Permanent House Guests of Pain

This is not a blog post about that time honored statement about relatives my dad taught me when I was young--quoting Benjamin Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac: "Fish and visitors smell in three days."  They seem to, but anyone who ever watched Jack Lemon and Walter Matthau in the second Grumpy old men movie know that fish have to planted with stealth in your neighbor's car.  Visitors just show up---!

No, I'm not about telling stories about our Army buddies Dennis and Beth who always seemed to show up with all their hungry kids in tow just about dinner time---without calling--just, "Hi, howahya? and by the way, What's for supper?.

And I'm not going to chuckle with you about Ta and Jayne's Samoan friends, though it is worth mentioning that my most hospitable friends throw open their home to any Samoan who shows up--for as long as they like.  Jayne and Ta both work and they're happy to feed and house folks who beat a path to their door.  (I'm guessing that Samoans pass their names about like golden tickets to America.  "Be sure and stop at Ta and Jayne's in Utah!  They're good for at least a couple of weeks.    

Ta chuckled that he came home from work last Wednesday just after the enterprising neighbor kids had dropped off Ta and Jayne's subscription loaf of fresh baked whole wheat bread.   James, the delivery boy (and 7 year old co-owner of the Bread Subscription Service) had left two loaves by mistake. 

Well his house guests could not resist the aroma--and dived in to devour the first loaf--and were just about to dig into #2, when Ta came home and gently, but firmly redirected their attention back to the well stocked refrigerator.  Suddenly James, ever the responsible young man cam back for the second loaf.  Ta offered to buy it, but James stuck to his guns, "No, this loaf belonged to someone else!  Ta shrugged, handed over the coveted loaf and just gave up on having any fresh bread that week...

No this isn't about House Guests who overstay their welcome---its about Chuck Chainsaw, Nellie Knees and Millie Migrane--who run foot races on an ongoing conveyer belt of pain inside Gramma Rosie.

Chuck has put her back to bed for a nap in lieu of pain.  If we knew what to do about sending him away we would--but irritable bowel syndrome is just ---well, just irritable.  Gramma is robust and jolly most of the time.  She's laughing more than ever before...but when Chuck brings along Millie Migrane Rosie knows just how to handle both of them.   

Years ago her doctor suggested that a little caffiene would open up her blood vessels and cut down on the migrane pain.  She told Rosie to see her bishop and get special permission to drink coffee as a medication once in a while.  Bishop Black, one of Rosie's closest friends and a former employer gave permission--so Millie's visits every three or four weeks are occasions to brew up some "battery acid" and take it for the pain.   It doesn't completely take it away, but it does take the edge off the pain.


Funny how Gramma Rosie uses the glass half empty thought process to try and "guilt" me into doing my chores.   We have a little money in the bank, so we're not weighing every penny and waiting for the next Social Security Check.    We're not wealthy--but we're not skimping and scraping either.

Here conversation began this morning, after my walk and swim, "You don't have any money, do you---guess we're screwed.  We've got to order in Chinese for Donald's visit tonight--and you have all your money to Jeff last night for dinner at Arbies----Guess we're out of luck."

Smiling, I put it back to her.  As a teacher I thoroughly enjoy helping a student frame a problem and then challenging them to find a solution.  (What would you do to solve that problem if I were no where around?)

The key to this process is the courage to keep your mouth shut as the professor and lean on them psychologically to get on with the solution.  (So many of my students take this hang dog "I'm so screwed" approach to problems.  That defeatest attitude closes off possible solutions and discourages WHY NOT thinking.  I'm hoping to teach that it's easier and much more productive long term to make the solution a game--a test of intelligence that you cheerfully accept and go about solving with a smile trying every option you can think.

Back to Gramma Rosie.  She is so much like what my great dad turned into in his later years..Both of them are (and in my great Dad's case) and were affected by the Que Sera Sera philosophy of Doris Day.   What will be will be.    

