ronny remembers

Peanut Butter and Jam

2009-04-10T21:33:00.001-07:00

Now that I have children of my own that climb onto the counters to help themselves to items Denise and I would prefer remain hidden ...

I remember climbing up onto our counter to get the peanut butter to make myself a sandwich. This must have been either Phoenix or Kansas City. My generous portion of jam inspired my mother to proclaim that I had enough jam "for a whole army", and she made me put most of it back into the jar.

I protested that when I was older, I would use that much jam all the time on my sandwiches.

And I do.

Other memories about what I thought life would be like when I was "older":
- wishing for a motorcycle in the mall fountain
- being the "doctor" on my mission (smashed fingernails)
- the '67 Chevy Camaro that wasn't to be
- inspiration from my father

upstairs in Kansas City

2007-10-09T20:30:00.000-07:00

Dad came to visit this past week, and while we were talking, he asked me what I remember about Kansas City. This is what I told him.

I remember looking out onto the street from my upstairs bedroom window after I got in trouble and Mom had spanked me. I remember thinking "Mom, you are going to be in so much trouble for spanking me when Dad comes home."

Dad laughed and said "Boy, did you have that wrong!".

Yes I did.

That lady from the University of Washington

2007-09-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

After I returned from my mission, BYU implemented a new ticket purchasing program, known as the All-Sport Pass. This was a pretty transparent ploy to put warm bodies in the Marriott Center seats when the abysmal men's basketball team took the floor. At the time, the All-Sport Pass was only $55, which was just slightly more than season student football tickets, so basically, you were getting free tickets to all of the basketball games with your purchase of football tickets.

Every year, it's important to get together as a group of friends and purchase tickets together. It wasn't too important to get there early, since football student season tickets rotated seating through the student sections for each game. What was vitally important was that you would be sitting with your friends for each game. (Side note: this made it hard on freshman; committing to a four-month friendship after only a few days).

It was at one of these wonderful home football games that I led a cheer that resounded throughout the entirety of (then) Cougar Stadium.

The University of Washington was in town. We didn't like them too much. They ruined our 1996 football season. We finished 14-1 with a win in the Cotton Bowl. We would have been a legitimate national title contender if not for the pesky early season loss to UW. This may have been that game, but that's a different story.

Speaking of different, one of the defensive players on the UW team looked a bit different from the stands from the rest of his team, let alone the Cougar players. He had long flowing hair coming out of his helmet and down his back. He was number 24. I remember, because it was me, Ronald Bjarnason who pointed out to my friends (who had purchased tickets with me) and then pointed out to those around me, and then began chanting "24's A GIRL".

It all began in fun, but before long, as all good cheers and jeers, it caught like wildfire and the whole student section was taking part.

I sure hope that wasn't the 1996 game we lost. Would have been a waste of a perfectly good cheer.

The Ticket

2007-08-20T20:56:00.000-07:00

This is the story of what will likely be Joseph's earliest memory he will ever retain.

In the days following Ben's birth, things were a little hectic. Ben was very small. He weighed five and a half pounds at birth and lost a half a pound while in the hospital. If he had lost any more weight, he would have been admitted to the hospital for being so small. This caused us some concern.

On top of that, he was very jaundiced. We were able to get a bili-blanket driven up from Eugene to help drive his bilirubin count down. The bili-blanket is actually a small pad attached to a tube that houses optic fibers. The flexible tube is about three feet long and is attached to a small unit that houses a blue light. The light travels through the optic fibers out of the pad and directly onto the infant's skin where it will break down the bilirubin. The infant should be in direct contact with the pad 24 hours a day with the exception of diaper changes and baths. Treatment lasts a few days or more.

For the mother, this means that you need to pick a single spot in the house that you will not move from for the next few days, as moving the source unit is not advised while the light is hot, and waiting for the light to cool down can take up to a half hour. This drove Denise a little stir crazy. The night before my mother flew into town, Denise cried as she desperately called older mothers in the ward so that she could take a break while I took care of the kids. It was heartbreaking to watch, and I was so grateful when Heidi Neuffer answered the call and came over to hold little Ben while I put the kids to bed and Denise took a shower.

The next morning, I readied the kids to make the drive to Eugene to pick up my mother, and her extra pair of hands. I had made every effort to be on time, but each time I thought I was on my way out the door, something came up, and another few minutes were lost to another important task. Finally, when all the kids were buckled in the car and I pulled out of the driveway, I looked down and saw that I needed gas. Now I was going to be late. I hate being late. Fortunately for me, the drive to the Eugene airport, along old Highway 99 is rarely patrolled outside of the small towns every few miles, and I'm not a shy driver. I was frustrated, but I'd be able to make up some of the time.

There isn't a direct route from our side of town to Highway 99. Either you travel south of town for 10 miles before you take a side road to catch the highway (the route we prefer now), or you go downtown and catch the highway as it passes through the heart of Corvallis (the route I took this night). I took one of the main roads (speed limit: 45 mph) across the river and took a long turn onto 3rd street (a 1-way street, speed limit: 25 mph). I'd have to drive a block on 3rd before I could swing over to 4th and head out of town.

As I turned on to 4th, I saw the flashing lights. I stopped and asked to kids to calm down, secretly thinking that if they were going crazy that the offices would have pity and ask me why I was going so fast. I could honestly reply that I was late picking up my mother who was coming in to town to help out with my days old newborn. The kids calmed right down and Officer Roach (his real name) never asked. I explained to the kids that daddy was driving too fast and the officer was helping me remember that its not safe to drive so fast. I explained that police officers are "good guys" and they are always trying to help everyone be happy obey the laws.

To this day, when Joseph thinks we (either Denise or I) are driving too fast, he asks us to slow down, and reminds us of the time that daddy got a ticket while we were picking up Nana. I'm glad that we were able to have a teaching moment that will last a lifetime, but somehow I wish Joseph could have chosen a different event as his first and earliest memory.

My First Race

2007-07-16T21:33:00.000-07:00

Near Merced, California is a man-made reservoir across from the new UC Merced campus called Yosemite Lake. While I was in high school, this was the location of an annual Cross Country Invitational that our school regularly attended. The event took place at the beginning of the season, before any of the dual meets had began, and this was the site of my very first race.

We got to the school in the morning, and drove around 30 minutes to get the the lake. In true form, I fell asleep on the bus. I was a sophomore, and would be running one of the earliest races. Some of these events had separate races for freshmen and sophomores, but most had JV Boys, JV Girls, Varsity Boys and Varsity Girls. The latter was probably the case for this event, as it was a smaller invitational.

As the bus pulled into the parking lot, we could hear someone on the bullhorn making last call for someone's race. Down came the windows, and we heard them make their call for my race. The bus pulled to a stop and I made my way to the starting line to warm up.

The typical modus operandi for any race is to jog the course once so that you are familiar with the lay of the land before you have to find twists and turns when it really counts. This was obviously not going to take place today. Instead, I had on my sweats and just did the best I could to get a little sweat running before my race began.

As we were called to the line, I felt a little sick to my stomach, usually a good indicator that I was going to do well. The gun went off, and I did the best I could to run a good race. I knew I wasn't going to win. Mostly I just tried to push as hard as I could through to the end.

My coach met me at the finish line, and told me I had finished ninth. This was obviously much better than either she or I had thought I would do. It was my first taste of a real race, and the start of a long road (literally and figuratively) that I am still running on today.

Dropping the Ball

2007-06-26T21:48:00.000-07:00

When I was in third grade, my older sister, Deborah (a fifth grader) had the coolest friends in the whole school. There was this one boy who would wrestle with me on the playground, and would reply "Touché, mama sow" if you said something cool. She also had another friend who was really into the Talent Sprouts and had a cool leather jacket, but seemed a bit too "slick" to me. But the coolest guy in the whole school was Gehrig (Garret?) Peterson. Gehrig was THE JOCK.

The coolest thing about Deborah's friends was they would let me play baseball with them at recess sometimes. Of course I wasn't as big and strong as they were, but they needed an extra pair of hands sometimes, especially at the positions none of them wanted to play. This meant that when I got to play I usually played catcher.

By the time I reached third grade, I had already played a few years of Little League and I knew my way around the diamond. I wasn't ever the best hitter, but I was a fairly decent fielder and I didn't make mental mistakes, especially when it came to recess ball.

The one moment I remember more clearly than any other recess moment at A.J. Winters elementary school came while I was playing catcher and Gehrig was up to bat. He took a few pitches, and then clipped the bottom of the ball so that it flew into the air behind home plate. I positioned myself under the ball, prepared to make the catch, and at that moment Gehrig shouted "No, don't catch it!". I wanted so desperately to be included. I wanted to be a part of the team. I wanted to be invited back to play again tomorrow. I dropped the ball. I didn't just muff the catch. I opened my arms and let the ball fall straight to the ground. I sold out.

I gave in to peer pressure and sacrificed my integrity to feel included. I should have put Gehrig out. Maybe I didn't realize at the time that putting him out was the only choice THE JOCK would have respected.

(Aside: Deborah will have to correct me on the names.)

ORANG...E

2007-06-03T20:36:00.000-07:00

In honor of the Scripps national bee that took place this last week ...

Deborah and I competed in the annual Spelling Bee in Montpelier. I competed in first and second grade. I don't remember what happened in third grade. I missed the fourth grade competition because I missed the word "eschew" in Mrs. Abplanap's (Mrs. A) class competition, but that's a different memory.

In second grade, I was in Mrs. Keetch's class, along with Cody Brown. Cody had won first place the year before, and I had gotten second. I think the following story took place in the second grade competition.

Cody Brown was smart. He had a physical handicap and walked with crutches. Dad told me what he had, and that he probably wouldn't live to see his 12th birthday. I don't remember what it was nor do I remember having him in class after the second grade. Cody was a nice kid, and I won't call him my nemesis. Nonetheless, he was very smart and I knew he was the one kid standing between me and first place.

