Me, the Bibliophile and Library-Lover

Oh for the time when I can carve out hours on a weekend or weeknight to read a book! It is interesting to see my present state of life, full of fun and time-consuming family activities, and wish for some alone time so I can read. And it's sobering to think back to the life I lived before marriage and kids, when I had oodles of free time and retreated from the world by immersing myself in books, often wishing that I were in a relationship and enjoying a more active social life. 

Those years, a five-year stretch during college and shortly thereafter, were a slog of self-doubt and loneliness. Simon and Garfunkel's lyrical ode and self-protecting armor "I have my books, and my poetry to protect me" from their song I am a Rock rang very, and painfully, true for me in those years. Each year in that span of my life, libraries and books became a form of self-medicating. I loved exploring new libraries, wandering the stacks and mindlessly opening random books to hear their pages turn and their spines crinkle, to whiff their ancient smells and wonder, "When was the last time anyone picked up this book, let alone borrowed it and brought it home?"

These excursions, whether in the stacks or in the pages of a lengthy biography, were solitary retreats from a life of aloneness- and a retreat into more solitude. Funny how that worked. For all of the interesting books about places and people and times of human history that I devoured, I do not wish to revisit those times of my life. 

For all of the years when I read 40, 50, 60, or even 80 books in a single year, I would not trade what I have now for the chance to have so much time to plow through dozens of books per annum again. 

And yet...

(there's always a counter-point, right?)

I would love to have a bit more time now, in my current stage of life, to read and wander around libraries. During the six weeks that I was in Utah and my wife and kids were still in Boston this spring, it is telling that one of my favorite pursuits was to scout out the libraries in Utah. Exploring the public and university libraries of the Boston area was one of the best and most enjoyable activities of my life in all the years I lived in New England. The prospect of seeing what the Salt Lake City area had to offer was captivating. 

It was a mixed-bag, unfortunately. The discrepancy distance between phenomenal and blah is astounding, too. Let's start with the grand. The Salt Lake City Public Library is stunning: modern, architecturally marvelous, inviting, and spacious. Unfortunately, non-Salt Lake City residents need to pay an annual $80.00 fee to obtain a library card for this magnificent place. The best I can do right now is, perhaps, tag along with my fellow bibliophile boss when he hits up this library, and borrow some books on his account.  

Closer to our new home, the Davis County Library system needs further expeditions to really get a sense of its offerings. Sad to say, the branch in our town doesn't warrant much further exploration. I saw pretty much all I needed to see on my inaugural visit at the beginning of the school year. 

Thankfully, my daughters accompanied me on this first time, and their glee about getting their own library cards - coupled with my pride in their enthusiasm for this rite of passage and the promise of fulfillment that comes with visiting libraries - enhanced my initial visit. I have great memories of this time. 

Had my daughters not gone with me to our town's library, I shudder to think just how much more unimpressed I would have been. The kids' section is robust, so as a parent of four young kids brimming with untapped future library-loving genes, thanks be for that! 

The adult section? Ugh. It's about six hemmed-in aisles. That sounds numerically promising, but on closer inspection, the contents are as narrow in subject-matter offerings. Self-help screeds, romance novels, Westerns (in one single visit to just one library, I've seen enough Louis L'Amour "frontier stories," as he called his canyon of books, to last me a lifetime), and a plethora of sci-fi.

The kicker? Much of what little shelf space remained was crammed with books about Mormon history, people, and doctrine. Look, I get it: Complaining about columns full of LDS books housed in a library in a very LDS town and county, is like buying a ticket to the neighborhood BBQ but then moaning about how it doesn't support your vegan lifestyle. What do you expect? You go into it knowing it will not suit your needs. But you're still flabbergasted at the abhorrent lack of diversity. 

Scanning the shelves, reading the titles, seeing the same author names (seriously, does Deseret Book only publish books by General Authorities?), I silently committed to not ever take out a church book from this library. It's a little form of protest at the withering dominance this library has chosen to give to this one subject. And yes, I may have had a smug grin spread across my face at this vow.

That grin lasted all of about thirty seconds, because, mercifully, a wondrous sight caught my eye. Here was a book on the LDS faith (well, religion in general to be sure), by an author who is also a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and it looked so very appealing. Bringing it home and devouring it, this book did not disappoint:

 

I highly, highly, quintuple-highly recommend this book. It's one of three in a series, along with The God Who Weeps: How Mormonism Makes Sense of Life and The Christ Who Heals: How God Restored the Truth That Saves Us. 

These are two books I will read in 2019. Considering that I only read a whopping 3 books in total in 2018, down from 9 books in 2017 and 4 books in 2016 (notice a pattern?!), they might be the only books I read in 2019. 

But if that's the case, and judging by how awesome The Crucible of Doubt is and how it impacted my own faith, then just reading two books will be totally fine. Bring on the new year! I might even go to this library today and borrow these books.  

Freddie Mercury in My Cubicle

And only now, with this miniature Freddie Mercury cut-out photo, is my new work cubicle set-up complete! Our fundraising team moved last Friday morning from the 22nd floor to the 8th floor. Most of us are happy to be a lot closer to terra firma! I've been on a Queen kick for a long time, as I posted a few weeks ago, and riding the high of seeing Freddie's life portrayed on the big screen in Bohemian Rhapsody. 

My first post about Queen and Freddie came out five years ago, when I re-discovered this band and its sensational lead singer. Five years ago was a time of discovery and self-realization for me, too. In a way, Freddie's own life and his music helped me during this time, which is an ongoing process for me. 

And I think that is a large part of the lasting charm and legacy of Freddie Mercury: that he has motivated many regular people to see and seek out the power within their own hearts to be or do something that might seem frightening but can enhance their lives. When you see this one man captivate 80,000 people at Wembley Stadium at Live Aid in 1985, you can't help but feel - for a moment, at least - that you wish you had the ability and energy and charisma to have thousands of people in the palm of your hand, too.  

So I put up this homemade cut-out in my workstation to commemorate the man, celebrate his legend, and serve as a conversation starter. Long Live Freddie!

"Darkness Falls Across the Land"

Vincent Price, who voiced the words in this post's title in Michael Jackon's song "Thriller"

Living in a new home brings all sorts of new experiences, real and imagined. Our second child, Our Little Mouse, recently told us of two, uncorroborated events: once, when she claims to have heard a voice calling from our front hall staircase, "Ted, Ted, Ted." 

