Gratitude

There are times in life when you need something and you don't have it. Things you take for granted. Things you didn't pay particularly close attention to until you have felt the jolt of anxiety when they were not there. These moments make you prioritize your life and put value on things that you otherwise would not think about.

This was my experience twice this week. Once when I was sitting on the can, reaching to my left and finding an empty roll of toilet paper. The second time, moments later stepping out of the shower and noting that there were no towels.

Super!

There is a setting on our washing machine labeled "Super Wash". Now, I have no idea any more than dirty pig what that means, but I always make a point when I put in a load of wash to make sure that button is pushed. When you consider the alternative to super wash which is just a plain old regular wash, the choice is an easy one.

I was talking to a friend who was telling me that she went to Olive Garden and the waiter asked if she wanted a super salad. She had no idea what a super salad was, other than the fact that it was super. Given the choice of super salad opposed to... no salad, she opted for the super salad she proudly responded "Yes!" The waiter stopped taking orders and stared at her and said again "super salad?" Unsure of herself based on his reply she said again with less enthusiasm "Y-yes?" He looked at her and said it slowly this time "Soup OR salad?" As the mirage of a super salad faded away in her mind she slowly answered "salad"

I don't know what makes a super Wal-Mart more super than a regular Wal-Mart.

What makes the Super Bowl more super than just the bowl game.

What makes Super Mario Brothers Better than regular Mario Brothers.

Given the choice I would rather have Superman defending my city rather than Man defending my city.

For reasons unexplained we seem to be drawn to this ubiquitous adjective like bird poop to a freshly detailed car.

If you will excuse me, I am off to make a super salad.

oh lament!

I am feeling discouraged. If I were a drinking man, I have a suspicion I might be looking for the bottom of a strong beverage.

On weekends I help supervise a group of families constructing their own houses. While I was gone to work one of the guys in the group came over and borrowed my snow blower... yes, Thee Chuck. I shouldn't really comment on whether this individual is one of more favorite people in the world, because I would lie and say he was.

When I came home I went to use the snow blower and found it was out of gas. I had just filled the tank. A quick search around the garage resulted in finding both of my gas cans empty. Went to the gas station and bought more gas. I was now annoyed. Came home filled up the snow blower. Snow blower started but sounded horrible. I checked the oil. Empty. I wondered how long the engine had been running without oil. I wondered if the engine was ruined. I was now upset. Put more oil in it. It seemed to be running fine. I calmed down a bit.

I started to clear snow with it. being a self propelled snow blower it crawls its way into the piles of snow and gnaws away at anything in it's path. However, whenever it found any substantial piles of snow it would not go any further and started grinding and popping. Somehow the gears were slipping. I was angry again. I found one of the bearings was worn broken. I was convinced that if I replaced it, All would be well. Well, it's not. Something is horribly wrong with Chuck. I haven't had time to tear into it to figure out what.

I also have a coworker whose transmission went out in his car. I told him I would fix it. Last week I drove down to St. George and towed it back. and it is currently sitting in my garage waiting anxiously to be fixed.

This morning Mandy went to start our Durango. It won't start and it is back firing through the intake. I have no idea what is wrong yet. I'm not too optimistic about that either.

I like to be busy, but this is a bit out of control.

My life is starting to sound like a country song.

As a side note, don't you think Billy Ray Cyrus is the bastard child of the music industry? Anyone that professes to like country, I like to sing "Don't break my heart, my achy breaky heart!" and they ALL turn red faced and scream "Billy Ray is NOT a country musician" With a name like "Billy Ray" and his twang exclude him from the rock category. No one else seems to want to claim him. Who does he belong to? Someone must pay child support for him. And what does that make Hannah Montana? Something that probably has the words "evil" and "experiment" and "Semi-gelatinous" in it's description and probably is the root cause of my problems, your problems... all of our problems.

If you will excuse me, I am going to go mope a bit and then get cracking on one of the aforementioned projects.

What a great family

I am sitting here considering the topic to write about and I am finding myself waxing nostalgic. I recently received a copy of an autobiography my grandpa wrote. He passed away when I was 5 or 6. I have vague memories, but I never really knew him. I found what he had written riveting. I couldn't stop reading. I learned about his family, his life, some of his concerns and life lessons and discovered a person that I might enjoy sitting down with after this life and getting to know better.

