Circle of Life

It’s April 1, 2012 and we have met at Iggy’s sports bar for lunch. As my daughter Kristen (Kiki) hands me a small yellow envelop, I wonder what April Fools joke she is trying to play on her old man. I take the small card out and read the caption on the front; “One fish, two fish…soon to be three fish…” I open it and see the ultrasound.  Suddenly, tears fill my eyes as I realize my baby is going to have a baby. She is filled with a sense of joy and fullfillment I had never seen before...and so am I.  The circle of life begins anew and a new light will soon grace us with its presence.

But, where did these tears come from? Why such emotional welling up inside?  When did I become such a mush ball?

I think back on my life and only remember crying a few times. My early childhood was marked by the illness and death of parents and many close relatives. The young tears quickly turned from grief to anger with each event. Soon the anger dried the tears and I thought I had found peace. In reality, I was hiding and masking my emotions, not letting in anymore pain. My sub-conscious motto was "never let anyone know how you're feeling".  I guess when you’re young and hurt you do what you need to do to survive.

The struggles and anxiety of trying to provide for a young family dominated my emotions and interfered with my ability to fully enjoy the birth of my two daughters. I felt joy but not a full measure due to a fear that I would not be able to take care of them. Fear is foolish folly that we all succumb to every now and then.

It took 38 years and a heart attack to finally realize we all are going to die.  I realized I needed to change. I begin to appreciate the beauty of the small things in life. A quiet morning sunrise, the chirping birds in the tree, the sound of a child laughing in the park. I was born again and began to truly appreciate family and friends.

My heart began to open to new experiences and sensations. I realized that family was more than blood relatives. I have friends who are family.  From childhood friends I been able to reconnect with after 40 years to total strangers I’ve met at airports and corners of the web. We can all be a family if we push through the ridiculous barriers we allow society ad religion to place upon us. We can all live on in others, in their memories of us and the time we spend together. Precious time…and there is so little of it.

My barriers totally collapsed during the birth of my first Granddaughter Emma. It was the first time I shed tears of joy in decades. Holding her in my arms those first few breaths, I felt pure happiness. As I watched her grow over the next few months she constantly would try to sit up. Straining her tiny head she failed again an again. Bound and determined she kept trying; This stubborn little girl would not give up.  I looked in her eyes and saw a piece of me.

My grandmother passed two years later at age 98. As I sat by her side those last few moments she said goodbye to me. Peaceful and calm she told me she loved me and was ready. As I drove home, reflecting on my memories of her, I fully understood that a part of her lived on in me. I cried then as well; Tears of happiness and, a little sorrow.

Just past 50, My second series of heart attacks brought my closer to lifes' end goal than I had ever been.  Even smaller moments in life took on even greater meaning. Watching the children of friends, family and my own grow and begin their families leaves me with unending amazement and gratitude that I am still able to share in the experience  of life.

You are born, you live, you love and you die. Somehow along the way, you pass on a part you to the next generation. The circle keeps going. Yes, I cry a little bit more now; always tears of joy

Don't be cheap Scott, chip in a $1.06 to help the troops

Forgive me, I try and, will continue to stay out of the political arena on this blog, but, I read an article that just pushed me over the edge. I will return to writing my views on life in general... and mine in particular..once I get this out of my system.

Scott Jenkins (R), Plain City, is the Utah State Senate majority leader. He recently was one of four senators to oppose creating a property tax break for Utah National Guard Members who are called to active duty for extended periods of time stating: "..Well, I’m saying enough. I don’t want to pay for my own taxes, let alone theirs..."  and this one: "..military members indeed sacrifice to serve, but they know that when they volunteer..."

Ya Scott, they volunteer, that's why we don't have a draft...Get it!!

SMH!...still!

Below is the link to the article and my email to him. If you agree with me, especially my Ogden friends, please re-post and join me in trying to encourage Mr. Jenkins to be more supportive of our troops.

The Story:

http://www.sltrib.com/sltrib/politics/53521136-90/jenkins-taxes-saying-military.html.csp

My email to to Sen. Jenkins, I have yet to recieve a response.

Dear Sir,

I am writing you in regard to your objection and votes against SJR8 and SB116 to grant a property tax exemption to Utah National Guardsmen’s activated for 200 consecutive days or 200 days in a calendar year.  It is my understanding that this measure will increase the average property tax by $1.06 on a $250,000 home.  This exemption must be applied for every affected year.

I see that you served for seven honorable years in the Utah National Guard (UNG) so first, I thank and salute you for you sacrifice and service to your state and country.  I also served eight years in the UNG and was proud to stand a post on a six month deployment with the 1457th Battalion (ENG) Bn. in Germany during Operation Desert Storm.

I find your rationale for opposing the bill very disappointing, especially since you, as a fellow former Guardsman, should be familiar with the sacrifices “We the people” ask of our all volunteer military.  I find your rationale to be quite naive and disappointing, especially from one who served and wore the uniform.

