Cyclical Musings

The other day I was musing on several topics, and the one that held my mind most firmly was "cycle."  Yes, the word.  Cycle.  What a bizarre word. Say it a few times. Cycle, cycle, cycle.  Rhymes with psycho. Sort of.

Or does it?

Monthy, a cycle spins the moon.
Spinning, a cycle strains your clothes.

Add a seat and sit on a uni-cycle.
Keep the seat, add an engine, double the wheels, and you've got a motor-cycle.

But what if you lose the engine? What if you add another wheel?
You end up with a bi-cycle and a tri-cycle.

What a fickle cycle the cycle is!

Speaking of cycles, what on earth is an icecycle? Right, it's not.  It's an icicle.  A what? Why icicle? There's another strange one. It's not an icesickle. Not an icescythe. It's simply an icicle.  Why not some form of "-actite"?

And Popsicle? What the heck? I think there is an obvious correlation between popsicle and icicle... but why an "s"?  and more importantly, why "pop"?  Was the first popsicle made of soda-pop?  And why is there a correlation between icicle and popsicle? It doesn't make any sense, on the surface. I suppose I used to break icicles off and suck on them... but I was a stupid kid. Whoever invented the popsicle had to have been smarter than me.  Though he may have been selling to people as dumb.

The answers to these questions evaded me during my reverie.  Thank goodness for the interwebz.

I have done some research since I mused these musings, and should anybody ever care: icicle comes from ye Olde English and German for "cold piece of ice." More or less.

Popsicle is a trademarked name, presumably from the combination of Lolly Pop and Icicle.


Still not 100% sure about why unicycle, motorcycle, and cycle in general use the long i whereas bi- and tri- versions go with the short i.  Since language is fluid, and morphs over time based on the usage of those who speak, I can only go with the explanation that English speakers don't like to have two long i sounds in quick succession.

With the exception of aye-aye.  And bye-bye. And twighlight.

Ah heck... there is no satisfying explanation.  Stupid English.


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Quick Video

Not much to say, just wanted to let you know we're still alive.  And here's a short video:

Wanted: Good Pie Crust Recipe - Instructions for Dummies a Must!

Ok, some of you may recall earlier posts where I discuss the making of pumpkin pie.  I have even posted my pie recipe about a year ago.  Something I've been struggling with, however, is the making of a really good pie crust to go along with the pumpkin pie.

I've explored various pie crust options that I've found online, and they are all pretty much variations on a theme:

3:2:1 ratios of flour : fat : water - give or take.

Without fail they require me to freeze the butter (I'm only interested in butter-based crusts because I don't care for transfats... I've been avoiding them  since before it became chic, you know, back when they were simply called "hydrogenated oils").  After I freeze the butter, I'm supposed to mix it all up in a food processor.  Great, if I had a food processor that actually worked.  I don't.  But I do have a lovely pastry blender that works fine.  I blend and blend and add bit by bit of water until the butter is the size of peas, and the dough just clumps together.  Yay.  So far it sounds perfect.

Then they tell me, "Wrap in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge for 30 minutes-overnight."

Seriously?  Overnight?  30 minutes I can do.  Usually I can even wait a couple of hours.  So I wait as long as I can, generally 2-3 hours.

Without fail, however, the dough will not stick to itself as I try rolling it out.  It's obviously not watered enough, even though I followed the instructions exactly, and it matched the description I was given in the recipe I was following.  So I end up having to add water.  That leads to an awful mess, dough that ends up over-kneaded, and ultimately, sub-par flavor.

I'm *this* close [picture forefinger about to touch thumb] to calling it quits on the home-made pie-crust ideal, and start buying Pillsbury. Please, somebody, save me from the fate of buying ready-made, industrial-strength pie crusts!

Children vs. Markers

No matter how well-behaved your child, it is inevitable that if you leave them alone with access to pens or markers, you will at some point have to ask yourself this question:

"Is it okay to use alcohol on small-people?"

Or maybe you'll remember other kids, not you, of course (maybe you) eating crayons as a child.

These pictures are all fairly old.  She hasn't colored on herself in a while (like 3 days), but I keep hearing about how all these well-behaved kids keep doing stuff like this.  Most recently, my niece Madison.

This is for you Patti.  We feel your pain.