As this being a new year, I am looking back at the past year. It was a year ago that we were returning home from Montana. My family was (and is) reeling from the loss of my nephew. I got the call from my Mom informing me of what had just happened in the middle of the night December 27th. It set the tone for a turbulent year that I am recalling with mixed emotions. The circumstances that brought my family together a year ago were less than ideal. However, once everyone was there I still marvel at how well each person automatically assumed roles that seemed to mesh so well with each other that it appeared to me to almost be pre-destiny. It was like seeing puzzle pieces fall out of a bag, bounce on the table top and click into place to form a beautiful picture all by themselves.

I have the exceptional benefit of being the youngest of eight children. By the time I came along, there was nothing that I could do that would surprise my mother.

I love watching people. People watching always proves to be humorous, insightful, educational and a great way to pass the time when waiting for your flight at the airport. I have watched all of my siblings and learned something from each one of them. Starting with the oldest, Dave:

Dave has a very unique laugh. It is comparable to thunder eminating from a mid summer tempest. It starts out low and quickly builds to a booming rumble that fills the whole room and makes things on shelves shake and tremble. To tell Dave a funny joke or story is a horrifically rewarding moment. Dave is great at listening, but even better at talking. I have marvelled at his ability to tell a story. He gets his eyes and arms involved and great voice inflections at the perfect moments and suddenly you find yourself sucked into his tale like you were there. His stories are so animated, children love to hear him tell stories. He finishes each story by rolling back on his heels and howling out his huge laugh. People like to be around Dave.

Dave has always amazed me with his craftsmanship. He always has a project. When I go to his house, I always get him to show me some of his latest projects. All of his projects are extremely robust, well thought out, clean and have a touch of artistry to them. He showed me a trailer he had restored. He had replaced several things on it, the propane tanks, some panels, refurbed the interior. It was a late 50's trailer and then he had purchased a bunch of post cards from that era and framed them and put them on the walls of the trailer. It looked great. They seemed to fit in so well with the trailer, I was almost convinced they were post cards from places the trailer had actually been. Dave has taught me to be a better craftsman, better listener and a better communicator. Although I couldn't tell an exciting story to save my skin, I at least know what it takes to be a great story teller.

Even though my sister is the worst offender when it comes to being a morning person, she still has plenty of other great characteristics for me to list. She is well organized and planned. Somehow she seems to have acquired all of the artistic talent in the family. By profession I am a designer of sorts. Some people get designers and artists confused. Big difference. By my definition, a designer is someone who knows what looks good and assembles art into a pleasing arrangement. An artist creates beautiful things rather than just assembling it. I am afraid I can't even draw a stick figure character. She has exhibited ample talent in almost every medium of art. Somehow Tami has figured out both ends of the spectrum. Your stereotypical artist probably lives a cluttered and unorganized life. Tami is perfectly organized. I am sure Stephen Covey ripped all of his ideas off of Tami for the Franklin Day Planners. She is also active and continuously doing something. Her husband teases her because when she is watching a movie with him, she is knitting, widdling, painting, gluing, sawing, welding, casting, typing, carving, bending, folding, smoothing or fixing something.

Tami is easy to talk to, is quick to laugh and like all of us enjoys laughing at other people's follies. Don't ever fall down the stairs at an Ungerman family reunion. You will receive no sympathy, just a room full of hysterical laughter and years of "Remember that time you fell down the stairs? Classic." Tami is also very patient. It comes from teaching jr. high and raising twins. I don't see much rattle here anymore. Tami has taught me to be more organized, inspired me to draw stick figures a little more life like and to be more patient.

Kimball. Where do I start with Kimball? Kimball is the spiritual leader of the family. I find it ironic that he does a perfect imitation of Yoda. Kimball also has a keen sense of humor. One time we were waiting to meet someone at a 7-11. It was at the base of Big Cottonwood canyon. There were several skiers entering and leaving the store. Outside there was a man using the payphone. Kimball suddenly started making up a dialogue for the man on the phone. The man on the phone seemed to mimic the actions that would go along with the dialogue he was making up. He seemed to grow agitated and nervous at the right times or laugh or seemed to be listening at all of the right moments. We both found it so funny that he could not continue because we were both laughing too hard. Kimball is also very good at encouraging me at whatever pursuit I am engaged in. When I was in high school he gave me a camera and gave me a demonstration on photography, what all of the dials and knobs are for and how to frame a picture. Most of what I learned led me directly in to the profession I am in now. Two years ago he took me to a screenwriting class that ruined my life. I have since yet to be able to sit through a movie without analyzing the writing and thinking of suggestions that I would tell the writer to improve the movie if I had the chance. From Kimball I have been given a great spiritual example and counselor. I have learned to laugh and enjoy myself wherever I am. And I have been instilled with a greater sense of self confidence.