My activation was for 6 month (193 days).  Do you realize that, had this Bill been in place during my activation, I would not have received the Property tax exemption?  So clearly, it is geared toward the Guardsmen that are called upon to make an extraordinary sacrifice for the state and country.  Our state Scott. Our Country.

We as a nation need to have a serious discussion whether we truly value our pledge of “one nation, under god” or merely give it lip service.  Warm feel good words are meaningless unless our actions demonstrate our commitment to that pledge.  We are either in this journey together, as one nation providing for the common good, or on our own individually.  I say we are in it together.  You obviously embrace the other view.

Were you, as the owner of Great Western Supply, responsible for paying all the cost of the roads, power grid, sewer and other infrastructure put in place that directly benefits your business? You were not.  We the people, as a community, funded these services for the benefit of all, including your business.

Do you pay the full cost of Schools, Firemen, Paramedics and Police officers that educate and protect your children, home and place of business? You do not.  We, united as one, banded together and funded the services for all to protect and enhance our lives.  The list goes on and on.

We, as “one nation”, created the armed forces for one purpose, to protect and serve our country from all foes.  In short, war.  When “We the people” decide to go to war as one nation, we all should share the sacrifice. The military is not just a job.  It involves sacrifice. sacrifice from all, not just those individuals who put their lives on the line each day in foreign lands,   Sacrifice from all, whether they agree with the war or not.

What have, “We the people”, sacrificed to support the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan?  I say to you, nothing.  Only our soldiers and their familes have. Perhaps if we all had shared more of that sacrifice, the wars would not have lasted 11 years and counting.  World War 2 was less than 4 years (our involvement was 44 months) long in part because the entire nation made huge sacrifices.

Come on Scott, don't be cheap.  Your selfishness not to sacrifice $1.06 (probably 75 cents, because you can itemize property taxes) to support the common good of our community is beyond the pale and you owe the citizens of Utah, especially our Guardsmen, an apology.

I live in Pleasant View will be placing this letter on my Facebook page, encouraging all in the Ogden Facebook community to join me in boycotting your business Great Western Supply until an apology is issued by you.  Perhaps the united voice of a community boycotting your business will make you feel more appreciative of the sacrifices made each and every day by our military and their families. 

Robert Fritch
Pleasant View,Utah

Rock Srings, Wyoming (Never Never Land)

I returned several years ago to my childhood home, Rock Springs, Wyoming.  Exiting the freeway, I was shocked at what a bleak spot of dirt the city had become. As the constant Wyoming wind blew dust on my face thru my rolled down window on that hot summer day, I started to doubt my reasons and sanity for returning to such a forlorn place.  However I had just spent 4 hours driving there, so, I pushed on, hesitant but determined to complete my quest. 

Rock Springs is a tiny speck of a town that, seen through adult eyes, would be considered  the armpit of America.  Sagebrush, sand and wind are the memories most people take with them as they pass thru on the I-80, usually stopping only for gas.  I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder because to my childhood eyes, it was paradise on earth.  My early childhood memories from there are of happier, carefree days exploring the hills of my backyard, chasing horned toads, lizards and scorpions.

As I slowly drove around Bell View drive, the neighborhood I grew up in, much remained the same...other than it was considerably smaller than what I remembered.  The tiny, sturdy, two bedroom homes haven't changed much.  It’s hard to imagine that seven of us lived happily in one of those 600 Sq. ft. boxes.  Yet we did.  Not thinking, I parked my truck in front of my old home and immediately started to the hills through the backyard of the house. 

No one stopped me, or questioned why I was trespassing through their yard.  "I guess the old Fritch residence must still be the gateway to the neighborhood play ground" I thought to myself as I walked confidently through the yard. Did I notice a little more spring in my step as I started up the hill?

Initial Rock, a large sandstone boulder at the back of the old yard stood as the entrance to the hills.  It still had the initials from the neighborhoods original children.  Searching, I found the initials of my old playmates carved meticulouslyin the soft sandstone rock.  The thousands of new initials from subsequent children made my task more difficult, but, somehow more satisfying, knowing the neighborhood registry was still being filled by new children eager to leave their mark on the world.  

 I wandered the valley of the dry wash that always filled with water and turned into a raging river when the cloud bursts came. An army of kids always rushed there after the storms.  Armed with shovels, we built huge dams that always broke and flooded the homes below. No matter what new engineering experiments we tried. I wondered how many new dams had been attempted in the many years that followed my departure at age 7.  Did any of their dams survive the raging water?

My brother Carl received an 8mm camera for Christmas one year.  Several action thrillers starring the neighborhood kids were made in those days...he spent hours using a needle and magnifying glass to scratch Laser blasts and explosions in each individual slide of film....A testament to the genius of childhood...Who needs photo shop and computers when you have imagination.

My eye spied a tiny body half buried in the sand.  Digging my hand into the dirt, I pulled out the 30 year old remains of a plastic army man, an MIA soldier of countless wars fought so long ago.  Finally reunited, I stuff him my pocket and continue on past the still littered battlefields of a childhood gone.