The other? When she, alone, went to our sub-basement, opened a door off that room, and then opened a second door to access our storage closet/food pantry. She claims that both doors slowly closed behind her, all on their own. Mouse swears that she did not initially open either door quickly or strongly enough to cause either to ricochet closed on her. 

Earlier this summer, Becky and I awoke to several loud bangs in our walk-in closet in the middle of the night. Turns out, after hearing this same disturbing creaking and cracking on other occasions thereafter - both at night and in the daytime - that its our walk-in closet floorboards settling. 

And when we first moved into our new home in mid-July, we'd lay in bed with our kids at nighttime and feel our house shake a little bit. What the? I wondered in my head. Did I move our family to a house right above an active fault-line? A family member joked that perhaps our new casa was situated on an old Native American burial ground. Our house jostled a bit at consistent times, day and night. Turns out, it's just the vibrations of the freight and commuter-rail trains as they pass through the area. 

Now, I've always had a very active imagination. Part of it was a childhood spent in fiction books of all types. Part of it was growing up in good old New England, where many houses are at least a century old and feature some derelict rooms, musty basements, cluttered and pitch-black attics, and time-worn doorways, window frames, locks, door knobs, and such. And New England is famous for its hauntingly serene cemeteries. 

Part of it, unquestionably, was growing up Catholic, whose religion and history placed - in my opinion - far too much spooky emphasis on the powers of darkness. It's not coincidence that Hollywood movies, books, and TV shows often combo evil and Catholic themes. I mean, when was the last time you saw a storyline about Buddhism or Jainism or Southern Baptist and possession? 

Hearing my daughter's stories, mixed with the later-explained experiences of our home, during fall (the witching season), stoked my imagination further. Then, last week, I went to our town's decidedly charming yet completely underwhelming library. On a quest to find my very-first audiobook of CDs, my eyes scanned the stacks. I kept seeing titles with ominous words like death, darkness, cemetery, evil, and other blood-curdling headings. This did not help my active imagination psyche! Why were all of these dark subjects coalescing on the calendar and in my head? 

Luckily, my four kids and marriage and work and reading and whatnot take my mind off this unpleasant stuff. Well, most of the time... 

...I just tabulated all of my blog posts by year, and this is - purely coincidental - the 1,666th post. Eek!
 


Boo!

Friends - Or, the Lack Thereof

Here we are, almost six months into our new home and neighborhood. I am so pleased to report that, for our kids, moving to where we now live in Utah has been like hitting the jackpot. 

Our oldest, Goose, really struggled in our old home in Waltham with "righteous" friends. She is now almost 12 years old. She had some good friends in Waltham, but a lot of them moved out over the years - either friends from church or from around town. Waltham is like that for a lot of young families - a place to start but not necessarily put down roots. Now, Goose has friends in our cul-de-sac and at church and in our neighborhood and certainly at school. She recently happily told me that she has had more get-togethers with friends since starting the school year than she had in all of her school years combined up to this point. This may not be entirely true, but the gist of the sentiment is definitely real. 

At 10, Mouse is blossoming socially. She has a great friend in the next cul-de-sac and no longer spends her recess talking to her teacher, like she did much of the time in Waltham. She plays with a group of girls at recess and told me that she's glad to not hear swears all the time in class, like she did back East. She, too, didn't have a lot of playdates with friends when we lived in New England. Come to think of it, I wonder whether many kids had a lot of playdates; in most homes, both parents worked, and weekends were the only times that the whole family got together. It's a wild generalization, but again it was our lived experience and it's a reality. 

Moose has had the hardest time adjusting in this regard, but it's not for a lack of friends. Out of our four kids, Moose has the widest circle of friends. He is a social leader. There are more boys in our neighborhood and church community than there are girls. And yet, for much of the summer and fall, Moose kept pining for his old friends in Waltham. He was the most disappointed to no longer be there (well, he and Becky). But he's finally turned the corner and is more settled with our new reality.

Grouse is almost five and in pre-school three mornings a week for 2 hours. He's still young enough and not in a school routine to have formed real friends. Much of his daytime is spent with or at least around Becky. Last week, he played with two different friends at their homes, which was new for him. Grouse is quite comfortable staying around our family and at our home, so to branch out ever so slightly is a big step for him.

Becky, naturally, has started to make new friends through church and running. She did remark, however, that because our neighborhood feels so safe, most parents just let their kids run outside and un-supervised. The moms are inside doing whatever or working. Back in Waltham, because our neighborhood was decidedly not bursting with kids and was not safe, the few parents around us tended to supervise their kids at the playground located at the abandoned elementary school at the end of our street. We got to see and casually know some of these parents, but we never got together outside of seeing them at the playground.

Because of free-range, unsupervised kids playing, for a while, Becky wasn't getting a lot of exposure to friendship-making opportunities in our neighborhood. That started to change once the school year began and everyone's lives got into the school routine. Also, friendships just take time to develop. She runs three mornings each week with two friends in our ward, who both live no more than a 20-second drive away. Becky is feeling more settled about this new era for our tribe.

As for Yours Truly...I have no friends. Hah! That's not entirely true: I know about 25 guys from our church who I met while they lived in Boston, and with whom I've stayed in contact. But all of these guys, like me, are now dads to multiple kids. Like me, they're often just trying to get some measure of balance on the family-work-life teeter-totter. There's a reason that publications like The New York Times have extensively written about the modern-day "Challenges of Male Friendship" and "Are Male Friendships Harder?" We are wired differently when it comes to friends. I mean, I have friends at work, but that's a separate sphere of my daily life. I have five people waiting for my time and attention at the end of each workday. Very occasionally, I have had a night out. I've tended to grab lunch with a smattering of my male friends as a way to reconnect, a "Hey, I'm living in Utah now, too! Let's take lunch sometime!"

[By the way, I despise the expression "Let's grab lunch." For one thing, "grab" has taken on a whole new context in the #metoo era. I like using "take" instead whenever I make this suggestion.]  

