CuriousSmith

Forty and Fused

2012-02-04T17:40:00.010-10:00

I'll be turning forty in another week and I'm not quite sure what to think about that. I remember being a teenager and thinking that forty-somethings were so old. Now that I am (er, will soon be--let's not rush things any faster than they're already going) forty, I realize how young forty really is. Mentally and emotionally, I feel youthful and energetic.  Even physically, I'm not doing too badly. I can now run six miles--albeit slowly--on any given day and I easily max my push-ups and sit-ups everytime I take the AF physical fitness test.  I'm glad for my feelings of youthfulness and good physical health. I'm grateful that I can still get down on the floor and wrestle with the kids and Chloe or do any of another million activities. It may be too late for me to have aspirations to be an NFL running back, but there aren't too many other things I'm interested in doing that are physically out of reach for me.

I'm reminded of something Elder Neal A. Maxwell once taught. He said--paraphrasing here--that we must remember we are not physical beings having only occasional spiritual experiences. The reality is that we are spiritual beings having tremendous physical experiences. I'm convinced that the physical and spiritual aspects of our beings are inseparably fused.  My conviction is certainly nothing new or groundbreaking in any way. From Indian Yoga to Chinese T'ai Ch'i, and from Torah kosher to Koran halal, many cultures/religions/philosophies demonstrate deep understanding of the link between physical and spiritual health. I like that my own Christian faith teaches that the body is a temple and that there is a close relationship between the care and respect we provide our bodies and the mental and spiritual acuity we enjoy. I think the phrase "glowing with good health" captures at least part of the essence of this relationship.

Shifting gears a little bit now from me in particular to society in general...Given the preceding observations, I wonder what to make of the obesity epidemic in our country. Approximately two-thirds of US adults are overweight and one-third of US adults are considered obese by the CDC.  It's interesting to me that the CDC only reports on the behavioral, environmental and genetic factors that contribute to obesity. I'm curious about how the obesity epidemic may be related to the spiritual health of the population as a whole.  It'd be interesting to see if there is a correlation between the trend towards secularism as manifest by something like declines in regular church attendance with the increase in population obesity rates. My personal, perhaps un-provable, view is that a spiritually unhealthy society is likely to be a physically unhealthy society as well. I know, I know--there are all sorts of issues with what I just asserted and at least a hundred ways in which the analysis can be parsed.  But is it possible that the general spiritual health of a society can be related to the general physical health of a society?

Back to me in particular again...So I'm turning forty soon and I guess I'm okay with it after all.  My forty year-old physical body is fused with my ageless spirit in a manner that appears to be reasonably healthy for both aspects of me. I'm very curious to find out how that physical and spiritual fusion will continue to evolve during the next forty years.

2011 Christmas Report

2011-12-28T16:26:00.008-10:00

The CuriousSmith family Christmas present this year was nothing less than a six-day (including the two travel days) Florida trip to Disney and Sea World.  Now that we live right next door to Florida, the travel cost was minimal. Additional cost reductions came from the discounted four-day park-hopper passes we purchased from the base Tickets and Tours office and the great deal we got on condo lodging at the Tuscana Resort Orlando (about $85/night for a two bedroom condo that slept six). We got home on Friday the 23rd so we could spend Christmas at home with Chloe. All in all, the family had a great time, but I offer the following observations for your consideration:

1. Visiting Disney World the week before Christmas had both advantages and disadvantages. The weather was perfect and the Christmas atmosphere made it extra special. Unfortunately, the crowds at each Disney park were gigantic and negotiating them for three days in a row made our visit stressful and sometimes downright aggravating. If I had the choice (which I didn't) I would visit Disney in early December or early February even if it meant taking the kids out of school for a few days--the weather would still be awesome, but the crowds would be much smaller.

2.  As it was, by day three the crowds at Disney had exceeded our aggravation threshhold so we made the decision to shorten our Disney visit to only three days and instead try our luck at Sea World on day four. It was the best decision of the trip. Sea World was offering free one-day passes to military families for up to four people. Even better, the crowds were surprisingly small for such a major theme park. For the first four hours of our visit, we were able to ride and re-ride any of the major attractions we wanted with no, or only minimal, wait times. The crowds got bigger in the afternoon, but by then we'd had our fill of both rides and shows and went home to the condo for a relaxed final evening in Orlando.

3.  Finally, I can't help but make an observation related to the global economic tectonic shifts taking place right now. I was seriously impressed by how many Chinese, Indian and Brazilian tourists we encountered in Orlando.  There were plenty of Spanish-speakers too, but I felt like I was just as likely to hear Mandarin or Portuguese spoken by the people around me as I was English or Spanish (the Indians all seemed to speak English).  One more sign that things in the world are changing in a big way and we'd better be prepared to roll with the tide. Maybe when I retire, I can be a Chinese-speaking tour guide for the big tour groups that are now coming over. On second thought, maybe not--tipping isn't part of Chinese culture...

As far as Christmas Day itself? I succeeded this year--as I did last year--with Michelle's presents because I once again got her exactly what she asked for. It wasn't cash this time. Instead, it was specifically-requested wood-working power tools including a deluxe Ryobi scroll saw. You may not believe me when I tell you that it's my wife who owns all the power tools in our family, but it's absolutely true. Girls who like power tools are cool. Sabrina got a sewing machine (also considered a power tool in my book). She's disappeared into her room for much of the last two days, only emerging every few hours to show us the latest pillow case or stuffed decoration she's made. Steven got a pyrography (wood-burning) kit and some select X-Box video games which he is quickly mastering (the video games that is). Both Steven and Sabrina scored again financially with their good grades and they were exceedingly generous with their fortunes. Chloe benefitted from this by getting more presents than anyone else in the family.

Me? I've been annoying everyone by flying my new micro remote-controlled helicopter around inside the house while I wait for the weather to clear up enough to allow me to fly my new remote-controlled plane outside in the park. Can you believe I'm almost forty? Oh yeah--on top of everything else, I did get picked up for SAASS. We'll definitely be here in Alabama for one more year. That might have been the best family Christmas present of all.

Act Like an American

2011-12-11T20:20:00.005-10:00

I love the United States of America. This country has given me opportunity after opportunity to succeed. From my public schooling to financial grants and loans for college to advanced degrees sponsored by the military, I've taken advantage of as many of these opportunities as I possibly could. I truly believe my potential is limited only by how hard I'm willing to work. I write from the perspective of someone who grew up in a lower-middle income family and whose childhood experiences even included happily living in a trailer-home for a time. My guess is many of you have similarly benefitted from living in this land of opportunity.

From a poster seen at the Stewart/Colbert
"Rally to Restore Sanity"

I'm increasingly concerned that unnatural fear has replaced our natural American optimism. The negative effects of 9/11, Iraq, political gridlock, long-term dependency on government entitlements, financial corruption, and intolerance have combined to put the country into a downward spiral. It really does feel like we have collectively lost our way, that many of us are no longer acting like Americans.

This begs the question, "how is it that Americans act?" Well, in my world, we Americans act with respect and kindness to those around us. We act responsibly in providing for ourselves and our families and then we act to improve our communities through volunteer work and charity. We act courageously in defense of each other and the country. We act in accordance with the law and where we disagree with the law, we act peacefully to change it. We don't tolerate corruption or cheating. We don't tolerate unlawful violence--especially against the weak and defenseless. We act to solve problems for the common good. We love honestly-derived success and act to achieve it. We are curious about the unknown and the new and act to discover. We embrace the potential of the future and act in faith to ensure it's there--brighter than ever--for our children.

Nowhere in my description above of how Americans act, is there room for acting in fear. Unless of course, we stop acting like Americans.

Holidays, Hearth and Home

2011-12-06T19:23:00.004-10:00

Thanksgiving was wonderful. We drove to Indiana for two days of great fun, great food and great relaxation with my cousin Christie and her beautiful family.  This was the first time in 12 years that we've spent Thanksgiving with any family at all and I'd forgotten how nice it is to share this holiday with relatives.  The last dozen Thanksgivings have each been memorable--we've always made it a point to invite friends to our home and it's always been fun--but there was something extra special about being with family this year.

One of the things I'm especially thankful for this year is the opportunity to come home to Michelle and the kids each night. Michelle continues to be the wellspring of our family holiday spirit every year.  Without fail, on the day after Thanksgiving, she strings the outdoor Christmas lights on the roof eaves, hangs wreaths on the exterior doors and windows and has the Christmas tree up and decorated in the living room. I love the way she decorates both the exterior and interior of our home--it's very simple, very elegant and exudes great warmth. I suppose it's fun to drive by neighbors' homes and see the spectacles some of them have created with their thousands of lights and over-the-top front yard displays, but for me it's comforting to come home to a place so serene and inviting. When I walk through the front door at the end of the day, Michelle frequently has Christmas music playing on Pandora and has either lit holiday-scented candles or is baking something in the oven that smells wondersome. Makes me happy just thinking about it...

The next couple of weeks will be interesting for us. I wrap up finals and we should also be learning more about my next assignment. The results of the SAASS selection board (Plan A) will be announced as well as the results of another leadership board I competed in (Plan B).  I'm excited for either option. My school break coincides with the kids' school break for a total of two solid weeks of Holiday relaxation (now that I've finished Christmas shopping).  I'll probably blog again after Christmas to let you know how my gift-giving for Michelle went this year again.

Until then, on behalf of the CuriousSmith Family, I wish each of you a very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

"As Many as You Can Carry in Both Arms, I Suppose."

2011-11-13T18:52:00.003-10:00

I knew we weren't in Hawaii anymore when I asked the man behind the gun counter at the local sporting goods store if there was a limit to how many guns I could purchase. He spread out both arms and replied in a happy southern twang, "The limit's as many as you can carry in both arms, I suppose." Needless to say, I didn't purchase an armful of guns, but I did purchase one that day (after a reasonable amount of paperwork and a 20 minute criminal background check) and finally restarted a hobby that I had put on hold since we left Ohio in 2005--shooting. China certainly doesn't trust its people to own guns, and Hawaii qualifies as barely trusting its people to own them, so we had to move to a state like Alabama before picking it up again.

In 2004 and 2005, Michelle and I used to spend Wednesday lunch hours at the the Wright-Patterson AFB Rod and Gun Club shooting skeet. Sporting clays is a challenging pastime that calls for concentration and physical coordination skills similar to those required when golfing. But to me, sporting clays is infinitely more entertaining because success is measured by a satisfying airburst of colored clay instead of the hollow plunk of a little ball falling into a hole in the lawn. We've added rifle and pistol shooting to our list of shooting sports since we've been here in Alabama. Both types of shooting (rifle and pistol) are uniquely challenging and each requires tremendous skill to consistently place rounds on a bull's eye ten, fifteen, twenty-five, one hundred, two hundred, or three hundred meters away. There is a zen-like quality to the moment when I peer through the scope, center the cross hairs on the bull's eye, compensate for the wind, control my breathing, still my body, and squeeze off a single round.

Anyhow, we've started visiting the Coosa County Firing Range fairly regularly to shoot. I've gone with friends from work or Church and with Steven mostly, but Michelle and Sabrina accompanied Steven and I for the first time last Saturday. Both of the CuriousSmith girls proved to be naturals and, embarrassing as it was for Steven and I to admit, Sabrina even shot the most bull's eyes on the day. She looks pleased as punch in the photo we took. Apart from the hobby aspects, I see positives in the kids learning to use firearms safely and developing confidence in new skills that can be used for fun, for food (hunting--we're not there yet) and even for defense. The personal pay-off for me came when we were compiling our individual top ten lists for the family Christmas newsletter. We each volunteered our ten favorite things about this year. Steven's number one favorite thing? Going to the range with dad. How cool is that?

Finally, don't worry, grandma--at the end of the day, after the kids have helped clean the guns, I lock everything up securely in the impregnable gun safe. Your grandkids are safe.

My Brain Hurts

2011-10-16T17:05:00.004-10:00

I don't know that life can get much better than right now. The CuriousSmith family is doing well here in the Deep South. Michelle likes it here enough that she told me today she really hopes we can stay on for another year. I applied for a program called the School of Advanced Air and Space Studies [SAASS] that, if I'm accepted, will let us stay here for one more year and one more master's degree. Michelle has especially liked the weather, I think. Alabama in July and August was straight out of Dante's Inferno, but September and October have been as pleasant as you can imagine--maybe even better than Hawaii. The Alabama river region where we live is beautiful: forests, rivers, farms and lakes dominate the scenery. Michelle's long walks in the morning with Chloe and drives through the countryside after soccer games on Saturday make her (and me) happy.

Steven and Sabrina are thriving spiritually, mentally and socially. Some Church friends here in the neighborhood asked Sabrina to babysit for them tonight (Sunday). Of her own accord, she told them she'd be happy to do it for free because it was Sunday and she wanted to keep the Sabbath holy. She stuck by that pledge until the bitter end when they forced her to take cash compensation by chasing her down the street as she ran home.  We give her an 'A' for trying to do the right thing.  Ever the linguist, Sabrina has also been picking up the local southern speech mannerisms to add to her Chinglish and Hawaiian Pidgin. Her "-ing" endings have all become "-in'" endings (as in goin', comin', playin', sayin') and she's perpetually "fixin'" to do something. As for Steven--he surprised us all when he managed to grab three As and four Bs on his first-quarter report card. He was all smiles when it resulted in a nice pay day from Dad. The smiles were tempered somewhat when Michelle and I told him that now that he knew he was capable of such work, and we knew he was capable of such work, we'd like to see him maintain those standards. He said he would do it, but I don't think it will be our speechifying that ultimately motivates him--it's probably the financial inducements we've offered. Whatever works.

How do I explain my somewhat longer than usual absence from posting to CuriousSmith? I blame it on my brain hurting. My own professional education has continued full speed ahead the last couple of months with really great classes at Air University. We've been studying Joint Forces (organization, employment and service capabilities, limitations and interdependencies) along with National Security studies focused on theory, policy and global issues. The classes are terrific. Discussions are thoughtful and frank. Many of the instructors are top notch ex-military PhD-types who have the "been there, done that" experience to go along with their academic credentials.  One of the things I like most is that there is no political ideology. What we focus on is exploring and solving the nation's security issues: good ideas either stand on their own merits or they don't.

While school is great, the days of tests with multiple-choice questions are now long gone for me and my classmates. We've been averaging almost one 5-8 page paper every week since class started. It's been so much writing that has been making my brain hurt.  Composing a free-style blog posting is one thing.  Formulating a thoroughly-researched opinion paper or policy prescription with appropriate end note citations and bibliographies is a whole 'nother thing. It's exhausting and saps my enthusiasm for writing anything just for fun. The reason I'm doing so tonight is because we turned in our final term papers on Friday and I finished my 140 pages of school readings early.  All in all though, I'll refer you back to the first sentence of this post. I can't believe I'm getting paid--again--to go to school, to think big thoughts, to be a better officer. Life just can't get much better than this. Even if it makes my brain hurt.

Future Site of CuriousSmith Family Residence

2011-08-11T12:54:00.002-10:00

Our realtor called last night to let us know we got the lot of our dreams! The fact it was a bank-owned property made the offer and acceptance process unnecessarily lengthy and a little nerve-wracking, but in the end it also meant we got the nicest lot in all of Utah County for an amazingly low price. .704 acres a mere one hundred yards from the golf course and at the foot of some of the most beautiful mountains in the world. We feel blessed! Enjoy the pic (it barely does justice to the lot and the views...). Now all I have to do is figure out how I'm going to pay for the house we're going to build on it someday :)

Lawn Mowing and Fireflies

2011-07-31T17:35:00.008-10:00

Wow--very eventful month again with lots to catch up on. As I write this post, I'm again sitting in a mostly empty house. The carpeted floors absorb a lot of the sound, so it doesn't echo as much in its emptiness as our house in Aliamanu (hardwood) did... Here are the highlights from the last month:

Utah Vacation Stop: Loved every minute. So much so, that we used a significant portion of our time to look for a possible retirement property upon which we might one day build our final home. Settled on a .7 acre lot high in Elk Ridge with the most amazing 360 degree panoramic views of the valley and mountains (photos to follow shortly). Lot is bank-owned and significantly discounted so we made as clean an offer as possible (asking price) to grease the process. Even so, despite positive reassurances from the selling agent, we don't yet have final agreement because it's still under review at corporate HQ somewhere in TX. We're supposed to hear back tomorrow with the final word...I'd rather invest in real property now instead of the stock-market given the on-going debt buffoonery in DC. Putting more into savings isn't doing anything for us either at the interest we're currently earning. Anyhow, Utah is beautiful--you can see from the below photo some of the magnificent scenery we enjoyed while there. Big thanks to our family and friends in Utah for the wonderful vacation.