The wind increased its intensity as I walked by the cactus pit below a sandstone cliff constructed by "bright" young minds so many years ago. Doesn't every young child think he can fly?  Being young, but stubborn, I insisted I could jump off the ledge and clear the pit.   My brothers reluctantly let me try to pass this important neighborhood rite of passage.  I almost cleared it landing on the far side.  However, my momentum did not carry me forward and I fell back into the pit.  I still smart when I think of my mother pulling the hundreds of needles out of my back and butt, one by one. 

Before I realize it, I take a few steps back and I AM flying over the pit.  I smile as I clear it. The last rite of passage completed.  My head swells with pride as I hike to and perch on top the remains of Fort Protection. The ruins of the castle where many battles had been fought still stand. Was that a new rock wall? I didn't remember that being there. Oh well, some childhood memories do fade.

I feel like a king, returning from a long crusade after finally completing his quest.  After many years and stormy seas, I was once again home.

My solitude is broken by a rock flying by my head, hitting the wall of the fort... I lean down, take the stone in hand and think “who dares to intrude on my kingdom?"   I look down the hill and a young 8 year old usurper, is challenging me for rule of the kingdom.  "Well let the war begin" I unconsciously think as I cock my arm to return fire. 

Before I release the stone, my senses return, and smiling, I beat a hasty retreat down the hill to the safe neutral zone of the neighborhood.  The new king still honors the age old law and wanders back up the hill to his fort.

I jump in the truck and begin the long drive home.  Baptized by the ever present Rock Springs sand that permeates every pore of my body, I am warm and content.   I realize, childhood doesn't ever really end.  Each new generation keeps it alive. Even in the age of Wii and Xbox.

Guard the kingdom well my young brother.  "Second star to the right and straight on till morning."

Park City Utah (Why My Neck is Red) Part II, The 500 Stairs

One weather worn hand gripped the hand rail firmly. The other held a cane. Once again, Grandma Started the long journey up the two flights of stairs to her home in Midvale.

Many questioned why a 95 year old widow would continue to live on the 2^nd floor of a modest condo. "To many stairs Lela" they would say. "Move to an assisted living center or in with family who will take care of you". They had no idea that the stairs were an intregal part of what kept grandma alive. They represented a cornerstone of her life.

She had moved to Salt Lake 12 years earlier. The winters in Park City had become to harsh for her to continue to live there. The last one had been particularly brutal. I still remember the 140 mile round trip I made nearly every week to shovel more snow off the old miner shanty she had called home for 70 yrs.

Fourteen feet of snow fell that winter. By March, I was standing on the roof throwing the snow up onto banks of snow to keep it from crushing the ancient roof. By spring she relented and left the only place she had known as home for the gentler winters in the Great Salt Lake Valley.

She was born in Park City, Utah on July 24, 1910 to Clyde and Magdalena Yates. Her first home was on Rossie hill 500 stairs up from what was known as "swede" alley, the street directly below mainstreet. Her father worked the mines as an electrician. Because he had an education, Clyde's lot in the silver mines of Park City was better than most who toiled underground on twelve hour shifts with no Unions or health care to protect them. He died in his 40's of pneumonia; a direct result result of his work in the mines. Even with the better job and social standing he enjoyed, his family, like my Grandfathers, was left destitute. No company life insurance or pension, and the Social Security Program was many years away from saving millions of retirees from spending their last years in poverty. Things we just take for granted now.

Often, in her younger years she and the other children would coax the miners to toss lumps of coal out of the ore carts that crossed the town between the many silver mines that wound underneath the city. Coal was a precious commodity and a couple of lumps meant the difference between a warm nights sleep and a cold one. especially to a poor widowed mother and her children. Eagerly, she would take the prize up the 500 stairs to her mother.

She married Grandpa at 16, and moved to the home she would know for the next 70 years in empire Canyon on Daley Avenue. She still continued the climb up the 500 stairs to take care of her ailing Mother. Somehow she also managed to take care of her husband, her husbands mother and raise 2 children.

I remember many stories she would tell me of marching up and down the stairs on Rossie Hill. To school, church, social events. Each required 500 stairs.

When I was 8 years old, I made the journey with Grandma up those stairs on Rossie hill to Grandma Yates house. I have always been active, but, I remember... just that one trip wore me out. I wanted to quit, but, Grandma wouldn't let me...I was tired and angry. Why did she make me finish that ardous climb?

Many years later, I now understand the important lesson she taught me that day.  Never shirk from helping others in need, no matter how many stairs you have to climb. All true miners know that mining communites have always banded together to help each other. Even if its their last dollar. They continue that tradition today. Dont believe me?  Ask a miner. 

Her whole life, she never complained, about life's journey or the many stairs you have to climb along the way. She endured the death of her sisters, her son and her husband. At 97, she was still volunteering at the senior center, helping much younger seniors get meals and arrange Dr.'s appointments.