So, my family are my friends in a way, and I enjoy the few moments of talking with the other dads in our cul-de-sac and neighborhood and church, which, here in Utah, is a tri-vortex all meshed together. In Waltham, those three settings were all distinctly different and rarely, if ever, intersected or overlapped. But I am hopeful that, as my family settles in to our new life here, I can connect with people who will become friends. 

How? For one, connecting with organizations that appeal to my interests, like the Davis County Democrats as well as the LDS and LGBTQ community, through groups like Encircle. As my new boss - himself a quasi-single man, with no kids, and a long-standing partner/girl friend in Indiana - recently told me, "It takes time to find our people." By knowing at least where my people are - at church, through politics, and the LGBTQ tribe - it's a start to perhaps getting to make new friends. It will just take time. 

Gratitude, Then and Now

I'm entering the start of my fourth season in Utah, having landed here on Friday, April 27th (so, technically still Spring). I was grateful to have had plenty of time to wrap up my Boston life and connect with many - but not all - of my friends as we prepped for our move to Utah. I was grateful to have extra time with my parents, to see locations and sites that have meant a lot to me over four decades of living in New England. And I was so grateful to finally have a grand, new, comfort zone-shattering experience awaiting me: new job (at Intermountain Healthcare), new co-workers, new home, new town, new people, new experiences, and, soon enough, new friends.

Summer was hectic beyond belief, what with moving into our new home and getting all six of us adjusted to our new individual and family normals. I was grateful for our families out here who took me in while I was apart from Becky and our kids for six weeks, and grateful again when one of those families let us all six of us crash in their basement for over a month before our new home was officially ours. I was grateful to not go through another summer of heat and humidity, but I was also grateful that the rains come so frequently in lush New England, considering that my lived experience of a first Utah summer was so.damn.dry.  

Then came my favorite season of all, Autumn. I was dreadfully unimpressed with the Utah foliage. My new co-workers told me that the leaves were not as awesome this year compared to others, due to the lack of rain/precipitation (why do Utahans refer to either as "moisture"?). In the rare quiet moments, I was even more grateful to have been born and raised in a land where the leaves come alive with brilliant colors for weeks on end. I was grateful to see foliage of a different kind and in a different land, too. I mean, I love fall foliage, but I was not going to stay in New England and at a dead-end job after 18 years just so I could see the trees explode in reds, oranges, and yellows each October! Over the nearly 15 years of marriage to Becky - who has lots of family in Utah - we had taken nearly 20 visits (not vacations) to Utah, but I had never once been out here anytime between end of August and Christmas, so I was grateful to live here for a full Autumn.

[Yes, it had become a dead-end job. And because of that, I am so grateful for my new job. Almost two decades of doing the same thing, at the same place, in the same building, was tiresome. To be more precise, it was killing my soul. More, in another post].

And now, with a winter day here, I am grateful to experience my first winter in Utah. Snow has fallen a few times since before Thanksgiving. Not enough to shovel out, but definitely enough for me and our kids to scamper in our new backyard and hurl snowballs at each other. I am grateful for these new moments that create new family memories. 

Each season is new for me here - first spring, first summer, first fall, and now, first winter. I am thankful for this newness in my life. And many moments of newness have also made me reflect on what I left behind - my last spring, summer, fall, and winter in New England. Those reflections and the accompanying flood of memories make me even more thankful that the Lord blessed me in a different place, at different times, with different people, at a different era of my life. 

As I write about present sentiments of gratitude and being thankful for what has all come before in my life, I am also conscious to face forward: There is a future, arrayed over days and weeks and months and years, ahead for me, and my marriage, and our family. What will I do today to make me thankful when, in times to come, I think back on the winter of 2018? In prayer, what will I express gratitude for tonight? 

Facing forward has not been something I've been drawn to much of my life. Perhaps because I'm introverted, or a writer by nature, a lover of history (what happened in the past), I have more often found solace and gratitude in the known parts of my life, and many times sought refuge from the unknown future because I was afraid of what might lay ahead. The unknown of new people, new lands, new sites, new opinions, new relationships, new this, new that... they often felt threatening to what I already knew and lived. This isn't to convey that I was a hermit, a recluse, an avoider of all things in the future. But I was comfortable with where I was, when I was, and what had been. 

It's taken me a long time to reach this point, but I can confidently write that I have a more healthy balance between what was then, what is now, and what is yet to come. It feels liberating. I feel alive more than ever before. 

Gratitude plays a big role in those feelings. I can look back, but I can't live back. I can be thankful for what was, while doing the things now so that I will have more new experiences to be grateful for days to come. 

[And I hope to do a much better job chronicling this evolution on my blog in the days to come, compared to how pitifully I've neglected my blog in the recent past]. 

"Bohemian Rhapsody"

Becky and I saw the Freddie Mercury musical biopic Bohemian Rhapsody last night for our date night. I've been waiting, like many Queen and Freddie Mercury fans, for almost a decade for this film to finally hit the big screen. Biopics are always hit-or-miss, riddled with artistic license and dramatizations that can detract from reality, especially the ones that are posthumous (Walk the Line, Ray). While it's awesome to indoctrinate a new group of people to these musicians (Johnny Cash, Ray Charles) and give long-time fans a nice two-hour overview of their favorite singers' lives, too often these musical biopics shoehorn the origins of singers' most notable hits into the fact-and-fiction plot - a trope that fake biopic Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story savagely and correctly mocks.

There were such shoehorns in Bohemian Rhapsody, but thankfully they were few. The best part for me was the performance by Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury in his on-stage moments. Those were worth the price of admission alone. I've been a long-time Freddie fan, captivated by how he moved around the stage and pulled in his audience. I've studied his moves, his prancing, his gestures, his twirls, how he commanded the stage like no one else. He was so talented, so carefree, such an epic entertainer in front of the audience. I've worked those sub-par impressions of mine into antics for my family. 

On YouTube, I've watched him at Live Aid, in concert in Montreal and Budapest and their last concert as a band - at Knebworth in August 1986 - and it makes me wish I had seen Queen in concert. Freddie Mercury was sinewy, campy, outrageous, uber-confident, flamboyant, coy, and above all in control through their sets. 

