New Years and Inoculations

Before I start, let me warn you that at first, this post might seem negative. It's not meant to be, and in the end, I don't think it is. So please, bear with me as I set the stage so we can actually get to the insights I've had. :)

Today is December 31, 2013. New Year's Eve. 2013 ends tonight, and I couldn't me more ready.

2013 has been a rough year. Without listing the things that have gone on, let's just say it's been rough physically, financially, and emotionally, and I'm ready for it to be done.

To cap it off, I'm just getting over one of the worst bouts of flu I've ever had. To be honest, the past week and a half (even before I got sick!) is kind of a blur in my head. It's like remembering a powerful dream I may have had a year ago - I've got the basic gist of it in my head, but the details are all fogged up and blurred together, like they didn't really happen.

The fact that I'm getting over being sick, combined with the fact that my family will be going on a cruise together in a few weeks, brought the last cruise my family went on to mind. While it was an amazing experience, I got sick on the second day, which kind of muted the fun I had.

I took a look at this sickness and I thought that perhaps this is a gift. Generally, with the flu, once you've gotten over a particular strain, you're covered against it. (Hence why the flu vaccine works.) So perhaps, by getting the flu now, while I'm in Alabama and have my parents to look after me, but I still don't have anywhere else to go, I'm basically "getting it out of the way." That way, come cruise time, I can enjoy it at full capacity.

Right now, I'm going into 2014 hoping that that's basically what 2013 was, too. I went through a lot of miserable stuff this year. Hopefully, that means I'm "inoculated" for a bit, and 2014's going to be a great year. I've actually got a pretty good feeling about it. Here's hopin'!

I was named after a woman, and I couldn't be prouder.

     For the past week or so, I've been trying to figure out just what to say about this. My grandmother, who we called "Muddie", was/is basically my hero. She passed away two weeks ago tomorrow. It was a sad thing for us, but it wasn't unexpected, and in the end, we were largely happy that she was able to join those family members she severely missed. She expressed several times that she wanted to see them, and now she has.

I was very touched when my dad and older brother asked me if I would make a few comments at her funeral, which was intentionally kept small and simple, just a brief graveyard service, at her request before she passed. I wanted to share what I said, here:


I’ve thought long and hard about just what to say about Muddie. I want to say something that expresses just what an amazing woman my grandmother is; but every time I thought of something to say, it was never enough.

To be honest, I don’t think there is anything I can say that is quite enough. If you knew Muddie, you know what I mean.

Over the past few days, several friends of mine who knew Muddie have sent me their condolences and their impressions of Muddie:

“Once you meet Muddie, you never forget her!!”

“I love Muddie. Such an amazing person. The sweetest you could ever meet.”

Several of the things I read were from people who had only met Muddie briefly, but in that short time, she had impacted their lives significantly.

You often hear the metaphor of a stone thrown into a pond, and the ripples spreading. Muddie, however, was not content to simply drop into a pond and sink to the bottom. She reminds me more of a stone, skipped across the pond, and everywhere she touched, she created yet another set of ripples. She raised three wonderful children, who each have gone on to have their own families and to touch other people’s lives for the better. She impacted each of her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces and nephews, great nieces and nephews, and so on. And she touched their friends, as well – even friends of mine who met her for no more than a 15-minute visit were struck by her amazing spirit and sincerity.

I remember feeling that the timing of her passing was incredibly fitting – She has always been one of the most stalwart followers of and believers in Christ that I have ever known. And now is the time when we celebrate His sacrifice for us, and His Resurrection, which occurred so that we, too, could someday live again, and return to His presence.

I know, without a doubt, that I will see her again, and I can’t wait to see that grin that always made me feel like I was worth something, and that twinkle in her eye that always let me know that she was up to something. J

Within the last few days, my mother found a page inside of one of Muddie’s bibles, which had a brief essay a man had written about accomplishing everything you want to in life. Muddie had marked the following passage:

“We have much in our lives that is unfinished – relationships that need mending, good deeds we plan to do when we have time. But with God’s guidance we can do each day what we need to do that day, so that no matter when we die, we can have the comfort of knowing that we have lived fully and been faithful.”

On the same page, she wrote in her very distinctive handwriting, “This is how I feel. Don’t weep and grieve for me. I have had a wonderful life. God has truly blessed me.”