She conquered those stairs at her condo 3 time a day every day she lived there.

It was no surprise to me that all those stairs never defeated her. She fell in a flat parking lot at a Walmart, breaking her back. To old to recover, her brave soul ended its journey at age 98.

So my friends, I'll proudly say my neck is red...and now you know why I am pro-union, Social Security and support single payer Universal Health Care.  To do do any less does not honor their sacrifices of blood and sweat.

Companies don't care about you. They are not people because they do not understand right from wrong. They only understand souless profits and losses.  Miners have understood this since the beginning of time.  That why unions began.  Its also why they stick together and are the most generous people I have ever met.  Its a shame so many of us have forgotten this basic lesson.

I leave you with one vivid memory that was the inspiration inspiration for this piece.  I took grandma to Park City to on a Memorial day to decorate the graves. We had a great visit with Nan Macpolan and decorated all our family plots. Both of us were exhausted at the end of the drive home. I helped her out of my truck and held her arm as we approached the stairs to her Condo.

Gently, she pulled away and as I watched those hands grip that rail,... as that determined look came on her weathered, beautiful face, I realized what importance those stairs had for my grandmother. I could almost hear her say..."One more time old friends"

Park City Utah (Why my neck is red)

Today Park City, Utah is a world class ski resort. Snow has replaced the silver mined from the mountains that started the Hearst newspaper fortune more than 100 years ago. Million dollar homes line block after block of the town. Rolls Royce, Mercedes and BMW are the cars that line the streets. Foreign brands. I guess its fitting. Park City was a town built on the sweat and blood of immigrants from Europe and Asia. The difference now is "old" Park City was community of nations that loved and supported each other.

My Great Grandfather was named Nikola Frkovic. He was raised in the town of Gospic, Croatia. Aprox. 90 miles from Trieste, Italy. It is said he deserted from the Austro-Hungarian army in 1905 and made his way to relatives in Detroit MI. From there it is not clear how he made it to Utah, but at the time the Silver mines of Park City were thirsty for the cheap labor of new immigrants. He left a wife Katherine and young son named Ivan back in the "Old Country". He promised regularly to send money  to bring them to Utah.

Month after month passed.  Katherine, tired of waiting and knowing Nikola’s drinking habits, obtained passage on a liner as a maid. She and Ivan arrived in Park City circa 1910. One can only imagine the family reunion. You see, Slavs are a very Matriarchal society.

There were no unions protecting workers rights and health back then.  Lacking proper safety gear, Nikola died of miners consumption in 1913. The newspapers noted he was a well liked  person who was commonly known as "Pete Smith". I guess he was worried about the desertion even then.  No health or life insurance, no Soscial Security or survivors benfits, the Frkovic family was left destitute...

Ivan (Grandpa then 10) took on most any job he could to help pay the bills. He completed the 6^th grade and then worked full-time at various jobs, including delivery of the local newspaper. He would recount how he would deliver the newspaper to the "Red Light" district and talked with great fondness of the ladies there and the good tips he would receive. When pressed for how much or what type of tip he was talking about... his only response was a gleam in his eye.

Ivan, pronounced "eh-fi"was called "nefi" by the local Mormon children, Nefi was a prominent figure in Mormon scripture. He became know as John and after starting a successful car garage and Dodge dealership, he changed his last name from Frkovic to Fritch.

He cared for his mother from the time he was 12 yrs old until she died in 1973,. She lived next door to him. As the mines veins ran dry so did the city. Johnny, as he was now known, was involved in helping the unemployed and sick miners stay on their feet. Even though he was a shrewd businessman, he never forgot his humble beginnings. Many was the time he would write off a repair and tell the recipient he was "adding it to his tab". A Tab that was never collected for widows or miners who had fallen on hard times or in the hospital. Grandpa was able to help people and allow them to keep their dignity.

A widowed aunt told a story of a new car she bought from Johnny at a great price. When she pressed him on the big difference in price between his car and a competitors similar model his reply was " I just picked it up on a great deal Bernice".

His Park City Garage was destroyed in a fire in 1953. He lost everything. He decided to move to the west desert of Utah and work a mining claim he had bought several yrs earlier. Remembering his generosity over the previous 24 yrs, the residents in the unemployed, broken town raised more than $5000 to help rebuild his business and convince him to stay. For many it was their last few dollars. Yet, the feeling was if Johnny left, nothing of value would be left of Park City.

The garage was rebuilt and Grandpa retired living in the only home he had known in America, halfway up empire canyon on Daly Ave.. He died at the age of 87 in 1989. The day before he had pulled an engine from a car he had bought at an auction. You see retirement for grandpa meant moving from the garage downtown to the garage in his house.

Now as  I drive up the "main street" that has been rebuilt according "Hollywood" specifications....the old, clean mining town they imagine in their "millionaire reality" dreams, I am slightly repulsed. 

