The Impossible Dream

I grew up with a love for music. I began plunking on the piano at a young age. I remember listening to my mom play - NOT plunk (trust me). My love of music began with vinyl records on our console stereo, 8 track tapes in the camper and when technology REALLY moved along we owned handy-dandy cassette tapes that you had to eject and turn over in order to hear side B. If a song you were belting along with was playing on side A and the tape ran out? You had to flip the cassette over to continue the remainder of the song.

I remember when we lived in California and Dawn and Mike got a new car. It had a cassette player that played BOTH A and B sides WITHOUT HAVING TO TURN IT YOURSELF. Wow. I was soooooooo jealous!

Mom and Dad had an 8 track of Andy Williams. I LOVED it. I listened to it over and over and over. Rewinding to hear your favorite song was no easy task. It was hit and miss. However, it was PURE JOY when fate stepped in and you landed right at the perfect spot to hear the melody just one more time. Ahhhhhhhh.

Andy Williams crooned "To dreeeeeeeeeam the im-poss-ible dreeeeeam".  And I swooned.

Mark has a favorite mountain. Who has a favorite mountain? Oh yeah. That would be Mark. It's Mount Nebo and it's right here in Utah.

According to Wikipedia:

Mount Nebo is the southernmost and highest mountain in the Wasatch Range of Utah, in the United States. Named after the biblical Mount Nebo overlooking Israel, which is said to be the place of Moses' death, it is the centerpiece of the Mount Nebo Wilderness, inside the Uinta National Forest. 

Mount Nebo is crowned by three peaks, with the northern peak reaching 11,928 ft (3,636m). Original surveys placed the southern peak as the highest at 11,877 ft (3,620m). When the mountain was resurveyed in the 1970s and the northern peak was found to be the highest, two substantial trails already led to the south summit. Parts of the mountain are covered in snow from mid-October until July. It is a popular destination for hikers from the nearby towns of Nephi and Provo, Utah. 

Mark passed his love for that mountain on to Goose. Hence, my grand puppy is named? Yep. You guessed it. Nebo.

Now the story begins. 

Mark has climbed Nebo. Several times. Goose has hiked Nebo. Several times. I had never hiked Nebo. Oh sure. I TALKED about it. I would set a time to do it. (The first weekend in July that Goose is home from firefighting.) Once again. Classic Linnette. ALL talk. NO action. Plan and plan and plan and then? Not go. 

Problem is, I wanted the WHOLE family to go. I wanted ALL my kids there. Schedules rarely collide as I would like them to, time passed and I found myself listening to stories about Mount Nebo and not knowing what the heck they were really talking about.

A couple of Sundays ago that changed. I have become an official memeber of the "I Hiked Nebo" club and I couldn't be happier.

I REALLY wanted my family to go. I especially wanted Goose to witness my epic moment, however, I knew that if I waited for Goose to make it home, I probably wouldn't make it this year and the way my walking is changing, I was unsure that there would be a "next year" for hiking. Therefore, Sunday morning found Mark, myself, Aunt Shannon and my nephew Devin embarking on our journey to the top of Mount Nebo.

I wasn't being totally honest. I acted like I could do it. I told everyone that would listen that I was doing it. BUT I kinda-sorta didn't think I could do it. Yeah, I talked the smack and planned like a champ but when "things" got in the way, I wasn't fighting to go. Not at all.

I worried that I would embarrass Mark. I played over and over and OVER in my head Gooses disappointment while saying "It's okay that you didn't make it too far Mom. You did good. It's a tough hike."

Oh man! Had I gotten in over my head?

All worries were in vain. I did it. I hiked and stumbled and swore and fretted and then...  I bawled. Sobbed is more like it.

We crossed landmarks that been described to me over and over through the years. It was NEARLY like "Oh! I know this place." But it was better. MUCH better.

I now understand why this mountain is Mark's favorite.

But this blog isn't about Mark. It isn't about Goose. It really isn't about Mount Nebo. OF COURSE it's about me.

I turned 49 this year. I can count on ONE hand how many times I have been genuinely proud of something I have accomplished. Few times have I felt the wonder of pushing myself beyond my capabilities. I hiked and hiked and tried to be brave. Shannon found me a hiking stick and that helped tremendously. I found a loop on Mark's backpack. When the going got rough or steep or the terrain got too rugged, I grabbed hold of the loop and held on while he maneuvered me through the obstacles.

