Running in Tucson

We have family come visit every now and then. Yesterday while out for a jog in the cold morning (cold day #3 out of a possible 5 this year) I was thinking what it must look like for visitors to run alongside me. About every half mile or so a hooded figure in what looks like flannels or maybe dark jeans would run past me in the opposite direction. I passed a bearded fellow in jean shorts and a hoodie. I've seen these people out running on the trail every single day of the year that it's cold, which is exactly five days. Always wearing the same attire, my fellow running mates could be confused for groups of running homeless. They (we) are not homeless, we are cold runners.

So if you visit Tucson, and like to jog, and it's a cold day, you can best fit in by dressing like a homeless person. Why would we buy cold weather gear for 5 days out of the year? We're not cheap, we're practical, and yes...maybe in debt.

So happy trails in your flannels and over sized hoodies handed down from your sibling's high school days.

Our Tucson

Saturday morning we were playing basketball at our church building. Half a mile away we had no idea what was about to happen. On my drive to the church I thought about my near and distant future. I had to go find some camping gear. I needed to return a Christmas present. Whatever happened, I had to make sure to listen to Car Talk. Next week, I had to make sure to fill out some forms for medical school. I kept wavering between thoughts of seeing True Grit or Tron with Anna. And I had to finish preparing my lesson for Priesthood.

I drove away from the church happy with my game on the court. As I turned on Ina and Oracle, I saw two cop cars speed by, followed by an ambulance. It wasn't until I got home to my computer that I read about the tragedy. In about 2.5 seconds, my life's issues distilled down to the basic elements of fear, survival, and concern for family and friends. My previous focus on material and entertainment issues simply evaporated. It wasn't a conscience choice, it just happened. At the end of the day, and for the rest of many people's lives, it simply is going to be a focus on healing and finding meaning in tragedy. Today I am still struggling with interchanging thoughts of hatred and sorrow for the killer. But he did something that brings me happiness. He has brought out the best of Tucson. I've been witness to a united community that I haven't seen or been a part of since 9/11. It's humbling. I love learning from those who deal with tragedy so nobly. And everyone who was struck has acted nobly. Even the killer's parents, I believe, responded in a way that helped me learn more about the beauty of humanity.

Everyone has shown future victims of tragedy that life can go on with your head humbly held high in the fight against evil. I love Tucson. A melting pot of so many cultures and backgrounds, the people are lively and happy. Here I've learned it not only takes a family but takes a village to create the community where good happens. And as it so happens, I've learned Tucson has true grit.

Ron Artest on the Holy Ghost

From espn.com

Artest agreed with a reporter who said that the charitable efforts have become almost a mission for the 31-year old.

"It's fun, it's exciting," Artest said. "It's almost like a basketball game because it's that exciting. It feels like dunking on somebody, and I don't dunk much. It's just exciting and it's weird. It's a weird excitement. It's not like fun and games because it's a real issue, but for me, it's exciting to be a part of.

Cheers...

Origins of Christmas Tree

I just wanted to know why I was decorating an evergreen spruce inside our apartment. I asked Anna, and she did not know either. So I went to Wikipedia and found two plausible origins to placing a tree in our homes in December. The first origin comes from St. Boniface in 16th century Germany. In defiance of the Norse gods Boniface cut down the tree of Thor, a huge oak. In it's place sprouted a fir, which he saw as a sign of Christianity's triumph over apostasy. He said, "let Christ be at the center of your households."
The second origin I like comes from Martin Luther, the reformer, who established the Christmas tree as the symbol of the tree of life in the Garden of Eden. Both of these are great. But I have a better origin, compliments of the Tingey family in Montana...
One day, a pilgrim family of six was traveling through the woods. Snow covered the ground. The kids were happy to be outside, walking and talking and throwing snowballs. Someone in the family, probably a boy, sat to rest by an evergreen. While enjoying the great blue sky, the boy noticed two birds racing across the sky. To the boy's surprise, the birds raced right towards him. Instead of flying into him, the flew in for a landing right in that evergreen close by. The boy noticed they were hiding in a nest in the tree. Suddenly, the two birds spoke to the boy.
"Please, help us!"
"Yes, we need help," cried bird # 2. "We are being chased by killer birds. Will you please cut our tree down, place it sideways in the back of your Ford pick-up and drive us to your home. You can disguise our tree by decorating it with lights that will confuse the killer birds. Then you can encircle it with popcorn strands to feed us while we stay in your tree. And don't forget to place neat, glass balls in the tree so kids can come by and grab them to throw at other kids. This will also scare away potential killer birds. And please, preserve our nest while you transport the tree."
The boy, in wonder, walked over to his parents and told them the implausible story of the scared birds in the evergreen nearby. Both parents smiled at each other and walked over with the boy to the tree. To their surprise, they heard the same two birds relate to them the same plea. And so, the pilgrim family cut down the tree and carried it back to their permanent-only-for-a-couple-years house. They protected the nest, decorated the tree, and enjoyed the rest of winter with the family and two scared, but protected, birds. And so the tradition grew, that each Christmas season, families began cutting down trees to protect innocence, preserve life, and enjoy family. And you always wondered where those "two turtle doves" came from !