On the other hand, I've operated on the philosophy that if it's gonna be it's up to me!   Can you see the difference.  It's the difference between Passive and Active---between being a Secondary Reactor and a Primary Actor.   Reactors don't get much done they want to-- they spend most all their time reacting to what people will think--how to keep the precious status quo--get out of work and do just enough so the boss doesn't toss you out.

Illness turns you into a reactor.   We used to kid that Rosie had the Sunday Flu---that nigh abouts midnight on Saturday night, she'd get a wild hair to clean out a closet or stay up tending the dish washer til 2 or 3 in the morning--and of course morning church was out of the question.

In the same way that Laman and Lemuel didn't get to be the saavages they ended up becoming, Rosie doesn't mean to skip church every Sunday.   Her Sunday flu thanks to Chuck and Millie and Nellie have developed a painful...and yet comfortable pattern that she is loath to break out of.   She will take her turn in scripture study--give a sincere and caring prayer and discuss spiritual things.  She has a great testimony--but the Sunday Flu is more of a test of patience for me, I've finally concluded.

Oh, she'll make it to church one day--when our annual rotation ends  in the afternoon--and either in late spring or early fall--when it's not too cold or too hot--and she can wear something that's not to light or too heavy--and, finally, when she can sit way in the back as far away from the dread vibrating organ pipes--to which she is absolutely allergic.

When we were first married, Rosie was invited to teach a little primary class with the dread bully Becky Turner, outspoken daughter of a BYU religion professor.    Rosie as a new convert had a hard time dealing with Becky's condemnation of the Catholic Church her older Brother was fighting against in Mexico at the time--and I don't think she's had a church assignment of an substance since.

Her mother rarely went to heir neighborhood catholic parish church.  Her dad had converted from being a nominal baptist to a lapsed Catholic to marry Mary Louise, Rosie's sweet mom.  Her devotion to things spiritual comes from an intense loyalty to the nuns who nurtured her at St. Patricks where she went through the early grades and both junior and high school.  (She occasionally prays in "Catholic" as I pray in Portugese)  Her habits include crossing herself when she hears an ambulance or fire siren and saying a little prayer for injured unknowns.

How many times have I beat the dead horse of her inactivity in the kingdom with the story of the little English Charwoman who saved her money for a steerage passage to America on a grand Ocean Liner?    The older woman had misunderstood--and when time for meals came, she reverted to her cabin to eat a few cheese and cracker meals.    She longed to have at least one grand meal with her glittering fellow passengers--so she reworked a skint budget and on the last night of the cruise wore her humble little best dress to the grand dining room.

The Captain made a special point of welcoming her by name--and asking about her health.  The management afloat had concluded that she was ill for much of the voyage.   She stammered another version of that old excuse...and finally came clean with the Captain--as he escorted her to his table as an honored guest.

"I didn't figure I had enough to pay for my ticket and afford all the meals during the crossing, Captain", she began.  He interuupted her, "But, ma'am someone should have told you--all the meals were included in the price of your ticket!"

On one level, Rosie gets it--that would be the level of the head--but in her heart she combines her sour experience with a bragadocio 7 year old in Provo with some goody two shoes sisters in their gaberdine Relief Socieity Uniform jumpers gossiping with every good intention, but still exchanging maloderous little insinuations about an unknown sister....and she stays home.

The Bishop and I invite the two elders assigned to bring the Sacrament to the homebound to visit here after church--and she has really come to love and appreciate them.  She loves her Visiting teachers and Home Teachers....but atually going there is still outside the realm of possibility, even under the best of circumstances.

I used to get a little testy when she'd skip her "duties" at the ward on Sunday and on Monday, she was off to the races--shopping and traveling, buying and solving our domestic challenges as actively as any woman can be with arthritic knees and a clear plastic TUBULAR CANE!

I wish her well.   I love her.   I wish she would enjoy the great "meals" of rubbing shoulders with so many of my good friends at church--but I'm prepared to assume that it will never happen!     JWS

" I

Guilt rarely works with me and Gramma Rosie rarely meets a problem with optimism and the game of solution like I do.    Once again there is one in every marriage who does and one who doesn't.    Opposites attract?  They do at 4534 Holladay Boulevard!   

