Fall-O-Ween

I really should be doing homework. Like Donkey says, "Really, really".
But there's just too much to blog.
SO, I must blog.

As you may have noticed, I've got a new seasonal background and playlist. It was high time.

Today was just crisp and beautiful. Leaves were blowing in the wind and my fingers are just starting to get cold on the way to class.

I felt like pulling out my hidden copy of You've Got Mail and watching it. It's the perfect Fall movie. At least the first of it. Maybe I'll do that while I do homework.

I celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving with some Canadian friends yesterday. We had turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, all sorts of salads, and hot apple pie with ice cream. God Bless Canada for teaching me how to get the most out of Thanksgiving.

I'm really getting excited for the Halloween holiday. The Haunted Mill is a must -I don't know when we'll actually go, but I'm already stoked for it.

My "mulled cider" candle fills my room with the scent of autumn and I'm carried away to some other place where there are buckets of apples, ladders and trees, and a chilly night threatening with frost. But then the daydream ends. I have to get my homework done.

Pickin' Pumpkins

Me, Mike, Kim, and Mike's brother Brandon, with his wife Karlie all went to Idaho Falls yesterday to pick pumpkins. We were so in the mood to carve when we got home that we grabbed a pizza from Papa Murphy's and started carving. I free-handed a face. I know my jack-o-lantern won't last to the end of the month, but I'll just go grab another pumpkin from the store and carve it the day before Halloween. It's officially fall now. I love it.

She Made It!

Yesterday as I arrived at the dentist's office, I happened to notice my odometer. That's right -the Dart just rolled over the digits to zero for the first time since she was made. 99999.9 went to all zeros. She's served me well for as long as I've had her, and I look forward to seeing many more places with the Dart.

Speaking of Harvest Time

It's about that time of year, and pictures of pumpkins I've carved in the past get me excited for the selection and carving of a big orange beauty.

This year I'm doing something I've never done; I'm going out to a pumpkin patch to hand select my own pumpkin.


I can hardly wait to go to the Haunted Mill again this year. October is always a fun-filled month.

Here Goes:

Months ago, I wrote an entry dedicated to my good friend, my great Aunt Minnie. This semester, I'm taking public speaking. For our first speech, we had two options for a topic: "a tribute" or "I believe in _____". When I got the assignment, I knew what I wanted to do. So my speech, which I'll be giving tomorrow morning, is a tribute to Minnie. I can't say enough about how much I admire her. And now, for the speech:

How do you measure greatness?

How do you recognize nobility?

The great people – are they to be found only in the pages of great books with their deeds shining as brilliantly as their name in our hearts?

What of those simple, quiet examples whose works are never published, paraded, or sung about?

I’ve known Minnie for as long as I can remember. As a child, I knew her as the sweet, thin, old widow who drove around in an old, brown, granny-cruiser, who never missed a yard sale, whose gray hair always looked a bit wind-blown, and who always wore a smile.

As I grew into young adulthood, my handy-man tool-box filled up with skills and my ability to lift things became increasingly obvious. Every once in a while, I’d get an after-school phone call from Minnie, requesting a hand with something:
I moved furniture, hauled wood, reached items from high shelves, and did yard work. Minnie would put me to work and come back to check on me every so often. After a bit, she’d call me into her little house to take a break.

As I rested up, Minnie and I would visit. It was during these visits that I discovered what a vibrant gem my spry old widow friend was. She and I could talk about anything. I never felt criticized in her presence. I felt like Minnie was confident that I was capable of doing anything I chose to undertake.

As we chatted, Minnie’s hands were always busy. She was the queen of the crochet hook. Nobody could whip out such a neat stitch as quick as Minnie could.
One day, Minnie set her work down and started going through her basket. She fetched some skeins of yarn and a hook. She handed it to me! I was bewildered. “You ought to be doing something while we sit here and talk. We’re going to teach you how to crochet.”

