Adventure: one way to measure a life

Near the beginning of this year, one of my best adventure buddies, Boyd, found out that he had ALS, also known as "Lou Gehrig's Disease". I had emailed him to find out if he wanted to go skiing with me and our mutual friend Lynn. When he emailed me back he gave me the sad news. We had spent a lot of time together in the outdoors--skiing, climbing Kings Peak (Utah's highest point), hiking at Boulder Mountain, fishing, and many other great outings.
I wanted to know what I could do to help. I figured that about the only thing would be to maybe take him on some short adventures up into the mountains we both love.

Trip 1

The first one, in June, ended up being a drive along the Mirror Lake Highway in the Uintas. I wanted Boyd to do what he wanted to do, so we got out at the Provo River Falls and wandered down the trail.

Boyd's career was as a photographer. He still has the love for a good shot.

Though his disease is progressing rather rapidly, and his muscles are beginning to weaken to the point that he has a challenging time walking, he still wants to be as fully engaged with life as he can be. He told me that as far as his personal case goes, he'd rather not be like the late Stephen Hawking and be confined to wheelchairs or other means of life support. He told me that when he can no longer do anything he loves to do, he'd just as soon go.
I certainly could relate to that. I have told several people that if I ever get Alzheimers, I'm going to go while I still have my thinking ability, and do the riskiest activities I can think of in the hopes of ending my life by a slip or a fall, instead of making someone have to take care of me. He had also mentioned to me that he regretted the summer of 2017, because he had worked so hard to put in his backyard, and his family members and friends had asked him several times to go camping with them, but he had put it off so he could finish the back yard. He wished he would have known was was going to happen. The thing is, we rarely do.
As we walked down to the falls, the only time he asked for help was going down the stone steps. We hung around the falls, taking a few pics, Boyd talking to one guy who had made it out to the middle of the river and sat on a rock just above the falls. After a while, we headed back to the 4Runner, and continued driving up the highway. Eventually Boyd said, "Let's turn off here and go for a hike."

A short hike into the woods--nothing like it!

I pulled off and we got out, following some old dirt road back in, until it ended, which wasn't very far, and we continued on through the forest. We spotted a couple of deer, and maybe a beaver ducking beneath the water in a lily-pad covered pond. At one point, Boyd lost his balance and fell. I had wandered away a few feet and came back to help him up. He was okay. "At least I picked a good place to fall--pretty soft here," he said. We probably walked through the woods for about a half mile, then headed back to the vehicle. "Let's see if your trail finding skills are still good," I said. Within moments he had found our way back.
We stopped at Dick's Drive-in in Kamas and got a late lunch, continuing our conversation between bites. "I would really love a cheeseburger," he said, "but I deal better with chicken strips in these hands."
We talked about going out the next time, how we would drive from Mill Hollow over to Currant Creek. "As long as I'm still able to go, let's plan on it," he said.

Trip 2

We made it out again on July 3rd, and accomplished the goal.
We mostly traveled dirt roads over the top of some spectacular country.

We talked about places we had been and he told me of places I should go--even showing me his favorite fishing spot at Currant Creek. I wanted to try it right then, but we hadn't brought any gear. It was time to go home though. Ann wanted to see me for dinner. When we were nearly home, Boyd pointed up at Mt. Timpanogos and said, "I have never been up on that 'plateau'. I'd like to go up there."
"I went up there last year," I said, "my first time ever. It's called Sagebrush Flat. It's a pretty cool place." We decided that maybe that would be our next trip.
The conversation, like the first time, had been matter-of-fact about his disease and the ultimate outcome. There was no beating around the bush for either of us. "Some people have a hard time knowing what to say to me now," he'd said on our first drive. I just tried to treat him the same way I always had, like my friend. That's the way I want to be treated if I'm ever in that kind of situation.