 I remember a different Park City: "Swede" alley, the Red-light district, Chinatown and Empire Canyon, where my ancestors, the "bohunks" lived, loved and died.

You see, park city was always a miners town...The term "red neck" comes from mining...miners, lacking proper breathing gear wore red kerchiefs to block out the dust from choking their lungs and giving them consumtion. 

It means...Union man, brother, family....and miners always took care of each other...even if it was their last dollar.

As I drive by the boutiques and trendy bars, where "Pop Jenks" soda fountain and the Blood and Guts saloon used to be.. I smile and a small gleam comes to my eye.  The Park City I knew may have died...but it will always live on... if we remember who we are and where we came from.

You can build any fantasy.....that only takes money, But, you can never rebuild a community without remembering the people who made it.

That was Park City.

Careful what you wish for

I love being on the water. I purchased a boat so my family could enjoy the freedom of being on the lake and enjoy more time together. Some of our best times have been on the lake water skiing and fishing.

My daughter Betsy has always loved fishing. At the age of six, she had already proved her prowess by catching innumerable crappie with a $5 Zebco rod and reel. On one trip she came with my friend my friend Mark and I in pursuit of large mouth bass. I set her up with a jig and she immediately went to work pulling in the paper mouths.

Mark and I rigged our $100 rods and began the search for large mouth bass.  We were not having any luck for bass when Betsy yelled "Ive got a big one dad."  "Its a carp" I barked certain that no bass would bite at a crappie jig. 

After all, Mark and I, were the expert fisherman complete with the expensive rod and lures. Once again Besty cried  out "dad, really, its a bass".  Thinking she had a carp, I slowly rose to see the large mouth on the end of her line. She landed the 5 pounder on her own.  The only bass caught that day.

Deciding a more expensive rod and reel would improve her success, I began to teach  Betsy how to cast with an open face reel. Those of you familiar with this equipment understand that in order to cast, you must:

• Trap the line with your index finger.
• Lock the trap open.
• Release the line from your finger as you cast the pole forward.

Betsy's eyes started to brighten as she brought the pole back for the first cast. I could see the visions of another five pounder dancing  in her head. Her first attempt ended up a mere 2 feet away.  Undaunted she repeated the steps. Two feet again. A third time...as she started forward, I yelled "now let go."

She did exactly what her dad told her and let go of the pole. I stood speechless as I watched the $100 rod and reel sink to the bottom of the lake.  I stared at her. She could only reply, "I did what you told me dad."

So why am I telling you this story?  I LEARNED an important lesson that day.

If you want your kids to do everything you tell them to.....they just might 

Alcan Highway

The sounds of the freeway surround my Jeep as I drive home from a round of golf. The setting sun paints the sky orange as the heat of the day starts to subside. Its still hot and I long for the cool of the evening to soothe me on my long drive home. Thinking of cooler climes and times is the only relief I get until I pass the black Ford Expedition on I-15.

Inside I gaze at the trappings of our overindulged society. Two high tech car seats are securely in place in the back. In them two children, a boy and a girl, stare blankly ahead. Puzzled, I slow a little and see that they are watching different cartoons on their individual DVD players hanging on the back of their parents seats. As I resume my speed, I see Mom and Dad are both busily engaged in conversation..each on their own cell phone. Dad seems to be particularly engaged...."Hang up and drive, man!" I mutter to myself and continue on my drive home. The image stays with me. As I pull into the driveway I wished I could have said "hang up and look around you man....you are missing out"


In 1968, the new Toyota Corona was parked in the driveway of our home in Anchorage Alaska . Dad had just finished packing the trunk for our first trip back to Utah. More than 3,300 miles separated us from our destination including 1,200 on a gravel road known as the Alaska Highway to most Americans but the "Alcan" to Alaskans. Five boys, ages 9 to 17, Mom, Dad and the family dog "Bandit", piled into the car and we began our journey. A little more than ten miles into the trip it was evident that none of us would have to worry about fighting because with 4 in the back and three plus the dog in the front, most of our time would be occupied with trying to breathe.

Three days was the time allocated to complete the drive to Utah. Seven days to visit, then three days for the return trip back to Anchorage. Dad thought nothing of driving 1000 miles a day. Once we acclimated to the confined space, we found ourselves alternately gazing in awe at the rugged beauty of the far north and engaging in conversations about food, relatives or any topic that came to mind. Nintendo, Videos and Satellite radio, were only dreamed of in science fiction novels. It was a simpler time and I often wonder how many sights and experiences our children miss out on today in the name of "mobile" entertainment/appeasement.

We crossed the Canadien border and the gravel road immediately started to snake back and forth like a switch-back up the side of a steep mountain. It made no sense why a road would do this on flat land . Dad explained that the "Alcan" was built during World War 2 to provide a land route to supply Alaska. More than 10,000 US Soldiers completed the road during a brutal winter when the temperature would often dip to 79 degrees below zero. In the summer heat and mosquitoes plagued the work. Still, the dedicated soldiers finished one of the modern wonders of the world in just eight months living in tents. The switchbacks in the road were to protect convoys from Japanese aircraft strafing runs.