Driving Responsibly - A Request

Ok, everybody knows the rules.  Everybody knows they should do this, not do that, etc.  So I'm not going to say anything about the safe/legal responsibilities.  Rather, I'm going to make a single, simple request to try and remember that there is one time and place above all others where you need to be paying very close attention.

Stopped at a light in position #1.

When you are at the front of the line, you have a sacred responsibility to everybody behind you to pay attention to the light.

If you're in position 2, 3, or further back, you can get away with paying just enough attention to notice if the car in front of you is moving.  But if you find yourself in the honored front of the line position, then you are saddled with added responsibility.  A trust. A duty.

This duty becomes even more important in construction zones and at left-turn arrows where traffic becomes backed up and the length of time you have to make it through the intersection is extremely precious.  When both of these added factors combine, you are at the pinnacle of driving responsibility.  You hold the fates of many in your hands.

Becoming distracted in such a situation can mean the difference between 1 car or 5 getting through the light.  And if you're so far out of it that you don't notice the light has changed until it's yellow again, you are not only asking for a hefty helping of angry honking, but you might also be in for a negligence-induced beating.

Of course, I'm not condoning vigilante justice, or even violence as a means to solve issues of road-rage.  But I am making a desperate plea for all responsible people everywhere to please take this duty seriously.  If you were unable to make it through the green/yellow/orangish light, then you have taken a great yoke upon your shoulders.  They yoke of responsibly watching for the next green.

An otherwise furious follower will thank you.

I'm Going to Be a Grandpa!

So Cordelia told me this evening that she's going to have a baby.  She told me it is in her belly, and upon some very patient questioning, she confessed that it's going to be a girl, and her name will be Ellie.

When I asked who the baby's daddy would be, Cordy just kind of shifted her eyes.  So I asked what the baby's last name will be, and she said, "Casper."

So I guess the father is not in the picture.

I inquired when the baby would be coming and she said, "14."

"14 days?" said I.

"Yes."

And then she used her finger to draw on her tummy: the baby's head, arms, legs, ankles, eyes, mouth, ears, and shoes.

Yes, shoes.

Just 14 more days, till I become a grandpa.  I'm kind of excited :) !

People Don't Love Math

So I just saw a Pizza Hut commercial that may well guarantee that I boycott them forever and ever amen.

I already don't care much for Pizza Hut pizza, being excessively greasy and not very good, in general.  The fact that I have a pretty wicked case of stomach flu right now doesn't help the matter.

Here's the premise of the commercial: People standing in a Pizza Hut are looking over coupons and trying to make sense of them... because coupons are so hard to comprehend.  Pizza Hut then declares that they are not going to have specials but instead are just going to sell you medium pizzas for the "low" price of $10.

Cut to cute-ish girl: "No more confusing math."

Cut to possibly cute guy: "Because people love pizza, they don't love math."

Message received: People who eat at Pizza Hut are too stupid to figure out coupons.  People in general are too stupid to figure out coupons.  Besides: "If we eliminate coupons we can charge people whatever we want, telling them that this is an awesome deal, I mean look, we don't even do coupons anymore.  That's how low our prices are!"  Even if the price goes up to $20 for a small.  People don't love math so they won't figure out they're getting reamed.

Also, math is a fundamental tool that has a very bad reputation in this country.  As my wife (a certified mathematics teacher) has pointed out on more than one occasion, people who would be embarrassed to admit that they cannot read, are not the least bit hesitant to shout from the rooftops that they don't get math.  Math is too hard.  They can't do it.

The fact of the matter is, for the most part, these people have not given math a reasonable chance.  They heard from their friends or their parents or older siblings that math was hard.  They brought their homework home and asked if mom or dad could help them, but mom or dad said, "Sorry son, math never made any sense to me."

Fine, calculus is pretty involved.  Trigonometry, too.  But most kids getting to those levels don't need mom and dad's help quite so much anymore.  The stigma of mathematics begins at the early levels.  Order of Operations, cross-multiplying, etc.  None of it is actually difficult, it's just a matter of learning some basic rules.  All multiplication and division before addition and subtraction.  Stuff inside parentheses before the stuff outside... basic rules, like "I before E except after C, or when sounding like A as in Neighbor and Weigh. Or when the word is simply weird."  And math rules make more sense than writing rules.

