September 24th, 2010

ALRIGHTY.

So sorry about the confusion, nah I'm not in Canada yet, still in MTC, it's THIS monday I'm heading out... Monday the 27th. I don't have much time so this one will be a quick one.

Elder Mendoza and I were selected to teach the new missionaries on Monday how to begin teaching/teach the first lesson. Do Carlie and Carter remember the scenarios they cycle you through the first day? yeah, we were the missionaries--they miked us up and we acted out a contact in front of about 50-60 new missionaries. The "investigator" almost didn't let us in the door. But we got in and rocked it. It was a nice little ulcer, you know.

French is going well, I'm glad I'm going to Quecbec, where French is AWESOME. Instead of saying "Vous frappez le ballons avec le pied" (you kick the ball) in Quebecois you say "Vous kickez le ball" NICE. They use a lot of english phrases/verbs. It's just a cooler sounding French is all. That's for sure.

This last week has gone by fast, did George Snell tell you I saw him?? He conducted my health awareness meeting! Crazy! It was good to see him. If you need/want to send anything out to me, it's gonna have to go to Canada...dear elders aren't any good anymore, so just email me instead!

Thanks mom for the long letter/updates, it's excellent to hear about everyone, but unfortunately I don't have anytime to reply--I'll respond as soon as I get out to the field and have more time.

This week has been super boring! Time to go!! I'll call around 12-2 p.m. on monday! (Earlier for Miss Bell of course)

Je t'aime!

E. Holm

September 17, 2010

FLIGHT PLANS FLIGHT PLANS FLIGHT PLANS.

Oh yeah, by the way, flight plans came in yesterday. I'm heading out monday morning. I have to be at the travel office at 4 a.m. and my flight takes off at 7. So I probably won't call you guys in the morning... I'll get to DETROIT around 1, and we have about an hour lay over, so I'll probably call you people between 1 and 2. Unless you guys want a call in the morning. And then I'm in CANADA. I'm lucky enough to be the travel leader...yay.....I get to be the sheep herder for 12 other missionaries, but at least elder McRoberts and Mendoza are in our group!

As for the forwarding these emails, I don't think you should forward any of them, just send everyone to my blog, Kyra has been putting my letters up there. She has the address, I think it's www.elderholm.blogspot.com I think...

Not much going on this week, as usual, just teaching everything in French. It's especially hard to teach the principle of Kingdoms of Glory in a whole other language, that's for sure. I can barely describe it in english. I hear that Chandler and Noah are doing the bicycling merit badge - Good Luck!! That was always a...fun...one...

So Carter and Carlie got a job, eh? I thought Carlie was going back to school?? Whatever happened to that? I'm sure she's loving Dr. Grants....heheheh.....And Carter sounds like he's having fun with being a TA for english class. I don't know what it is but lately it seems Carter is always associating himself with Chinese people... strange. Sounds like everything is calming down, which is very good, cause everything is speeding up here.

Oh yes! Thank you much for the package! It was a lovely surprise! Chips are delicious, and I tried the "cow tales" candy...eh...Elder Mendoza loved them!

I heard about the photographer being out of town, ah man, that's killer. The ANTICIPATION is Killing me! I hope I get to see my only sister's wedding before I head out to Montreal! Haha it's not that big of a deal, but I would indeed love to see those pictures. SOMEBODY HELP MOM send some pictures. Chandler and Noah I know you've got plenty of free time, and you know how to work a computer-Hook a brotha up! As my black missionary friend would say. He can say it like that because he's black.

Well I'm almost out of time, it was great to hear from those who sent me letters! If anyone wants to send me anything before I head out, now is the time!

Good luck with life out there!

Peace be the journey,

Elder Holm

September 10, 2010

Salut!

So. Really boring week. Not much happening at all. Except the swine flu is spreading around really quickly. They've got at least 4 elders quarantined - including Elder Allen. I never thought getting the swine flu earlier on in life would help me prepare for a mission. Crazy. We got a whole new bunch of missionaries on Wednesday, one of the most exciting things in the world right now. Also, the hour of free time we have at the end of the day, every able bodied elder is training for the "Falconbury challenge". The challenge is this - whoever can do a pull up with Elder Falconbury on their backs, wins. Falconbury is this really skinny elder from Alabama, weighs 126. Elder Bagnall has gotten the closest.

This week in the TRC was the second week of teaching fully in French. We're really picking it up, except when talking about prophets; I struggled a little with that principle. I ended up telling our "investigator" that E. Mendoza and I were prophets. She looked confused for a second...and asked "Vous AVEZ prophets?" I thought I knew what I was talking about, so I corrected her "No no, Nous SOMMES prophets!" The E. Mendoza looked at me and said in english "Elder Holm we aren't prophets." Embarrassing.

So yeah, it's good to finally get a camera! And I'm dyin to see some pictures of the wedding! How was everyone's labor day weekend? Ours here was the exact same... kind of boring, but good for us.

What else is there to say? Ah.... 16 days left until we hit the field. It's good to hear that Chandler and Noah are getting back into swimming/whatever Noah ends up doing. Carter sounds like he's doing good, and Hayden sounds just peachy, living the dream and whatnot. It's too bad to hear about Kelsey, that's really unfortunate. Yet we all have our purpose here in life, and whatever happens to us, we must know that God is in it. ---I think that's a movie quote from somewhere.... I'll be sending some pictures soon! That sounds hilarious that Kyra is having a family council with her roommates....that'll be fun to hear about! Ha ha. Okay well I don't have much else to say, except send pictures whenever you want; I never get tired of pictures!

Peace be the journey,

Elder Holm

September 3, 2010

Salut!

Well this week has just zoomed by, but not really-- it was great to hear from everyone and I'm glad to hear that the wedding was a success! Tell Noah I wish him luck with the friendless class--but a better teacher is always better than friends. I'm glad that Chandler survived his first week of Junior High! It's a very.....place. Ah well, just something everyone has to go through.

I cannot believe that Hayden gets to drive the car everywhere. That's insane, but I can't complain, I'd much rather be where I'm at. It's strange to think I haven't driven in over a month. ALSO. We are now in the same month that I will be in Canada. 24 days left. Not that I'm counting or anything. So yeah...

Not much to say in the MTC, again. I feel like I'm just repeating the same week over and over again. Except this week in the TRC E. Mendoza and I taught the first lesson entirely in french. My brain exploded. We spoke for 40 minutes, without a lick of english, and surprisingly, the volunteers understood us...for the most part. I've been frustrated by the lingual walls I keep running into, but we just learned subjonctif, which just opened a huge door for me. I'll be speaking fluently in no time.

Thanks so much for the Package!! I never get tired of said packages. How did you know I needed pajamas? Those are going to come very much in handy when I head up to Canada! I've been DYING for doritos, thank you kindly for those as well, and the Emergen-c is going to be used very much. I've still got a sore cough and my sinuses are to the fullest, but what can you do?

Something that bothers Elder Holm.