Travel with Chloe: Accomplished safely. No issues at all from Hawaii to Utah. Called Delta in Utah to reaffirm there wouldn't be issues on the SLC to ATL trip and Delta said "no, you are all set." We showed up for the 0930 flight and the ticketing staff curtly denied Chloe permission to travel with us on the same plane because of high temperatures. After multiple phone calls, repeated reassurances to Michelle and the kids that I'd take care of the situation, two emergency taxi rides, and an extra $220.00 to ship Chloe as cargo instead of luggage, Chloe still flew with us to Atlanta on the same flight. We picked her up safe and sound at the Atlanta Delta cargo terminal upon arrival. Apparently cargo stays in air-conditioned spaces the entire time so it was safer for Chloe to travel that way. With an additional price of $220 (on top of the $400 we already paid), that air conditioning must have been pretty special. I'm thinking oxygen bar/aromatherapy special...Thanks Delta.

Alabama: Hot, humid, beautiful, friendly. Immediately upon arrival from Atlanta we unloaded the luggage and then Michelle and I (accompanied by Sabrina) made the pilgrimage to Super Walmart (Open 24 hours) to purchase the sleeping and living basics for the two weeks until our furniture arrives. We got two camping cots for the kids and a large queen-size aerobed for ourselves along with pillows and blankets. Our only other furniture during the last two weeks has been the four camp chairs we also purchased that night. On day two, we made a series of major appliance/tool purchases because we haven't owned several important items for the last six years as we traipsed around the Asia-Pacific. We picked up a pricey washer-dryer set (front-loading, minus the outrageously expensive pedestals--we can bend over for free, thanks), a lawn mower (22 inch, self-propelled), and a Toro weed-whacker and power blower (battery-powered set--might not have been a good call there...). Thankfully, both our furniture and household goods shipments arrive tomorrow morning so we'll be back up and running home-wise by the end of the week. Our rental home is nice, but was in need of a thorough deep cleaning (accomplished). A little disappointed the house wasn't in better shape when we arrived...

Lawn Mowing: Last Saturday, Michelle and I tackled the front and back lawns with our new tools. The temperature by late morning was in the high 90's and the humidity wasn't far behind. Michelle trimmed while I mowed. Sweat poured off of me in rivulets and mixed with the fine dirt and grass particles that swirled around the mower as I worked. By the time I finished mowing, my exposed arms and legs were covered with a fine blackish, sticky mulch. But as I looked at the beautiful results of our yard labors, I realized how much I had missed the feeling of satisfaction I used to get from pushing a lawn-mower across my own yard. Still, I'll probably pay Steven ten bucks to do the lawn next week. Wouldn't want him to miss out on his own feeling of satisfaction :).

Finally, fireflies are alive and well here in the deep south. They come out at dusk and add glowing enchantment to the warm evenings. The kids were excited to see them and Chloe is somewhat mystified about what those little floating lights are in the back yard. When I was a kid in Argentina, and later when we lived in Illinois, we used to see them all the time during the summertime. I've missed them.

Aloha 'Oe

2011-06-21T11:44:00.008-10:00

As I write, I'm sitting on a footstool in the dining room in our now mostly empty home in Aliamanu. Michelle went to get some groceries at the commissary and the kids are watching Chloe in lodging over on Hickam where we're staying for our last ten days in Hawaii. The movers are mostly done with packing and loading all of our household goods and I don't need to personally supervise for a little while while they're on their lunch break. The house no longer feels like a home--the rooms are echo-y in their new emptiness. It'll be interesting to see how much of our stuff makes it unscathed on the long voyage from O'ahu to Montgomery. I suppose that this aspect of military life--moving every few years--is one way the Lord helps us not get too attached to materiel possessions. Seems like we lose a significant percentage of our furniture to damage or theft each time we do this...
***
I'm surprisingly saddened at this move. Michelle and the kids are too. We have loved Hawaii. The schools are ridiculously poor, the cost of living is outrageously high and there are dozens of other aspects of island life that just make us shake our heads. But Hawaii is also the crossroads of the Pacific and we have thoroughly enjoyed the integration and acceptance of all people here in the islands. Once again, the kids were minorities in their classes and made friends with people of all backgrounds and ethnicities. We went to Church with brothers and sisters from around the Pacific: Hawaiians, Samoans, Tongans, Fijians, Philippinos, Chinese, Japanese and Haoles were all represented. We loved Aliamanu Ward. It is a small ward that has a lot of challenges, but its small size also meant that we got to know and love more of the members in a way we haven't always been able to in previous wards. Aliamanu Ward will always feel like a home to us.
***
This Sunday will be a bitter-sweet experience for us in Church. Our family will be asked to come to the stand following the closing prayer in Sacrament Meeting so the ward can sing "Aloha 'Oe" to us. It's a tradition in Hawaii (the words are even pasted inside the back covers of all the hymn books) and we love it, but we're also dreading it now that it's our turn to have the ward sing it to us. The song is beautiful:

Aloha 'oe, Aloha 'oe
E ke onaona noho i ka lipo
One fond embrace
A ho 'i a'e au
Until we meet again

After the final verse, the ward members all say a big "AloooHA!" and then we'll get covered in leis made and presented by members of the ward. I already know that Michelle and I are going to cry like babies. The kids might even cry a little too.
***
The natural beauty of Hawaii is nearly indescribable. "Paradise" is often used and it comes close. But even more than the natural beauty, maybe what we have enjoyed most is feeling the Spirit of Aloha here. I found a short article on-line at http://www.to-hawaii.com/aloha.php that describes a little about what the Spirit of Aloha is:

"The literal meaning of aloha is “the presence of breath” or “the breath of life.” It comes from “Alo,” meaning presence, front and face, and “ha,” meaning breath. Aloha is a way of living and treating each other with love and respect. Its deep meaning starts by teaching ourselves to love our own beings first and afterwards to spread the love to others.

According to the old kahunas (priests), being able to live the Spirit of Aloha was a way of reaching self-perfection and realization for our own body and soul. Aloha is sending and receiving a positive energy. Aloha is living in harmony. When you live the Spirit of Aloha, you create positive feelings and thoughts, which are never gone. They exist in space, multiply and spread over to others."

Inasmuch as the Gospel of Jesus Christ is about growing in love and understanding to become more like our Savior ("Be ye therefore perfect..."), living in harmony, and creating positive feelings and thoughts, the old kahunas seem to have caught on to something with the Spirit of Aloha.
***
Given my regional expertise and career path, I have a sneaking suspicion this isn't the only time we'll ever live in Hawaii--we'll probably be back again someday. Until then: Aloha 'oe, a fond embrace, and AloooHA!
***
2 July Postscript: We made it through the Aloha 'Oe at church without crying, but one week later, as the plane taking us away from Hawaii accelerated down the runway, Michelle and Sabrina both sobbed quietly in their seats. I sympathized.

Losing--and Finding--Sabrina

2011-05-21T19:25:00.008-10:00

I finally woke up at about 0930 this morning which isn't bad considering I didn't get home from work until 0430. Not wanting to waste one of our few remaining Saturday mornings in paradise, I slid out of bed and put my running clothes on. All in all, I was in a great mood. Michelle and Chloe had waited patiently for me to go on our usual Saturday morning walk around the crater rim. Steven was still on an overnight camp-out with the Scouts. Sabrina was wrapped in a blanket sitting in front of the computer in the kitchen watching anime on Netflix. As I sat on the couch pulling on my running shoes, I called to Sabrina, "Come on Sabriny--get dressed. Come with us on our walk this morning!" Without even looking away from the screen, Sabrina dismissively replied, "No thanks, I'm fine."
***
20 minutes later, after employing a mixture of approaches including humor, exhortation and prognostication about how much fun it would be for us to take Chloe for a walk together, Sabrina sullenly finished putting her shoes on. Michelle was already exasperated with Sabrina and didn't want to take her along on what is usually an activity we do sans kids. I worked hard to remain patient and upbeat as the ever-present Mommy-Daughter tension threatened to come to a boil before we even left the house. As we started walking, I tried 16 different ways to draw Sabrina into conversation. But every topic was either "stupid" or "boring" or didn't elicit any response at all from this pre-teen. Sabrina refused to keep pace with us and followed us at a distance of about 40 feet, sulking every step of the way. "Come on Scooch, catch up!" I'd call. We waited for her every few minutes with Michelle grumbling about what a pain Sabrina could be and Sabrina doing her utmost to prove her right. I had done my best to stay patient and positive over the preceding 30 minutes, but one last snotty remark from Sabrina about how she just wanted to go home and didn't like being with us pushed me over the edge.
***
The anger came rushing in. Looking back at Sabrina some 20 feet behind us, I told her she was no longer welcome to join us. She had lost her chance and now she could go home. "Good," she said with a contemptuous tone. That pushed me even further and I yelled at her, "Get back to the house right now, you little jerk!" I pointed back the way we came and commanded her like a dog to go home. She knew she had gone too far. She took one or two steps in our direction as if she were sorry and wanted to stay with us, but I had had enough. "Too late--you are unwelcome now. Go home. Get out of my sight," I commanded in my anger. She saw the look in my eyes, the tone of my voice, and then turned and slowly walked away from us.
***
I was seething. My intentions had been the best and now my hopes for a happy family morning were a smoking pile of debris. I was mad at Sabrina, but I was also mad at myself for being so mad--no child needs a parent to call them a 'jerk.' As we resumed walking, Michelle tried to distract me with small talk, but I couldn't stop thinking about the mess the morning had become. I walked silently at an even faster pace. Sabrina has been on a tear these last few months. Seemingly every answer--especially to her Mother--is sarcastic or caustic or contrary. Very hard to engage her in conversation. She fights against nearly everything we ask her to do--from homework to chores to getting off the computer. Nothing has been easy with her recently. As I walked, I could picture an alternative future for Sabrina and our family--a future where we pull away from each other. As Michelle and I try harder to pull her in, she fights harder to pull away until she makes increasingly bad decisions and rebels away from the family forever. This little girl--my little girl--could decide she wanted nothing to do with our family and we lose her. I can't imagine how painful such a future would be. I didn't know what to do other than pray silently as I walked.
***
As I did so, reassuring thoughts filled my mind. "Step back from the current situation and look at her again," I was prompted. Sabrina has been anything but lazy. For months on end, including most weekends, she has been cheerfully engaged in a non-stop series of activities: drama rehearsals for the school play ("Mulan, Jr."--it was awesome), Girl Scout activites, church Young Women activities, hours of nightly homework, chapel clean-up on Saturdays and the list goes on. As busy as she has been, she probably really needed a quiet Saturday morning for once. Sabrina loves church activities, she gets good grades in school, she spoke in church two Sundays ago (in front of the whole congregation), she's always singing, and she has a remarkably strong testimony of Jesus Christ for such a young woman. Despite this morning's events, I was reminded about what a great person she is.
***
As we neared the end of our three-mile walk, my mind returned to the events of 30 minutes ago. What do I say to her when I get home? How has she been reacting to this morning's events? Did she just go to her room and lock the door when she got home? Has she been stewing on how mean I was to her? Will she recognize that she did something wrong too this morning or will she have fixated on how mean I was? How do I apologize? How do I apologize especially if she feels she has nothing to apologize for?
***
We finished our walk as usual with Chloe getting a drink from the hose in the front yard. Michelle and I walked up the porch steps and I opened the front door. There was music playing on the stereo. The rugs in the family room had all been vacuumed (along with all the rooms upstairs), the living room had been straightened and the air smelled fresh and clean. Sabrina was hiding behind one of the pillars dividing the family room and dining room and she stepped out with a shy smile when Chloe sniffed her out. I knew from what she had done that she was sorry. Without saying a word, I walked over and gave her a big hug so she would know that I was sorry too. This is the daughter I know and love. Sabrina had been found.

The Mother of My Children

2011-05-08T20:39:00.007-10:00

In honor of Mother's Day 2011, I'm interviewing Steven and Sabrina to get their unique perspectives on their Mother, my Wife, Michelle.
***
Dad: What's the first thing you think of when I say 'Mom?'
Steven: Laughing, shrugging his shoulders, responds matter-of-factly, "Mom." (duh).
Sabrina: "Our Mom."
Okay, first attempt at eliciting glowing, loving comments seems to have come up short. Allow me to begin again.

Dad: What are the first three adjectives that come to mind when you think of Mom?
Steven: Disregarding the number limit on adjectives, quickly responds with "Stern, loving and firm. Stubborn." Steven thinks about it some more and decides to soften his response somewhat by adding, "Gently guiding."
Sabrina: Thinking deeply and silently for a long moment, "Caring, Considerate and Naggy" Sabrina quickly retracted 'naggy' when she learned this was for the blog. "You stink!" she tells me.

Dad: On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the best mom ever and 1 being the worst mom ever, how would you rank your mother?
Steven: Without even batting an eye, "8!" Then added, "That was a joke. 10!"
Sabrina: "19!" After confirming Sabrina understands the scale is from 1-10, Sabrina sticks by her original answer of "19."

Dad: What's your favorite thing about Mom?
Steven: "Umm, my favorite thing about Mom? Ummm...She's always there when you need help?"
Sabrina: "She always listens and doesn't interrupt." Steven and I both look up with surprise at this answer and Steven says, "I kind of find that hard to believe coming from Sabrina since she constantly complains Mom is always interrupting her." Sabrina, with a voice of sweetness and light, responds, "She may interrupt youuu, but not meee. She always listens to meee."

Dad: What's your least favorite thing about Mom?
Steven: "She's constantly naggy." Quickly adds, "But that's because she loves me."
Sabrina: Responding to Steven's comment, "She loves me more." Then, answering the question, "Umm, she doesn't like pizza. Pizza's my favorite food. If she's the cook in the house, how am I supposed to get pizza?" Michelle (who's been sitting across the dining room table while I conduct this interview) says, "We have pizza all the time!" Sabrina replies indignantly, "Yeah, but it's store bought, thin crust pizza."

Dad: What do you want your children to know about their Grandmother?
Steven: "Three things I will tell them. First off, she was a great Mother to me and will probably adore you guys. Second, uhh, do what she says..." Then looking warily at Michelle, says, "Third, don't tick her off."
Sabrina: "She's hard-working. She gets involved in activities that you have. Has a good sense of humor."

Dad: Michelle, what would you like to say about being mother to each of these two interesting children?
Michelle: "Oh gosh, there's a LOT I could say. Umm, first of all, I love them very much. And I don't mean that as a cliche. I'm very proud of them. Despite everything they do, when they are in trouble, and I have my days when I want to just throw in the towel, I've gained more from being their Mother than I ever would have than if I hadn't had this opportunity. I've grown as a person from being their Mother. While I don't want them to grow up too quickly, I'm interested in seeing what kind of adults they turn out to be. They have a lot of potential."

Dad: Chloe, would you like to say anything about your human Mommy?
Chloe: Hearing Michelle call her name, Chloe walks over to where Michelle is sitting. With her nubby wagging, mouth panting, tongue hanging out, Chloe sits on the ground next to Michelle's chair and looks up at her expectantly. When Michelle leans over to pet her and scratch her sides, Chloe licks Michelle's face with the kind of unfeigned exuberance and happiness only a dog like Chloe can display.

How do I feel about the "stern, loving, firm, stubborn, gently-guiding, caring, considerate, naggy, helpful, good-listening, involved and hard-working" Mother of my children? Pretty much the same way Chloe feels. Happy Mother's Day!

Thick-Skinned, Big-Hearted, Taoist, iPod-Owning Octogenarians Move Mountains

2011-03-28T21:20:00.003-10:00

Along the way, I've collected a bucketful of little slogans or mottoes that have served me extremely well in life.  I didn't invent them--they'll be familiar to most readers--but I think I've incorporated them in a way that is uniquely my own.  I thought I'd jot down a few of these little slogans for posterity's sake while I'm thinking of them...
***
You've gotta have a thick skin and a big heart. Having a thick skin means choosing to not be offended when numbskulls around you make dumb comments. It also means being resilient in the face of trials and adversity. To a certain degree it means being humble enough to consider the idea that you might be wrong in a matter, but then also recognizing that to be right again means acknowledging you were wrong.  Having a big heart means you are quick to forgive, quick to stand again after being knocked down, and easily love. Finally, thick skins and big hearts are essential characteristics for spouses.
***
The only constant is change. It's taken a while, but I've finally learned to embrace change, to recognize the forces of yin and yang, to understand that there is indeed a season for all things and that Lehi and Newton were both on to something when they postulated that there is opposition in all things and that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.   Hopefully, I manage change in my life so that it results in an upward trend in the quality of my character and depth of my wisdom.
***
Learning must be lifelong and curiosity is key. I love octogenarians who surf the web, use e-mail and own iPods. I disapprove of people in church who say the internet is evil, people who've never left their own state, and people who can't find their own country on a map of the world. I highly approve of people who read books...of any kind...especially if they get so excited by what they read they like to talk about it with others.
***
By small means are great things brought to pass. To me this simple idea offers some of the deepest, most intriguing insights into how God rules the universe and performs miracles. There is an elegant, sublime efficiency in this principle. God doesn't need to send concourses of angels to earth to bring to pass His will. He needs us to be kind to each other. A word of encouragement, a smile of recognition, a heeded prompting to invite can mean all the difference in the world to generations of people.  A warning that the opposite can also be true: a series of seemingly inconsequential, poor decisions can also have trans-generational impacts. Mustard seeds and mountains also tie into this idea.
***
The list above will do for tonight.

