Help others to help yourself

I should be studying, but I am blogging. My priorities are jumbled, and frankly, I am not worried about it at the moment. Feelings impress their the desire to be shared and so I am acquiescing, like usual, to their demands.

Actually, I just got off a two hour phone conversation with a dear friend, and my mindset has changed, and so my topic is changing. I am listening to dance music and the upbeat tempo aides in the urgency to write my message before I sleep and get up in 5 hours to work out.

I feel so often like I have no control in my life. Obviously, there are many individuals who experience this feeling as well. Yet, I think we often overlook the number one way we deal with lack of control in our lives. We feel more in control of ourselves as we give advice to others and think that somehow by giving them the advice that often we are to take ourselves, that we are somehow aiding ourselves.

Do we really help that much when we listen, advise, listen, console, and then advise some more. I am a firm believer that we are in fact helping.

What is help? I am no miracle worker. I am not expecting anything I say to change someone's life forever. I am not expecting to move mountains or change the course of history, let alone one life with some motivational speech I ever give. I am however hoping to make a small disturbance, a ripple, a pebble thrown in the midst of a mighty river. That ripple in actuality does little nothing to the course of the river. However, the accumulation of pebbles in a river, thousands or even millions, acts like a dam and changes the course. In fact, the slow changes move a river more than a large dam will. Lifestyle changes that are immediate are like forcing a river to dam. The river stops its course, but has a tendency to overrun its edges and spreads in many directions, in fact it is directionless, other than moving down with gravity towards the path or least resistance. When we force people to change immediately, we will many times get the same chaotic effect. The small amount of pebbles that change a course in a small manner, allow the river time to cut away at the bank, and over years, thousands, it carves a new path, one of its own, and thus the accumulation of millions of pebbles brings about the desired result with a direction consistent with the purpose throughout.

When I talk to someone I just want to be the small pebble that through a gradual effect will change their life. In fact, if I don't change someone's life in a small way every day of my life I have wasted another day. I think our life is meant to be about gradual changes. Albeit there exists time when we need to make drastic changes, it is usually the slow change that is demanded by society and/or religion. If we all aiding each other in those changes through small acts of kindness of words of advise we would accomplish the task quicker. Thus a zion like people, one that cares as much for the others as for themselves, will usually accomplish more quicker.

This reminds me of the principles of Adam Smith. Those who hate capitalism, and its first proponent, Adam Smith, do not understand him. His principle of self interest, not greed, but self interest cannot be truly understand merely from reading "The Wealth of Nations" but only from a study of it as well as "Theory of Moral Sentiments." A people without morality acting selfishly with greed will never be able to progress far with capitalism. Rather with rule of law and a moral people, democracy and capitalism can exist and expand a community and country. In our lives we cannot progress or at least not at the rate that is possible without communal help. This help cannot be achieved without the ability to trust and rely on others, and that trust and reliance is built off of rule of law and a belief in the morality of the people. As a people are moral, the reliance increases and thus social contracts enforced by rule of law are more likely to occur, and thus society progresses at a greater rate.

Ultimately the principle I have beat around this entire is that it is more important to help others than yourself. By acting in our self interest often we will help others, and then the side effects give us a greater benefit than if we tried to help ourselves. When we give advise, or take it, we need to understand nothing changes overnight but if we are bettered for a moment, the ripples of the river, then we have made an impact. Then as those moments accumulate over a lifetime we are able to change the course of any life and thereby the world.

Family Potrait

I really should be going to bed. I have a meeting at 6:30 tomorrow,....but when I need to speak I have to let it out. I tried to force myself to bed a few days ago, and after rolling in bed for an hour, decided I should just get up and let my mind be at peace with what it was struggling with comprehending.

So here I am, listening to Dancing in September...yes I am listening to a 70's Disco hit and I am bouncing my feet wishing I was dancing, and perhaps it is true that the effects of sleep deprivation mirror being drunk, because my inhibitions have dropped.

My dearest, and in fact only, brother celebrated his 28 birthday a few days ago. He decided he needed a rifle from the ranch, and so decided to make a journey home and back to Idaho in a day. He asked me to go, and I rearranged my schedule so I could leave as soon as I was done teaching. That meant overloading my schedule, but any chance to get back to the ranch I take.

This week has been busy. I am the teaching assistant for Dr. Walburger in Economics and Dr. Whoolery in Psychology. This week, Dr. Walburger left town and I covered his principle of Microeconomics classes. I love to teach and so it was a joy expounding to the students the basic theories of competition and market power. I had to sacrifice getting up at 5:45 and working out or playing racquetball, so I could instead get to class early and prepare, but it was well worth it. I have an affinity for teaching and would love to teach if I know I could support my family on a teacher's salary. Nonetheless, the highlight of my week was on Friday when my brother came to my class and watched me teach. After class got out, he and I drove up to Montana. I slept most of the way up, catching up on needed rest, but as soon as we entered the Big Hole Valley, I was wide awake. The serenity and anachronism of my valley puts me at peace whenever I enter it. I am reminded of the temple. Whenever I attend the temple, I take off my watch because I know time has no place there, and in sacredness I devote what is necessary to God, instead of the time I have allotted. The same is true of the Big Hole. I don't give myself a time schedule, instead I devote the time that is necessary there and if that is longer or shorter than expected, then so be it. We drove down the small hill into the where the houses are clustered together to see my grandmother out with the leaves and my cousin cutting down some of the shrubs. We climbed the steps to our front door, and entered to the smell of fresh squash pie and my smiling mother. My father was writing in his journal in the computer room. The moment we came in, Clay and I together, without his wife, and just my mother and my father home I felt like I was a little boy again. I remembered the years it was just the four of us. We always ate dinner together, my mother always had some type of desert, my father was always preoccupied in the computer room, and Clay and I were always being smart asses. It was a family potrait, a moment that will be imbedded in my heart and mind. My mother is the same, except for a few more wrinkles, as she has always been. My father is unchanged, except his cut and trim body from working out everyday is now a little softer as he has settled into his 60's. My brother is still tall and brooding, though his extra weight has softened his features and given him a twisted smirk the does not bely his true love and charity. Me....well I don't think I have changed...but I am older, more cynical, not the toothpick I always was, instead I am in the position of not being thin and not really being overweight. Clay and I both look more like our parents, and our mannerisms, from how we walk to how we talk, reflect our father. Time has entered that sacred valley, though I have sworn not to bring it, but those things most important never change. The love of the home, the drama of dealing with my grandma, the smell of the new steers recently boughten and watched out the front window, the cold seeping through the walls to the bone. Every part of my home makes my heart wrench and makes me never want to leave.

We all agreed to get a family potrait done this year. We have never had a picture taken as a family, and I think it would be good to start the tradition, and so we are going to add it. We talked politics, school, religion, jokes, and goals as we sat around the table and ate ham, oriental salad, potato salad, squash pie, water brought from the artisan well 2 miles away, fresh rolls, and fresh made jams. We moved into the living room and we rotated with Clay talking to Dad and my mother and I talking about our most recent forays into new literature. Then my father and I talking politics and where I will go to law school, if I ever want to get married (he is pushing the issue, he wants grandchildren) and how I look more like him the older I get. Soon, the 3 hour drive back to Rexburg looms on our minds, and we have only had 3 hours at the house. We pick up and head to grandma's. She complains, bemoans illegal immigration (though she is hispanic) and then talks about dying...some things never change, and so we joke back that we will start to party and misbehave as soon as she dies, and she get feisty as usual and lets us know that she is going to haunt us till we die. We leave, and Clay and I joke about how I will dig her out of the grave to sit at my graduation from law school, because she is the main reason I am going, just so she can be happy knowing her grandson finally obeyed her wishes. We go home and hug everyone, with mom continually finding ways to always be the last person to get a hug, and then circling around and getting another one. We agree to meet up on Saturday, of next week, when they all come down to my mother's uncle's funeral.

3 hours home are filled with good conversation with my brother and dear friend........ and as I walk back into my apartment, and reality, realize that truly the home is as spiritual and renewing as the temple. I pray I may have that same spirit in my home someday, so that my children can feel as renewed to deal with life when they visit me, as I feel when I visit my home in the mountains of Montana.

