Running

I used to hate running. The thought of pounding my knees against the ground for miles on end was the last thing i would call exciting. But, i guess the reason why i never liked it was because i never really tried it. I was so busy playin sports in high school that i never felt the desire to go runnin. I had already ran plenty of sprints at practice. Since comin to BYU i have had to start runnin to keep in shape since i no longer play sports and it is reall quite pleasent, and a great stress reliever. I still miss the fast-paced action and contact of sports but runnin aint all that bad. I would say that i am still in the warm up laps to my runnin desire.

The Land

This past week i had the oppurtunity to spend some time in good ol' Blythe California. My Father and I saddled up the horses and went for a ride around the farm. It is nothing grand. But, i never realized the connection i feel for that land. It is just dirt. But, it is dirt that has caught the sweat of my family for eighty years. As my father and i rode i came to realize that no matter where i go in this world, or what i become that piece will always be a part of me. The rocks on the river edge have seen more stories then can be written. That land has felt more pain then can be realized. I am proud to say that I was raised on a little patch of heaven in the Palo Verde Valley.

Personal Narrative- Listen

slowly churned the sputtering coals with the charred stick. There was no real purpose to my actions. The sad excuse of a fire did nothing to warm my mood. I contemplated going to get more wood but then lashed back at my own thoughts, “I shouldn’t be on this dumb camping trip anyway! My dad is the one who wanted to come “experience nature”; he can go get the wood.”As I stood glaring into the fire, I felt the bitter cold creeping over my backside. I turned to warm my freezing bottom. This was a grand idea at first, until of course my nose became akin to a popsicle. It was in this inopportune time of frustration that my father said, “Isn’t it so peaceful Clint, to have a chance to stop and listen to the world, a break from all the hub-ub and racket.”
At this point I thought, “Well, I could just stay quiet and suffer through this night, or I could enjoy the evening.” I chose the latter. “Well dad I do find it lovely to stop and listen. However, all I hear is the sound of a wasted weekend.” I retorted in a mock sincere tone. I turned to see my dad’s defeated face. “Great” I thought “now I feel bad too. Ugh.” We sat in silence for a while. I entertained myself with things I could have been doing if I was not busy playing mountain man with my dad. Yet, his face seemed distant.
I now felt thoroughly like a jerk so I tried to strike up a conversation. “It is pretty nippy out here, huh dad.” He paused for a second, bobbing his head as if listening to an unseen orchestra, then said “I reckon it is round’ forty degrees tonight.” I nodded my head and asked, “How did ya figure that out.” He let loose a low chuckle. Then, he looked up at me, and with the fire dancing in his eyes he said “that reminds me of a story you’re my dad told me when I was boy. Would you like to hear it?” “Honestly” I thought, “no I wouldn’t, but there was such love in those old brown eyes I couldn’t say no.” So I nodded my head.
“Well” my dad began slowly “on a night a might like this one a boy and his father were campin’. And, the son asked his dad the same question. His father told him to listen to the crickets for fifteen seconds and then add thirty-seven. The crickets know how cold it is the father explained. The boy, trusting his father, listened and did some quick calculations. He then blurted out “It is just a hair over thirty five degrees dad!” So they spent that evening and many evenings after listening to the crickets.”
I sat patiently listening to my dad. However, I could help but think, “Well, they could just buy a thermometer.” But, I did not voice my opinion and I kept listening to his little tale. My dad picked a stick and began fiddling with it as he went on. “Years later that little boy grew up and became a very rich and very influential business man. He worked in the busy sky scrapers of New York and always seemed to have papers in one hand and a phone in the other. The father, growin’ quite old now, flew to visit his son one weekend. The boy was very busy, but he cancelled a meeting so he could take his dad to lunch. As they were walking down the bustlin’ streets of the Big Apple the father stopped. The son turned about and said, “No father, the restaurant is further down.” The father’s eyes smiled as he said “Can you hear the cricket my boy?” The son looked around at the passin’ cabs and busy business men and women. Slightly exasperated now he said “Dad, this is New York, not the mountains.” The father turned to his left and crossed the street. His son was getting’ frustrated now, “I got a meeting at two” he thought, “I do not have time to play cub scouts with my dad.” He caught up with his father on the other side of the street but as he opened his mouth to chastise his father about his foolish fantasies. The father turned, and in his cupped hands laid a very small cricket. The son laughed and said “Well dad those new hearing aids you got are pretty impressive.”
“The father slowly shook his head and murmured “No, everyone can hear they just don’t listen.” He then reached into his old coat pocket and pulled out a handful of pennies. Raisin’ his arm to shoulder level he dropped the change on the busy New York Street. As the money clattered off the sidewalk every soul within twenty feet turned to look.” My dad stopped. He turned towards me, and those brown eyes seemed to be alive as he said, “You see my son, the problem lies not in the ears. No, the problem lies in the heart.”
I sat there for a long time after that; watching the fire dance around the logs, fighting back at the cold night. Then I said, “Well, it looks like it has gotten a little bit colder dad.” I turned and smiled “we’re down to thirty five.”