Grampa builds his own Personal Swamp Cooler

Unbelieving friends have asked me how I can stand to wear a full beard and longer and longer hair in July on the way to December and honest to goodness Santa Service with my own whiskers.

Often, I laugh and explain that the long locks and chin thatch act as a swamp cooler for my head--and beyond the humor, the principle "works".  I've discovered as part of my BODY GRAMPUNCULAR self studies that when I walk vigorously, working to keep up with my Walking Buddy, Tim, I perspire and I get cooler under the self grown facial hair.

Gramma Rosie often puts a fozen cold pack in a light towel and leans up against it on the couch during the hottest days of the summer--and specific cold applied to the nerve center at the base of the neck cools her off.  Like so much of what happens with it, it may be psychosomatic--but what ever it is, it works.  I've tried it, and it works for me, too!

Now to the personal  full body swamp cooler. Lately my grampuncular studies have led to folding a big fluffy bath towell on the bottom of my office chair and soaking it with water---room temperature at first, and then refridgerated.  Sitting on that gasp producing excitement has cooled me off in record time.

I know it's done it's job when I start to chill a little bit.

This morning I tried covering the back of the chair with a big trash bag (to avoid mildew) and soaking another big bath towell, squeezing out the excess water to avoid dripping on my chair pad, and then draping it on the seat and over the back.

The thrill when you first sit down is like diving into a cold mountain lake--not a bad sensation when it's muggy outside and in.   The body eventually warms up the contact points--but the instantly chilling result is quite satisfactory.

Part of my personal effort to diminish my personal carbon footprint has been to save Pepsi bottles and chill water in a stash of them in my little refrigerator , here at the Grampuncular Command post.  When the damp towel warms up--and it's still hot--I'll refresh the back and seat and enjoy another cold mountain lake plunge process when I sit down again.   Hoorah for evaporation! JWC

Is Grampa too far ahead--or too way behind?

The first time I became aware of a "concern" was on a flight to Utah from Brazil.  I was in my early twenties--excited to be coming home--and excited to actually be visiting in English with Americans.    The acres of formica and steam heat at JFK seemed suddenly so foreign to me--and yet so welcoming home.   It was December.  I'd left a steamy hemisphere of dirt runways and flouishing palms---to come back to New York, brusque people and oceans of freezing slush.

I don't remember preaching to a young American couple across from me on the plane, but I must have talked their most courteous ears off.    Our parting could not have come soon enough for them.

I didn't realize I was a bit too bipolar for the average American bear!  Years later I was diagnosed with Hypermania--a junior version of the grown up version of the pervasive Bi-Polar malady that afflicts depressed then mantic souls in such a sad pendulum swinging way!   Lithium once a day, now, has kept me "regulated" without sacrificing my creativity.

I heard just the other day on K BYU that composer Robert Schumann spend many of his later days in an asylum -- depressed and suffering-- having come down from the dizzying heights of his brilliant creative musical career.  Gee, I hope it never comes to that for me.

Average Joes and Janes take a look at my beard and my sometimes over enthusiasic eyes...and they either think Weird Crackpot or Cute Santa.  I've learned its not too good to be too far out in front of the crowd.

Yesterday we suffered pretty comfortably through the hottest day of the year watching a marvelous version of the Passion of Christ titled simply, JESUS.   The little known actor who played the Savior of the World danced, gently interacted with his fellow humans and did it just about the way I would have expected my heavenly older brother and advocate with the Father would have done it on the earth  back in the day---with classic MEEKNESS--- Tremendous power under complete control.    I recommend it to you.

Was he too far out ahead of "the power curve" in real life.  Yes!  The Pharasees and Saducees wanted him gone.  The Romans were willing to go along--in this case out of boredom and sport. (a Roman politician close to Pilate stages a cruelly hilarious pastiche complete with masks and fake beards--that tips Pilate's hand--that the crucifiction of Jesus was as much for his own entertainment and mounting a grand internal drama for a day or two--as it was the more serious portrayal of the Telly Savalas Version in Zefferilli's Greatest Story Ever Told.