District planning.

District planning has been very much a trial of patience for me, coming from a family who's motto is "Just do it, don't ask questions, don't be dumb." I have to keep reminding myself that these other elders are from very different places, and experienced very diffferent parenting techniques....sigh. I'm most grateful for the way Mom and Dad have instilled almost hostile obedience in us all, because it's paying off. I sat there in silence for an hour and a half while a certain elder voiced his opinion about how he didn't understand the benefit of being five minutes early to class. "I'm just going to sit here and waste five minutes, why?" was his statement. I wanted to put a hole in the wall with my head. He literally said he could not physically make it to class 5 minutes early. Sigh. And I know as everyone is reading this Carlie and Carter and Mom and Dad are just laughing, shaking their head and saying "oh, you don't even know." So we scratched off the "5 minutes early" goal. And then we planned a bunch of goals that I know no one will follow through with and ended with a song. C'est la vie.

The zone is being swept with the OJ challenge. The best record is 13 glasses of OJ in the morning--and held throughout the day. After you drink, you cannot use the restroom until the next meal. I hope this isn't too vulgar, if it is don't read the next sentence. But the victor and holder of the best record sufffered a great deal for his title--and sounded very much like a civil war cannon that night in the restroom. Poor fella, still suffering side effects.

I would love to get some pictures of the wedding, but I'm in no rush. Things are getting super busy around here. As long as it's before I head out of the MTC. Also, we've sworn off all english in our district...until the airport...it's going to be interesting. Needless to say, nobody says much. Because we all sound like children. But my french writing is down pat. So one way or another, I'll be able to communicate.

I wish I had more to talk about, but alas, everything here stays the same.

Mon coeur restes avec ma famille

Elder Holm

August 27, 2010

Salut famille,

How was the wedding? I almost forgot the wedding was yesterday, it hit me about noon, I asked E. Mendoza what day it was, and he told me thursday, and I was like "huh, my sister's getting married today, crazy." Thanks for the package! I love getting stuff in the mail, and the chips were amazing. It's been so long...without doritos. If you guys ever find yourselves without anything to do, feel free to send me pictures. Pictures are absolutely MY FAVORITE. Send ALL the pictures you can. Thanks for the donuts, but I haven't eaten any yet, I've been really sick this week. Like, really sick.

There's been this flu like bug going around our district, which is just a frightening thing to watch, because you just sit there all day and literally watch the virus crawl towards you and into your system. You can't go anywhere, you just have to pray for the best. And, of course, knowing my week little immune system, it was only a matter of time. I've been sick since last Saturday, fever cough, congestion the works. I went to the doctor on tuesday and she took a blood test and told me that I have developed an allergy. My first thought was "wow, I am now Actually allergic to the MTC." Turns out the allergy medicine she gave me is kind of completely useless, so I am to head back soon. There is nothing worse than being ill in the MTC, or the field probably. I just don't have time for it.

So I have had a couple brushes with THE GUILT here or there in the past month, but since the devotional on tuesday, it's gotten worse. Why is that, you ask? Because Elder Holland spoke, which was amazing to hear him speak, but also very burdensome. I've got some good quotes for you.

"This is His church and His Gospel--You Signed on! If you want to serve for yourself go on ahead! But Don't do it in our name and leave your plaque at the door!" He was literally shouting and banging the pulpit.

"It was never easy for Christ, why should it be easy for you?"

And my favorite, when talking about the MTC rules.
"We know what we expect is a lot, but we're not sorry---This isn't Burger King, we don't hold the Pickles!"

"Don't you DARE go home. It will RUIN your LIFE."

It was a wonderful talk, he compared missionary work to the medical field and such, he's a whole new speaker when talking to missionaries.

We got a couple new elders in our zone, one by the name of Elder Falconbury. Everyone calls him Captain falcon, he's a hilarious person. During a volleyball game he actually shouted FALCON PUNCH when punching the ball, in the correct stance and everything.

I have grown to see a new insight to Carter and Joey's opinion about Sister Missionaries. We have a few in our district, and it is truly a test of my character to be patient with them. It's come to the point where they won't sit at the table until every elder is standing for them, and they will sit at the table and wait for someone to take their trays for them. Ridiculous.

E. Erickson is the reason why I'm here, he told me to say that. He keeps trying to read Jesus the Christ in class, but always falls asleep. The sisters get mad and ask him why he doesn't try harder to learn the language sometimes, he says "look, we're all gonna get out there, have an awful six months, and then we'll know how to speak." and he puts his head back down and sleeps. He's hilarious.

We teach TRC's on Wednesday, in the afternoon. and this week we were supposed to teach the volunteer how to pray in french and the plan of salvation in english, but our volunteer was confused--and he just jumped into the word of wisdom and the plan of salvation, all in french. It was an awful experience, but we made it through....Mendoza and I sounded like mentally challenged children.

"The word of Wisdom is good for your body. Amen."
"I know what my companion has said is true. Amen."

That's basically how that went down. Hopefully we'll get better at it. Well I'm out of time, But send me some pictures of the wedding ASAP. And any other pictures too, I need a good portrait of Chandler and Noah and Carter and Carlie and Hayden to show everyone. Oh, and of Kyra.

P.S. Who edited that family shot??? OVER EXPOSURE.

Paix du journai-
Elder Holm

August 20, 2010

Bonjour ma Famille!

This is P day #4, and let me tell you, it's high time I head to Montreal. The MTC is getting smaller everyday, but I need to stay here as long as possible to learn as much as possible. Next week we are teaching the 1st lesson entirely en francais! We had a 15 minute contact, and luckily we spoke french the entire time; not once was there an awkward pause. So it's coming along. Elder Mendoza and I had a volunteer investigator roleplay with us as we taught the plan of salvation (in english), and it was terrifying. We walk into the room to find that there is an extra man in the room with our original contact. The new guy is a tall, black Haitian man, with a thick accent and a detestation for missionaries. Catholic, gross. We walked in and he started off the conversation asking "So....these are the men from the new church, huh?"

"Nope, from the old church, actually."

He didn't seem to appreciate that comment very much. We spoke a lot about original sin, and the church as a community, and I was surprised at how well things were going. Elder Mendoza and I are a great team. I answer the questions he has while Mendoza looks up the scripture to back me up. Elder Mendoza has become a scriptorian--we call him scrip-Google in our class. It was excellent. As the Haitian began to speak about being baptized as a baby, Elder Mendoza instantly perked up, caught the phrase, and opened to Moroni 8. A bold scripture, and an excellent choice. He would then read the scripture, and explain how this pertains, then I would answer the Haitians questions that arose from the scripture. We still need work though. Elder Mendoza heard a phrase, and instantly picked up his notepad and tried to draw a diagram for the Haitian. I jumped in to help explain it. The Haitian just looked at us like we were idiots and said "none of this makes sense to me anymore, you are saying many different things." Tap out.
We dumped the notepad on the floor and dove into discussion again. The turning point for him was the scripture 2 Nephi, 25. He liked the idea of a joyous church. Win.