Tender Mercy of Dish Detergent's Last Ounce

Have you ever noticed the last ounce of dish detergent always seems to pour out just a little more? It's funny because sometimes that last ounce lasts as long as a full bottle. And you can rest assured, when you're on the last ounce, you can remind yourself or your spouse to get new dish soap for a month before that last ounce runs dry. As a side note, if you say or type "ounce" a lot, it begins to sound and look funny. I like the guy in the picture giving his every OUNCE. ouch...

Teddy's Restaurant

Ever want to know how to sell a wedding band to a MAN? Tell him it's the same material used in body armor. SOLD. I saw this happen the other day in a jewelry store. Already that retailer has mastered the art of selling to 50% of his customer base. The tungsten band is the antithesis to the diamond for two reasons: cents and sensibility. Seeing as the man shopper is driven by these two factors, that leaves the woman shopper with the other admirable traits that label them as society's refined and perceptive half. And thus you see why my wife can name 3,000 different items in Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrell, and Williams and Sonoma while I can remember only 3. Let's see: the couch, the wooden spoon, and the candle. Oh, number four would be the bathroom.

The real reason for the post was in praise for The Gun Barrell restaurant. It's a place Teddy Roosevelt would have flocked to (can I end a sentence with "to"?) . Located in St. George, Utah, it caters to the animal hunter and western ranger of olden days. When you walk in you are greeted with a winchester used by a Tucson rancher in defense of his land. In the stock is engraved five notches. One each for the maruaders he shot with that very gun to defend his property in the 19th century. What a way to stimulate the appetite. Seriously, it gave me chills to see that living history. As you are escorted to your table, you pass under the mounts of buffalo head, ducks, deer, antelope, pheasants, turkeys, snakes, and more. Roosevelt was a hunter and taxidermist, so I can only assume he would have visited once in a while. If you go, try the Elk steak, it's gamey.

American Saturday Manure

Sometimes I feel a strange impulse when out on a hike in rural America. Whether I'm with Anna, my brother, buddies from high school, or my in-laws (hopefully not as often with the in-laws), or parents, if I cross paths with a cow pie, I always feel an urge to reach down and grab it. Whenever I give in, I usually end up throwing it like a Frisbee at the nearest human. That part is for laughs. The real reason I pick it up, I think, is because it brings me joy. Good, honest-Abe, apple pie, manifest destiny joy. Today I think I made the connection that might bring this impulse from the realms of revolting to the realms of nostalgia. It happened out walking around our complex. The lawn was freshly mowed and layered in crumbled cow pie to fertilize the winter grass. Every October in Mesa, AZ I would help my dad prepare the lawn for winter grass by reaching in piles of manure and spreading it out across our lawn. We must have been the stink of Harvest street. But I liked the smell and the feel. It reminds me of Harvest and autumn. It reminds me of Halloween and cold weather. It reminds me of the smell of burning wood and blooming citrus. It reminds me of college football and early NBA season. Okay, enough Dickinsonian foliage talk. I love manure, plain and simple. It makes me feel American. So here's a raised cow pie to you Dad, on the eve of your birthday, for teaching me the joys of manure. Sorry that I never asked if you wanted to spread the stuff around the lawn...

Speaking of American. Anna and I had an American Saturday today. We helped cleaned the ward building. (Service gives license to play the rest of the day) Drove home to stop at a yard sale. Picked out some furniture. Went out for a bike ride. Spent the afternoon cleaning, moving furniture, selling a desk on Craig's List, watching college football, eating hot Reubens, making caramel apples, breaking teeth with caramel apples, and smelling the manure-scented breeze from below in our third-story apartment. Hey, in all honesty, I'd take the smell of manure over emissions or plastic trash any day.