Trip 3

On July 31st, I picked Boyd up and we headed up to Sagebrush Flat. The road is a continuation of the road that leads up to the Timpooneke Trailhead---one of the ways to the top of Mt. Timpanogos. It's a dirt road that leads around to the west side of Timp. It was actually rockier and bumpier than I had remembered it being, and I thought about how Boyd had mentioned on our earlier trip this summer into the Uintas how he didn't want to go on a certain road because of how bumpy it was. I mentioned to Boyd that I hadn't remembered it being so rough and he said, "It's not that bad. You're just worrying about me." And he was right. It likely seemed bumpier to me because I was remembering what he'd said about that other road, and worried that I had taken him on a road that was too bumpy because of that.

Selfie near Sagebrush Flat

I had climbed up on the rocks to pick some currants.
Boyd asked me to stay up there and he took this pic.

Sagebrush Flat is a Beautiful area with views into both Utah and Salt Lake Counties.

We made it up to Sagebrush Flat and began exploring a little. We talked about how many hunters might be up in that area during archery season. We saw a large buck and a moose, and took some pics. I had forgotten my DSLR and Boyd was trying to get some good pics with his phone. Getting good pics with my phone is really out of the question.

The scenery was magnificent. The friendship, even better. We ended up by picking up some food at Costa Vida and taking it back to Boyd's house and eating it there.

The Sagebrush Flat area. Sweet!

We saw a moose and nice buck up here in Sagebrush Flat. I couldn't
find the pics though.

Trip 4

August 15th was our most recent trip. We made it back to Currant Creek. I remembered that earlier in the summer we had passed through the area during the huge fire up near Strawberry Reservoir, the Dollar Ridge fire, and we had seen flames and tons of smoke along with aircraft dropping water and/or fire retardant on it. I couldn't see any smoke now--at least from that fire. The air was a bit smoky from all the fires further west, but not as bad as it has been this summer.

Boyd told me that we wouldn't be able to make it down to his favorite fishing spot, because they had tried the week before when he came up with some family members, and he had fallen down pretty good. So we made it to an area that was easier to access and set up our stuff.

We caught a couple of eating-sized fish. Boyd had told me that he and his wife Robin love to eat fish. That was fine with me. My wife Ann hates even the smell of them cooking.

It was a team effort. I tied on all the hooks and other gear, baited up the hooks, and cast out the line, and then Boyd reeled 'em in. The weather was nice all day, with long periods of cloud cover and some cooling breezes. We could have sat up there all day long and pretty much did.

Boyd got to reel in the bigger ones, although I managed to bring in
the minnow on the left. Ha ha!

During the time there we had some pretty open and frank conversation. Boyd told me that he had stopped using the BiPAP machine that doctors had wanted him to use to help out his breathing at night. "It's just so uncomfortable," he said--or something like that. He's pretty honest about his approach to life, telling me that if he goes, he goes, and he doesn't want to prolong the inevitable. On the way home we stopped to grab some food, and he accidentally dropped his fries on the floor. He picked them up and still ate them. I had shaken off the floor mat before I went and picked him up that day, so there wasn't any loose dirt on it at least. I asked him "did you get any grit?" 

"No," he said.

I told him that I had shaken off the mat.

He said, "Well, it's not like I care about that stuff anyway. I mean I'm not going to be around much longer, so what's a little dirt." He held up his root beer. "And I never used to drink much of this for health reasons, but now, what does it matter? I can do what I want." I had to admit his logic was compelling.

The haul! Boyd enjoyed reeling in the larger fish. It weighed somewhere
in the 2-3 pound range.

The Next Time

I'm not really sure when we'll be able to get out again. Ann, who is disabled, expressed some concerns about how much time I'd been spending away from her, and not just with Boyd. I had gone on a hike with my brother and taken some of my grandkids out exploring all within the last few weeks.

But that being said, I'm hoping that Boyd and I can continue to get out until he can no longer do it. And personally, I'm hoping that I'm being the right kind of friend--one who cares enough to spend time with an old buddy who's ill. I'd like to encourage all my readers to do the same, and if you're friends with Boyd, go and see him or even take him somewhere fun.

Boyd has been able to keep an upbeat attitude during this ordeal, which is exemplary. I think it would be pretty hard to not get down, but he considers himself to be pretty lucky. And me? I'm lucky to have friends like Boyd to adventure with. It's one way to measure a life.