A couple of the teachers here served their mission in Montreal, and I asked them how far up north they are sending missionaries. One guy told me that they had to close down the northermost areas, due to lack of missionaries, but since there are about 20 of us just in this group heading up there, they'll probably open up the north. The highest area (in the world) is in my mission--to get there you take a 10 hour flight from montreal, straight north. There are a good number of eskimo colonies up there, all speaking english. I've been told by many missionaries returning from there that that's probably where our group is heading. Awesome.

I'm kind of embarrassed for you guys, if Kyra is killing you at mini-golf. Yikes. Better pick up the slack on the old putting course, eh?

I have a new favorite hymn--it's only in the french hymnbooks, it's used as a lullaby now. here's the english translation

Souviens-toi
(remember)

Do you remember, my child, thy divine parents?
You were in their arms. It wasn't long ago.
Today you are here, marvelously.
Look, you are shining again, like the heavens.
Speak to me, my child, of these blessed places.
Because for you, light is the veil.

Do you remember, my child, the woods, the cities?
Are we able to imagine it here?
And the sky, until the night, is it pink or gray?
The sun waits for the snow and the rain.
Tell me, my child, the color of the meadows, and the song of the birds-
of the Forgotten World.

Do you remember, my child, the dawn of time,
We were friends playing in the wind.
Then one day, in happiness, we chose to accept the Lord,
The great plan of Life.
That nightm, my child, we promised-by faith-to be reunited.


The words are phenomenal, and it sounds incredible in French.

Elder Erickson in my district has an interesting past. His mom was actually on the price is right not long ago--You guys probably don't remember her, but she lost the mustang, won a pool table, and fell on her hindside when she spun the wheel. We probably saw her before I came. Small world.

Thanks mom and Dad for the letters, and let me know how school goes. To Chandler--It's not that bad, Jr. High is just the same as elementary the first year. And Noah, good luck in the friendless class. Just a big group of fresh minds for molding to your will. That's how I like to look at it.

Almost halfway through my time here at the MTC. Thank goodness! all the food here tastes the same, no matter what I eat.

Je t'aime,
Elder Holm

PICTURES!

Here's the first batch of pictures from the MTC that Elder Holm sent home!

Elder Holm and his companion Elder Mendoza.

It wouldn't be Tanner if he didn't send home a couple artistic photography pictures :)

This would be the wall of the classroom - lined with Canada and French flags.

District boys

Possibly the sight of the old "Missionary Training Center" sign?

In front of the temple with Elder Chuang and Elder Chung I'm guessing

Laundry day!

August 13th Letter

Bonjour Ma Famille!

Sorry this one is going to be short, the computers went down and a lot of people lost half their time for some awful reason. Thanks for the candy and everything, it is much appreciated. This week has gone by really fast, yet every day seems like an eternity. Very much like a twilight zone episode. I'll be glad to get out of here, that's for sure.

The French is coming along well - we begin teaching the lessons in French week after next. So ready or not! My companion and I finally realized that we're not made for each other, but after these points of friction we have risen above it. The food is getting old really fast, but that was to be expected. This place gets smaller and smaller every day. I have started reading the Book of Mormon in French, and it's very difficult. Took me the better part of an hour to read the first chapter of first Nephi, but I got through it. It's the fastest way to the gift of tongues, I've been told. So I'm going to plow through it. I'm glad to hear that Kyra is spending a lot of time over at the house, sounds like she might just stick around. Yes.

Sleep is beginning to allude me again - just can't seem to turn my brain off at night, but I'm sure I'll get used to it. I believe you misunderstood me about the flute. I already know how to play it, I've been checking one out here and I've got a couple hymns down already. But it's alright; I don't necessarily need you to send me one. I'll keep using this one somehow. I didn't know there was a d-center in the temple, I'll be sure to hit that up.

There are two Taiwanese elders here, Elder Chuang and Elder Chung. Elder Chuang speaks 5 different languages, studying them in college, and is 25 years old. Elder Chung graduated from school with a bachelors in nutrition before he got out here, but only took a couple years of high school English. They are both trying to learn French, through English. Elder Chung couldn't handle it; he had to go home, which is completely understandable. That's like trying to learn Russian through Mandarin. Awful. He's a braver soul than I.


I've evolved from cranes to swapping nametags. On Sunday I was able to swap nametags of two elders without them even noticing! Pretty impressive stuff.

The work in France is exploding right now, baptisms are up 40%! Hopefully Montreal will catch up soon. Elder Bagnall, he's in my room with me, told me that he's probably going up north with me. He read a part of his patriarchal blessing that said he would "Preach on the very fringes of humanity" ALDBKJADLKFHANDLFKHNDLFKGNSLDKFAMLSRJLSKAGJ crazy insane stuff! So we're pumped. It's getting kind of chilly, walking from the shower to our room nowadays, which only makes me grimace when I think of Montreal. We had a missionary here that is from Montreal, show us the Quebecois accent. It is amazing. Couldn't understand a thing he said though. But since it's so close to America, they substitute a lot of English verbs, and say stuff like "Stop-ey! or Bust-ey!" Hopefully it won't be too bad. He says the people are not religious at all though. Soon to change. Hopefullly.

Devotionals have been good. Teaching is a breeze with elder Mendoza.

One minute left, gotta go.

Je t'aime.

Elder Holm

August 6th Letter

Quo de nouf fils! (qwa de nouf feece)

It means 'What up Son?!' That's the phrase floating around here nowadays. It's great to have the first week under my belt. Time begins to fly once you start doing the exact same thing...every day...every week... No, it's good. Thanks to Carter and Noah for the cranes, they were most inspiring. Speaking of cranes, I've evolved into slipping cranes into people's pockets as they WALK. I've gotten a total of 13 cranes planted, them all bearing the message LIGHT UP THE DARKNESS. I figured it was appropriate.

I have some good quotes from one of the devotionals here -- Elder Kendrick, emeritus of the seventy, said that "selective obedience is a mockery of the law of obedience. Selective obedience is to pretend to be obedient when it's convenient." It's true, and let me tell you folks, obedience pays off. I have been having the hardest time sleeping here, until we had that devotional, and our room decided to get to bed on time that night. By simply obeying the curfew I have slept through the entire night and continue to do so, but only when I am in bed on time. Romans 5:19 better describes our need for obedience.

In one of our meetings a man spoke to us about planning, and he looked, walked, even sounded EXACTLY like Bill Murray. Imagine Bill Murray talking about baptism and people answering his questions "Well THERE you GO! NOW we're TALKING!" It was outstanding.

Another great quote, "Fear can make mountains out of molehills, faith can make molehills out of mountains." Don't let our home become a new Wasatch front, keep the molehills small everyone.