The last time I spoke to Muddie on the phone, she said something to me that she had said many times before, but this time, it genuinely felt different. As the conversation was winding down, she very deliberately said, “I love you, Bill.”

Then, she paused, as if trying to emphasize the sincerity of what she was next about to say: “And I always will.”

I choked back tears, and I returned the sentiment: “I love you, too, Muddie. And I always will.” It was different than previous conversations, and I felt it was a particularly important moment.

Those were the last words we said to each other, and I will always treasure that exchange.

Muddie gave me several things, but I think one of the most special, at least to me, is her name. When they weren’t calling her “Muddie,” which is a child’s adaptation of the word “Mother”, her family and friends called her Billie, and my parents named me Billy, later Bill, in honor of her. As I grew up, there were a few times when I considered going by Will or William, or some other form of my name, but in the end, I never wanted to, for one reason: because I couldn’t be more proud to share her name.

My one regret regarding Muddie is that the wife and children I hope to someday have will not have the opportunity to meet her in this life. I can certainly tell them what an amazing person she was and is, and I likely will do so several times – but without meeting her, it will be more difficult for them to know just how special she really was.

In the end, I think that the best way any of us can let the people we care about who never had the opportunity to meet her know how incredible she really is would be to live our own lives in a way that they can see the positive impact she had on each of our lives, that they can feel the ripples she left on each of us when she touched us.

“Keep on keepin’ on,” she said to me just about every time we spoke.

“It’s all a matter of the mind – if you don’t mind, it don’t matter.”

And, as I heard from her countless times, and I’ve heard repeated several times over the past few days by people who knew her, “Don’t you quit!”

I love you, too, Muddie. And I always will.

"Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack..."

Okay, so I didn't eat any peanuts OR crackerjack (not even that fond of either), but this weekend WAS spent largely at ballgames.

I went home for my birthday this weekend. That's right, another one has come and gone. This was a special one, though, since I hadn't been home with my family for my birthday in seven years. Seven! But since my mom called me a few weeks ago and offered to help pay for a ticket, I decided to take her up on it, and off to Sweet Home Alabama I flew!

I got a few good presents, but you know which one stood out the most?

The first full day I was there, my nephew Cody (5 or 6 years old) asked if I wanted to go to his teeball game. I told him that I'd love to. I got there a few minutes late (after about an inning or so, I think), and when I got there, I was told that Cody had been coming over and asking where I was.

"Uncle Bill's coming, right?"

"Yes, Cody, he's on his way."

*Later*

"Uncle Bill said he'd be here, but I don't see him."

Right after I got there, the kid hit a grand slam homerun! They ended up trouncing the other team. Seriously, that kid's a stud.



The next day was my birthday, and I went to another nephew's baseball game, as well as my niece's softball game and another of Cody's teeball games.

Unfortunately, my niece didn't win, but my nephews won each of their games.

Can I tell you how long it had been since I had been to a baseball game? When I was younger, my older brothers and sisters played ball (I did, too, but let me tell you, I had NO talent!), and I was, of course, always dragged to their games. My siblings laugh when they talk about how I always brought a stack of books with me, went off in the corner or sat under a light pole and read.

No, I did NOT bring a stack of books with me!

...

I brought A book with me, though...

However, I didn't read it. Instead, I pulled out my camera and took over a hundred pictures. (Lots of them were rapid-fire.)

I had a little fun with Photoshop when I got home, though. Yes, it's cheesy, and probably kind of dumb, but I enjoyed making it. I love this program...

Heh. Who'd have thought I'd spend my birthday at the ballpark?

*walks off whistling "Take Me Out to the Ballgame"*

"Yew tawk fuuuunny..."

I grew up in the South. The deeeeeeeeep South. Now, however, I live in Utah, and people are always surprised when I tell them where I'm from. "You don't have an accent!" they say.

I have a few reasons/excuses. First, when I was younger, I had a lisp. My first few years of elementary school, I went to speech therapy classes to correct it. I think that's a part of the reason.