Sometimes death just plain sucks

A great human being died this past Monday. My friend, Mark, who had been battling leukemia for several years finally lost the fight. He was a strong and mighty man, full of vigor, and the disease had to do its best to claim him. He fought on when most would've thrown in the towel. He was a man with a heart of gold and who spread kindness wherever he went. He had a twinkle in his eye whenever I saw him.
I got to know Mark years ago through church service. There I found out that Mark wasn't just a good man, but a great one. I loved him like a brother. The world will miss this guy, and so will I.

Fighting our inner battles

Occupying time with God's handiwork can take our minds off of nearly anything.

Do you ever feel lonely even when you're in a crowd--or even when you are around people whom you love and who love you? Nearly everyone has some kind of hidden trials that we don't know about. I guess mine is that feeling of loneliness. I've tried to pinpoint it. I'm a great one for self-analysis. I know that my decision to leave the LDS faith three years ago has left me somewhat isolated from people I love--even those who are closest to me. There are possibly other reasons that I can't identify. I was experiencing loneliness prior to leaving the LDS faith. I think in a way, that's my cross to bear so to speak. My thorn in the flesh. Others have trouble with depression or anger management or any number of things. I think most of us have heard the saying, "Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." (attributed to various people including Plato, but it looks like the original source is Ian Maclaren)
I need to remember that. The truth of it was forcefully put into my mind when I watched the 2017 film Wonder a few days ago. Told from various character's points of view, it shows emphatically how everything isn't always as it appears on the outside, or from one person's vantage point. Each person in that story had their own feelings and reasons for doing things the way they did. In real life it is that way.
I don't know if my feelings of loneliness will ever go away. It is my challenge. I sometimes forget about it when I get intensely interested in something. It happens for long moments as I'm driving and looking at the countryside. I think if I could travel more frequently, get outside with my wife Ann, or some friends and just do something that kept me occupied, then I could keep those feelings at bay for longer periods of time.
And that's likely the same with you who have your own feelings of loneliness, anger, or frustration. The key is to live in the moment and not dwell on what gives you those feelings. It's an involvement of self in things that thrill you, interest you, and enthrall you--occupying the space in your heart and mind where the feelings that make you sad take up room.
I like to think that more focusing on the needs of others helps with that too. I'm sure it helps with the welfare of the human soul. I will keep my wolf howling in the light of the full moon as my background image on my Facebook page. It reflects partially who I truly am. However, I know that my Lord may see fit to remove that image from my heart and mind, in his own timing. Until then, I will ask him to help me deal with it, and I will do as much of what I have found to be a relief of symptoms, even if not an all-out cure.
Just rest assured that we are all fighting a hard battle. Really. My goal is to treat you as if you were, with kindness and love.

