Lives to Word By

When I was a freshman at Arizona State I lived with Bill, Jennifer, and Andrew Hall. My family had recently moved to Utah and I wanted to save for my mission to Brazil. So I took advantage of the Hall's goodwill and moved in. Plus I had a nice deal going with ASU (free school with a stipend).

The Halls are my second family, so I can't really say I grew any closer during my freshman year. I had lived over there for 18 years as is. Another year was nothing new. However, Bill quickly found out I was particular about two things: homework and sleep. If either my homework or sleep routine were violated, life was rough. When I wasn't slaving away on essays or counting my sheep, I was usually hanging with the Halls. We had a great year. It was a memorable year in history, the year of the twin towers attack, the D-backs World Series, the beginning of the Afghan war. It was a year of mission calls and friends starting to talk marriage. A lot of change. But I was able to note something I wasn't expecting: Jennifer's work ethic.

It's not that I did not know Jennifer worked hard, it's just that I didn't pay attention to it. Like a word you learn and suddenly begin hearing everywhere, as soon as I learned how hard Jennifer works, I noticed it everywhere. In a year of living in her home, I caught her sleeping a total of two-and-a-half times. The half time was when she was doing this pseudo-slide off the couch, downstairs. She reached the ground before she reached REM, so it counts as a half. She had just finished hooking up Andrew's CF treatment at 5:00 AM and I was leaving early to school to witness the rare event of Jennifer pausing for a break.

Jennifer works crazy hours. She is a professional caterer, working as many as four receptions a week. She teaches swimming lessons in her pool to all the kids and their kids in Mesa. She works actively in the church. She cooks homemade meals nightly. She is constantly running errands for family and friends. And she is never too busy for people. When a client comes over to discuss a reception, she will spend over half-an-hour just shooting the breeze and getting to know the person and their family. Her product at receptions and swimming lessons is more than time, it's love. And that's why people keep coming back for her swimming and catering.

I'm again staying with the Halls this month as I work at St. Joseph's hospital in Phoenix. I haven't seen Jennifer sleeping yet in two weeks. Though she once told me, "I'm going to bed," a phrase I never heard her speak before. This past weekend she pulled off something that would have made my legs fall off. She catered a reception Friday night for over 400 people. She directed a staff of ten, paid them all, sent them home, cleaned up, went home, and began packing for the next day's reception in Sedona, AZ. At around 12:45 am she began making her shopping list for her 7am trip to stores. I was tired and went to bed. Then next thing I heard was her footsteps upstairs at 5:30 am. She had an appointment with her running buddy. They are running a half-marathon in two weeks. After that she was off shopping. She came home, cut up veggies, made two sauces at the same time while listening to me jabber mindlessly, and finished packing her trailer. The amazing thing about those sauces was she had to quadruple the portions, doing the math for the different sauces in her head. By 10:30 she was off to Sedona. I stayed back to study, and re-attach my legs that had fallen off while helping at the previous night's reception.

At Sedona she had to improv as grills went out, the trailer didn't fit, and her cell phone stopped working. Once more unto the breach she went, and she came home victorious, early Sunday morning. When I talked to her Sunday evening, her voice was tired and hoarse, the effects of two straight days of giving directions beginning to show. I went to bed and today saw her in the afternoon. She was giving me an update on the day even though she was late for a service project for a girl she helps with cerebral palsy. Then her daughter called, who she stopped to help. Then she told me her dear friend had passed away this morning from a heart attack, her tired voice beginning to break as she began to cry. I couldn't help but think: God bless you Jennifer for all you do and are.

A while ago she once told me, "If I ever stop I'll break." We were running on the beach at Santa Monica at the time. She was talking about more than running. She was talking about life. Thanks Jennifer, for showing me that whatever we do, we give our best, because anything less is "to sacrifice the gift" (Prefontaine).

