That's just what we do

Having fur bearing creatures live with us in our houses is odd. I mean think about it for a minute. In the wild these animals would have to live in the woods and prairies roaming in search of food and shelter with nary a human to brush their fur, trim their claws or fluff their doggy bed at night. Animals require daily maintenance and gravitate to all things smelly. They occasionally exercise and engage in productive play with us but most of the time we wonder what they're chewing, scratching or clawing at the moment. Their modus operandi seems to be to do anything they want whenever they want (as long as they can get away with it).

These lazy freeloaders basically get all they need without doing any work or paying any rent. We willingly fork over money to cover room and board, puppy school, hair care equipment and chew toys. We block our schedules so we can take them out on regular walks to find stinky stuff to roll in and to locate just the right place to take a dump. Our pets get all the fresh water and pet chow they need (plus all the bonus table scraps they can scrounge), all the ear scratchings they can beg, and access to anything else we might offer that amuses or intrigues them. Most also get fully paid medical and dental coverage and some even get advanced training budgets. We provide them fully paid vacations to our pet loving neighbors or the K-9 hotel. And then to top it off we even give these critters Christmas presents!! All of this can add up to some serious dough. Boy, are we a bunch of suckers or what!?

So I'm wondering if as a race we humans have totally lost our sanity. Perhaps. And yet maybe the humanity we can gain from allowing these animals into our lives justifies the madness.

Today's rain storm reminds me of a similarly rainy spring day several years ago. Our pet hamster "Fluffy" had just passed on. Me and a couple of heartbroken youngsters decided to hold a small funeral ceremony before we buried him in his little tissue-lined shoebox coffin. There we were huddled together under umbrellas out on the edge of a field near our home. I remember pondering the occasion and wondering just exactly what do you say at a hamster's graveside service. The memory still brings a smile to my face. I'd like to think that I handled the occasion with just the right amount of religious ceremony. Reflecting back I think the reason for doing anything at all was to help my children come away with an appropriate amount of reverence for another of God's precious creations. Reverence is a hard thing to teach so you have to seize moments like that whenever you can when feelings are tender and little minds are open. And for selfish reasons I suppose, I also wanted my kids to come away with the feeling that their pet had been treated fairly by dear old Dad.

Maybe that ceremony on the edge of the rain soaked field helps explain why we allow these freeloading critters to live with us in the first place. That's just what we do.

"Half-witted"

I called my lovely wife earlier today. She picked up the phone laughing hilariously. Which is always a wonderful thing to hear. I love it when she laughs. There is nothing I enjoy more. And there's nothing better than a genuine patch of laughter to brighten up your day, even if it was already a good day. Genuine, heart-felt, belly aching laughter is good for the soul.

In the midst of this patch of laughter an explanation emerged which served only to keep the laughter going for a few more minutes. Seems that my wife was multi-tasking at the time the phone rang. She was directing brain cells to lunch preparation, a project on the computer and two or three other things simultaneously. Which is pretty much the story of life in 2009. Multitasking is what most of us do most every day. We regularly dedicate some portion of our brain to each of several projects coming at us in what feels like an insatiable flow of tasks and distractions. Occasionally, however, the river overruns its banks and we find ourselves making humorous little syntax or sequencing errors. In her instance she had said "Hello" before actually picking up the phone. Four year old Molly gave her a puzzled look which in turn gave my wife the giggles which led to the full-bodied laughter I encountered when she realized the humor of it all.

This isn't the first time I've seen this kind of humorous occurrence caused by multi-tasking. I've found keys in the fridge and apples on the dresser and things in my sock drawer that have no good reason for being there. A couple of my kids will on occasion get going so fast that they'll mix up words in a sentence or letters within a word...often with humorous results. All of this is due to the same issue of overloading the river bank.

I suppose that unless somebody is addressing the nation or piloting a commercial jet this kind of stuff is probably harmless. It does make me wonder, though- is overloading ourselves to the point that we can't even perform a routine task with scrambling it up a good thing? A person of around half the average intelligence of his or her peers is known as a "half-wit". And it isn't usually an endearing term spoken with respect and esteem. But maybe, its not such a bad thing after all since using half your brain for something is pretty good. And being called a "half-wit" is a lot better then being called a "quarter-wit". So, I think I will consider it a compliment the next time someone calls me "half-witted".

"I hope they call me on a mission"

With a son awaiting his call to serve a full time mission, I've found myself reminiscing a bit. It really doesn't seem that long ago when I was the little kid singing the Primary children's song about going on a mission when I had "grown a foot or two".

So just exactly when do we grow that "foot or two" from childhood to adulthood? I realize its pretty easy to look at the growth chart or to track the pencil marks on the wall showing when we grow physically from being 3' something to 5' something. And we can trace back even further to when we were born and our height was measured in inches and described as our "length". Which is sort of a curious thing about our language. I mean really, when was the last time somewhat asked what your length is? It would seem pretty goofy or lame but we do it all the time for newborns. But I digress.

This process of aging and growing intrigues us. We spend a lot of time and resources coming up with new, creative ways to measure growth. Medical scientists are ever seeking better ways of measuring how (and why) biological process occur. Imaging scientists are using software and principles of electron behavior to create images that can then be matched and registered to other images over time in such a way that we can "see" and accurately measure biological growth. That increasing body of knowledge is now peeking into the molecular, sub molecular, genetic and sub-genetic levels of biological growth. As a society we now have tools to better inform us as we ponder deep and fascinating questions about cell regeneration and tissue growth. As we chase away the shadows and pry beneath the rocks within our genetic code new secrets will emerge. And yet, the fundamental questions will persist as to just exactly how and when this thing we call "aging" actually takes place.