Yeah, people don't love math.  But instead of encouraging such sentiments, maybe Pizza Hut should be contributing more to educational reform.

Stupid Pizza Hut.

Learning is Not an Option

Here's a screen capture from a letter sent home with my nephew last October:

Here's a screen capture from a letter sent home with my niece, last week:

And here is an open letter to the principal of Camerado Springs Middle School:

Dear Ms. Enns,


Though I do not currently live within your school district, I am a concerned parent. Not just concerned for my own children, but for all children receiving public education.

It came to my attention some time ago that you have a “Solutions” program which is geared towards ensuring students are getting their homework done. This is a fine plan.

The problem is that I was shown a copy of the Solutions letter that students bring home to their parents. A letter that states, “At Camerado Springs Middle School we believe that learning is not an option.”

Excuse me as I pause to restate: “Learning is not an option.”

When it’s said that something is “not an option” what is implied is that there are other options, but such-and-such is not one of them. Here are some examples:

• Failure is not an option.
• Skipping your bath is not an option.
• Texting while driving is not an option.

Nobody I know who speaks English as a native language would ever confuse any of the above statements as meaning:

• Failure is a must.
• Skipping your bath is a must.
• Texting while driving is a must.

And yet, the faculty of your school would have parents believe that “learning is not an option” means “learning is a must,” in defiance to conventional English as shown above. Should parents not expect a school - entrusted with providing a solid education to their children - to be capable of making the subtle, yet powerful, distinction between “not an option” and “not optional?”

It is a simple enough mistake, and therefore easily overlooked, and easily allowed to slide. Fortunately it is also easy to correct. I would not be writing this email, if not for the fact that this particular problem was brought to my attention by a parent of a child at your school about a year ago. This parent contacted the school at that time and discussed the nuance at length with someone I had assumed to have been the principal, and who gave a shoddy explanation defending the wording.

Now that a year has passed, another of this parent’s children has brought home a Solutions letter with the identical wording.

Perhaps the faculty of Camerado Springs Middle School does not believe that correcting their mistakes is an option.

I hope I am wrong.

An Observation

I have an observation about restrooms in general, and the one at work specifically: Men’s room air fresheners should absolutely not smell flowery or fruity. In fact I’m going to go out on a limb and say that they shouldn’t smell anything like food.

When I walk into the bathroom, the last thing I want to associate food with is number 2. I know it is just processed food, but I don’t care. When the two smells intermix it’s disgusting, truly and horribly. In fact, I think men’s rooms should smell like wood chips. There’s nothing quite like squatting in the woods, and men - more than women, I think - are comfortable with it.

In fact, I think a lot of guys would be comfortable with a restroom that had no toilets at all. Just a pile of wood chips along one wall to pee on, urinal style. And in each stall a pile of chips for covering nastier business. Of course, you’d probably have to pay the janitor a whole lot more money to sweep it out, but how much would you save in building design, plumbing, water costs, etc. It might be worth it. If not for the rampant spread of disease you could expect.

Well that’s my rant for today.

Work has the citrus kind, by the way. Ew.

Pose Face Contest - Who Looks Like They Are In More Pain?

To be fair, this is the worst of Tammy's pose-face.  Usually it's just unnatural, not actually painful-looking.






But her natural smile is, as always, perfect:

Now, to prepare my funeral arrangements for when Tammy sees this blog post.

"Cordelia" ... No, really... It says Cordelia!

Two days ago, I was spending some much-needed quality time with my princess.  She had placed a couple of magnetic letters on her easel (gift from Uncle Chad and Aunt Patti last Christmas), and wanted me to help her write them on the marker board.

Because the easel is sized for a child, because I'm not a child,  because my knees don't make the best feet, and because the spoiled little angel also received a Crayola writing desk (complete with a marker-board top) from her daddy for Christmas last year, I was able to convince her to come practice on the table.

After a few attempts at the two letters she brought over with her (S and T), Tammy and I were able to convince her to try some other letters, and even to write her name.

With just a little coaching: "C looks like this..." and "D looks like a long up-and-down line with an O touching it." and "an L is just a long line that goes up and down." etc.