Because I'm proud to be an Arizonan

The state covers a lot of territory. But from Tombstone to Tempe and from Pine Top to Prescott we consistently celebrate one thing well: History. See below:


http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/13/us/a-celebration-for-the-london-bridge-in-arizona.html

The Tucson Sunset

The Insider

If you walked into a store and an associate said, "Here, buy this, it's on sale today for real cheap. See, look out on the window where an ad is placed on this item," then I would listen.

If I walked into the same store and the associate said, "Come here, don't tell the manager this but I'm going to let you know of a sweet deal just for you today on this item. No one else knows about this," then I would be inclined to furrow my forehead and pretend like someone was calling my phone so I could leave.

My wife and I have learned that the special treatment, often under the table, heavily persuades us to not buy a product. We have walked away from apartments and car dealerships because of the sweet deal "just for us," when "no one else is supposed to know about it."

I really believe the most comfortable sell is the one open to everyone. And there has to be transparency in company hierarchy, from top to bottom. If not, it just feels like your buying into something that feels at best, vaguely slimy.

Four Years Reputation

We celebrated our fourth anniversary a couple weeks ago! Thanks to my oldest, most wisest sister, we dined at a classy joint. While I was contemplating how to make a dinner of chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, and cookies and ice cream romantic on our front porch, I contacted Whitney. Her input caused my plans to evaporate to the voice of reason. The voice consistently says, "She deserves finery." But for some odd reason which might be due to maleness, or just plain cheapness, I ignore the voice. As a side-note I wonder if the sound of the voice resembles those Sirens of old.

And in pursuit of finery, I embarked on an internet search of the classiest joints in Tucson. In the end, I relied on the quotation of an ESPN article I read that morning reporting Coach Mike Stoop's favorite restaurant in Tucson is Vivace. We've already dined at the table next to Lute Olsen, so I had to broaden our value-less bragging potential with the possibility of sitting near Stoops and Co. Plus, our anniversary was the night before the football season home opener. What coach in his right mind would not dine at his favorite place the night before a big game?

So we arrived and dined. It was fine. No football coach present, but I didn't notice, even after four years.

Oh Sweet Saturday

From espn.com:

"Kennedy (18-4) became the NL's first 18-game winner and has victories in his last three starts. He allowed one run on five hits in seven innings, struck out six and walked two.

"Arizona beat Lincecum at sold-out AT&T Park for the second time in just over a month after a win against the Freak here on Aug. 2. Lincecum allowed nine hits and five runs and struck out seven in five innings, his shortest start since also going five against San Diego on July 4."

can you hear the rumbling memories of 2001?!

The Nail in the Coffin

When I was seven I met a kid named Adam. He moved at 97 mph and never stopped. I always admired his energy, especially in high school track where he could run the 800m faster than I could dream. Nothing stopped him. Not even a nail shot through his head. One day out working construction with his brother, he was climbing up a ladder. The man above him was climbing with a nail gun. While the man was ascending, the gun bumped a ladder rung and discharged a nail down into Adam's head.

Adam climbed off the ladder and felt the top of his head. Nothing. Just a little scratch where the nail presumably ricocheted off. But just to be sure, they went to the ER and took a plain film of his head. And there, smack dab inside his temporal lobe floated the nail. I saw that plain film in Safford, AZ, where a technician showed me. Amazing picture. Amazing luck.

Surgeons removed the nail and Adam continued his life, racing around high school and track like his normal self. I've always remembered that story and thought how extremely lucky he was. In fact, he was the luckiest person I knew...until now.

Today in the reading room with the radiologists, we pulled up the images of a local Tucson man. He was pruning his garden when he dropped his shears. The sharp edge wedged into the ground, with the handles (blunt end) pointing to the sun. He bent down to pick them up and tripped right on top of them. Amazingly the handle penetrated under his eye ball and down into his face, all the way into his neck until it rested on his carotid artery. And there it rested, bumping with every beat of his heart.

Surgeons removed the shears and today he has made a full recovery. Sorry Adam, you've been trumped by an 87 year-old gardener.