Doug is similar to Dave in that he can listen and communicate very well. Between the both of them, I think they took all of the scraps of the gift of gab and by the time I got around to picking from the genetic gene pool there were a few tiny crumbs, but nothing you could call anything left over. I throw this out as a humorous scenario, but I would not be surprised if Doug could or has done this. If Doug were to be pulled over by a policeman, you could easily lean over to him before the officer arrived to the window and say "Betcha $20 you can't get that cop to rip up this ticket and whiz all over it." 10 minutes later you will be forking a $20 over to him as the patrolman strolled back to his car leaving a freshly urinated on shredded ticket on the ground. Recently he bought a car and told them he was not paying the dealership fees. They said "Well, most people have to pay those fees." He said "Well, I am not most people." The sale person phoned her boss and the fees were waived. If I tried a stunt like that, not only would they decide to not sell me the car, but they would bill me $2,000 for wasting their time and being ridiculous.

Doug also is an extremely fast learner and excels at anything he tries. I still remember the room we had in the basement absolutely packed with trophies he had won from motocross racing. If it is mechanical he can fix it. One time our dryer stopped working. He came and got me and said "Come help me fix the dryer" As he disassembled it I asked him how he knew what was wrong with it. He explained "You just need to take it apart and look at it. You will see what is wrong and then you can fix it" It sounded overly simplistic at the time, but that statement has helped me out in almost everything I have done in my life. Another time I was driving my car and the clutch pedal went soft. It began woring intermittently. I nursed it home and called him frantically. I expected him to tell me he would come out and fix it. I was disappointed when he told me I could do it. He told me some things to check, but once again he said "You just need to look at it, you will figure out what is wrong and you can fix it." I moped out to the garage slide under the car and almost immediately I noticed a cylinder on the side of the transmission that was leaking fluid. I took the part off and took it to an auto parts store. A few minutes I came out of the store with a new, what they told me was called a "slave cylinder". I took it home, put it on and the car worked again. From that point I on I always had enough confidence to say, "I can fix it" knowing that if I just take it apart and look at it, I will see what is wrong and I can fix it. I have yet to be led astray by that philosophy.

If Doug and Dave took all of the gift of gab genetics, then Heidi took all of the being able to see blood-and-guts-and-be-fine-with-it genetics. One time I was hiking, I slipped and fell. I caught myself with my hand, but in doing so, put my hand on a large sharp rock that punched a little triangle shaped hole in my hand. As soon as I pulled my hand up in front of my face to see why it was hurting, I saw the blood. Everything started spinning. I felt nauseous and detached like I was floating out of my body. I was going into shock from seeing a bit of blood on my hand. I sat down and waited for the trees to stop twisting around me. I couldn't look at my hand because I would start feeling sick again.

Heidi is a nurse and has seen all sorts of nasty, vile and gory things that would have me out cold on the floor. she even says it is "cool" and "interesting". Paired with her ability to view all things "blech", she has a natural compassionate disposition. One time there was a family of raccoons living in our attic. They had made a hole in the roof and they were raising a litter of babies in all of the insulation. Animal control dropped off a trap and soon all of the raccoons and the babies were captured. Animal control was called and they said they would be by to pick up the raccoons so they could be disposed of. Heidi took compassion on the babies and took it upon herself to hand feed them their last meal. Like all of us, Heidi is quick to laugh and has a good sense of humor. From Heidi I have learned that blood is just like motor oil, it's just a fluid and even though I want to freak out when I see it, I really shouldn't. That raccoons are people too and when life gives you lemons, feed them to other people so you can laugh at their reactions.