Tough Week

2011-03-25T21:59:00.009-10:00

On Tuesday, our new neighbors' four-year-old son fell from his second story bedroom window onto the concrete driveway below. Michelle was one of the first to arrive at the frantic scene and she directed the emergency vehicles to the home through the 9-1-1 dispatcher. She also called the dad at work, told him what had happened and to which hospital the ambulance had rushed his wife and son. When I got home from work an hour later, she described all that had happened and we decided we needed to go to the hospital to offer what support we could. The family had been in their home less than two weeks and didn't know many people yet. We stayed with the boy's mom and dad in the chapel on the intensive care floor until 2:30 am the next morning when their son was wheeled back from his emergency surgery. Before surgery, the neurosurgeon was very pessimistic regarding the possibility of survival--giving about 5% chance of success. Post-surgery prognosis remained very poor. On Wednesday, I took the afternoon off from work to meet the first members of their extended family as they arrived at the airport and drove them to the hospital. They stayed by the bedside of their son/grandson/nephew for the next 18 hours. But in the end, the head trauma was just too serious. The doctors and nurses did everything they could but the swelling in the brain wouldn't go down and this couple's little son died yesterday--Thursday morning.
***
I can't describe how devastated this family is and what sorrow we feel for their loss. I've never heard more sincere, anguished pleading in prayers. Their pastor joined us around 11 pm on the first night and the next day, more members of their church joined them at the hospital. Mighty prayers were uttered. I've never witnessed anything so heartbreaking as this mother and father on their knees, hugging each other, tearfully, desperately praying for a miracle to save the life of their son. Each round of bad news brought renewed pleading. The prayers haven't brought them peace yet--the shock and grief have been too overwhelming. It'll take time for them to reconcile the seeming randomness of this accident with God's will and we all wonder why there was no miracle for this family on this occasion.
***
In the past three days, other neighbors, church members, and new colleagues from work--complete strangers previously--have sprung into action to care for the two little boys still at home. They have provided meals, maintained vigils at the hospital, bought groceries, transported additional family members arriving from the mainland and served as information conduits to the rest of the community. As soon as any need is identified, it is immediately met by volunteers who, again, were complete strangers to the family and each other just days ago. There has been a mighty outpouring of love and empathy for this dear family. Even so, it will take time for them to recognize the source of this outpouring. We are all still just so sad. Very tough week.

Business Class

2011-02-12T23:14:00.007-10:00

I tasted business class today and it was delicious. Through a comedy of errors, and my own inattention to detail, I was forced to shell out 25000 frequent flier miles and $250 of my own money in order to make it to my Asian destination in time for my meetings on Monday morning. I originally told the travel agency I needed to be in place by Sunday evening and asked them to please book me on the Saturday flight out of Honolulu (the international dateline means I’d arrive on Sunday evening). When they sent me my itinerary an hour later I didn’t look it over very carefully, assuming they booked me on the flights I’d requested. I double-checked my flight departure time this morning (Saturday) to see if I had time to run the crater rim with Michelle and Chloe. Imagine my consternation when I saw the agency had booked me a flight departing on Friday instead of Saturday as I had asked. When I called the 24 hour help-line I was told that Saturday flights had been sold out, but that I could still go to the airport and see if there was room on the plane because they had put me on the waitlist. I took my chances, went to the airport prepared to travel, and got the flights I needed—but only by flying business class and shelling out the miles and cash described above.
***
My business class experience began with access to the United Red Carpet executive lounge in Honolulu with its deep-cushioned chairs, free beverages, and high-speed, complimentary, wi-fi internet access. In my novice status, I couldn’t help but call Michelle to describe to her the circumstances in which I found myself. The other lounge patrons--in my mind much wealthier and more accustomed to luxury travel than I--must have been amused at my conversation as I told Michelle about the wonderful amenities. We were courteously given a five minute advance notice that executive boarding would soon begin and those of us on the same flight were able to leisurely walk down to the gate and board the aircraft in front of the teeming masses flying coach.
***
Boarding the plane and going to my seat was pure heaven. No mad rush to get overhead compartment space for my carry-on as I had a compartment for just my own luggage. The overstuffed seat was huge, comfortable and reclined nearly flat with a leg and foot rest that made it feel more like a la-z-boy recliner than an airline seat. My only complaint was that there was so much legroom, I couldn’t reach the seat pockets in front of me without having to loosen my seatbelt and sliding forward to the end of the seat. Oh the inconvenience! This was somewhat alleviated by the fact I also had my own private video screen built into the chair arm and nine movies to choose from during the flight. This meant I only really needed to leave my seat for a restroom break mid-way through my nine-hour flight.
***
Before take-off we were offered drinks no less than three times by a smiling, doting flight attendant. It just got better from there. The in-flight meal service was outstanding. The attendants first set the table for each passenger, placing a white table cloth, linen napkins and real silverware in front of us. Next came the salad and bread course, followed by the main course which I would have paid $40-$50 for in a real restaurant—the food (spare ribs, bok-choy, baked potatoes and mushrooms)was terrific and plentiful. When the dishes were cleared, dessert was presented in the final course. I slept soundly, woke refreshed, and was almost sad to have the flight end as we arrived at Narita. Fortunately, the Business Class experience didn’t end there. I got access to United’s Executive Lounge at Narita (where I’m currently typing this blog post) and I have one final leg of my journey to complete before I say goodbye to Business and hello again to my normal Economy-Plus status…
***

Having experienced the good-life of business class travel now, the thought of going back to economy class is somewhat painful. Crying children, stressed flight attendants, and cramped conditions will be the normal order of travel once more. But while I’m back there sitting in stearage, I’ll put on my noise-canceling head phones, close my eyes and dream back to the time when I flew business class…Of course, my curiosity will probably then intrude into my thoughts and I'll say to myself, "If Business Class was that great, I wonder what First Class must be like..." Happy travels everyone!

Christmas Report: Thoughtless Gifter or Genius?

2010-12-29T16:40:00.005-10:00

Christmas 2010 was just about perfect for the CuriousSmith Family. As is my habit, I stayed awake late bringing out my hidden presents and didn't go to bed until well past midnight. Michelle went to bed early in order to wake up early so she could place her gifts under the tree and finish stuffing everyone's stockings. Sabrina woke up at 0500 and made it half way down the stairs before her mother sternly told her to march her little butt right back up to her room and get in bed because it was way too early. Sabrina retreated to her room, but then proceded to text Michelle from her bed about once every ten minutes, asking when she could finally come downstairs again. She did this for the next hour until she (thankfully) fell back to sleep.

I woke up at 0600 and joined Michelle downstairs where she had created a beautiful Christmas morning scene: The tree, sprouting from a base of beautifully arranged presents, was aglow with lights and ornaments. Chloe dozed peacefully on her new dog cushion/bed and Christmas carols played softly from the iPod speakers. We waited until 0700 for the kids to wake up and, when they didn't, we went for a run around the crater with Chloe. Surprisingly, upon our return the kids still hadn't gotten out of bed so we played Frisbee in the front yard with Chloe until Steven let us know he and Sabrina were now awake and would like to get on with Christmas morning. Long story only slightly shorter, everyone loved their presents. Steven got a Kindle, Sabrina got a karaoke machine, I got two custom-published, hard cover coffee-table photography books filled with my own photos and Michelle got a boat-load of cash.

Cue the sound of a needle scratching abruptly over a vinyl record while everything freezes. Did you just read CuriousSmith and the kids got supremely thoughtful gifts while Michelle got the ultimate thoughtless gift of just plain old cash? Yes you did. And I don't regret it one bit. In fact, I think it was genius and I wish I would have started doing it years ago.

Michelle's otherwise worthy attributes combine in such a way as to make finding presents for her extremely difficult. She has a strong streak of perfectionism and definite notions of style and fashion. When she buys things for herself, she carefully assesses size, color, style, function, price and dozens of other obvious and not-so-obvious considerations. So much so that this normally confident, capable, adult male author is paralyzed with uncertainty when it comes to buying her presents. This uncertainty is born in part of Christmases past when, with great anticipation, I watched Michelle open her presents only to see her struggle to not allow her expression betray her disappointment. Don't get me wrong, she's always kind and always lets me know she appreciates what I got her, but I can tell my efforts have usually fallen short. It's not all her fault of course--I am a typical male and I do suffer to an extent from the stereotypical male inability to select thoughtful gifts for their spouses. But I always do a good job with presents for the kids and my failures with Michelle haven't been for lack of effort.

For some years now, Michelle's been telling me exactly what she wants for Christmas. My issue with this though has been that I've always felt if I get her exactly what she tells me, then I haven't tried hard enough. Part of it is because she often says stuff like, "I already have everything I want" or "I just want a waffle-iron" or "I'd really like a plunge router." Really? A waffle-iron? Surely I can do better than a waffle iron, right? This year, Michelle said she wanted the waffle iron mentioned above, a wet-dry vac, or cash. I gave her lots of grief over the "cash" answer, but she insisted that if she could choose any Christmas present she wanted this year, then she would simply like a "boat-load of cash." "Not on my watch," I thought to myself.

So, contrary to Michelle's wishes, I meticulously researched e-readers until I narrowed the field down to either the Kindle DX or the Nook Color. I read countless comparisons and reviews, shopped around on-line for the best prices and visited our local Best Buy which carried both to test them out personally. I knew that she would tell me she liked either one. But I also knew that whichever one I chose, it would be the wrong one. For the first Christmas ever, I chose to take my wife at her word and decided to give her the cash she said she wanted.

I made it a little less obvious by placing the bills in different size boxes. She opened her presents from the kids first and then opened the first gift from me. My trepidation quickly turned to relief and happiness as she expressed her genuine delight at my gift. Better yet, as she opened the rest of her boxes and found more cash in each, her expressions of appreciation grew correspondingly sincere to the point where she jumped in my lap and began kissing me. No feigned happiness this year baby! Lesson learned? Just listen to my wife and do as she says.

As for the rest of Christmas, after a late breakfast we drove up to Laie and spent a couple hours playing on Hukilau Beach with Chloe followed by lunch at Maui Taco in Kailua. Spent the rest of the day napping and doing nothing. All in all, the best Christmas in years!

Mele Kalikimaka a me Hau'oli Makahiki Hou!

2010-12-23T19:38:00.017-10:00

As I sit here the night before the night before Christmas, I can't help but think about what an amazing, crazy, busy, challenging, fulfilling year this has been for the CuriousSmith Family. Here are some of the highlights:

Michelle continued to serve superbly through 2010 as CINC CSFH (Commander in Chief of the CuriousSmith Family Home). She managed the home maintenance staff, administered all aspects of care for the family canine, planned and executed the daily household transportation plan, maintained straight-A's in her continuing education pursuits and faithfully accomplished three simultaneous Church callings along with a dozen miscellaneous assignments requiring hundreds of hours of volunteer work. As Christmas approached, she single-handedly decorated the home, hand-made dozens of ornaments for the Christmas Tree, and baked enough goods for delivery to some sixteen family friends from Church and around the neighborhood. She would tell you she's "just a housewife," but I will tell you she's the center of our home, the source of all our success, and beloved by all who know her. When she calls me at work, I call her "General Smith" and "ma'am" on the phone which draws looks of surprised curiosity from my colleagues--especially when I say "I love you!" at the end of the conversation.

Steven is half way through his Freshman year in High School. From the below post, you already know he just completed all the requirements for his Eagle Scout project. He also became a member of the Order of the Arrow and went camping with his troop six times. More impressively, he completed three novels this year with a combined total of more than one thousand manuscript pages. He still loves reading and finished some pretty eclectic novels by authors ranging from Orson Scott Card, Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson to Alexandre Dumas and James Michener. He also blogs, draws tremendously detailed maps for his novels and plays computer games in his spare time. If you asked him though, his proudest accomplishment of the year was the momentous day he stood back-to-back with his father and discovered he is now the tallest person in the family...and he's still nowhere near finished growing. Good grief!

Sabrina says her proudest accomplishment of the year is "Just being awesome. You know, because I'm awesome." Well, while we have some work to do on her humility (about the same as mine), I do agree she is pretty awesome and not without reason. She just completed her first semester of 7th grade with high honors and I think she's developed the same academic "over-achiever" ambition her mother has. She's also become an accomplished swimmer by training and competing with the Hickam Hurricanes swim team throughout the year. Sabrina remains a social butterfly and has consequently become an accomplished texter (wasn't my idea to get her a cell phone for her birthday, but we did). Best of all, she's just a good young woman who sets a great example for her friends at school and Church.

Chloe the wonder dog, has continued to grow into a beautiful adult Boxer. She has boundless energy (when she isn't napping in the sun) and loves to play tug-of-war and fetch with her various toys. She's worked hard to train the rest of the family to respond to her requests for left-over human food. She serves alternately as playmate, guard dog, comforter for the other humans in her pack, and official greeter for all visitors to our home.

Me? Well, I stay pretty busy with work and Church responsibilities. Most of all, I just like being home with the family. Now that I've safely reached the haven of the year-end holidays and I have time to reflect on things, I think 2010 will go down in the books as a pretty good year for the CuriousSmith Family. We are grateful for our family and friends. We acknowledge and are grateful for the many blessings we've received this year. Finally, as we celebrate His birth, we are most grateful for the Savior and the Gospel of peace, love, and mercy He brought to the earth. We pray 2011 finds all of you well. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

"Crazy Bad"

2010-12-13T18:51:00.015-10:00

There is absolutely no way I can catch up with everything that's gone on in the time since I last posted. I'm going to have to summarize vignette-style and write a few lines about the major Smith Family news items of the last six weeks.

First, and most important, I am now the proud father of an (almost) Eagle Scout. Being the punk teenager that I was, I always thought Boy Scouts was for doops. I helped friends out with their Eagle Scout projects, but couldn't be bothered to get involved myself. Michelle, of course, has since set me straight to the point where I am now a fan of what a well-run ("well-run" being the key phrase) Scout program can do for a young man. So, Steven--and his mom--worked their tails off building four beautiful rest benches around the crater rim. Just got an e-mail today from the Army Garrison Hawaii Command Sergeant Major who praised Steven and the great work he did. The housing community manager did the same in a separate e-mail. I'm very proud of my son. I'm also reminded that behind every great young man, there's almost always a great mother.

Second, just got back from three weeks in China where I did an intensive language refresher course. Quite a pronounced difference between Honolulu and Beijing. Beijing in Nov and Dec is cold! I knew that before going, of course, but even after digging all my old winter clothes out of storage, I still spent a lot of time shivering. I've gotten soft living here in this tropical paradise. Might have to rethink the whole "missing four seasons" thing I posted about a few months ago... Stole away to Shanghai for a weekend to visit the new Olmsted Scholar in Shanghai and stop by the old neighborhood. Loved Shanghai before and still do now. Stepped off the plane and immediately felt like I was back in "my" city. Still, as I walked down the familiar streets I realized that, while I will always have a special place in my heart for Shanghai, if Michelle and the kids aren't there, it just isn't home anymore...Ah well, still had a great time with the D's and learning how much has changed or hasn't changed in the last two and a half years.

This was my seventh trip to Beijing and I'd never seen the city so polluted before. I spent the first two weeks coughing and hacking because the air quality was so bad. The US Embassy monitors Beijing air quality according to US standards and posts the daily report on the Embassy website. My first week there, the pollution was so far off the charts that the embassy report actually said they had no choice but to call it "crazy bad." The Chinese government (which monitors everything on the Embassy website at all times) immediately asked the embassy to pull the report off the website because their air quality standards showed the air to be within tolerable levels. As much as I don't trust my government to tell the truth, let's just say I trust the Chinese government even less...On days when we could see the blue skies, we traded pollution for freezing cold made worse by wind chill factors below zero. Even so, I'll take the cold over the pollution any day. Fortunately, the day we visited the Great Wall at Jinshanling was one of these pollution-free days--perfectly clear but minus 15 degrees Celsius. The challenge was to quit shaking long enough to take a steady picture. It was so cold, I had to wear the camera on the inside of my jacket to keep it warm and functioning properly. Digging it out every time I wanted to take a photo was painful because it meant taking off my gloves and risking frostbite. It was even more painful because I'd walk another fifty yards and have to take a whole new series of shots again because the scenery was spectacular. All in all, I came away from this trip to China with some terrific photos.

