range since. Suffice to say, my skill set has not improved, although I have tried dilligently to bridle my tongue. Ironically, The Boy is a golfer. A good golfer. He loves the game. He gets the game. He has the patience, dedication, and drive to succeed in the game. By not playing, I've probably missed some good time with The Boy, but that has started to change.

Recently, I was challenged to participate in a golf tournament by one of suppliers at work. I had all intentions of saying no, but my boss said yes on my behalf. This has led to all manner of consternation for me but it has also opened the door to me picking up a really good golf instructor:

My Golf Sensei

Turns out The Boy is an amazing golf instructor. He has been spectacularly patient with me. He has been wise with his instruction. It has reminded me of how patient my Dad was when he was teaching people to water-ski. I don't know why I remember that specific example but it's what comes to mind. My Dad was enormously patient as he would show my friends how to water-ski. He explained things calmly, demonstrated how to do something time and again, and never lost his cool. The Boy has been the exact same way with me. It's a virtue that I somehow missed but The Boy seems to have gotten it in spades from his grandfather. And for that, I am grateful.

We played nine holes last night. I think it was the first time I've played a hole, let alone nine, in more than ten years. I'm sure The Boy wanted to ram a nine iron into my head more than once, like the third ball I lost into a water hazard. But if he did, he never showed it. Instead, he was a never-ending font of encouragement and enthusiasm. I think most of my shots would have elicited a cry of 'Oh the humanity!' had there been a commentator, but instead I felt like with each shot, I was being taught something by my son, The Boy.

The nine holes were a train wreck. It's a good thing the event I'm playing in on Monday is a 'scramble.' But it's an even better thing that those nine holes gave this middle-aged man a chance to learn from his son. I am looking forward to getting out there again with him. He's got a lot he can teach me and not just about golf. And I think there's still a thing or two I can share with him. And maybe I'll even improve my golf game along the way. Maybe.

When you're 80

When you're 80, you get to take a lot of pills

A non-resident of the Den, but let's face it, without whom there would be no Den (so for those of you who find yourselves upset by the Den, blame said non-resident, not me), celebrated a significant milestone birthday yesterday. Indeed, my Mom celebrated her 80th birthday. This is no small feat (for some riveting reading on the aging population in America, read here). I mean, how many 80 year old people do you know? The fact is getting older is not for the weak and I am amazed at the strength of my 80 year old mother.

From what I've seen, when you're 80, you've got a lot of leeway on things. Here's some things I've observed:

• When you're 80, you get to make wild pronouncements, like 'OK, this is the year I'm dying. So this will be my last (insert key event here).' Now my mother has made this pronouncement well in advance of said big birthday, but it's a specious argument in her case. She comes from a long line of stubborn people who manage to live into their 90's without vital organs. Now, they may give up some of the sanity along the way (early in our relationship, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML was accused of stealing my great-aunt's purse at a family reunion. That great-aunt was in her 90's at the time and her conversation with SML up to the accusation was muddled, since she thought SML was her dead husband. Said purse was in her lap the entire time), but like a good Timex, they keep on ticking.
• When you're 80, you've got children who worry about you, your health, your inability to clear the voicemail messages on your cell phone, among other things. 
• When you're 80, get honored. It's a big deal. You get surprised on that big birthday. You get discounts. You get good parking, especially if you have that boss parking pass hanging from your rearview window. You are pushed through airports regally, like the Queen of Sheba, and you get to board airplanes early without paying extra.
• When you're 80, the girls in your family look to you as a trend-setter:

  

  Daughter, Daughter-in-Law, two granddaughters working that awesome Nana look!

• When you're 80, you get to hold your first great grandchild. You have family, near and far. But it doesn't lessen the fact that you miss your husband of fifty years terribly. Every. Single. Day. He misses you too.

So 80 doesn't appear to be that bad of a gig. I'm so glad we were able to surprise my Mom a little early and be with her in advance of her big day. I hope if I make it to 80, I'm able to plug away at life the way she is now. I'm just glad she's who she is and that we were able to celebrate her 80th year. Like I said, no small feat, Mom. Well done!