The spelling bee finals took place on the stage of the old high school. The stage was lit and the audience was dark. We contestants sat on stage waiting for our turns in neat little rows of worn and tired chairs. I was confident. I just needed Cody to made a mistake somewhere. There were first grade words, second grade words, third grade words, and so on. When you exhausted one list, you moved on to the next, until there was only one person standing. I don't remember any of my words, but I clearly remember one of Cody's.

On his turn, he approached the microphone, and the reader announced "orange". Cody was a rock. He spelled "O..R..A..N..G", and then turned to walk away. That was it. Cody was out of the competition. My way to first place was paved. It would be smooth sailing from there on.

Cody took one step, and then another, and then, in desperation, reversed direction and lunged with all of his might back to the microphone. "E!!!!" he pronounced before the judge had issued a ruling. My hopes dashed, I secretly urged the judges to disallow the continuation. It was ruled as correct. I got second place, behind Cody Brown.

-- end of story--

For the record, this is a partial list of my elementary school teachers. If anyone else remembers the names that I left out, post it, so that my record can be complete:
Kindergarten teacher (Summit Elementary): Mrs. Theriot
1st grade (Summit Elementaty): Mrs Vernon
1st grade (A.J. Winters): ???
2nd grade (A.J. Winters): Mrs. Keetch
3rd grade (A.J. Winters): Mrs. Webber
4th grade (A.J. Winters): Mrs. Abplanap (Mrs. A)
5th grade (A.J. Winters): Mrs. Etcheverry
5th grade (Fremont): Mr. Thompson (Mr. T)
6th grade Sep-Dec (Fremont): Mr. Denezio
6th grade Jan-Jun (Fremont): ???

Other elementary school memories.

- Ryan takes a softball in the stomach (1st grade)
- kickball on the A.J. Winters playground
- walking to school in the snow (getting offered a ride)
- walking to school in the snow (getting stopped by an officer)
- walking to school in the snow (just in general)
- field day at A.J. Winters (losing to J.R. in the footrace)
- playing catcher at recess (dropping the foul ball)
- placing bets with Wendall
- fishing for J.R.'s beltbuckle
- substitute teachers at A.J. Winters
- kissing tag at Summit Elementary

Broken Glasses

2007-05-22T21:48:00.000-07:00

The Orangeburg chapel in Modesto is one of the most awesome buildings I've ever been in, at least from a boy scout's point of view. There are so many nooks, crannies, and secret passageways in that building that playing indoor tag or hide-and-go-seek actually requires real effort. Alas, this story isn't about the indoor maze, but about a small brick utility building on the grass outside.

On this particular day, the scouts were playing a game of tag after our regular meeting. It was a wonderful summer day and we were having a good time. On that very day (or perhaps the day before), I had been to the optometrist to get a new pair of glasses. Mom had gone with me, and the three of us had a long discussion on the merits of glass versus plastic lenses. Glass lenses won't scratch as easily as plastic (a common problem for me), but glass will shatter easily. For the first time in my life, we agreed that I would get glass lenses. I felt responsible.

Of course, this was the period in my life when I wore my glasses all the time. I wore them to school. I wore them to church. I wore them when I played outside. I was wearing them when I turned around and my face found the corner of that brick utility shed on the grass lawn of the Orangeburg Chapel, and the glass lenses shattered.

The Scoutmaster (I don't remember if it was Brother Fairbanks or Brother Blazzard) wanted to make sure that I was OK. He was especially concerned that I may have gotten a glass shard in my eyes. I didn't care about that. I knew that I back to the plastic lenses. And so it was.

Other memories:

- Deborah doesn't get kissed by Dave Spencer (barely!)

Anjanette is born

2007-05-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

By request, this is what I remember about Anjanette being born:

February is cold in Montpelier, Idaho. February is also the month of the Blue and Gold Cub Scout dinner. The night Anjanette was born it was both cold and the night of the dinner.

There is a long tradition at the Montpelier Blue and Gold dinner, which probably plays out across Cub Scout dinners across the country. Boys and their mothers slave over baking the perfect cake, whether it be adorned with all things chocolate or baked in the shape of the Millenium Falcon. The single goal is to have the most impressive cake as recognized by your fellow cub scouts. The scouts admire the cake, individually decide on whose is the most awesome, and then cry if their parents get outbid on their own cake.

As much as it pains the parents of two cub scouts to buy back two cakes (at a relatively high price if they are as awesome as ours were), it is even more painful for the brother whose cake was not bought.

On just such a night in February of 1983, my mother attended the Blue and Gold dinner, 9 months pregnant. She went home, went into labor sometime that night, and went to the hospital where Anjanette was delivered.

The two of them ended up in a wing with a window, and while my father did not take us in to the room, he did help us climb the snow drift outside their room (I told you it was cold) so that we could have a peek at our new baby sister.

I don't remember, but I suppose we may have gone home and celebrated with a slice of cake.

Other memories of Anjanette:
- Anjanette gets poop in her eye
- Anjanette answers the phone
- Anjanette gets baptized

Going After the Lure

2007-04-23T20:42:00.000-07:00

When we lived in Montpelier, the Father's and Sons campout was held next to a small winding river (under the reservoir if I remember correctly). The first thing I wanted to do when we got there was pick out my favorite lure and get straight to fishing.

Dad would tell me that the good fishing wouldn't be for a few more hours, but it didn't matter to me. I wanted to be the first to come back to camp with a fish to eat.

I would carefully examine my dad's tackle box for the perfect lure. I wasn't much of a bait guy (boring!). Nor was I too concerned with examining the natural habitat for what the fish my jump at naturally. None of those logical approaches were quite my style. I was all about Flash and Superstition.

The flashy lures were the colorful minnows and the shiny Mepps spinners. Fortunately for me, these were also the ones that I had built up into my head were the luckiest, (thus the role of Superstition). I also knew which lures my dad liked to fish, so these played into the superstition as well.

On this particular hike (I must have been 9 or 10), I chose a colorful minnow. My dad insisted that this wasn't the right lure for the small river, nor would it attract the fish I was trying to catch. I insisted, and my dad only relented after I promised I would go into the river and pull it out if it got stuck.

Of course, it got stuck.

Here's where things get fuzzy, because I've gotten LOTS of lures stuck, and after such a long time, all the stories run together. If I had to piece this particular story together one last time, I'd bet I went in the river all the way up to my neck (or at least my armpits) until I realized I wouldn't be able to reach it (the lure always looks closer than it really is). After getting all wet, I probably tugged on the line a few more times. Maybe it came out (I may have bent the hook), but it probably didn't. I would have left my rod on the bank, and gone for my dad to help me. After his obligatory yanks on the rod, he may or may not have gone in after it. I doubt he would have sent me in again after I already tried. In all likelihood, he probably just pulled out his ever-present fingernail clippers and crushed my spirit by giving up on a $2.00 lure.

I sure feel bad for all of my dad's lures I lost. Hopefully, they weren't too many.

Other Montpelier memories:
- Superman!
- walking home after church
- Asteroids, Space Invaders and the Atari 7800
- half time at the high school football games
- The Unfair Primary President
- cool Deacons sitting by themselves
- cool Blazers singing harmony

Jimmy Atkinson

2007-04-18T20:49:00.000-07:00

Through 5th and 6th grade at Fremont Elementary (class of '87), the best athlete and the coolest kid in school was Jimmy Atkinson. He was always picked first, unless a girl was picked first (by mandate), in which case Tara was picked. He was also always last to get out at dodgeball. He would jump and twist and bend his body, and no one could ever throw him out once he was the only one on the court.

He wasn't the brightest kid in the class, but he ended up figuring a few things out without that talent.

Half way through our sixth grade year, our teacher, Mr. Denezio, retired. I don't remember the name of the guy they got to replace him. I remember he had the worst halitosis I had ever experienced in my life. Later in life, as I learned that word for the first time, this guy instantly popped into my head. While Mr. Denezio had a reputation as a disciplinarian, this new guy tried to make friends quick, and some of the misbehaved kids (Jimmy included) took advantage.

The teacher tried to make up for lost ground by administering rather harsh punishments. His favorite was assigning sentences. Often, the entire class would have to write sentences for one kid's mistakes. The sentence was always the same, something long and rambling about whatever he thought was important. I forget.

On one occasion, Jimmy was asking for trouble. He egged the teacher on, until true to form, he snapped and assigned 200 sentences to the entire class. Jimmy, always the class clown, was prepared. He opened his desk and removed 200+ sentences already finished. He counted the ones he needed, handed them over and put the rest back in his desk for safe keeping.

The teacher was furious. While I was rather impressed with Jimmy's preparation (in a Luke 16:8 sort of way), I wasn't too happy that I was being punished for something Jimmy did, and he was already done with the punishment before we got a chance to get started.

Now I just laugh.

Of course, Jimmy got his the next time sentences were assigned, and the teacher changed the wording.

Checkers

2007-04-13T21:04:00.000-07:00

This is a second-hand memory, but a good story nonetheless.

When my father was a boy, his father taught him to play Checkers. He played so well in fact that once (at perhaps 6 years old?), he played a man who had recently taken 4th in the California Checkers Championship and won (or perhaps played to a draw?). Admittedly, he had taken the man by surprise, and on a rematch, the man beat Dad handily.

Another time, Grace and John had gone out for dinner and a date and left the children with a babysitter. Somehow, after everyone else went to bed, my dad convinced this young woman that he would only go to bed if she beat him at checkers. She agreed. When his parents came home, and they were still playing, Grace became upset (we can all imagine), while John stood proudly admiring the skills of his young son.

Dad, you'll have to correct me when you get the chance.