To see Rami Malek imitate Freddie Mercury in the concert scenes in Bohemian Rhapsody is to see the best biopic acting impression I can recall. The costume and set designers for this movie did a sensational job re-enacting the outfits that Freddie wore, the drum kits Roger Taylor used, the shirt bassist John Deacon wore at Live Aid, the broken mic stand that Freddie carried with him across stages for years. 

I could not believe how many of Freddie's mannerisms the movie's producers meticulously and energetically re-created for Malek to perform in the movie's Live Aid finale. They hit all of the major ones (aside from leaving out from the finale the entirety of Crazy Little Thing Called Love, which Queen played at Live Aid). His bounces, prances, skips, jumps, twirls, blown kisses - Rami Malek nailed 'em all.

Seeing so many of Freddie's signature Live Aid gestures on the big screen, albeit played by someone else, brought tears to my eyes. There I sat, in the end-seat of the last aisle, with Becky sitting in a chair in the row below me (we bought our tickets late, at an assigned-only theater in a neighboring town), silently crying and being mesmerized by Rami Malek's stunning second-by-second re-creation of Freddie Mercury easily taking control of over 70,000 people at Wembley in London.   

The film was less kind and true-to-reality about Freddie's off-stage life. Yes, he was an unabashed party-goer. Yes, as he himself admitted in an interview, he was extremely promiscuous until around the time of Live Aid, when he started dating Jim Hutton. His 39th birthday party in Munich was legendary and scandalous. 

Freddie once said that he didn't care to live a long life, just as long as he lived a fabulous life and "have as much fun as possible." He once boasted that one of his favorite hobbies was "a lot of sex." It was that uninhibited pursuit of sexual activity that ultimate led to his death. His friend, Elton John, led a similarly hedonistic life full of wanton disregard for his sexual health, and yet he's still alive. What might Freddie have given the music world had he lived longer? 

That's the truth. But what the film shows is a level of petulant, self-destructive, negative nonsense that damages Freddie Mercury's legacy. Why did the two remaining members of Queen - Brian May and Roger Taylor, who had creative input on the film - permit such a besmirching of their bandmate and longtime friend? Was it to juice the story? Give it more nuance? Sell more tickets? Make it more exciting? 

I can't imagine it was a willfully vindictive choice, but it's wholly unnecessary. And that's a shame. The amount of artistic license with certain parts of Freddie's life, Queen songs, and other timeline inconsistencies distracted me in the scenes when the action wasn't taking place in-concert. 

In terms of the film's depiction of Freddie's awakening sexuality: It's still too easy to scandalize and faux-fixate on the salacious sides of people who are gay, lesbian, bi, or trans. Freddie was at least bisexual but seemed to prefer men by an overwhelming margin, though he did date a woman in the early 1980s before entering his last, and lasting, relationship with Jim Hutton. But did we need all of those steamy scenes in the gay bars to drive home the point that Freddie was not straight? For the record: I didn't mind the scenes themselves; what irked me was the quantity of those scenes. Why the strong juxtaposition with his bandmates, who had settled down, married, had a family? 

Scandal, adjusted timelines to make the story seemingly more interesting, and the inability of the chief protagonist to defend him/herself - all ingredients of Bohemian Rhapsody - make for a very entertaining if at times completely fabricated recounting of Queen's best hits and moments as a band. But the 15-minute Live Aid finale is astoundingly true to its inspiration. It is a marvelous way to end the film, and a rousing send-off for Malek's performance.  

Still, after waiting almost a decade for this movie to see the light of day, I'm delighted that it's come to pass, that it will make new fans of Queen and Freddie Mercury, and that this enigmatic, intoxicating, master showman's legacy lives on.

November 9th in History: Two of the Greatest "What If's?" of All Time

This was Time magazine's cover in May 1945, after German dictator Adolf Hitler killed himself as Soviet forces crouched ever closer to the Reich Chancellery in obliterated Berlin. This totalitarian anti-Semite was finally dead, after unleashing war and genocide on millions of people in Europe and, by extension due to colonial holdings affected by warfare, beyond. 

But what if Hitler had been stopped sooner? There are several instances where would-be assassins came close to eliminating him, both before and during WWII. As a history lover, I'm aware of most of these attempts - especially the July 20th, 1944 plot by German Army officers including Claus von Stauffenberg. However, even this history major and European history fanatic was, until this morning, unaware of the details concerning one earlier plot.

November 9th is an auspicious date in German history. Its first major instance of historical importance is on that day in 1848, when democratic aspirant Robert Blum was executed by the Hapsburg Empire for his efforts to encourage liberal democracy to overthrow the kings and queens of the empire that straddled much of Central and Southeastern Europe. 

On that day in 1918, Germany's last Kaiser, Wilhelm II, abdicated - two days before the armistice ending World War I. 

On that day in 1923, Adolf Hitler attempted to topple the regime (the Weimar Republic) which had succeeded the rule of the kaisers. Hitler led a march of 3,000 Brownshirts in a march in Munich that has come to be called "the Beer Hall Putsch." This wildly unsuccessful coup attempt ended with rioting and gunshots, during which several Nazi thugs were killed. As David Frum wrote this week in The Atlantic, "one more lucky bullet could have altered world history. Instead, Hitler ran away with a dislocated shoulder."

On the evening before November 9th, 1939 - with Nazi soldiers marauding through Poland in the early weeks of World War II - an anti-Hitler activist and carpenter named Georg Elser meticulously planned an assassination attempt in the very beer hall from which Hitler had tried to seize power in 1923, and to which he returned annually to bloviate about National Socialism and its answers to Germany's many perceived ills. Elser planted his device, and did everything he could to achieve maximum result. 

David Frum, in that same Atlantic article noted above, noted that "Had Hitler still stood in his expected place [to deliver the annual commemoration speech in the Beer Hall], he would have been killed, along with much of the senior Nazi leadership: Joseph Goebbels, Heinrich Himmler, Reinhard Heydrich, Alfred Rosenberg, and many others." In one fell swoop, Elser's bomb would have eliminated Nazi Germany's chancellor/dictator, its Minister of Propaganda (Goebbels), the leader of the SS (Himmler, who through the SS controlled the concentration camps), a main architect of the Holocaust (Heydrich, who was later killed in Prague in 1942 - and in whose death Hitler unleashed reprisals that killed thousands, including the Lidice Massacre), and one of Nazism's key theorist and ideologues, whose publications and position of influence in Nazi hierarchy infused Hitler's racist and anti-Semitic thought and policies, which his legions of minions carried out between 1933 and 1945. 