The other reason is that I was raised by a mother who was the oldest daughter in a military family. As such, her family moved around quite a bit, and she never really developed any sort of accent. (My dad, however, has a strong accent. One of the only people who has a stronger accent that I know, in fact, is his mother, an amazing little Southern fireball of a woman. The long I vowel sound isn't even a part of her repertoire. "Hah!" or "He-low-oo" are her greetings of choice.)

Actually, here's a funny story. One time, years before I was born, my mom was helping out with one of my cousins from my dad's side of the family. He was about two or three years old, and as she was helping get him situated in the back seat of a car they were driving, he looked up at her with a confused look on his face and said, "Yew tawk fuuuuuhnny."

Heh. From the mouths of babes... Er, chillun.

Anyway, it's kind of funny, because I have no trace of accent (though I'll slip into a slight one if I get really excited or am talking to one of the more-prone-to-drawl members of my family), but I definitely subscribe to the Southern dialect.

A friend of mine (from the South, of course) filled out this little survey, and I thought it was fun. So, for your reading enjoyment...

1. A body of water, smaller than a river, contained within relatively narrow banks.
Creek

2. What is the thing you push around the grocery store is called.
Shopping cart. (I know many who call it a buggy, but I never picked up on that one.)

3. A metal container to carry a meal in.
Lunch box.

4. The thing that you cook bacon and eggs in.
A skillet or a fryin' pan.

5. The piece of furniture that seats three people.
Couch

6. The device on the outside of the house that carries rain off the roof.
Gutter

7. The covered area outside a house where people sit in the evening.
Porch

8. Carbonated, sweetened, non-alcoholic beverages.
Coke. Doesn't matter the flavor. "Do you want a Coke?" "Sure." "What kind?" "Sprite."

9. A flat, round breakfast food served with syrup.
Pancakes

10. A long sandwich designed to be a whole meal in itself.
A hoagie or a sub.

11. The piece of clothing worn by men at the beach.
Swimming suit

12. Shoes worn for sports.
Tennishoes. (One word.)

13. Putting a room in order.

Straightening up

14. A flying insect that glows in the dark.
A lightning bug

15. The little insect that curls up into a ball.
Roly poly

16. The children's playground equipment where one kid sits on one side and goes up while the other sits on the other side and goes down.
See-saw

17. How do you eat your pizza?
From point to crust.

18. What's it called when private citizens put up signs and sell their used stuff?
G'rage sale. Even if there's no garage involved.

19. What's the evening meal?
It depends. If the main meal of the day was at noon, then the evening meal is supper. If the main meal of the day is at night, then the evening meal is dinner. The main meal of the day is dinner, though.

20. The thing under a house where the furnace and perhaps a rec room are?
Basement

21. What do you call the thing that you can get water out of to drink in public places?
Water fountain

22. What do you call the thing with wheels that you put a baby/small child into to take them for walk?
Stroller, though I've always liked the term "pram." Very British. But it's not one that I've adopted.

Photography and Photoshop

Recently at work, they've been having me take some semi-professional photos of my co-workers for magazines that feature the company. Group shots, headshots, etc. So yeah, I'm kind of published. Just kind of, but still, it's a step.

As such, I've been playing around with Photoshop. (No, I'm not just wasting time. Since this is something they want me to do for work, I'm familiarizing myself with the program so that I can do a better job. It works best when you've got something to work on.) I've got CS4 at work, and it really is an amazing program. I try not to overdo it, of course, and in some ways it may not look like I've done anything, though if you compare these images to the original shots, you'll definitely see a difference.

I figured I'd share them here. Enjoy!

I Believe

About two years ago, I wrote an essay for one of my classes. We were to follow the format of NPR's "I Believe" program, wherein one was given a certain number of words to quickly say something poignant they had learned, relating a story that illustrated that point. It could be inspirational, amusing, emotional, or any combination of these, so long as it was true and had some meaning to the person who related the story. Here is the essay I wrote. And just to add, I still believe this.



I believe in the ability of children to learn. It's what they're built for. From the beginning, they're watching everything around them, grabbing little tidbits of information and putting them to use in their own little lives. From the very beginning, nothing escapes their notice. From bugs, to trees, to that sound that the furnace makes when it turns on to heat up the water when Mom takes her shower, they pay attention to things that simply escape us... the more mature, more worldly-wise grown-ups.