Two dear friends....two perspectives

I recently had a moment of questioning. I think we all experience these. We wonder if we are making the right choices in our life, and if we are truly accomplishing what it is that we are here to do. Doubt, its a plague of the human condition, and I felt it and I needed confirmation and guidance. I have many friends who I could turn to and many who I have in the past. In my own apartment I have close friends who know me and would eagerly encourage me to move forward and tell me that they have such trust in my abilities that I should never waiver. I could have called my family, and the concern and care of my mother with the wisdom of my father could have stilled my troubled heart....for a moment. I don't turn to these people when I am in doubt. My doubt is too deep and too real for those who rely on me to know. I have to turn to people who I trust to see my weakness and who will not judge me less to know that I have weaknesses. These two people are completely different, and the circumstances of our relationships are different, and yet they are similar in that I confide most in them.

I have a close friend from Livingston, Thom Blake. We have been close since his friend and I use to do Impromptu speech competitions together. From our relationship, I became acquainted with many people in Livingston, Montana. I met a girlfriend that changed my life, a friend who to this day I hold closer than any sister I could ever have, and my finally my confidant. Thom knew a "kid" completely different than me who was his "epitome" of intelligence. While I was the quintessential LDS youth at this point in my life, Hadden was the quintessential free thinker and free spirit. I met Hadden once, and was fascinated by him. Within a few months he had moved to Texas, and we continued to communicate through email and instant messages. We didn't know each other, but somehow we developed a friendship that was unique. He introduced me to Leonard Cohen and many other innovative thinkers, and I have no idea what I showed him, unless it was that someone as regimented as myself was not a bigot. Hadden is openly bisexual, though he favors men, and I never judged him for it. We have met since our first meeting only two other times. The last time was over a summer when I was in Livingston visiting my girlfriend. When I would leave her house at 2:00 in the morning I would meet up with Hadden and we would discuss life. He would smoke, and I would brood and with the stars as our companions we just discussed what made us different, how we felt and thought different. I learned to respect him, though I did not always agree with him, I learned to love him and hold him as a close friend. We talked throughout my own rebellious years. He cancelled me when I broke up with Alex, he talked me through my own doubts on life. My family got use to him calling and even my bigoted father was unabashed when my "gay" friend would call. Hadden is unique and his opinion matters more to me than anyone else I know save Danny. Hadden is intelligent, witty, and wise and he has taught me that life is more than labels, and it is meant to be lived and not contemplated.

Danny I met on my mission. He was in my apartment "wasting" time when he was suppose to be proselyting. I was cold with him and later had to apologize. He later became a District Leader and my closest advisor. I relied on him more than he knew. When I was worried about the mission or my zone, I knew all it took was a call to Danny and he would gently reassure and remind me of priorities. We stayed close throughout the mission, and my favorite memories include staying late listening to opera, as he explained to me the finer points of the art. I remember getting only two hours of sleep and then working hard all the next day, with my limited spanish, as we discussed Don Quixote and other literary masterpieces. He taught me "my" leadership style. He showed me that what destroys people more than criticism, is self doubt, and I learned to never allow those I served in capacity as a leader to feel that doubt. In short, Danny was my hero, and he still is. I want to be the type of father Danny will be, and I want to be the type of man he is today.

When I doubt I turn to both of these two. Hadden calls me at 3:00 in the morning and emails me. Danny responds the next morning. Both give advise the calms my soul and clears my mind, though their advice is different. They are like family to me. Though I know one only through our communication and not through physical contact over the last 8 years, and the other I know from close association of 2 years, and infrequent contact over the last 2,....though all of this, I hold them as dear as family.

We all need the time to doubt and to question ourselves. We all need to face the dark abyss and welcome it. When I look into the darkness I want and need Hadden and Danny behind me advising me. Until I am married and find one with whom to be one, they will be the my closest advisors, my dearest friends.

What are your idle thoughts.......

Today was "Business Summitt" at BYU-Idaho. It is an opportunity for students to have a legitimate reason to skip school all together, because most classes are cancelled to provide an opportunity to attend the guest speakers presentations. However, being in Senior Capstone for Economics, I was required to attend at least two of the break out sessions with our speakers. I would have preferred to have gone to Jon Huntsman Sr. presentation at 2:00 pm, but I was going to be working then. So, I went to a presentation made by a famous LDS author and investigative journalist. He spoke about himself.....a lot....but he made a comment that struck me.

"What do you think about when you have idle thoughts?".......... I don't usually have time for idle thoughts. My mind is constantly moving. I am worrying about what I have to do for school, about what I need to get done for my calling, about the situations of my friends, the cattle prices in Montana, my grandmother's health, my LSAT, my work schedule, my savings, if I am ever going to find who I am suppose to marry....the list goes on and on.....and so at first this comment made me laugh. "I am far too busy to have idle thoughts....." Then I realized that was not true. I remember the moments when I just sit, and stare....when my mind reboots and I can just think quietly and for a moment my life is my own and not an instrument being used for others. Other times include when I withdraw completely and just type and do Montana statistics. What do I think about when I have idle thoughts......two things really. I think about Montana and the growth in its cities. I think about the beauty of my state and how much I love it, how close I feel to it. The second thought, it always my ranch. With both those ideas in my mind I re-entered the world where the speaker went on to make his point. What you think about when you have idle thoughts is an indicator of how successful you will be in your career.

I was shocked......I always HOPED, I would be successful at law. I know I don't have the greatest love for it, but I do have a gift, at least that is what I have been told, for arguing and for presenting my case. Yet, this man told me my thoughts betrayed the level of my success. How can I make my thoughts part of my occupation?

I have never wanted to be a rancher, I still do not. I see what my father does, and although I would love the down time in winters, when you aren't feeding cattle or doctoring them, I could not handle the constant pressures of manual labor every day. I love the outdoors, and I would love the time to read, and to constantly to be finding ways to maximize profits, but I could not be my father. I don't have the mechanical skills or any other number of prerequisites needed to run our operation. Yet my mind constantly falls back to the fields of my home. I feel so connected to them. My father told me, "one day you will feel the land is your flesh and the water is like your blood." I remember him telling me this as we walked the fields irrigating by hand. I thought he was foolish, and I was only 8, but now that I am older I would not assume to have his affinity for the land, but I feel it deep within. I love those fields, the memories they hold bind the physical attributes of the land to me like a covenant. I cannot be parted from it, and for this reason I will never sell my ranch, and if there was more land and greater ability to merely financially run the ranch, and hire a foreman for the manual labor and everyday control, I would be eagerly looking forward to returning. I cannot return.....and so I am on a train to "somewhere" and my heart will forever be left behind in Montana and my ranch.

Late night ramblings

I was falling asleep on the couch at 10:30 when Dave came over to jam with Justin and my roommates, and so I naturally got up off the couch and headed for my bed. As is typical, I made a bad decision and drank a warm Mt. Dew before heading into my room. I sat quietly in my bed and read a few short stories from a book a friend bought me, and I was touched and wide awake. I don't know if it is the caffeine or merely my mind being forced to make sense of reality. Yet here I am......

I was worried Friday night about my LSAT. As confident as I was (I always do well on standardized tests, I didn't study for my SAT or ACT and got a 1480 and 34 on them) to take my LSAT, I knew that I hadn't put the required time into studying for it. Saturday proved the realization of my dread. I didn't do bad, I still understand almost all the arguments and reading comprehension and got over half the games done, but I knew that my innate ability, if used properly, would have allowed me to exceed instead of merely surviving. It was surreal as time would slowly be called and I would realize that I was not where I needed to be with my understanding. Each blank I had to randomly fill in was a small cut of my dream of going to Chicago, or at least "the" dream of going to Chicago. I left the test that day burning with anger at myself for not being prepared.