With such a potentially massive loss of Nazi leadership, I wonder how the Nazis could have stayed in power; had the bomb killed its intended audience, the only main leader in Nazi Germany who was not present was its Marshall and Air Force leader, Hermann Goering. But as with many other moments when the wheel of fate altered the course of history, Hitler moved his speech up an hour earlier and condensed it. The assembly of senior Nazi leaders left the Beer Hall about 15 minutes before Elser's bomb erupted; 8 people were killed out of about 110 still in the building when Elser's device went off.

Hitler was almost stopped in 1923, and again in 1939, and again in 1944, the most notable of numerous attempts to end his life and curtail his murderous menace. 

How would the tide of history have washed over Europe, and the world, in the 1920s and 1930s and 1940s, had Hitler never rose to power, never been permitted to embark on conquest and unleash the Holocaust? Might Communism have stepped in to the place he would have left vacated? There is no guarantee that, in Hitler's absence, democracy would have taken root in the impoverished nations of Europe that were festering with resentment and crippled economies after World War I. 

Finally, to end the infamy of November 9th on a positive note: That date is consequential in German history for a far more recent reason. On November 9th, 1989, the Berlin Wall fell. Its collapse was a chief signal of the end of the Cold War, which had begun in the immediate aftermath of World War II. It literally and symbolically separated the two German states for 28 years, while also splintering Europe between East and West. 

Berlin, and Germany, would be reunited - the Wall falling blocks away from where Hitler had ended his life 43 years earlier. With no Hitler, there might never have been a successful Nazi reign. No World War II. No Holocaust. No division of Europe, at least how we knew it would turn out. Again, no certainty that in the absence of Hitler or Nazis or war, that the world would have known peace and stability. But it's fascinating and sobering to consider what might have been.

A Place of Contentment

This is one angle of our backyard in a new home in Utah. One thing that greatly attracted me to this home was the spacious, shady backyard. It reminded me of my childhood backyard. In doing so, it makes my heart happy and long for a time of life that I'll never relive or re-capture. I hold out hope that Heaven is a place where we can spend time re-living the times, places, and moments that mattered, and re-feeling the emotions we had in those times and settings.

I haven't spent as much time in our backyard as I would have liked so far. With winter on its way, we will need to wait until late March to take advantage of this serene space.

Speaking of which, I join an army of parents concerned about how much time our children are outdoors, breathing fresh air, and interacting with other kids and adults. Our cul de sac is definitely more bustling with activity than we ever experienced in the 12 years we lived in Waltham, Massachusetts. But it's still surprising to witness long stretches of time on sunny afternoons and nice mornings when no one is outside. Our particular town is renowned for being family-friendly, and it definitely is. Yes, there are a lot of members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints here, and with our more numerous numbers of children and fame for being neighborly, we are chief proponents of playful socialization. But I know fellow Saints at work, who live in other parts of the Salt Lake Valley, whose children hardly ever go outside, because there are hardly ever any kids outside playing. Our neighborhood is doing better than that, but it's not the ideal I thought it might be - and it's not the ideal that many parents, regardless of religion or other imprints, want for their children. 

It makes me worried for the future of social interaction writ large and at the personal level. And it makes me concerned that, if children are not encouraged to be outdoors and have much less interaction with the natural world around them, they will grow up to be even less enthusiastic about or committed to preserving and protecting whatever lives and gives color to the world outside our homes.

Sometimes these concerns weigh too heavily on my mind. So, sometimes, I just need to lay aside those anxieties and negative thoughts, get outside myself, and just be outside.

Six Months in Utah

Today marks my six-month anniversary of arriving in Utah from Boston. Aside from the births and few six months of our four kiddos and, perhaps, my dating relationship with Becky, that was the fastest span of time I can ever recall. We packed a lot into this last half-year! I landed in Salt Lake City on the afternoon of Friday, April 27th, and began my new job at Intermountain Healthcare on Tuesday, May 1st. For six weeks - while Becky and our kids were back in Boston wrapping up our life and packing up our family's first home - I lived with Becky's sister and her family; and two aunts and uncles south of Salt Lake. I moved around a bit in part so as not to wear out my welcome, but also to test out various commutes from the north and south of downtown Salt Lake City.

Getting settled in at work, meeting and working with new colleagues, adjusting to a new commute and climate, being basically a short-term visitor in whichever ward I attended with the families I was staying with over those six weeks - that was quite a lot, especially for yours truly, who has lived much of his life thriving in routine. 

All those adjustments aside, being away from Becky and our four yahoos was hard. Very hard, at times. Thank goodness for texts, phone calls, and the Marco Polo video app! I missed Mother's Day, my son's 7th birthday, end-of-school events, and the passing of our beloved elderly neighbor Arthur. Also, I missed being there for Becky as she literally and figuratively wrapped up our Boston life: saying goodbye to friends from our Boston ward, our kids' schools, our neighborhood, her social circles, and our dear neighbors who were like grandmothers to Goose, Mouse, Moose, and Grouse. I sorely missed being there to support her through these emotional moments.  

Quite unlike how my mind and heart have historically worked - fondly and often recalling past moments, people, and places - once I landed in Salt Lake City, I was focused on the future. My family was back in Boston, concluding this chapter of our life, while here I was, already on the ground and moving ahead, in my job and in our search for our new home. It was really exciting, albeit frustrating at times. 

This forward-looking me was so fixated on my family's arrival, getting closer with each passing day, that I did not properly (I think) mourn what I had left behind. For instance, while I made a point to call our grandmother-like neighbors after the passing of their dad, I did not fly home for his services. And while I was sad to not be there, and to not be present to celebrate his long life, I felt so grateful that he had passed while Becky was still in Boston. Becky created some wonderful and very meaningful tributes to Arthur in the days leading up to his passing; he took about three weeks to truly slip away, and was conscious a lot of that time. I felt grateful that Arthur was now reunited with his beloved Joyce, who had passed on two months after Becky and I moved in next-door to Arthur, in October 2006. While I was sad to not support Becky and our friends, I was also ecstatic that it was the end of May, which meant that my own family would be reunited, that we would finally be back together.