I have a humorous story to tell you. We were practicing teaching and Elder Stanley and Elder Bagnell went in for a ten minute session but came out two minutes early. "We panicked and cut the lesson short before we went in... then we ended too early" they said, so they just sat there, in silence. Then elder Bagnell said "what do you think about families, elder Stanley?" and Elder Stanley said, "I like families very much," and the silence continued. The volunteer broke the silence by asking them if they wanted watermelon, then she pretended to cut watermelon and offered some to them and they sat on the couch and pretended to eat it. Now the phrase has caught on. Whenever you bomb a testimony or lesson, it's called "eating watermelon."

I have discovered that Elder Erickson, from my district, looks just like the hedgehog from Toy Story 3. Incredibly so. I'm sending some pictures soon. There is another elder here who is Finnish, learning french, and he has a rockin accent. He sounds just like the Pinky, from Pinky and the Brain, and he's super short, it's hilarious. It doesn't help that his companion is English. People love to be contacted by them, they are fun to just hear.

Contacting in french has been rough. I have note cards so I can ask questions, but if they don't give me the exact response I'm planning on -- well, they get my testimony anyways. I'm getting better though.

I talked to my branch president, and we discussed my musical talent. He, as well as myself, have found the impression that I need to improve my musical talent through the learning of instruments. So I was wondering if Brooke Watson still has her flute? Is she still using it? Could someone mail it to me, if she does? I've been checking out the flutes here, and have made some progress, but they changed the office schedule and now I won't be able to check them out anymore.

How is the wedding coming along? I hear everything is falling into place, which is good. I know everyone is super busy, but I really could use some short sleeve shirts, and maybe a collapsible hamper, if that's at all possible.

Mon francais est tres bien! Je pleasant, c'est mal. Je suis que le Dieu est en Dieu du paix, et Joseph Smith est un prophete, aussi Thomas S. Monson, prophete moderne.

I'm preparing a talk for Sunday, all in French! It's crazy how hard they push you.

Good luck with everything.

Je t'aime,
Elder Holm

First Letter

Bonjour Famille,

I didn't have an email to send this too and forgot everyone else's. So I decided to send this one out to multiple people just in case. Email me the fam address, so next time I don't waste 23 seconds. This counter in the top right corner is freakin me out.

The MTC has been great, but I feel like I've lived a lifetime within every day. So long. Our orientation meeting was 4 1/2 hours long, just sitting there, talking about getting everyone interviewed. They told us to begin preparing talks en francais, to give in sacrament meeting, and in a couple weeks from now, they'll basically pull a name out of a hat and that elder gets to speak. Ah. My companion is Elder Mendoza, he's from Houston, Texas, but was born in Mexico, so he has dual citizenship. He's one of the most humble people I know, with a fiery faith in his eyes. He says he doesn't know much about the scriptures, but don't let him fool you. He's heading to Canada, Montreal, as well, but his call was originally for a spanish speaking mission, which he already speaks fluently. So when he got here they tossed him into french class with us to learn another language. Cool eh? He's struggling with the accent a lot, cause the whole spanish/french thing. He speaks a lot like Pedro, from Napoleon Dynamite, almost exactly so, and looks like the evil blue alien in the new show coming out soon, the one played by Will Ferrell. He's a soccer beast, which makes gym time awkward, but we soon came to an unspoken agreement that he'd play soccer whilst I ran with elder McRoberts.

I thought that it would be hard to be with someone 24/7, but actually it's very similar to my entire childhood with Hayden. So I've been prepared. Speaking of Hayden, I keep finding all these origami cranes in my coat pocket and books, all I can say is PRISON BREAK. Chapeau Hay-Do, I look forward to pwning you with my origami soon.

So I was warned about the orange juice multiple times, and I thought I was clever in quietly avoiding it for the first day, whilst the other elders unwittingly gulped it down. I was determined not to touch the stuff. But the second day, when I got immunizations out of the way, they offered me a bottle of OJ. Thinking they finally outsourced something, I figured I was safe. I cracked it open, and took a couple gulps. Who knew two gulps was all it took? My stomach was a war torn battlefield for the rest of the night. Why would they serve something so harmful to so many of the Lord's workers?

It's only been about two full days here, and we've got our prayers down, along with our testimonies, and most of our speaking is done en francais. The food here is fantastic. My favorite part is eating all the soup and salad I want, and the other elders don't mind, because they have it on their trays too, somewhere in the mountains of food they carry around.

Sleeping has been super rough. I have gotten extremely familiar with the bottom of my elder's mattress, as he's on the top bunk. Still in scout camp mode, and doing comfortably well, with no intention of stopping anytime soon. The way I feel now, I could go the whole two years.
Speaking of Elder McRoberts, his companion is Elder Anniskette, from Alaska. He's a professional beat boxer, and would have gone to national championships for adults this year, but came on a mission instead. I know about every other elder in my zone, at least 12 of us are from davis high, all going to Toulouse, Paris or Montreal.

The MTC has such as strong spirit about it; I wish I could've felt this way all the time growing up. But such is not the case. Hopefully you guys can find some common ground, maybe a white flag here or there, so that Chandler and Noah, (And maybe even Peeper) can feel the strong righteous spirit of the Lord in his work before they come.

My district leader is Elder Heywood, and he looks exactly like Kirby Heyborne, as Elder Calhoun. No joke. I share a room with Elder Stanley and Elder Bagnall. Stanley is from Cottonwood Heights, SLC, and Bagnall is from Arizona. Bagnall does every sport and every sport perfectly, and Stanley is a lot like me in eighth grade, except he's a black belt. Crazy, you never see the black belts coming. I guess they like it that way.

There are some things I forgot that I could use. We're suppose to match as missionaries in dress, and I only brought long sleeved shirts and elder Mendoza only brought short sleeved, save two long sleeved. So I could use a couple short sleevers, until Mendoza can get some more long sleevers. As well as a laundry hamper, and one of those stainless steel water bottles. Everything else, I think I'm good with. Except candy, could use some of that.

I found a scripture I read now every time I get tired, Helaman 10:12 - and then I have no excuse to be tired anymore.

Good luck this week!
Peace be the journey,
Toujours l'amour,

Elder Holm

Oh, Canada!

After several excruciatingly long weeks, my call arrived in the mail. On a Thursday. Not funny Monson. You would have thought that, as soon as I received word that my call had come, I would have "flipped out" and left work as soon as possible to go home and open. To be honest I expected that very scenario to take place, I was surprised when my boss asked me if I was going to leave right away, and I replied "Nah, I'll work for a couple more hours."

In hindsight I can see that one of my greatest friends had the same reaction when he received his call, eight months ago. He seemed calm, nonchalant, and ultimately uninterested. Which puzzled me at the time, I just assumed he was trying to be cool under the pressure. But now I know why he acted in such a strange manner, it was the same reason I stayed at work longer than I needed, and then took my time returning home.

More often than not, too much of a good thing, is rather bad for you. Too much anticipation, I realized, can lead to revulsion or a blatant rejection of the anticipated. I thought myself to be embarrassingly excited, until I knew that the next two years were waiting for me on the counter. Then I had no hurry, there was no rush to see my future set. My life had just settled into a strange and awkward waiting stage, and I had just got comfortable there.