And the words to the song "To dream, the impossible dream" played over and over in my head.

We were climbing the very last leg of the journey. For some reason Shannon and Devin had dropped behind for a second. Mark asked me how I was doing and I began bawling. You know. The racking, trembling sobs. I got out, in my broken voice "You tell Goose I did good. I mean it. You tell him."

Later that evening we were talking about the hike. I finally told Mark that I hadn't been so sure that I was capable of the hike any longer, but I was SO determined not to let him or Goose down. He quietly admitted that he didn't think I could make it either. I not only did something that I thought I couldn't do, but something that Mark doubted in me as well.

I will carry that experience with me for as long as I live.

I did it. I made Goose proud. Mark was proud. Most of all? I made myself proud.

I'm a lucky girl, right?

My Extraordinary Ordinary Life

Without a doubt, one of my most favorite things to do in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD is to go to the movies. It used to be that I went to the movie EVERY SINGLE Friday night. I saw good movies and I watched REALLY BAD movies. It didn't seem to matter. I enjoyed the LARGE tub of popcorn and the company of my gal pals. My movie attending extravaganza went on for years, however, time took it's toll. Friends moved or lost interest and I have found myself wishing every Friday night that I was at the local Cinemark but I'm usually at home in my jammies watching television.

Yesterday Mark took me to the theater and when we got home (not about to let go of our time together) I rummaged through my vast collection of DVD's and pulled out About Time starring Rachel McAdams and Domhnall Gleeson. 

I saw this movie in 2013 in the theaters. I don't know exactly what I expected when I went. I do like Rachel McAdams. I had geared up for a sappy, predictable love story that would be "good" but would leave no impression on me.

Wrong.

Again.

This movie has crept into my TOP-VERY-MOST-FAVORITE-MOVIES-IN-THE-HISTORY-OF-EVER list. I mean EVER.

We were watching this witty, heart-warming story last night. I went to bed thinking about it. I had dreams about it. Woke up this morning and decided to write about it.

The storyline is about time travel. When Tim (Domhnall Gleeson) turns 21 his father sits him down and informs him that the men in his family have the gift of time travel. His father, played REALLY WELL by Bill Nighy, asks him what he thinks he wants to accomplish with this gift. Tim throws out that he would probably want more money. After being told that money isn't the answer to life or happiness, Tim decides that he wants to use his gift to find love. REAL love.

Tim sets off on his adventure to find the love of his life (and does so brilliantly). Along the way he learns that his special ability can't shield him and those he loves from the problems of ordinary life.

Tim's dad watches from the sidelines as Tim repeats different scenarios to "better his position" in awkward moments. However, there comes a time when father sits son down to tell him the important stuff he has learned through a lifetime of time travel.

"And so he told me his secret formula for happiness. Part one of the two part plan was that I should just get on with ordinary life, living it day by day, like anyone else. 

But then came part two of Dad's plan. 

He told me to live every day again almost exactly the same. The first time with all the tensions and worries that stop us noticing how sweet the world can be, but the second time noticing."

And he did.

One of the songs playing in the background of the movies is Gold in Them Hills by Ron Sexsmith:

I know it doesn't seem that way
But maybe it's the perfect day
Even though the bills are piling
And maybe Lady Luck ain't smiling
But if we'd only open our eyes
We'd see the blessings in disguise
That all the rain clouds are fountains
Though our troubles seem like mountains

Every now and then life saysWhere do you think you're going so fast
We're apt to think it cruel but sometimes
It's a case of cruel to be kind
And if we'd get up off our knees
Why then we'd see the forest for the trees
And we'd see the new sun rising
Over the hills on the horizon

There's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose faith
Give the world a chance to say
A word or two, my friend
There's no telling how the day might end

What would I change if I could travel in time? What life event would never happen and what would be the cost?

I'm glad I did it the way I did. Nope. Hasn't been perfect. I have dodged dirt and mud. I have ripped and torn the hearts of those I love. I'm still learning and trying and at times - failing.

"And in the end I think I've learned the final lesson from my travels in time; and I've even gone one step further than my father did: The truth is now I don't travel back at all, not even for the day. I just try to live every day as if I've deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life."

