Haunting The Cemetery

October 31: All Hallow’s Eve. According to the ancient Celts - and to Susan, who reads a lot and has a flair for the dramatic - this is the day when the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest; the day when spirits walk amongst us and can only be appeased by gifts of food, or fooled by dressing up to appear like them. In honor of Samhain, I took the girls to Heber today. Actually, that’s not true. I took the girls to Heber because I was feeling nostalgic, and because I wanted to get out of Happy Valley for a while. Too much Happy Valley makes a guy blue, sometimes.

We went to Heber with the intention of visiting some elderly relatives. Unfortunately, no one we wanted to visit was home. Maybe I’ll call first next time. Anyway, we ended up at one of our favorite haunts - ha ha - the Heber Cemetery. The cemetery is a peaceful place, and we enjoy visiting there. The girls enjoy running around the headstones, and I enjoy remembering and contemplating the lives of people who have gone on to - hopefully - greater things. There is also a lot of history to be learned in the graveyard, if a person knows where to look.

Here are some things we saw there today:

 The first stop, as always, is my parents’ grave. My mom really dug Halloween; she used to dress up as a witch and tell spooky stories to any group that would have her, especially cub scouts. One year she did such a good job she made one little guy scream and cry.

Of course, we had to pay our respects to my brother Phil. Phil was always good for a laugh on Halloween. I remember one Halloween thirty years ago he and I and a couple of other guys took a can of shaving cream and some firecrackers and ... actually I probably shouldn’t tell that one, if only to protect the guilty.

Here’s a view of Mt. Timpanogos from the Heber Cemetery. As I’ve said before, you can never take too many pictures of Timp.

One year Mom and her best friend told Phil and me that if we went to the cemetery, ran around this grave three times, and asked it what it was doing it, it would say nothing at all. Of course Phil and I did exactly that, and the headstone literally said nothing at all. Ever since I told the girls about that trick, they like to hang around this headstone. I got my girls to do the same thing last Memorial Day.

There are some interesting old headstones in the Heber Cemetery, carved out of various material.  In the good ol’ days, people used whatever was available. One of the most common materials was sandstone. It doesn’t hold up very well; there are a couple of old sandstone headstones that are virtually unreadable. This isn’t one of them; even after over a hundred years, the care that went into making this one is still evident.

Here’s a headstone the girls found today with the famous Utah pioneer clasped hands. There is some deep religious significance* to the hands that escapes me right now. It does look pretty cool. And why don't parents name their children Lowerina anymore?

 Here’s a headstone I’d never noticed until today. I really like the cross and the crown. I’m not sure what the exact significance of it is, although I can probably guess.

This is a detail, in black and white, of that cross and crown. Again, very nice work, especially when you consider that the whole thing was carved by hand.

 An autumnal view of Heber Valley, taken from a hill in the north east corner of town. I was raised here, and I love this valley, but every time I visit I always think of the old Charley Pride song, “Wonder Could I Live There Anymore.” Things have changed so drastically that it isn’t much like the place I grew up in now.

A few months ago I ranted and raved about the audacity of someone changing the name of Clyde’s Billiards to “The Spicy Lady.” I thought the name sounded more like a brothel than a cafe. Well, the place isn’t named The Spicy Lady anymore; it is now The Angry Bull, which to my ears sounds only marginally better. Nice Halloween decorations, though.

And that was the end of our Heber trip. It was a quick one; only three hours. The Wife needed us at home, and I promised I’d be there by five. It was time to leave anyway; too much nostalgia just makes me sad and grumpy, which is why we went to Heber in the first place.

* I just found this website that explains nineteenth century headstone symbolism. Both the clasped hands and the crown and the cross are explained there.

Reasonably Inexpensive Nostalgia, Part 2

No running journal today, but it was a great day. We took the kids to the American West Heritage Center this morning. I hadn’t been there in nearly twenty years, since I was a USU undergrad and escorted a group of kids from the university lab school on a hayride at the farm.

I can’t recommend the AWHC highly enough if you are a history buff like me. The AWHC is a working farm themed around the year 1917, and everything is as authentic as they can possibly make it in 2010, from the sausage making in the summer kitchen, to the blacksmith shop, to the chamber pots underneath the beds in the farmhouse.