By Midnight the pale twilight of the midnight sun cast a pink hue on snow covered mountains with no names. I woke the next morning, outside the gold rush town of Whitehorse. In 1896, Skookum Jim and Tagish Charlie discovered gold in the Klondike. By 1898 more than 30,000 fortune seekers came north to pan for gold. A railway was built from Skagway to Whitehorse, heart of the klondike to bring the gold to port.A long bridge spanned one of the many rivers we crossed. More than 153 major bridges were built during that amazing time of March-November 1942. I can still see the deer, moose, bear eagle and other wildlife in abundance on this thin line of road cut through the heart of a wilderness.

We passed thru Dawson Creek, Milepost 0, then traveled through the vast wheatfields of Edmonton and Calgary, Alberta. Prairie so wide you could see the curvature of the earth. Further south back into the U.S. and finally to Utah and family.

On the way home to Alaska, we stopped by Watson lake. Today this lake is a world class sport fishery. A small truck stop Chinese restaurant lies on the outskirts of town. The site of our huge family falling out of such a tiny car must have left quite an impression on the owner. We ate there every yr we journeyed to the "lower 48", and he remembered each of our names.

For 7 yrs until dad passed away, we repeated the journey. So much to see. So little time. Every yr as the time grew near, the excitement built in our family. Imagine, 7 people and a dog crammed in a tiny car excited about driving 6,600 miles in 6 days.....

The garage door shut, and as I entered my home a smile came to my face. Grateful for childhood memories filled with the people, conversations and wonderment of nature instead of the Xbox, MTV and Vampire Wars......

The Road To Victory

As I continue my journey back to running, I spend most of the time on the road in reflection.  Believe me; with the times I am running, I have lots of time to ponder on life….

Yet as I stagger and sputter down the road, a shadow of my former self, I can see progress.  A month ago success was measured in yards.  After 100 yards, my lungs burning and gasping for air, I had to rest for another determined attempt…small successes followed…yards turned into quarter miles…quarters into half’s. 

Today I ran 1.5 miles before my struggling lungs gave out.  I staggered home but completed the 2.5 miles in an earth shattering time, 28:53.  That right…11:33 miles.  Some might see that as disappointing to someone who in his prime ran sub 4:20 miles, but disappointment doesn’t enter my mind.   Besides, I am 52 now not 29…and as a result of several heart attacks, my heart only pumps out half the amount of blood it takes in…so my goals are different now.  At this point, completing a 5K without stopping would be a major victory and is my goal.

The failures I suffer running now will help me succeed later.  Like most things in my life, if they come to easy I fail to appreciate them. 

I attribute my successful professional career to lessons I learned about victory from running.  It started slowly, and I constantly struggled.  By age 25, I had yet to finish college and accepted a job outside my major with low wages, but good benefits that my young family desperately needed.  At first discouragement and feelings of failure overwhelmed me until I determined to be successful in my job.  I started to strengthen my resume and engaged fellow employees who became mentors. Many failed interviews followed but, after each failure I learned and focused on my weaknesses until they became strengths.

I have only had 7 promotions in 26 years and more than 100 failures.  Yet I stand at the top of my career and am considered an expert in my field…I conceived, developed, implemented and continue to lead the disaster recovery testing program for the Internal Revenue Service…and yes I was able to move back in to my chosen career track.  

As I think about running, my health, and career I realize that my road to success and victory has been paved with the many stones of my failures along the way.  Yet each stone of failure provided a base for me to reassess and make myself stronger.

The road to victory is paved with failures….but I will get there….look out 5K…you’re next

Random Thoughts on Family, Friends and life

1.       My first vote was for Ronald Reagan, much to the dismay of my grandfather…an FDR democrat.

2.       I have voted for a Democrat ever since except for Dukakis

3.       He was a man of great spirituality…even though he thought all religions were BS. 

4.       He offered to pay for my mission if I finished college first…I turned him down…years later I realized he was the one person who cared most about my success in life.

5.       He was a hardnosed pain in the ass but it was he who taught me compassion and charity.  I watched him fix cars for widowed ladies then  tear up the bill.

6.       Because of him, I give money to street people… helping is what matters

7.       I rarely see or talk to my 4 brothers , but we are always there for each other

8.       A part of me will always remain in Alaska…It was the last place my family was whole.

9.       My children amaze me….I am proud of them.

10.   My Granddaughter makes me laugh uncontrollably

11.   My wife saved my soul…

12.    I hated High School, but, still love the great friends I made there…even though I haven’t seem most of them in 30+ years.

My little girl got married today...

As if I needed another thing to make me feel old....Kristen, my youngest daughter got married today. 

My emotions covered the spectrum:

• Joy that she was was so happy.
• Sadness to see my little girl had grown up.
• Shock that she had grown into a beautiful woman overnight.
• Gratitude that I was still around to walk her down the isle
• Contentment that her dreams were coming to fruition after many years of struggle.