Robert Byrd is being remembered today.  He was orphaned, worked at a hodge podge of trades and found a gift for public speaking.  After being elected to Congress he went to night school -- won the Senate Seat from West Virginia and then went to Law school at night.  At 92 he has the distinction of being the longest serving member of the Senate in history---more than 50 years!   He typifies the best Congress has to offer-- a humble man who learned the system and not only served as a conscience of the Senate--but it's Majority leader twice--and Porker Grand Champion.

More highways and federal facilities have been built with either his name or his influence in West Virginia than anywhere else in America.   (He is what Bob Bennett is referring to when he talks about the uphill battle Mike Lee will likely have regaining Bennett's tenure and respect in the "Upper Body"   He who would change the system, must first learn to work effectively in it.  Not too far out ahead, certainly not too far behind...  Robert Byrd sent Thank you Notes for the Thank you Notes he got from other Senators.    Senatorial Courtesy.

It's said that Barak Hussein Obama arrived a newly minted Senator from Illinois and learned how far he'd have to go to become a Robert Byrd style influential Senator--and went straight for the White House.   It's the old lions of the Senate that control purse strings and legislation that get signed into law as much in a squeeze play as in justice for all.

Robert Byrd used to celebrate his annivesary in part with the ever growing buckets of white roses delivered to his Senate Office in the old SOB-- (Russell Senate Office  Building) by his dear friend and fellow democrat Ted Kennedy.   Though he never followed JFK in the White House or his next oldest brother RFK on the road to that powerful place on Pennsylvania Avenue, Young Teddy came to the Senate at 35--barely old enough to be elected...and stayed til his death last year.   His impact, especially on social legislation will be rembmered long after the lesser Presidents are forgotten.  He learned to be in the accepted middle, headed upward and onward.  Certainly, my goal.  JWH

Things are Comin' up GREEN in Grampa's Garden

Thought you'd enjoy sharing our enthusiasm at the miracle of the Law of the Harvest.   Our Jeff has dived into passionate gardening and in a few weeks, we plan some amazing Tomato Sandwiches--and Vegetable Stir Frys---Heck, we may just eat some of the fruits of his labor right off the stem!  

Thanks to our Green Thumbed neighbor Melissa Hilton who nurtured some of these plants in her marvelous greenhouse during a cool spring   

We are excited at the prospect of a lush harvest.   By September you'd be welcome to initiate a visit for an impromptu garden nosh!  (SWK would be so proud!) 

Much love--Jon, for the Gardeners at our house at this end of Holladay.  No need for the downtown Farmer's Market this year!

Rich Sam Walton Blew it with his Family, especially his own Gramkids!

A Big Money Lesson from Wal-Mart’s Sam Walton

Originally Posted: 30 Jun 2010 09:53 AM PDT

Guest Blog from Christian Personal Finance Blogger Bob

Recently I came across an article about Sam Walton, the founder of Wal-Mart. It was a very interesting read and I found some things I never knew.

After doing a little further digging about Wal-Mart I found an article quoting George Will, who had this to say about the company:

“[They] are the most prodigious job-creator in the history of the private sector. It has almost as many employees (1.3 million) as the U.S. military has uniformed personnel. A McKinsey company study concluded that Wal-Mart accounted for 13 percent of the nation’s productivity gains in the second half of the 1990s, which probably made Wal-Mart about as important as the Federal Reserve in holding down inflation.

Wal-Mart and its effects save shoppers more than $200 billion a year, dwarfing such government programs as food stamps ($28.6 billion) and the earned-income tax credit ($34.6 billion). People who buy their groceries from Wal-Mart save at least 17 percent.”

Wal-Mart is a huge and powerful corporation that was built from the ground up.

Sam Walton Had It All

Sam Walton got his start in the retail business by operating a Ben Franklin variety retail store. With a $20,000 loan from his Father-in-Law and $5,000 of his own savings, Walton started the store and used concepts that no one was employing at the time, which made him wildly successful.