There is plenty of extremely cool stuff at the American West Heritage Center:

An atmospheric entrance

A blacksmith shop

A mini-train that circles the farm

A petting zoo

A working farmhouse, full of antique furnishings

Caroline checks out the Victrola. It still works.

Communication, 1917 style

Authentic wall decorations

The original owners of the property where the AWHC sits

A broom making demonstration

Caroline holds the Widow’s Broom. If you’re a Chris Van Allsburg fan you’ll get it.

I’m still hurting quite a bit, so after a few hours I was done. I came back to the motel and crashed for the rest of the afternoon while The Wife continued the tour with the girls.

Tonight Susan and I went back to the Heritage Center for the Haunted Hollow, their western themed spook alley. I don’t think I’ve ever taken The Wife to a haunted house, so we’re talking at least twelve years since I escorted a young lady to one. I kept looking over at the beautiful blonde attached to my left hand. It was a little disconcerting to realize that I have such a beautiful daughter, and to realize that she will be going to places with boys on actual dates in a few years. Susan is a lot of fun to hang out with, and she made some interesting observations about the college kids on a date who were in our group.

Susan also saved my butt at the end of the Haunted Hollow by knowing about the horse drawn wagon that could take us back to the parking lot. My knee was really throbbing by the end of the walk. Susan saved the day.

So the Haunted Hollow was basically the end of our Cache Valley Vacation. We’ve got a few things left to do tomorrow, but then we head home and back to reality. Hopefully I haven’t torn a tendon in my knee. This week will be interesting.

Reasonably Inexpensive Nostalgia, Part 1

We’re going to Logan for our annual Cache Valley Vacation. I love Cache Valley. I spent five of the best years of my life there trying to get through Utah State University. Going to Logan makes me nostalgic, almost as much as going to Heber does. Cache Valley is one of my “Gee Whiz” places, as in “Gee whiz I’d sure like to live there.” Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be practical to give up my years in my current school district and start over in one of the two school districts in Cache Valley. Logan will just have to stay a great place to take a fall vacation.

We have some big plans, including taking the girls to a corn maze at the American West Heritage Center. The Wife hopes to meet up with an old friend for a girls’ night out as well. Something about getting her eyebrows waxed. Sounds like fun.

In the unlikely event anyone actually finds my life interesting, I’m going to keep a running journal of our time in Bridgerland ... 

Thursday, 9:00 PM ... The Wife and I watch TV in our own motel room. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to watch an actual television. Most of my video viewing at home now is either a download or on DVD, usually on my computer. Fortunately, The Wife had the foresight to book a suite, so our TV is not tuned to an endless stream of Sponge Bob or iCarly reruns, as it normally would be at home. That’s what the girls are watching in the other room.   

Right now we’re watching American Chopper, one of my all-time favorite programs, while eating Thai take-out. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen a new episode of American Chopper. I didn't realize Paul Senior and Paul Junior were on the outs. I always thought Paul senior was the proverbial prick with a heart of gold. Turns out he’s just a prick. He still has a great mustache, though.

Friday, 3:45 AM ... I wake up, as usual. I realize where I am and that I don’t have to get up to beat the crowd to the gym today. I laugh out loud. The Wife thinks I’m nuts. I eventually fall back to sleep.

7:00 AM ... I wake up for good this time. There is an Anytime Fitness here in Logan, and I am eager to check it out. Unfortunately, the bathroom light and fan are on the same switch, and the fan is incredibly loud. The fan, which is only slightly less noisy than Paul Junior’s Chopper, wakes The Wife and kids. Once the kids are awake they never go back to sleep, so The Wife won’t be able to either. I guiltily slink off to the gym.

When I get to the gym my electronic key doesn’t work, although supposedly I can use it at any Anytime Fitness in the state. A guy inside takes pity on me and opens the door for me. I am impressed with the size of the facility and the amount of exercise equipment. I get on a treadmill and begin my morning run. I set my iPod to a playlist of favorite songs from 1990-91, when I was attending USU. I hear “Why Should I Cry For You” by Sting, “Mansion on the Hill” by Neil Young, “Hard To Handle” by the Black Crowes, and “Series Of Dreams” by Bob Dylan, among others.