While I liked being in China again, the only way I could string together three weeks away from work was by scheduling the trip over Thanksgiving. Would have much rather been home eating Michelle's Thanksgiving feast instead of dining on Peking Duck at a somewhat- drabbier-than-I-remembered Li Qun. What's more, Michelle and the kids were invited to attend the rededication of the Laie Temple where President Monson presided in person. The kids described the experience to me over Skype as "special," "calm," and "solemn but happy." Seems like I always miss the good stuff...

The Itch Has Been Scratched!

2010-10-23T18:26:00.004-10:00

When I wrote the last post, I completely expected to not know where we would be moving for at least another four or five months. But one of the more remote possibilities became a reality when the AF decided to send me to Air Command and Staff College (ACSC) at Maxwell AFB in Montgomery, Alabama. This is actually good news professionally and personally and we're looking forward to a year of life in the Deep South, a part of the country where we haven't yet lived.

In keeping with the pattern of past assignments, this one was also not on my list of places to go. Back in April, I submitted my intermediate development education (IDE) preferences and ACSC didn't make the list. I wanted to go to one of the other joint service schools (the Army, Navy or Marine equivalents), but the probability was that I would get credit for having done the Olmsted assignment to China and they wouldn't send me to school again. O-6 advice ranged the gammut from "Never miss an opportunity to go to school" (the advice I liked) to "Spending too much time in school without doing operational assignments will make the promotion board think twice about promoting you" (the advice I didn't like, but needed to heed). After submitting my schooling preferences, I promptly forgot about this iron in the fire and assumed I would just go to an operational/leadership assignment next. The assignment preference list I wrote about below consisted of my choices for those operational/leadership assignments. Now that I've been picked up for schooling, that list is moot.

In the final analysis, going to ACSC means a certain promotion to Lt Colonel in the next couple of years. The post-ACSC assignment picture remains very cloudy, but I'll work on that one when the time comes. For now, we're very content to have scratched the current itch.

The Two-Year-Itch

2010-10-03T16:09:00.007-10:00

We're at the terrible point in a three-year assignment where we have less than twelve months left in our current location but don't yet know where we'll be or what we'll be doing this time next year. The uncertainty sucks. But it's also kind of exciting.

Michelle and I maintain a dream of eventually settling someplace and putting down roots in the local community. Having the kids finish high school in one location would be a great thing. We like the idea of owning our own home again, planting a garden in a big backyard, maybe finishing the basement (with an awesome man cave for me and the ultimate crafting room for Michelle). We think it'd be so cool to have the kids come back with their future families to a home that we've owned since they were young. An anchor place as it were. Thanksgivings, Christmases and summer vacations on a family homestead. My mom and Gene have provided a place like this for those of us in their family and it's been an important part of life.

Despite this idyllic notion, I think we've been irreparably altered by the constancy of geographic change we've experienced in life so far. We've moved eleven times in our fifteen years together and, rather than making us feel fatigued, it has actually infected us with a powerful wanderlust that might just mean we never settle down in one place. The primary symptom is a terrible two-year-itch that invariably manifests itself after we've been in one place for too long. Too many fascinating places to see and interesting people to learn about. With seven years to go until I can retire from my military career and begin my civilian career, I'm curious to see if we'll really be able to choose one place to call home for the rest of our lives. The two-year-itch can be extremely powerful and it's hard not to scratch it when it comes.

That's exactly where we are now: desperately wanting to scratch that two-year-itch but not being able to because we are at the mercy of the painfully slow AF assignments bureaucracy for where we go next. In my eleven years in the AF, only once have I gotten the assignment I wanted (the Olmsted Scholarship to China) and that was because I pursued it outside of the normal process. Never have I gotten an assignment as listed on my assignment preference list--the so-called "dream sheet." Even the move to Hawaii was unexpected, undesired, and completely according to the needs of the AF.

Having grumbled in the above paragraph, I have to admit we have been richly blessed every place we've lived with good jobs, good friends and challenges that have forced us to grow in new ways. We've provided the kids with rich experiences and broad perspectives that'll be important to them in the future. I kind of like the fact that our kids have grown up as minorities in most of the schools they've attended. And we have a faithful conviction that, even more than a family homestead, a Gospel-centered family life is the best anchor we can provide the kids. It is this recognition that makes the assignment process (barely) bearable. We know we will go wherever the higher power--God (not the AF)--wants us to go and we'll do the best can when we get there.

Last week, I dutifully submitted my latest dream sheet to AFPC with fifteen thoughtfully selected and prioritized locations that we feel comprise the best overall balance of being both good for the family as well as good for my career. It'll be very interesting to see how this latest itch gets scratched.

Everything Changed

2010-09-11T13:39:00.007-10:00

In early September of 2001 I was busily studying to take the LSAT as part of my application package to enter the Air Force's Funded Legal Education Program (FLEP). If accepted, I would have gone to law school on the USAF's dime and then served out my time in the service as a member of the Judge Advocate General (JAG) corps. My thinking at the time was that practicing military law would be pretty interesting and that a law degree would also serve me well in my post-AF career. The final missing piece of my FLEP application package was the LSAT examination scheduled for Saturday the 15th of September. However, before I took the test I first needed to complete a week-long trip to Guam for work. I had TDY orders to Andersen AFB and I was excited to spend a week on this island that I had always heard about but never visited. Best of all was the fact we would have two days of down-time during which we could tour the island and do some snorkeling in beautiful Tumon Bay. My plan was to get back to Texas on the afternoon of Friday the 14th in time to take the LSAT on Saturday morning.

At 1130 pm on Tuesday night, September 11th, I was just settling into a deep sleep in my lodging quarters on Guam when the phone rang. It was Michelle who breathlessly told me to turn on the TV because something serious was happening. I asked her what channel and her reply was simply "ANY channel!!" What I saw when the TV came on made feel like I had been punched in the stomach. To my horror, the first WTC tower was burning heavily after what reporters were saying might have been an accidental collision by an aircraft into the upper floors of the tower. I knew immediately this was no accident--it had terrorism written all over it. I told Michelle I'd call her back and then phoned the senior ranking officer of our little travel group and told him to also turn on the TV. After alerting the rest of the officers in our group, I called Michelle back and we watched together, half a world apart, as the flailing news anchors tried to make sense of the surreal carnage. We watched stunned as the second tower was hit and then as both towers collapsed. I remember feeling certain the death toll would be in the tens of thousands. The subsequent reports of the Pentagon attack and the crash of United Airlines Flight 93 simply added to the shock. I knew that for all the families of those lost, life would never be the same again. I honor those civilians whose lives ended on that horrible day as I do those military members who subsequently gave their lives in service to our country. I would never equate the losses and subsequent life changes experienced by the victims' families with how the course of my own life changed. But for posterity's sake, I think it is important to note that even for our little Smith Family in Abilene Texas, everything changed as well.

Back in Guam, because all air travel to the US was completely shut down, our group of temporary duty travelers couldn't return home following our now-cancelled mission. When we called the squadron to find out what we should be doing, we were told only to stand-by for further orders--we would not be going home but we wouldn't be staying on Guam either. A week later, new orders finally reached us: we were to serve as the advance team at a forward operating location and be in charge of setting up the mission planning cell from which bombing missions could be planned against the most likely source of the the terrorist attacks--Afghanistan. We left Guam and traveled through Japan and Singapore before arriving at our final destination. During this time, there was some stress because we didn't know anything about how long we would be gone or what further we might be called upon to do. As it turned out, we only spent about five days at the forward location working 18-hour days until the formally deployed forces started flowing in and the arriving personnel took over the work we had started.

Upon returning home to my own unit, all efforts were focused on our squadron's imminent deployment to take over the bombing campaign against the Taliban. My missed LSAT test date was forgotten, my FLEP package was never completed and I obviously never went to law school. I'll never know if I would have been a good lawyer and I'll have to figure out another plan for my post-AF career. As a direct result of 9/11, I have spent roughly two of the last nine years away from my family. I'm mindful that this is insignificant compared to many others who have spent twice that time or more away from their families, but it is still significant to us. Despite e-mails and phone calls while away, I will never really know what I missed at home during that time apart.

I can't comprehend the millions of permutations that are surely part of the answer to the question, "How would my life be different if 9/11 had never happened?" Consequently, as I write this, I can't help but think about what I do know. As a JAG lawyer, I would never have had the opportunity to become an Olmsted Scholar and live in China with my family--this life-changing opportunity will in-turn provide us with new opportunities we haven't yet identified. We most likely wouldn't be living in Hawaii right now and I almost certainly would not be in the job I currently have. During all the time away from home, I have learned first-hand about people, places, cultures, and problems far beyond my wildest imagination. For our family, I think we have achieved some level of resiliency and flexibility through my absences that will serve us in good stead through future challenges. In the end, I guess I have to trust in my Creator that He is mindful of the sweep of history and understands how we are each individually impacted. When I think of this date in 2001 and everything that has changed since, I just have to tell myself "it is what it is" and get busy living in the new world.

A final observation: one thing that hasn't changed in the last nine years is the same feeling of being punched in the stomach I have when I see any of the horrific images from this day in 2001. I don't need to keep seeing them to remember what happened and how everything changed. It is what it is...

Purgatory in Paradise

2010-09-04T19:52:00.007-10:00

The magnificent weekend started for me on Thursday evening. From our home's volcanic perch, we can look down on Pearl Harbor and Aloha Stadium. On this perfect Hawaiian night, Aloha Stadium was rocking as the University of Hawaii hosted USC for the first college football game of the season--I spent the evening flipping back and forth between that game and the Utah vs. Pitt nail-biter. I could hear the live roar of the Aloha Stadium crowd coming through the open sliding glass door to the lanai as I watched the game in HD on TV. College football season in Hawaii is fantastic because when I wake up at 6:00 on Saturday mornings here, the east coast games are all already underway and it's possible for me (if I so desire) to indulge in non-stop football for the next 14 hours. Due to outside responsibilities today, I only found time to watch TCU defeat Oregon State while simultaneously monitoring the BYU-Washington game on the web...As I write, I've been watching the College Game Day final report and now Sports Center to catch all the day's highlights...I love college football season!

But this post isn't about football season--rather, it's about the lack of seasons at all here in Hawaii. Watching mainland football games on TV inside awakens my internal clock in such a way that I expect to be able to step outside and feel the crispness of a late summer day and know that the year is coming to an end. Living here in Hawaii for the past 25 months, I have discovered that I need the seasonal rotation of a temperate climate to feel normal. Somehow, the constancy of weather here in paradise makes daily life as uninteresting as running on a treadmill (something I can't stand). Life is still happening of course: birthdays, school, work events all indicate the march of time. But it's like they're all happening against a 70's cartoon backdrop where the same three or four background scenes are looped repeatedly. This distorts my perceptions of time in such a way that paradise feels more like purgatory.

Obviously, Hawaii is beautiful. We love our friends, our Church and our neighborhood. Work is good. We do enjoy having the option to visit the beach or go hiking on any given day. Nevertheless, I think we're all looking forward to being released from this purgatory in paradise and going back to the mainland where we can get on with living in a place where the only constancy is change. We miss the turning leaves of autumn, the muffled white of winter and the hopeful colors of spring. I know we'll miss a lot about living in Hawaii and it'll be interesting to see if I still feel this way when I'm writing from Nebraska (or similar location) in the dead of winter. But I think experiencing four real seasons again will be its own sort of paradise.

Am I nuts for likening this place to purgatory?

Do Real Men Blog?

2010-08-30T19:39:00.002-10:00

I really enjoy the time I have to sit down and put my thoughts into words here on CuriousSmith. I explained in a previous post the therapeutic effect writing has on me and the respite it offers from my very busy, multi-tasking daily life. I like writing and I will continue to do so. But as I peruse the blogosphere, it is evident to me that there are very few of us men out there who call this a hobby--I'd say 85% of blogs are written by women, 10% are written by men, and the remaining 5% are corporate endeavors with multiple contributors. This is an utterly unscientific sampling based on nothing more than my perceptions. Nevertheless, I think most readers will agree that blogging is typically a woman-dominated pasttime. My first question is why do so many women blog? My second question is why don't more men do it?

I posed the question to Sabrina (distracting her further from her homework) and she piped up with the opinion that more women blog simply because they have more time to do so. Her perception is that more women than men stay at home and this lends itself to having more time to sit at the laptop and write. I think if we asked Michelle how much free time she has as a stay-at-home mom, she might disagree with Sabrina's premise...As an aside, I'm glad Sabrina is growing up with a stay-at-home mom and thinks this is a common situation... I then asked Sabrina if this was so (stay-at-home women have more time to blog), then why is it that I blog more frequently than mom does? This stumped her.

At this point, Michelle passed by the dining room table on the way to the kitchen so Sabrina and I asked her what she thought. Michelle's ready answer was that women are simply more social and tend to seek each other out more. Blogging is an easier way for them to do this. Sitting at the computer in pajamas is easier than getting dressed up to meet friends for lunch or loading the kids into the van to go to a playdate where the moms have time to talk. She also opined that women are typically more verbal and use words to express themselves as an emotional release whereas men spend their time in more solitary pursuits that don't require as much externally manifested mental or emotional effort. Men generally don't need to express themselves verbally the way women do and are easily satisfied emotionally by watching TV or playing video games...I suppose there is some truth in this--I do enjoy watching TV at the end of a long day and I have been known to get emotional watching a good episode of House or Survivor. Michelle concluded her comments with a reminder that Sabrina needs to quit wasting time with dad on his blog and finish her home work :).

As my blogging time was coming to an end, Steven just happened to join the family downstairs in the living room and I included him in the discussion. When I asked, "Steven, do real men blog?" He responded immediately, "Yeah, why? You blog." Then he added, "Define real men." Sabrina chimed in with her own, "real men like you or real men who like fashion?" I chuckled at all of this--and it's even funnier now that Sabrina wants me to delete this last sentence for fear of offending men who like fashion...Michelle's answer was "Yeah! Real men should blog. I prefer a man who blogs to a man who sits around watching TV all day..." With all of this positive reinforcement, I think maybe I'll continue to be a real man and keep blogging.

Pure Heart

2010-08-22T18:52:00.008-10:00

We knew Steven was unique from the very beginning. Before he was born, I would speak to him regularly through Michelle's stomach, "Hello in there, little buddy!" I would say. "We can't wait to see you on the outside!" In the hours after he was born, he screamed heartily until he heard me talking to him at the side of his crib, at which point he immediately ceased crying and turn his head in the direction of the voice that he clearly recognized. I loved this kid from the moment I saw him. To me, he had the look of a wizened little old man and it showed even in his eyes that appeared to sparkle with knowing. And he was physically precocious as well. At the age of three months, he would instinctively push his legs straight if he felt pressure on the bottom of his feet. After some experimentation, I soon learned that by placing both of his feet in the palm of one hand, he would stand straight and rigid so that I could actually balance him standing up--like people do with a baseball bat--in the palm of my hand. He loved this, standing with his arms outstretched, smiling and cooing happily, as we performed this amazing parlor trick for family and friends. To this day, I've never heard of another baby capable of performing such a feat.

As a little boy, Steven was extremely curious and perceptive, watching everything Michelle and I did with fascination: from fixing the pipes under the kitchen sink, to watering our small backyard garden by hand with the garden hose. At age two and a half, we could sit him down on his little plastic chair in the middle of the lawn and he would conscientiously make sure every square inch of grass was properly watered--and he could do this for an hour on-end. I taught Steven to play chess at the age of four and by the time he was seven, he could beat me regularly about a third of the time. I'm talking full-on, me-trying-my-hardest, chess games and he would legitimately win...He learned to read within weeks of us teaching him (Michelle says it really only took him ten minutes) and by age eight, he had read every Harry Potter book then published and was half-way through the Lord of the Rings trilogy. His sense of humor was initially frustrating to me because I just didn't get it--his comments were seemingly disconnected and bizarre. But the reason I didn't get them was that I was so slow on the uptake. I've learned that his jokes are supremely perceptive and it takes me a few minutes to understand them because they are so complex. It takes me this long to contemplate the entirety of the context of the joke: the subject, the location, the people present, the sequence of events surrounding the moment, even the weather...Only after putting it all together, do I finally understand what he is saying and his previously inexplicable humor becomes hilarious. His age peers have never gotten his jokes, but I love his sense of humor. Our favorite thing to do together is watch the Daily Show followed by the Colbert Report because he totally gets those shows and their humor.

