Going Home

You never can really go home.  Or can you?

One of the inevitabilities of getting older is that you have more past to reflect upon.  New friends enter while others move on. You experience changes in pop culture, fashion fads, and shifts in political thought. You can even track the changes if you watch close enough. I see them happening around me every day.  I see my hair slowly thinning (thanks for the genes mom and dad), I feel time pass more quickly (grandma was right), and I can see the people and places around me transform into something new with each passing day.

Every once in a while, I indulge myself and allow for some time to really delve into my past.  I’ll go on Google Earth and zoom in on places I’ve lived to see how what they look like now.  Sometimes things look familiar. Sometimes they look drastically different. I was able to see the remains of what was once the Cloward Family cabin in Northern Utah.  The building, and old converted Mormon church my Grandparents purchased from the LDS church no longer belonged to my family when it burned to the ground. Seeing the remains in a picture taken from a satellite miles above the planet confirmed the feeling that I can never revisit this place. Pictures and the memories I have of this building and the many weekends and summer days I spent there are all that remain of a place that was so much a part of my childhood.

What is it about looking back on the past that makes us so nostalgic? Is it the sense of lost time that will never be regained? Maybe it’s just that we don’t remember the heartaches as much as we remember the joyful occasions. Whatever the cause, the past can become a potent pill that, when taken, can drug a person into a comma of reminiscing that may last hours or even days. Although it’s important to learn from the “good old days,” I believe it’s even more important to look to the future. Future opportunities are more exciting than past ventures, and the future is still in our control.

I’ve moved eleven times in my life, yet I’ve always been able to find comfort in the people around me. I believe people need people, and I’ve been fortunate to be able to create small pockets of friends wherever I go. We are able to lean on one other when times are not as good as we hope they will be. Friends may change with time, but I’ve found that relationships built on strong foundations can endure, no matter what time may bring.

It is said that home is where the heart is. In a sense, home is wherever you need or want it to be. It can be people, a building, a city, or a place of employment. With everything that changes, home provides stability, something to hold on to.  It can be re-associated with new surroundings and people as the world around us changes. If we’re willing to put in the effort, it is something we can have complete control over.  We have the ability to make a home wherever we’re at. 

My advice is to learn from, but don’t dwell on the past.  Spend your time looking toward the future. Surround yourself with good people, and you’ll find that no matter how the world changes you can always go home.

What are your thoughts?

Dreaming in High Definition 3-D

First of all, since this is my first blog entry of 2013, I want to wish everyone a Happy New Year.  I hope this year is a great one for you and yours.  Now to the good stuff!

I like to believe that my dreams are just memories from other lives I’ve lived.  It is because of this belief that I can happily say I’ve had the most amazing things happen to me and have lived the most adventurous lives. My dreams are incredibly vivid and, while I’m dreaming I often forget that I’m in a dream world. Once as a child, during an amazing dream, I pinched myself to see if the remarkable things that were happening to me were real. I felt it. For the rest of the dream I was convinced I was in the real world. Imagine my disappointment when I woke up.

Years ago, I began keeping a dream diary to help me remember my dreams at a later time. I don’t attempt to find deeper meanings in them, but I do want to remember some of the more fantastic ones for my writing. What I discovered when I started documenting them was that I couldn’t always understand what I had written. Often the writing was scribbled quickly in the dark and was hardly legible in normal light.

As I got older, technology improved and recording became easier. This was much better than writing. I could quickly record my thoughts and then fall asleep again to have another dream. I use this technique now to document my dreams.