About a mile into the run the left side of my right knee starts to hurt. Being the masochist that I am, I just ignore it and reach my goal. Usually the pain stops by the second mile, but today it doesn’t. I realize I’m not twenty-five anymore and vow to use an elliptical tomorrow instead of a treadmill, even though I don’t want to. I hobble over to a nearby Wal-Mart and buy some Arthricream, which of course makes me feel even older.

11:00 AM ... I take the kids to the Bluebird Restaurant - one of our favorite places, and a place we go every time we’re in Logan - for lunch. The Wife stays at the motel to catch up on her sleep. We get to the Bluebird and the kids, after a perfunctory stop at the table, head to the candy counter. The hand dipped chocolates they sell at the Bluebird are the best. Since I at least sometimes pretend to be a responsible parent, I make the girls come back to the table for lunch. Fortunately for Grace, a grilled cheese sandwich is on the menu. The girls eat quickly and immediately return to the candy counter, where I buy them all something.

After leaving the Bluebird we head up the street half a block to one of my favorite reasons for visiting Logan, Books Of Yesterday. Susan and Caroline are thrilled to be there as well; Gracie less so. Within five minutes of entering the bookstore, Grace finds me and proclaims that she needs to use the bathroom. Since there isn’t a restroom in the bookstore, we have to leave. Rather than take the girls back to the motel and disturb The Wife, I tell them that we are going to the grocery store instead. Grace then tells me she really doesn’t need to use the restroom. I tell her “tough”, and make all three of them use the restroom at the grocery store anyway.

When we leave the grocery store I take the girls a block and a half northwest and show them the house my parents lived in sixty years ago while my father attended USU when it was still USAC, and had to milk cows on campus early in the morning. My mom told me they lived in a little two room apartment in the back of the house, where she was pregnant and homesick. I have the girls pose at the entrance to the part of the house where my parents lived and take their picture.

A little family history never hurt anybody.

2:00 PM ... The Wife takes the girls swimming in the motel pool, so I have the next two hours to finally hit some of my old favorite haunts solo. I start out at Books of Yesterday. B.O.Y. looks like an earthquake struck, leaving piles of books everywhere. I’m looking for a couple of twenty-year-old crime novels by Walter Mosley, Devil In A Blue Dress and A Red Death, in the original editions that I used to own. Sure enough, B.O.Y. has them, and they are reasonable priced. I don’t even have to look for them very hard, surprisingly, considering the state of the store.

After Books of Yesterday I go to Hastings, another old favorite. Hastings has a couple of obscure Dylan CDs for really cheap, but I resist the temptation to buy them. I figure I can find them on Amazon. I finally go to Borders, which didn’t exist when I lived in Cache Valley. After Hastings, and especially after Books of Yesterday, Borders is a let down. It’s way too modern, and the book and CD selection is way too obvious. I prefer the cheap thrill of finding a book I really want in a pile in Books Of Yesterday. I don’t spend much time at Borders. My time is up anyway, so I buy a couple of pizzas from Little Caesar's and head back to the motel. When I arrive Susan is playing with a little boy I don’t recognize in front of the motel. Susan has a made a new friend, as usual.

I’m hungry, and after all the bookstore browsing, my knee is throbbing. I’m hoping to get off it and eat a piece of pizza. Just gonna hang out with the women in my life for a few hours ....

Too Tired To Run, Too Aggravated To Sleep

Susan and friend at the Utah State Fair, 9/12/10

The past few weeks I’ve been getting up at 4:00 AM to go to the gym. It hasn’t been a big deal for me to get up that early; I blame creeping middle age. Once upon a time I struggled to make it to a 7:30 AM class at USU. Now I look forward to getting up early to exercise and listen to music uninterrupted.

Yesterday and today have been a different story. We have had parent/teacher conferences at school the past two days, which have required twelve hour work days. As a result, I have still woken up at 3:45, but I have been too weary to get up and exercise. The problem is I start worrying about things, and I can’t turn my mind off enough to get back to sleep, although I’m really tired.

Right now my biggest concern is my oldest daughter, Susan. Susan is tall, blonde, pretty, intelligent, and athletic. Unfortunately, Susan has also become the butt of some bullying by some catty little girls in her class, probably for the reasons I just listed. She’s a little awkward socially and doesn’t relate well to kids her own age; she does better with kids who are a little older than she is.