In short order we had this:

Oh... one more thing.  The last blog, about the parade, I forgot to mention:  We were on TV.  Apparently we were either perfectly placed, or the cameras thought Cordy was cute enough that nobody would notice the bald fat guy towing her along the parade route, because we got center stage. Yep.  We're famous.

Days of '47 Youth Parade

The West Jordan East Stake was asked to participate in the Day's of '47 Youth Parade this year.  Our ward happens to be in the WJES, so we had a float in the parade:

The theme was "Bee a Helping Hand in Service" (I think...).  On the front of the float, invisible to all but the most superhuman of eyes is a Pennies By the Inch collection jar.

Anyway, I had nothing to do with this float, so don't start commenting on what a great job I did.  It was a whole bunch of other people with more talent and skill (and patience) than I could possibly lay claim to.

The reason why I mention this particular parade is because one very special little girl has a mommy who is way good at finding ways to give said little girl wonderful, memorable experiences.  The daddy in this tale wants the little girl to have fun experiences, but is often too lazy, unmotivated, or just plain grumpy to actually seek them out or jump at the chance.

Therefore, the wonderful mommy went out of her way to make sure the special little girl was prepared, dressed and present the morning of the parade.

The daddy who, at the time, has never really found any point to parades, and who would have been extremely pleased to be able to sleep in on a Saturday morning in July, was also prepared, dressed and present the morning of the parade.

The mommy and daddy each had a health concern regarding walking a mile in 97º weather.  Mommy's asthma had been acting up, and daddy's foot was still extremely tender from recent surgery.  It was determined that daddy would be the parade walker, while mommy watched with her family from the sidelines.

As you can see, the special little girl was lucky enough to get to ride in a wagon for the mile-long walk along 500 south.  And she was pretty happy to be there.  Mostly... but we won't focus on the less happy moments waiting for the parade to finally begin. 

I know I've mentioned my daughter's awful pose-face before.  But honestly, I just can't mention it enough...  I think that maybe subconsciously I might hope that if I talk about it enough, she'll become so self-conscious that she'll spend hours staring in the mirror practicing her smile so that it doesn't look SO INCREDIBLY FORCED AND UNNATURAL.

Yes, I'm a terrible, horrible father.  No need to point that out to me.

It's one of the reasons you will often see Cordelia sticking her tongue out in pictures.  If I can't get her to smile somewhat naturally long enough to snatch a photo of it, I make her stick out her tongue.  It's acceptable among children, so I encourage it.  Generally, I try to catch her in candid photos, as that's the best way to view any person, in my opinion.

However, sometimes there is nothing for it, but to have a completely unnatural, forced photo-op.  Like when you get to be in a parade and you want to have memories of it.  And when somebody decides that it's time for a group pic:

Back: J. Herman, B. Glazier, C. Sorensen, J. Sorensen
Center: S. Herman, A. Glazier, O. Sorensen, T. Dahl
Front: Cordelia "Pose-Face" Casper

Updated Blog *NEW*

You'd think that a guy who was basically unemployed for 2 months with nothing better to do than sit at the computer all day applying for jobs online would have been able to find 15 minutes every few days to update his blog.

You'd be wrong.  Or actually, you'd be right, he would have been able to.  But he didn't.

Anyway, my foot is well on the mend.  The last of the scab fell off two days ago.  It's on the floor here somewhere... unless the dog ate it.  Never mind.

So moving past that, I have a hoard of pictures to post and some stories to go along with them.  But since I don't really want to associate them directly with my foot-scab story, I'll add them separately.

Not For the Faint Hearted

Due to popular demand... Ok, so I just really wanted to do it. But I really did get one request... from a girl, no less. And she's pregnant, at that.

So here they are. Some really gross pictures of my slowly recovering foot.

Please note: These pics were taken just minutes before this post. As of today, it's been 2 weeks since the surgery. Ignore the gross orange toe nails... the orange is left-over iodine or whatever it is they use to sterilize the area. I haven't really been able to wash the immediate area very thoroughly due to... um... pain and stuff.

And also ignore how ugly my feet are. Very few people have pretty feet. I'm not one of them.

Oh yeah... don't forget to "Click to Enlarge."  It's important if you want to get the full gruesome detail.

"I Can't Help It"

Usually I think the phrase "I can't help it" is a cop-out, an excuse, an admission of one's failure to take responsibility for one's actions. I put it in the same boat as "The devil made me do it," "I'm a product of my environment," and "It's my parents' fault."