I missed my parents, a lot. But not in the heart-wrenching way I always anticipated I might feel whenever, over the years, I thought about what moving away from them would feel like. I missed my childhood home. I missed many of the small and big moments and cadences of our life in Waltham, Massachusetts.

But none of them held the stranglehold on my heart and mind as I envisioned it would. That's a sign of healthy perspective, something that is important for me to continue to cultivate on this journey and this new stage of life. 

10! And a 10-Speed Bike

Our Little Mouse became the first of our four kids to celebrate a birthday as residents of Utah. As I wrote on Insta, "The financial world was collapsing when she was born, but her arrival boosted our family!" So true: I remember the general alarm and concern that I felt about world events and all the way to my own job and ability to provide for my family in October 2008. Man, those ten years have flown by! And now, here we are in Utah. And now we have two kids who have left the single-digit years behind them.

Mouse has been riding an old bike to school for weeks. I'm proud of her for riding as much as she does; it's a mile each way, and most every day since school began has been beautiful and sunny. It would be awesome to have some days of rain out here, though! Anyhow, Our Little Mouse started to detest her old bike; she was embarrassed by its design and its look. With her 10th birthday approaching, we knew exactly what to get her for this milestone occasion:

We found this bike at a Wal-Mart, and Mouse totally wanted it. This was on a Saturday before her birthday, so we told her that she needed to wait to ride this new bike until her actual special day. Mouse wasn't thrilled with that plan, but - ever the money-conscious kid she is - was overjoyed that this bike cost only $89. It was listed in the rack at $159, but when we rang it up at the self-checkout, three digits dropped to two. 

As I knew she would, Mouse immediately asked I could give her the difference in cash, right then and there!

Nice try, sweetheart!

Dunkin' Donuts

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints isn't the only institution adjusting its name these days. So, too, is New England-based Dunkin' Donuts, which will soon drop "Donuts" during its national expansion. I grew up eating Dunkin' Donuts' Boston Creme Pie donut. It is a rite of passage for New Englanders to start their addiction to Dunkin' products early and let its high-saturated fat goodness and caffeine-rush drinks flood your arteries and gut. 

My family and I have been in Utah for four months now. On a recent Saturday morning, my sons and I scouted out a Dunkin' Donuts nearby and stopped in for breakfast. They were absolutely elated, while I abstained from eating anything in that store. 

Contrary to what some might think, back in Boston we did not eat Dunkin' Donuts every weekend. It was maybe once every six weeks, and often much longer between Dunkin's trips. I rue the many, many Dunkin' runs I made in high school and beyond. That's a personal trait I hope to not pass on to my children. 

Thankfully, unlike in New England, there is not a Dunkin's store on nearly every major corner here in Utah, so I think we can better rein in this occasional treat - all while Dunkin's expansion across this land in the grip of an obesity epidemic brings more stores nearby. 

New Headphones, New Look, New Office Setting

This is a most unflattering photo of Yours Truly! I'm loving my new hair style, but that's the only thing I love about this image. My beard was grown in at the request of Our Little Mouse, who has always wanted me to have a beard for her birthday. It just makes me look older. 

And as for those dark grey and pink headphones? I bought the set in June, after enduring weeks of open-cubicle (sorry, "work station"!) noise incessantly throughout each workday. Only, the pair I selected on Amazon were dark grey and orange. I even still have the box the headphones came in as proof: the box shows a pair of dark grey and orange, so why did the box's insides reveal grey-and-pink? But I kept the pair, because I was just too lazy to bother with the return. This added fuel to my male boss's fire and self-deprecating jokes that men are just too lazy. He loves to crack jokes at "our team's" expense.  

I seldom work up the courage to bust these dark grey and pink headphones out at the office. This runs counter to my growing sense of "who cares what anyone else thinks?" Apparently, when it comes to colors stridently attributed to gender (pink for girls/women) or sexual identity (LGBTQ), I am still sensitive enough to what co-workers will think of a man sporting that particular color. It's not something I am proud of, letting others' attitudes impact my choices. We're working on that!

On another note: After having my own offices for 16 years while working at Harvard Business School in fundraising, being back in a cubicle (oops, I did it again! Sorry, "work station"!) for my first time since May 2003 is a challenge. The Intermountain Healthcare fundraising team is growing, and there's talk of relocating our offices to meet our space issues. So we will see what the future holds. My "work station" faces the glass double doors that open onto our office floor. People come-and-go through those doors throughout the day. People make deliveries, and guests get lost and ask me for directions. The doors are also swipe-entry ones, so one needs to press their security badge against the locking mechanism to open the doors. But delivery people don't have security badges, so they will knock on the double doors until I finally relent to acknowledge their intrusion, leave my desk, and open the doors for them. 

These frequent interruptions were never a part of my HBS job, so it's a major adjustment. But looking at it from a different perspective, I feel this experience could be helpful in future career moments, such as explaining how I navigate change (from an office to a work station) and manage my time.

Now, excuse me while I block out all disruptions with my gender identity-busting headphones and plow through my umpteenth podcast of this work-week! 

In the Land Where Many Minivans Look Like Ours

We bought our new family minivan in late June, just a few weeks after Becky and our four kiddos left Boston to join me in Utah. For a few weeks, our tribe crammed into Becky's Aunt Doris' late-1990s Buick LeSabre, a boat of a vehicle that holds up well over time. We stayed at Aunt Doris' house south of Salt Lake City for over a month while we waited to move in to our new home, north of Salt Lake. Toward the end of our stay, a co-worker recommended to me that we shop for a new minivan at Rand's Autos in Bountiful.

As my colleague Mark chatted with me, I looked on Rand's website and saw this minivan for sale. I quickly called Becky at Aunt Doris' house, told her about this find, and she arranged babysitting for our kids so that she and I could drive to Rand's that very evening - right before it closed - to check out this minivan. We decided to buy it after a brief test drive, and completed the paperwork the next evening, buying it all in cash thanks to extra funds from the sale of our beloved Waltham condo. 

Taking this minivan out on the roads, we quickly realized just how many people have the exact same van, color and all! Hello, "Stepford Wives!" When our kids' school recently held a safety awareness campaign for kids who walk, bike, roller blade, or rip-stick to school, the school officials handed out lime-green ribbons to affix on these various modes of transportation. Becky got some extra ribbons and tied them onto our minivan's door handles. 