But this young genius was matched with equally unique behavior. Steven was socially very awkward and had difficulty making friends with other kids his age. He made very inappropriate--truthful--but inappropriate comments in the company of others. His thoughts were often (apparently) disconnected and made little sense. And if he wasn't interested in something, it was impossible to get him to focus on it at all. Thus, completing homework has always been an issue for him. Trying to maintain eye contact with him has also always been hard. Testing to diagnose the reasons for his behavior was tough because the results ran the gamut from ADD to Autism and his teachers and counselors were too busy to be bothered beyond holding one or two meetings to discuss his behavior. Early on, tests were administered verbally. One time, after being asked what the bunny would do if it saw a wolf, Steven answered it would "immediately scamper back into its burrow." At age five, the expected response was more along the lines of "hop away fast..." It was answers like this that revealed Steven was gifted with extremely advanced language-related skills. Once, after getting in some trouble at school, he explained to the principal that his classmates had gotten upset at his comments during recess and had "beaten him soundly about the neck and ears." One of our most frustrating experiences was with his third grade teacher who said she knew he was by far the best reader in class, but she had no choice but to flunk him because he hadn't turned in any of his homework that quarter. When did she tell us none of his homework had been turned in? After we got his report card... Even more frustrating was that we knew he had done all of his homework--Michelle spent hundreds of hours by his side making sure it was done. A search at school revealed he had left it all in his flip-top desk. After eight years of inconclusive testing, we finally found a dedicated staff of doctors and therapists here in Hawaii at Tripler Army Medical Center who diagnosed him officially as having Asperger's Syndrome, a form of mild autism.

AS is certainly a part of who he is, but it in no way defines him as a person. In my mind, Steven's defining character trait is his pure goodness. Steven has no malice or guile in his character. He can't tell a lie to save his life--we know because he occasionally tries, but his face gives him away every time. His huge stature (At age fourteen he's as big as I am) belies a gentleness that is rare in a young man his age. He's built like a line-backer and could squash somebody if he wanted to, but it's not in his nature to do so (luckily for Sabrina who pesters him mercilessly). When he and I took our Olmsted Scholar adventure trip through SE Asia with my Olmsted classmates, it was Steven who nursed me through my debilitating bout of food poisoning in Thailand--alerting the other group members that I was sick and caring for me through two miserable days and nights. He's an honorable young man who likes to help others. He even told Michelle the day I wrote this post that home-teaching (a church responsibility he does with me) makes him happy. When we were in China and had to choose his Chinese name, we quickly settled on the name that captures him best. The characters we chose--纯心--mean 'pure heart.' We feel blessed to have him in our family. I am proud to share my name with such a good son.

"I'm Sabrina Smith--and I Fight for YOU!"

2010-08-08T21:33:00.013-10:00

We enrolled Steven in T-Ball at the age of six when we lived in Abilene, TX. One Saturday morning, while Michelle was at work, I took both kids to Steven's T-Ball game on Dyess AFB. As the game was nearing completion, some Church friends who were also there invited Sabrina to go with them to buy treats from the nearby snack booth. I gave Sabrina (who must have been close to four years old) money to go buy two shaved ice treats from the vendor and I told her clearly that one was for her and one was for her brother who would soon be finishing up. Sabrina sauntered off with our friends and I turned my attention back to the game.

Sabrina came back about ten minutes later just as Steven was coming off the field and, to my surprise, she was empty-handed. I asked her where Steven's shaved ice was and she told me matter-of-factly that she had eaten it along with her own. When Steven saw the tell-tale neon fruity stains around her mouth and learned she had eaten his as well, he was understandably upset. Sensing no remorsefulness in Sabrina's demeanor, I proceeded to scold her fiercely about her selfishness and explained how what she had done was not only mean but also dishonest. In an effort to reassure Steven, but also punish Sabrina, I told them we would stop by the DQ on the way home and that the Blizzards Steven and I got would be way better than what Sabrina had eaten. She could watch us enjoy them and maybe understand how Steven must have felt.

Well, we went through the DQ drive-thru and, true to my word, Steven and I got Blizzards while Sabrina got nothing. A few minutes later we were stopped at a stop-light--Steven and I enjoying our ice cream, Sabrina with crossed arms looking surly and pouty in the back seat. She had been quiet up to this point. From her car seat, her sweet little-girl voice broke the silence, "Daddy? You know when someone says you did something wrong? Do you know what you need to say?" I was happy to hear her ask this question. I thought for sure she would say something like, "You have to say I'm sorry" or "You have to say please forgive me--I won't do it again." Hoping something about this little episode had rubbed off on her, I answered with a gruff, "What Sabrina--what do you have to say when someone says you did something wrong?"

In her tender little voice she said, "You have to say 'Prove it!'"

It was then I knew we would have our hands full with this one. To date, Sabrina maintains two career plans in life: she wants to be both a fashion designer and a lawyer. On the lawyer front, she already has her personal advertising motto all picked out: in the TV commercials for her future firm, she will appear on screen with the pledge, "I'm Sabrina Smith and I fight for YOU!" I have no doubt she will...

On -Isms and Answers

2010-08-08T18:39:00.012-10:00

Global conflict through the years of my youth was dominated by the war between capitalism and communism. In many ways, it made the world an easy place to understand. The fruits of the Evil Empire--tyranny, poverty, captivity--were easy to juxtapose against the fruits of the Free World--freedom, human rights, opportunity and prosperity. But the demise of the Soviet Union, which happened when I was a young Soldier serving on active duty, did nothing to diminish the number of other political, social, and religious ideologies that subsequently rose to prominence in the vacuum that followed. Governments, universities, news media, and bumper stickers all constantly hash and rehash arguments and accusations about terrorism, socialism, conservativism, liberalism, progressivism, libertarianism, authoritarianism, racism, etc., etc., ad nauseum...

Seems to me politics in our country is no longer about the honest pursuit of doing what is best for the country's long term future. Politics has become primarily about the pursuit of power and the trappings of power. It isn't principle-based, but expediency-based. Politicians now seek the best interest of the public only inasmuch as it promotes their own re-electability. Sure, respecting popular will is at the heart of our system. But because our system has become so weighted in favor of the encumbent, it has become stagnant and the encumbent's only interest is in passing "let them eat cake" legislation that will get them past the next election cycle. There is no room for the long-term solutions to our major problems that would require sacrifice from the collective citizenry. The country lives on debt because we lack the discipline and perspective to live within our means as a people and as a country. Fat and stupid has become synonymous with being American. We will never have congressional term limits in our country because the very people we need to pass the amendment are the very people who have vested interests in not passing such a law. Both major US political parties have valid points to make, but the vitriol, hyperbole and fear-mongering from each side disgust me. I can't stand Fox News and I can barely tolerate CNN. In the mean-time, social inequality and injustice continue to grow. Opportunities for education and social advancement in the US, for the first time ever, are decreasing. The number of college graduates as a percentage of the population has begun to decline and American advantages in technology and innovation are at risk. The America I love because of its freedom and opportunity is in decline because we are losing our way. The world is in no better shape. Violent religious extremism, poverty, tyranny, hunger, lawlessness, mistrust, moral depravity, hopelessness, are killing us all.

I've lived in the US, Australia, Argentina, and China. I've traveled to dozens of other countries around the world. My interests and profession have compelled me to observe the global human condition in all its gory glory for the last 20 years. I have heard, studied, observed and considered most of the arguments. I'm the first to concede I don't know it all. But in all my uncertainty about man's solutions to man's problems, I am increasingly convinced of one thing: the comprehensive solution to the world's problems are not to be found in any of the world's "-Isms." The longer I live, the more firmly I believe that the answers to what ails us are ultimately to be found in the principles of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The danger in saying this is that men have all too often invoked the name of Jesus Christ to do evil things and people are quick to point this out. My answer is simply that the Jesus Christ I am coming to know teaches love, respect, tolerance, repentance, forgiveness, kindness, charity, faith, hope, sacrifice, peace, discipline, perspective...and yes, even curiosity. More on all of this later.

Chloe Noelani Smith

2010-07-31T19:38:00.028-10:00

Our family was dogless for the first fourteen years. To be sure, we weren't entirely petless during this time--at various times we owned a variety of small creatures including Frodo the guinea pig and three fish that ate each other. We also frequently pet-sat for various homeroom class animals (mostly rats and gerbils and hamsters--they were all "rats" to me) over extended school vacation periods. These occasions served as mini pet-caretaking-responsibility trials to see if the kids were dedicated enough to care for more substantial life forms. In China, the kids regularly ooh'd and aah'd at the cute little kittens and puppies being hawked by sidewalk vendors (no, not for food) and begged us to get one promising complete and total responsibility for all pet care themselves. "You won't have to do anything at all!" they begged/assured us. But in the end, wisdom and practicality always prevailed and we never advanced beyond very small mammals on the spectrum of pet ownership. Until last year that is.

A year ago, our family was coming out of a tough period. It was as we were reintegrating following my Afghanistan deployment and Michelle's hospitalization, that momentum finally began to swing towards getting a dog. Michelle and I set high standards for the animal though--we weren't going to get just any dog. The dog had to be clean, quiet, smart, good with people of all ages and sizes, big, trainable, and, well, pretty much perfect. The conditions for the kids were equally high: they had to be the primary care givers and do so without arguing or complaining including feeding, exercising, and bathing the dog. We spent hours on the internet looking at dog breed web-sites and poring through breed books checked out from the school library trying to decide which breed would provide us with the best overall mix of "wonder dog" characteristics. After all of this exhaustive research, we finally settled on getting a Boxer. Having done this, the next step was to find one here in Hawaii...It was another few weeks before Michelle called me at work one day to tell me she and the kids were going to drive over to see a new litter of pups from a Boxer afficionado we had learned about on-line. Two hours later, she called back to tell me that Chloe, a seven-week-old Boxer puppy, had just joined our family.

From the very first day, Chloe added important new dimensions to our family that, until she arrived, we didn't even know had been lacking. She rapidly became a primary source of joy and entertainment as well as the focus of love and care-giving from every member of the family. She perceptively figured out how and where she fit into our family and proceeded to create unique relationships with each individual member (you can read about her perspective on these relationships here). She met or exceeded every criteria we had on the list. It's her wonderful spirit and unconditional love for us that has made her an integral member of the family. Her given names, Chloe Noelani (as listed on her AKC registration), reflect not only her Hawaiian heritage, but also the life and happiness she has brought into our family. 'Chloe' means "verdant and blooming" while Noelani means "heavenly mist."

What a difference a year makes. Our family has weathered life's latest storms and emerged from the last two years stronger, more united...happier. Hawaii has been a good place for our family in many ways. But I think it is Chloe who has been the biggest blessing to our family. She really has been like a heavenly mist helping our family to bloom. I suppose most families who have dogs feel similarly about their pets, but we are not most families and Chloe is more than just another house pet. This is our family and Chloe Noelani is our dog. Not just our dog--rather, she has become a full-fledged member of the Smith Family.

You can see more pictures of Chloe the Wonder Dog here.

Writing as Antidote

2010-07-22T17:11:00.010-10:00

I spend 8-10 hours at work each day in front of two computer screens, each displaying multiple open windows, with each of those streaming constant flows of information in the form of e-mails, news reports, briefings, internet searches, etc. I often find myself simultaneously drafting three or four e-mails amid constant distractions from the office TV (usually tuned to some inane Fox News program), colleagues with questions or urgent action items, and flurries of phone calls. The truck radio is always tuned to NPR unless Steven (country music afficionado) or Sabrina (pop and hip-hop) are with me, in which case whoever won the fight for "shotgun" gets to choose their own radio station. At home, I enjoy catching up with friends on facebook in the form of pithy, humorous, or lame wall postings that are usually never more than a sentence or two in length. To Michelle's annoyance, I can't leave the TV on a single station through commercials. When the commercials start, so does my channel surfing for an acceptable secondary program. With all of this constant neural stimulation/distraction, it should be no surprise then that I feel scatter-brained and ADD-ish to the point of wondering if I actually have a condition that could benefit from a Ritalin prescription...

All of the above is explanation for why I'm quickly learning to enjoy writing. Sitting down undisturbed (relatively) for 20-30 minutes to formulate complete thoughts and ideas in a focused manner is excellent mental exercise. Choosing topics, ideas, words, punctuation, and grammar force me to do kind of a 360 degree appraisal of my own thinking, what my desired message is, and how it will be perceived by readers. Trying to capture the right tone to achieve the desired response is tough. For me, attempting to write something humorous, for example, is really elusive. So far, I don't have enough feedback from readers to see if I'm hitting the mark and I don't know if Michelle and the kids are humoring me when they say they liked my latest post.

I also find that despite my education and training, I still mess simple things up like tenses, subject-verb agreement, etc. Because I've got a goal to write at least one post per week and I've got limited time to write, I almost always post to the blog prematurely. This inevitably means multiple revists to the edit page to correct mistakes found after rereading what I've written. I suppose this simply goes to show how writing is a continuous process and it's rare to get something completely right the first (or second or third or sixteenth) time. Makes me wonder how literature's prolific stars managed to produce the high quantity of high quality writing they did. Natural talent, training, education, and life experience are all certainly part of the equation. But I also think many of the writers I'm thinking of weren't encumbered by the noisy, distracting environment in which many of us live and work. Would we have Shakespeare, Whitman or Thoreau if, in their days, they had omnipresent e-mail, 300 on-demand channels, and fb accounts?

In any case, sitting down to write a blog post each week has been my antidote to an addled brain and low attention span. No Ritalin for me, thanks--I've got CuriousSmith. What do you have?

Michelle's Super Power

2010-07-17T08:07:00.018-10:00

With all of the competing demands on my time, I find there is less of it than ever to spend one-on-one with Michelle. Because of this, one of my favorite parts of the week is when she and I walk together around the three-mile-long road that rings the crater rim of the extinct volcano where we live. We usually do this at about 6:00 AM while the kids are still sleeping on Saturday mornings or on days when I take leave from work. It takes us about an hour to walk the three miles because we often stop to enjoy the views of Pearl Harbor and Waikiki from different places along the route and because we usually take Chloe the Wonder Dog with us too. The best part of the walks is that we finally have time to talk about everything under the sun and then some.

Way back in March '09, I posted an entry called "Time Man" in which I wrote that if I could have any superpower I desired, then I'd want to be able to control time. About a month ago, during one of these early morning walks, I asked Michelle what superpower she would choose given the opportunity. When I originally thought about this question prior to posting the "Time Man" blog, it took me four or five minutes to sort through the various super power options (flying, strength, x-ray vision, laser beams from my eyes, etc) of which I was aware before finally settling on controlling time. Michelle on the other hand, didn't hesitate for even a second when she replied that she would choose the power to heal others.

For those of you who know her, you know this answer is quintessential Michelle. But wait--there was more. Michelle went on to explain that she wasn't only thinking about the ability to heal physical wounds (which is what my poor imagination immediately limited itself to when she said "healing"), but even more importantly, about the ability to heal spiritual and emotional wounds as well. She said it was healing these types of wounds, more than anything else she could think of, that would do the most to help make the world a better place. How simple. How profound. How Christ-like. I was reminded for the 6,324,826th time of just what a good woman I married.

Since Michelle has now claimed the coolest super power I've ever heard of anyone claiming, I guess I'll stick with being "Time Man." But just imagine how much good Time Man and Healing Woman could do if they combined their super-powers and functioned as a team--they'd be unstoppable!

The above picture is of Time Man and Healing Woman in Kaua'i, April 2010.

Self Awareness

2010-07-07T20:34:00.012-10:00

I love the outdoors. Fresh air. Stunning vistas. The world as God made it before man changed it. During the course of my career, I've been fortunate enough to attend various survival schools that have taught me how to live off the land, trap and eat wild animals, start fires without matches, build various kinds of shelters, treat serious injuries, and even survive in 40 below arctic temperatures. All of this training required me to spend days on end outside, no showers, no toilets, no deodorant. Sometimes, not even any toilet paper (TMI?). I loved all of it. I love the memory of it. But somewhere along the way, something happened. I think I got old.

About ten years ago, if you asked me what my favorite thing to do was, I probably would have said "camping" without even thinking about it. But five years ago, in the middle of a ward campout, I realized that while I still loved being outdoors, I no longer enjoyed camping. Smelling like camp fire smoke, being dirty, and sleeping on the hard, bumpy ground just doesn't appeal to me anymore. I do still love hiking all day long, but the thing is, now, I also love a nice hot shower and a soft bed at the end of the day. Michelle and the kids, who still enjoy smelling like camp fire smoke, tease me mercilessly.