However, last night I heard my three year old use this phrase in a way that initially irritated (the way it usually does), but then melted my heart into a warm puddle of joy.

I was sitting in my chair, changing the dressings on my foot. Cordelia, the curious beastling that she is, wanted to see the "owie." I showed it to her, and she said, "Hmm, it is black and red. That's weird."

As I started wrapping the gauze around my foot, I gasped at a slight twinge of pain. Cordelia said, "I'm sorry, daddy."

I smiled at her and said, "It isn't your fault, baby. You don't have to be sorry about that."

She shrugged and said, "I can't help it."

As I was in pain, and don't particularly like that phrase I scowled and said, "Can't help what, Cordy?"

She looked up at my face and, with unmistakable concern in her eyes, she replied, "I can't help your foot." My heart instantly softened... and then broke when the next words out of her mouth were: "I just love you, daddy."

I have been blessed with the most amazing child. I know other people feel the same way about their children, and I do not begrudge them that. However, as for me and my family, we know that our darling angel is the perfect addition to our home, and we never forget that. She is more wonderful that I ever feel deserving of.

Blessings in Disguise

When I first went out on the road, I was under the distinct impression that I’d be out for 3 weeks and then home for 3 days. This doesn’t sound very good at all, but it’s pretty standard for those just breaking into the field, it seems, so I accepted it and figured I could roll with this for the first little while.

After 6 weeks of training, I was promoted to company driver status, which meant I was finally going to get paid for what I was doing: ie, driving.

I drove for 2 more weeks and finally got to go home. For two days. Ok, so 3 weeks out = 3 days home, 2 weeks out = 2 days home. Sounds pretty… ahem… good. But I’d been out 8 weeks. Oh well, I needed the money.

So going back out, I was given the opportunity to drive a dedicated route from Ogden, Utah to Paris, Texas. 1316 miles each way, paid at a whopping $0.21 per mile… in a perfect week I could expect to bring home over $800 per week. Sweet money. In the real world, I would be lucky to break $700 in a week, but still, not bad money.

I was told 3 weeks out, 3 days home. Actually, I was told “21 days out, followed by 3 days home.” So, having been given such a specific time-frame, my co-driver and I figured the 21 days were set in stone, so we’d be guaranteed home time.

On day 20 it didn’t look like we were anywhere near getting home by “tomorrow,” so we asked specifically if we still needed to request the time, or was it built in? We were told we had to request it at least 10 days in advance.

Bugger.

So I requested my home time. A week later, our dispatcher got a new job, and we got a new dispatcher. Just a couple of days after that, my co-driver decided to buy a truck with a buddy of his, and got off my truck. Leaving me solo again, and with a new dispatcher.

2 days before I was scheduled to be home, I was speaking with my dispatcher and the subject of my home time came up. He said he had nothing in his files about me having any scheduled home time, but since I’d been out 4 weeks (at that point), he would make sure I got home by Saturday (only a day later than I had requested). That was very kind of him, really.

So I got home Saturday night… my home time officially started Sunday… and despite 5 weeks out, was only going to be 3 days at home.

Monday I had a doctor’s appointment to check up on a bone problem that I have had in my left foot since I was about 14 years old (I had surgery back then, and ever since I’ve had some pain… the past few years the pain has been intensifying, and the past week or so has been excruciating).

I saw Dr. Young Monday morning. He took x-rays and reviewed an MRI that I had done last August. He determined that the bone needed to be biopsied and possibly removed. He considered the matter urgent, and scheduled me for an operation the following day.

My 3 days at home suddenly became a medically necessary 2 weeks.

Money is going to dry completely up. But the severe depression being away from home was putting me through is gone. My foot hurts from the surgery WAY more than it ever did from the simple pain of whatever was wrong with it… and yet it is totally worth being able to see my little girl, hold my wife, eat home-cooked meals, and simply to be in my house.

Now I have time to look for a different, hopefully better, job with more steady home-time, possibly even daily home time. Like a normal person.

Even if not, this time at home was needed desperately. By me. By my wife. And for my little angel, who was missing her daddy as much as he was missing her.

I thank God from the depths of my soul for this blessing.

M.I.A.