No matter what you think, you are never prepared to be a father.  You realize that when you first hold your child in your arms and see that radiant little face beaming back at you.  You realize at that moment nothing else in life really matters. 

As I watched Kristen and her new husband Chris pledge their love to each other, I also realized I had been replaced by another man.

While recovering from my first heart surgery 13 years ago one of my first activities was to go to the 4th of July celebration in North Ogden.  I struggled from the car to the pavilion area to listen to my two daughters sing.  Betsy (then 14) performed "I dreamed a dream" from Les Miserables and Kristen (then 11) sang "The Rainbow Connection".  Both received standing ovations.

Imagine my surprise and joy to hear the first notes of that song as Kristen approached me for the Father/Bride dance. Thirteen years later, tears streaming down my face I realized I hadn't really been replaced...I had just begun a new chapter in my life's journey.  What joy my future holds watching my children grow and continue their young journeys

I guess its what every father feels at this point in their lives.  I always thought I understood the meaning of  "life is not about the finish...its the journey".

I really didn't get it.....until today...

Adapting: The mind is willing but the body...

When did I get so old?  I spend a lot of time remembering lately.  I do this alot.  Every time I sign on Facebook I see and remember simpler times and places. 

Grade school friendships that started in my childhood.  Gene and Kurt are two friends I have reconnected with on the FB...It seems like yesterday when I was hanging out at Kurt's house, during the 22 hour alaskan summer days or skipping church with Gene to talk baseball and hit rocks with stick in back of the church.

My high school friends are too numerous to mention by name here, but I remember each one and  have great memories about all of them. Hilarious times in class, wrestling and running.

Sometimes I think I never grew up in my mind...34 years later I still want to do the things I did in high school...Like running.  As you all know last week I ran what can only be described as the slowest 5K in the history of mankind. Sore, yet somehow proud  I was determined to run again...first two times a week then 3, then well who knows...

I began my second run sore but (literally) determined to make steady progress and not stop.  The Goal was two miles and on the recommendation of my Doctor, keep my heart rate to no more than 140.  The location was Bear Lake, Utah.  At the one mile mark, I was forced to walk due to my heart rate but proceeded with a variation of the Swedish training regime called "fartlek" that I can only describe as "walk slow, jog even slower"...

Being last is a new experience for me...Uncharted territory.  Running, which was always so easy, is much more difficult than I had ever imagined.  I have a new found appreciation for all those who struggled to finish races and the courage and determination they all had.

Two miles in 24 minutes, a new baseline..it certainly felt faster in my mind, but, still was somehow satisfying. Adapting is difficult, but, we all have to do it at some point in our lives...and I am more appreciative of the gifts I 've been given.

I accept that my body will never return to the fitness of my youth...age and CHF have taken care of that...yet, my mind still thinks I'm 18....

Small victories; my return to running

I ran today.  Another victory on my road to recovery.  It was hot.  It was Ugly.  It was frustratingly slow. It was satisfying.

Running, one of the joys in my life for almost 40 years appeared to be over after I staggered and gasped my way to the car after my latest heart surgery 2.5 years ago.  I was unable to get in the car without the assistance of my wife Karen.  Broken and humbled, I felt there was very little left for me as far as quality of life.  I watched my fathers health deteriorate from heart desease and felt I would soon be joining him.

I began Cardiac rehab after a few weeks  and could barely walk 50 feet without my heart racing and my lungs gasping for air. Slowly I progressed.  As my health slowly returned I returned to some activities, water/ snow skiing and golf.  All with limitations, but enjoyable.  Yet every time I attempted to jog a few steps, I was reminded of the damage that my heart had sustained....lungs burning, heart racing and fear gripping my soul I stopped......it was paralyzing.

Today I did it....it was probably the worlds slowest 5K (Maybe I should say 2.5K...I only ran the middle half and walked the front and back ends), but, it was just as satisfying as running that 8:34 two mile in Germany at age 30.

Maybe more.....

Happy Fathers Day Dad!

Happy Fathers Day Dad!

Even though its been 38 years since you passed, I still remember everything you taught me.  Your influence has made me the man I am.  I have tried to follow your example and be a good father, husband and provider.  At times I have fallen short, but, I have no regrets.  I have done my best, which is all you ever asked of me.

I remember the great vacations we had growing up.  Even when there was very little money you always found enough for us to do something fun that helped us stay close as a family.  Yellowstone, the Black Hills, you even found a way to buy a boat so we could enjoy Flaming Gorge.

Alaska was a very happy place and time for us as a family.  I shall never forget weekend drives or the 3,000 miles trips to Utah every summer.  I shall never forget fishing on the little Susitna with you.

I shall never forget your heart problems or the strength you showed up to the very end.  Little did I realize how much your strength  and stoicism would help me through my own problems with heart disease.  You taught me to strong to the very end and I haven't forgotten.