The Most Biggest Day

I've had many, many, MANY days in my lifetime that have meant the world to me. Saturday the 16th of August became the biggest day of my life. Period.

A few months ago, Mark came to me and said that he wanted to put together "THE FIRST ANNUAL POOPY-SQUAWK-NO-JOCK-SLOP CHARITY MOTORCYCLE RIDE".  I've established that Mark calls me "Poop". I HAVEN'T clarified that Poop is short for "Poopy-Squawk-No-Jock-Slop". Don't ask me what that means. He just called me that one day and it stuck. Yeah. I'll thank him later.

So. We put together a charity ride in honor of me. Because I know many people that don't have motorcycles, I thought it might be good to do something that they could attend as well, so we put together a small lunch and gathered some DANG GOOD raffle prizes. The event planning began. Posters were made, a facebook page created, chili dogs ordered and raffle prizes gathered. I made really awesome t-shirts to represent the "First Annual OPCA Charity Ride".

I wish I could describe the experience. Provo bakery donated donuts, Fresh Market and Macey's helped with Orange Juice and t-shirts were at the ready for those that came to offer support. I wandered around my front yard. It was so important to me that I speak to every single person that showed.  Around 17 motorcycles gathered at my house. My cooler-than-ever cousin Lee drove his car with the bikes and one of my favorite people in the whole wide world, Brit, put her kids in her vehicle and brought up the rear of the pack.

I thought I was handling everything like a champ. I didn't bawl or weep. I felt a thrill every time a heard a bike coming down the road and shed some tears as people showed to offer support. But all in all I think I kept my emotions in check. Until...

10:30 arrived and it was time for the ride to start. Everyone was going around the Nebo Loop then gathering with the bike-less supporters at the East Bay Golf Course for chili dogs and the raffle. I had decided to stay behind and do some last minute setting up and to greet those that showed up to the luncheon before the bikes made it back. I stood in the driveway while the bikers loaded up, Lee got in his WOW car (and I do mean WOW) and Brit loaded the kids in her jeep.

Suddenly bikes roared to life. The rumble filled the streets and I lost it. I mean LOST it. I cried like a little school girl. I watched as motorcycles loaded with do-rag wearing, sunglass sporting friends and family rolled out of my yard wearing a t-shirt to represent ME. Yep. Me.

1:30 rolled around and those that were gathering at the course began strolling in. We filled the "party room" with laughter and talk. The raffle began and we all cheered loudly at the prize-winning. My gaze fell on each table and I witnessed the smiles and the laughter. I was watching the festivities when it hit me. Hard.

A chill started in the top of my head, traveled along my spine and landed in my feet. I began trembling with emotion. That room was filled to the brim with people who love me. ME.

A few days before the ride, I was sitting at the golf course chatting with Mark. He had asked me if I was ready for the ride. I have been overwhelmed with the support offered to me and (as usual) I became emotional and with tears streaming down my face I said "Maybe I'm the lucky one." MAYBE instead of feeling bad about this stupid disease I need to turn it around and be grateful. How many of you are able to witness love and support in such a personalized setting? I did. So many people went out of their way to share a story with me about how I have touched their lives. I groaned when they opened the conversation with "Do you know my first memory of you?" I've been known to smack some of the kids upside the head (especially friends of my boys when they were younger). I'm always caught off guard with that opening statement. We laughed and talked and shared and cried and remembered.

And I was grateful for the stories.

I think about my future. I used to believe that I will eventually be able to repay human kindness and generosity shown for my benefit.

This last week has taught me that I probably won't.

I ran across a quote from Elizabeth Gilbert. She said:

"In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in the world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices."

So....

THANK YOU.

Where The Streets Have No Name

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to go to New York. I love people. Love cities. Love noise. Love art. What a perfect place to visit. Right?

Christmas this year brought a huge surprise. Daulton and Goose sent me to New York. My expenses were paid. I stayed out of the planning. I simply packed my bags and left with Daulton, Shelby, Diana, and Aunt Shannon for eight wonderfully-fabulous-once in a lifetime-event planned days.

We left Friday on the Red Eye flight. What the heck were those girls thinking? Don't they know I NEED my beauty sleep? Daulton was quick to say "You can sleep on the plane." Let me clarify. DAULTON can sleep on the plane. In fact, that girl can sleep anywhere. Anytime. Any place.