Here’s a transcription of a one of my audio dream diary entries from last month:

“Um… I just woke up from really fun dream.  I think someone had a brain tumor and he was an old man.  He went to a different world.  Maybe this world was caused by the brain tumor.  There was a campground with these whales that you would jump in and swim with. That was cool.  Then there was an old man who had all these miniatures.  There were whole towns with these miniatures and trains and things. Then he left to go to this campground.  It was like a summer camp place and everyone had the same shirt on. At the camp, one of the girls was taken by a man. He lured her off with this weird looking lizard. She had been mean to the whales. She was going to get in the water with hair dye in her hair and everyone was upset. It would have hurt the whales.  The whales were big but not really.  I think they were a magical type of whale. Anyway, she was bad and was sent to her cabin but was lured off by this man with the lizard. He was a show performer or something. I decided I would chase him down and figure out where they would be performing next. So I go, go, go, go, go. I run into some people who knew the man and they say “oh, he’s going to be performing at this one place.” I go to the theater and end up having a sword fight with a fake sword and this guy. While I’m doing this I tie up this rope to the main curtain and lifted him up. At this point the girl and I were gone. Then we got lost but this guy’s sword fighting friends help us leave because they didn’t want to work for him anymore. Then the whole world was going to blow up because someone had sent a bomb to the old man’s house with the miniatures. I think we were in the miniatures. Then they send someone to find it and the old man ends up sending the young man back in time only to find out at the end that the old man is the young man from the future with a brain tumor and the little girl was his wife. The whales were really cool though. They were a lot of fun. They were fresh water whales because we were in the mountains.”

Now, don’t judge this story too harshly. Remember I recorded it at 4:32 in the morning. Yes, even to me it sounds like the ravings of a 5 year old child. Not only does it demonstrate how strange my dreams can be, but also how incoherent I am when I wake up in the middle of the night. Although in all honesty, I could potentially pull a good story from this strange string of thoughts.

So, now that you’ve seen into my dreams, what are some strange things about yours?

A Penny in the Old Man’s Hat

As I've previously stated, the holidays start early where I live. Despite being surrounded by festive Christmas decorations mere days after Halloween, I was having a little trouble getting into the Christmas Spirit this year. The usual holiday decorations and songs weren't as enchanting to me as they can be. I thought giving money to a Salvation Army bell ringer standing sentinel at a store entrance might help. It wasn't just spare change either, but enough to buy someone a good lunch. I know that no matter how hard off I am there is always someone more in need.

The problem with giving so much at one store was that I began to feel as if I was being judge by other bell ringers at other stores. I almost felt like I needed to stop and explain I’d already given. Okay, I can admit it was all in my head, but soon I found myself feeling a little resentful. These bell ringers didn't know me.  Can’t a man run in and grab a gallon of milk without feeling guilty for not dropping change in every red donation bucket he passes? I have since moved past this self-imposed distress and looked for other ways to fill the holiday void.

There are lots of other ways to give and spread cheer during the holidays. Volunteering time or donating to Toys for Tots are always good gestures and I do what I can with juggling between three jobs. Even with giving what I can, my small donations began to feel pitiful, and my lack of Christmas Spirit increased.

My holiday miracle occurred at a chance meeting with Santa Clause at SeaWorld.  It wasn't Santa that did it for me or even the giant Christmas tree in the middle of their arctic exhibit. It was the simple wish of one small boy. Santa was talking to him about his favorite things to do at Christmas time. When it came time for the boy to tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas, he responded with the unrehearsed and genuine answer. “I want everyone who was hurt by Hurricane Sandy to be able to have a good Christmas too. Some of them don’t even have houses anymore.”

How does Santa respond to that? How do I, a mere witness, respond to that? I’m worried that the guy ringing the bell outside my grocery story is judging me for not dropping some change in his bucket each time I pass while there are others who have real problems. I’m the guy who feels guilty that I have the only house on the street without Christmas lights. I was numb to the spirit of the season that everyone else appeared to have until one little boy and his simple statement melted my heart. Then it hits me and I realize ­­—Christmas is a feeling you can’t force.

So what’s a guy to do when he isn’t feeling in the holiday mood around Christmas? Nothing. You can’t force yourself to get into the spirit of the season, and the more you run around trying to feel it the more evasive it seems to become. It’s like falling in love; you can’t force it. It just has to happen. So, if you’re like me and need a little help to get in the spirit, I suggest you don’t look in the usual places. It’s good to do what you can, but more important to simply keep your eyes and your heart open. What you’re looking for will probably come at the most unlikely time from the most unlikely source.  You simply have to believe you’ll find it and be wise enough to recognize it when you do.

