Grandpaism #1

"Marry rich, you can always learn to love them."

Now before any body judges my grandfather as shallow, he was only part serious.  This statement is totally out of context.  We were talking about our future plans when I was in High School and when he said this to me.

But if you think about it there is wisdom in that one statement.  It has been shown in many studies that the number one item that places the most stress on a marriage is money.  How nice would it be to be set for life, and only need to work on the second part of that statement.

I did not heed the wisdom of my grandfather and married for love, or at least what I thought was love.  After twenty years of marriage to the most wonderful person I now realize that what I was feeling at that time was not love but closer to infatuation.

The second part of the statement, "you can always learn to love them," is quite the deeper statement.  This ties into something that my father taught us right before I married.  He taught my wife and I that each person should give all as if the whole depends on them.  If both sides are fully committed to making the marriage work, then when one has a bad day and falters to give their full, the other is still making up the rest.  Marriage is not a 50-50 partnership but a 100-100 partnership.

My wife and I knew each other for less than five months when we tied the nuptial knot.  I did not know enough about her to know if I was in love or not. 

It would be safe to say that my wife and I have learned to love each other, and now, at least on my part, would not trade it for anything.  Marriage is hard and requires a lot of work.  Can people learn to love one another?  Yes, I believe they can.

So, "Marry rich, you can always learn to love them."

Momism #1

This one comes courtesy of my sister.  She reminded me of this one:

"Craners don't do that."

When ever something happened or someone we knew or saw did something that my mother did not want us repeating or emulating she would state, "Craners don't do that."  It became so ingrained in us that we believed it.  It became part of us.  Of course we did not do things like that we were Craners and Craner did not do those kinds of things.

Now before you think us elitist, the things she was talking about were usually thing socially unacceptable in public or illegal.  It was not things like eating with our hands or sipping tea without our pinky finger extended.  We were never aloud to think bad about the people who did those things.  It was a way for her to teach us that we were expected by our parents to act like good little girls and boys.

What it taught us was that being part of a family meant something and that we should respect the name that our father had given us.  That when we acted poorly it was not only a reflection on us but a reflection on them.  We learned that no matter where we were or who we were with we were still Craners and that meant something.

It was a great teaching that I have used through out my life.  As we gain employment we are taking the name of our employers upon ourselves and should act accordingly.  

As to religion, no matter the religion one professes, what you do is a reflection on that religion and other will judge that religion on your actions.  For me I am Christian.  What that means to me is that I have taken upon me the name of Christ.  That my very actions should represent what he would do.  Would he make fun of or condemn those who do not believe or act like he does, we know by the scriptures he does not.  He loved everyone, regardless of race, religion, sex or any other method by which we as humans try to compartmentalize one another.

So to me I do not do things because  I am Christian, I am an employee of the company for which I work, and last but not least I am a Craner.

Society could learn a little from my Mom,  "We don't do that."

New Shoes

I hate going shopping for shoes.  The whole putting my sweaty smelly feet in shoes that were tried by other smelly sweaty feet makes me want to gag.  So I usually hunt for boxes and shoes that have not been opened, you know the ones with the tissue paper still jammed into the toes.  Then at least it was not me who was coming second, but the next poor sap that will probably get some weird athletes foot or gangrene.

Then there is the price.  Shoes are not cheap.  I look at these shoes that cost over one hundred dollars and my butt cheeks pucker.   So yes I go to places like Famous Footwear and Payless Shoes, even here the price of shoes are outlandish.

You will never see me in a pair of Air-Jordans.  Even if I made millions of dollars a year I would still buy my shoes from a discount store.  I just can't bring myself to spend that much.

I do however spend a lot on the inserts.  My inserts are usually more expensive than the shoe into which I place them.

The last pair of shoes cost me thirty-five dollars with inserts costing forty-five.  I wore them for fourteen months.  Doing the math it cost me roughly $0.19 per day to wear them.  Nineteen cents.  I guess if you look at that way buying hundred dollar shoes is not that expensive.  But I just can't bring myself to do that when I know I would need expensive inserts no matter the price of the shoes.

What did I spend on my shoes today?  I splurged and spent fifty dollars.  Then bought 40 dollar inserts.  I am not sure it was worth it yet.  I'll let you know.

Dadism #1

     "If you're cold, you're not working hard enough."

     The first time I remember my father saying this was one day when working outside I complained it was too cold to work.  To my adolescent mind it was the perfect reason to put of the job that needed doing till at least the spring frost.  This thought was totally logical.  I could freeze to death or at least catch a cold.  People die of the common cold every day.  Here, my father was putting my very life in jeopardy.

     I remember thinking that when I get a family of my own I will never make my kids work when it's cold, and for a while I didn't.  But then, I lived in Phoenix, it never gets cold there.  Now, now I live in Utah and it freaking freezing,and what do I do?  I make my fifteen year old son go out and shovel snow or take the garbage out.  And when he complains what do I say?

     "If you're cold, you're not working hard enough."

     This thought kept popping into my mind as I walked from my car into work today.  It was hovering around 0 degrees today, that's in Fahrenheit not Celsius.  It was dang cold this morning.  But as I gasped for breath and the cold dry air burned in my nostrils I heard my father saying work harder and you will get warm.

     So what do you do when you are stuck sitting in front of a computer screen all day and the office building in which you work insists on running the air conditioning, even though it is below freezing outside?  I haven't the foggiest as I sit here in my winter coat and type.