Dad asks me to help out on a Saturday

2007-04-05T21:19:00.000-07:00

Once, when I was in high school, I heard a really funny story about a guy who had to give a urine sample. He snuck in some apple juice, and used that to fill the sample cup. As he went to return the sample, he asked the nurse how she though it looked. She said it looked a little dark and that he might be dehydrated. He said "Well, let me run it through one more time." and drank the cup dry (to the surprise of the nurse).

I thought this was the coolest story of all time.

Not long after, Dad asked me to come in and help one Saturday with the Hilmar Pop Warner physicals. Dad didn't want to drag his staff in on a Saturday, so he go us to come in and help. My job was to stand next to the bathroom door and hand the boys their cups as they went in to fill them. I thought this was a great time to put my humor to good use, so I ran across the street and bought myself a Martinelli's and started drinking it while I handed out cups. My original intent was to pour it into a sterile sample cup and drink it out of that. I never got the chance. Dad caught me after a few sips, pulled me aside, and taught me the first lesson of business:

Lesson 1: "Don't sh** in the cash register"

Apparently Hilmar Pop Warner never called Dad again to do physicals after that. Sorry, Dad.

Other funny memories:
- Aaron consults Dad about a suspected ear infection
- Liz gets asked the typical BYU freshman questions

Going to the Bean Museum in Style

2007-04-02T20:41:00.000-07:00

Here's an interesting story from Oregon today:

It reminds me of the time at BYU that we arranged a tour of the Bean Science Museum for a FHE night. We came up short on seat belts, so I volunteered to ride in the trunk. I joked with them that they shouldn't forget about me.

When we got to the Bean Museum, I heard them all get out of the car and walk away. I knew they were joking around, so instead of screaming like a raving idiot, I decided to let them have their fun, and I didn't say anything.

After a few minutes, I realized they must have really forgotten. It was a pretty roomy trunk, and I knew I had plenty of air to last a while as long as I didn't get excited. I was able to pry open a small crack in the rubber seal to give me a bit more air. I felt the backside of the rear seat cushion. It was rather low quality, and I assumed I could open up an air hole rather quickly if the time came. I wasn't worried.

I heard people walk by (we were parked next to the sidewalk), but I let them by. I didn't have a watch, so I tried to estimate how much time was going by so I could set a reasonable limit for when I should start calling out to strangers as they walked by. I figured my group would be in the museum for an hour, and I could wait that long if I had to. Anything more than that, and I guessed I should take some form of action to get myself out.

After about a half hour, one of my roommates looked around and asked the others where I had gone. They thought back, and realized that no one could remember seeing me with the group that whole night. They put two and two together, and came running outside to open the trunk. They were very worried about me. I wanted to know how much time had passed, but I don't remember how far off my time estimate was.

I went into the Bean Museum, but I had missed the cool parts of the tour. We still had a good time. When the night was over, I rode in the trunk on the way home.

The Time I Almost Killed Aaron and Myself

2007-04-01T21:05:00.000-07:00

This is not an April Fool's Joke.

There was a time period when Aaron had a thing for Tara Perrett. They've moved now, but back in the day, they lived on a few thousand acres of land out on the other side of Patterson. Occasionally, Aaron wanted to go out for a visit, and on this particular incident, I got to play chaperone, and give him a ride.

Once you get to the Perrett's driveway, you still have a few good miles to drive - all on dirt road. Most of it's flat, and you can speed along pretty well. Occasionally, there are some hills, and you need to be careful of the ravine that the road skirts along.

On our way back, I was hurrying back down the road as quick as the Suburban would allow. I fancied myself a good driver, and I was going much faster than I should. I wasn't at all concerned with oncoming traffic, as you could see the dust of any approaching cars for miles ahead. I was very much enjoying the independence of driving privileges (like when I hit 100+ mph in the GrandAm on our way to EFY somewhere in Nevada). I don't think I was really in a hurry, although I may have been. Mostly, I just like to drive fast.

I took a few turns too fast, and would quickly correct, spitting gravel in the air, slowing for a moment and then continuing on as before. I hit a long straight stretch, and found the gas pedal. At the end of that stretch was a sharp turn. I took it way too fast and hit the breaks hard. The wheels locked up and sent the Suburban careening this way and that as I over-corrected two or three times trying to stay on the road.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we came to a stop. A bit in shock, I unbuckled and stepped out. There, only a foot or two from my front tire was the edge of a ravine that went 100+ feet straight down.

Another two feet and Aaron and I would be memories on a wall.

I drove much slower the entire rest of the way home.

I don't think we ever told Mom and Dad.

Mr. Hines asks for help

2007-03-31T20:37:00.000-07:00

Mr. Hines has been teaching US History and coaching varsity baseball for ages at Turlock High School. He's most famous for his "wallpaper" of Sports Illustrated magazines in his classroom and for his (mis)treatment of the young women he has in his class. He openly proclaims that a woman's place is in the kitchen, making his dinner. He complains when his wife is out of town that he's not going to eat for a week.

His intentions are transparent. He wants the girls in his class to stand up and fight for themselves. His methods may be questionable, but the reactions are unmistakable. I remember as a freshman hearing how Deborah and Shannon Turk (class of '91) would work him over because of the comments he made.

My class ('93) had a handful of willing combatants as well, especially one specific girl (who should probably remain unnamed). She wasn't alone, but she's the one Mr. Hines will remember best.

Aside: I went back to see Mr. Hines a few years ago. I went during lunch break and visited until a few of his students were coming in from lunch. One of the girls came in, and comparisons were made. I told her that Mr. Hines told us we were the worst class ever to come through THS. He said that he says that to every class. I reminded him that we had the unnamed girl, and he recanted, confirmed that '93 was indeed the worst ever, and then flew into a tirade about the time he needed to teach her a lesson, resulting in her breaking out in tears, and fleeing the classroom. In her defense, the unnamed girl would probably tell the story differently than Mr. Hines.

I don't remember if it was before or after that incident, but it was obvious throughout the year that Mr. Hines was having trouble keeping the class in order. Mr. Hines is a pretty commanding figure, so this was probably new to him. At any rate, he asked me to stay after class for a few minutes one day, and I did.

In a nutshell, he told me that the classroom problems were my fault. He insisted that of anyone in the classroom (himself included), I was the one that my classmates respected and would listen to. If I publicly demanded peace and order, they would back down for me, where they wouldn't for him. I told him what I had been telling people for years: I enjoyed being in the class of '93. I found it entertaining to watch the struggle. Essentially, I told him that I knew we were tearing teachers apart, and I enjoyed the show. Disappointed, he let me go. I wasn't going to be any help to him.

I don't have too many regrets in my life, but I very much regret that exchange. A teacher who I respected extended a hand and a request for help, and I told him I wasn't willing to stand up and do what was right. At that point in my life, I had neither the courage nor the maturity to face down my peers and take the side of a teacher.

I especially regret that I have no recollection of even considering that my outlook was incorrect in any way. I was making my way through high school on the path of least resistance, and I wasn't about to rock the boat by reconsidering my approach to life.

I regret these choices, and hope to not make these mistakes again.

Adventures with Seth Blatter

2007-03-29T20:23:00.000-07:00

Our good friend, Amy (formerly Amy Bailey) had a friend named Seth Blatter. For one spectacular summer, I got regular invitations to tag along with Seth and Amy and their gang. Along with the regular good hang-out and clean partying that we did, we also had a few adventure style outings.

I had always wanted to hike Mt. Timpanogos (or Mt. Timp, as known by the locals). It's about a 16 mile hike round trip, so I assumed (correctly) that it would be about as strenuous as hiking Half Dome, which I had done enough times for it to be comfortable. Seth and the gang had done the hike many times, and they notified me of the plans to start hiking in the early morning (like 3am).

The only real time you can hike Mt. Timp is during the summer. During the other seasons, there's too much snow. I guess you could try in the Fall, before the first snow, but it would be extra chilly at the summit, and I'd stick to summer.

The problem with hiking in the summer is that Utah heats up pretty quick once the sun comes out. The best game plan for tackling Timp is to leave early (early) in the morning, pause for a few minutes at the peak to watch the sun rise, and haul your way back down the mountain before you get heat stroke. By hiking at night, you reduce the need to pack an extreme amount of water.

When the dead of night came, I was ready, and showed up at the rendezvous point with a few apples for snacks and some water to wash it down. I was told that there were two different paths to the top, and that we were taking the trail head above Pleasant Grove. We got hiking in the dark, and made out a few trial markers on our way up. There's a small cabin next to a small lake in a small valley just before you start up the real incline. There is a "saddle" along a ridge as you approach the final push. We were a little behind schedule, and hit the saddle just as the sun was coming over the East mountains. At the very top, there's a small outpost. In the outpost is a small can that has a notepad where everyone who reaches the summit signs and leaves whatever comment they like.

As I relaxed at the summit, I lost my apples. They had been in my stomach, and then I threw them up. They obviously hadn't been digested at all. Up to that point, I hadn't been feeling very well. I think I was suffering from a small bout of altitude sickness. After ditching the dead weight, I had a drink of water and felt much better. If I remember correctly, Seth was doing interviews at the summit with his video recorder, and you can see me puking in the background. I always wanted a copy of that.

Some of the group wanted to take an alternate route home by sliding down the glacier on the north side of Timp. I just wanted to get home. I felt much better on the way down. I paired up with someone who knew the way better than myself, and we pretty much ran the whole way down. The sun was getting higher and we wanted to make it back as quickly as possible.

Side note: the other time I hiked Timp was with Jonathan ??? from our ward, and we saw a moose on our way down.

Seth was a lot of fun to hang out with. In your life, you will meet people who you wish that somehow you could magically have known all your life. Even as they invite you into their circle, you just know that your lives will take separate paths. Knowing Seth was like this for me. It was fun while it lasted.