It’s difficult to update this blog without actually being around my family to experience events first-hand. Often the very things that prompt me posting something are things that don’t trigger anything in Tammy, so she doesn’t think to pass it on, or she just forgets when we do talk. This is in NO way a criticism of my wonderful, beautiful, and extremely overwhelmed wife. It’s simply an observation.

As I sat, preparing this blog, I read through my previous post and found that much of what I had been intending to post today, I already posted two months ago. Well, that’s simply not acceptable. How is it that in two months, I’ve learned nothing new or interesting about my family???

Easter came and went. I’ve got nothing. I know they painted eggs, and I got a couple of pictures and a video or two messaged to me… but that’s not something I can readily address myself.

What I’m hoping for is more consistent home-time, so I can experience first-hand the joys, challenges, and excitement of being a father and a husband, not just a paycheck who occasionally sleeps in the house.

Anyway, my daughter remains beautiful, my wife remains wonderful, my job remains irritatingly inconsistent, and life remains a probationary state.

I will say this: The struggle of being away from home has reawakened in me a need (a hunger and thirst, if you will) for the gospel in my life. I’ve found immense strength in prayer and scripture study that I had been lacking in recent months and years, the relatively “prosperous” life giving me a sense of comfort that masked my need for spiritual strength.

I’m remedying that. They say you need to make the best of any situation, and this is possibly the worst situation I’ve ever been in (I cannot express how much more difficult it is to be away from my family than I had thought it would be – and I knew it was going to be tough), so in order to make the best of it, I’m finding myself relying heavily on the Lord. And though it is certainly not any easier, I can say with conviction, I am no longer feeling as hopeless as I had been only a few weeks ago.

“La vita è dura, ma dura poco.” –Italian proverb (coined by yours truly)
“Life is tough, but it’s short.”

My Family

Tammy, the unequalled brains in the family, suggested before I left that I should pack certain items that I scoffed at (and then secretly packed), such as extra zip-lock baggies, “Because,” she said, “you never know what you might need them for.”

I had just rolled my eyes and told her I thought she was dumb. Or something along those lines.

Well, as I already said, I secretly packed a couple extras. And I’m glad I did. Now I have someplace to put all my odds-and-ends before going to sleep. My wallet, my change, my keys, my Chapstick, etc. all go into a zip-lock baggy so they don’t get lost while the truck bounces down the road while I’m unconscious.

Thank you, lover. You’re the best.

Cordelia, who had been assigned the task of wearing her eye-patch 2 hours a day over her good eye to help strengthen her weak eye, has had the burden lifted a bit. She now only has to wear it 2 hours a day 3 times per week. She’s also been reevaluated with regards to her speech aptitude, and though it had looked like she would be going to pre-school 3 days per week (or something), they’ve determined that she only needs one 45 minute class per week. Is that good or bad?

Also, since daddy’s been gone, she’s decided to go ahead and let herself be potty-trained. Finally. She has few accidents, sometimes going an entire day without any.

And from what I hear, Garrett (Cordelia’s cousin, about 18 months younger than her), has started making “human” sounds. Noises that could possibly be actual attempts at forming words. Congrats, Garrett! Keep up the good work!

Something to Do In a Motel Room

For those who don't know, my grandma didn't make it 48 hours. It was maybe 6 hours after my mom gave me that information that she called back to let me know that grandma had passed on.

I wasn't able to make it to the funeral, but I did pass through Boise on Sunday and was able to stop for a couple of hours to pay my respects and spend some time with family before heading out.

Monday, however, I was checked into another motel up in the Seattle area. Now it's Thursday, and I should be checking out today, but may stay another night (it was late Monday, so that may translate to another night).

Anyway, there isn't much to do when you have extremely limited funds, don't know the area, or anybody who lives close by - well... I know somebody close by, but they are out of town - you know who you are ;).

So yesterday I noticed my hair was getting a bit too long. I knew it would while I was out, but I didn't have room for my clippers, and wasn't sure when/where I'd be able to shave my head again anyway, so I had been planning on letting the hair grow and grow and grow and cut it again when I got home.

Well, it's been 3 weeks since I left, with maybe 4 weeks of growth and at least 3 more weeks of this ahead of me.