What are my dreams, and what am I doing just to please others. My life has been about duty to others, then to myself on those decisions I thought were important, and then the opposite, my hedonistic pleasure before others desires. My desire to be an attorney is of not burning desire in my heart to practice law. I was always told I would be good at it, even scholastic batteries designed to judged aptitude have repeatedly shown that a career in law is what I would excel at. I believe that we do what is most efficient for society, even at our own expense of happiness. Sacrifice is part of life. Further evidenced, I have wanted to be an attorney to satisfy my grandmother. She has given so much for me in her life. Her coming to America, suffering prejudice, marrying for security instead of love (her sacrifice) only to realize she loved a man after he died,....she has given more than I can understand. That is why I don't mind her hurtful remarks, her casual manner of living in an egocentric world....it doesn't matter because of what she gave for me. In her mind she is a success if her posterity has "made it" in America. Her son was an Olympian, her daughter won international championships for our country....but what she has always desired is to see an attorney or a doctor in her family. I will be an attorney, receive my JD and pass the bar before she dies if for no other reason than for her to die knowing her sacrifice wasn't in vain, and that even if it is a false notion, that she was a success evidenced by her grandson. So I inevitably prepare for another LSAT so I can possibly get into Chicago, and if not I have any of my other 9 law schools I have considered waiting to apply to and likely get accepted. My future is not my own, its tied into the sacrifice of generations, and so to will I sacrifice so the honor of the family and name will go on.

I wonder if this is how Adam felt as the first man. It doesn't matter if you believe religiously in him or not, though I will admit I do. If we view his life as allegorical to ourselves, we are all caught into his sacrifice for the eternities. I tried to explain once my decision to be an attorney to my dear friend Shelby. We sat by the train tracks outside the talc processing facility in Dillon. The stars were overhead and life was ourselves to take. Our shared ambition made the future brighter than star or moon could ever illuminate. Though life is dark as night, to our burning pride it was simple. Yet, she saw through all the facade and clearly touched the point, "why do you want to practice law when you don't even like it........" I tried to explain family obligations, that though unspoken I have felt my entire life. She told me my life was about finding happiness, and not about pleasing others....but what if my happiness is in the pleasure of others. I think now that Adam is the best way to explain it all. Being caught up in a destiny not of our own choosing, at least not completely, but forever tied to an originaly sacrifice, and original choice and from that we are caught in a conundrum of "why" or "what to do" and so the uncertainty of our lives is defined, and for that I am forever thankful. Perhaps that is why I have fallen in love with economics. It is not because I love finance, or even higher math, I just love the study of choices. Economics to me is the bastard child of politics, psychology, math, and logic. Together they have formed this hybrid that's only purpose is to maximize utility and efficiency in the world. Choices are not all equal, and perhaps my love of economics is based on the same love I have of psychology. By studying a field of study perhaps I can figure out my own greatest questions. In psychology it was to find out why I grew depressed, why I had felt overwhelmed with love for so many, and yet could feel so cold and mechanical in my actions. Now in economics I seek to answer which choice is the best, and I seemingly never make a choice that leads to my utlity, but rather only to my efficiency.

Why am I writing all of this tonight......a simple book. After reading an LDS author's reflections on life through is lense of short stories that mingled the mundane and sad of life with the mystical of dream and wish, I was touched. Why am I here, and I am I choosing right. I thought that today as I was walking on campus.....everyone always talks about finding themselves. They go backpacking in Europe, they live a cliche' and come home saying they truly understand who they are now, and we all fawn over their new awareness. I don't think the greatest journey is one thousands of miles away and in a different land. The greatest, most difficult journey, and the one that gives greatest awareness is the one where we travel deep within and face our uncertainty and realize that it is not within our power to overcome it. When we realize that we are nothing, that no matter our dreams and goals, they will all inevitably fall to the chasm of desire and at times despair, that centers in our heart. When we face that darkness, and realize it is not within our power to overcome it, then we have come full distance and we are ready to move on. I think that is where religion comes in, for me where I fully place the Atonement of Christ, recognizing my inability and the necessity for another. I think to often we try to find another person to fill that hole. We think a relationship will satisfy it. We think in the arms of another human being we can realize our weakness and be protected, but the hole is not shared, it is personal, and it is only through mutual understand that we can encourage each other to face that inifity of dark, but we cannot overcome for another. Unfortunately, whenever I have been faced with the great darkness, that hole, I simply put in another accomplishment, temporarily satisfying it, and then turn my back to it and move on. I have yet to make my journey, and I have not found myself.

These thoughts all came to a head tonight while at 1:30 I took a shower. I took it cold, I wanted to feel shocked, I wanted my body to realize its lack of control and to allow my mind to take full control in the realization that my body was powerless. Cold rivultes pouring down my body, I just laughed,....I am very tired and I am being a little weird, but I felt better and more in control of my thoughts. With that clarity came more questions and more need for answers.

I have gone full circle, I have rambled, I have postulated, and now I am going to listen to music, ....maybe dance a bit, and if I can't sleep, I'll take a long drive to nowhere and just think. Nothing is so lonely as your thoughts, and nothing is as comforting. Maybe I'll drive to Montana, get out and kiss the ground like I usually do....and then just sit and look at the stars. Maybe I'll go to Menan and visit the grave of my grandparents. I would like to sit there and watch the sunrise over the Menan Buttes and wonder why my grandfather was so honest, wonder why my grandmother so kind.....wonder what led the Hart family to leave Utah to go to Idaho. Again, more why's, more questions, all because of one sacrifice. Man's first sacrifice is now my sacrifice compounded. My grandmother's sacrifice is now the deciding factor in my life, and it won't matter where I go or what I do, I will someday have to make the greatest journey and realize that I am powerless.

...Memory 3....Bubby

It's 1:30 in the morning and I am tired of economics. I am still on my 15 memory stint trying to figure out who I am, but I want to caveat this one with some thoughts on my favorite brother....well he's my only brother but I'm pretty sure he'd be my favorite if I had more. We are online right now throwing fake insults at each other that would make most people cry.....and I love him for it. Ironically we haven't always had a close relationship, in fact we use to hate each other. I don't know how we got from playing bank and chef as little kids, to throwing punches and serious insults as pre-teens, to despising each other's existing in high school, to fairly close during late adolescence, to be best friends today, but it has happened. His home in Idaho Falls is my second hom after my parents house in Montana. I love and respect him more than most people I know. What many don't understand is that behind the gruff outer shell is the most charitable person I know. He will be one of the best father's I know...when he finally decides he actually wants children.....well enough, to the memory.