Lori, my tragic sibling. Tragedy befalls her on every move. The two have formed a companionship like Laurel and Hardy. Luckily she has the sense to laugh at herself, roll with the punches and keep her fists up. I have rarely seen her get bummed about anything. If she does, she doesn't show it. I could share experiences, but they happen so fast to her, It's like hopping on a runaway train, there is no getting off once you board. So, I will share some that I am familiar with and are neatly contained around one subject-- her car. Right after her divorce she needed a car, but didn't have much money at all. I browsed the papers and we went and looked at one in Salt Lake. It was a horrifically ugly, silver, four door Mazda GLC. One side of it had been repainted with a silver can of spray paint. The guy selling it barely spoke any English, but it was cheap and it seemed to run fine. She bought it. At the time she was living in our neighbor's basement apartment. They have a long sloping driveway that is a couple hundred feet long and connected to the top of the culdesac that we lived in. Dividing our property from theirs was a long row of poplar trees. Lori Brought her daughter out who was 3 or 4 at the time, and ran back in the house to grab something. When she came out the car was gone. After a few seconds of panicking she saw it at the end of the driveway buried in a stand of bushes. Her daughter being the active and curious child that she was had pulled the car out of gear and then stood up peering over the back of the driver's seat in horror as she watched through the rear window the car careen down the driveway out of control. Some how it weaved in between two trees and ended up in the bushes. The rear wheel spindle was damaged. The good thing about owning a clunker, is that there are ample parts at junk yards. I found one and replaced her bent spindle. Then her car started sputtering, I identified a cracked carbon canister. replaced that. Then she had a total electrical melt down. One of the fuses had been replaced with a fuse that was rated over what it was supposed to be. Whatever it was, shorted out and melted a huge wiring harness together. After the plastic insulation melted on a few wires, some wires began touching other wires and soon nothing worked and everything was shorted out. One by one I went through and began matching wires that entered and exited the melted snarl of electron chaos. I then snipped each wire and patched in a segment of unmelted wire. This was all under the dash, so I spent most of one day laying on my head up against the pedals, my back resting on the edge of the seat and my legs sticking up in the air like an awkward set of strange looking twins. I guessed right on 90% of the wires. It was the other 10% that made driving the car from then on interesting. Things like the windshield wipers didn't work unless you turned on the defroster. You couldn't honk the horn unless the radio was tuned to AM 1020, the left turn signal on, your right leg placed out the passenger window and you had to be traveling at exactly 27 MPH. From Lori I learned to smile when things get rough. To stay positive and enjoy what you have.

Shawn, as my friends growing up would always tell me, looked like John Cusack. Not sure where I came from. All of my brothers have darker complexions, black hair and are quite handsome. I am blond and blue eyed and a little more rough on the eyes. I imagine it worked better when they had me in public and they could deny any relation to me without much acting and still present an undetected lie. Speaking of lying, Shawn was a master. One time he went camping. On his way home he called from a pay phone. Lori answered and he started telling her this long story about how he had caught this huge fish and all the time and effort it took to land the behemoth and then he told her that when he cut it open it was full of bologna, just like this whole story. Lori was believing everything up until that point. Shawn also used to like to call up people and act like he was mentally challenged. One time my sister got a phone call from someone who was asking for money for a charity who truly was disabled. Tam interrupted them and said "Nuh-uh! Who is this?" They started over again. Tam interrupted again "Shawn knock it off, what do you want?" They started again and Tam began to realize that maybe this wasn't a joke. Another time Shawn's family was out of town. He called me and said "I am sick, can you come and make me some dinner?" I said "Uh, OK what do you really want?" He said again "I'm sick, can you just come and heat up some soup or something?" I paused "You are serious aren't you?" He groaned "Yes, I am serious" I went over to his house half expecting him to jump up from the couch and say "Nah! I am just kidding I got a new video game. Do you want to play it with me?" But, when I saw him on the couch, I could tell he wasn't kidding. He really was sick.

I really couldn't have asked for a better older brother. Some of his favorite things are teasing, joking about farting, joking about pooping, joking about burping and if you can tease about farting, pooping and/or burping that is even better. Despite his teasing, and when I was young, his alleged contempt towards me. I have always known he had my back, would do anything to help me succeed and would always have a fart joke on hand in case I needed a pep.

So there you have it. What I have learned and am learning from my family. If I were to be found in possession of any good attributes it would be because of them. So thank you for blazing the trail. I am glad I am the spoiled baby of the family. Possibly the best part about being the youngest -- getting old and seeing all of them get really old. Crotchety old geezers peeing their pants and forgetting where they put their canes.