I was bored. So I decided to shave my head. With a safety razor. Gillette Mach 3 to be exact. Warning: it takes forever, dulls your blades in a hurry, kind of hurts, makes a mess, risks clogging drains, and it is something to do in a motel room.

Sad News For a Guilty Grandson

I just received some sad news. I say sad, rather than bad, because the news has broken my heart on many levels. In some ways it is bad news, too, but mostly it’s just sad.

My grandmother’s body is shutting down. She’s awake, coherent, and from what I hear, she is ready to move on to her next assignment.

48 hours is such a short time, though, for the rest of us.

I’ve been remiss. Over the past few years, I’ve put off taking the trip to Boise to see her, even though I’ve known she was ill. My excuse has ever been: “It’s such a long drive.” My little girl, 3 years old now, has never met my grandmother, and this, more than anything, is excruciatingly regretful. Ironically, I’m now working as a truck driver, and driving several hundred miles every day is part of the job description.

And now, since I’ve only just started, I can’t even go see her to say good-bye in person. Anybody who reads this and is close by: Please tell her I’m sorry. I love you, grandma, and I’m going to miss you. I’m so very sorry that I never brought Cordelia up to meet you. I know she would have loved you, just as all of us love you.

You have always been an inspiration for me. You taught me the importance of education, of family, of communication. You were always such a good letter-writer, and I learned so much from you.

If it is really time for you to go, then with a heavy, sorrowful heart I want to tell you that I love you and I will miss you. I’m sure Grandpa and Aunt Lois are waiting to welcome you… not to mention Tony, Mary, Great Grandma and all the rest who have gone on before you. As well as the Savior himself, with his open arms to receive you.

My heart aches for my own loss, and my own regrets, but I know there will be rejoicing on the other side as you are greeted by the throngs of people who must be missing you as much as we will miss you. I certainly hope that when my time comes, you will be there to welcome me home, as well.

I hate doing this in writing. I wish I could come see you. This is the best I can do, and I know you’ve appreciated me expressing myself with pen and paper in the past, so hopefully this is as good. I need to get this out there. I need you to know that I’ve never forgotten you, I’ve just been selfishly wrapped up in things that momentarily seem important, but in retrospect are just distractions.

I won’t ask you to forgive me, because I know you already have… that is part of being a grandma, I think. Part of what makes a grandma a special kind of relative. You just automatically understand that grandchildren are often distracted and foolish, and you forgive us for it. It’s grandma magic.

I love you. I know that you have always loved me. Thank you for being my grandma. I deserved less than what I got, and will forever be grateful for the blessing that you have been to me in my life.

I won’t say good-bye. Rather: Till we meet again.

I love you. God bless you forever.

Steven

P.S. If you change your mind, and decide to get better and stick around for a bit longer, that will be okay, too. I just want to put that out there as an option. Consider it, alright?

Day 7

Well, as of today, it's been 7 days since I left my family behind.

California is beautiful, mostly. The weather has been really nice. Today it looks a little smoggy out, and it's chilly (or I'm becoming accustomed to the nice weather). Feels like it's in the 60s out there. Not bad, really, and pretty darn sweet for February.

If you've been following the Trucker Diaries blog, you know I'm still here in the motel. They reassigned me to a new driver trainer, since the one they originally gave me is still waiting to get his truck fixed. The new guy hasn't called me, yet, so I don't really know what's up.

Tammy and Cordy seem to be doing well. We talk on the phone every day, and we try to get on Skype to do a video chat as often as possible, so we can keep in touch, and so my princess doesn't forget what her daddy looks like.

How You Know You're in California

Sign Number 1:

Sign Number 2:

A New Frontier

To all my rabid fans:

Some of you may know this already, but for those of you who have been kept in the dark, I am posting this blog, today. I’ve been unemployed since October. Not a fact that I’m terribly proud of, hence the seeming secrecy. The reason I’m coming out to admit it now is because I’m on my way to begin a new opportunity, a new job, and in many ways a new life.

The same day I lost my job, I started taking classes at Salt Lake Community College’s School of Applied Technology. That was nothing more than a coincidence. I’d been planning to start school on the 19th of October for several weeks… but the timing was still impeccable.

