march 10, 1925

Happy 83, Dad.

You've handled the candles well.

undammed

A sweet sixteen years ago, I traveled back and forth across the Glen Canyon Dam going about my missionary duties near Page, Arizona. It was an impressive sight, but for some reason I always felt uneasy traversing the bridge. While I trusted the engineering to be sound, the strength of the pent up waters was evident.

In The Book of Mormon (2 Nephi 9), the Prophet Jacob brilliantly outlines the Plan of Salvation. Today I was tutored in the tragedy of choosing to "remain...in misery," as a devil, becoming stopped from advancement. Like the mighty Colorado River held back from its designed course, we too can become dammed from our divine destination. Power without progression equals damnation.

In blissful contrast stands the celestial conduit of the Atonement. As The Architect of the Great Plan, Heavenly Father tasked His Son Jesus Christ to build the bridge that transports us from Satan's realm to Gods' domain. It is our opportunity to traverse it, and this life is the time.

I want to heed Jacob's warning not to "waste the days of [my] probation" (vs 27). Consequently, I am currently enrolled in a leadership program designed to distinguish where in my life I am experiencing a loss of freedom, power or full self-expression–where I am blocked. I then receive training on how to transform those areas that aren't working in order to powerfully live a life I love. Like going to the gym, it provides a demanding workout. As part of the coursework, participants create a community project and declare who they are for humanity. It is an amazing experience. I am inspired by the people who play big in the world, and in their lives.

One assignment I have to complete is to "interview" people in my life who, like a rear-view mirror, can see into my blind spots. In the coming weeks I will be requesting some assistance in this area. I am seeking people who can be straight with me, brutally honest with me, to help me see what I cannot see. To those who will accept this challenge, thank you in advance. I want to be better than I am, and I realize that I have to rely on others in order to get there.

I want to do all I can, in order to become all I can, and leave the rest in the capable and loving hands of the Savior. I am confident that He makes whole any deficiency. As Jacob promises, because of the Atonement–the bold bridge–the naked and dirty become covered and clean, and all things are redeemed, restored and delivered (vs 11-14).

O then, my beloved brethren, come unto the Lord, the Holy One. Remember that his paths are righteous. Behold the way for man is narrow, but it lieth in a straight course before him, and the keeper of the gate is the Holy One of Israel (vs 41).

to beard or not to beard

As a twenty-something with the face of a fourteen-year-old, it was difficult to be taken seriously in the business world. While working for a design firm, the installation crews I supervised did not like to take direction from "some young punk." So, in order to generate respect and be related to as an older, more competent professional, I had to do something about my appearance–hence, the beard.

When I was child, my Aunt Bobbie commented about the wide span between my mouth and nose. "That is a perfect place for a mustache," I recall her saying. And so, when the time required it and maturity made it possible, I obliged. A red beard has been a fixture of my face space for most of the past 15 years. It connected me somewhat to my beloved pioneer ancestry and was the distinguishing feature I used to describe myself when arranging blind date rendezvous. I even carried the rare and coveted "beard waiver" stamp of approval on my BYU student ID card. I had to unwhisker myself for a few semesters while participating in some travel-study programs, but because of my attachment to it, I persuaded a doctor to submit a request that I keep the fuzz. (It didn't hurt that he was an avid U of U fan, and thought the "no beard" rule was ridiculous. I have since repented of stretching the truth to have "mental health and professional well-being" considered to be "medical reasons.") It provided an air of confidence to a self-doubter, a sense of ruggedness to a city dweller, and to some degree helped to camouflage my self-consciousness about my lip deficiency and chubby boyish cheeks.

Until this morning.

After routinely revving up the beard trimmer in front of the morning mirror, somehow between the time I set the guide and when it came in contact with my unruly red stubble, it dialed down a few notches. Had I initiated the trim on either cheek, I could have fashioned the "close shave" into a trendy goatee for awhile. But the GQ gods must have still been sleeping at that hour, and the result was a reverse mohawk on my chin.

Although it served its purpose, helping me to look a little more grown up, over the past year or so I think the beard's maturing powers may have started to play against me. More than once well-intentioned matchmakers have slipped me phone numbers of single women a good fifteen years older than I am–thinking we were in the same age bracket. Don't get me wrong, I would love to be a grandfather, but I think I would like to work up to that...as well as another beard, someday.

progress report

As per Katie's request, I am posting some "then" and "now" pictures of my Jefferson Avenue project. I can't call them "before" and "after" pictures because I didn't have a camera when the renovation began, and there is still much to do before I can actually call it finished. Extensive work such as new plumbing, electrical, heating, air conditioning, foundation and roof draining systems, insulation and sheetrock is now complete. Finally! It is a nice milestone to get to this point, but giving it new "innards" (all of the ultra-expensive behind-the-scenes stuff that is important, but that no one ever sees) is hardly visually satisfying. The next big hurdles include: painting, flooring, fixtures and furnishings. If you are skilled with a paintbrush, can "sew like the wind" or are electronically minded, be on the alert–your talents may get tapped.

Now the real fun begins.

carrot nose

My nephew James is four. He likes to tell jokes. This is his current favorite:

What did one snowman say to the other snowman?

"I smell carrots."

It's seasonal–I'll give him that.

chamber of secrets

The Pingree Mansion/Jefferson Inn has an unusual color palette. Different combinations of red, orange, and three shades of green adorn the windows and walls. Trying to honor the history of the house I have reinterpreted these colors in the new surfaces and finishes during the renovation.

Installing red and orange tile in one of the suites made for a fairly vibrant shower stall. It wasn't until the alternating colors were cemented in place as the base tile however, that I realized I had inadvertently recreated Harry Potter's scarf.

My initial intent was to create the rooms in the context of their arts and crafts and art nouveau roots, and not attempt to produce Anniversary Inn-type "theme" rooms. But with this situation presenting itself I am considering another approach. Perhaps the personality of each room could be inspired by classic or popular literature. I don't know quite yet. What do you think? Maybe I should look past the contemporary comparison, as the effect is quite dramatic in its own rite.

Seeing the bathroom come together, my general contractor made the following comment: "That looks really good! You sure can make colors work together. Perhaps you could get a job designing flannel shirts."

Considering that he was wearing a flannel shirt at the time, I decided to take it as a compliment. I think.

broke back mountain–literally, not the other kind

Did one or more of your parents ever use the line "It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt"? Well, Saturday afternoon that warning came to pass for my sister and her friend when Fran and Amir volunteered to take "the kids" up to Snow Basin for a sledding adventure.

Boots, mittens, scarves, over inflated inner tubes, slick fliers and the riders clinging to them flew down the mountain with great velocity. Four-year-old James was a trooper, climbing up the hill, again and again, always exclaiming when he reached the summit: "this is the most awesome sledding day ever!" But the chilled thrills ended with the conclusion of that infamous "last time" down the mountain.

Reaching nearly 50 miles an hour, the black donut carrying Fran, Amir, Grant and Abby hit an iced-up mogul at the bottom of the hill, sending everyone flying. The agile kids must have bounced out somewhere in the slide, but the "older drivers" did not have as fortunate of a landing. Amir suffered a concussion, and his shoulder and cheekbone took a good beating. X-rays later showed two compression fractures in Fran's lower vertebrae and possible bruised kidneys. Upon hearing that she was at the emergency room for a cat scan, Fran's friend texted his sympathy for her cat.

In spite of the outcome, Abby still contends that it was the funnest ride of the day. Get better Auntie Frannie and Amir.