One day last week Susan came into my classroom in tears and handed me some notes that another student had written to her. The notes were mean; among other things they accused Susan of getting easier work from her teacher because I work at the school, which was ridiculous. Susan is a smart kid and doesn’t need any intervention from me to grease her academic path. She does just fine on her own. The notes were also full of the usual fifth grade invective (loser, stupid, etc.) Like any parent, I took the notes to Susan’s teacher. The teacher dealt with the girl who wrote the notes by moving her away from Susan and informing the girl’s parents of her activities. I agreed with how Susan’s teacher handled the situation and figured the problem was solved.

Unfortunately, the note-writer is just one of a little clique of mean girls who have been hassling Susan. Susan told The Wife last night that the teasing has gotten worse because Susan told me about it. Apparently this catty little bunch didn’t like Susan telling on them. Susan didn’t want The Wife to tell me that the teasing is still going on, but The Wife did anyway, for which I am grateful. I am also pissed off. My daughter has as much right as anyone else to attend school without being harassed, and just because I work at the school doesn’t mean she should have to put up with any crap. My working at the school may not entitle my daughters to any special privileges, but my job also doesn’t mean my kids don’t have the same right to not be bullied as any other kid at the school.

Stay tuned.

Hours Of Awesomeness

I have an awesome playlist on my iPod. This playlist is unusual because every song on it predates 1955 - nine years before I was born - and consists of ancient blues, jazz, pop, and country (some of which goes clear back to the 1920s), with some rhythm and blues and early rock and roll thrown in as well. When I listen to the playlist I get to hear greats like Hank Williams, Count Basie, Billie Holiday, Charlie “Yardbird” Parker, Louis Armstrong, Robert Johnson, Benny Goodman, Bessie Smith, and Bob Wills, along with more obscure - to most people - artists like T-Bone Walker, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Ben Webster, Lester Young, Rex Allen, The Light Crust Doughboys, and Billy Ward and the Dominoes. If you recognize any of those names, my hat is off to you. I love listening to this playlist, especially this time of year. There's something about autumn that makes me want to break out the good, old stuff.

I’ve written a little bit about it before, but man, I love the old stuff. Music is one of the two greatest gifts God has given us, and music from the first half of the twentieth century is some of the greatest music ever recorded. I realize that commercial music is exactly that - music recorded to make a profit, and there isn't anything wrong with that. But it sure seems like they were able to make music that not only made money sixty years ago, but also had some heart and soul.

Listening to Hank sing “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,” Louis Armstrong sing and play “(What Did I Do To Be So) Black And Blue”, or Benny Goodman play “Undercurrent Blues,” makes me happy. I enjoy the old music not only because it takes me back to another era, but also because it sounds relevant to me today. Seriously, I’d rather listen to The Chuck Wagon Gang sing a country/gospel song like “After The Sunrise,” which was recorded in the 1930s, than almost anything modern that I can think of, with the obvious exception of ... Bob Dylan (you knew I was going to work him into this, didn’t you?)

This week I discovered Bob Dylan’s radio show  Theme Time Radio Hour. I realize I’m a little late to the party, because the show was originally broadcast on satellite radio from 2006-09. I’d heard about  "Theme Time", but I never listened to an actual episode until a few days ago. The nice thing is I recently found a website where I could download all one hundred episodes, which I have been busily doing for the past few days. I’m grateful The Wife has been patient, because it has really sucked up the bandwidth.

Theme Time Radio Hour is really a lot of fun to listen to. Dylan chooses a theme for each episode - the first one I listened to was called “Friends and Neighbors” - and plays music related to that theme. Most of the music Dylan plays is ... ancient blues, jazz, pop, and country (some of which goes clear back to the 1920s), with some rhythm and blues and early rock and roll thrown in as well. He also occasionally throws in a little modern stuff, too. Bob Dylan not only plays great old music on his show, he also pontificates, quotes poetry, tells jokes, and relates anecdotes about the artists he plays, which are usually quite funny. Theme Time Radio Hour is now required listening for my morning treadmill jogs, because it is so entertaining it takes my mind off the fact that I’m jogging on a treadmill at 4:30 in the morning.

 Theme Time Radio Hour ... check it out. It’s good stuff.