Memory 3)
The sangria soda is amazing. I love being at Las Carmelitas....although it is getting late. I don't mind, Clay is the one who is going to get in trouble when we get home. We should have left hours ago, but no worries, I am playing Magic Cards and Dungeons and Dragons. I have a charge account at Las Carmelitas, the owner Rita is a great friend of my grandmother and we bankrolled her to start the restaurant, and I am thoroughly enjoying not doing homework.
I am in the side room of the restaurant so I see my brother's white Suzuki Swift pull up. Yep, its a casket on wheels, if we hit anything we die and will be buried in it, at least that is what dad says, but it has great gas mileage and we commute over 100 miles round trip every day to go to high school. Clay walks into the restaurant and I can feel his anger. Maybe he broke up with Anna Thomas, or maybe he's just pissed in general, I don't know but I know I don't like him like this. Rita recognizes something is up as well, but luckily she only has a few people left in the restaurant, it is past 9. She asks Clay what is up while I walk over to them, and I am sure she smelled what I did....alcohol. Well Clay is a senior, and I am no saint when I party with Jon or Grady, so I can't judge, but honestly walking into the restaurant of our Grandma's best friend drunk....its over the line. I start to feel some indignation, our family is really into preserving the family name and Clay kinda trashed it tonight, but I know better than to open my mouth when he is all mad like this. Rite suggests I spend the night with her and Carlos, her son my age, but Clay insists he is driving us home. So I follow obediently out to the car with my books and say goodbye.
We are soon on the interstate and taking the exit to high way 278 out to Jackson, and we are going fast. (I dont even remember why Clay was upset) We never go slower than 95 on the way home and break 100 most the way. Clay has the ability to make his Suzuki wrap the speedometer past the end mph and into the letters beneath. He's upset, not talking and we are kinda swerving. I know we are going die. We have almost died multiple times this year. Back in December we were going over 80 on the ice and did a full 720 in the road and went into the ditch, or when we hit the brakes in the snow and almost ran into the moose, or the multiple times Clay fell asleep at the wheel, but this time is different, we are driving home drunk....and we are going way to fast. That was the second longest car ride from Dillon to Jackson I have ever had, although technically I am sure it was one of the fastest (the longest is a memory for another day).
We finally pull up to the hills just outside of the turn off to our ranch and Clay hits the brakes and we turn down Bloody Dick road to our house. We go down the hill and park in front of the house, and Clay doesn't even tell me not to tell mom and dad, he just gets out of the car and pounds upstairs to the internet. Well, if he isn't going to threaten me I might as well tell mom and dad what happened. I go upstairs and start to put on the tears, I need this to be dramatic if I am going to get him in trouble. I am whimpering by the time I am at the top of the stairs and I call out for mom. I am good at acting, I am part of all the plays in Dillon and do alot of improv work with my friends on the drama team. I explain my story, the alcohol, the embarassment at Las Carmelitas and the drive from hell. She starts to glow red and calls to Walter, my father.....oh yes he's dead. My dead listens in quiet silence and I feel the anger smoldering...the same anger Clay had just a few minutes ago. We all head back to the bedroom where my mom leaves us and Dad barges in as Clay is just on his bed. Dad starts to yell, telling Clay he is worthless and taking pot shots.......WAIT this is not what I wanted, I am not down with him insulting Clay I just want Clay to lose the car so we have to ride the bus for awhile. Clay takes it all and starts to yell back about how awful Dad is ....this is just like this last summer. Back then we all had a fight and Dad had thrown his glasses as Clay came in for a fist fight and I had picked up a stick to hit my Dad if he had dared touch my brother. We are SO EMOTIONAL......wait they are stopping, Clay is just crying...what did Dad just say....
" I don't care if keep screwing up your life, but don't you dare drag my other son down with you. He is going places............." Oh that isn't good, Clay always competes with me. I know it, he doesn't admit it but I know how he hates when I beat him. I only beat him for the attention, but he always wants something of his own and Dad just implied he is going nowhere compared to me.

I don't say another word, I just get in my bed. Clay hasn't slept in the same room with me for at least a year, he likes to sleep in the computer room, but tonight he stays in our shared bedroom. The lights go out and I hear him cry for awhile...then stop. I am wide awake...what have I done. I don't even notice or hear him get out of bed....but I feel him reach down and pick me up. He is so much bigger than me. He is over 6-3 and 180 pounds (he just lost 40 pounds this year and is looking good for his last year in high school) and I am 5-5 and 105 lbs at most. He always has been bigger, and he has always picked me up, to take me across the river when we use to go fishing, or when he tried to literally put my head in the ceiling fan when we were younger, or when he use to throw me from one side of the room onto my bed. Tonight as he picks me up the anger is gone and I just feel his sadness. He sets me on my feet and just hugs me and cries a little bit. I am not use to seeing him vulnerable but I hug him back until he stops. I tell him Dad didn't mean it, I try to be the mediator (its a role I still play today in the family) and he just tells me to stop.

"Dad told me he loved you more tonight"
"No he didn't Clay, he's just upset.."
"Shut up, yes he did, and the problem is not that he favors you more, its not that he likes you better, I like you better than me too..."

And there it is, I don't have any more words, he just finishes hugging me and tells me to go to bed. He is still a little drunk......but his honesty is there and I feel awful. How could I ever have let him get to the point that he wasn't loved and that I was more important, even to himself....I don't like it and I vow to be a better brother that night.



PS: Funny how roles change in the future. In the future it would be Clay that watched me get high on drugs and drunk as I partied and would always make sure I was fed and slept well. He would be the one to turn me into my parents for partying and ruining my life. We have both played the role of a victim in our family, but it was always of our choosing, I don't understand how from such arguments and hatred we ever got close. However, I always remember the night above and the realization of how much I had hurt my brother through the constant downgrades and manipulation to make myself into the angel child and him into the monster. I was a jerk, and I have tried to be better now. I have made many many mistakes, but how I treated him as we grew up is one of the mistakes I regret and would take back. He is a great person today and someone who I look up to and admire. He's a great husband, brother, son, and friend who I love more than I love myself. I guess our roles have reversed yet again.

.......memories continued.......

Memory 2)

Shark Week on Discovery Channel was my favorite. Maybe it was because it was Clay's favorite. Clay had only recently begun learning his times tables, and to make sure I would know them as well, I had my father print me off a matrix of all the tables that I could study. This was how life went, Clay would learn something and I knew that I had to learn it as well so I could catch up. That is how I learned to read, in this very room where I was watching television at grandma's house. Clay was being taught and was practicing with my aunt, and so she bought me little picture books to read as well. I couldn't read, but I could memorize and so as she read them to me I memorized the words and would repeat them back....but now I was reading far beyond that, I was into the Chronicles of Narnia and a host of books my mom was never unwillingly to buy for me. But, tonight was not for reading, my parents were in Georgia on a vacation and Clay and I got to stay up next door at grandma's. The taste of tuna fish patty is still in my mouth, and I feel something like the Great White Shark we are watching. Maybe that is how he feels and why he eats humans, this fish tastes AWFUL. Finally grandma lets us know that have to go back to our house to go to sleep and so she is taking us back. Home is all of 25 yrds to the west of grandma's, but its a dangerous journey. It's dark, with a full moon and we have over 20 aspens trees between our house....its dangerous to go home because there are werewolves in the aspens. There is always two routes back to the house.....route one requires me to go straight out of grandma's out the gate to the dirt road and then I can avoid the trees....but its a little longer and I am in the open in case something gets me. My second option is risky....I can leave grandma's house and run through the aspens following the few stones that line the way down the ever so slightly curving hill and past the sand box through the gate and out right in front of my house.....much faster, but the werewolves are there. Grandma keeps telling us to hurry and she walks out into the night and grabs a small stick she walks with and starts to take path one..........well I'm going to be brave and take the risky path. I rush through the trees, past the small area on the hill where from earlier that day we have left out the lawn chairs. I almost stumble on one as I run alone, Clay decided to walk with Grandma. I can still smell the watermelon left over from the pieces on the ground that I had left. Today had been a day of learning. I had my hands slapped by grandma for taking my stick and hitting her trees...she hit my hands to explain to me what the trees felt when I hit them. Finally, I break the cover of the trees, and what was about 10 seconds feels like an eternity. No werewolves got me today, but my heart is beating fast and I still need to make it inside my house and up the steps to the second floor because the 1st floor with all the tools and washing machine is haunted as well. I hear grandma behind me with her slight accent telling me to slow down. Why didn't I speak like grandma? Her accent is because she is nicara.....oh something dad said, but she was different. She was like the dark people like Pedro and Juan who always came to the house and who I couldn't understand. They spoke spanish, and I knew that I wanted to speak it to, but no one EVER offered to teach it to me. Still it didn't make sense, grandma was light skinned and spoke both languages....maybe that nicara...whatever, thing she was meant she could do both. I just knew she wasn't like everyone else, and I appreciated that. I love sitting at her house and having her tell me about conquistadors and how they conquered where she was from. I love the stories of her in boarding school slipping in a tortoise shell or when they were on a boat to Costa Rica and between her boat and another they had caught a marlin fish. I didn't understand what it all meant, but it sounded fascinating, and my grandma was my hero. (She still is today as well, in fact yesterday we had an argument on the phone about who loved each other more) Ahh, FINALLY, Clay and grandma catch up. Oh yes, I am being scolded for not walking with them, and as usual Clay, her favorite, is smiling, whatever...I would already be upstairs but I HAD TO WAIT for them so I could walk up the stairs without getting attacked, I already avoided disaster once tonight with the werewolves, I had better play it safe now.

