Hoarding

When the "Hoarders" television series first aired, I saw the first few episodes and watched with my jaw agape, wondering how things could get that out of control in anyone's life. It wasn't long before I stopped watching because it doesn't take too many rat/cat/bird carcass discovery scenes before you get bored (more of a pathetic commentary on our media consumption and expectations than anything else, isn't it?) and off you go, never really giving the mental illness that is often associated with hoarding or its impact any further thought.

While I ran into a few hoarders during my missionary service thirty years ago and a couple of others since then, I hadn't given hoarding much thought until yesterday. Along with some friends from church, I spent a chunk of my day yesterday on a community service project (non-court ordered, by the way) that involved hauling nearly 100 bags of leaves, raked by kids from the local high school, from the yards of those that aren't able to do so to a farm for composting purposes. After playing a couple versions of real-life "Frogger" after a few leaf bags flew out of the back of the truck, it was off to our final assignment of the day - hauling refuse (let's be honest and call it what it was - junk, straight up junk) from a woman's home. Before we got there, we'd been told that there was a pile in front of the home, ready to go be scooped up and taken to our town's Transfer Station (aka dump - remember we live under the icy fist of Martha Stewart so apparently you can't use the word 'dump'). When we got there, we found that there were multiple piles and that the home was nearly indistinguishable from the piles. We literally did not know where to begin and there was no asking the homeowner. All we were told of her was that she was widowed and terribly hard of hearing and would not come to the door. So we tore into the largest pile, separating metal from wood from plastic from just garbage in hopes of making a little difference for the homeowner. Looking behind the pile, we found a 1966-ish Cadillac El Dorado convertible marooned in the earth with trees growing all around it. It was amazing and heartbreaking all at once. Staring at the heap of junk in the yard and the rusting hulk of that old car, I wondered aloud, "How does it get this bad for someone?" I wondered where was this woman's family. Where were her friends? Wasn't there someone in her life to say, 'Please let me help you.' There was work to be done and I had to stop asking questions and so I got back to tossing junk into the back of the truck. Although I had stopped asking the questions aloud while at the site, I haven't stopped asking them in my head.

I don't have the answers to those questions. I'm not a mental health professional, nor do I play one on TV, so I won't presume to try and answer the profound mental / medical issues at play here. I know that family dynamics can be a DefCon 5 / lit fuse on a powder keg situation in even the most perfect of families (P.S. there is no such thing), but how can you let a family member descend into such a level of despair? You can't. You just can't. While I have no idea how things can get so bad in someone's life that hoarding is the answer, I hope I can be a person who is there to say, "Please let me help you. Let me be your friend." I hope I can be that guy.

I've also been thinking a lot about my friends over the course of the last few days. I'm grateful for each of my friends and for what you've added to my life. Our lives, beliefs, and who we are, in many cases, could not be more different but I wouldn't want it any other way. I am better for it. I hope I've given back to you in some small way as well and that I'll be able to keep doing that.

Life can be stormy. In some cases, a person may find refuge from those storms in something extreme, like hoarding. Others are able to find comfort with family and friends. I'm happy to be that port in a storm for my family and friends. And I know you'd do the same for me. Thank you.

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

Pretty darn close

Dueling Painters

For the last nineteen days, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML has been burrowed up behind the Zion Curtain welcoming our new granddaughter to the world. I joined her this past Friday and we had a wonderful time (more on that in another post). One of the odd things about visiting our family who have settled behind the Zion Curtain is that it puts us minutes, literally minutes, away from TMFKATB. It's just odd to be that pretty darn close and to not see him. The first time we were in Utah after he was reassigned there, I cried like a little girl when I saw the name of the city he was serving in on an offramp sign on the I15. It wasn't much better the next couple of times, until this visit. I saw that same sign as I drove and it brought a smile to my face because I was so aware of the happiness he's feeling as he serves, learns, and grows. For those Den readers who don't know, missionary contact with their families is limited to Christmas and Mother's Day calls and weekly letters, so if you happen to be where your missionary is serving, it's not like you run on over and say, 'Hola!' 

This week's letter reflected that ongoing happiness, growth, and learning. He described a week of ups  and downs, but if I'm being honest, it was pretty hard, even reading between the lines, to find the downs. He talked about some of the challenges with some of the people that they have been teaching but he wrote of seeing the progress that was coming from those challenges. He seems to be learning how to connect with people from all over the Spanish-speaking world too. He was pretty pumped to be working with an Argentine couple. The home-cooked Argentine meal he had and loved with them seemed to only endear him further. It made him happy.

As we drove to the airport and passed that infamous offramp sign early this morning, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I talked about being so close, so pretty darn close, to TMFKATB. Neither of us had felt tempted to try and run into him. Frankly, it wouldn't be fair to him. These two years are his to grow, develop, and focus. These two years are what he has committed to God. They are not our two years, so it makes being pretty darn close more than good enough for now.

Not the Three Tenors

Three missionaries and a family of three

With this week's letter from TMFKATB, he filled us in on what it's like to be training two missionaries at the same time. It is something of an unusual situation, as typically Mormon missionaries work in pairs (because you've seen two of them at your door or two of them on their bikes), or companionships as they are known in the vernacular of the Church. That is, as I said, the typical situation and, of course, TMFKATB finds himself on the outside of typical.

Six weeks ago, he started training a brand-new missionary. Normally that training lasts for two transfers, as these six weeks period are known. Last week, TMFKATB learned he'd be training again - another brand-new missionary - but that young man would join as a third. So the duo becomes a trio. The Three Tenors they are not. But just as Jose, Placido, and Luciano had to learn their voices, these three are learning to do the same. They are learning to blend their voices (in another language) and their styles of teaching as well as their desires to serve their fellowman. As he put it, "It's going to be interesting." I'm confident he'll make it work.

As I've noted before, it's been quite an experience as a father to be taught by my son as he serves this two-year mission. He and I were going back and forth about a challenge (albeit a minor one) that has been vexing me and out of nowhere, he popped off with the following:

Maybe God just wants to work even harder than you are to do this. You can do much harder things. You got this. Think positive.

He didn't cure cancer with that statement, nor did he explain why the awful Kardashians are a thing (only Satan himself can do that). What he did was state simply what I needed to hear. Am I ever glad for the simple things!