I love playing with my nieces and nephews. I love seeing their eyes light up as they make new discoveries. I recall the look in the eyes of one of my nephews when he was four years old. He proudly walked up to me carrying a half-gallon tin brimming with marbles. His eyes sparkled as he looked at me and said, "This is going to be SO COOL!" I grinned, curious about his plans. My curiosity turned to dismay, however, as he took the tin, held it in both hands and squatted in preparation, and launched its contents into the air. Even today, I would swear that for a few moments, time stood still. I can still see the individual marbles as they fell to the ground, skipping into cracks and crevices, rolling behind bookshelves and sofas, never to be seen again. I remember each little ping as they danced off of foldable metal chairs, struck the panes of the French door behind him, clattered off my own head. For a moment, I was annoyed.


However, even more clearly, I remember the look of wonder in his eyes as he watched this shower of jewels cascading around him. For a brief moment, I was able to see through those eyes, to catch the twinkle of every precious gem, to drink in this one moment and sap every instant of unadulterated joy. To him, it was a magical moment... an event of wonder.


Later, when I recalled this incident, I wondered when it was that I had let that feeling of wonder slip away. When I think about it, it wasn't that long ago that I was fascinated by little things like falling marbles, loud noises, tumbling games in the living room, rain puddles to splash in, or tiny creeping bugs going about their busy little lives. And yet, I didn't seem to notice them any more. Instead, I focused on things like how to pass my chemistry class, whether I could get a date for the weekend, and if by some stroke of luck I did, whether I would be able to pay for gas to pick her up anyway. And I realized that I had let that feeling of wonder get away from me.


So now, I listen to cricket songs. I pay more attention to those sunsets. I splash in rain puddles. And if I see a bucket of marbles, I'm sometimes tempted to toss them in the air, just to see what would happen, to recreate that moment of joy and look through the eyes of that four-year-old boy that I used to be. I try to see things as a child would and learn all I can about the world... and about myself.


I believe in the ability of children to learn. And I believe in their ability to teach.

A picture of my niece from this last week. I think it illustrates this point quite well.

One lick at a time

My brother told me an interesting story yesterday. Apparently, when I was two years old, most of my older brothers and sisters entered a mile run at the local middle school. Because I was not the type of child to be left out of anything, I insisted (as only a headstrong two-year-old can) on entering as well. Apparently I was the youngest participant, which isn't really that much of a surprise.

I'm told I held pretty strong for the first half-mile; however, at this point, my youthful determination began to flag. This mile run wasn't everything it was cracked up to be! However, then Johnny (always thinking) had an idea. He ran about 50 yards ahead of me (not too difficult, considering he was 15 years older than me and 6'3, and I was two years old with stubby little hobbit legs), and he held out a Jolly Rancher. Oh, how my eyes lit up! With determination in my eyes, my little arms started pumping, and I fell forward into the ever-popular toddler run, head leaned forward, legs pumping wildly to catch up. When I reached him, he held onto the Jolly Rancher and gave me a good, long lick. Sweet bliss!

However, then came the betrayal. After that one tantalizing taste, he stood up and ran another 50 yards ahead. How dare he! However, I screwed up my little face, leaned forward again and took off. Again, I reached him, and again I was rewarded with that one lick; but then, moments later, he took off again, and I was forced to follow in 25- and 50-yard bursts. All of a sudden, the distance didn't matter. It was only another short distance until I got another taste, and since I trusted my brother, I knew that I would get that taste every time. And then, all of a sudden, the next time I reached my brother and the prized Jolly Rancher, the crowd burst into cheers. Step by step, lick by lick, I had completed the mile. And, of course, I was given the entire Jolly Rancher, a laurel wreath of which Apollo himself would be jealous!

Honestly, does it get any better than that?

Of course, I came in dead last. (Come on, I was two years old!) However, my brother said that the cheers when I crossed that finish line were deafening. Now naturally, I don't remember any of this production, but I know all the players involved, and I know the script. It's not that difficult to recreate the scene in my head.