Getting Lit for Christmas -Without Alcohol.

Christmas is all over the place. Seriously, I can’t seem to get away from the reminders that one of the most commercialized holidays is rapidly approaching. In Orlando Christmas comes early because of the theme parks.  Literally overnight Christmas decorations are put up as they remove Halloween ones at the end of October. I've lived in and traveled to a lot of places, but this is the earliest I've ever seen, although the rest of the world seems to be catching up.

Christmas is also highly visible in my neighborhood.  This is my first year at my new address, and I've never seen Christmas displays quite like the ones lining the streets of my subdivision.  Now that strings of lights are cheap and energy efficient, everyone has a display that should be recorded and put online.

My favorite addition to these extravagant holiday displays it the appearance of inflatable lawn ornaments.  These have only really taken off in recent years and they fascinate me.  By night, they may be snowmen, snow globes, or even Santa in a helicopter with working propellers.  By day, they look like runny cracked eggs on everyone’s front lawn. Despite their odd appearance in the day, I want one.

These neighborhood displays started with a single house. Then there were two, then three, then four.  The count jumped each night following Thanksgiving.  Not only did more houses acquire lights, but already decorated houses gained more and more strands of them as well.  It seemed the neighbors were in competition with each other, and now the entire street is lit up like Vegas. 

Except our house.

Now, this lack of lights is not because I’m a scrooge, I do love putting up Christmas lights and have managed some truly spectacular displays in the past. This year, however, my funds have been pulled in other directions and lights weren't in the budget. Still, as I watched the growing displays around me I thought, okay maybe I need some lights.  A string across the house can’t hurt, right? So off I ventured off to a handful of stores to purchase my lights only to discover the best ones had already been pillaged from the shelves.  I’m sure they’re all hanging on the houses in my neighborhood. The lights and my competitive Christmas spirit will have to wait another year.

Hold Your Breath

Death scares a lot of people. For me, it’s never triggered those kinds of emotions, nor was it a taboo topic in my family. My parents addressed the issue regularly and candidly. My dad said he wanted to build a grandfather clock we could use as his coffin by pulling out the gears when he passed on. My mom tells us it’s okay to pull the plug if she’s ever on life support. In her words, “I’ve lived a good life and I know there are people waiting for me in heaven.”  

Nothing brings me more comfort than a good walk in a large cemetery. To many this may sound strange, but for the first 12 years of my life I lived across the street from the Salt Lake City Cemetery. Its more than 250 acres was a great refuge and playground for me in my early childhood. I believe cemeteries are a place of solace for the living. Grief is only felt by those who have been left behind, the dead have already moved on. I learned this at an early age as I spent endless hours on those hallowed grounds.

What is so great about growing up across the street from a large cemetery? Well, the neighbors are always pretty quiet. Okay, that may be a bad joke but honestly, noise was never an issue other than the mowers at 7:00 am on Saturdays. It was a beautiful place to take a walk, both in the summer and in the winter. It was a giant front yard. It was a place I could run to when I needed to get away from the world and be alone (I was picked on as a kid but that’s a story for another time).

I carry some pretty amazing memories from that cemetery. I learned to ride my bike there. I may have started on my front sidewalk, but I mastered my bike riding skills on the hills and valleys of the cemetery’s narrow roads. I also learned to rollerbladed on the rough cemetery pavement, and have the scars to prove it.

Once, a friend and I temporarily shut down the filming of a Touched by an Angel episode. Yeah, that’s right; I was a bit of a rebel. We were running around, playing one of the games we played in the cemetery, and suddenly found ourselves on the set of the show. The director yelled “cut” and everything. I can still remember the crew running toward us with rants of “do you know how much it costs every time we have to take this shot” and “get out of here.” Needless to say, we found a hiding place nearby and made loud noises for about an hour.

I remember seeing some strangers attempting a séance. My oldest sister witnessed a real one up close on Halloween at the site of Emo’s grave. This particular grave was, and probably still is, the subject of a local urban legend that claims if you light a candle and walk backward around the grave three times you’ll see Emo’s ghost when you look into the crypt through the metal door on the large granite grave. The séance I saw was from a distance at a different grave. Not quite as cool as the one my sister saw, but at my young age, it was one of the scariest things I’d ever witnessed.