We had a small layover in North Carolina and when we lifted off on the second flight, I did sleep. Hard. Drool spilling out of my mouth hard.

Can I simply say that I LOVED New York? Loved it.

We did all the tourist-y stuff. Statue of Liberty. Ellis Island. Rockefeller Plaza. Empire State Building. Metropolitan Museum of Art. Madison Square Garden. (To name a few.) We even napped in Central Park! The icing on the cake? I went to Wicked. On Broadway. Second row. I don't know why I wore make-up. Tears dripped from my cheeks the entire production. The poor guy sitting next to me probably wanted to strangle me. I didn't care. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that couldn't be controlled. So I cried.

Thursday morning found us on the Amtrak headed to Washington D.C. where we completed the last leg of our journey. Arlington cemetery. Washington Memorial. Lincoln Memorial. Korean War Memorial. Vietnam Memorial. (To name a few.)

The sites were overwhelming and humbling and inspiring and honorable and beautiful.

A few months back, my hot water heater blew. Water everywhere. Flood and destruction and a HUGE mess. Mark and I needed help and Daulton was able to come to our rescue. She hauled things out of the basement and helped me de-waterize the mess like a champ.

While we were headed to pick up a new water heater, Mark (ever a gamer) said "Let's play a game. What are the top five moments of your life?" We each pondered, then stated the perfect moments that have been alloted to us.

This trip is now one of mine.

I like to say "You don't truly love someone until you serve them." This is something I wholeheartedly believe and try to emulate.

This disease has put me on the receiving end of service. And it's difficult. Extremely difficult. I need help walking. If something important needs to be said, I rely on other voices to do the talking.

I worried and fretted about how my walking would be on this trip. I hate being the one to slow things down. I meander around here at my house but the last thing I wanted to do was slow the momentum of the touring Deason-Chick clan.

I don't know why I fretted. There was not a single moment that somebody in the group didn't offer their arm for me to hold. I figured out real quick that if I had arms to hold to keep me steady that I could keep my head to the ground and go.

We averaged eight miles a day. We mastered the subway in New York and D.C. All this I accomplished through the help of my girls.

No. I didn't see the city buildings or skyline. I wasn't able to view street names or do any window shopping.  I kept my eyes to the ground and held on for dear life. But I did it. And I loved it.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said:

“Everybody can be great...because anybody can serve. You don't have to have a college degree to serve. You don't have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.”

I was graced. Love was generated to provide this experience to little ol' me and grace was given in the form of helping hands reaching to provide support.

I'll say it again. I'm a lucky girl.

Old Shoes

I own a pair of Converse tennis shoes that I ABSOLUTELY-WITHOUT-A-DOUBT-LOVE-EVER-SO-MUCH. I got them in 2006. I know this because the heel of one of the shoes Maui chewed up right after I bought them. Tanna got Maui in 2006.

I have worn these shoes EVERYWHERE. They fit so good. They are comfortable beyond words. LOVE THEM. I have other Converse tennies, however, no pair provide the comfort that these specific shoes have given. Time has taken it's course and they are DESTROYED. I still have them. Can't bear to part with them. My birthday rolled around this year and I was given some money. I bought new Converse. I love them, but they aren't quite the same. So I keep my old ones and still wear them periodically.

In the Movie "All about Steve", Sandra Bullock wears a pair of red boots ALLTHETIME. Of course people give her grief about her boots. She sunnily ignores them. At one point, Sandra's character says:

"They make my toes feel like ten friends on a camping trip"

Describes my converse to a tee.

In April, I received a Facebook message from my friend Sunnie. She was coming to Utah in June for a conference and I would get to see her. Sunnie lives in Vermont. I haven't seen her in 28 years.

I was 18 years old. I was newly married to a Navy man. And found myself in Norfolk, Virginia. You have to know that I came from a TINY town in Utah with NO stop lights and not many people. To move to a city filled with stoplights and teeming with people was (needless to say) a bit of a culture shock.

Oh! the stories I could share. I went through TWO hurricanes. Trust me, we didn't have those in Utah!  A pimp lived in the apartment above me. (I don't think we had pimps) and his prostitute wore her red dress EVERY SINGLE DAY and stood on the corner out my front door. (I'm PRETTY sure we didn't have that in Orangeville). Definitely an eye opener for a small town Utah girl.