Somewhere out there, Seth Blatter is having a great time with genuine friends. I wish him the best.

Other memories from Provo:
- jumping into the lake with Seth and friends
- ward Commando
- ward "Steal the Present"
- ward Assassination

That one random kid in the picture

2007-03-26T21:21:00.000-07:00

In my parents home, there are lots of pictures hanging on the walls. There is a "these are our ancestors" wall, a "Eagle Scout commeratives" wall, a "wedding pictures" wall, a "family pictures" wall, and a "random group pictures" wall. This last wall is probably my favorite. There are lots of big groups, and lots of people that I don't see as much as I'd like anymore.

If you look carefully, there's one picture of all the cousins with a little blonde boy. This little blonde boy is smiling, sitting with the entire group. It's obvious from his demeanor that he belongs in the picture. I will personally guarantee you that no one else in the picture (all the cousins) will be able to tell you his name.

Our family loves to have big gatherings. It's always been that way. If I remember correctly, this gathering was at Downey park in Modesto. This was probably the occasion of a birthday, but it needn't have been. We may have been getting the whole family together just for the sake of getting together.

On this particular day, I was in the beginning stages of my infatuation with the frisbee. You'll see in the picture that the orange disc is appropriately fixed in my hand. It was because of this disc that a particular stanger, a little blonde boy, wanted to join in our activities. As we were tossing the disc, I could tell that this young boy wanted to play. At first, I was reluctant, but then realized that it would be important to him. I asked if he wanted to play, and he quickly joined in.

I don't remember if he had family nearby. I don't remember if he came over to eat when we had dinner (and probably cake afterward). I do remember that when it was time to document the proceedings of the day with a photograph, that he plopped himself down because it was the only sensible thing to do. Some of the adults questioned his presense, but I insisted that it wouldn't hurt anyone, and he was happy to participate.

I'm sure I knew his name on that day, but I can't tell you now, and I'd bet dollars to donuts that none of the other cousins can, either.

Montpelier Phone Number

2007-03-21T20:50:00.000-07:00

I can't remember my address from a year ago, but I can remember my phone number from more than 20 years ago.

Eight four seven - twenty three eleven

It kinda bounces along and rolls off the tongue like a good phone number should.

The Outdoor Code

2007-03-14T01:18:00.000-07:00

Leading up to my Eagle Review, I tried to pay attention to others who had gone before me, so I could get a good idea as to what I was facing. It was common knowledge that the review boards for the other advancements in the Boy Scouts were largely ceremonial. As long as you looked the part and had your papers in line, there really wasn't anyone telling you that you weren't worthy of your Tenderfoot badge.

The Eagle Reviews were different. They brought in the big guns, and they liked to drill you to make sure you knew your stuff. The only scouts that got a free pass were those who did their interview on the day before their 18th birthday. Everyone else had an uphill battle.

In one of the reviews before mine, they had asked the scout to recite "The Outdoor Code". It's about four lines long, and is presented in the Boy Scout Handbook (I don't remember it now), but it doesn't receive the same attention as the Scout Oath and the Scout Law (both of which I remember to this day). At any rate, I crammed for the last half hour making sure I would be able to recite the Outdoor Code if called upon.

The word got in to the reviewers that I was making my preparations, and they dutifully asked me to recite "The Outdoor Code" as the final question of my Review. If I hadn't spent so much time memorizing it, they would have never asked me.

I remember this because in the next few months, I will be preparing for my Preliminary Oral Exam for my PhD, in which a panel of 5 professors can ask me any question they see fit to ask, and can fail me for anything they want. It's pretty well known that this freaks me out, and I'm afraid they are thinking up especially tough questions, just so they can see me squirm. Fun for me.

Our Story, Part 7: Finale

2007-03-05T21:09:00.000-08:00

Denise stayed a few days in Calofornia, and then came back to school. On her way home, she took a day and stayed with her Aunt Jill and Uncle Gill in St. George, Utah. When she got back, I was there waiting for her, anxious about her decision.

I reiterate that I was doing the best that I possibly could to let her make this decision on her own. Up to this point, the most affection I had really shown her (except for the marriage proposal) was a small kiss on the cheek the night before she left. I found out later on, that she was very frustrated that I wasn't a faster mover in this area. She said "If this is his idea of kissing, this isn't going to work out."

Somewhere in these few days (between St. George and the first days back), Denise decided to go on a mission. She had already received her call. She had already met with Bishop Lindahl, who she desperately wanted to talk to about me, but was rushed out of his office before she could get a word in edgewise. All that day she felt confused, and had a hard time concentrating. It became pretty clear that this was the "stupor of thought" that we all hear about. This scared Denise because she knew what the alternative was.

Later that night, she prayed to know if it was right to marry me. She got her answer. She said "OK, Lord, I'll do this, but I want you to know I'm doing this on faith." That night, we talked on her porch again, and as I was going to leave, I gave her another kiss on the cheek. She turned to me and asked "Is that all I get?". Never had sweeter words entered my ears. Up until this point, I had been desperately trying to figure out what was going, on, and this was my first clue that things were going my way.

We kissed for a bit, and then we had a good talk about other things - like me asking her to marry her, but never telling her that I loved her. I quickly repented of that, and told her that I loved her very much. At this point she said "Good, because I've decided to stay home and marry you." I was overjoyed. I immediately insisted that we call the temple first thing early in the morning. (Sidenote: Denise still thinks this is one of the funniest parts of the story.) I had 4 engaged roommates, and if I had learned anything, it was that summer temple schedules fill up fast.

We agreed on the San Diego temple and talked about a date, and agreed on the weeknd of August 15th. Ben was getting married on August 22nd, so we couldn't have it that day, and school would be starting after the weekend of the 29th, and that wouldn't leave time for a honeymoon. We called the temple the next day, and the San Diego temple was to be closed for cleaning August 1st through August 17th. Although it was pushing things much closer than we had anticipated, we decided we absolutely didn't want to wait for a Christmas wedding, and decided on July 31st.

We were glad we did. We had beautiful weather. For both the reception in the Rose Garden at the Courthouse in Rancho and the backyard reception in Turlock, the temperature dropped about 20 degrees compared to previous days. One of the most memorable moments for me came during lunch when the Bjarnason cousins (I remember that Leon's children were particularly exuberant) sang some silly song about rootbeer (introduced by Liz - see comment). It was wonderful - the epitome of Bjarnason family gatherings. Fun, singing, comraderie. It was a spectacular day for all involved, and I was pleased to share it with everyone who decided to be involved.

More than anything else, I was so very happy to have married Denise. She was a gorgeous bride and a has been a wonderful wive and mother. I made the right decision in choosing to spend my eternities with her.

This is the last thread in this post. As I've posted, Denise had helped me correct some of my fallacious recollections. As that has happened (when I've agreed to be corrected), I've gone back and changed the post. If any of you have contradictory memories, please feel free to share them as you see fit. This forum is intended to be open to all those who have memories of these same events, and I welcome your comments.

Our Story, Part 6: Jake

2007-03-02T22:25:00.000-08:00

Denise had written two missionaries leading up to the summer that she send in her own papers, Mark and Jake. Towards, the end, she was only serious about Jake. Jake is a really nice guy, very soft-spoken and approachable. He was the first member of his family to graduate from high school and attend college. He grew up installing heating and A/C units with his (very successful) father. Oh, yes, Jake is 6'5'' and around 220 lbs.

On Denise's drive home (the day after graduation), she checked in with her mom, who told her that Jake wanted to take her out that night. Jake was just home from his mission. Denise was tired. I had run her through the ringer for the previous week, and she was on the last leg of a 9 hour drive. She told her mom that she didn't really want to go out, and that they could go out some other day. She was tired.

Of course, Jake was waiting for her when she drove up. She quickly showered as Jake patiently waited. Denise muttered something to her mother about not wanting Jake to get the wrong idea. Terri insisted that Jake just wanted to be friends, which Denise didn't believe for a second. Jake had planned on taking Denise out to a Rancho Cucamonga Quakes minor league baseball game (their stadium is named the Epicenter). As they got to Jake's truck, Jake opened the door, and there was a box of long-stemmed red roses. Denise took them back to her mom, and questioned "Just friends, huh, Mom?"

Fortunately for me, Denise was tired, and after the game was over she just wanted to go home. That weekend, Jake's brother had a wedding reception at Jake's house. Rumors were starting to leak out that there was some guy waiting for Denise back in Provo with a marriage proposal. While Denise wasn't interested in a relationship with Jake, she didn't want to hurt his feelings, and threatened people to keep quiet, so that she could be the one to break the news to Jake.

I don't remember other stories from the few days that Denise was home. On her way back to Provo, she spent a night at her Uncle Gill and Aunt Jill's in St. George, desperately trying to get away from everyone pestering her about what she was going to do.

Later, after we were engaged, I visited Rancho. We were all hanging out in Denise's living room, and there was a knock at the door. Denise asked who it was, and Jayme and Kim announced that Jake was coming over. Sure enough, Jake walked around the corner. I was sitting on the couch. Jake introduced himself, and I sat there as he came over to shake my hand. I didn't want to make a spectacle of myself, and the last thing I wanted to happen was for the obvious comparison to be made should I stand toe to toe with him. Jake is a great guy, and I have only good things to say about him.

Nonetheless, he does play his part in our story.

Next Post, Part 7: Finale

Our Story, Part 5: Deborah

2007-03-01T21:19:00.000-08:00

Deborah was the Relief Society President for the entire 2-year period leading up to our engagement. She obviously knew all the girls in the ward very well, and I often went to her for recommendations, as I dated girls in the ward almost exclusively. In the two years after my mission, the three girls that I dated most were Janey, Aubri, and Rachel (all in the ward). Deborah really liked Rachel. More specifically, Deborah really liked "Ronny and Rachel".