     In 2010, I could just work harder.  I was doing remodeling in Prescott, AZ, and though it did not get as cold as it is here it would still get below freezing.  Then if I was cold I could just work harder getting the little furnace inside me stoked up and burning calories.  Here, sitting at my desk on my lunch break, lest anyone think me a slacker,  I find the need to sit on my hands at times to keep feeling in my finger tips.

     I guess if I type faster then the blood will flow into my hands warming them.  Or maybe I could stand every once in a while and do jumping jacks.  I tried to bring a space heater in; it blew the fuse shutting down half the floor's outlets.  Which then took 20 minutes till someone from maintenance could locate the proper switch and flip it back on.

     So now I wear those fingerless gloves and a light jacket under my heavy coat just so I am reasonably comfortable.  It's a pain in the but to need to wear so much but it's either that or I go crazy shivering.  I already have enough to drive me insane; four kids, a wife, a job in which I am under employed... the list goes on and on.

     Enough of that.  The point is "If you're cold, you're not working hard enough."



   

My Near Death Experience

I decided to start this blog with a short story that will help introduce you to me and the type of person I am.  I asked myself: When have I ever truly feared for my life?

Oh so many to choose from.  I was what most would call an accident prone child.  If I was being raised in today’s society there would have been more than one time that my parents would have had to answer questions from child services.

So about which should I write?  That was the question with which I have struggled.  Do I talk about the myriad of times I was in the emergency room as a child having my head stitched?   Where it got so standard that they knew me by name?  No, I only recall those through others telling the stories, not by my own memories.

How about the two times I was almost shot while on a mission for the LDS Church in Brazil?  I never really feared for my life in those instances.  It was over too fast.  I did not know I was in danger till the danger was gone.

Then there were the numerous times as a teenager that I broke something or smashed something.  Maybe the times as a new driver that I did something foolish that could have resulted in my death.  But again being a teenager I felt I was invincible, so they were never near death experiences at that time.  Only now, with the help of 20-20 hindsight do I realize how lucky I am to be alive.

The time I have chosen for my near death experience was the one time that I really thought I had done something that would kill me.  Where I had that split second thought, “I have just killed myself.”   Where I can honestly say I feared for my life and that of the family I would leave behind.  It is also, looking back on, one of the most hilarious instances in my and my wife’s lives together.

At the time my wife, Dawn, and I were living in a two bedroom apartment.  Dawn was pregnant with our third child, Zachary.  It had come time to get Jessica, our second child, to sleep in a big bed so that the crib would be free for Zachary.  Dawn liked to remove the crib for a while so the older child did not feel jealous of their younger sibling.

A few years earlier when it was time for our oldest, Xander, to make room for his sister, I decided that instead of buying a bed from the store that I would make a bed.  Well… the bed that I made was huge, that adjective is too kind.  It was made out of lumber 4 times bigger than needed.  It was joked that if ever there was an earth quake the safest place for the whole family, and we would have fit, was under that bed.

We had decided that when Jessica was old enough we would simply put a second bunk on top of the existing bed.  It was easy.  Xander’s bed lent itself perfectly to add another tier.   So I built the bed frame, again from lumber larger than needed.  Xander needed a method to climb into this monstrosity, he was only three.  I decided to build a ladder that incorporated the guard rails.

It was a grand design.  I built the ladder/guardrail.  A monstrosity of lumber heavier than twice my son weight, it was not going anywhere.

I needed to attach it to the bed frame.  I decide to bolt the ladder to the bed frame.  I did not want any sharp points sticking out to catch a bare leg or belly.  So I bought bolts as long as the two members together.  This meant I would need to recess the hole to make room for the washer and bolt.  After having been to the local Hardware store multiple times, I wqas unwilling to return to get a sharp drill bit, mine were all dull, so I improvised.

Using two clamps I put the ladder in place.  I drilled the holes that the bolts would use.  This took all my strength as the drill literally burned through the wood.  Then while standing with my body against the bed to gain leverage I started to drill out excess wood for the recess.  The drill bit that I was using was dull and required a lot of force to push into the wood.  At this point I was drilling from the inside of the bed as I was standing on the outside.  I was using the same drill bit that I used to drill the holes for the bolts.

In hindsight I probably should have created the recesses before drilling the hole for the bolts.  I was on the last of my drill holes when the bit slipped and entered the existing hole for the bolt.  With the drill going at full speed it slipped through the hole in a split second and grabbing my shirt and my flesh twisting everything like an alligator in its death roll.

At that instant I thought, “I have just pierced my heart and I am going to bleed to death here in my kids room in front of my pregnant wife.  I thought I was dead.  I thought of my children being raised by someone else, my wife, young and attractive, getting married to someone else.  I thought how stupid I was.  I was vaguely cognizant of the pain ripping through my chest.  My chest felt like it was on fire. 

The thought of, do I pull it out or do I call emergency and wait till the ambulance comes.  I knew that sometimes removing the object made it worse.  I decided to remove it, but I couldn’t.  The drill bit had grabbed my shirt and twisted it.  I was stuck to the bed.  The only way out was to reverse the drill and unwind my shirt.

Gearing up for the pain I carefully put the drill in reverse and unwound my shirt.  There was no pain.  The shirt came free.  I slowly lifted my hand to feel my chest.  I just knew that I would feel the pump of arterial blood spurting from my torn chest.  I was surprised to find that my chest was whole and my life was not running out of my chest.

It was then that I realized that my loving, caring wife was on the floor laughing.  Her hysterics had caused her to lose control of her voluntary muscles and she could not stand.   Through tear shot eyes she looked at me and started laughing all the more.  Soon I was laughing to.

So my near death experience just turned out to be the worst “Purple-nurple” I ever had.