Now as everyone stood around, and I opened the rather large envelope, there was strange and distracting comments about the relation to the mission you've been called to, and the postage on the envelope--or sudden inspiration found within my family to speak out the scariest, most dangerous missions, claiming them to be my future home for two years.

The call was opened, and rather than read sentence by sentence (for I am not a man to be surprised) I skimmed the first paragraph until I read "Canada, Montreal Mission" Now a switch within was flipped that cannot be reversed. I found myself to be filled with instant and unanimous concurrence, it seemed so completely obvious that Canada is where I am meant to serve, that all my past experiences and testimony has been tailor made and fully customized to optimize the Lord's work in our neighboring country northward.

I exclaimed my destination, and skimmed through the rest of the page. I was happy. My brother seemed a little disappointed, asking "so...english speaking, huh?" I didn't care, I was too busy happily plowing through the exciting and interesting paperwork included in the envelope. After a moment, My older brother and my girlfriend pulled my call letter aside and took a closer look. Then, simultaneously, the both turned to me and cried out "Tanner, you're speaking French!"

I froze. Thinking it was some strange joke, I reread the first paragraph. I assumed that such an important piece of information would be in the first paragraph, and no where else. But assuredly, at the end of the second paragraph read the statement "You will prepare to teach the gospel in the French language."

I was most joyous. Having thought for a solid 3 minutes that I was not going to be learning a foreign language had not had the slightest effect on my positive excitement for my mission, to learn that I would have the opportunity to teach the gospel in another language was an overwhelming addition.

I leave on July, 28th. Now that it has truly sunk in, however, I find myself walking the fine line between unbridled eagerness and true, deep horror. I have never been on a mission before, as you can assume, and have no idea as to how it will play out. Am I frightened? Or Excited? To be honest, depends on the day. Let's just hope July 28th is an exciting day.

Tanner Eats Humble Pie

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts higher than your thoughts." --Book of Isaiah, Chapter 55, verses 8-9.

So God and I haven't exactly been on the same page lately. You know, the page where your immediate future is written out all nicely and outlined for simplicity and convenience. Yeah. I don't think I even have page in my book anymore. Not that I haven't been looking for it, I've been searching for mine own reassurance--trying to steady myself with my own hand, digging my heels in deeper and gritting my teeth against the winds of change. It wasn't until I searched the Lord's book that I found the page I was missing.

"...Yea, even that they did forget by what power they had been brought up thither; yea, they were lifted up unto exceeding rudeness."

"And on the fourth day, which we had been driven back, the tempest began to be exceedingly sore."

"And it came to pass that I prayed unto the Lord; and after I had prayed the winds did cease, and the storm did cease, and there was a great calm." --1st Nephi, Chapter 18

Now albeit this is a jigsawed summary in its simplest form, it was exactly what I needed to read. Not necessarily have I been practicing exceeding rudeness, but I was forsaking my Lord enough that a change needed to be made. I guess the cold shoulder, or the silent treatment, is rude enough, when it is directed at Him--be it intentional or not.

And I believe that because of my lack of constant connection and preparation for a mission, a mighty tempest my life has been as of late, after a car accident took my brother and I by surprise and left us without transportation.

This event, taking no more than 30 seconds to occur, changed my whole path that I had scribbled in the margins of God's map for my life. In order for Carter to keep his job, we had to move out to my parents' apartment in Salt Lake City, and in turn I had to quit my job. It wouldn't have worked if I had stayed in bountiful anyways, I couldn't make it to work without a vehicle.

So, no more than two days after the accident, we were living in southern Salt Lake.

To say the least, this last month down here has been, how you say, character building. Commuting to school now took 2 hours, and making a trip up to Kaysville to visit my parents' house was now an all day event. I thought I was a patient man. I thought this could be handled with ease. I was wrong.

I'm not sure how God figured out my secret struggle with patience--maybe he glanced at my instant queue on Netflix, or the extra money I shelled out for priority shipping--But He saw fit to change such a weakness, to make such a fault a way of life, until I embodied it, until it made me strong. And strong it has made me.

"And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them."--Ether, Chapter 12, verse 27

This wasn't the only weakness that God is making strong. I have noticed a daily struggle to keep an air of humility about myself, a struggle to serve others, and to know how it is that I can best help those around me. And a lot of the assistance I can offer is just about sacrifice. Sacrifice time, by waiting an extra half hour for a ride- sacrifice money by quitting my job, etc... Now that I realize it, God will have me sacrifice until there is nothing left to sacrifice, until there is nothing left but the strength of my soul and the will of the Lord. And then there will be calm to this storm. But until then, I must continue to pray and realize that this is where I am, and this is where I am going to stay until I am ready to change.

"He ruleth high in the heavens, for it is his throne, and this earth is his footstool." --1st Nephi, Chapter 17, verse 39

Cranium, Acromion, Patellas, phalanges!

Now this semester at Weber I'm only taking a couple classes, but my main focus is Human Anatomy, a class that is said to be ranked among the hardest at Weber. And as a survivor of the first two tests, I now know why. Kyra (Super hot genius girlfriend) is taking the class with me, and the first day of class left us both desperately worried.

Dr. Brian Chung, a pro-snowboarder gone doctor, is our professor, but he wasn't the one to address us at the beginning of class our first day. A student called our attention, dissipating a fantastic conversation Kyra and I were having about the ethnicity of our professor, (Dr. Chung is Asian, born in raised in Canada...who taught at Yale and is now a professor at WSU in Utah....something to talk about...) when we were turned to look down at this nervous student.

He explained to us how truly difficult the class was, after having failed it 3 times, reducing his credit hours and working hours just to focus on Anatomy. He also informed us that half of our classmates were returning to take the class a second time. Needless to say, we were a tad intimidated.

Now as we go to lecture each week, I've noticed a strange growth in the flexors of my left arm and wrist, the same with Kyra's right arm. After careful consideration of the causes of such a disfiguration, we came to the diagnosis that Dr. Chung's rapid lecturing has left us with hastened writing skills, and thus, enlarged writing muscles. Seriously though, Dr. Chung lectures as if he is constantly trying to break the world record for teaching the entire human body in under two hours. And I wouldn't be surprised if he makes it one day. He breezes through powerpoint slides like Kyra does Otterpops. ;)

I've been particularly frustrated with this class on the sole basis that up until this very semester in college, I have never studied for any class ever. It was until this class that I had to finally buckle down, and form some decent study habits. Lucky guesses and previous factoids were not going to get me a passing grade in this class. Fortunately Kyra is a professional studier and showed me the ropes. It doesn't hurt to have someone to study with at all times...especially when it's time to study nerves and sensory fields....