Up the stairs we go....I love sliding down these stairs on my bum, it is much more efficient than walking...so why can't I slide UP the stairs? Okay, lights on and back to our room....is grandma going to tuck us in? Yes, she puts her stick against the wall and walks with us. She really doesn't need the stick (She is actually only 63 years old) but she always has it. Back in our rooms grandma tells us to get in bed. Her idea of tucking in isn't like mom...grandma isn't affectionate and huggy like our mom, instead she expects us to be responsible. We get in our beds and I do like always and wiggle myself and my blankets from the top of the bed to the very bottom so I can feel my feet on the bottom edge. Grandma scolds me for "being silly" and I just smile and pull the covers over my eyes. Grandma turns out the light, and in a wicker chair she puts in the middle of the room she sits.... I know this, she always does this, it is when she waits to think we are asleep and safe and then she will leave. I can see the moonlight peaking through the gap where our drapes come together. As the moon peaks through it catches her barely turned gray hair to a brilliant silver. I look at my grandma in the dark and feel so much love for her. I don't mind all the harsh words, or the occasional slap of my hands. I know she loves me back, she never says it, but I know it. She just gave me a patch of her OWN FLOWER BED. Clay had one a long time ago, but she finally gave me one early this summer where I got to plant poppies, and petunias, and violas, and these kinda cactus things she calls hen and chicks. I have to water it everyday, and that is how we spend our time together, in her yard digging up dandylions or planting flowers. She is so active, but now while we are suppose to sleep she is so still, I can trust her and know she will always be there. Ahh...but tonight she is going to go home when she thinks we are asleep, so if I stay up all night she won't leave. If I do that she will be mad...better to just quietly watch her and think. I don't have any other grandmothers, my other died and I don't remember her and my mother's father died a few years ago....grandma is special, she is my only one. So I watch her and at every move she does make I wince...I don't ever want her to leave. Finally I hear her make more movement than usual, and she gets up and walks out of the room, thinking we are asleep. If the lights were on she would see the tears staining my cheeks and know that in my heart I was screaming for her to stay.

The night is not over (and neither is this post...sorry but its my memory) Clay had stayed up as well that night. As soon as we hear grandma walk down the steps and out the front door, Clay is out of his bed and comes over to mine. GET UP! We are going to watch television......well that isn't such a bad idea, I love cartoons and I am not tired. Clay reminds me that if we get caught we are dead.........okay I can deal with dying for a little more Bugs Bunny. So we sneak into the living room, we are home alone and safe. Clay tells me to pull the drapes to the window that opens to grandma's house, we are not getting caught. We turn on the television, move the satellite dish and in a few moments we have Bugs Bunny. It's amazing, we are laughing and congratulating each other on a wonderful dupe of the adults. Its only midnight, and why should they be mad, as long as Dad doesn't find out we are safe. I have to use the restroom so I get up and head to the bathroom. I go through our empty parents room and turn on the bathroom light and sit on the toilet. Then I come back and we keep watching television. We are bolder now and turn up the volume, we are not getting caught, the drapes are pulled and they can't see the television on.

Was that a creek? No, our house moves all the time nothing to worry about. So it was as we were watching television the door to the second floor of our house flies open and in comes grandma.....she's pissed. GET BACK IN BED.....and so like quail we scatter. The television somehow gets shut off and we run back to our room. While we run I see that the bathroom light is still on....I'm an idiot, she must have seen the bathroom light through my parents window. So back in bed, we go, with grandma telling us how disobedient we are and how our father is going to spank us when he gets home. I settle back to the end of my bed, and safely nestled in listen as grandma continues to rave as she sits in the chair. While she sits and waits for us to sleep again I don't cry this time but smile.....I love her and I got to see her again and I know that she will be with me forever. I have a whole summer of planting flowers and eating watermelon with her, taking the nasty cod liver oil pills she makes me swallow and then eating kiwis together. My only concern and sleep enters my mind is what my father is going to do to me when he finds out what Clay and I did.

-Post script- When dad found out what Clay and I had done he surprisingly laughed. We come from a strict family, but I think my dad always enjoyed when we got the best of grandma and so we were not punished.

-Post-Post-Script- My grandma finally says I love you as you can tell from the parenthesis of present day thoughts. I almost did lose her when I was i college. We were not close then, she having been disappointed in my choices, but I still loved her. My mother called to tell me that grandma had been diagnose with skin cancer and the first procedure in Butte was botched and she wasn't looking likely to survive. I spent hours searching the internet to find something about cancer and learned about the treatment in of all places Billings. I remember calling Frances and crying with my aunt who hadn't talked to me in 2 years, the number of years I had been drinking and partying. She told me grandma would be fine and so when I called grandma afterwards, she acted as usual in her gruff manner till she broke down. We started saying I love you a lot after that day. Today, she is fine, with a scar across her cheek, more a hindrance to her vanity that to anything, but a lesson was learned to express our feelings. My grandma tells me she loves me every time we talk now, and I make sure I live my life in a manner so she knows I love her back. She is the third most important person in my life, after my parents, and she is my hero.

Memories define a life....

Who are you? Are we a sum collection of the decision we have made, or maybe we are what others perceive us to be. Perhaps the definition of our existence exists only in our own minds and in reality we are amorphous creatures of morality. I really don't know how to define who I am. I can use the ideas of others, the parameters for which they limit an existence. I am a son of God, that works, I am a lover of life and people,....again that works. Perhaps it is best to describe what we are not? I am not going to attempt to solve my own conundrum, but rather it was this thought that has plagued me throughout the day. My final solution was that my memories, the way I perceive significant events in my life could best be used as a measure of who I am. Of course my perception of myself derives from memories such as these most poignant ones, but my point of view of them may be different than someone else's. I am whatever you think I am, but please judge it by the most important memories I could think of myself today. I have limited it to fifteen memories that have some of the strongest emotional attachments to them, and surprisingly some are rather mundane.

Memory 1)

The cold water feels runs over the top of my calloused feet. Those callouses bear the testimony to hours spent running on the rocks in front of my house, and the stubbled grassy fields of my ranch, or perhaps from the numerous hours spent walking the shoreline of Governor creek as my brother would fish. Life is amazing at 5, no worries just the constant need to explore and learn. I remember that later Clay is going to be taking me to go "hunt" mice with our dogs way out past the horse pasture. I am so excited, in fact I am so excited I start to walk towards the horse pasture just in anticipation. To get to the fields and beyond is a small stream. That streams seems so big, I have lost my latest pair of rubber water boots in it just a few days ago. I don't want to lose more boots, my family wasn't happy. I carefully take my boots and place them by the swing set and walk towards the only bridge across the small stream. This bridge is part of an old milk crate and it has just recently replaced the old two by four Clay put down to cross the river. The old two by four was rotting away, but always supported my weight and I am saddened that it is no longer there. I go and stand in the tall grass by the makeshift bridge and look out at the horses. I move closer to the water, the water really does feel amazing on my calloused feet. As I stand by the edge of the water I hear a small rustle in the grass. The stream is barely rippling across my feet as out of the grass a small garter snake, with red along the side of its belly slithers into the stream. Along with the stream it slithers across my feet. I am in shock, and immediately I fear this small creature that startled me and ruins the feeling of the water across my feet. I don't cry out...not until it is long past in the water and I am still shivering in fright. I start to cry and my tears join the water of the small stream as it carries those feelings along with the tears into faraway lands and eventually the Gulf of Mexico.

......memory 2 tomorrow

Mr. Domestic....in my dreams

Today was a long day. Finals are coming up and I am finishing off all my projects and papers before the end of the semester. I am at the point in all of my grades that I cannot coast, but have to do just a little better than I have been doing so I can get the grades I want. I have all A's, but all of them can easily become A-'s and I have two A-'s that could easily become A's if I just work a little harder. I want the 4.0, and therefore a cumulative GPA of 3.95 to apply to graduate school with, but why. I think the question of why was what hit me most as I was trying to figure out why I was drowning in a sea of stress and those who don't care about grades were smiling and enjoying the sun and good company.