What was meant as a temporary thing has stuck with us, helping us to more easily identify which metallic grey minivan is ours in the grocery store or church parking lot. Sure, we could use our keychain's alarm setting to accomplish this task as well, but with our four kids already causing a ruckus wherever we go, why contribute even more noise pollution?!

LDS and LGBT

Recently, Brigham Young University educators along with leaders from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have spoken up more, with greater love and support for LGBTQ+ people - whether they are members of the Church of Jesus Christ or not. I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which has had a fraught history with LGBTQ+ rights and people. This post won't catalog all of those moments on that long timeline. Instead, all I'll write here is that these recent speeches and other signs of support are steps that I welcome 100%, and want to see and hear more of. 

It is also a topic I've posted about a few times over the last few years on my blog. 

So today, on Bi Visibility Day (also known as Bi Awareness Day and Bi Pride Day, with its bi pride flag above), September 23rd, I share snippets of these recent messages. 

The first link is part of a talk from BYU Professor and Associate Dean Carolina Nunez, who spoke this week about her and her family's welcoming experience at Encircle: LGBT+ Family and Youth Resource Center in Provo. Professor Nunez remarked, "I had been thinking...about how I might be more helpful and supportive of our local LGBTQ community for some time, but I have been unsure of what I could do." 

She continued, "I was ready to offer myself to Encircle. Maybe I could volunteer there, or perhaps I could donate funds for programming, or maybe I could offer some kind of pro bono help. I was proud of myself for finally making a real effort to act. What I hadn't stopped to consider was that my brothers and sisters in the LGBTQ community might have something to offer me. That I might need them. As soon as my family walked in the door, we were welcomed - quite literally - with open arms...I was struck by the sense of community and closeness I felt there and by how quickly this new circle of friends had opened up. I left Encircle that day, not as the rescuer I had imagined myself to be, but as the rescued."

A few weeks prior to Dean Nunez's address, BYU Professor Eric Huntsman also spoke at the university. His talk is entitled Hard Sayings and Safe Spaces: Making Room for Struggle as Well as Faith. As The Salt Lake Tribune reported on his talk, "In the past, students at the LDS Church-owned school said 'hard sayings' - any doctrine or practice that is difficult to understand, accept, or follow - referred to questions about Mormon history or theology. These days, though, young Latter-day Saints tell Huntsman that the expression includes 'gender disparities, sexual and other identities, and racial and ethnic discrimination...He specifically addressed the tensions faced within the faith by LGBTQ students, Mormons of color, and LDS women - topics rarely mentioned directly from the podium during BYU devotionals.

"For many people, not only LGBTQ Latter-day Saints, he said, 'the choice to love can literally make the difference between life and death."

*     *     *

As I posted on social media today, I welcome these statements and steps wholeheartedly. I want to see and hear more such overtures and support. 

A female LGBTQ student at BYU said last year, "We are well on our way to progress with LGBTQ issues in [the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints] and at BYU. 

"But until we can get to a point where we - the LGBTQ individuals who are struggling on the ground - are no longer fantasizing about suicide or praying to God for forgiveness and change us, we are not done." 

This statement shows the depth of this disconnect: how can someone who identifies as LGBTQ stay in this ultra-conservative church and, to a lesser extent, Mormon culture? People have been trying to figure out this struggle for themselves and their families for many years. There are significant reasons why Encircle: LGBTQ Family & Youth Resource Center opened in 2017 in Provo (in the heart of BYU), and why another Encircle center will soon open in Salt Lake City. 

Encircle is meeting needs, creating communities, and finding support from many people - whether they are Mormon or not; whether they (or their children) are LGBTQ or not. It is  saving lives. It is making a difference. It serves as a place where people can be encircled with love, with support, and without personal, identity, or religious judgment.  

*     *     *

Now that I'm in Utah, I would like to be involved with Encircle, just as Dean Nunez has been. A BYU student and Encircle volunteer recounted her experience of being LDS and LGBT here. She profoundly conveys in her message titled "Believe That What You're Feeling is Real" that: "I found some very meaningful opportunities at Encircle to contribute back to the community. There are parts of what it means to be LDS and LGBT that are inherently conflicting and complicated, and it can be frustrating. 

"But I feel so much more empowered now, that I know I get to make decisions about my future...I can be honest and open and authentic for the rest of my life, because that's what I've decided I want to do." 

I love Sammi's outlook and her vulnerability of sharing her experience. All of these recent messages personally, deeply resonate with me. I am very much attuned to their words. 

They give me hope. They motivate me to give support, non-judgment, and offer a safe space for people I know and encounter in life, people that I hope to encircle with charity, as sisters and brothers.

One of Our Kids Joins In on the Santa Claus Club

On Wednesday evening, August 1st of this first summer in Utah for us, Our Dear Goose was getting ready for bed. It was about 8:45 in the evening. She was embarking on Week #3 in her own bedroom for the first time since she started sharing a bedroom back in Waltham, Massachusetts with her little sister Mouse in 2009. 

"Daddy," Goose asked me with a nervous smile. I looked at her. She was sitting on her bed. 

"Yeah, what's up?" I asked (or something to that effect). 

"Is Santa Claus real?" 

*   *   *

Now, those of you who have followed this blog will know that I am Captain Nostalgia, with an oft-times heavy dose of sentimentality and a dash of melancholy. Since kids entered my life and Becky's life in 2007, both the anticipation of making Santa Claus a part of our kids' lives - and the knowledge that, at some point, the jig is up - have weighed on my heart and mind. Most times, when I have thought about breaking the news about - or confirming suspicions that - the Santa Claus story, I have felt nervous, sad, and like a major piece of childhood is ending. 

While that latter point is true, in the moment on August 1st, I had little time to feel nervous or sad. Caught flat-footed, I sat on Goose's bed. She and I dove into the conversation. There were no dramatics, no theatrics, and no accusations that Becky and I had lied to Goose. Really, the big reveal went better than I had ever expected or anticipated. No tears, on her part or mine (again, because it does represent a major change from childhood to young kid-hood). I was relieved, and so was Goose. 