-Oh. OK.

Have you ever tried to say no to a sweet old lady?

Visit by visit, I began to learn the basic stitches I’d need to make just about anything.

A few months later, I had to learn how to quilt in my home-ec class.

Minnie caught wind of it. That Christmas, my gift from my dear friend was a small cardboard box full of fabric squares and a pattern for putting it all together.
I had no interest in taking up quilting as a hobby.

But my conscience and sincere care for my well-meaning friend got the better of me. I bit the bullet, swallowed my masculine teenage pride, and decided to make the quilt.
Now for a confession: to my great amazement, all those hours spent at the sewing machine grew on me. Sewing was a creative outlet that I found to be very calming. I don’t often broadcast it, but I’m the best male quilter I know.

Minnie’s calls for help came more often once she discovered my skills with a needle. More and more visits were spent around a quilting frame with a needle and thread and sore shoulders.

I came to find that Minnie was the most gifted, most giving, and most resourceful person I’d ever known. Her quilts and crochet projects went out tied in bundles as gifts for weddings, graduations, births, and all sorts of special occasions.
She was always busy with something.

Time wore on, and I left for Canada as a missionary. In the winter months, the Canadian kids wore some very cool crocheted touques.
(That’s Canadian for “beany”.)

I decided to try my hand at making one for myself. The skill I’d learned in Minnie’s parlor, and thought I’d never use, was very soon discovered by my fellow missionaries. I had requests to make touques for all the missionaries in my zone.

I came home from Canada to find that my friend had suffered a stroke and was living far away with her daughter’s family in California. She could no longer talk, but she could still write, listen, and crochet.

She couldn’t drive anymore. She knew I would need a car. The brown granny cruiser was given to me: a 1974 Dodge Dart that I drove to class this morning.

A few short months later, Minnie laid down her crochet hook for the last time. At her funeral, bins full of hand-crafted pot-holders were handed out. Each person left with a keepsake hand-made by Minnie.

In her storage were quilts, labeled for events yet to happen: the future wedding of a nephew or niece, the birth of a couple’s first child, …Minnie continues to give, years after her passing.

She was a person who was dealt a tough hand, but kept smiling through it all.

She was one who filled a need when she saw one.

She knew the meaning of using talents.

She wore out her own life in blessing the lives of those around her.

She never led a historical battle, cured a disease, or ruled a nation. But she touched countless lives in her own very simple, quiet way.

How many lives still feel the warmth of Minnie’s love?

What is greatness?

What is nobility?

I believe it is found in the person who uses their simple talents to the fullest to make life better for people around them.

General Conference Weekend

It took several busy days of preparation, making sure I had my homework done in time, but I was able to pull it off. I got to go to general conference. I rode down with my friends Bryce, Michael (Kidd), and Kim. I got to see loads of family, friends, and people from my mission. That's half the thrill of conference; when the Mormons gather, it's a ready made reunion full of surprises. I'll let the pictures say the rest. What an inspiring couple of days!

Just Because

Once in a while, I get this nagging feeling ---you know the one; you've been pretty busy lately, maybe had a lot of "churchy opportunities" or whatever, and you haven't taken the time to update the blog. You haven't got anything particularly dazzling to share, but you feel bad for leaving the ol' online journal unkept. I suppose there are worse things, like leaving your bed unmade or your clothes in a pile unfolded. That's all debatable too. So, I'm catching up here and giving you all the latest from Rexburg.

First, the Dart. The Dart has been such a dependable machine. I never realized how much more I could do in Rexburg with the empowerment of an automobile. Plus, I guess I really missed the feeling of riding low in the seat, cranking the tunes. I recently decided to replace the alternator. My lights started flickering, and the old alternator was making a whirring noise. So I decided to do some preventative maintenance and swap it out. 58 dollars later, I had a lifetime warranty alternator running things under the hood. It worked great for the first few days. Then it very gradually started to fizzle out. I knew something was wrong when, after my Spanish class, I went to the car to leave and the battery was barely alive.
---sidenote: batteries are the most dramatic items. Other things just break or quit working. Batteries "DIE".