With trees we measure height, diameter and count rings to determine biological age. With horses we record height, weight and look at wear patterns on teeth and hooves to determine biological age. With humans there are many physical factors used to determine biological age. Its pretty obvious that the bald, paunchy guy sitting at his computer is older than his children and at some point has "grown a foot or two". But exactly when did it happen? And beyond the whole subject of biological aging is the deeper journey to understanding our actual age.

I remember a number of conversations I had with my own father about growing older. He used to make the comment that he felt that his spirit was basically the same age as it had been since he was a teenager. I remember thinking that was kind of a weird thing for someone to say. Surely he felt older and wiser and more mature. But I wondered about what my dad was saying and whether my experience would be similar as I grew up. And now- 30+ years later, I find it amusing (and a little troubling) that my spirit still feels about as mature (or immature) as it felt when I was talking to Dad about this as a biological 14 year old. Having a middle-aged guy's physique helps disguise an immature spirit most of the time, but there are those moments. Just ask my kids.

"Smile and Wave, Boys"

I really like animated movies. Probably a good thing since I've spent the last 20 years watching Disney movies with my kids. But now its to the point where, given the choice, I'm the one that votes for watching "Shrek" or "Madagascar" or "The Incredibles" yet again. Maybe its because I've grown weary of all the garbage that Hollywood stirs into most new releases. Or perhaps its just proof that animated movies were really made for parents like me in the first place. In any event, my favorites are the ones with fun plots, classic characters and memorable lines. One of my favorite lines comes from the penguins in Disney's Madagascar. What better way to avoid confrontation (or to avoid detection) than to simply "smile and wave".

Just yesterday I found yet another novel application of the "smile and wave" philosophy of living. I was leaving one of the covered downtown parking ramps. It was the middle of the day but it was still kind of dark. I was going slow as I was leaving but was absentmindedly thinking about other things. Before I knew it I had eased out right in front of someone else coming across the lot. Neither of us were going very fast so we were both able to stop in plenty of time to avoid a wreck. The other driver was gracious, she simply smiled and waved while I stopped and backed up out of her way. Her passenger wasn't so gracious, however. She lurched back in her seat, all the while gesticulating and shouting what appeared to be some pretty unflattering things about me, my genealogy and my driving skills. I could practically see the smoke huffing and puffing out of her chimney stack.

So there in the darkness of a parking ramp I witnessed "smile and wave" side by side with her ugly stepsister "shout and cuss". I am proud to report that my first reaction was to "smile and wave". I've come a long way since I put a clinched fist through my bedroom window as a 4 year old. There's still room to improve though... maybe watching Madagascar a few dozen more times will help.

Footprints in the Snow

After this morning's rush to get kids off to school, I paused to take a deep breath and gaze out the back window. While gazing absentmindedly at the deck I noticed one of those priceless, "picture ready" scenes. After rummaging around for a few minutes, I was able to find a camera and capture a digital image of it.

The scene was really a pretty simple one, but one worth noting nonetheless. It certainly isn't a photo that will ever grace the cover of Life magazine or show up in National Geographic next to images of the Serengeti. But, it was a scene that in a Norman Rockwellian manner captures a little of the essence of living while speaking to our routine interaction with the world we live in.

It was a gray scene with fog shrouding the cold winter morning landscape. Winter usually departs the north country very reluctantly and this year is no exception. Last week the temperatures did get tantalizingly warm, but yesterday's snow reminded us that Spring is still a ways off yet. As my thoughts drifted in no particular direction my gaze passed from the fog and the trees to the mostly uninterrupted layer of snow on the ground. There in the gray a few intrepid birds ventured forth to dine at the bird feeders hung from shepherds hooks mounted on our deck rail. My eyes followed a couple as they flitted between tree branches, railing and feeders. But it wasn't the birds or the gray or the fog that really captured my attention.

There in the fresh snow below were the barefoot tracks of perhaps the most wondrous of all of God's creatures- my children. Some were big, some were small. Some followed straight lines while others weaved and bobbed. One set preserved the confident swagger of a teenage boy while others captured the lilting skips, leaps and pirouettes of dancing daughters. Mixed into this merry human dance were the puzzled paw prints of the family mutt and kitty cat. The random patterns and unplanned directions spoke of the unbridled enjoyment of a an early Spring snow storm.

It seems that life often comes at us in cold, unappreciated waves. It blankets us with messy moisture that slows our pace and alters our plans for sunshine. And yet- if we're willing, we can view each successive storm as yet another invitation to join in the dance. Come what may, ours is the choice to cower inside or kick off our shoes and enjoy!

Boldness

Life regularly presents opportunities to speak up and say what you think ought to be said. Sometimes its a simple and natural thing to do. Its trickier at others though. Especially if the message, though needed, isn't really something someone wants to hear. Being brutally honest can have positive consequences but only if all the right factors line up for the communication.


Scriptural text captures the ponderings of others facing the question of speaking with boldness. In the Book of Mormon the prophet Nephi wrote approvingly of bold speech by men "inspired of heaven". Alma advised others to "use boldness, but not overbearance". In the Bible it is reported that Peter was effective speaking his mind because he was "filled with the Holy Ghost". And the apostle Paul counsels mixing boldness with "meekness and gentleness of Christ". An underlying theme is that those who genuinely love or care for others seem to do better when it comes to boldness.

All of this makes good sense, plus it resonates with what we've all known since we were kids. After all, even Mary Poppins knew that "a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down".