She told me that most of her friends in school and at church had not believed in Santa Claus for many years. She reminded me that, as early as third grade, most of the Hispanic kids in her classroom in Waltham - where Hispanic kids were the majority of students - did not believe in him. Goose persisted, because she wanted to believe. She sincerely thought it all made sense. She loved the stories I'd tell about Santa, and his North Pole operation, and the lengths of intrigue he went to ensure that no one ever saw him or could get to Santa's workshop. This night, as the story of Santa entered the realm of myth, Goose recounted some of my made-up tidbits about Jolly Old Saint Nick. 

I admitted that I loved crafting these elaborate tales about Santa's origins, his elves, the reindeer, how the animals of the world talked at midnight on Christmas, and how Santa's centuries-long act of gift-giving was an homage to the true gift of Christmas, our Savior's birth. Goose was as wide-eyed on this summer's night as she was in her younger years, when she listened with rapt attention to my un-spooling tales of Christmas. 

How did Goose take the big reveal? How did she handle this news? 

She was totally fine. In fact, I think she was relieved - not that the secret was out, but more likely that she no longer had to work so hard to believe, or pretend to believe. A day later, when I informed my dad (Goose's Bumpa), he offered, "Tim, she's been playing along for your sake for a while. She has known for years about Santa." I cannot confirm that, but I think he's right, and I think that Goose has truly known about Santa for two or three years. But she didn't want to not believe.

Thanks to the advice of good friends (fellow blogger Cherie, Sierra in Las Vegas, and Loxi in Waltham), Becky and I had been tipped-off about how to turn what could be a sad moment into a "hey kid, you're in a super-secret club with just your parents!" experience. And so, on August 1st, Goose was initiated into our Santa's Helpers Club, membership of three. She plans to make Christmas 2018 so memorable for her three younger siblings. 

And Goose was thrilled to be in-the-know. At a time of life when she's wanting to feel and be treated more like a young adult than a child, having her Santa Hunch confirmed and being able to be a help to her parents move that needle more toward teenage-hood and further away from childhood.     

The one thing Goose expressed anything close to sadness about? How much money (in her mind) we have spent on her, Mouse, Moose, and Grouse at Christmas each year over the years. She vowed to not ask for much, if anything, this Christmas. We shall see how that goes, and since I'm the one more invested in the material side of Christmas than Dear Becks, I'm an easy mark for gift-giving for our kids. 

I'm very interested to see how Christmas 2018 dawns for Goose and our family, in just a few months!

Twenty Years: Book Obsession and a Time of Life

For those of you readers who know me in real life, or who have read about my obsession with lists, this should come as no great shock: I keep a record of every book I've ever read. It's in Excel, with the book title, author, and source of the book (e.g., the library's name, the name of the person who gifted it to me, etc). 

Reminds me of an old Billy Joel lyric: I don't know why I go to extremes! But I love this list-keeping hobby and now, 20 years into keeping it, this is a part of my life and my identity. It's too personal to lose or neglect. 

The idea for doing this originated with my good friend Sara Skluzacek, who I befriended while we were on our Junior Year Abroad in Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany, in 1996-1997. She told me that her grandmother kept such a list of her own. This instantly hooked me. 

By my count, since turning 10 years old, I've read 559 books. Why 10? That's the age I could go as far back in my mind to, when I started keeping my Excel spreadsheet. Anything before 10 was either lost due to the passage of time, or doesn't really count because in my youngest years, my parents and other family members read books to me. 

Also, not coincidentally, 2018 marks twenty years since my book-reading and -collecting and -record keeping took off. Between 1994 and 1996, I had read a total of 28 books; in 1997, it was 12 books. 

But 1998? 27 books, drawn in part from my undergraduate courses at UMass- Amherst and from my own interest. Books included:

      

In 1998, I became addicted to schooling. I took on a second major (History) while living off-campus for the first time in college. I enrolled and completed a January Winter Term course (in-between fall and spring semesters), had a week off after Winter Term ended before spring semester began, and then opted to stay at UMass-Amherst for the summer of 1998 to take classes during the two Summer Terms. 

That spring of 1998 turned into a summer and fall of 1998, each season crammed with books and many quiet hours reading in the W.E.B. DuBois Library at UMass, at my parents' house, in my bedroom in Sunderland, Massachusetts, on the bus to and from school, and by the beautiful Campus Pond at UMass. One time, while visiting home, I was reading a book while walking with my dad in a hallway at Boyden Hall, on Bridgewater State College's gorgeous campus.

 

DuBois Library (left), Boyden Hall (above)  

As I reflect back twenty years to 1998 and my growing infatuation with books, it is funny how books and places and a general time of life are all intertwined. I think of a book I read that year, then recall the places I haunted and the professors and the emotions I felt at the time come flooding back. 

It was a lonely time of life. A lot of my college friends had graduated in May 1998 and had moved away. I sorely missed my year abroad in Freiburg and the luxury of traveling to see new places and foods and peoples that Europe offered. I felt lost in life, unsure of who I was and who I wanted to be and what my future held. The UMass campus was obviously a lot quieter in summer, which was enjoyable. Thank goodness the UMass German department housed the DEFA Film Library - the largest collection of East German motion pictures - which employed me starting that summer, giving me money that I mostly spent on (gee, what a surprise) books.

I went home to my parents' house two hours away that summer a few weekends, but otherwise classrooms and reading were my life. As for a social scene or dating, there was nothing to report. Not dating anyone freed up a lot of time. It was a season of trying to figure out which people (yes, plural intentional) I was interested in. So, um...yeah, there's that too, beyond just books.

There have been many times over the years when I have wished to have the luxury of time again that I had in 1998, to read as much as I did then. There have been times when, in hindsight, I have wished that I had done things differently that year - been more adventurous, outgoing, brave, less timid, more self-confident, assertive, open to possibilities and my future.

Twenty years on, I look at that summer and the person I was. Some of who I am now versus then is different; other aspects of me are the same. My life is a lot more full and enjoyable and less melancholy than it was in 1998. Oddly, I kind of liked that melancholy time. What does that say, what does that mean? It's on my mind, though not something that life gives me a lot of time to figure out. I look back with gratitude, and feel more confident for road ahead now than I felt for my future twenty years ago.