Unfortunately, it was pretty clear (to both Rachel and I) from the beginning that things weren't going to work out, but neither one of us had anyone else knocking down our door, so we kept dating until February of 1998, when we broke up for the last time (yes there had been brief periods before). I wasn't too heartbroken. Like I said, it was obvious to us both that things weren't going to work out. Perhaps Deborah was more heartbroken than I was, because she was vocal with her opinions suggesting she would like us to get back together.

Like the rest of the ward (apparently), Deborah also took notice that Denise and I had been spending a lot of time together. She was the final person to try to nail me down with the "What's going on between you and Denise?" question right before I headed into my wedding seminar with my engaged roommates the night before Denise got her call. Of course I was very convincing that night, because up to that point, I hadn't even seriously considered marrying Denise.

Deborah was graduating that term, so Mom and Dad and the whole family were already planning their trip to Provo to celebrate the first BYU graduations of the 2nd Grace Bjarnason generation (along with cousin Dave). Denise insisted that I notify my parents that something was going on. One night on the phone with Mom, I told her "Mom, when you get here, there might be someone here for you to meet." Denise was concerned that this message was too ambiguous. I knew, however, that this was a pristine code in Mom-speak that directly translated to "Mother, I have found a girl that I might marry. You need to instruct Father to be on his best behavior." Of course I was right.

Mom arrived before Dad, and took myself, Denise and Liz out to eat at T.G.I.Fridays. Before our food got there, I excused myself to the bathroom to wash my hands. No sooner had I left the table than Liz turned to Denise and asked if it was time to do "the interview". Nothing really came of it, but after that, Denise and I both thought that Liz had picked up on the hints, and knew what was going on. We found out later that Liz was kidding, and was blind to the situation.

On the day of graduation, Denise and I went together. After the graduates exited, Denise and I walked up the Marriott Center stairs and out the portal to find Dave and Deborah. As we exited the arena into the light of the concourse, there were Dave and Deborah. Deborah looked at us and did not look happy at all to see us together. Denise and I immediately suspected the obvious: Deborah was unhappy that Denise and I were turning into an item. This was a concern.

After graduation, Dad took us all, with Uncle John's family to the Olive Garden. Grandma Grace was there. Dad (on his best behavior), discretely talked to Denise out on the lawn. Denise did the best she could to keep quiet during dinner. Deborah, however, was very interested in letting everyone know that "Denise is going to go on a mission" - another clear signal that either Deborah was completely clueless or would rather have Denise in Brazil. Later that night, after Denise had left for California, I told Mom and Dad the whole story - that I had proposed, and gone to the temple, and Denise was still deciding, and that Deborah had no clue whatsoever. They told me that I needed to tell Deborah.

Secretly I was a little proud of myself that I had practically gotten engaged right under the nose of Deborah, who up to this point had been acutely aware of all my dating situations. I agreed that I needed to tell her.

The next day, without Uncle John's family, Dad took us to the Brick Oven. Grandma Grace was there again. Over dinner, the conversation turned to Deborah leaving the ward, and who would be replacing her as Relief Society President. Our brand new bishop had asked her for names, and she told us she had suggested three. I offered my guess to the three names she presented, and Deborah whispered something into Mom's ear. I asked Deborah what she had said, but she declined. I told her I would tell her something she wanted to know if she would tell me what she said to Mom.

She sat up straight, stiffened her shoulders, and gave me her best "How could you possibly know something that I don't know?" look. Mom and Dad knew differently, and with a little cajoling (especially on the part of Dad), they convinced her that this was a really good trade. She told me that what she had whispered was that I had guessed very well. I told her that I had proposed to Denise. She was floored. Later that night, in Deborah's apartment, I told her the whole story, from the beginning, including the parts where Denise and I were convinced that Deborah did not approve.

Deborah felt inclined to set things straight and asked permission to call Denise at her home to tell her that she approved. I told her no. She insisted. I again told her no. She re-insisted. I told her that I wanted to give Denise her space, and that I wasn't going to call Denise before she got back to Provo, and so she shouldn't call her either - NO. Deborah pleaded. I instructed her that I had told her no three times, but that she had her free agency and could do what she wanted.

Deborah called first thing in the morning.

Denise had a fun time explaining that phone call to her mother.

Next Post: Part 6: Jake

Other memories from Graduation 1998:
- Grandma Grace desperately trying to pay the bill at Olive Garden

Our Story, Part 4: The Day After

2007-02-28T21:11:00.001-08:00

Before we go on too much farther, I must point out a few facts. I had proposed to Denise. We had known each other for two years, but been dating less than two weeks. We had not yet kissed. We had not even yet held hands. I acknowledge that I put Denise in a strange position, having to make the single biggest decision in this lifetime about a guy with whom she had not gone through the traditional "get to know you" pattern.

I woke up the next morning more sure than ever that I had made the right decision. As promised, I went to the temple the next morning, and was pleased to spend a good amount of time in the Celestial Room. As I prayed, I got a very distinct impression that Denise would make a wonderful wife, and that this was a very good decision for me. I came home from the temple, changed, and felt obligated to report back to Denise. I fell asleep on her couch, and woke up when she came in, but I didn't get up. I figured if she wanted to talk to me, then she would come and talk, but I wanted it to be her decision. She obviously wanted a little space (having just failed a final), and took her time coming down to talk. When she came down, I reported on my temple experience. I don't really remember much from that conversation.

I do remember that I insisted that she decide for herself if this was right. You always hear the horror stories from BYU about some return missionary who receives revelation that he's supposed to marry some 19 year-old freshman, and tells her that he has made the decision for both of them. She feels like he's the spiritual one, so he gets to make that decision. THAT IS DEAD WRONG. Just because a guy and a girl are dating, or have feelings for each other doesn't give the guy any right to receive revelation for the girl (or vice-versa). I could know for myself that marrying Denise was right for me, but I had no right to know if marrying me was right for Denise. Only she could figure that out for herself, and I felt it was my responsibility to interfere as little in that process as possible.

In my mind, that meant not escalating the physical aspect of our relationship any farther than it had already been. Because of this, the next few weeks were slightly awkward. We spent a lot of time together. We talked a lot inside right up until midnight. After midnight, we would dutifully move our conversation to the front porch, where we would stay up well into the night, talking the night away.

Little did I know that Denise was saying to herself "This guy says he wants to marry me, but he certainly doesn't act like it. He won't kiss me. He won't hold my hand. How am I supposed to know if I want to marry him if he doesn't act like he wants to be close to me?"

Again, I admit that I put Denise in an awkward position.

For the record. This was the order of events:

First I proposed. Second we kissed. Third, she accepted the proposal. Fourth we held hands. Somewhere in there, we started dating steadily. While this order worked out well for us, we won't recommend it for our children.

Next Post: Part 5: Deborah

Our Story, Part 3: The Day Before Finals

2007-02-25T20:19:00.000-08:00

It's usually pretty easy to tell when the day when the missionary calls are going to come. The Missionary Department at the Church Office Building sends all the new calls off on the same day, so if you know anyone else who has received a call recently, just ask them what day it came. Yours will come on the same day, usually with the same turn-around time. This was the case with Denise. We were expecting it to come on the day before finals, and it did.

After I knew the mail had come (and after spending all night long thinking about Denise), I called over to her apartment to see if her call was there. I talked to Lindsay (aka Lindsay Pants). She said the call was there. I asked if I could come over and hold it. She didn't object.

I remember very vividly holding my own call in my hands freshman year at BYU. I didn't open it right when I got it because Deborah was going to get hers the same day, and we had planned on opening them together. I remember thinking how two whole years of my life were in that large packet addressed from the Office of the First Presidency. Two whole years all on one small sentence that started: "Dear Elder Bjarnason, You have been called to serve in the..."

I wanted to hold Denise's mission call, knowing that 18 months of her life was in that packet.

I went over to her apartment. Lindsay and I joked about steaming it open, but of course we didn't. Lindsay asked me what I thought about Denise going on a mission. I told her I thought it was great. Denise was going to be a great missionary wherever she went. Lindsay looked me in the eye, and said "No, what do you really think?" I instantly knew what she was getting at. Somehow she had seen into my heart and knew what I had been thinking about only the night before, ... but how? How could she know? I stammered for a few seconds, completely taken aback that she had figured it all out in such a short period of time. How could she possibly know? And yet, I knew she did. I changed the subject and left, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't tell Denise.

Later that night, we gathered at Denise's apartment for the opening of the call. We must have packed 50 or 60 people into that small apartment. It was full. Denise opened the call and announced to everyone that she had been called to serve in the Brazil, Goiania Mission. We looked it up - right in the middle of the country. I was happy. Denise was headed to South America. She would largely have experiences very similar to my own.

After everyone dispersed, her family headed off for ice cream, and I got invited along. Denise and I took her car. On the way there, she nonchalantly said "Lindsay says you have something you want to talk to me about." I was floored. Now, not only was my fears about Lindsay knowing totally confirmed, but I also knew that she must have told Denise, and that Denise was expecting some sort of a marriage talk that night. Obviously nervous, I told her that I didn't think we should talk about it on the way to ice cream. Denise seemed confused, but agreed to wait until after ice cream was over.

I spent that hour or so fretting over how to approach the topic. After ice cream, Denise asked me where I wanted to go. I tried to think of somewhere quiet, where we wouldn't be disturbed. We headed to the parking lot of Seven Peaks, a water park in Provo. There in the parking lot, I hemmed and hawed and tried to talk about other subjects. Finally Denise said "What is it Ronny? Just spit it out." I did. Out came: "Denise, there are only three girls in my life that I've ever thought I would be able to marry. The other two are married. You're number three." At that point I think we were both too shocked to realize that I had just said something really stupid. (I later watched the movie "The Bachelor". Chris O'Donnell did the same thing.)