He constantly kept the shelves stocked with low-priced goods, stayed open later hours especially around the holidays and would buy in large volumes so he could get discounts on his cost of goods, which tranlsated to lower prices for his customers.

The first Wal-Mart was opened in 1962 and Walton went on to become one of the most well-known entrepreneurs of our modern age.

He was always battling for one of the top spots on the Forbes Rich List (He was the richest man in the United States from 1982-1988).

By the world’s standards, this man had it all!

He started the largest-retail chain in America from the ground up. He was rich. He wanted to help people by creating stores that served the lower-income population. He could buy anything in the world any time he wanted and yet there was something missing.

Sam Walton’s Biggest Regret

Sam Walton, on his death bed, admitted something very frightening that should send shivers down our spines. He admitted that he had blown it.

What exactly had he blown?

Was it not taking advantage of opening more stores? Or maybe he could’ve made even more money had he tried some different tactics? Maybe there was a big scandal that he kept secret for years.
No, it wasn’t any of those things. Instead, Walton was referring to the fact that he blew it with his family!

Walton – one of the richest men in America – admitted that he barely knew his youngest son and that he even neglected his grandchildren. His wife stayed with him out of commitment. He admitted he spent way too much time investing into his business rather than spending time with those who mattered most – his own family!

Can you imagine?

An American tycoon, a business genius – admitting that he wasted his life! Perhaps he should’ve detached himself from his money.

Instead, he wasted precious moments that could’ve been spent with his wife and children. He wasted opportunities to build memories and leave a legacy worth far more than his multi-billion dollar empire!

And for what? Money, conquest, success?

Walton realized, as he approached those final days, none of that mattered now. None of it was as important
as his family.

What This Means For Us

You may not create a business empire, but you will have plenty of opportunity to sacrifice time with your families to pursue wealth, build a business, make money from a blog, improve your golf game, work on your hobbies, climb the corporate ladder or whatever else it is that ends up draining time away from your family.
Are any of those things wrong in and of themselves? NO!

Was Sam Walton’s business and his empire wrong in and of itself? No.

What was wrong with Walton, sadly, is that he didn’t realize until it was too late that the quality of your close relationships is what matters most.

As Christians we know that the quality of our relationships, pursuing our passions by using the gifts God has given to us, and living out the mission He has for us are the most important things in life!
So, I have to ask you – just like I ask myself:

• Do you think money is the answer to all your problems?
• Are you spending too much time at the office?
• Are you wasting your life?
• Do you wish the quality and quantity time with your wife, your kids and your loved ones was better?
• If so, why? What is more important to you than the time with your family?
•  

Don’t wait til you are on your deathbed to realize what Sam Walton realized!
Make your life count today and leave a legacy that is worth more than any trust fund you’ll leave your children!

What Are Your Thoughts?

Becoming an Important Part of the Eagle Trail

When I was asked by Chris, the Scout Troop Committee Chairman to give the Keynote Address at an Eagle Court of Honor one hot June afternoon I wanted to do something the Scouts and Parents would remember for the rest of their lives--in every good way. 

For every Eagle Scout Speaker who comes after, I recommend this--it's a physical way of involving almost every man and boy in the room in a memorable series of links.

"We live by symbols, I began. "Look at the flag that we just pledged allegiance to.  Did you ever think you might be called upon to defend that flag in time of war?  Y'know the symbol of the eagle on the resume of a World War II Recruit meant he could be promoted from enlisted to office--made a lieutenant and put in charge of a platoon.  What does the Eagle rank really mean.in the real world today?  It means you're a marked man--that people will expect great things of you!

"To help you all remember this night, I want to do a magic trick that you will always remember." I continued.  The eyes of the cubscouts and pre cubs got wide--maybe responding to my mysterious tone and this wizard- like beard.

"You six men sitting in the Eagles Next have all earned your eagle scout award.  Me too!  I brought my eagle badge still pinned to my Order of the Arrow sash and my collection of Merit Badges--and a special silk and painted leather Eagle Neckerchief that I haven't worn since I was awarded my Eagle in 1963--47 years ago.  I think this would be a good time to put it on.