Care for the caregivers

In writing on this subject, I run the risk of sounding like I'm complaining. And yet, I feel the need to open the eyes of people to situations they may have under their very noses, within their own family circle or conclave of friends.
Among the vast throngs of people existing on this planet, there is a group of people, scattered across the globe, who are called “caregivers” or “care partners”. I heard the latter terminology used by Jennifer Brush and Kerry Mills, authors of a book called I Care:  A Handbook for Care Partners of People with Dementia. That being said, caregivers or care partners, whichever terminology you prefer, involve a wide range of people caring for others with a wide range of challenges.The challenges may be mental disorders, such as Alzheimers or other forms of dementia, or those for whom care is given may have physical challenges for which the causes are myriad. In my case, I am caring for my wife Ann, who seven years ago, was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis, Sjogrens Disease, and Fibromyalgia. Those of us who are caregivers do not think of ourselves as angels or saints, or anything of the kind. Personally, I am an ogre on a frequent basis. Most of us are just people thrust into a situation they never wanted to deal with, but who are doing the best they can. In most cases we are barely hanging in there.
For the past few months of this year—since January actually—Ann has been in some extreme difficulty, which has required much more of my time. Before that, she was able to get out of the house on her own, make her own meals, and pretty much take care of herself. Since January, she is debilitated to the point where she cannot shower without help, often requires assistance when using the bathroom, cannot stand long enough to get her own meals, and cannot drive herself anywhere. As you can imagine, this has put a huge burden on me to help her with those things.
Since I am not old enough to be retired, I work a forty-plus (usually in the non-Christmas time of year it's around 45) hour week at the U.S. Postal Service as a letter carrier. Our daughter Rebecca, and her husband Justin, along with their four children live in our home. Justin works outside the home, and has a heavy schedule both at work, and doing things for his LDS church calling. There is a level of dysfunctionality within their family and while I'm at work, Ann receives sporadic care. I make sure she is fed breakfast before I leave, and I put her lunch in a small cooler. When I come home, I get dinner ready—or pick it up somewhere—it has become harder and harder for me to have the desire or energy to actually make dinner—and then spend the remainder of most nights at home with her. She has been home watching something on television all day, or sometimes reading, and is bored. I then become the entertainment by playing board games several nights a week, or watching something with her.
While I love spending time with Ann, there are certain chores that need to be done, such as lawn mowing, weeding, and even stuff inside the house like washing walls, scrubbing floors, and cleaning bathrooms. Going to the store for needed groceries becomes a challenge because there is a certain amount of guilt placed on me when I hear Ann's words, “you're leaving me again?” Even going to lunch with a friend or attending church meetings are filled with guilt trips for desertion. All of these chores and activities get postponed or not done at all because of Ann's need for companionship. Busywork, such as contacting my medical insurance for forms, or getting reimbursed by my Flexible Spending Account get pushed aside so that I can meet Ann's immediate needs. I believe these things are common among caregivers and that I am not alone.
I have the added challenge of the other family members who live in my house not totally functioning, and I end up having to clean more (and other great challenges) because of that than I would were they to move out. However, Ann is insistent that they remain with us until she can care for herself, despite their limited contribution. If they were fully functioning, they would be a great help, instead of an extra burden, which I would welcome, wholeheartedly.
One of my personal challenges and one that is common to caregivers, is caregiver burnout. It takes a lot out of a person to care for another constantly. Breaks are needed. Those of us who appear to be “handling” it well, are often not doing as well as we should, or even could be. I am strong. Very strong. I make it a point to not whine and I try to put a positive spin on things. I blog excitedly about my adventures, and I use my sense of humor frequently. To outsiders, or even sometimes close friends and family members, this can look like I'm doing okay, so no need to help. The stark reality is though, that us caregivers desperately need those close to us to step in, often without being asked, and lend a hand.
When Ann first came home from the hospital in January, some of the people from the church I attend offered to help. At that time, I turned it down, largely because I was embarassed that we even needed it considering we had family living with us who were able-bodied and should be shouldering the load. Nobody from outside really knows how dysfunctional our household is, and it's actually not easy to explain to people. I am reminded of these words from the book of James: “If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?” (James 2:15-16)
In the past, I have used hiking and other activities to get myself a break from the caregiving. This year, because Ann took a turn for the worse, I have been able to get out far less than in the past. I have been afraid to schedule anything with anyone because of the times when I've had to call and cancel because Ann's needs were acute at the time the activity was supposed to take place. I think these kinds of things are common to other caregivers as well. Yet we caregivers need to take care of ourselves if we are to continue taking care of our loved ones. One thing I've been able to do on a fairly consistent basis is get to the gym. I go on my way home from work. I think stopping home first would keep me from going back out. What I could really use is a few days away from things, just to rejuvenate. I just don't see that happening. What would really be a blessing would be for Ann to get well enough that she could do many things for herself again. I think that will happen some day, but it's a slow process.
Another thing that caregivers are often challenged with is companionship. In many cases it becomes one-sided. One can give, and one cannot. It isn't the fault of the one being cared for, but it is a reality for many and hard to deal with. I have no idea what the solution is, but just being mindful of that challenge is a big help.
So my plea is for those who love the caregivers and those they care for to be aware of what's happening, not just visibly, but behind the scenes as well. And take some time from your busy lives to pitch in for a day or two a month. You will be blessing the lives of others, and the Lord will bless you for it.
One thing I think I have going for me that perhaps many other caregivers don't is that I always believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel—even if I can't currently see it, I know it's there. And I know that God is helping me endure and survive, and eventually wear the victor's crown.