Denise asked me if I would wait for her. I told her no. A few days later, I explained that I didn't think it was appropriate for missionaries to have split loyalties, and that meant not having anyone waiting for them. At that time, I realize now that I probably came across a bit insensitive. Denise asked me what I was going to do about this. Having already been chastised for beating around the bush, I quickly came up with a plan and told her that I would go to the temple the next day to find out if this was right for me. I also explained that she would have to figure out if it was right for her on her own.

We ended up talking for a long time that night - probably two or three hours. After it was all over, she went home and woke up her mom, insisted that she be sitting up, and told her what had just happened. She included the part on exactly how I asked, and her mom was very quick to point out how stupid I sounded (Thanks, Terri). Denise's mom confirmed that Denise started finals the next day (Denise would fail that class), and insisted that Denise get some sleep. Denise didn't think this was very helpful advice.

Next Post: Part 4: The Day After.

FYI: Lindsay has absolutely no recollection of the part she played in tonight's story.

Other memories from Freshman year:
- going ice skating with Ben's ward (why I didn't attend church meetings)
- playing Rook while waiting for the midnight movie
- playing Rook until dawn in Ben's dorm
- playing Rook in the girl's dorm (not until dawn)
- first impressions of me (mostly after seeing me play Rook)

Our Story, Part 2: The Week Before Finals

2007-02-21T21:10:00.000-08:00

Actually, I'll go back a bit farther. I lived in an apartment with six guys: Ben, Dave, Branton, Eero, Parry and myself. In the springtime of 1998, 4 of those 6 were married. Parry and I remained the lone men in the apartment. I had had a girlfriend, but we had broken up in February(?). Parry and I were great friends, but we never really hung out much, so with all of my other roommates (Ben mostly) off doing other things, I found myself hanging out a lot at Denise's apartment. I would go over to talk with Denise mostly. If she weren't there, I was really good friends with her other roommates, and it wasn't awkward for me to hang out with them, either. I remember that I was at Denise's apartment for the entire Conference Weekend in April. It was then that I realized exactly how much time I was spending with Denise.

Denise was a very safe person to be spending time with. She had put in her mission papers a few weeks earlier, and was expecting a call any day. Ben and I had taken it upon ourselves to set up a betting pool to determine where she was going to go. Because we set it up, we gave ourselves two guesses, one stateside guess, and one foreign guess. We both agreed that if she went stateside, that she would go to Temple Square - because that's where they send all the good-looking sisters. My foreign guess was Santiago Chile. I even had a dream in this period that Denise got her call to San Jose, Chile (which isn't a mission). At any rate, I knew Denise would be a great missionary, and was very excited for her to get her call.

About a week before finals started, Denise had to find a date for an "End of the Year Party" for American Fork Rec. They were having a nice sit-down dinner at Mulboons, and they had threatened to set her up with someone if she didn't get a date for herself. Denise had gone out with Ben a few times, but because he was engaged, she took me. I was happy to go, and had a really good time. I got a Salmon Salad, which was about three times as big as I could eat - but it was great.

That same week, I had tickets to the BYU Dance production that they have at the end of the year. It has a name, but I can't think of it right now. I had purchased the tickets at the beginning of the semester, when I had a girlfriend, but now I needed a date. Fortunately for me, Denise needed to go for a class she was taking, and the tickets were all sold out, so she went with me. Still later in the week, Denise scored an extra nosebleed ticket to see a Utah Jazz game (courtesy of American Fork Rec). That's the one and only Jazz game I've ever been to. The Jazz won.

Denise and I had gone out on a date once in the past (to see the movie "Hercules" in the theater), but essentially, these were our first dates. We went from nothing to three dates in a week.

People started to take notice. They would ask "What's going on between you and Denise?". Of course, they didn't realize that the three dates we had gone on were just pure coincidence - three perfet examples of needing to fill one extra seat, and finding someone at the last minute (not that anyone was complaining). But, not realizing this, it was natural for them to suspect something was up, and to ask questions. After all, this was a BYU singles ward.

It got to the point that two days before Finals started (Wednesday night?), my sister, Deborah asked me what was going on. I was a little tired of explaining to everyone that nothing was going on at all, but I explained one more time - "Nothing is going on. Denise has a mission call. She is going to go on a mission."

That night, Dave and Branton had a long discussion on purchasing rings. Ben and I listened in. Branton had worked some family connections to get rings wholesale, and would wholesale prices to any of his roommates. At the end of the discussion, Dave put a little pressure on me. He asked the now popular question "What's going on between you and Denise?" I gave him the standard answer "Nothing - she's going on a mission." He wouldn't let me get away with that. He pushed father - "Do you think something could happen?" I responded "Sure, I guess when she gets back." He insisted "If you think something could happen, you owe it to her to talk to her about it before she leaves." I told him that I wasn't going to bring it up because SHE WAS GOING ON A MISSION. He made me promise that I would talk to her if I thought something could happen between us. I promised, all the while thinking that my fulfillment of the promise would be me shaking her hand at the airport and saying "We'll see what happens when you get back." In my mind, that was going to take care of that.

What happened instead, was that I stayed up all night long thinking about Denise and I. Over and over again, I kept thinking how much fun we had, and how much fun we would have for the rest of our lives if we were to get married. I hadn't really thought about Denise in that way before that night, but I liked it. That night I determined that Denise was definitely someone that I could spend the rest of my life with.

Next Post: The Day Before Finals

Other memories from BYU:
- Denise tricks Ben into taking her out

Our Story - Part 1

2007-02-20T20:53:00.000-08:00

This is the first post of the story of how Denise and I got engaged. There's now way I can tell the whole story in one sitting, so I'll get started now, and finish it soon enough. The disclaimer to this post is the same as every other post. You can't argue with the story, because this is how I remember it. If you remember it differently, then you can write it in your own blog (or make a comment to this one).

Denise and I lived in the same ward for 2 years at the Colony (Yes, the same Colony from the now infamous "Rumble in the Colony"). The Colony was located on both sides of 750 E. from approximately 3ooN to 500N. There were two wards in the Colony. One ward was made up of apartments on the west side of 750E (our ward), and the other ward was made up of the apartments from the Other Side of the Street (OSS for short).

Our side of the street had the pool and the manager's apartment. The men's apartments were all south of the pool. The women't apartments were all north of the pool. Denise lived in the first women's apartment on the other side of the pool, so they (obviously) got the most foot traffic. That, combined with the fact that Denise and her roommates were really cool and fun to hang out with, and there were always guys in Denise's apartment.

For the second year I was there, I lived in the last guy's apartment before the pool, so we were closest to the women's apartments. Unfortunately for us, this did not, however, translate into our apartment always being full of girls. Maybe it had something to do with our apartment's reputation as being full of guys who "never quite got off their missions". Yes, we were the guys apartment who agreed at the beginning of the year to keep the rules, including kicking girls out at midnight (much to their dismay at times).

What I remember about Denise most is that I would see her on my way to campus (walking up 700N towards the McDonald Health Center), and I would turn around and walk her back to the Colony so I could talk to her. Denise was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed talking to her, and never minded being a little late.

What Denise remembers about me (one of the things at least) is the nickname her apartment had for me. I wasn't the only one. Her apartment had nicknames for most of the regulars. Some of the other nicknames: Desperado, Oswald, Touchy Darrin, and she will have to tell you the others. My nickname: "Little Ronny". The other story I know from their apartment is that one night they were all having some sort of discussion, and it was decided that I would someday make a great husband and father to some lucky girl. Apparently none of them took the decision too personally (as will be demonstrated in future posts).

I got to know Denise because I hometaught her roommate and because we were in the same Family Home Evening group one year- although I rarely came because I worked custodial 5 days a week from 5-9pm. I was a diligent home teacher and took advantage of getting my foot into the door of the apartment of 6 very cool women, and I got to be good friends with almost all of Denise's roommates. (This came in handy later on).

Next post: the week before Finals.

Other memories from BYU:
- tape games for custodians
- being a semi-professional chess player
- stuck in the trunk outside the Bean Museum
- watching videos outside the Bean Museum
- Phontaine and Jenny Dean go to the movies

Andy Stockoff comes to play

2007-02-16T22:07:00.000-08:00

Aaron and I are only 22 months apart, and we were both especially competitive growing up, so I guess it's normal that we would end up competing against each other. One of our favorite summer events growing up on Azusa Court was whiffle ball.

We would take turns batting from the grass next to the front door and pitching from the grass next to the sidewalk. I think we kept score: a single if you could bat it onto the street, a double if it reached the street without bouncing, a triple if it bounced to the other side of the street, and a home run if the ball reached the far sidewalk without bouncing. There were foul balls. Three strikes counted for an out. Three outs changed the sides. The score was never the point.

The focus was the pitching duel. Aaron was the master pitcher. He had one pitch that he would throw sidearm. It would sit on the grass all the way up to the plate and then at the last instant jump up into the strike zone. It wasn't that I couldn't hit it. It was more that I never tried. I was always convinced that it would eventually dive into the dirt, even though I must have seen it hundred of times.

One summer day, Aaron and I were out playing whiffle ball, and Brother Stockoff came over with Andy, his three-year-old son (maybe four?). Brother Stockoff had played American Legion ball, so we knew Andy would have already had his share of exposure to batting, so we let him in. We stepped up close to the plate and let him whack away at our pitches.

Time and time again, Andy would smack the ball way over our heads into the street. We were utterly amazed. Andy was some sort of baseball wizzard!! When Brother Stockoff was finished inside, he announced to Andy that it was time to go. We insisted that he watch his son perform this magic that we had discovered. Brother Stockoff watched as Andy again belted the ball with all his force. Calmy, he walked over to his son and said "Andy, you're left handed. You'll do better from the other side." He switched his son's hands, moved him to the other side of the plate, and sure enough, he was even better batting as a lefty, something Aaron and I weren't sure was possible.