I think there have been other occasions scattered across my life where the same sort of thing has happened. I'll be running along at a good clip for a while, and then I'll get winded. It's very tempting to stop, but then off in the distance I see a glimmer of my goal, so I lean my head forward and pump my little legs until I get to where that glimmer was. And perhaps I'll get a taste of something wonderful -- just a taste, mind you -- and perhaps I won't, but I'll see another glimmer of it a ways off, and so I'll lean forward and run some more. At times, I'll get frustrated, but I'll receive comfort from a loving Heavenly Father, and he'll point off in the distance, and I'll see that prize again, and off I'll run, because even though I'm only getting the occasional taste, it's something I know I want, and it's something that I know is simply wonderful. And then finally, one lick at a time, without even realizing it, I'll cross the finish line.

A Theory of Relativity

I wrote this a few weeks ago at my family reunion. I decided to post it on here. As things stand, I'm planning on having new entries from now on, with perhaps an occasional old entry or something.

I'm sitting here at my family reunion, surrounded by relatives, and a thought comes to my mind. What, exactly, is family? Is it a strictly biological factor, a group comprised of similar pairings of nucleotides, a cosmic accident wherein certain individuals just happen to be born into the same clan? Is it a legal definition, by which the powers that be can more easily classify humanity, packaging people into tidy little groups, then shuttling them off to be dealt with at the beaurocracy's convenience? Is it both?

Is it neither?

As I quietly observe from my bench overlooking a basketball court, I see myriads of interactions taking place. My teenaged cousin Cougar (his parents are unparalleled BYU fans) faces off against Diane, an older cousin, showing off for her, and for whoever else may happen to be watching. (I doubt he even realizes I am even a part of this latter group.). His sister, Melissa, is standing over by the wall, smiling at some off-hand comment her dad just made. Quietly, she sneaks over behind her brother and snatches the ball away. Instantly, she is in an offensive stance, dribbling the ball, searching for some crack in Cougar's defense that she can exploit. (all this while wearing a black, knee-length skirt.) She makes a quick feint, then spins around him and takes off across the court. That's right, she seems to think. Even though you're good, and taller than me now, I'm still your big sister, and I can still take you on.

She doesn't even take a shot. She just passes the ball back to him and returns to her seat on the floor by the wall. She femininely spreads her skirt around her and smiles demurely, her facade replaced, but I've seen her secret. I'm no longer fooled. Besides, it's only a short while before my cousin Don sets a volleyball for her and she's back on her feet for an impromptu bump-set-spike practice session with him.

Across the way is the indoor track, a raised walkway that rings the entire upper level of the rec center. The race for children aged two, three, and four has just begun. The parents all cheer as their children make their ways down the track, some running full-force to be the first to break the victor's tape, others bewilderedly wandering along, absolutely dumbstruck at the commotion. Before the race is even halfway done, one inexplicably bursts into tears.

How many years since I was the one on the track, unsure why I was running, but going as fast as I could because hey, that's what everyone else was doing? One? Two? Twenty?

Sometimes it seems like yesterday.

Sometimes...

Just to my right, a small voice babbling incomprehensibly wakes me from my reverie. Taylor, my younger cousin Andrew's year-old son. Wow. A year old already? Honestly?

He plays happily, completely oblivious to the fact that the people surrounding him are his aunts, uncles, cousins, two, three, four times removed. To him, they're just someone else to smile at, another person whose day he can brighten with a laugh as he toddles over, clutching in is hand a gleaming treasure to bestow, its shining beauty hidden under the guise of a scrap of paper or perhaps a broken piece of plastic.

It amazes me as I look at the various relationships, all the cousins, and mothers, and brothers, and aunts, and greats, and thirds, and fifths, and once removeds, and family.

A quick aside: And, of course, the meddlers. Those relatives with whom I haven't spoken since the last reunion and know very little more about me other than the fact that I play the piano and... well honestly, very little more than the fact that I play the piano. And, with no malice whatsoever in their hearts, they come sit by me to talk, then ever so casually mention that they know a girl, and she's cute, and she's just about your age, and hey, I've got an idea! She lives close to you, why don't you just...

Did that just happen? Perhaps. *sigh* Bless their well-meaning hearts.

But back to family. I'm surrounded by so many people, and I'm tied to each of them in some way. Some of us share common blood ancestors. Some are related by marriage. Some are adopted, though I defy anyone to guess which, they're so much a part of us all. But no matter how they link themselves to me and to each other, they all fall under that wonderful umbrella word: family.

What exactly is family? In the end, I suppose it's all relative.