Despite this new self-awareness, I really enjoy going out and buying great camping/survival gear. My Christmas presents to each member of the family last year were custom-made bug-out bags packed full of the gear we'd need (and want) if we had to evacuate our house for up to 96 hours. My co-workers thought it was a dumb Christmas present idea until we had the tsunami scare in February following the massive earthquake in Chile. Anyone who lived along the coast had to evacuate to higher ground and the entire state was shut down for twelve hours until the danger passed. After that event, suddenly having bug-out bags was a fine idea...But I digress...

The camping gear that catches my attention now is the stuff that makes the outdoors as comfortable as possible. Cots, inflatable air mattresses with electric pumps, camping pillows, solar showers--that's where it's at for me now. My most important camping tool? The credit card I use to book a nice room in the hotel closest to the national park we're visiting. Wimpy? Yeah, probably. But I'm not out to impress anyone anymore--at least not with my roughing it skills.

Perspective

2010-07-04T22:16:00.007-10:00

A couple of months ago I was called to serve on the bishopric of our ward--a calling which I felt might be coming and which, truthfully, I was dreading. Why was I dreading it? Primarily because I'm a lazy guy and if there's one thing I've always observed about the bishopric, it's that bishopric members can no longer afford to be lazy in any aspect of their lives. Apart from the additional time commitment associated with my new duties, I have discovered that this calling is strikingly different from previous callings in other important ways. The subject of this entry is one of the more unexpected differences: the change of perspective I have simply because of where I now sit during sacrament meeting. Instead of the comfortable anonymity I previously enjoyed when sitting in the congregation, I now sit on the stand next to the pulpit facing the congregation. From this vantage point I can observe the congregation and, in turn, be observed by them. There's some pretty funny stuff going on out there that I never really paid attention to when I was sitting with my family in row three on the left side of the chapel.

First, I previously believed that if I had procrastinated preparing my Sunday School or PH lessons in advance, I could always surreptitiously do so during sacrament meeting without anyone noticing. Turns out that the viewing angle from the stand to the congregational benches is such that unless a fellow procrastinator is holding the lesson manual down by his knees, it is easy to see who has and hasn't prepared for the day's lessons. It cracks me up to see the same one or two teachers every week preparing their lessons during sacrament meeting. Of course, I worry even more about the teachers who still don't bother to do any preparation...

Second, I am reminded of the challenges young parents face with their kids. Now that Steven and Sabrina are of ages where they behave in public (if not always private) venues, I'd forgotten how many years Michelle and I spent in foyers of church buildings futilely attempting to calm the screaming kids in our arms...We've got a couple challenging little ones in our ward who would have done the Stalag 17 escapees proud. These kids just need to be free, which is all well and good except when they make it to the stand and start running around behind the bishopric and the congregation becomes more interested in the protracted, comical attempts to recapture them than in what the speakers are saying. Once the escapees have been rounded up again (with the attendant kicking and screaming), the guards/exasperated parents then deploy defensively in their pews--one parent on each end of the bench--so as to keep their little ones corralled. Not to be deterred, the little ones simply start crawling under the benches in front. It's possible to track the escapee's progress by the startled looks of the adults in the surrounding pews as they push past unsuspecting ankles.

Finally, it's harder to stay focused on the speakers and their messages because of the fact that I only get to see the backs of their heads. Paying attention is infinitely easier when you can see the face of the person speaking. Moreover, when I was in the pews and found the speaker to be less than engaging, I could all the more easily concentrate on preparing my lesson for the next hour :). Now that I sit on the stand and am visible to everyone in the congregation, I can't simply turn my attention to other matters--I have to try really hard to focus on what is being said. You know, be a good example and all that...While I haven't fallen asleep yet like many a bishopric member and high councilor I have observed over the years, I have new sympathy for those who did.

Apart from these lighter observations, there are dozens of more serious things I observe each week from my new vantage point, but I'll save those for another day... Tonight's post is simply a reaffirmation of the fact that a new perspective can make a huge difference in how we see the world around us.

1990

2010-06-28T20:58:00.008-10:00

My high school 20th class reunion was last Saturday night. I didn't go (work wouldn't allow), but I wanted to--I was really curious to learn what my classmates had been up to over the last 20 years. The organizers worked hard tracking down class members using the marvels of modern technology (facebook, e-mail, etc) and did a terrific job planning a nice dinner at Thanksgiving Point. One of the other cool things they did was create a blog where classmates could post their latest pictures along with a short summary of personal highlights from the last two decades. I posted a recent picture of Michelle and I in Kaua'i as well as the afore-mentioned highlights summary. I was surprised by how few people took the time to post to the blog--out of a graduating class of 400+ people, only about 30 others bothered to submit anything. I enjoyed reading what was posted and could see that many people have changed significantly since high school in lots of positive ways.

Following the reunion, the organizers also posted pictures from the evening and, after viewing them, I was left with a couple of impressions that were worth recording...First, I didn't recognize about 60% of the people in the photos and it made me realize how individualized high school experiences are. My memories of high school revolve mostly around my friends. And where did my friends hang out? Mostly on the debate team (yup, I was--and still am--an uber nerd). While I played soccer for a couple of years and was friends with a decent cross-section of the school demographics, I realize that I missed out on a lot of other high school experiences. "Missed out" isn't quite accurate--I chose not to participate in a lot of other high school experiences. I don't regret it, because the stuff I did choose to participate in--debate, for example--has been incredibly valuable to me throughout my post-high school endeavors. Still, I would have liked to know more of my classmates back then because I can tell that many of them are really exceptional people now.

Second, and this will be extremely impolitic, it appeared to me that a few of my classmates haven't changed a bit. Several of the fake-tanned, shallow, uncurious, disdainful, vapid kids I knew back then appear to be the same as adults. I would be very disappointed to feel like I hadn't changed much since high school or that my glory days all happened when I was 18. Yes, much of our personalities are set during these teenage years, but I'm a firm believer in a life-long refining process that ideally ensures we trend upwards in developing positive character traits. Seems to me if we aren't very different people from who we were in high school after 20 years of refining, then we've done it wrong. I hope I haven't done it wrong--I would be mortified if one of my classmates looked at my reunion blog posting and thought that I was still the same punk teenager I was back then...I realize I'm being very judgmental about a few people based on nothing more than some photos and a few written paragraphs and I could be way off. But I don't think so. Of course, just writing this paragraph makes me feel like I have more personal refining to do--let's see what another twenty years will do for/to me.

Grandma Fran

2010-05-31T16:02:00.014-10:00

Grandma Fran passed away last Friday. As we did when Abuelita passed away, we feel peace and happiness for her because she too lived a long, full life. The truth is, as she was in her 90's, she'd been bed-ridden for a long time and dementia had taken hold so firmly that it feels like she was lost to us years ago. Grandma Fran was a fixture in my life for the first 30 years or so, but after my dad passed away in 2003, she moved back east to be near her surviving sons (one in North Carolina and one in Georgia) and we no longer had the regular contact we'd previously enjoyed. When her health deteriorated so that she couldn't stay in their homes any longer, she moved into a rest home where she could receive the full time care she needed. Long after her mind lost its edge, her body retained its toughness. Toughness is one of the words that best defines her.

Grandma was a lady--petite, well-mannered, always presentable--but tough as nails underneath it all. She lost her father at a young age to a tragic accident. Her older sister left home as soon as she was old enough. With her mother doing the best she could to provide for her daughters, Grandma was left alone to care for her little sister at home which required her to take on a lot of adult responsibility while still a child. Despite this, Grandma excelled at most everything she did. She was popular in school--being voted to student body leadership positions and serving as an attendant to the Home-coming and Prom queens. She was an excellent student, getting a scholarship that allowed her to take college courses. After her marriage, she followed her husband through several years of adventures including prospecting for Gold in Arizona where they really did strike it rich. She single-handedly ran the mining camp: attending to the cooking, the clothes mending, the accounting, etc., while the men did the hard work of mining. Once they had the means, my grandfather took flying lessons and, soon after receiving his license, started working for the airlines as a pilot. Later, as he was flying for the US Army Air Corps in the Pacific Theater, she was busy on the homefront raising her two sons. A third son joined the family soon after the war ended.

Following the war, her husband once again started flying for the airlines and they moved their family back to Colorado. They prospered terrifically: they were members of the local country club, owned a beautiful home in an exclusive neighborhood, took vacations around the world, and even owned their own planes. My dad remembered his childhood with great fondness and his stories always made it sound like their lives were full of non-stop, exciting adventures. My impressions were that grandma was the perfect "50's wife," keeping an immaculate home, active in the community (we found a newspaper clipping that said she was even president of the local chapter of the Red Cross), and raising three good sons.

But the dream life didn't last forever. Marital troubles after 25 years resulted in divorce and the lingering acrimony served to split the family until now (I never really knew my natural grandfather). For years Grandma lived alone, working at various jobs, not so much because she needed the money (she was reasonably well off financially following the divorce), but because she liked to stay busy and enjoyed the society of friends at work. She also stayed very much engaged with her three sons and their families. In fact, my mom and dad rented the basement apartment of her house in Provo, Utah for several years of my childhood so Grandma was always just upstairs. Grandma sometimes scared me because she was so proper. We couldn't eat breakfast at her house before we had dressed, washed our faces, combed our hair and brushed our teeth. She was always correcting our grammar, and made sure we were always dressed properly when she took us to the grocery store or her weekly hairdressing appointment at ZCMI. But my trepidation about being around grandma disappeared one day when I was thirteen or fourteen and was in Utah spending the Summer at her house. I woke up earlier than usual one morning and caught her by surprise in the kitchen when I padded in silently. There she was, standing at the open fridge, gulping milk straight from the gallon jug like it was going out of style. When I exclaimed, "Grandma!!" she almost spewed out the milk still in her mouth. With a sheepish look on her face, she told me that what I had just seen was to remain a secret between the two of us upon pain of death. It didn't stay a secret very long because I really enjoyed telling this story that shed light on grandma as an ordinary person. I think she liked the story as well.

Grandma remarried when I was seven or eight years old. Her new husband was Ray Buchanan and this is the man who I would consider to be my real grandfather--he loved us grandkids as if we were his own and showed it in the way he always looked out for us. He was a well-to-do hotel owner and property manager. He was also an avid outdoorsman and loved to take his grandkids fishing. In many ways, she picked up with Grandpa Buchanan where she had left off after her first marriage. They had a beautiful home in a nice neighborhood, took wonderful vacations, and were very active with their newly extended family life. They were busy with Church and community service during their years together--even serving a full-time mission to England in the mid-80s. They enjoyed another two decades of marriage before Grandpa Buchanan passed away at the age of 83. Grandma lived on in the house they shared for a few more years, before moving down to Tucson to be near my dad who looked after her until he died.

There remains one final aspect of my grandmother's character I need to point out. Grandma was a woman of faith. She joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Colorado Springs at the height of her family's social prominence. She and her first husband had been members of the local Episcopal Church in Mt. Vernon, Colorado, and her decision to be baptized into the Mormon church was something of a scandal. But she did it anyhow. She felt she had found the true Gospel of Jesus Christ and, regardless of the social consequences, was determined to live in accordance with the restored truth she had discovered. Grandma's faith, to me, is her defining characteristic. Despite the challenges she faced in life, she had faith that there were better things to come if she just buckled down and kept working hard. Once she found the Church, she spent most of the rest of her life serving faithfully. She didn't go to church much during these last years of her life--my uncles aren't members of the Church and she couldn't leave her bed to attend local services. Nevertheless, her legacy of faith lives on in the families of her children and grandchildren and the countless others who she influenced throughout the course of her long life. Like Abuelita below, we will miss Grandma Fran for a short while and look forward to a joyful reunion when the time is right.

Name That Story

2010-04-29T19:56:00.014-10:00

It takes quite a bit of time to write up all the funny stories about things the kids have said or done. Because my free time is actually quite limited, I'm hoping to condense the time it takes by enlisting both of you readers in the effort. We're going to play a little game called "Name That Story!" In this game, I will ask you to identify the speaker of the punch-line and provide a sentence or two summary describing the story behind the quote. The winner will be the person who correctly identifies both the speaker of the punchline AND writes the best story summary (judged completely subjectively by me) for the most quotes below. The awesome prize for the winner? Their answers and story summaries get published in my next blog post. Ready to play? Good! Let's begin...

A) "What the hell is this?"

B) "Sabrina? No--she's not for sale, but my dad is!"

C) "You have to say, 'prove it!'"

D) "I think I would like to hunt chickens."

E) Q: "What do you get when you go without purse or scrip?" A: "A really short mission?"

F) "Are those wild cows?"

G) "Luke, join the dark side--we have cookies"

H) "What does pi equal? A happy pappy!"

I) "I just wanted to check the temperature of the water!"

J) "I thought Dick Cheney was a comedian on TV..."

Please submit your answers as comments. I will moderate them, tally the results and post the winner's answers in a couple more weeks (or months or years--as of 9 June 2010, no responses back on this one yet). Cheers!

Immune to Santa

2010-04-07T21:42:00.009-10:00

I’m sitting here at Narita on a five-hour layover. As the sun goes down on Japan, I can still look across the tarmac and see the rotating radar antenna in the diminishing light. What makes it prettier than normal is that the red and white tower is surrounded by dozens of cherry trees in full pink and white bloom. I’m here at the height of Sakura season. The image of the radar surrounded by cherry blossoms captures my impression of Japan—a high tech society anchored to delicate, powerful culture. I’ve read all I can stand of my ACSC book, walked the entire floor of massive Terminal One twice over and have now decided it would be a great time to catch up on some blogging.

Life is good. The family is well. Michelle has been doing much better. Work has been super busy, but now that I’m on the back end of the trip generating much of that busy-ness it should settle down for the next month or two. I’ve been reading blogs written by friends and family and it seems their posts are always chipper and funny. I've been on the more serious side of the blogosphere spectrum and it’s about time I capture some of the more humorous events in life because there are plenty of them in our home. For a while now, I’ve been meaning to record some of Steven and Sabrina’s more memorable quotes. Those kids say the darndest things sometimes and many of their past utterances are worthy of preservation for posterity.

Steven Funny Episode One: Santa Just Ain’t What He Used to Be

From the very beginning, Steven has been a climber. From a very early age, he could—and would—climb up, out of, or into absolutely anything. We have pictures of him as a two year old sitting in one half of the double-well sink in the kitchen, water faucet turned on, happily doing the dishes in the other half of the sink. To this day we don’t know how he managed to get up there. Too bad the happily doing dishes part of this story didn’t make it to his current age, but I digress…Anyhow, we think some of this climbing tendency was his Auntie Quelly’s doing. She used to babysit him for Michelle and I while we were still in college and she would occasionally take him on excursions to the local climbing wall. At the tender age of two and a half, she’d have him in a tiny full body harness, on belay, clambering all over the rock wall, completely in his element and happy as a clam. No fear of heights in that kid.

This lack of fear/love of climbing, as you can imagine, has always had the potential to turn tragic. Falling off of, in to, or out of places could cause some real harm to this little kid. We were especially worried about his habit of climbing on our five-shelf book case. Every shelf of that case was loaded with books and it must have weighed something close to four or five hundred pounds. As he reached shelves three and four, the potential of his weight upsetting the shelf unit and causing it to fall on himself was a serious concern. We warned him sternly over a period of months starting before Christmas not to climb these shelves, but our warnings apparently didn’t carry with them the serious consequences we hoped to convey.

I caught him one Saturday morning in early March about a month before his third birthday. He was on shelf three of the book case reaching for shelf four. He hadn’t seen me enter the living room so I startled him when I half yelled, “Steven! You get down from there right now!” He recovered from his surprise quickly. Still clinging precariously to shelf four, he looked at me with some annoyance, and matter-of-factly stated, “I don’t care if Santa doesn’t come!” And he still doesn’t.

Miracles

2009-12-05T10:42:00.005-10:00

It’s been a tumultuous six months since my last blog posting. Very hard to catch up on everything that’s occurred, but let me start by describing the series of miracles that took place in the month following my last blog entry.

When I got the word via e-mail that my grandmother had passed away, I immediately looked into the cost of getting Michelle and the kids from Hawaii to the funeral in Utah. All the travel sites were showing similar prices of around 800.00/per ticket. Airfare, rental car, and the other travel expenses quickly added up so that the total cost of getting them to Utah would have run three to four thousand dollars. I no sooner finished telling my mom that it didn’t look like the family would be able to make it back, than I got the impression I should look just one more time. Wouldn’t you know it—Travelocity was offering round trip tickets from Honolulu to Salt Lake City for $240.00 each as part of a special last minute fare sale. I bought them on the spot for fear they wouldn’t be available long and called Michelle and my mom to let them know plans had changed. Miracle #1.