Now, I hope that looked more like explaining than complaining. All you folks have an amazing day!

Remember: the most important things in life aren't things

I had some visitors tonight. I like visitors, for the most part, and these guys are my friends. I appreciate it whenever friends stop by, even if I'm about to leave, though if I'm about to leave I feel bad that I can't visit long enough. See, the way I look at it is people are the most important things to spend time with on any given day.
And, though I spent a lot of time today getting various tasks done (it was my day off), I did some things I felt I personally needed to do. I went to the gym early in the morning for the first time this week. I was able to do my treadmill run for cardio, but I ran out of gas when I tried to do my strength training exercises. This month has taken its toll on my physically, but then I knew it would and that's part of the reason I keep working out to be prepared for times like this.
I also took my 4runner over to the shop for a tune-up and oil change, then walked home. That was exercise. Then later on, I walked back to get it--more exercise. The place is only .4 miles away, so no big deal.
Early in the morning I was looking up wind chomes, I mean chimes, for a possible Christmas present. I found some that might work, but they are supposed to remind one of a meadowlark and I'm not quite sure they do. Here's the link: you can judge for yourself.
I went to an antique store and browsed around searching for that one gift that would be well thought out, to no avail. I ordered flowers for Ann's birthday which is this Saturday, I shopped at a candy store. I cleaned out a slow drain, made dinner and filled the dishwasher. Yet the most important thing I did all day was when I spent time with people. Spend time with those you love. They can leave unexpectedly. The things we wish we would have said to them, sometimes have to go forever unsaid. Don't make the mistake of waiting too long to say them.

Dream homes...dream lives

One of my dreams is to one day own an old ranch house with a wrap-around porch out in the country somewhere. It would sort of look like this picture from an old Leanin' Tree card:

Yeah, I think it might look exactly like that. Now, the thing is, how to get such a house and the feeling that goes with it. Getting it, and in the right location, would require a bit of cash. Now, I have the capability of earning such cash. All it will take is getting a good novel or two under my belt--novels that take off in the public eye. I'm confidant that I can do that. The question is, do I want it bad enough to do the work it's going to take to get it?

The next question is, how to get the feeling that comes to mind when I look at that Christmas card greeting. That's something that comes from the heart. Something that comes from love. Something that can only come from good friends and family. It depends upon the people that will live in that home. It's only a dream. Something for the future. But like anything else in life, a great home with a great feeling of love doesn't just happen by itself, and the question is, do we want it bad enough that we will do the work it takes to get it?

I will leave your hopes and dreams up to you. As for me, I set out on a great journey years ago. Sometimes life sidetracks us, but that only means that we need to show our mettle by overcoming the sidetracks and still coming through in the end. My journey isn't over until I'm dragged, kicking and screaming into the grave, and even then, I suspect more journeys ahead. Is my goal of owning a vintage ranch house with a wrap-around porch in a small community a good one? Yes, I think so. But better still is the goal of having that feeling of peace and love in my home. It's something we must always work on and is rarely perfect, but in those times when it is, it is magnificent.

A fine man passes

One of the finest men I ever knew passed away a few days ago, and I just found out about it. Renn Robinson was one of my Scout leaders as a young man. He always greeted me with a hearty handshake and a "How are you doing, young man?" He could tell stories like no other and was always a kind and friendly man. The world will be less without Renn on it.

Saying what you mean

Have you ever finished a conversation and then minutes after hanging up the phone (I still say that, but who hangs up a cell?) thought of some things you wanted to say, but couldn't think of at the time?


I think all of us have. We have all been part of a two-way conversation in which not all is said that one would want to say, and it is only later that we think of something we wished we'd said, but didn't think of at the time—and then the moment is gone.


We often cannot go back and fill in what we left out.


It's kind of like when you drive past a place that holds memories for you. You can't go back and physically be there again to relive that time in reality. But God gave us memories for a reason. We remember the bad as well as the good, and luckily for me, I remember the good a whole lot better and more frequently than I remember the bad.