Mark and I were the only white people in the apartment complex. One day, my neighbor gal came beating on my door. As soon as I opened it, she placed her hands on her wide hips and demanded to know if I was racist. I paused a moment then answered as honestly as I knew how. "I don't think so."  That was the beginning of a good friendship. However, "good" is an interesting choice of words. I don't recall her name.  I don't even know if she still remembers me. The Navy is transient. People come and go as husbands were drawn back to "normal" life and away from military enrollment. Our friendship fell victim to the "normal" world.

I had only been in Virginia a few weeks when Mark was called out on a cruise and would be gone for three months. Dirt poor is a way of life for beginning military families. We didn't own a phone, a car, or even a television. I spent endless time reading and walking the beach across the street from my house and MUCH time was spent smashing the cock roaches living in my home. Yeah. Gross.

I met Janine Powers. We became FRIENDS. Janine came from Tennessee and had the COOLEST accent. We spent many hours together swapping life stories and enjoying the company of one another. Janine taught me to make fried chicken. Southern style. To this day, my family is grateful for THAT lesson. AND Janine had a television. A COLOR television.

Janine and Sunnie were friends. That's how I met Sunnie.

The three of us did everything together. When we were evacuated for one of the hurricanes, Janine, Sunnie, her son Crory (no, that's not a typo. His name is Crory), myself and Tyson went together to the shelter. We went shopping together on the Navy base. We watched the Miss America pageant together on Janines COLOR television. We mourned the leaving of our men to the sea and anticipated their homecoming. "Back then" there was a ship return phone number you could call. When the men pulled out of port, it wasn't as if we knew the exact date and time the ships would arrive back into dock, so we called and called and waited to hear the ships name. The dates and times were subject to change, so as their arrival date approached, we phoned more frequently for fear that we would miss the arrival. I remember walking to the pay phone by my house and calling the number just to hear the name of Mark's ship. "The U.S.S. Canisteo AO-99 will be arriving on this date at this time and docking on this pier" brought comfort beyond measure.

When Sunnie told me she was coming to visit, I was thrown into these memories. 

Wednesday evening, Sunnie took the Frontrunner from Salt Lake to my home in Provo. We sat outside and talked and talked and talked. We laughed and laughed and laughed. I miss her SOVERYMUCH!  I didn't realize the depths of the missing stuff until I saw her again.

It was as though the past 28 years hadn't happened. We told stories of our new children and filled in the gap of the ages of time that had passed. But it was like picking up right where we left off. 

Sunnie knits. She brought me a prayer shawl she had made. She had written some of the prayers that she had said while she knitted me the shawl. I can't describe the beauty of these prayers or of this woman. 

Thursday found me in Salt Lake where I took her to Temple Square and to the Arts Festival downtown. More time for talking and laughing and comfort.

As with any hello, there comes a goodbye. Ours came following dinner Thursday evening.

Janine and Sunnie are my old shoe friends. There might be a day when the three of us can reunite. Maybe not. It would sure be nice, but it really doesn't matter. My friends shared a past with me that is confusing and weird to some. THEY know the stories that I know. They shared the pride, the joy, the loneliness, the despair, the excitement, the highs and the lows...all the wonder of being a Navy wife.

Introducing:

Sunnie Joy and Janine...

The Weight Of My Mistakes

At times I am haunted. I'm not necessarily proud of every single decision that I have made in my youth, teen years and now adulthood.

Am I to be pitied? Is my soul black? In my quiet times, these are things that run through my mind.

I spend mounds of time and oodles of energy searching within myself to discover if I am a liar. Is the "face" that the world sees the true me? Or is the image I see in the mirror a better reflection?

When I was young, I spent countless hours watching families and people and kids and parents and random strangers. I took note on what I liked and what I didn't think was too cool. I was determined to be the "good" that I saw. Does that mean that inside I am foul?

When I was young (I don't remember how old, or what grade, but I had to be in elementary school because this story involves recess) there was a boy. I don't remember his name. I remember him having dark hair and being a large-er boy.

Each recess we went to the playground and along with my friends, I would spend the 15 minutes kicking him. And laughing. Granted, he came on out and took it like a champ. He would laugh with us. This empowered us more, so, we would kick him harder.