When I told Michelle about the tickets she was somewhat leery of making the trip. This was surprising to me because she had been willing to spend the three thousand dollars it would have cost to go and it was me who decided the expense was too great. Now that we had gotten tickets for such a great price, I felt certain she would be happy. But she wasn’t happy, and I wasn’t sure why because she and my grandmother had always had a very close relationship. After some discussion she reluctantly decided things in Hawaii could be put on hold. My mom had asked me to write a letter for the memorial service with memories of Abuelita (my last blog) and she asked Michelle if she would please read the letter during the service, which Michelle agreed to do.

Soon after Michelle and the kids arrived in Utah, I received a torrent of urgent e-mails and skype messages saying to please call home immediately. My brother and sisters had all written and said they were extremely concerned about Michelle’s health because she was so thin. ‘Emaciated’ was the word they used. By way of background, Michelle has been valiantly fighting an eating disorder for the last ten years. She’d been hospitalized for three weeks in Texas in 2001, but had fought back well. Since that hospitalization and her seemingly healthy recovery, I had deployed twice more for OEF and OIF and she had done just fine in my absence. We talked about her health prior to this deployment and she, being the great military spouse she is, told me that she and the kids would be fine and supported me leaving again 100%. But for some reason her anorexia came roaring back shortly after I left. In the four months that passed since I had left home and Abuelita passed away, she had quickly lost weight. In the crazy, twisted disease that is anorexia, she felt comfort in not eating and knew that being with family in Utah would mean the gig was up which explained her reluctance to go.

The e-mails from my siblings described her health situation to me and asked what they should do. They wanted to know if they should intervene or if they should simply make her feel loved and as comfortable as possible. Michelle’s older sister Heather and her family just happened to be arriving in Utah for a family vacation of their own. I e-mailed Heather and told her about Michelle’s condition. Being the people they are, Heather and her husband Wayne immediately went to my mom’s home to see Michelle despite the fact it was 1030 pm. One look at Michelle and Heather put her arms around her, gave her a huge hug and lovingly told her that she was there to take her to the Emergency Room. The fact that Michelle just happened to have her closest sibling in town when she needed her most was miracle #2.

Michelle’s visit to the emergency room confirmed the obvious diagnosis of the recurrence of her anorexia nervosa and kicked off a three week-long sequence of hospital and doctor visits in an effort to satisfy Tricare (our insurance company) that emergency hospitalization was needed in this case. Michelle is a hero because she had to do so much of this work herself. The extremely reluctant patient knew she needed help and was being torn in two as she fought through the medical and insurance bureaucracy. The side of her that wanted to live fought with the side of her that wanted to continue her slide to death. She was finally admitted to a Tricare-approved hospital in Berkeley, CA that specialized in eating disorders. She weighed just 82 pounds when she was admitted.

The Red Cross sent the emergency message to my chain of command in Kabul who had been apprised of the situation and offered me their full support to do what was necessary to take care of my family. The doctors recommended that instead of emergency leave, I should redeploy home early because of the length of time Michelle would be hospitalized and the support she would need at home when released from the hospital. As it turned out, she was hospitalized for five weeks. Our family in Utah and Arizona took care of the kids until I could get back from Afghanistan. The fact that this all happened when Michelle was surrounded by family who could support her and watch the kids while I was in Afghanistan was Miracle #3.

I wrote below about my grandmother’s longing to see her family who had already passed away and that she felt like her missions in life had all been accomplished. It seems apparent to me that she had one last mission to perform in her life. Her passing occurred at the absolute most essential time. A month or two earlier and Michelle’s weight loss may not have been enough to elicit such huge concern from our families. A month or two later and Michelle might very well have been so far gone in her weight loss that it was her funeral I would have come home to. Our neighbors and friends in Hawaii all told me later they were extremely concerned about her health, but didn’t know if or how they should say anything to her about it. It was only by getting Michelle to Utah to be with family that she was able to get the help she needed. The way Abuelita accomplished her final mission was the greatest miracle of all.

Abuelita DiStefano

2009-06-27T03:34:00.003-10:00

Dear Family and Friends,

For most people, funeral services are solemn affairs. When I think of funerals, I picture grave-side services held in the rain under gray skies, mourners dressed in dark clothing, holding black umbrellas, doing their best to stifle sobs of grief at the passing of a dear family member or friend. But, I must confess that from the moment I got my mom’s e-mail about Abuelita’s passing, I’ve been far more happy than sad. Lest you think my confession is somewhat heartless, please let me explain. I’ve spent the better part of the last 48 hours pondering what I would write in this letter. I’ve been reviewing my memories of Abuelita and the emotions evoked during this process are entirely happy and laughter-filled. These memories make me smile even now as I write this.

If you have spent any time with Abuelita, you know what I mean. Abuelita was a unique blend of cuddly love, courage and humor (which could be delightfully shocking at times). My earliest memories of her are set in muggy summer afternoons in the back yard of her house in Parana Argentina, sitting on her comfortable lap, drinking yerba mate (with extra sugar added just for me) through a metal bombilla straw as she scratched my back. We would be surrounded by visiting family and friends, my siblings and our cousins running around the yard or swinging on the swing set, while parents, aunts and uncles sat together telling stories, sharing gossip and discussing the news of the day. It seemed to me that all conversations were punctuated with bouts of laughter frequently provoked by something Abuelita had said.

Abuelita’s sense of humor and good cheer were all the more remarkable because she experienced tragedies and challenges in her life that might have broken another person. Abuelita lost both of her parents at the age of seven. She overcame breast cancer while still a relatively young woman. Later, she dealt with the grief of losing her youngest son, our Tio Alberto, to cancer. Only a short time later, Abuelita had to deal with the loss of her life-long love, “Viejo”, who was her husband and our dear Abuelito. Following Abuelito’s passing, Abuelita left the only life she had known in Argentina and came to live with mom and Gene in Provo to be near the preponderance of her family who had emigrated from Argentina to the States by then. She came to a loving home and received terrific care from family and friends, but her challenges continued: she had serious, lasting health problems and consequently had difficulty leaving the house. Perhaps most challenging for someone who loved talking to people, Abuelita had difficulty communicating now that she was living in a mostly English-speaking environment.

And yet despite these challenges, she was as full of humor and courage and as fun-loving as ever. She quickly made friends and learned to communicate her sense of humor through card games around the dining room table. Anyone who visited her to chat and play games can attest that this is true. Family and friends who helped care for her, even as her health deteriorated further, can also attest that her courage and humor continued in the face of every kind of discomfort, inconvenience and pain. In fact, my memories of Abuelita in her last years are very similar to my earliest memories of her. When we visited her, I’d sit as close as possible to the side of her bed, at her insistence, so that she could still scratch my back (even at my ripe old age of 36 I still loved her back scratches) while she told us about life in Argentina and stories about us when we were little. Michelle and our children would sit on chairs or the edge of the bed and mom and I would translate back and forth between Spanish and English so everyone could be in on the stories and the jokes Abuelita told. As always, the conversations were always filled with lots of laughter inspired by Abuelita’s perceptive observations and natural mischievousness.

During our family’s visit to Provo last summer, in a serious moment, Abuelita told Michelle and I how much she missed Abuelito and Tio Alberto and that she felt like she was finally ready to pass on if it was God’s will for her to do so. She felt like she had accomplished the missions God had for her and was at peace with the state of her life here and looking forward to the prospect of the reunion awaiting her in the next life. I hope you can understand a little now why I have been feeling happy instead of sad at her passing. Thinking about the reunion with Abuelito and Tio Alberto now taking place on the other side, at the end of a life well-lived, makes me feel nothing but happiness. I’m grateful to have known her and to be a part of her tremendous legacy of family (children, grand children, and great-grand children both here and in Argentina), love, laughter, and courage in the face of trial and adversity.

Abuelita, we will miss you for a short season. We look forward to our own future joyous reunion with you and Abuelito and all of our other loved ones at the appointed time. Abuelita, te queremos hasta el cielo y para siempre!

Clash of Civilizations

2009-06-11T07:05:00.002-10:00

You may be familiar with Samuel Huntington’s famous international relations book, the “Clash of Civilizations.” Huntington described civilizational fault lines between different population groups and premised that deep cultural differences predisposed some civilizations to come into conflict with others. His observations, in my opinion, hold generally true for the conflict between the West and the Islamic world. Given that I’m an American currently serving in Afghanistan, you might think I would devote this entry to observations on cultural clashes between Americans and Afghans. Nope. Instead, this entry is dedicated to the clash of civilizations between the Army and the Air Force.

The scene: I’m one of two AF personnel (my AF colleague is an enlisted admin troop) working in an office populated by seven other officers—all Army. It’s a high stress, high ops tempo office. We work 14 hour days (frequently more), usually seven days a week. The CAG Chief is an Army light bird and his boss is the full-bird Chief of Staff for the Command. I’m not doing anything I’ve ever been trained to do before—nothing related to my previous or current Air Force jobs, nothing related to my recent studies in China or current assignment in Hawaii. For these six months, I’m just a warm body chopped to augment the Army personnel in this headquarters in whatever way they need. I’m primarily the CG’s air travel planner (helo and fixed wing), but I also help out with a variety of nug-work jobs that range from prepping briefing packages and writing talking points to taking notes in meetings with visiting DVs.

Now to describe the clash: We’ll begin with the Air Force which is—in mission, people and culture—almost 180 degrees out from the Army. Generally speaking, the AF mission is to fight the nation’s air, space and cyber-space battles and none of those battle-spaces typically requires us to sleep in the mud for weeks at a time. While the AF is more expeditionary than ever, and we do spend plenty of time in tents, we also have air-conditioning units hooked up to those tents. We almost always have showers available, good food, clean work environments, and plenty of ways to relax after a long day—even in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. AF personnel are highly trained with the very technical skills required to operate, maintain and repair the world’s most powerful, most sophisticated air forces. Culturally, the AF values leadership that stays cool, calm and collected under pressure. Think of the calm voice of a pilot flying an aircraft shot full of holes, engines on fire, wings falling off who reports deadpan over the radio something like, “Houston, we’ve got a problem…” The AF generally uses positive motivation techniques, frequently commends its people for jobs well done and bends over backwards to provide a high quality work and living environment. I have never heard an Air Force officer scream at a subordinate and it’s been a long time since I’ve heard any officer saturate their daily speech with profanity.

The Army’s mission on the other hand is to fight the nation’s battles on the ground or in the airspace just above the ground (helos). Consequently, Soldiers spend their time training to become intimately familiar with that battle-space. They train in the mountains, deserts, jungles and plains in every conceivable kind of weather. Soldiers tell me their preference is actually for training to be conducted in the worst weather so they can fully exercise their capabilities, “if it ain’t rainin’, we ain’t trainin’,” they tell me. When the Army goes into the field, they stay there for weeks at a time, there are no showers (just baby wipes), no air-conditioned tents, and MREs are the daily fare. While Soldiers are as highly trained in their tasks as Airmen are trained in theirs, Army tasks are ultimately conducted in very adverse environments ranging from mud to snow and everything in between. Culturally, the Army values leadership that stays collected under pressure, but many in leadership (here anyhow) often don't do a good job staying cool. Yelling at people seems to be a frequent motivational tool and pats on the back for jobs well done are certainly less frequent than deserved. Profanity seems to be seven-tenths of every sentence, and I hear the ‘F’ bomb so frequently it has no shock value anymore. At this particular Army HQ, leadership seems to feel that if work doesn’t suck, then we’re not working hard enough. Micro-management of mundane tasks is pervasive and the griping of my Army colleagues is frequent and interminable. The really perverse thing is that despite all of my colleagues’ complaints about how life sucks for them, they seem to actually take pride that their life is so hard.

I think it would be fascinating for someone to do some sort of organizational comparative study to look at the reasons for such cultural divergence. Does slogging through mud, sweating in 120 degree desert heat, or close combat naturally elicit Army crudeness and yelling? Does the “cleanness” of the Air Force battle-space contribute to a more urbane Air Force culture and environment? Maybe it’s that those different battle-spaces naturally attract corresponding types of people: Army, muddy, coarse; Air Force, clean, corporate.

I like these Soldiers I work with. They’re good dudes and I’m glad to call them friends. I’m pleased to say that I hold my own in this rough crowd and give as good as I take in teasing about the “soft” Air Force. I have the utmost respect for Soldiers and the job they do for our country. The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have been fought, and will be won, at the cost of mostly Army blood. I can also say that getting out of the Army and going into the Air Force was the best career decision I ever made. Thank goodness for MyChelley’s foresight and wisdom all those years ago when she steered me toward Air Force ROTC in college. Given this clash of civilizations, I’m pleased to only be visiting the Army side and look forward to returning to the Air Force side in a few more short months.

Memorial Day

2009-05-24T06:38:00.006-10:00

I had the unenviable duty this week of putting together talking points for the CG’s speech for our Memorial Day commemorations. What made it unenviable was that part of the background information I compiled was statistics on members of the command killed in the year since the last Memorial Day. The intent was to place the names of our Fallen in the program and read them aloud during the commemoration ceremony. Nearly five dozen Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines and civilians who worked directly for our command were killed in action in the last year. On Wednesday, two more names were added to the list. While each of the previous names represents sorrow, it was the two names added on Wednesday that made the abstract nature of the exercise suddenly real. These two names belonged to people I knew and saw on a daily basis because they worked right next door. An IED claimed their lives as they drove to a conference at a coalition base outside of Kabul.

I wrote below of the sacrifice our family is making for me to be here for a short six months, but in perspective, our sacrifice is so small compared to that made by the families of each of the Fallen we’ve lost here. The losses these families sustain change everything for them. The questions about what might have been in each case can be overwhelming. Thoughts of the lost dreams each death represents are powerfully depressing. The commander, the chaplains and the mental health counselors all take care to offer extra support to those who have a difficult time understanding, or even acknowledging, the losses. We take better care of each other as well. We ask each other things like "you doing okay?" I'm impressed with the way we have responded to tragedy--we're closer than before. I think many, if not all, of us think of our own mortality at times like this. If these two people could be gone so suddenly and so seemingly randomly, then any of us could be gone in the same way. Mundane acts like brushing our teeth, going to the gym and eating meals with friends take on a new significance. Letting family know how we feel about them becomes even more important. I’ve been sad this week—heart broken—as I think about the families of our most recent Fallen and how their lives are irrevocably changed.

But sadness is only one of the swirl of thoughts and emotions I’ve (we’ve) experienced this week. There is also pride, resolution, and faith. Our Fallen died trying to make a difference in a region of the world that has never known peace or prosperity. Our Fallen died in support of ideals of democracy, civilian control of the military, religious tolerance, civil liberties and human rights. Our Fallen died for something much greater than themselves. This fight is one that will take a long time, but it's one we need to stay in and win. The people of Afghanistan need security and a shot at better lives while the US needs to make sure Afghanistan can never be a place again from which another 9/11 plot can be schemed. I have faith that the service of our Fallen matters in ways we don't understand. I take comfort in my faith that there is a Father above who is mindful of each of us and understands the interwoven influence and sweep of every soul’s existence in a perfect, complete way. It is this final perspective that lets me sleep at night in a week such as we've had here. This is not a Memorial Day I will ever forget.

Curious in Kabul

2009-05-09T06:27:00.005-10:00

Holy Smokes! The month of April just flew by. I finished my pre-deployment training on the 1st of April, flew down to Baltimore on the 3rd and spent the next three days in the D.C.-Baltimore area sightseeing, topping off on clean laundry, cleaning/repacking my gear, and visiting a family friend now stationed in the D.C. area with the Navy. Five days, four flights, and three countries later I finally arrived in Kabul—my home for the next six months.

For very good operational security reasons, I am self-censoring my posts. I won’t be able to share much of my duties (although I could write a book about what I’m doing…), but I can provide a general description of life so far here in Kabul (individual experiences in AFG vary widely to say the least): I work 13-14 hours a day, seven days a week in an office with six other officers (all Army). As a major, my living quarters are pretty nice—I share a ‘conex’ shipping container with one other officer. If you don't know what a conex is, picture the big metal box hauled by a semi-truck down the highway--that's a conex. I have yet to meet my roommate because he’s reportedly been home on emergency leave. The room is wired for internet and has air-conditioning. The food is generally good, plentiful and varied. There’s a decent PX with a surprisingly broad range of products. Not a lot of running room on-post, but there are two good gyms with nice cardio and weight training equipment. I can walk anywhere I need to go on post in five minutes or less. With the exception of the local Afghans and some civilian contractors, everyone is always armed at all times. I gave up ‘213’ back at Ft. Dix and only carry my Beretta now.

