Dear Elder Davidson No. 4

27 September 2027

Hello Isaac,

You’ll be happy to know the Red Herring is parked in the driveway, getting ready for the final phase of repairs. I’m supposed to take it in for a wheel alignment this coming Friday and then see about the tires. Once that’s done, it’ll go back to Kevin for the timing belt kit then, cross fingers, we should be good to go for awhile. We’ve spent close to a thousand dollars so far on repairs, but I still think it’s a bargain compared to shopping around for a different vehicle, particularly as we’re still paying Mom’s truck off. Good thing teaching at BYUI is back in swing so we can afford these repairs. But it does mean once the last round is complete, I can go back to getting buckets of sand and maybe finish leveling the back yard this fall. And I am looking forward to driving it to work in the morning. It’s funny to say, but I’ve missed it these past few weeks.

Yesterday we took a trip to Montpelier to see the last day of the temple open house. It took 2 ½ hours to drive there, and it felt like a long trip. But it was worth it. When we got there we waited in the old Tabernacle next door. The tabernacle was built in 1917 and has some Art Deco flairs, particularly on the lighting, that they echoed in the temple. All looking very streamlined.

As we were touring the temple, one of the volunteers there came up to me and commented on my “John Widtstoe beard.” I’m familiar with the name; he was an early apostle, scientist, and man-about-town as you’d assume if someone was commenting on a beardy lookalike. I Googled photos of him later and really couldn’t find a photo of him with a beard like mine, but perhaps this guy knows more than the Internet when it comes to old LDS apostles. Anway, he was pretty funny about it. As we were heading out he came up to me one last time and asked if the beard gave me any “extra authority” at home. I laughed and said, “Oh, you’re kidding,” and Mom echoed that: “Oh, not a stitch.” So even with my early 1900s apostle beard, I still don’t get any respect.

After the temple visit, we drove another 15 miles south to see the Paris Tabernacle. This one was built in 1888 and was used as a guinea pig for the foundation reinforcement they performed on the Salt Lake temple just recently, or so the tour guide says. I’ve always wondered why the early saints in Idaho didn’t rally to build a temple like they had in some of the far-flung Utah settlements. I suppose divine inspiration had some to do with the building of temples, even back then. And the Logan temple, finished before the tabernacle here, was not that far off. Sixty miles, per Google Maps, and only one valley over. So I’m sure the saints in the valley around Paris didn’t visit the temple much during the winter.

We had thoughts – at least I did – about going further south and visiting some of the sites from my family’s history in Laketown, Utah, but as it was we didn’t get home until after 8 pm and the dogs and made an unholy mess in the kitchen, even though we had Maaike come and let them out once while we were gone. We stopped for dinner on the way home, but waited until we got to Idaho Falls before we did so. As we passed Pocatello, Mom commented from way in the back “So we’re not stopping in Pocatello?” Liam and I responded that we were more familiar with Idaho Falls than Pocatello, so she called us cowards, which was right. Though I know there’s a great Chinese restaurant in Poky but have a hard time talking Mom into eating such food.

I’m sure you’re thrilled by all of this food- and poop-related news. I might be a little cranky with the dogs as they had me out of bed just after five this morning and we really whiny about getting breakfast straight away. That’s just entirely too early. They usually don’t get breakfast until after six, when I’m getting ready for work, the little twerps. What galls the most is now they’re napping peacefully in different areas of the basement and look at me like “Hey, why did you get us up so early” when I happen to make some kind of noise or movement that wakes them up.

Hey, imagine my surprise when I opened up Facebook yesterday and saw this on the Gilbert Arizona mission page. We’re watching you, Wazowski, always watching . . .

I mean, I guess y’all know what you look like so you don’t need to see this picture, but it was fun to see it in the wild. And you know, I know Elders are young these days, but they guy sitting in the middle on the couch looks like he’s about 14 years old. Tell him this 54-year-old who is regularly mistaken for a 78-year-old is jealous of his youthful looks.

Love, Dad

Borr-ing!

Back when I was a student at the University of Idaho, I submitted a short story to a sort of contest open to university students, the winners of which were invited to a writing conference at the school with Raymond Federman, a French-American "experimental author."

I was selected.

I attended the conference.

The only thing I got out of it was excuses from Federman that he had not read my particular piece, and he felt bad about it, but as far as I know he never read it.

After a few excuses from him, I figured attending and of the non-conference events tied to his visit were going to be worthless, so I didn't. That decision seemed wise when I listened to attendees of one of the events talk, with some awe, about Federman's preoccupation with sex at one of those off-course meetings.