I have to admit, for some reason I have been blessed with a particular understanding of human anatomy and all things medical. Things just stick. You're going to have to ask Kyra one of these days, because every time we study she notices and it just drives her up the wall. That's one of the main reasons I'm continuing to study medicine, (no, not because it drives Kyra mad) because i'm good at it. And I hope I can stay good at it when medical school comes around. Another reason I want to be a doctor would have to be the outstanding respect and knowledge all doctors hold. Just watch this, all from one class...

Antebrachial

Buccinator

Choroid plexus

Diaphysis

Epiphysis

Fovea

Gomphosis

Haversian canal

Ilium

Jejunum

Krause Bulb

Lucidum

Meissners Corpuscle

Nodes of Ranvier

Ovale foramen

Pectineal line

Quadratus femoris

Rectus Abdominis

Spinosum

Tactile Cells

Umbilicus

Viscera

White blood cell

Xiphoid process

Yeasts

Zygomaticus

All of these words came from only one half of a semester of beginning level anatomy, and that's not even the half of it. I do admit however that I did have to ask Kyra for some assistance. Which is perfectly fine--doctors bring in consultants all the time.

Hopefully the rest of the semester will be as successful as the first half!

Wrestling with Age

The young man had to go back to work. But the young man didn't want to. The young man was scared of the getting beat to death by the old man. That's right. An old, confused man, who he was hired to help, who he was hired to keep from falling and breaking anymore bones. This same old man gently pierced the young man's heart with the fear of untimely death the previous week. He had thought the young man was a robber, and a ensign for promiscuity. The young man isn't. And doesn't want to be again when he goes to work.

So the young man changed. Remembering his appearance the night of the attack, he altered it, in hopes of altering the old man's reaction. In hopes of becoming someone else in the old man's mind for a night. The young man left his face unshaven, grabbed a brimmed beanie, and his favorite leather jacket. He looked different. This was good.

The young man rung the doorbell. The lovely elderly woman answered, and invited him in. There he saw that she had company over. Two elderly couples, friends, stood around the room, as the young man was introduced by the elderly lady as a "wonderful young man who's here to help my old man."

But the young man was focused on one thing, and that was the reaction of the old man sitting in his favorite chair. The old man welcomed him to his home, genially, kindly. The young man rejoiced, then was embarrassed--realizing that he had disguised himself as the very think the old man had supposed himself to be, a hoodlum, a rascal. Quickly taking off his hat and trying to smile away the bad vibe he was sending, the young man shook hands with the elderly friends.

They left, along with the elderly woman. The old man went to bed. The young man relaxed.

*************************************

An hour passed, an hour of enjoyable study. The young man was happy that the old man was asleep, the old man needed his rest. Yet as soon as he thought this, the old man began clamboring down the hall. The young man called out nonchalantly, offering his assistance--but his offer was drowned out by the old man's war cry. "Prepare to die, you theiving good fer nothin! If'n I was a younger man you would have died a faster death, years ago! As soon as I get over there, you're mine!"

The young man sighed...yet he wasn't worried, there was plenty of hall before the old man got to him. He decided to try a new tactic...confidence.

"You're being silly, old man. I'm no thieve. I'm just here to help."

The young man would have continued, but he was interrupted by the old man, who had just hurled himself at the young man. The young man dodged a two-hands-on-the-throat-chokehold by millimeters. The young man was quick. And sad.

He remembered a time when the old people he helped were in fact old people. They looked old, they acted old, and they smelled old.

How is it, that this man can look, and smell old, but act like a middle-aged Monte Cristo? His thirst for revenge seemed to revitalize him to a level of strength only found in life's prime. The young man doesn't understand this.

The night continued in a constant circle round the house, all for justice. Eventually the old man grew weary, and sat in his chair. The young man sat across the room from him. Everytime the old man began to rise, the young man would match his rise, ready to run. They would rise, stare, then the old man would laughed condescendingly and fall back into his chair. This happened several times.

Finally the old man began to doze. And as he began to doze, he said to the young man. "I know you don't think what you're doing is wrong, but I know what I'm doing is right, and one day you'll realize that family is all that you have, and you'll give all you've got around you to keep it. One day, you'll slip up. And I'll be there. And I'll kill you."

The young man pondered over the old man's last words for the night. Then as he thought about it, his perspective shifted. He still feared the old man, but couldn't help to respecting him.

The young man wants to be just like the old man when he grows up.

Protect This House!

January 20th, 2:00 p.m.
A a spry young man rings the doorbell aside the door of his regular client. A lovely elderly woman opens the door and beckons him in, they know each other well. But to the elderly man inside, this younger fellow is a stranger. There he slept, that old man in his lazy boy beside the front window, his glasses tilted.
The young man grinned inwardly as he sent off the elderly woman and took a seat on the couch across the room from the old man. This was going to be an easy day. He took his textbook from his backpack and began to study.
The young man was a "just in case" guy. He was there to assist the old man, when he needed assistance. That was his job. Little did he know it was he that was going to need help.

The old man awoke, his eyes sliding open slowly. He saw the young man, pouring over his books across from him. Squinting, he recognized him. Well, not exactly, he just recognized what his shoes, and his books. In a darkly angered voice, the old man spoke.

"Pack up and go home, get out of my house. Leave my shoes here."

The young man jumped at the sound of his client's voice, then eased back into his relaxed estate.

"These are my shoes, sir. And I'm afraid I can't leave," the young man loudly stated (to ensure his message got to the hard-of-hearing senior) as he continued to read his text.

"This is my house. I control who goes and who stays. Now go." The old man pronounced tersely, his eyes burning with anger.

The young man looked up. He was used to his client forgetting who he is, or what he does. But something was different this time. Usually, when the elderly man did not recognize him, he would respond in anger, or frustration, or even sorrow. But never such hatred as he did now. The young man could feel it from across the room.

"This is your house, sir. I understand. But I apologize, I cannot leave you here alone."

The old man's shoulder's slumped a little, and he muttered, "At least come help me up."

Eager to help and ease the tension, the young man jumped up and walked over to the old man. And as he helped him up, he asked a sincere question.

"So where you going sir?" As he handed the old man his walker.

"I'm a going (lifts walker into the air) to kill this robber in my house!" The old man shouted, bringing down the walker onto the young man's shoulder's. Hard.

The young man jumped back, stunned, never before imagining this old man had such strength. Slowly, the old man brought the walker down, and began to advance on the young man.

"I'm not a robber, I'm here to help you!" The young man exclaimed, walking away from the old man--who was slowly, but ever, ever so surely--chasing the young man down. Periodically slaming his walker down to make emphasis.

"You've robbed my house. SLAM! You've stolen my wife from me. SLAM! And yet. SLAM! You stay here. SLAM! To rub it in my old face and make a mockery of me. SLAM! SLAM!"

The old man took a couple steps quicker than usual, and raised his walker for another strike at the nervous boy, who jumped out of the way quickly and darted into the kitchen. The old man laughed and mocked him saying, "What, you afraid of an old shell like me? Coward." As he began to beat the young man's backpack into oblivion with his walker.