My job gives me opportunities to travel in and around Kabul. The entire country of Afghanistan is ruggedly beautiful and the mountain scenery around Kabul is impressive. Snow-covered peaks (even now in May) surround the city. Kabul sits at an elevation of about 6500 feet. It took a few days to become acclimated to the elevation, but I can now run without dying again. I’m really looking forward to taking my PT test when I get back to sea level in Hawaii. As for the city itself, I travel frequently in convoys and sincerely wish I had the opportunity to get out of my armored vehicle to just explore neighborhoods on foot. My sequestered impressions so far? Poverty is pervasive. Pollution is as bad or worse than anywhere I’ve ever been. Similar to India, Afghanistan is a place that “assaults the senses.” The smells, the colors, the sounds are omnipresent.

The people on the street are fascinating. There are a dozen or so major ethnic groups in this country and it is possible to see men and women with red or blonde hair and fair skin (from Northern Afghanistan) along with the more stereotypical black hair and brown skin. I wish I could talk to the people here and learn about Afghan life first-hand. It really bugs me that I can’t speak Dari or Pashto. Probably half of the women on the street wear their blue burkhas while the other half wears modest dresses and head scarves. Men of all ages warily watch our vehicles as we drive by. It is a little disconcerting to see some reach for their cell phones as we pass... About a third of the men still sport full beards. Traffic is chaotic, dangerous, and composed of everything from Toyota corollas, large buses, and armored military vehicles to donkey carts, bicycles and clusters of pedestrians weaving their way through fleeting gaps between cars. The little kids here are like little kids everywhere--they know how to have fun and smile even running around with torn clothes, no shoes, and a half-deflated soccer ball. The schools are open again and both boys and girls can now attend (although they generally attend all boys' or all girls' schools).

Prior to coming here, my biggest packing dilemma was deciding whether or not I should pack my camera kit. After arranging and rearranging my camera bag, I finally decided that it just wasn’t feasible. Wearing/carrying my body armor, weapons, ammo, first aid kit, and other work gear just wasn’t conducive to lugging around my DSLR with multiple lenses. I had no choice but to settle on bringing a little Canon point and shoot that has done just fine so far. If you're curious to see some of my photos, you can view them here.

Now that I’m settled and have figured out what my job responsibilities are and how they should be accomplished, I hope to be able to post a little more frequently than just once a month.

Cheers, CuriousSmith

Sacrifice

2009-03-31T13:51:00.005-10:00

I miss my wife and children. I miss coming home at 6:30 PM, eating the dinner MyChelle kept warm for me on the stove, and sitting down on the couch to watch TV for a little while to wind down and relax. I miss watching Saturday Night Live with Steven and having to tell him repeatedly not to laugh so loud because he'll wake mom up and then we'll both be in trouble because we're up so late. I miss that funny Sambuni who knows how to make me laugh with a single look. I miss a million more things about home and I'm only two weeks in to this deployment--ouch.

Truth is, this is all expected. The first three weeks are always the hardest. It takes at least that long for me away, and for the family at home, to get used to the separation and to establish our new routines. It's all about creating new routines during these first weeks because it's the routines that make time go by quickly. I've also learned from my previous two deployments that it's better to count the weeks than it is to count the days. 200 days is a long time. 28 weeks is much more manageable.

We also know that it'll take about the same amount of time after I get home to get used to each other again. Michelle will have established her routines as a single parent and I will have established my routines around 16 hours of work a day with no family distractions. It takes some time to get used to being a family again after a long separation. There's stress in the homecoming as well.

Knowing these things intellectually is some help in understanding why we feel the way we do during these separations. I think it's harder for the kids because while they understand I will be away for a while, they still can't quite process their feelings. Sambuni will be a little more clingy to Michelle, and a lot more emotional over little things. Steven will have stomach pains and be a little grumpier. As for the toll it takes on Michelle, she pretends to take it all in stride and puts on a brave face. But she runs a little more and she'll look a little more tired.

I chose this profession. Michelle supports this way of life. I'm proud to be of service to our country. But there is sacrifice involved. Someone once offered the following definiton: "sacrifice is the giving up of something good for something better." We do this because we have faith that our family's temorary sacrifice will in some small way help bring something better to the people of Afghanistan--hope, opportunity, freedom, peace. Surely helping bring these things to people is worthwhile and something we can be proud of. Our family feels the above definition holds true.

Ripples

2009-03-28T12:56:00.009-10:00

I've got two devoted fans! Two terrific people have read this blog and left comments encouraging me to write more! That they are my own sisters is irrelevant--it's the thought that my blog is being read by two people that makes me happy.

There's a part of me that would love to have thousands of devoted readers leaving comments on my posts. There's also a part of me that enjoys the safety and privacy of limited circulation. I know there is risk in recording my thoughts and leaving them in a public place for the consumption of strangers. But beyond the risk, there is also the potential for meeting new friends, encountering new ideas, and exploring new perspectives. Maybe my life's ripple on the pond can travel a little further and, as it intersects with the other ripples out there, these ripples can create interesting new patterns. Yup--I frequently wax philosophical.

I heard a story on NPR a few months ago about a blog co-written by an Israeli and a Palestinian. The two had never met each other and yet had become close friends, each hoping for a day when they could meet each other face to face and not be threatened by their neighbors for their "traitorous" relationship. It was a fantastic story about human relations and the power of cyberspace to bring people together.

So everyone knows I'm heading to Afghanistan in a week. I can't help but wonder if I have a Taliban/Al Qaeda counterpart finishing up his training in a mountain camp somewhere in Pakistan and who is preparing to cross the border into Afghanistan next week. I could be wrong, but I have a hunch most Taliban minions aren't very internet savvy and probably don't keep blogs. If they did, they would probably write in Pashto or Urdu and I couldn't read what they had to say anyhow...But, if there is a Taliban blogger out there who reads and speaks English and can explain why the Taliban version of Islam calls for the death of people who don't share the faith, I'd be really interested in reading it.

That could be a really compelling intersection of ripples.

Time Man

2009-03-22T12:30:00.006-10:00

My biggest pet-peave is tardiness--either being late myself (rare) or having to wait for others who are late (frequent). I think being late to an appointment or to accomplish a task shows a significant lack of respect for others and also reveals a certain amount of personal incompetence in that you can't plan well enough to keep a commitment you've made. I can freely accept someone being late as long as they are considerate enough to notify me in advance that they can't meet a time commitment--just a phone call to let me know what's going on will do fine. But if you keep me waiting, wasting my time with no explanation, you will find me in a foul mood when you finally arrive.

With this pet peave in mind, if I could have any super-power I wanted, I would choose the power to control time. I'd have a cool super hero name like "Chronos" (definitely not "Time Man") and I'd go around fighting crime and doing good deeds--even saving the world every once in a while. I'd be rich of course, but I'd make my money selling antiques (amazingly preserved) and as the publisher of a small on-line blog that was eerily accurate in getting breaking news stories first and with the greatest accuracy. How cool would that be?

I think God's omniscience and omnipotence must spring in part from a mastery of time. Makes sense, right? Given the opportunity to freeze time but still operate in space, imagine what a person could accomplish and become given the opportunity to study, practice, observe, and do in that frozen space. One of my all-time favorite movies is "Groundhog Day." The evolution of Bill Murray's character is fascinating. He went from being a narcissistic glutton, suicidal criminal, and selfish manipulator to an accomplished, caring, gentleman worthy of respect and love. While I accept God's reality is infinitely vaster than my own, I still have a strong hunch that mastery of time is part of what allows Him to be Him.

If my request to be "Chronos" the master of time were turned down, I'd probably settle for the ability to fly. Looks like I'm out of time to write tonight--Bravo Flight meeting in 20 minutes. I don't want to be late.

213

2009-03-21T15:24:00.008-10:00

I carry a weapon with me everywhere I go now. When I was at Army Basic Training as an 18 year old, I called my M-16 "Tammy" in honor of my little sister. It was meant to be complimentary and played into the youthful notion that war is heroic and heroes all had special weapons endowed with mystic powers. Think King Arthur and Excalibur.

Although I've been an Air Force officer for the past ten years, I once again find myself in familiar territory as I go through combat pre-deployment training here at Ft. Dix--an Army post. This time around, I don't call my M-16 anything other than "my weapon" or "my M-16." Officially, my weapon is number 213--it's engraved on the rifle butt just below the charging handle. This number is there so I can easily identify it among all the others here at training. Now that I am twice as old as I was when I was at Fort Knox for Basic Training, I think naming a weapon after someone you love is somewhat creepy. I certainly don't love this lethal tool. I don't even like it. But I do appreciate the skill required to wield it effectively and respect its utility should I ever have to use it to defend myself or those with me. I conscientiously clean it daily, sleep within an arm's reach of it at night, and can't wait until I don't have to carry it around with me anymore. I think simply calling it "213"--three cold numbers--is about as much affection as I can muster right now for this weapon.

I'm still of the opinion that weapons have all kinds of special powers. Depending on whose hands they are in, weapons can deter, create equality or inequality, force compliance, allow grave injustices to occur or be the means of bringing about justice. But I now know that these powers aren't mystical and certainly don't come from any third-person "Lady of the Lake." They come from the character of their possessors. I hope in my hands 213 will be a tool for defending, securing, and building.

I wonder if my Taliban counterpart feels the same about his "213." As he uses it to intimidate villagers into not educating their daughters or executing men and women deemed not pious enough, I know he is thinking he is doing God's will. While he is killing Afghan civilians and attacking foreign soldiers with his "213" he will be screaming "God is Great!" As I shoot him with my 213, in my heart I will be praying "God forgive me." Therein is the difference.

Blessings

2009-03-10T21:41:00.004-10:00

I leave on Sunday for a 200 day deployment to Afghanistan. That I am deploying so soon after getting back from China isn't a surprise--this'll be my first deployment in six years and it's more than about time I go again. In fact, when I learned I was one of three officers in our office on the short list for this tasking, I called My 'Chelley at home, discussed it with her for a few minutes and, with her approval, I volunteered to go.

Deploying is a somewhat stressful proposition. Besides the uncertainty of exactly where I'll be and what I'll be doing in a war zone, there are also the myriad pre-deployment training and medical certification requirements and, above all, the family preparations that need to be made. Because of this, my good boss redistributed my remaining work projects in such a way that enabled me to accomplish all my training and then take ten days of leave to spend time with the family and to make sure everything is squared away properly on the home front before my departure.

We spent the first four days of this leave on yet another family trip (last week). This time we flew to the Big Island where we had a blast snorkeling, hiking through volcanoes and sitting around the fireplace in the cabin we rented at Volcanoes National Park (trip photos here). The island of Hawai'i is now officially our favorite part of the state and we can't wait to go back and see more of it. During these remaining six days of leave, I've been finishing up little projects around the house, double-checking my various packing lists, and spending as much time as possible enjoying the company of our family. While these ten days have been terrific for our home-front preparations, it wasn't until this last Sunday that I finally felt our family was fully prepared for the next six months.

Our Bishop is a great man. I don't know another man with more kindness, humility, and spirituality. I asked him in Church on Sunday if he would be willing to give me a Priesthood blessing after our meetings and he immediately agreed. With two of my ward brothers standing in, and my family sitting reverently near me in the Bishop's office, he laid his hands on my head and proceeded to give me the most comforting, reassuring blessing I could have ever asked for. I immediately felt the quiet peace of the Spirit. My worries about my family's well-being while I'm away and about my ability to fulfill my responsibilites in Afghanistan simply vanished and were replaced with a feeling of peace and confidence that I had been lacking to that point.

When we got home, it was my turn to do the same for my family. Because I too hold the Priesthood, I was able to bless each of our children and then my good wife with the blessings they needed from our Father in Heaven. We again felt the quiet comfort of the Spirit as we sat together reverently in the living room for these blessings. With all of the physical, financial, and legal preparations we had already made, it wasn't until this last spiritual experience that we finally felt ready as a family for my departure.

I hesitate to share these personal, spiritual things on a blog. And yet it is these spiritual things that are at the real center of my life. To understand what makes me tick, what motivates me, you have to understand one thing--my faith in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It empowers me, guides me, constrains and frees me. It tempers and colors the way I view and understand the world. It deepens my love for my family, pushes me to do my best in everything I do, and comforts me.

Well, maybe that's enough for this post. I'm ready for the next six months and so is my family. I'm thankful for these blessings.

Turning 37

2009-02-15T00:14:00.000-10:00

It's now 12:15 AM on 15 February 2007. For most people, February 15th is simply the day after Valentine's Day. For me it's my birthday, and this year happens to be number 37. I find it shocking that in only another three short years I'll be 40. Shocking because most of my life feels like it just happened yesterday--I don't feel 37. At least not as I write this. I feel more like 22.

My'chelle and the kids took me out to a surprise dinner tonight at a kid birthday place in the PearlRidge Mall that serves burgers, hotdogs, fries and the biggest ice-cream desserts in the world. A place where the staff makes a painful point of singing enthusiastically corny birthday songs no matter the age of the unfortunate birthday customer. They make bashful birthday kids stand up on their chairs while they are serenaded so the entire restaurant can clap during the song. They didn't ask me to stand on a chair, but they made a lot of noise (sirens, bells, and a megaphone) when it came time for my song. I put on a good face for the kids because I knew they'd enjoy it. Bear delighted in repeating the birthday song (sung to the tune of the familiar Army marching jody call) throughout the evening: "I don't know but I've been told, Steve is getting really old..."

I have genetically-gifted premature gray hair from my mother's side of the family. I started going gray at the side-burns while I was still in my mid-20's. I have a bit more now that I'm approaching 40. But I also have this feeling of youthfulness that permeates my attitudes...also genetically-gifted from my mother's side of the family. True, I can't stay awake three days and nights in a row and live on cereal like I once could. But while my flesh is slightly weaker, my spirit is just as willing as it has ever been--maybe even more so now that I sense a little more keenly that time is accelerating and I've still got a lot of living to do.

We went to Best Buy after dinner. I delighted the kids by deciding to plunk down $200 for the Guitar Hero World Tour complete band set for our Wii game player. I spent the rest of the evening at home practicing my mad drum skillz with the kids until 10:30 PM. I think the three hours playing rock video games with the kids was well spent--certainly in keeping with the kind of "living" I've still got left to do.

Happy Birthday, Smitty Old Man. Happy Birthday.

Leaving Shanghai

2008-07-16T01:48:00.001-10:00

The movers just left with the last of our belongings packed inside four wooden crates carriedon two blue container trucks. We're keeping our fingers crossed that we see it all again sometime in the next six months. If we don't, it certainly won't be the packing crew's fault. I've never seen stuff more carefully packed and boxed up in my life of many moves. Even if the boat sinks, there's still a decent chance the stuff will make it because it was packed so well. Like the travel trunks in Joe vs the Volcano, our crates would bob to the surface and continue their voyage on the currents--arriving miraculously in Honolulu just as we need them to.

The kids are simply delighted to be moving from Shanghai. No pangs of any kind evident anywhere. I think it might be because they're psyched about visiting family for the first time in more than 30 months and they love going back to Provo. It might also have something to do with their anticipation of life in Hawaii.

My'chelle and I both have mixed feelings though. Too much to write here, but we leave Shanghai and China with very different perspectives from when we arrived. Different perspectives both about China and the U.S. Maybe there's nothing like living outside your own country to broaden your mind a little. I'm sure that's part of what the Olmsted Foundation had in mind for us when they sent us here. I love the United States--just very disappointed in its present leadership. We've also learned that China isn't the big scary place it's made out to be in the western media either. I leave here feeling we can work with China as Americans and feel good about it in the morning. Certainly, if we call the governments of places like Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Pakistan close allies, then we can get along with China.

For My'chelle and I, China has proven to be unexpected, kind, suspicious, enchanting, simple, sophisticated, foreign, familiar, welcoming, frustrating, heart-warming, heart-breaking, and, above all, endlessly fascinating. So much to learn and see and do. We're very happy to have lived here for the last two and a half years. We would be happy to live and work here again in the future. But we're also very happy to be heading home to America right now. A non-Chinese can never really feel totally at home in China and we have felt that too. One of the things that makes America so great is that anyone can feel at home there.

We will definitely miss a lot about our life here: our good friends, the great food, the terrific sites, etc. As I sit in this echoing, empty apartment right now, the sun is setting across the river in Puxi. Oh, how I will miss the views from our living room window... As I look out, I can't help but be a little sad that the sun is also setting on what has been a life-changing experience for every member of our little family. Can't be too sad though, Hawaii is calling!