I bring this up because as I struggle to read Michael Chabon's "Manhood for Amateurs," I kinda get the feeling that he's got that same preoccupation and that continuing to read the book is going to be pretty useless.

There exists a certain kind of author that thinks whatever they happen to think is gold and deserves to be shared with the world at large, and I feel Chabon is in that vein. Maybe he's better in person. But yeah, not a lot of value here.

So no, I didn't finish the book. It just wasn't getting any better 3/4 of the way through it. I don't like to abandon books, but this one deserved it.

I Love to See the Temple

 

We did a thing today.

Liam decided he wanted to see the Montpelier Idaho Temple in the last day of the open house.

So we did the two-hour drive, saw the temple, some fall foliage, and threw the Paris Tabernacle into the mix as well.

Odd to see a temple without an Angel Moroni on the spire, but the church is trending that way, and I'm fine with it. (And, according to this article, it's a more widespread practice than I previously thought.)

Tired now, though. A lot of time in the car. . .

The Red Herring is Back

Good news everyone! We got the Red Herring Back.

You may recall the car went into the shop a few weeks ago to see about fixing some of its many ills. We got it back briefly with new brakes and took it in for a wheel alignment, but parts were so worn out they couldn't get the alignment to stick. So back it went to Kevin, who has now replaced parts in both the front and rear of the vehicle so we're off again to the alignment shop.

Once we're past that, it's new tires, then back to Kevin for Round Three, which involves a timing belt kit and a run-through of some sensors sending out some distress signals.

In the meantime, we've dropped Liam's 1997 Pontiac minivan off to him to look at the anti-lock brake system.

The bill for the Honda has come to about a thousand dollars with more to come, but it's still better than shopping for a new, much more expensive vehicle to replace it.

Anti-Hoarding Activities Continue

What do you do when you're between student Zoom conferences, you're caught up with grading, and you really don't have time between conferences to do much of anything?

You watch a little Matt's Off-Road on YouTube.

You combat your hoarder tendencies by scanning water and sanitation bills for the last decade so you can toss the paper records.

You wonder if getting that masters degree was worth what you're doing with it now.

You research doctorate programs, because what the heck.

And I love how my phot captures an image of me on the computer screen taking a photo of the whole thing.

AI was Finally *Good* for Something

So today, doing the crossword at Vox, this arose:

Of course, I had no idea what it meant. But I'm not always au courant with the lingo, so I thought I'd do an internet search.

If It hadn't been for artificial intelligence, I think I would have come up empty. This is what I found out:

I don't know that AI really knew this was linked to a crossword -- maybe it does now, because I hesitate to believe I was the only one who searched the term today. So it could only do what it could: Guess.

Which led me to a startling conclusion: AI was finally *good* for something. Never thought I'd see the day.

A Week of Light Edits

So this has been my experience this week at work.

Along with something else: I thought it was seasonal depression sneaking in a little early, but I'm convinced now it's Ol' Mr. Satan coming in and stirring the pot while I'm feeling exhausted and overwhelmed.

So some prayers for me, folks, would be in order. Because I'm still a decade out of retirement, and I'm too damn old to find a different job.

Manhood for Amateurs

 

Currently reading Manhood for Amateurs by Michael Chabon. It's a collection of essays focusing, loosely, on the then-vs-now Chabon sees.

I don't know what I expected from this book, but I had hoped it was going to be less Old Man Yells at Cloud than it's turning out to be.

Not that I don't think he has a point, say, about the adultification of LEGOs, or the general absence of kids playing outdoors together these days. I myself have yelled at those particular clouds.

Yelling ought to engender solutions. I don't see any here.

A friend posted this on my Facebook thread wherein I raise the question:

There was only one response that seemed appropriate:

I have to confess that I've read more since my initial reaction, and this book is growing on me.

You Can Retire When You're Dead

My brother Albert retired this year, and I'm insanely jealous.

And I look at the calendar: Ten years. Maybe 8 or 9 years. But it seems like forever.

I guess there is some good news. We owe less than $40,000 on the house; $38,744 and some pennies if you want something more exact. We owe about $12,000 on a Honda Ridgeline, and aside from that, just incidental credit card debt. Only one of our three kids is living with us at the moment, and he's so low maintenance it's hardly noticeable.

So we could be in worse shape. Nevertheless, I feel a Violet Beauregarde song coming on:

I'm tired of being beholden to a boss.

I used to work for the weekends. Now I live for them, and the longer I can make them last, the better.