Then we would walk in the school and move on to math, science or reading as if we hadn't just bullied some poor kid and justified it because he was a willing participant.

I want you to know I felt NO remorse. None.

One day, after recess, (I wish I could remember his name) came to me. He was crying. He told me he didn't like us to kick him and that it hurt his feelings. It hurt his legs. He wanted me to stop it.

I was mortified. For some stupid reason, it didn't gel in my thick skull that I was HURTING him. It was all fun and games. Right?

I am relieved to say that it stopped that day. We remained friends. I moved. I lost contact. However, I'm ashamed to say that it took him pointing out my bad behavior before I even attempted to make a change.

Was I instrumental in forming a sad, lonely life for this boy? Does he understand that I am appalled that I did this? Does he know that if I saw that behavior now, I would come UNGLUED and stop it INSTANTLY?

Sometimes, I think it doesn't matter that I changed my ways. It matters most that I hurt him.

Bad decisions and mistakes gather on our shoulders and we stoop and sag from the weight.

I want to hold my head high. I long to look in the mirror and view the reflection with pride.

Where the sidewalk ends

Summer has taken it's hold on me.  Because I can't hardly stand to sit at the computer when the sun is out, I've slacked on my blog. This is a really cool story, though, so I thought I'd sit down and get it out.

As with every story, there are many facets. This is my version. It goes like this:

A couple Friday nights ago, Mark and I were sitting in the family room when Jaden came up the stairs to tell me to call Tanna at work. It drives my family bonkers that I never have my phone on me. I hate hauling it around and I swear that if I'm upstairs? My phone is down. If I'm downstairs? It's up. This time, it was charging in my room.

I grabbed my phone and called Tanna to see what-the-heck was going on.  Tanna answered and immediately said, "Before you say anything, hear me out."  Not a good sign. This means "I found a kitten and can I have it?" or some sort of I-don't-want-to-deal-with-it  question. Instantly I had "No. Absolutely NOT" on the tip of my tongue.

Tanna said:

"There's an old man here. He's lost. His family is coming to get him but he needs a place to stay the night. Can he stay with you?"

What?

"He's harmless, mom."

"I'm okay with it, I guess, but you better talk to your dad and see what he says."

Thomas was our guest that night.

Thomas has Alzheimer's. He walked into Tanna's store and said "Have you seen my wife?" Tanna told him that there was nobody in the store and let him know that an older lady hadn't been there. She could tell that Thomas was confused and asked him if he had a phone. He did.

This is where I stray in knowing EXACTLY what happened. Somehow, Tanna got hold of Linda. This is Thomas' daughter. Are you ready for this? Thomas had been missing for a couple of days from COLORADO. Yep. You heard me correctly. Northglenn, Colorado.

The police got involved and told Tanna that they could:
A.) Put him in a hotel until the family came. But there would be nobody with him to guarantee that he would stay.
B.) Put him in the Psych Ward at the hospital.

Nuh uh. No way. "Mom! Can he come to our house?"

Thomas and Mark swapped Navy stories until late that night. I rested on the couch while they talked and laughed like old friends.

Morning came. Tanna jetted to Salt Lake to grab Linda from the airport. While she was gone, we took Thomas around Provo. We showed him the LDS temple being built blocks from our home. We took him around BYU. The entire time he regaled us with both humorous and heartbreaking stories.

Soon enough, Linda and her husband arrived at our doorstep. They were jumping in the car with Thomas to take him home.

Linda shared that Thomas had told them that he was on University Avenue right by Deseret Bookstore. It just so happens that in Northglenn there is a Deseret Bookstore on University Avenue. For Thomas to describe his location as such, it raised no warning flags.  Linda told him to go to the nearest gas station and she would come pick him up. That's how he arrived at Tanna's work. She was the nearest gas station.

The police in Colorado ran a search for Thomas' phone. Imagine Linda's surprise when she found out that Thomas was indeed on University Avenue by Deseret Book...in UTAH.

I did ask Thomas where he was heading. He told me: "I was going for a drive. I followed the road and this is where it ended."

Simply because my beautiful, kind-hearted daughter refused to let this sweet little old man be alone for one more minute, we added new branches to our family tree.