The young man knew not what to do. It was his charge, his sole job to protect this man from the injuries of old age, and to assist him. He told this to the old man.
The old man responded, "You're the one that needs help and protection. It is my job to PROTECT THIS HOUSE! And you are threatening that very thing. Get OUT!"

Not sure how to handle the situation, the young man decided to wait it out in the kitchen. Until he heard the old man open the front door and scream "HELLLLP! Call the PoLICE!"

Wanting to avoid explaining his fear of this old man to the authorities, the young man jumped out from the kitchen and pointed at the old man, saying sternly, "Drop the walker."

The old man growled and made his way towards the young man, slowly. Sure of his speedy advantage over him, the young man sighed and turned around, mumbling "here we go aga--" but he stopped, listening. In the next split second he noticed the lack of noise coming from what should be the walker dragging on the carpet, and as he turned to see what the old man was doing, he realized it was too late.

Whoever had told the young man working that this old man couldn't walk without his walker, was wrong. Whoever told this young man that this old man is a high risk for falling injuries, was wrong. This is all the young man could think of as the old man sprinted across the room, brandishing his walker and pinning him to the kitchen table.

Gasping for breath, the young man asked why. Why this was happening.

"You had my daughters. You had them right there in that room. And I'm going to kill you." Emphasizing his point by slamming his walker into the young man's diaphragm.

"I --heimlich-- I don't even l-like girls." It was an embarrassing effort to absolve himself of the accusations, but an air-tight alibi.

The old man paused, looking the young man up and down, then muttered "Bull."

The young man had a cell phone in his pocket. It rang. Struggling, he answered.

"Oh hi Miss. No I'm fine. Here, you're husband would like to talk to you."

Using one hand to hold the walker off his chest and the other to hand the phone to his attacker, the young man stated desparately, "It's for you, you're wife."

The old man dropped the walker and took the phone. And began to talk.
"I love you most in the whole wide world. Come home please. And Also my dear, I found a robber here, but don't worry, I'll have him dead by the hour's end. What? He is? Well I'll be darned. Good bye dear."

The old man turned to the young man.

"Why didn't you tell me you work for me?"

Shave and a Haircut....12 Bucks.

I know why most of the richest men in the world are bald... It's because they get to save all the money they would have spent on haircuts, inevitably becoming millionaires. Professional haircuts are expensive!

My hair was getting rediculously long, and I knew I needed to get a good cut, so I decided to go to Mike's Barbershop on mainstreet in Kaysville. Usually my mom cuts my hair, but since I moved out, I lost that little luxury. Rarely have I been to a legitimate extablishment and paid money for someone to remove hair from my head, and more rare still, have I walked away satisfied. It's the communication problem, that's what it is. No barber, stylist, or dog groomer I've come into contact knows what I mean when I say "short on the sides, a little longer on top." To them that phrase could mean a million different things, none of which share my meaning.

So, rather than submit my meager request, watch it get lost in translation, and sit there glumly while they sheared me like a lamb, I decided I would do a little research first. Having had a successful visit to the barber the day before, I thought my Dad would be a considerable resource.

"Pops, what should I ask for, at the barber?" I questioned.

"Well what kind of haircut do you want?" He asked. I thought this was quite obvious, seeing as I have sported the 'short spiky' look for about three years at least by now.

"I want this, three weeks ago," I stated, pointing at my scalp.

"Did you ask Mom?"

"Yeah, she told me to ask for the Mom-cut." I grumbled, as my Mom giggled in the background.

"Ah, well, just ask for a medium-taper, that's what I got yesterday," My dad advised, pausing so I could observe his style.

I looked his head over once or twice. Not bad, short on the sides, a little longer on top, okay. I tried to imagine my dad with spiked hair. Didn't work. But I decided to trust him and go for the medium taper.

I was confident now. Because now, I had knowledge, and knowledge is power. I knew the lingo, I got the slang. I could communicate what I wanted. No matter how bad things got--medium taper.

I walked into the barbershop, to see a smiling Mike giving a happy little kid a trim while his parents looked on smiling, proud of how good their son could sit. There was no music playing in the barbershop, it seemed desperately bare, empty. The walls were plastered with framed paintings, all with price tags and signed by a local artist. Five waiting chairs lined the wall. You're classic barbershop.

The kid finished, thanks and money interchanged, and they left. As soon as the shop door closed behind them, the Barber's smile vanished. As he vaccuumed excess hair off the chair he grumbled about how he "has no idea what 'just a little trim' means," and, in his opinion, they paid him to "cut the hair the kid grew while sitting in the chair." I liked this guy.

I sat in his chair, rehearsing the words "medium taper" in my mind, ready for the moment. Mike asked what he could do for me. "Ahem, a medium taper, please." (I sounded like I knew what a medium taper was, I was proud of myself. As soon as I said that he turned to grab his clippers and muttered "what the..." under his breath. Oh no.

"Are you sure, kid? That cut's not even from my generation," he said. I was doomed. My one shot at a good cut was gone. A couple seconds later I accepted my fate, and decided I would rather look like a committed fool than a wishy-washy one. "Yep, that's what I want."

So off he went, reluctantly, shaving away. I winced on the inside a lot. After he finished he spun my chair around so I could see what I looked like. I wanted to laugh, and wanted to cry. I asked him what he thought, and, to put it gently for me, he said "not unlike the young Eddie Munster."

"Well, could you make the sides a little shorter, and leave it a little longer on the top?" I asked meekly, firing my last proverbial escape pod.

"Sure thing," Mike said, as he spun me around and hacked away at my hair. As he hacked, we talked, about school mostly. Turns out this barber had a degree in physics. Crazy, eh?

A couple more minutes passed and he spun me around again. It looked perfect.

I couldn't understand it, he made me look how I did, three weeks ago. It was like magic. As he took a razorblade and started to shave my sideburns and neck, he struck up a rather odd conversation. While slowly pressing the cold razor to my face, he paused and asked "Have you ever seen the movie Sweeney Todd, by chance?" I chuckled nervously and said "haha the one about the crazy killer barber?"

"That's the one, a good show," he laughed darkly as he tilted my head to shave the back of my neck. "This is the part of the haircut where my clients become my best friends, haha...." he laughed again. He had a great sense of humor.

He cleaned me off and gave me the charge. As I paid him, he looked at my hair and said "So it was just a regular hair cut you wanted, not that taper-garbage-whatever you said."

"Yeah, truth be told that's what my dad told me to get," I confessed.

"Haha, I know kid, I know. Have a good day."

The Anger Hike

One of the stranger traditions my family partakes in on Thanksgiving day is a hike, around noon. It's just up on the Vita course, near the shooting range and animal shelter, but a hike nonetheless.

As we all piled out of the truck, groaning and moaning about the hike we were about to go on, my dad stopped us and quieted us all down, saying, "Kay guys, Mom's been stressin out about this whole Thanksgiving dinner thing, and the last thing she needs today are you guys fighting and calling each other names, so just get it out here. You've got the whole hike to get all your insults and urges to fight out."