I was picking up my "heart attack in a bag" of McDonalds for a quick supper with Esteban and driving down a neighborhood. The tree lined boulevard was quaint and extremely domestic. I felt my heart pang and remembered a dream I had a long time ago. In the dream I was older, probably early thirties and lying on a couch in the sun next to a window, and I remember laughter and two little kids running up and jumping on my stomach and calling me "daddy." I remember smiling and hugging them....and that was my dream. The simplest of dreams and yet the most poignant, and driving along the Rexburg neighborhood brought it to my mind and all the pangs of desire associated with it. I dreamed of being done with school. I dreamed of this not being my second to last semester of undergraduate, but my last year of graduate school. I was not going to be walking for a degree in Economics and Psychology, but rather a Masters of Public Administration and a Juris Doctorate. Life would seem so much easier if I was driving home to a family and living life the way it was meant to be lived, and not struggling through school. That is when the epiphany hit....this is life, and school is not a period of time I have to struggle in purgatory, but rather it is an important part of my life and if I am not living it, then it is my own fault. I am wasting my life not because I am in school, but because I am not enjoying every minute of being alive. The smiles of those who frolic while the sun is out are no different than the smiles I COULD be having while I sit in the Econ lab and perform regressional analysis. We choose to live or to die, and if I don't learn to live today, I will be an attorney someday and be dreaming of when I can retire and not have to worry about working. I have loved school, and I continue to love education and teaching and I need to wake up to the opportunities and joys of my life. That being said, there is nothing wrong with a little dreaming to keep the soul moving forward towards an end goal. I will finish off my post today with my thoughts of perfect domestic bliss.

MY PERFECT FUTURE

* Happily married with 2-3 children (and I want to take in foster children when my children are in college so I can help other kids get the chance and a good life.)

* Live outside of the city and suburbs on a few acres of land with horses and 1/2 acre orchard and maybe 5-10 acres of open fields. I want a big house, not over 4500 sq ft.

*House - needs 4-5 bedrooms, 3 baths, with dormer windows, and two stories with a basement. More than anything it needs a library room, filled with books upon books upon books.

*I want to be the type of father that never misses a game or recital no matter what. I will make sure no matter how busy I am that I always put my children and wife before anything.

* I will want, but never force, our family to be big into activities together. I want to ride horses as a family in the fall, ski in the winter, fish in the spring and camp, and jet ski and boat in the summer. I just want that all around fun family that can give lasting memories with their children through shared activities. I also will be big on reading and learning. I am a life long learner and I am SO eager to teach my children about what I know and let them form their own opinions.

* Active in the church, this is the most important.

I could literally go on for hours about my perfect dream, but then it would be ruined when the dream becomes something different that I will learn to love even more than I ever could have the dream. I once dreamed of going to Yale and being a psychologist, and now I am living a different dream and am more happy than I could ever dream. God helps us love where we are at, and so the dream is great as long as I can live with the one that God gives me. That being said I will follow the blog of my good friend Justin and talk about what I need or look for in my future partner.

1)Intelligent, she doesn't have to be a geek like me, but I need someone that has opinions and ideas. They don't always have to be the same as mine, in fact I love when they are different so we can discuss and really help each other see all the perspectives.

2)Passionate, I am a passionate person, and although I come across cold when you first meet me, I have a deep passion for life and for politics and church. I want a partner who is passionate about something in their life, and whose passion drives them towards whatever goals they have in their life.

3)A desire to progress, I don't mind a partner who wants to go out and work, in fact I prefer it, not because I want them to make money to support us but because I want them feeling like they are progressing in this life. I want to come home and talk about what we learned and our ideas, and since I want to be SUPER active in raising the children we can BOTH talk about that. I don't want the usual relationship where I can talk about work and she talks about the home and family.

4) Has to get along with my mother (and preferably be approved by my Abuela) My mother is the quintessential woman to me. I want my wife and my mother to have a great relationship so that they can talk feel comfortable talking once a week and being friends.

5) A strong testimony, I love the gospel with all my heart, but I know I can get lazy. I want a partner who is even stronger in my faith than I am. I want her pushing me and always bringing me back to God.

6) Desire to stay healthy, I need my partner to push me to be healthy with her. I love running, WHEN I get in the habit of doing it. I dream of going on morning runs with my wife and evening bike rides. I want to be a health family, not a health NUT famly, just a healthy one.

7) She needs to have the ability to smile and laugh ALOT,...... I am stressed out enough for an entire city, and I need someone who balances all my stressing and sour looks with alot of smiles and laughs. I want my spouse to be the life of the home.

8) Patient, with life, with children, with me....the attribute of great mothers

9) Charitable/Kind....my mother is the most charitable/forgiving person I know, and I need my partner to have that same love for humanity.

10)Frugal...one of my biggest fears is someone who will spend all I make and put us in debt. I appreciate frugality even when someone is extremely wealthy and look for it in anyone I date.

Now I have a dream and a list posted.......well I better go work so I can be worthy of the dream and have the attributes needed to have someone of the caliber I want to marry, want to marry me in return. In the end all lies in our hands and we have ability to work towards a dream or wait for it to never come.....so here's to my future of being Mr. Domestic.

The desire

Today I slept in for a change, it felt amazing. I got up at 8:15 and got ready to go and tutor in the math lab. In the math lab it was EXTREMELY quiet and no one seemed to need any help. I gravitated towards another tutor and we started doing calculus on the board. I know.....I'm a geek, because who would ever just sit at a board and do fake calculus problems. Anyway, I was fascinated as he taught me about second degree integrals and the use of spheres to measure distances. It was a great opportunity to learn and as I left to go to my class I promised myself that I would take Calculus 2/3 someday, even if it was when I was in a career and the courses were just for fun. I was inspired to learn, and that inspiration is a defining aspect of my life.

I remember being little HATING when summer came, because I would not want to have to stay at home and just learn to entertain myself and work, when I could be at school and learning new things. I LOVED TO LEARN, and so I would read hundreds of pages of books over the summer, and I would study all the online encyclopedias like Encarta with a fervor to learn more about our world. This passion for learning was mitigated rarely as I grew up, and those times of mitigation came about whenever I started to divulge myself into a relationship or competition. However, the pursuit of knowledge always brought me back.

I am not in college and I love learning still. My ability to comprehend is not where it use to, and now I have to study and repeat exercises to understand concepts, but as those concepts are integrated into my being I find such satisfaction in life. If I could forever travel the world and learn languages, history, math, culture,, and religion, I think I would be an extremely happy man. However, the need to be efficient and give back to society is too strong for me to fall into the trap of pursing knowledge at all costs.

This leads to the problem I have contemplated all day.....there is too much to do and learn and never the time or ability to experience it all. This precious gift of life becomes all that more precious when we realize that our choices are restricting our future chances to experience something. Now with a finite number of possibilities we have given value to every action that we take With so much to do and learn, how do we decide what we sacrifice and what we don't?

I firmly believe that for every door we close in the maze of our life, we open another three and we have the ability to continual progress to a new path. The answer to which path is best, is that the path you are traveling is the best, if you allow it to be. It is not so much about what you do, as it is about LOVING, or learning to love what you do and where you are. EACH day needs to literally be the best day of my life, and I need to remove those obstacles I feel bind me down and push onward with the pursuit of joy. Man is that he might have joy, and I attest to that. Joy comes in many manners, but it never comes from selfishness. So as we decide which path is best, we need only be selfless and learn to love the path we choose. When we love what we do, life becomes easier and the knowledge we start to gain is useful no only to us, but to those around us that we can share not only in thought but in our very deeds.

The maze of life continually stretches before me, and honestly I am excited to see where I go next. Doubtless I will be stressed and complain, but I know I will enjoy the challenges that arise, and will have to learn to overcome new trials in my life even as I experience new things. This short memo is in dedication to the best day of my life which was today, and which I hope will be tomorrow as well.