So I got a jump-start and drove her home, pretty frustrated. The old alternator at least kept the battery good and charged. Hmm.

I took the new alternator off and toted it four blocks down the road to Napa. They tested it, and it checked out. SO, my brother JC thought that if the alternator wasn't bad that I might need to change out the voltage regulator. So I bought one, hoping that it would fix the problem.

I installed the new part, put the alternator back in, tightened it all up, and got a jump-start to get her started.

I drove it around for about 20 minutes to give the battery some time to charge (fingers crossed).

Pulling into the parking lot at my apartment complex, I found a spot and slowed to a stop. I put on the parking brake and switched her off.

The moment of truth had come. Would she start again under her own power? Was the problem solved? Would I be walking to the plasma center to donate tomorrow? .....

....I held my breath and turned the key. "VrrrrrrOOOOoooommmmm!" She started up right as rain. It was as though she was saying, "Yes, I'm back! And it feels GOOD!"

I smiled, nodded, patted the dash board, and let her rest. "Atta girl."
So maybe the old alternator wasn't having issues. It may have just been the voltage regulator.

My car evokes two responses from people: it's either "Whoa! Your car is SWEET!" with an appreciation for the classic vintage embodiment before them, or "Uh, ....are you sure it's safe?" Call me biased, but when I get this sort of response, I can't help but view that person with a bit of spite. And chances are, they won't be riding in the Dart anytime soon.

My roommate came to Walmart with me, and he had invited some local girl to come. She was riding in the back seat, and was making insulting remarks the whole way along:
"It's so OLD! I'm totally gonna get some disease from sitting back here! Why don't you get a new car?"

Now, normally I wouldn't dream of dropping a girl off on the side of the road. But it nearly happened that night.

Some folks just don't know a classic when they see one. There might be a little dust on the fenders, but don't let it fool ya.

That being said, I'm wanting to name her. She's been so loyal, dependable, and helpful through the years.

I've narrowed it down to a few options:
Sophie, Camille, and Dolores.

I think they're all fitting names, and I'll tell you where I stand with them.

Sophie: might be a poor choice, since I have a friend named Sophie, and it may get confusing. I just love the name! But some of my friends don't love the name Sophie. Hmm.

Camille: It's a French name, and I just like the sound of it.

Dolores: This just might be my favorite. Dolores, the Dart, proudly manufactured by Dodge. The only bad point to this name is the fact that in Spanish, Dolores means pain. Would she still be loyal to me if I gave her such a name? I could call her "Lorie" for short...

Please, help me decide.

Second, this semester is kicked off to a full-blast start. This semester, I am loving all of my classes! I always enjoy lectures and am really able to like school again. That wouldn't be the case if I'd decided to take Calculus. Let's just forget I even said that word.

As much as I tried to evade it, I got a smashing church assignment. I was called to be the Elders Quorum President ...again. I'm not super-thrilled about it, but I know I should keep a good attitude. Leadership is not my preference. I guess part of the reason is that I have been doing it for the five years I've been home from my mission, and sometimes it seems like that's all the Stake sees on my ward info. sheet. I know that there is inspiration involved, so I'm going along with it. This time around, I'm laughing my way through it, not stressing, and having fun. If the Lord really wants me, me he will have -raucous personality and all.

The weather is slowly starting to feel like Autumn, and I'm loving it. I always love the change in the seasons. I'm always ready for it by the end of the current season. Summer was fun, but that crisp Autumn breeze, laced with thoughts of apple harvest and candy corn, is a welcome visitor.

Now you got a little taste of what I'm doin'. Pretty danged exciting, huh?

PS: I recently watched School of Rock for the first time. It was an instant favorite. I LOVED it.