That cemetery is also the place where I first encountered the loss of someone close to me. My Grandpa, and the first immediate relative of mine to be laid to rest, was buried in that cemetery on my 9^th birthday. It is as vivid in my memory as the day it happened. I can still see the Salt Lake City skyline in the valley below as they carried his casket to the site. For years after that, my grandma fertilized the grass at his plot making it greener than the surrounding grass until she herself was laid to rest next to him.

There is a saying that you should hold your breath when you drive past a cemetery to ensure you don’t inhale the spirit of someone who was buried there recently. If that is the case, then I’ve inhaled a lot of spirits, but I’m not frightened by that. Looking back, I can think of no better location to have spent my childhood. To me the cemetery was a teacher, a friend I could turn to when I needed a shoulder to cry on, and a place of joy and of tears.  So, when you pass a cemetery, don’t think about death.  Cemeteries are monuments to the lives of the people who are buried there, and respect should be given to their legacies.  When it comes right down to it though, cemeteries are for the living and should be enjoyed by all of us.

Origin of Stories

One of my favorite childhood memories dates back to when I was 9 years old. My family and I went to go see Jurassic Park on its opening weekend. We all piled into our big blue van and drove to a movie theatre where my eldest sister sold movie tickets and scooped popcorn for Salt Lake City’s movie going public. 

Now, by the modern standards of IMAX theatres and multiplexes with dozens of screens, this theatre was not the biggest I’ve ever been in. It was quite large though, even for that time, and featured stadium style seating which was not a common feature of movie theaters in the area at that time. We took our seats in the center of the theatre, the lights dimmed, and the projector started.

It was during this movie that I, for the first time, truly appreciated the movie going experience in a theatre full of people all as excited to see the movie as I was. Jurassic Park had it all. Drama, action, comedy, cinematic scenes shot on a large scale, state of the art special effects, a musical score that rivals any to date, and plenty of audience connection moments. You know, those moments when the entire audience jumps at the same time in response to an unexpected appearance by a T-Rex or velociraptor. I distinctly remember one of those very moments. Even to this day, I can picture the back of hundreds of heads sitting in the house below me jumping at the same moment. I too was a part of that group of people who grabbed their seats and tossed their popcorn in the air. I was experiencing an adventure with the characters on the screen and by doing so was connecting with a room full of strangers. It was an event made possible by a film that started as a story written down on paper by a single author.

So where do the stories that lead to event blockbusters come from? This is a question that I often ask myself as I sit with a notebook and pen or in front of a blank computer screen searching for the inspiration to write my next story. I’ve written plenty of stories to know that the answer to this question is not one that is simple or even one single answer. Stories do in fact have roots in all aspects of life.  Every story I’ve ever written has stemmed from a different experience, emotion, or stimuli. AfterLife is no exception.  I won’t begin to compare myself with the masterful writer Michael Crichton. His body of work is one that even the best of writers aspires to be able to match.  I will, however, simply state one example of an experience that inspired me.

AfterLife started as a dream.  In the dream I was completely surrounded by zombies.  It’s curious as to what brought on this particular dream since, up to that point, the undead was never a genre of major interest to me. None the less, there I was fighting off and running away from a scary group of the walking dead.

Finally, the zombies captured me, but they didn’t eat me as I expected.  Instead I was dragged to a hospital room and was strapped to the table.  As I lay there, waiting for my fate, I overheard the zombies talking.  It was at that moment that I realized that I was in fact the dead one and everyone who was chasing me was alive.  When I woke up, I considered the concept.  Granted, I was not very familiar with zombie literature at the time and, therefore, had never come across a story from the zombie’s perspective. However, I started doing research and the story of AfterLife began. 

It started as a short story following the concept I discovered in my dream.  It evolved from there and, well, if you read the book you know it became quite more. As I wrote chapter after chapter though, there was always a part of me that wanted to tell the story as if I was recounting what I had watched on the big screen in a movie theatre full of an audience of strangers.