The Quintessential Relationship

I have a habit of writing about people who have inspired me through the actions of their lives. Call them my peer role models, I hold these individuals in high regard. In the past I have written about numerous individuals.....Danny Garner, Cece Elam, Matthew Hackbart, and Angela Riley to name a few. Tonight I am going to not write about a single person, because in fact they soon will be a married couple, and instead write about two individuals who have lived one of the most virtuous relationships I have seen.
I remember when I first met Austin. He was a brand new missionary and he was walking in Taylorsville with his trainer. I was a Spanish Zone Leader, and there was a slight prejudice between the spanish and english programs in our mission....and so I was a little disinclined to give him and his trainer a ride in the car I had been assigned. However, I remember my first days as a missionary and having to ride a bike, and so I stopped and picked them up. I remember looking back in the mirror and asking him his name and just looking at his super sad eyes.......I felt bad for him. I didn't have much to do with Austin till he was about to be made a Zone Leader. Later as we both served in a Zone Leader compacity, I was impressed with his warm nature and naturally charismatic. Later it was my pleasure to serve him as an assistant. I did not know of a more charitable loving leader in our mission than Austin. Although he led in a much different manner than I did, I was continually impressed with Austin's ability to lead through love and humor. He was one of the best Zone Leaders in our mission.
I never would have guessed that I would live with Austin....we were not close, and so when he and Andrew Bayba both came and lived in my apartment, it was a surprise. I am not an overly friendly person, and so we did not become immediately close. It would actually take his other half to bring about a more kind nature from me.
Kenzie was one of the first girls that came over to our apartment that semester, and she was Austin's girlfriend. Honestly, I was at first surprised that Austin had such a beautiful and kind girlfriend. I later regretted those feelings upon realizing his own depth of personality, which he keeps quietly hidden beneath waves of calm. In fact , it is Kenzie who is lucky to have found a man of his caliber.
Kenzie lives life in a vivacious manner, where she is constantly bring joy to those around her. Never do I hear a negative remark leave her lips, and she takes the worst of attitudes with a smile and optimistic attitude.
The caliber of these two individuals when they are seperate is considerable, but it is the synergy they exhibit as they love each other and serve each other that is truly inspiring. From Austin quiet defense of Kenzie, to his standing ovations and frequent praise at all of her performances in dance, to Kenzie's gentle defense of Austin and the way she looks at him whenever she comes over. They have both lived a relationship that I have never had the opportunity of seeing. It is physical to the perfect point, the point where it resides without crossing over to a point of extreme. I have never worried about their virtue, and likely this is aided by the way they speak to each other in quiet respect. Despite the gentle quips about needing to work out, they respect each other's bodies and personalities. Kenzie pushes Austin to his dreams and he is her biggest advocate. He defends her like a southern gentleman and she responds by acting the part of the quintessential belle. Truly this is a relationship we at times would call corny and claim only exists in a movie or book, but is witnessed in everyday life through acts of service.
The quintessential relationship is this relationship of service that I have seen displayed on both their parts. I have no doubt they will maintain a long and loving relationship even after they are married in a little over a month. This is because they work at their relationship and serve each other every day. I am inspired to the point that I have promised to treat my future wife in a manner that reflects how Austin treats Kenzie. This service was something I would have never suspected, but it was because like so often, I judge too quickly the exterior cover.
Austin loves sports, I would prefer to read a book. Austin likes bright clothes, I rarely wear anything but brown, white, or black. We just are not overly similiar, or so I held until this semester. I have watched as drama after drama has been elicited in our apartment, and it is not my cold demeanor, but the gentle peaceful nature of Austin that resolves the situations. I have watched his intelligence while we stayed up till 2 playing business games, and realized that his natural abilities in decision making are second to almost none. His sharp take is more often formed to kind words of inspiration than to harsh criticism. Austin is not a boy, or even a young man trying to find out who he is, rather he is a man fully accepting what he is and what he wants to become. I think this is because Austin has learned sacrifice, and through that sacrifice that he has experienced throughout his life, he has learned about fighting for what is important and letting the rest pass you by. Like a tree, Austin weathers a storm and sways with the moods of others, but always provides shelter during a storm. I will miss him terribly when he is married away, but wil continue to draw strength from the quintessential relationship he has formed with his wonderful wife, Kenzie......or should I say MAC...kenzie :)

Rule #1, The ears/mouth ratio

I was always taught that I had one mouth, and two ears, and I was to use them in the same proportion. Listen ALWAYS twice as much as I talk, and that includes giving my opinion.
I have always felt that I gave pretty good advice. I can be fairly unbiased when I give opinions and I try to always stay objective.....and I fail all the time. More recently I have started offering advice that was unwanted, not in any effort to control, but to protect and aide...and I overstepped my bounds.
If there is any one thing I LOVE to watch its drama, and if there is anything I hate to be part of....well that's drama as well. Specifically the type of drama involving teenage girls. Without naming names I have found myself woven into the intracacies of drama and intrigue. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE INTRIGUE, I love politics for that reason. However, I don't like intrigue when people I love have the potential of being hurt.
You never learn to NOT touch the stove till you have been burned. I have been burned by opening my mouth too much too many times...and I still make the mistake. Here's to a new resolution.....I'll listen not only twice as much, but 10 times as much and my advice will only came after constant pressing for it.

Random Thoughts

* TOP TEN MONTANA CITIES to Retire in....

1. Polson (Pop 5250 on Lake Flathead...a little bit of heaven)

2. Hamilton (Pop 5000 on the east side in the Pintlers by Skalkahoe pass.....)

3. Livingston (Pop 7200 out of the town in the N. Paradise Valley)

4. Conrad (Out of town towards Choteau, with a little 500 acre farm, Pop 2400)

5. Whitefish (Pop 8700, on Whitefish Lake)

6. St. Mary's (Pop 100, east of Glacier on Browning Reservation, 1000 small ranch...HEAVEN)

7. Dillon (Pop 4200, south of town in the Centennial with a small ranch/farm of 1200 acres)

8. Lewistown (Pop 5900, NW into the Judith Basin ridge)

9. Red Lodge (Pop 2500, right by the ski hill.....)

10. Ennis (Pop 1000, on the Madison River to write and fish everyday)

* Top Twelve States / Cities I want to build my career in

1. Washougal / Washington (Portland Metro, no sales tax in OR, low property tax in WA)

2. Boise / Idaho (Live closer to Lake McCall and commute)

3. St. George / Utah (I love constant sun and summer weather....)

4. Logan / Utah (A small city with great growth potential and beauty)

5. Savannah / Georgia (Southern Comfort......hmmmmmm)

6. Lafayette / Louisiana (Southern Comfort meets a little spice!)

7. Roanoke / Virginia (At the end of the Shenandoah....its paradise)

8. Charlotte / North Carolina (Great growth in banking, and I want to do business law)

9. Washington D.C. (....do I really need to explain this one)

10. Portland / Maine (I love the scenery, the choice of the unambitious)

11. St. Louis / Missouri (I love the heartland of this nation and the history there)

12. Wataga / Texas (Dallas Metro...means you can actually make money)

(honorable mention....Redding California) (Its pretty, shoot me!)

My Top 10 Favorite People to Road trip with and discuss life (no particular order)

1. Danny Garner (The truest of friends in this world, his advice is pearl beyond price)

2. Matthew Hackbart (Loyalty and fun in a package of adventure....bring the Mate' please)

3. Clay Zobell (We fight, we eat, we spend alot of money.....its fun)

4. Bonnie Lichfield (Give her a day and she'll change your life....)

5. Bailey Sooter (Vivacious with a touch of innocence and the mouth of a sailor..)

6. Hadden Monroe Elms III (Intelligence and wit cut to your own inner needs)

7. Shelby DeMars (Capitalism/Efficiency incarnate with impeccable music tastes)

8. Justin Rex Baker (You want a singing buddy....BINGO)

9. Brad Queen (Politically Incorrect meets one of the most charitable individuals)

10. Walter Ward Zobell Jr. (Wisdom and support.......my rock of Gibraltar)

Top 10 Most Personally Inspirational Books

1. Ulysses (James Joyce) (The ability of transformation within a day)

2. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand) (The need of competition and free markets)

3. Heart of Darkness (Joseph Conrad) (The nature of man and his civilization)

4. The Alchemist (no idea, he's Brazilian) (Follow your life quest, no matter the cost)

5. Siddhartha (Herman Hesse) (Peace is find within, not in the outward search)

6. The Satanic Verses (Salmad Rushdie) (Ability to be led by fanaticism)

7. Beautiful Losers (don't remember) (The horror of society when indulgence is taken to far)

8. The Giving Tree (Shel Silverstein) (Charitable service....no matter what)

9. Animal Farm (George Orwell) (All animals are equal, some more than others.....)

10. A Brave New World (Alduous Huxley) (How even dystopia can appear as utopia)

(honorable mention....Russell is a Republican) (Why everyone should be a Republican!)