"Now to the magic trick--will all men who are Eagle Scouts in the room stand up?"  I called on a friend, Kim Monson, one of the Eagles nest, to rearrange the standing line oldest to youngest-- then I called upon the two Eagle Scout Candidates and their parents (Scouting is a Team Sport, after all) to join the Eagle trail, then I called on all Life Scouts--boys and men who got stuck there along the Eagle trail to stand oldest to youngest--and so it went through the ranks down to tenderfoot. 

By then the line of men and boys stretched across the Relief Society Room.  Then we added the Silver Beaver award recipient and all the cub scouts from Webelos through Bear, Wolf and Bobcat--and all the pre-cub little boys.  (Older men stalled at Star or First Class came bounding up to take their place--as everyone, "got into the act".

With everyone in the line of the Eagle Trail, I asked everyone to hold hands.and look up and down the "trail".

To the little guys on one end, I said: "There it is--your future in Scouting.  Aspire to achieve your own Eagle Scout Rank so you can join the veterans in the Eagle Nest and reap the benefits of being an Eagle Scout-- the highest rank in Scouting."

To the new Eale Candidates and Veteran Nesters--"Look down the trail.  There is your challenge--encourage your fellow scouts to work to arrive where you are.    Let's have a round of  applause for all the Eagle Scouts and Eagle wannabes long the Eagle Trail--now you can all sit down--but I hope you'll remember who was next to you--and all the ways you can help each other up the Eagle Trail."  JWH

Grampa, your house is--too full!

One thing I can say in Joe's parent's favor--they're raising an honest kid--maybe a bit too honest.  On a trip down our dimly lit stairs into the basement to find baloons, Joe felt comfortable enough to say, "Grampa, you need another house!

When I asked why, the seven year old shot back without thinking of what he was REALLY saying, "Cuz you're house is too dirty!"  Then, likely thinking about what he REALLY meant to say, and not wanting to insult us, he reconsidered with, "Your house is too full of stuff!"  Ah, from the mouths of seven year old babes!

OK, so we're a work in progress--a kid doesn't know that.  Yes, we've got stacks of stuff we're sorta-kinda sorting--kinda.  I know we've got boxes in the halls that must seem like they're anchored to the spot for the rest of time--but Joe had a point and wasn't shy about sharing!

Joe, at seven has no patience for frills or fluffery.  Somewhere he's learned about "Yup" and "Sure" as his two survival words.  He's a pint sized version of Gary Cooper or the monosylabic Mike Mansfield--plain spoken Majority Leader of the U.S. Senate in the 60s and 70s who used to drive reporters wild with his simple "Yups" and "Nopes".  Joe is the tough guy of the family.  That's the protectorate he has carved out for himself as number 3 after two pretty good older siblings.  How I love him for it.

He's right!  Our house is too full!  In the same spirit of the Emperor's New Clothes, Joe has the guts to say what he sees, or as an old friend, Keith Robinson,  who ran the physical systems in the then new Provo City Building, used to say with uncommon hardbitten bluster, "I calls 'em like I sees em!" JWH

Grampa Applaud's Joe's Creation of Cheezy-Whips!

Joe's dad, Chris came to fix the disposal and put a new window sill on our front window this afternoon.


By now, Joe is seven and exploring the world of our refridgerator, where he knows he has continuous access.  He'd had his regular sucker--but he was hungry for more and I suggested Choco-Cheese Sandwiches, like the ones he'd built for us the last time the whole tribe of brothers and sisters came over for a rainy day.


But alas, no chocolate syrup to be had--so Joe gathered the the individually wrapped cheese slices, we got some sliced potato bread and rummaged around for a topper.  In these experiences, I've learned to ask leading questions--but let the youngster take charge and anticipate the challenges that building these confections will take.


Suddenly, there it was--left over whipped cream in an areosol can we'd use to make strawberry shortcake.  We found a clear spot on the table and set up shop.   Leading questions are so much better than instructions.  It gives the child the impression that he is completely in charge.