My “Technology?”: Professional Truck Driver. I took the 280 hour course, night classes. 5 hours per day, 5 days per week. Less time for holidays. On December 17 I received my Class A (commercial) driver license, with hazmat, tanker, and doubles-triples endorsements. I continued going to class, earning additional experience, until my 280 hours were up on Monday, January 25, 2010.

Several weeks ago I received a job offer from Werner Enterprises, and they scheduled me for Orientation starting on January 29. I’m currently sitting in the Greyhound bus terminal in Salt Lake City. It’s 5:39 PM, January 27. My bus leaves at 6:30, I have 15 minute layover/transfer in Las Vegas at 1:15 AM. I’ll arrive at the San Bernardino terminal at 6:05 AM. This is per my itinerary, though with the recent weather, anything is possible.

Tomorrow I’ll check in to the La Quinta Inn, and begin orientation on Friday. If all goes well (and let us all pray that it does), I’ll pass my physical exam and begin driving for Werner on January 31. I’ll have 6-8 weeks of training (300 driving hours – with a driver trainer), during which I’ll make peanuts, but I’ll get very necessary experience. Once I’ve completed my 300 hours, I’ll become a solo driver. At that point I’ll start making real money.

Because this blog is intended for family events, and this is a huge family experience, I’m posting it here. However, I am planning on posting my daily experiences on a different blog: The Trucker Diaries.

For the time being, I really want to express my love for my wife and my daughter. I know they know I love them, and I know that they love me. I am going to miss them terribly over the next few weeks when I cannot see them in person. I am extremely grateful to my Heavenly Father, however, for the blessings of cell phones, internet, and wi-fi. because of these wonderful inventions, I will be able to speak to my wife on a nearly-daily basis, and should be able to Skype-Video phone both her and my little girl on a relatively frequent basis.

I don’t know how fathers of old could leave their families for months and even years at a time with nothing more than the mail system to help them keep in touch. And I admire them for their fortitude, and their families for their resilience. God bless them for their sacrifices.

A New Video Craze

It's been a while since I posted any videos, so I'm going to take this opportunity to post a couple. I have lots, but they tend to be a bit long, and... well... the longer they are, the more closely related you have to be in order to thoroughly love them.

So, I'm only going to post two short ones.

First: The Pirate Triker Chick


Second: Does this make me a good father, or a bad one?

As Promised

Cordelia, like her mother, suffers from "Pose Face," which is to say, when she poses for a picture, she looks completely uncomfortable, unhappy, and insincere.  Sometimes getting her to smile naturally is a real chore.  I'll let you guys decide which of these is obvious pose-face and which is pose-face with an actual smile getting through as daddy made silly sounds.

No More Makebelieve

As is common, I'm sure, among children whose parents both wear glasses, my darling little angel-monkey loves to put on her parents' glasses, or Mr. Potato Head's glasses, or anything that looks like it might be glasses, and pretend they are hers.

As of yesterday, she no longer needs to pretend.

Several weeks ago, we had her evaluated for preschool placement, and one of the tests they did was a very rudimentary vision exam.  Whereas she did fine when using both eyes and when using only her left eye, her right eye was extremely weak.  Weak enough that the examiner couldn't say exactly what Cordy's vision in that eye was, so she simply put down 20/80 and advised us to see an optometrist.

Tammy and I happen to have a very good optometrist who also examines children, so we scheduled an appointment with him.  Two weeks ago I took my princess to see him.  He confirmed that her left eye was strong and needed scarcely any correction, if any at all.  However, he could not determine anything better than 20/200 in her right-eye.

Based on refraction and other tests he was able to do on his end, he had a good idea of what prescription she needed, but because she was tired and angry from the dilation drops he'd given her earlier, she wasn't in the mood to cooperate with the actual "look at the picture and tell us what you see" exam any more.

Yesterday, we picked up the new glasses, and she seems to like them.  Wore them all day yesterday without a complaint (until just before bed - she came to me and said, "Gasses off now?"  To which I replied, "Of course, but we have to brush our teeth and put on pajamas, now").

She wasn't happy about that.  But she agreed, eventually, and she also agreed to wear the glasses again today.

Another thing:  She is supposed to wear an eye patch over her strong eye for 2 hours each day, to help force her weak eye to work, and strengthen.  She has a cute pink eye-patch for that.  I'll try to get a picture of it and post it later.

Anyway, that's what's up for now.