7 years, 21 days...and counting

Many people might not know this, but last month marked the seven year anniversary of Bri and I meeting for the first time (November 12, 2001; at about 7:15 pm). Admittedly I missed the moment to mention this at the time, but so did Bri–so I don't have to feel too bad right? So anyways, I thought that I should share this brief insight into how I felt the first time that we met. Not my words, but certainly the same experience:

The woman who first gives life, light, and form to our shadowy conceptions of beauty, fills a void in our spiritual nature that has remained unknown to us till she appeared. Sympathies that lie too deep for words, too deep almost for thoughts, are touched, at such times, by other charms than those which the senses feel and which the resources of expression can realise.

The mystery which underlies the beauty of women is never raised above the reach of all expression until it has claimed kindred with the deeper mystery in our own souls. Then, and then only, has it passed beyond the narrow region on which light falls, in this world, from the pencil and the pen. Think of her as you thought of the first woman who quickened the pulses within you that the rest of her sex had no art to stir. Let the kind, candid [brown] eyes meet yours, as they met mine, with the one matchless look which we both remember so well. Let her voice speak the music that you once loved best, attuned as sweetly to your ear as to mine. Let her footstep, as she comes and goes, in these pages, be like that other footstep to whose airy fall your own heart once beat time. Take her as the visionary nursling of your own fancy; and she will grow upon you, all the more clearly, as the living woman who dwells in mine.

[...] familiar sensations which we all know, which spring to life in most of our hearts, die again in so many, and renew their bright existence in so few [...]

By: Wilkie Collins, 1859

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Thank you Grandpa

My Grampa died today.

Early this morning. The nurse said that it was a very peaceful experience. She sat with him all night. It was just her job I guess. I can't say how much I appreciate her job. Grandma doesn't know yet. She's so far gone she probably wont really understand anyway. My mom talked to her, just in general, and she knows that something is wrong though, on some level.

Grandpa Jim.

He was my hero for so long as a little boy. So strong. Powerful. I remember sitting on his lap, pretending to pull out the sword tattooed on his arm and fighting dragons and other monsters.

Their trips to Thatcher in the brown travel van. That van, parked beside our two-story house, was one of my favorite sights on Earth.

I remember sneezing once and my Grandma saying "Are you related to your Grandpa?" A rhetorical question. There was something in the voice though. Something that made me stop and think. I was still a few years away from understanding why my dad's mom had the last name "Cooper" if we were the "Dummar" family.

He was always my Grandpa though. Walking through creeks to collect black rocks. Eating prickly pears off a cactus. Laughing as Matt and I dug our fox-hole in 29 Palms and shooting our BB guns.

He was so excited building that house. The move from Frazier Park was surprising. Ultimately all I cared about was that they were closer to our house.

He gave me and Matt bazookas once. Surplus trash from the 29 Palms marine base. We were the coolest kids on the block.

The last time that I talked to him...
An impromptu family reunion at my uncle's house in Heber. He was so excited to meet my wife for the first time...again. He was absolutely amazed at seeing my daughter. Our conversation wasn't deep. Just a grandfather talking to a grandson about day to day life and family. A farewell really. The next time I saw him he was emaciated, body and mind, by the disease that he fought so hard.


He almost died a few years ago, when they moved him from California to Utah. He was comatose for a while, but like the old sailor he was, he surprised everyone and pulled out of it.

And now he's made it home. Good job Grandpa. Enjoy getting reacquainted with your memories.

I love you.

TADpole

The last few days the Tadpole has been acting very out of character. She has been freaking out and throwing fits at the drop of a hat–and quite willing to drop said hat herself. She is just a little nervous about having a new baby in the house. Still, yesterday was especially bad. It was essentially one LONG screaming fit from one side of the day to the other. My favorite part was when she told me I was a mean daddy (final count was three times!). Each time I had to resist the temptation to break out in uncontrolled laughter.

It is so frustrating when she gets like that. So it is important to say that I think it is so fun to have a three year old. Even when she is throwing a tantrum and completely wild I just can't help but think how great it all is. I read an interesting article from the Harvard Magazine recently. It seems that children produce a net decrease in overall happiness. This makes perfect sense to me. It is natural we would respond to frustration by becoming less happy. It is NATURAL to see a screaming child demanding special attention and then NATURALLY be less happy. It is also NATURAL to see that children, over the long run, demand a lot of time, energy, and resources. So NATURALLY we should be less inclined to be happy as long as we have children. It is NATURAL.

Well here's the thing. I, for one, am not natural. Sure, I am a natural creation, subject to all manner of natural phenomena and influences. Yeah, right, aren't we all. But I am not a mere organism. I have the ability to overcome nature, literally and figuratively. I'll be the first to admit that there are a lot of people that would disagree with me and point out that no matter what happens we are merely the product of our own experience. To them I say: exactly right. However, our existence did not "magically" or "scientifically" begin at birth, nor was it achieved through some series of developmental milestones.

I think it sad that people would see children as a mortal necessity, what you are supposed to leave behind as part of a natural process. How narrow minded and naive. Children are important because of WHO they are, not because of WHAT they are. Case in point: When Bri was pregnant with the Tadpole, I would play with her by pushing on Bri's stomach. A moment later the Tadpole would respond with a series of pokes, kicks, and jabs at my hand. This time around when I push on Bri's stomach a game of hide and seek is begun, wherein the baby moves to another part and holds still until I poke and prod again, and the game is repeated. It is an exercise in individuality.

It doesn't take a genius to see that these two children are very different already. The idea of happiness is based on different criteria for everyone, sure. For me, a temple worthy, Married-for-time-and-all-eternity, returned missionary, happiness is not directly dependent on the natural world or logical assumptions based on experience. Happiness is a progressive factor, that is: it creates increase in our being, a source, and means, of progression. So even while trying to not pull my hair out while telling a three year old to pick up her toys, I can see and use the moment as a glimpse of happy development and progression for both myself and my daughter.

Happiness, after all, is UNNATURAL anyways...