An adult and maybe even an older child would have cut each of the two slices of bread in fourths, but not Joe--he was all about building before any cutting took place.  At each stage, it's important for Grampa to show no disapproval or label anything wrong.  We'd chosen a sharp knife together and he'd demonstrated that he knew how to handle it safely.


He got stuck unwrapping the cheese, because I let him--and he's growing up a little, because he kept at it after initial trys didn't produce results.   Using the conspiratorial tone we've developed as friends, I showed him the trick about unwrapping the tab first--and pretty soon two neatly unwrapped slices were in place--then it came to whipped cream.   Gramma Rosie showed him how to hold it..and it was all he could do to just hold it straight up and down--so I did that and he carefully pushed the nozzle sideways.  He had a surgeon's touch -- rare in one so young.  A bit came out--and then a little more.  By the time he got to the second batch he was pumping out whipped cream rosettes and laughing about how much fun he was having.


That's the key--food and fun and applause---Kit's of every age  love applause--someone to pay attention and signal approval.  It's what a psychologist called, "bid for approval"  (When our 34 year old now officially divorced "youngster" comes home, we turn off the TV and pay total attention to him.   Besides he's much more entertaining than anything Hollywood could dream up.)


After Joe had built and snarfed two batches of what we came to call Cheezy-Whips  (All told about four slices of bread and the same number of cheese with a little whipped cream) Joe was ready for some big muscle fun.  (Kids seem to know when it's time to shift gears.)


For years--since before Joe was born, the favorite indoor/outdoor toy of choice is ballons--that the kids can blow up with little pumps for approving adults to tie--and then use them in all kinds of outdoor or indoor games. 


Catch, Launch like a rocket, and Pseudo Soccer are Joe's favorites.  I tried to sit these out...but since he was the only kid and Gramma Rosie was doing sumpin' else--he called to me, and I went.  Good thing I was wearin' my pedometer.  I chaulked up a healthy half a mile playin' with Joe most all after noon.


Cooking builds confidence, depending on how the adult handles it.  If there's a bit of quiet and a leading question, it works most effectivley.   Give every opportunity for the kid to be in charge.


When our two were that age, they'd save up money (that's so important to satisfy the good training of delayed gratification--and we'd go to the store to get what they wanted to buy.  From the beginning I would act like I was browsing near the check stand--and very soon, Jeff and Sally knew they had to pump up the gumption to ask for what they wanted and deal with the clerk themselves.   Sally only begged me to "get it for her" once.  A gentle, matter of fact chat behind the toilet paper set her straight and she came to enjoy the challenge of "doing" for herself.


Today both kids Jeff, 34 and Sally, 32 are successfull professionals who deal with the public every day--gently professionally and still friendly.   Jeff may be a bit too effective--cuttin' deals and negotatiting like a pro.


Seven is a magical age.  Kids are developing a sense of self that is going to carry them through the rest of their lives, as long as the adults in their lives encourage them and hush up long enough to let them lead out and develop those inner "figure it out" muscles with food and fun,  balloons and lots of generous and sincere applaus! JWH

Princess' Pagoda Palace appears in puff of smoke--after 68 days of Fun!

When Princess Beth rang the bell to consult with her Wizardhowe, he had no idea that her request would consume the next two months in planning, building and anticipating the Princess' Pagoda Palace.

The whole experience became a wonderful experience as two families had fun working together to build a unique tent for the platform of the kid's swing set. This presentation is four minutes and 17 seconds of the highlights--written by a Wizard and his wfe to their beloved Princess and her family.

While the narration is done in the voice of the Wizardhowe--with all the fantasy of a castle with turrets and a summer filled with the fun of anticipation, the joy of learning how to use tools and work side by side as part of the Princess' Pagoda Palace experience.

The little recipients of 68 days of love and fun together have moved away--but they're still close enough that we as Wizard-Planner-Builder and Gramma Rosie, Commander of the Sucker Patrol, are still invited for Sunday Lunch and a celebration every Spring as the Royal Family remount a favorite memory, our tent, "The Princess' Pagoda Palace" that we built together on the platform next to their beloved swings! JWH

What do you say to a Naked Gramma?

