warming up

Emma Lou Thayne gave me this great tip for writing. Before you start to write something, just warm up. You don't just launch into a tennis match, you hit a few balls first. At swim meets there's always a warm up time. Swimming for 15 minutes and then sitting around for a few hours before you compete didn't seem all that useful. But I did it anyway. And today as I swam both at lunch and after work, I realized that the earlier event did help the later one. So now I'm using the blog to warm up. I'm going to be doing some other writing tonight, but for now I've at least got my fingers moving on the keyboard. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Yes, Truman, that's typing not writing. But even typing helps. The fingers do feel a little warmer. The words do flow a bit easier. Oh the magic of just transcribing the words you hear. It doesn't happen to me very often, but then again, how often do I take the time to warm up?

Wasatch Crest 2007

 

 

  Every year Dave and I try to hit the Wasatch Crest at least once. Last year we didn't make it, but on July 24, 2007 -- Utah Pioneer Day -- we again rode the crest. It was a beautiful, cloudy day. Hot in the valley, but just perfect on the mountaintop. While the big crowds watched the floats at the annual Days of '47 parade, we saw clouds floating by as we joined a parade of mountainbikers headed across the crest.

Sneak Peak of Chris Brown and Elmo Singing on Sesame Street

This is great. Check it out.

can't beat carmel and monterey

Got to help my daughter and son-in-law move from Monterey back to Salt Lake this past week. Fortunately there was some time for some sight-seeing. It's easy to see why Point Lobos draws more than 300,000 visitors a year. Such an incredible place. I'm glad we had a few hours to check it out.

months vs. years

I knew this good neighbor only a few months, but I've visited his grave for 16 years now. He died same year my daughter was born. As she's grown strong and beautiful, I wonder what's happened to my friend. His ashes are buried here, but what adventures of the spirit has he found beyond the grave? Has he continued as a master teacher? Has he found use for his skills in language and production? And what would he say to those he left behind? To him I say, "Thanks, Richard, for what's turned out to be a brief and lasting friendship--brief in our actual time together and lasting as those memories span the years. I'm glad you moved into the 'hood, just wish you coulda stayed longer."

slippery slope