Other Turlock memories:

- Brother Stockoff helps us start a Christmas tradition at Donnelley Park
- Modesto visits for a Cross Country meet at Donnelley
- the only Capture the Flag game anyone ever won
- 3am bagels
- Aaron and I not dying on our way back from the Perrett's
- hunting squirrells on the Perrett's land

Another story that needs to be told:

- Aaron as a campaign manager (Zwick for President!)

Always Stay Together - Lessons from the 50-miler

2007-02-10T21:48:00.000-08:00

It seems like I have an entire lifetime of memories from the one and only 50-miler I went on as a scout. I think back on that week in the backcountry of Yosemite, and there were so many events that helped me better understand myself and the world around me. This is the story of splitting up.

I must have been 14, because Aaron was along, and he would have been at least 12. I was one of the older kids, and we hiked circles around everyone else on the hike. We were young and fast. The first few days of the hike went like this: Before we started hiking, we would all look at the map(s), find our trail, set a destination (usually the next fork), and start hiking. The fast group, (myself included) would hike as fast as we felt comfortable. We were a bunch of Type-A personalities, so we were really big into leaving as many people in the dust as we possibly could, and being sure to let them know we were faster than they were. On a typical leg, we would hike for an hour or so before we came to the predetermined resting point, ditch our packs and rest for an hour or so before the group gathered all together again. As soon as they got there, we would put our packs back on and hurry them along so that we could get back hiking as soon as possible. Now the slow group wanted a rest. They thought it was only fair that if we got a rest, that they should too. As far as we were concerned, they had been taking their rest for the entire hike, so they weren't in need of any more.

Most of the leaders (my father included) decided that this wasn't working as well as it could, so they devised a plan to help us all out. The plan was this: We would divide into two groups, A and B. Group A (the slow hikers) would wake up at 6am, fix a quick breakfast, and get hiking before group B even woke. Group B would spend the day trying to catch them. Personally, I thought it was a great plan. I looked forward to beating them to the next camping spot.

The note here is that the Cardinal Rule of hiking is this: THE SLOWEST MAN SETS THE PACE. This way your group stays together. Nevermind that we hadn't followed it the previous days. Now it was the adult leaders who were sanctioning the split.

The next morning I woke up and Group A were gone, according to plan. Of the three leaders, my father and Brother Coe went with the early group and Brother Payne stayed behind with the fast group. Aaron went with the slow group. In his defense, he could have stayed with us if he had wanted, but I think he enjoyed the time with Dad.

We got breakfast going and started putting our things away. It didn't take us long to realize that Derek Payne wasn't himself. In fact, he was just plain sick. He had the stomach flu and was puking all over the place. In normal circumstances, we would probably have stayed put for a day or two or plotted the fastest route back to civilization and taken Derek home early, or just camped out for another day or two while the sickness passed. With Group A out on the road, we had no option but to hunt them down as quickly as possible. With only one leader in our group, we weren't even able to give Derek a Priesthood blessing.

So off we went. Even if Derek hadn't been sick (and us carrying his load), it still would have been the hardest day of the trip. In had the highest elevation changes of the trip, including one particular long and steep climb that we referred to everafter as "Cardiac Hill". Derek puked on that hill a few times.

We never caught up to Group A that day. We camped near a ranger station, where we thought they would have stayed. We got up early that next morning, and after a few miles, we came across a recently deserted camp, with a note. The note was from our group. It said they waited as long as they thought they could and then broke camp and left. It noted a time that they had left, which was only a handful of minutes (20??) before we had reached their camp. We stuck our hand in their fire, which was wet, but still warm. Brother Payne showed me the map, told me to dump my pack, and run to catch the group and bring them back.

It didn't take me long to catch them without my pack on. I quickly explained the situation, and brought them back, where they leaders were able to give Derek a blessing before we continued on - this time as a group.

We had broken the first rule of hiking, and had all been taught why it's the first rule. There are strength in numbers. Keep your group together at all costs.

Other memories from the 50-miler:
- The 20-year rule (Dad sits me down for a talk)
- rescuing Craig Carl
- Brother Coe eats a frog
- carving walking sticks
- Craig Carl gets drenched
- skinny dipping
- Matt Mollard gets angry (he hikes better when he's mad)

Other scout memories:
- boner rock
- B.A.S. (where we saw the bares)
- first time on half-dome (Brother Fairbanks)
- rapelling into Moaning Caverns
- getting 'tapped out'
- trading t-shirts with a girl at Jambo
- idiot scoutmaster at Jambo
- Brother Mollard and the horse hike (Henry Coe State Park)

Geronimo Charge

2007-01-30T10:33:00.000-08:00

(this post also appears as a comment to the January 24, 2007 post)

LizzyP said...: And what about the geronimo charge? Wasn't that in Coalville?
ronny said...: Yes, it was. We lived in a small community outside of Coalville known as Dog Holler.; The story I was told behind the name "Dog Holler" is that a long time ago, a milk truck crashed into the ditch that parallels Hoystville Rd. The contents were spilled, which attracted the local cats, and annoyed the (likely chained) local dogs, which made quite a noise. Hence, Dog Holler.

The first year we were there a huge corrugated pipe was lay in that very ditch between the road and our home. I would guess the pipe was at least 4 feet in diameter, perhaps larger, because I could walk through the pipe without problems when the stream was dry in the summer. The pipe was covered with dirt, and this served as our bridge/driveway, giving us immediate access to the road.

Sidenote: it was in this ditch that I found the dead snake that Dad let me put in a canning jar, but made me keep outside. He told me it would rot and stink. I didn't believe him, but it didn't take me long to be convinced, and I let him throw it away.

The bus would pick us up for school on the other side of the road, and so a crossing was necessary. I would walk down our driveway, to the top of the pipe/bridge, look both ways, and triumphantly yell GERONIMO CHARGE!!, with one fist in the air.

Apparently, I was excited to go to school.

Other Coalville topics to remember:
- the junkyard behind our house
- Embra's runt (Whitey)
- Bullets
- Finding homes for the puppies
- Camping with the Crittendons (Dad gets lost)
- Camping with the Scouts
- Cubs with Mom (not getting my way)
- rollerskating downstairs
- the mudcake/spanking incident; 10:28 AM

Austin (first power windows)

2007-01-27T22:17:00.000-08:00

One of our next door neighbors in Phoenix was a boy Aaron's age. His name was Austin. My memories of Austin are vague. I remember he had a visitor once - I think it was his grandfather, but I'm not sure. Whoever the visitor was, Austin showed us the most amazing thing - you could press buttons on the sides of the doors, and the windows would go up and down. We weren't allowed much time to play with them, but I guarantee, it would have entertained us all day long.

I remember that Austin's mother smoked. I think there was an embarrassing story about me telling her that smoking wasn't good for her. Maybe that was when Grandma Serpa visited, and I just associated it with Austin for some reason. I don't remember.

I don't really have many narrative memories from Phoenix, so I'll give you some trivial ones:

- Deborah attended first grade in Phoenix. Her mascot: the Dust Devils;
There was an older girl in the ward that was not quite totally deaf. I saw the pumpkin she carved for Halloween. She would turn the sound on the TV all the way up so she could hear. - - This would annoy her mother.
- Deborah wore nose plugs when she went swimming at a pool somewhere.
- Lots of people didn't have lawns, just rocks in their yard.
- I think we got Embra in Phoenix, but I'm not sure.
- We had a carport. I could run out of the house and run around the far wall of the carport to hide from Mom. This almost worked once.

Summit Elementary

2007-01-24T00:10:00.000-08:00

In Coalville, Utah, there is only really one school. Summit Elementary/Middle/High School. That's how I remember it, at least. I remember, because we shared the bus with some of the older kids on the way home. One time, Michael (the kid with hairy arms who lived across the street and up the way from us) and I were mouthing off to one of the older kids. He must have been in his early 20's, because he had a humongous adam's apple. He didn't think our mouths were funny. He told us if we ever messed with him again, he would spit on the floor of the bus and make the two of us lick it up.

Ahhh, the fun things we remember from our childhood.

Other memories from Coalville:
- Dad shooting a squirrel with a deer rifle
- swim time at the pool / not the only fish in the water / Dad losing his wedding ring
- petting the cows across the street
- going swimming in the pond at the end of the stream
- Embra, the pig chaser
- Embra giving birth / June thinks she's a puppy
- Teresa Crittendon
- Killer gets what's coming to him
- the futility of kissing tag (still the fastest kid on the playground)
- not being nice to Gavin
- moon boots
- the Bird girl gets sprayed by a skunk
- Aaron in a brace

3-in-One: Riding Bikes in Montpelier

2007-01-14T20:42:00.000-08:00

Summer time in Montpelier was a glorious time. As my memory serves, our favorite group activity was riding bikes around the neighborhood. I don't remember how old I was, but when I came of age, Dad took me down to the Coast-to-Coast hardware store and let me pick out a bike. I didn't get the one with mag-wheels because it was too expensive, but I got a BMX style blue bike with yellow trim, which served me well for many long years to come.

The best/closest place to ride bikes was near a small grove of trees across from the end of our street. There was a small grove of enormous Cottonwood trees adjacent to a field that seemed to be mostly fallow. This place was known as "Big Trees". There was a small dry stream bed and we would ride our bikes around the field and through the stream bed until a path was well worn. Because of the stream bed, there were at least two places in the path where an experienced rider could get some "air". We would mostly go as a group, taking turns to admire each other's performance and try to out do each other. Once I went there on my own, and there were two older girls using our path. I don't remember being annoyed with them being on our path. I distinctly remember how slowly they were going, getting no air at all, despite their amazement at their performance. On top of that, they were ignoring protocol by monopolizing the path. It was obvious enough to me that I was patiently waiting my turn, but as one girl waited for the other to complete the circuit, she would wait at the head of the trail, preventing me from getting access. The two took turns for a few loops, and eventually let me take a turn. As I rode past, I muttered to myself "Now it's my turn", intent on showing these girls how the course was really supposed to be ridden. As I started on my way, I heard one girls say to the other in disgust "Did you hear what he said?" I was mortified, and made my loop and then quickly proceeded home.