The Lion's Holladay Pool near our house opened a few years ago--and I was right there on the first day--anxious to get a little exercise and "chlorine therapy".  For several years, I've had an annual pass.  I love to swim--never mind that I'm "wasted" for the rest of the day.

Two days ago, one of those awkward moments when someone you know fully clothed shows up poolside and recognizes you.  Regardless of the mileage on the liver spots and wrinkles -- even a modest suit on both of you is barely enough to keep from making eye contact and disciplining yourself from glancing, below the "Mason Dixon" Line.

OK, in this case Gramma was a dear friend--and she wasn't naked--but our greeting was "tight" at best.   It's at those moments you work hard to say just the right thing--and "good to see you" just isn't one of them.

This morning I was sitting in the hot tub with five or six older women when someone came down the steps and began visiting with one of her neighbors.  Their conversation soon was animated and friendly--and I got up to climb out just as my friend from many years ago sat on the steps and blocked my exit.  I didn't say anything-- just stood there patiently waiting.  Her friend picked up on my need to leave and said as much to my friend.   She shifted her position in the warm tub and kept chatting away.

I could have left without saying anything, but I extended my hand and said, "Hello, Peggy!  Jon Howe."  She paused in mid sentence, instinctively grabbed my hand, smiled, nodded, "Oh, hello" in one of those "what do you say to a Naked Grampa?" moments and went right back to her conversation.   In the pool, with very little between you and your friends from the clothed existence, best be brief and be gone!

There is great value in shy.   Being too forward, especially in these swim suited moments casts you as an Insurance Salesman in a stalled elevator.  I've discovered that rather than proposing--I'd better react than act.

In the early morning, the exercise classes and gramkid swim lessons draws quite a crowd to the Lion's Pool. With my Santa beard, I fit right in.  I've noticed certain interesting behaviors--like the lady who is careful not to get into water over her collar bones--and is made up and coifed to the nth degree.  Maybe it's for self image, but I'm guessing she's out to snare an eligible fella swimmer.

One of my favorite personalities is a slight, older woman who teaches little ones to lose their fear of the water.  She has a collection of learning props.like hula hoops, floating blocks, little foam fish.  I enjoy watching how good she is with these youngsters.

Then there's the Jewish tag team best friends swimming instructors.  They are all bluff and bluster--full of effusive compliments--keeping things rolling and their young charge's always moving.

One willowly gramma in sweat shirt and pendleton plaid proper collar is there to help Sissy with her support and a thirty towel.  She and her daughter support the troops--and she patiently lives for it.

An 80 something coctail olive on a couple of toothpicks with a smooshed in face walked and rolled his way to the dressing room.  His legs were so skinny--and his giant belly was encased in a floatation belt.

The cool teenage lifeguards have developed the sheik mystique of a greyhouse or perhaps giraffe.  They are "above it all" whether on their stainless steel tower or walking back and forth with giant salami-like floatation bouys under their arms--ever ready.   

Then there's the elegant Moms--who come to read paperback novels, always slender, snug slacks and big sunglasses in touseled sun streaked hair.  One of them took her place while a young daughter swam laps--and luckily I spotted her quickly.   The last thing I wanted to do was haul my blubber out of the drink in front of her and flash a shy smile.   Sometimes it's just easier to paddle around until she leaves.    No such luck.  She was there for the duration--and a waterlogged half hour drug by.   Finally I moved out of her eye line and hoisted myself quickly into the dressing room.

I wondered, why someone who has let himself go as I have in favor of whatever tasty morsels get packed in on forks and spoons over a lifetime of gastronomic enjoyment---why worry.    Don't know, but I tend to be a little self conscious. 

For swimming, I would rather enjoy the indifference of strangers than endure judgemental glances and tight little laughs of embarrassment.

What do you say to a Naked Gramma?  Absolutely nothing, if you can avoid it!  JWH