Top Ten Bands / Singers

1. Goo Goo Dolls (Slide, Iris, Black Balloon, Broadways is Dark........yes yes yes)

2. Iron and Wine (Cinder and Smoke, Naked as we came.......)

3. Bob Marley (Redemption Song, Exodus, Could You Be Loved....too many to name)

4. Anberlin (Good Feel Drag, Paperthin Hymn, Stationary, Day Late Friend)

5. Red Hot Chili Peppers (Under the Bridge, Shindig, Scar Tissue, Californication)

6. Say Anything (I'm a Transylvanian, Walk Through Hell, By Tonight)

7. Enya (Anywhere Is, Book of Days, Boeadica, Storms in Africa, Orinoco Flow. Amaranthine)

8. Fall Out Boy (......pure lyrical genius..A little less 16 candles, a little more touch me)

9. MGMT (Kids, Time to Pretend, Electric Feel)

10. All American Rejects (Gives you hell, Dirty Little Secret, Move Along)

Spanish Pride

Me encanto mi abuelita. Ella es una inspiracion a mi vida. Ojala que puede ser digno para ser su nieto.......

My grandmother is the inspiracion of my life. She has taught me so much, but one thing she never taught me was her native language, spanish, and so any mistakes in my grammar to begin with I blame on my six month crash course of learning during my mission.

Helena Eudocia Rivera Molina Strodtman, is the epitome of dichotomy. She was born in Nicaragua, and raised in the coastal city of Bluefields. Hence the name of my blog, son of bluefields, is in reference to my abuelita. Her father was an extremely learned man of a semi-aristocratic background. Luis Rivera was born to the wealthy Rivera family of Matagalpa and Jinotega. Their plantations were evidence of their wealth, as were the political appointments of the family in the Samoza dictatorship. They were old money from the Castile region of Spain, that were renowned for being snooty and for the intermarrying of cousins to keep the plantations and wealth in the family. Luis, when he was a boy, had gone shooting with the son of one of the workers on the plantation. The boy ran in front of my great grandfather's gun and Luis killed him. The plantation worker vowed to kill my great grandfather, and so the Rivera's sent him with a German diplomat for 10 years. During that time, Luis lived in Philadelphia, Berlin, Munich, Paris, and Barcelona. When he came back to Nicaragua he was fluent in his native Spanish, English, German, and French. He later learned the native tongue of the Miskito Indians of the coast. He was extremely gifted and so when he chose his wife, it was with disappointment the family watched the wedding to Francisca Molina. Though Luis was extremely wealthy and intelligent, he never learned to control his passion for spending money or for drinking, it eventually led to his death. My great grandmother, Francisca, was a mestizo. She had native background of the Miskito Indians, although this was less than half of her ancestry. She came from a poor family, and her own mother had born children to 4 different ment during the course of her marriage to one man. Thus, Francesca was far from a suitable match for any Rivera. However, my great grandmother had what Luis didn't, discipline. She ran a successful mercantile business with the American miners in Bluefields, and was renowned for her generosity and shrewdness. Thus my grandmother was born into a dichotomy, and she inherited the best of both her parents, and at times the worst. She has the potential to be extremely intelligent, and her wit is second to none. However, she also has a hard time to control her own passions and her prejudices. She came from poverty and thus she lives a humble life despite her wealth, but she still struggles to feel accepted in a society she always felt she was beneath, much like her mother. My grandmother is my hero, and this blog is a small dedication to a woman I love.

My grandmother's stories are some of my favorite memories of childhood. I would spend as much time at her house as my own house, it was right next door, and she would cook as I played around her feet with marbles. I faked wars with my marbles, and then would go to my grandfather's room and star at the large map of the world where all the families trips had been mapped out. There I would stare at Latin America and know my grandmother was from there. Later, she would sit me down and would talk to me about where she was from. She would teach me about the conquistadors of long ago, and make me look up spanish words in the dictionary. I grew enchanted with stories of her childhood, stories of sleeping in tortoise shells, or sailing in a canoe up the river with her mother pregnant. I loved those stories, and I learned to love her. She is a hard woman, and she does not show affection readily. The first time I remember with regularity that she would tell me she loved me was after she defeated cancer four years ago. She was has never been one to show emotion other than anger and disapproval, yet behind your back she is the first to laud praise.

I applied to Harvard, Amherst, and Williams when I was graduating from high school. All of them required an essay about a figure in my life who had inspired me. I was later accepted to all three of these schools, and I attribute my essay to much of the success. First, it was about my grandmother, who is my hero. This served a two fold purpose, first to highlight my hispanic background and confirm my minority status, and second it was a truthful representation of triumph over adversity. My grandmother was forced to leave her country when she was thirteen. Her mother had saved money for years, $900, was needed to be allowed entry to the United States, and Francisca dreamed of going with her youngest daughter. My grandmother's older sister was already in Utah, and so they were finding sponsors to come when my great grandmother dropped a crate on her foot. With her diabetes, and lack of medical attention, gangrene set in. My grandmother watched as her mother died and within two days she was forced to leave for the United States by herself. Her father had long ago abandoned the family, but came at the funeral to ask for money. With these as her last memories, abuela came to the United States where she would be forced to learn English and learn a culture not her own.

In Utah my grandmother lived with an LDS family, and as she was mistreated here she would carry a grudge that she would hold against this faith to this very day. She went to high school, and learned English to a minimal degree. She felt the prejudice of an all white society where she was looked upon as a second class citizen. She eventually got married to a carpenter, Walter Sidney Ward Zobell. She had a child, my father, only to find that her husband was far from faithful. Helena was tricked with her minimal english into signing away her sign, and only upon her crying while cleaning a movie theater, did a co-worker take her to an attorney, the co-workers father. The man helped my grandmother win back partial custody, and with that she left the state for Montana. Here she struggled as a waitress, living with her sister and her husband. She learned english better and only cared about raising her son and finding a life that would be successful in this new land where she had been taken advantage of by others. She stumbled upon a rancher named Willis Dale Strodtman, who pursued her relentlessly. He didn't care that she was spanish, although he was a deeply racist man, and he loved her son. He was an outsider like her in the Big Hole Valley. A dirt poor farmer from Kansas, he had bought a small ranch in the valley and was considered and outsider. He pursued her until she finally gave in and told him that she did not love him, and he replied, "You will learn to love me." So her new life began as a ranch wife and she did learn to love "Dale." Dale raised her son as his own, and she had another child, named Frances in honor of her mother. She watched as her children became international trap shooting sensations. She watched her as her ambitious husband amassed wealth through his frugality and shrewd business dealings. Her life was changed, and along the way she had changed as well. She traded in her green card for citizenship, and learned to be patriotic. She came to love this country more than the one she had left. Later when she returned to Nicaragua and saw the devastation left from the Sandanistas, she would remark that it was no longer her home.

I have deep spanish pride, although it embarasses my grandmother. She considers herself American, and though she still has a slight accent after living in our country for more than 65 years, she loves this nation as her own. She has three grandchildren whom she has pushed for success in all their pursuits. She is my hero, and her life has been an inspiration to me. The dichotomy of her personality has been passed on to me, in my cold demeanor mixed with strong emotions underneath. Her life was not easy so that my could be easier. It has always been her dream to have a grandson be an attorney, and so I with pride am going to accomplish this for her, as much as for myself. The greatest gift I can repay her for her sacrifice is knowing that her posterity are fully American, and that they integrated despite the prejudices of the people and the odds against her. Me encanto mi abuelita.