Another favorite place was a large dirt hill behind all of our cul-de-sacs and over nearer to the edge of town (as I remember it). If I remember correctly, there was a small path between the house across from us and the old-folks home. If not there, then at the end of the next street over. We only rode on this hill in the later years, as it was quite large, and Mother preferred that we not ride on it. I had made my way over one evening, and as it was getting dark, I began to head home. There was knee-high (or higher) grass on the sides of the path, and because it was twilight, it was difficult to see the path until the ground was right under the front wheel. I was hustling home as quickly as I could, and didn't see the large rock in the middle of the road until it was too late. I tried to turn out of the way, but my front wheel struck the rock, and the force twisted my handlebars around so that my left handle met my stomach full-force. The rock stopped the momentum of the bike, but not mine, and my entire weight was thrown into the left grip, now facing directly at my stomach. I remember that I was completely stopped mid-air, and sort of fell over onto the ground, not sure if I was going to be able to make it home, hoping it wasn't anything too serious. I guess it wasn't.

One thing that we only did occasionally was race our bikes. I don't know why, but perhaps this experience helped to contribute. We raced our bikes, three or four at a time, from our house (at the dead-end side of the street) to end of the road, with the finish line being the beginning of the intersection. The street wasn't too busy, but it was one of the main roads in town, so we stationed an observer at the finish line. The primary job was NOT to determine the winner, but rather to wait until traffic looked clear to start the race and to stop the race should any traffic be approaching. The observing duties were passed to one of the younger members of the group after some time, I seem to remember it was Aaron, but it very well could have been John Vermaas's younger brother (I don't remember his name). At any rate, the race finished, but bikes went into the crossroad, right as a car came by. It was a small town, and despite any effort on our part to disguise our identities, an older lady ended up at our front door to report our dangerous activities involving riding blind into cross traffic. I was amazed that Mom didn't understand that the blame rested squarely on the observer an no one else. We had obviously taken the necessary precautions in posting an observer. If they had only done their job, there would not have been any problem at all.

Montpelier topics for future posts:
- flying kites
- going to Peagram
- Shawn Lloyd
- Jason/Justin Smith and The Karate Kid
- Dustin Christensen and the garage door
- snow forts
- M-Hill at Christmas
- Aaron and Deborah's big spill
- re-building jumps

Turlock topics for future posts
- not getting paid to kiss Laurie Spencer
- Marco Polo
- observing C-Sections
- not driving Roger Lewis's new Lexus
- election convention
- Milton Hugues vs. Brian Wilkenson

stolen Indians from Kansas City

2006-12-13T12:45:00.000-08:00

In Kansas City, I had a friend that I seem to remember going over to his house when Mom needed to get things done. She could probably tell you his name. I can't. I remember he was there when we moved away, because I think I remember he and I hiding under the U-Haul ramp together.

What I do remember very vividly was his fence. I remember it because I stole his Indian. Both he and I had little plastic cowboys and Indians that we would play with (of the style of the plastic soldiers from "Toy Story"). The coveted piece of the set was the elusive "Indian with a drawn bow". I didn't have one (or perhaps just wanted another). He did have one, because I found it once on his fence. He must have left it out after playing sometime before, because we hadn't been playing Cowboys and Indians that day.

I took the Indian, placed it in my pants pocket, and took it home. I don't think I ever told anyone about that. I don't think I ever returned it. I would have been 4 or 5 at the time.

Kansas City topics to remember for future posts:
- the Little Hill (Deborah got a bee sting)
- Aaron getting lost (wanting to ride in the back of a pickup)
- calling for Dad to come home after getting sent to my room
- seeing a tornado on the way home from primary
- not being able to wake up Deborah in the middle of the night
- getting thrown out into the snow on Christmas day (only socks on)

Aaron's concussion

2006-12-12T11:39:00.000-08:00

After a few years in Montpelier, a new family, the Patterson's, moved in on the next street over. If I remember correctly, Bro. Patterson was the principal of the new high school. They had a few kids around our age. I remember they had a younger boy named Gabe, a boy Aaron's age, and an older girl and an older boy. They also had a trampoline.

I don't remember the rules about the trampoline. I remember that there were a lot of families that put limits or enforced rules about trampolines after John Vermaas did the splits on a slippery trampoline and ended up in a body cast - or was that cast from the time he took a nose-dive off his mom's bike when he was taking it down M-hill? Whatever it was (the trampoline incident may not have been John at all) - some of the families removed their trampolines entirely after the accident.

At any rate, Aaron ended up on the trampoline with the Patterson girl, who was at least a few years older than him and probably outweighed him by 50 lbs or more. The story goes that she bounced Aaron, he did his own nose-dive and came down head-first on the trampoline rail - knocked out cold.

He ended up face-down, gripping the grass. I remember having him home, saying a prayer, hoping he would be alright, knowing how serious the situation was, and still thinking it was funny that he didn't know his own name, or where he was, or any number of other mundane questions that we would ask him, and he would answer with some random response. I guess I didn't take things too seriously when I was that age.

Obviously, we were all very happy that Aaron ended up being OK.

Jeff Runsten and the sandwich split

2006-12-11T11:13:00.000-08:00

After moving to Modesto, California in December 1985, it seemed like it would be forever before I would find another good close friend. Mom and Dad even set up a conference call with my old class in Montpelier to help cheer my spirits. We moved during the middle of my 5th grade year, and it seemed that all of the kids in Mr. T's class already had their particular clique, and didn't need new members.

Almost immediately, I identified the group I wanted to be a part of. They were the smart/funny/arrogant ones (aka the popular kids), Jeff Runsten and Randy. Jeff later told me that he and Randy would sit at the back of the class and punch their fists whenever I would answer a question (like they were going to pummel me). I didn't know this at the time. They thought I did.

Towards the end of the fifth grade, Jeff and I became better friends, and I spent a good chunk of my summer at his house. I would go over to his house (a block or two behind Fremont Elementary), and we would make and split a sandwich. We would take turns making the sandwich out of whatever was in his refrigerator, and then we would cut it down the middle. We followed the tried and true method of splitting sandwiches "You cut, I choose." I would always try to choose the smaller half, and then I would be slightly perturbed when Jeff would do the same.

moving to Montpelier

2006-12-05T11:09:00.000-08:00

We lived in Montpelier, Idaho from December 1981 to December 1985. We moved into the last house on the left of a dead-end street, Crystal Drive (phone number 847-2311). We had a very roomy backyard (big enough to play kick-ball in) and a huge sandbox on the side. We arrived at the new house late at night, and when the neighbors came over to introduce their son (John Vermaas) to me, mom and dad had to get me out of bed. John and Brig Thomas (our next-door neighbor) would end up being the neighborhood kids I would hang out with most often, with Brig being my best friend for the four years we were there. Brig and John were both a grade ahead of me, even though we were roughly the same age.

I was 7 years old and in the middle of the first grade. I can't remember if we attended school before Christmas vacation or not. I know I felt like I had 20 instant friends on my first day there. I liked Idaho. The move to Modesto in 1985 would end up being a much more difficult transition.

That's how I remember it.

First Memories

2006-12-04T01:59:00.000-08:00

I think it appropriate that for my first post to this blog, I post my earliest memories, which come in the form of two dreams I had when I was very young (I believe I was three).

The first dream was taken straight out of the intro footage of the old cartoon Johnny Quest, you know - the first minute of the show where they do close-ups of the main characters and show them in action from previous episodes. The particular scene I ended up in was set up like this:

I am in the mouth of a cave that opens up to the side of a sheer cliff, which my back is facing. At the other end of the cave is a bald muscular man with two alligators on leashes. The alligators are not happy. They look hungry, and they are coming straight for me, restrained by the bald man.

The second dream is set in our townhouse in Kansas City. We lived in a two-story townhouse in Kansas City, Missouri while my father attended Medical School (google would have me beleive it was the Kansas City University of Medicine and Biosciences). The staircase leading to the upper story had a landing half-way up that turned 90 degrees to the left, or it did at least in my dream. The dream is this: I wake up in the middle of the night, hear some weird noises and come down the stairs. I make it to the landing, peer of the rail and there in the kitchen (visible from the landing through the living room) is Harry the monster from Sesame Street and the Easter Bunny having a birthday party complete with cake and candles.

Like I said, I think I was three when I had these dreams. We would have moved to Kansas City sometime between when I was born (in Modesto, CA), and when Aaron was born in 1976, just before I turned 2, so the timing is right.

Don't strain yourself with meaningful interpretations of these dreams. There really isn't much there to go on.

rememberings

2006-12-04T01:49:00.000-08:00

I was preparing a Sunday School lesson on Family History and journals, and began to think about all of my own history that isn't recorded anywhere. I do a reasonably good job about keeping a journal, but that only covers the stuff going on right now. What about all the stuff that already happened, especially all the stuff that happened when I wasn't keeping a regular journal? Some of that stuff is the best stuff of my life, and I want it tracked.

I plan on this blog to be a repository of my personal memories. Don't expect to come here finding musings on current topics or my familie's recent outings. I have other blogs that I don't post to for that.

This blog that I don't post to has the following purposes:

1. Record for posterity stuff that isn't recorded elsewhere.
2. Help jog my memory.
3. Provide entertainment and nostalgia for those who have shared these experiences.

If you fall into category 3, you may want to check up here occasionally, because chances are you will end up in this blog eventually.