There are places I go that trigger a sudden memory of something good. Physically, I'm still in the present, but mentally—my mind can recall my favorite times with amazing clarity. That my friends, is called a blessing.


The same thing holds true for a good conversation with a good friend. And, you never know. You may get a chance to say the things you wanted to say and forgot to say. Not all conversations end permanently.


We've all heard the sad stories of people who wish they'd have told a loved one how much they loved them, and then that person dies and that moment is lost for good.


Most times though, we reunite with those very people with whom we wanted to say more. The moment may be gone forever for saying certain things, but the chance to talk again nearly always happens. And then again, you may find the right moment to say what you should have said, in a conversation minutes, days, or even years before. If you get that chance, take it. If you get the chance to tell someone you love them, take it. It too is a blessing.

I love this quote

I love this quote by Max Lucado, and is it ever true:

“When you are in the final days of your life, what will you want?

Will you hug that college degree in the walnut frame? Will you ask to be carried to the garage so you can sit in your car? Will you find comfort in rereading your financial statement? Of course not. What will matter then will be people. If relationships will matter most then, shouldn't they matter most now?”

Taking some time to remember

As we neared completion on our house renovation, I paused for a moment, remembering. It won't be long now before someone else owns the home that we owned for 27 years, and I'll no longer be able to go inside and think about things. A lot of life was lived in that home. Many many memories came flooding back. I looked up at the chain dangling from the ceiling fan. Still attached to it, was a small piece of tape. Why is this tape here? I wondered. And then it came to me--we used to tape the mistletoe to that chain. I had shared many a smooch with my amazing wife, Ann, under that mistletoe. I gazed at the stairs--there was the place where I had broken down and cried when I was explaining to Rebecca that our cat Ralph had cancer and was going to have to be put to sleep. Looking around that kitchen I remembered fond times when our family made sugar cookies, or when I pulled out the cast iron cookware and made Mountainman breakfast. I thought about my grandchildren coming over and helping me put together some cookies or make scone dough on that counter, and of the kitten we thought we wanted that crawled through a broken part of the baseboard beneath the sink and hid--we had to tear apart the bottom of the cabinet to get it out.

I looked over at our newly remodeled dining area. The new light there and the new floor, the missing table--none of it could dim my memories of the time spent playing board games--Scrabble, Boggle, Clue, Probe and the rest. Or of eating family meals together--ketchup roast, jackpot, to die for blueberry muffins, tacos. Or of Ann and the kids working on art projects together.

The basement brought back memories of writing, guitars, working on the computer, building a bookcase with Ben, cats on the window ledge, and the time when I was lifting weights overhead and felt something on my leg and glanced down to spy a black widow creeping up my bare leg.

I went back up to the main floor and saw the Christmas trees. The piano. The birds in the quakies out the south window, and the magnificent silver maple out front. I saw snowmen in the yard and started whistling Walking in the Air. I envisioned my kids and I playing in the front yard with baseballs and footballs, and playing horse on the driveway.

Further upstairs I looked out the windows for one last time. From the master bedroom, I looked across the church lawn, glad that I could see it, missing the poplars, but not really. I never really liked them anyway. Now, without them I could see my beloved mountains far across the valley. I remembered seeing my fellow church members out there on the lawn for activities---the ward picnic, the stake carnival, young men and young women activities. In the yellow room, I looked down upon the garden, the one that wouldn't grow because of the shade from the poplars, and which now was growing splendidly---the season we leave. It's fitting. I look further and spot Mt. Timpanogos. I've always been thrilled that  I can see "Timp" from my house so far away.

I look over at my good neighbor's, the Robbins, house and think about the good people they are, and think about how blessed we have been to have had them as neighbors since the beginning, and also to have the Earls on the other side of us for many of those years. A lot of good memories flood my mind associated with my friends who also happen to be my neighbors.

Memories. So many memories. They say you can't go home again, and perhaps literally that's true. But good kind people, good memories and good times are the fiber of which life is made. Treasure them all. We can go home again.