Home talk

Billfold or wallet? Borrowpit or Ditch? Jockeybox or Glove compartment? Since coming to BYU i have learned a whole host of phrases that i never knew existed. And, i have gotten some queer looks for sayings i picked up at home. My dad always called soda sugar water. So i slipped once and asked for some sugar water. It was pretty fun to see the expression the cashier gave me. I would say it was a mixture of wonder between curiosity if her ears were working right, or if i was just clinically insane. But i really enjoy the soul that people bring through with their regionalisms. It makes english exciting. I mean how boring would life be if everyone called it a toilet. I think it is hilarious to hear: kamode, water closet, the study, and my all time favorite, the place of zen. I apprecate the flavor of english. How boring would a plain salad be. Na, you need dressing, tomatoes, maybe some carrotts. And, of course a few nuts. :)

Smile

Have you ever seem someone that just makes ya smile? you dont know them? in fact you may have never even spoken to them. But, there is just something about them that makes ya smile. That happened to me last night. I went with my friend liv to their ward thanksgiving dinner. While i was eating, a man got up and introduced an elderly lady. She must have been approaching if not surpassed 100. Yet, there was still so much life in her eyes. She spoke of service and love, of things she had seen and heard. Then, she bore her testimony. She told us how she walked the ground the savior walked, she has seen the grove where Joseph prayed. She spoke with power and honesty. Her voice may have been cracked from old age, yet her message was timeless. I will probbaly never see this sweet sister again. Yet, i will never forget the joy and happiness i felt as she bore her testimony.

the race

This weekend i heard a poem titled the race. It is an inspirational poem that highlights a boys struggle to win a race. And in the end he learns winning is not about beating other kids, it is "to get up each time you fell." This message really struck me. This boy did not fall once. "Three times he’d fallen, three times he rose again." Who says three strikes means your out? There are always more innings, more practices, more games. I believe sometimes we need to fail, so we learn how to fight back. There is an old analogy that people are alot like glass windows. Sure they are beautiful when the mid-day son shines through them, but when the sun is gone and all is dark. Only the windows that have light within will shine.

Pet Peeves

So...
It doesn't bother me when someone has a wierd little habitat like popping knuckles or biting fingernails. Na, that is fine. But i absolutely cant stand it when someone says they will be somewhere and then they dont show up. Sometimes they offer and excuse. And, there are times when honestly something came up. But lets be serious. If the prior plans were important to you the only thing that would no permit you to go would be a legit emergency. Double-scheduling or getting busy is just another way of saying. Your activty is not important to me. It is simple. Do what ya say. And, say what ya do.

S-N-O-W

So today i w0ke up, looked outisde and nearly choked. There was white stuff on the ground! I did some quick reasoning and i figured it wasn't powered sugar. Leaving only one possibitly. Snow. Yep,this is my first time waking up, rolling out of bed and seeing snow. I have played in snow on a few trips, but living in it. Man i am excited. On the bright side. It really is pretty. And, very peaceful. I was walking around around seven this morning and it was so calm. I actually liked it. Maybe i will be a snow convert.

An interesting arguement

SO.. My friend Kenny and I have an ongoing discussion about whether or not people who are raised in adverse settings can overcome their situatiuons. I believe that people choos who they are. You cant choose where you were born, or who your family is. However, anyone and everyone has the abilty to choose who they are. If it were true that surrondings decide a person then how is that great people come from horrible places. Why were Nephi and Sam righteous while Laman and Lemeul were wicked. To deny the fact that we all choose who we become is to deny agency. We are all in different circumstances and we all must face different trials. However, noble living is not limited to the rich. In fact the most sincere and loving people often have very little. This is because, as was discussed at last weeks devotional, "Adversity is the greatest teacher."

Cowboy Riddle

Sup,
I was driving home from my brothers house when i heard an old school country song on the radio. It is not very often that you hear the good ol' classics so i turned it up and tuned it in. The song was titled "Cowboy Logic." It was a pleasent little tune about how cowboys think in simple terms. One part goes something like. If there is work, do it. Put your back into it. and it goes on discussing cowboys views on life. There was one truly hilarious section where an old cowboy asks a young buck. If you saw three cowboys sittin in a truck, and they were all dressed, from spurs to hat, the same. How could you tell which one was the real cowboy. The young buck didn't know. So the old feller says the one in the middle. he aint sittin there by fate, he aint gotta drive, and he aint gotta mess with the gate.

Finishe draft numero dos

Hello again,
Welp. I just finished the second draft of my research paper. I have learned so much about the writing process and about my subjectt. THe biggest thing for me has been revisions. This is my second offficail draft but i dont know how many times i have revised it. Everythig from grammar to content. I also learned that getting help is (now get ready for this, it is pretty profound) helpful. I have emailed my paper to a few field experts back home and their advice has been amazing. However, their expertise is mostly the actual content. My English proffesor, Sister Steadman gave me some great pointers on organization, citation, and grammar. Overall, i am very satisfied with the final outcome.