After hearing this, Chandler excitedly began his insulting tirade. He began rather creatively, starting off with insults regarding physical appearance and flaws, then moving on to intellectual aptitude and emotional endurance. For instance, knowing that I struggle with math, Chandler held up his hand like he was answering a phone, then said "oh, he's right here." Then turning to me, Chandler said "Tanner it's your math tutor, she said to remember to practice your flashcards or you'll never make it through the timestables."

Most of the time his insults were so good that no one could hurt him because they'd be laughing too hard. And in this family, if the insult was good enough, you didn't get beat up.

Not all of his insults were good enough, though.

Noah decided to keep it basic. He's never much of a gambler when it comes to his physical well-being, so it was his stragety to rattle off basic insults like "Idiot Head" or "Doofus," and just stay out of reach. Unfortunaly for Noah, most of the time his odds at skipping a well deserved punch were as good as Chandler's. No one was hurt too bad...





Now Hayden has a very simple philosophy, when it comes to confrontation. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. Cursed with the shortest fuse in the family, Hayden would remain in a retaliatory state, until he grew tired of thinking up witty stuff to say. Then he'd skip right to the dead arms and the snow balls.

Now, after the first couple minutes I was sure that someone would be in tears and ready to go home, after all, you tell a group of brothers to "get all your fightin and insultin out" and something bad is bound to happen.

But I was wrong, we made it a lot longer than expected, as soon as everyone ran out of insults and began throwing snow. However, there were some close calls, and if Noah hadn't dodged a screamingly fast cannonball of snow aimed at his face, we would have had to take a trip downtown to get his glasses fixed too. I tell ya, that snow ball was close enough to kiss his cheek. So lucky.

Even my dad decided to join in on the snowball war and, despite the lack of snow, we duked it out rather well. After staking out territories and claiming bases, of course.

It was going splendidly, everyone was having fun and enjoying themselves, which meant something was bound to go wrong right then. You see, I was wearing old, torn up jeans, and as soon as I dropped onto my haunches to dodge the first snowball, the hole next to my back pocket tore open with a loud cry of anguish, that Chandler heard from twenty feet away. Needless to say, those pants didn't survive the night... The best part was walking back down the mountain in those tattered jeans. Very Chilly.

All in all everyone was happy and having fun by the end of it. Even though Chandler's combat boots from Smith and Edwards gave him big blisters, and Noah still kept rattling off insults throughout the entire experience, once we got home, not a one negative word came between one another.

Which leaves me with one big question. Does this guy really know what he's doing? Does he know it's going to work before he tries crazy stuff like an Anger Hike? Well whether he does or not, it worked. Thus, he's a genius.

photo shoot

Needless to say, I received input on my request for more models! A couple sisters came to me and asked if I could take pictures of them, and here's the result.

This is my favorite one of Angie, the leaves look pretty cool all around her feet.

Now granted, I'm still practicing, so these pictures aren't as good as they could be, but that's no fault of those in the pictures. And if anyone wants their picture taken, I'd love more practice!

I really like this one of Alyssa, the lighting seems just right.

I like this one as well, the stairwells do a lovely job of framing both of them.

We got the sun just right in this one!

And I'm a big fan of this half shot.

(801) 549-8512 -- Text me if you want your picture taken!

There are strange things done, in the midnight sun...

Fate often deals a cruel hand, and Lady Luck always folds first. But most always the rule remains, that the house always wins. At work today, I was talking to my alzheimer's buddy, (we'll just start calling him Bud) and he was talking back...and forgot what he was saying, in mid sentence. Alzheimer's is a terrible, yet curious disease, for after a while he heard the name "Mcgee" on the television--and this is what he said--

The Cremation of Sam McGee

by Robert W. Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.



Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.




And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

--As you can see, in a normal book this poem is several pages long, and he recited it, word for word, without blinking. I searched his bookcase while he was reciting it the second time, and found a huge book of poems by Robert Service. I opened it, and started reading lines and titles from some of the poems in there, and he recited over half of them along with me. It was astonishing. As I walked into the kitchen to grab him a glass of water, I asked him "When did you memorize all these poems?"
He hollered back at me, "Oh when I was twelve or so."
I walked back into the room with his water and said "Wow! That's incredible!"
He looked at me, squinted, and said "What's your name again?"
Like I said before, Alzheimer's is a cruel, yet curious disease.

Prettier than a penny in 1929

The other day at work I was chillin' with my Alzheimer's buddy at his house. I work with a home-health agency, so I work out of people's homes. It's great, and while I was at my buddy's house he decided to flip on the tv. So we sat, and we watched, for quite a while. We were halfway through our second episode of Grey's Anatomy (I flip through the channels until he sees an actor that he thinks he used to be best friends with, this time it was that blonde girl from Grey's Anatomy) when he shot out of his chair, grabbed his walker, and bolted right towards me. Now, I use the term "bolted" loosely, but when you work with old people all the time, the slowest of things seem to really speed up. I jumped up with a "what's up?" and walked toward him, to help him to his destination. I mean, this happens a lot with older people, especially with alzheimer's/dementia. They'll do really random things for really random reasons.
As I approached him, I put my hands on the front of his walker to keep it from sliding, and my elderly friend growled at me. Growled. At me. I wasn't sure how to feel, I mean, just moments ago we had shared tender comments about his grandchildren,

(His first grandDaughter, Katherine Heigl)

And now we had reverted to monosyllabic expressions of anger and hatred. After asking him what was wrong, he started listing every curse word he could think of, until I let go of the walker. As soon as I let go however, he ceased, and continued to shuffle forward. Not learning my lesson the first time, I gently grabbed ahold of the walker again. Rather than cuss at me again, he just let go of the walker, and turned around to try and make a run for it.



(His second grandDaughter, Sandra Oh)

I tossed the walker aside and hurried up behind him, placing my hand on his arm to help him stabilize, when he hollered and fell onto the couch we were walking past. Now, by this time, I was rather frazzled, what with him trying to run away and shouting and all that. But as he sat on the couch and looked up at me, he raised an eyebrow and said, "what have you got yourself all worked up about? Mrs. given you trouble?"

"No...You just startled me, that's all."

He looked offended. "Well I just wanted to sit by yah," He huffed, and resumed watching Grey's Anatomy, while I sat next to him, still processing the turn of events. A minute or two went by and we both seemed to calm down...until a kissing scene with one of his grandkids popped up.
"What are you doing boy, lookin at my granddaughter like that? Change the Channel!"
"Sorry sir."
Click
" Woah!! Change it back, would you part an old man from his prosperity?"
"Sorry Sir."
He took of his glasses and polished them, looking back at Katherine Heigl.
"Well isn't she just prettier than a penny in 1929? Wouldn't mind callin' on her on a warm evening."

"But Sir, isn't that your GrandDaughter?"
"Nah, we're just good friends, met her at school."

You have to love Wednesdays :)