I love you dad.. and honor your memory on this Fathers day 2011

Your son,

RK

Keeping Promises...or if you brake(sp) it...you bought it...

In every war this great nation has fought, we the people have been asked to make sacrifices of blood and treasure.  Every war except two, the war with Mexico (1846-1848) and the Iraqi war (2003-present):

• Property taxes were raised by the individual colonies to raise money to fight the American Revolution.
• The income tax was first initiated during the Civil War...on the wealthiest 10% of households
• During the first and second world wars, the income tax became the 16th amendment to the Constitution. It expanded the income tax to virtually all Americans... in part to support the war efforts to win victory and secure the lifestyle that we all enjoy.

At the start of the Vietnam war, John F. Kennedy tried to cut taxes while conducting war in southeast Asia.   The staggering costs of the conflict forced the congress to rollback..  then increase taxes to shore up the budget and reduce the deficit.

Here is my question to all of you...WHY SHOULD WE NOT MAKE THE SAME  SACRIFICES our ancestors made?

I recently was reading about my family history in the old Park City, Utah newspaper (the Park record) and found the following:

Note this was the 4th war bond drive...every year you were expected to buy a $200 bond $2400 today...

In addition to income taxes, every American was expected and given a quota of war bonds to purchase.  If you hadn't signed up for your bonds....you were sought out and and visited until you made the commitment to support the war effort. In addition to gasoline rubber and other items were rationed. Americans stood together. Those sacrifices built the worlds greatest democracy and economy. 

How many bonds have you bought?

Today we have been at war eight long years,  thousands of lives and one trillion dollars later, we are not asked (nor are many willing) to buy bonds or pay more taxes......we see this:

My god, we can't even spell
We allowed congress to extend tax cuts....even to the wealthiest among us...
We allowed the passage of a an additional 2 percent cut on our Social security tax..
Rather than reduce the deficit we added another 600 billion...just in December.

What set me over the edge and prompted this blog is the proposal to cut Veterans health care 42% by 2021.

I submit to that we the people have not been at war.  The US armed forces and their families are.  We have selfishly pushed the fight on the 400, 000 service men/women and have gone our merry way for 8 years..Now rather than pay the bill and cough up a few more coins people want to REDUCE by nearly half all veteran..

It is the time to settle that debt.  If we are not willing to at least make the sacrifices (taxes) to take care of our troops...we are hypocrites...our patriotism is not worth the 2 dollars spent on that yellow ribbon we so proudly display in our car bumper

I hate paying taxes as much as the next guy but freedom isn't free...someone has to foot the bill...We cant blame the excesses on presidents or congress...it lies on us..we allowed a war and said charge it...

Is it really a surprise to anyone why we were so united during WW2....and so divided today?

We wonder why

My search for meaning

We are born naked and helpless.  We survive only because of nurturing parents and a loving family who guide us till we are ready to begin our own journey.  Recently a heart attack taught me that when we die, it is the same...only we are fully aware of our predicament. 

Two years ago, I sat calmly reading the paper when the deep heavy pains in my chest took me to the ER. Naked and helpless on the operating table, I could only lay and watch as doctors and nurses saved my life.  I am still amazed at how these strangers fought for my life encouraging, beckoning me to live.  Why did I survive and not die?

 It is so easy to offer simplistic answers.  Religion is full of them. but, what is life?

As we grow our family nurtures us and loves us.  They provide the foundations of our belief systems and instill in us the values that we carry thru life. The religion of my youth provided me the answers that satisfied my mind. Yet as I grew, I found it provided more questions than answers.  Leaving organized religion behind I became a searcher, striving to live a life of value and worth. This provided comfort to me until the the heart attack again opened the question.

Now I ponder daily the meaning of life and ask what is lifes value.  What does our existence mean?

On the operating table, I had brief glimpses of eternity.  Were these real, or, anesthesia induced dreams? More questions.  Is there life after death?  In these glimpses/dreams, I saw and conversed with my parents, grandparents and old friends who passed before me. I can not explain the calm and love I felt. At some point I felt it was time to come back... or did I just wake up.  No disrespect to my family and friends who are believers...but, organized religions simplistic answers to my queries just do not work for me.

Through life, strangers influence and move us.  Sometimes they are the flicker of a candle in our life.  Other times, they become a part of our family, enriching us till we die. Jordan, one of the nurses at the hospital, came into my life for a brief moment yet saved my life.  Our interactions were brief, perhaps a few hours over a period of three months.  Yet, it seemed that whenever there was a moment of extreme despair...from the operating room to the painful difficult cardiac rehab that followed, she would appear out of nowhere. A caring look or the firm but gentle squeeze of a hand would raise my spirits and give me strength to continue.  What is it in life that makes total strangers instant friends?

I have been told that life is a circle.  John Lennon said in the end the love you take is equal to the love you gave. I have seen and felt the love many have given me. 

Of one thing I am certain, at the end of your life, though naked, helpless and surronded by strangers; love is there and goes with you.