I was sick a few weeks ago and took two days off work. That, combined with the four-day Labor Day weekend felt like V-E Day. And we're headed into the holiday season, which means some more time off and the perennial favorite: Seasonal depression, which I sense is starting a bit early this year if my attention span and desire to do much of anything is any indication.

Could potentially be a long eight or nine years . . . 

Dear Elder Davidson No. 3

20 September 2026

Dear Isaac,

Coming at you with more exciting action from Dad Land. . .

. . .

I got to see three trees cut down and shatter when they hit the asphalt in front of Lexi and Keaton’s house. That was probably the highlight of the week. If you remember, they have that birch tree in the front yard, like the one we have. Except theirs was a lot older, thicker, and completely dead. They had a few members of their ward come over Saturday with chainsaws, some rope, and a four-wheeler so they could take the tree down, which had three trunks.

One guy was working on the trunks, one at a time, and the rest of us – Keaton, me, and two other guys – were in charge of watching the trunk he was working on for any wobbling. When he finally had enough cut through we hollered. The guy with the chainsaw ran and we all watched as the tree fell to the street and shattered. At least the upper, skinny branches shattered. The trunks themselves were heavy and wet and took a lot of cutting and lugging to get them moved around. I wish I had taken pictures, but I was a bit preoccupied making sure nobody got squashed.

So when they had one tree down, the guy started pretty much immediately on the next one. One other guy with a chainsaw started cutting up the fallen trunk while the rest of us gathered up the debris and occasionally cautioned neighbors about parking their cars too close to the death zone. There was one trunk that, when it shattered, I thought for sure was going to smack parts into a car parked nearby, but nothing happened.

After the trees were down and we were mopping up, I talked with the guy who was cutting the trees down and said, “Wow, looks like you’ve done this a time or two,” because the trees dropped perfectly and didn’t even hit their mailbox, which I thought was going to be toast at one time. He laughed and said, “Nope, first time.” So a very confident person, to be sure.

We had the trees down and the debris collected and stacked in Keaton’s driveway in an hour.

A week or to before that, I got a call – missed one, actually – from a lady that Liam and I are ministers for. I’ll confess when the call came in I was glad I missed it. She’s a nice enough lady, but a little needy. I think you went with me to her house once, Dottie Murdock. We gave her a blessing. And a few more after that. So when she called I really didn’t want to call her back. But because I’m trying to be a better person, I did call her back. Turns out she was stuck with her van with a flat tire, a couple of miles from home. Liam and I loaded up to go see what we could do, but all the way there I was wishing you’d been there as well, as you’ve got more automotive experience than Liam and I put together. We found her and got the tire lug nuts loosened, but she was getting a little antsy so I had Liam take her and her son home, because they had things they needed to do, while I stayed to finish swapping out the tire. Of course the tire hadn’t been off the van in ages so it was really rusted to the hub. I pounded on it with my fists and gave it quite a few good kicks, but it wasn’t budging. I called Liam to bring a mallet and some other tools, but I remembered how much you struggled with the tire on your Expedition.

So there in the parking lot of a church on 12th Street, I said a prayer. I was a little cranky, but I did say to God that I didn’t really know what I was doing and asked for help in getting the tire off. As I finished the prayer, I could see a guy walking up the street. I didn’t think much of it, and kept kicking the tire. Next thing I knew the guy was there and ready to help. He checked first to make sure I had all the lug nuts off – I guess I looked a little slow, and I don’t blame him for checking. Turns out he used to work at a tire shop. Gave the tire one kick and it popped right off, and we had the donut spare on in less than a minute.

He said he was running an errand, and that ordinarily he’d have taken his car to do so, but for some reason he decided to walk instead. I figured right there God had prepared him to help, either me or just Dottie had I not taken the call. I’m glad I was there.

So I drove her van to her house, and had Liam meet me there. On the way, I could tell there were more problems with the van than just tires – the tire we took off was almost bald, with some of the bands showing through the  rubber. As I was driving I actually stopped to make sure the emergency brake wasn’t on. It wasn’t, but I limped the van to Dottie’s house. When I got there, she said she knew she needed a brake job, and that was clear. So over the next few days I talked with Brother Shaw from the Elders’ Quorum, and he got us connected with a ward member who does repairs. He’s got her brakes fixed now, and we’re trying to find her some used tires.

Just goes to show that God uses whatever tools He has at his disposal, even if one of those “tools” is a cranky old guy who had to have help to get the job finished. I’m just glad I didn’t ignore the call; I would have felt bad, and I know I would have disappointed Father in Heaven if I hadn’t.

Anyway, that’s my amazing story. Hope you’re having a good mission.

Love, Dad