QST de N7GMT

[sung to the tune of "What do you do with a drunken sailor"]

What do you do with a pregger wi-ife,
What do you do with a pregger wi-ife,
What do you do with a pregger wi-ife,
Er-lie in the mornin’?

Aparently you take her to the horse-pittal and let her bring a “new one” into the world.

Yup. Our latest was bornified this week. Cute little guy.

We’re glad to have him with us. He was our biggest baby—something which did not please the one birthing him. She was quite glad to have him in her arms, though.

I sure do love her, my Sweetie. I don’t, however, know how she manages to do all the things she does. Trying to get all the kids off to school—fed, dressed, with brushed teeth and combed hair—and then to take care of all the other domestic things that need doing every day and every week … and then to top it off with all the other things she does, like being the Primary President for our Ward, making and selling hand-made soap from our home and at the Holy Cow Boutique, teaching piano lessons to the neighborhood kids, playing piano for our church choir … <sheesh!>

Anyway, he’s here now; healthy and happy (as long as he’s fed and no one is messing with his diaper).

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for letting us play host to this wee one.

This has been a busy weekend. A nephew born; a prophet remembered; a daughter baptized.

We were informed early yesterday that my sister-in-law had experience a sudden loss of containment with regard to incubating fluid (her water broke); in practical terms this meant that—one way or another—the baby would be delivered within twenty-four hours. (In “olden” times, they reputedly just let you stay home until your contractions kicked in, but there are too many complications and the risk of infection is too high, I’ve been told, so they take steps now.)

Late in the afternoon, it was decided that things were not going as the doctor would like to see, so they ordered up an emergency C-section. (I have since learned that any non-preplanned C-section is deemed an “emergency.”) I am now the uncle of another nephew—one with large hands, and long toes. This makes my brother- and sister-in-law parents. Congratulations, you two! May you be equal to the task.

Today was also the funeral of President Gordon B. Hinckley, prophet of God. We had other things that would keep us from viewing the services live, but thanks to the magic of things like TiVO®, we are able to watch at a time more convenient.

The reason we were unable to watch is that my daughter was baptized today. It is a joyous time in the life of a father when he can no only see one of his children reach the age when they can decide they want to be baptized, but also when they ask him to perform this ordinance. I didn’t have opportunity to actually be “in the water” for any of those I taught the Gospel of Christ while in the mission field, so when each of my children has asked that I be the one to baptize them, and confirm them a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and to confer upon them the Gift of the Holy Ghost … well, what can I say? It’s a special thing. A darned special thing.

Baptism, the Stain Stick of the soul. Well, that’s not quite exactly correct, nor is that how it was expressed in the talk before the actual ordinance, but that is how I will think of it from now on. We all have these little moments in our life when we do something dumb, something we know we shouldn’t do but do anyway. Baptism gives you that clean slate to start with–to start your “new” life with. Repentance is there for when you make mistakes, when you get those blemishes on your clean, white spirit, as it were. With proper repentance and taking the sacrament to renew your baptismal covenants, those blemishes can be effectively lifted and washed away, as far as God is concerned.

How cool is that?

Then there’s the whole bit with the Holy Ghost. My sis was just a little unnerved by the thought of having to give a talk, but she cowboy’d up and did it, and did a fine job. One thing in particular that I liked was how the Holy Ghost can be a constant companion. For your whole life. Twenty-four by seven. Always. Now, with some people, having them constantly at your side, reminding you of what you’re supposed to be doing, warning you of things you shouldn’t do, etc. can get right up a body’s left nostril. Thing is, with the Holy Ghost there’s a certain … something that, hopefully, motivates you to pay attention rather than buck, push back, or rebel.

Having a bad day? Holy Ghost is there and can help. Lost–figuratively or physically? He’s there and can help. Passing of a loved one, near or far? Guess who’s there to help. Living a nice sane life, driving the speed-limit, wearing your seatbelt, coming to a full stop(!) at stop-signs, and want a little extra help not getting T-boned by the uninsured drunk that’s about to run that stop-sign you just stopped at? The Holy Ghost is there, and has probably been encouraging you to wait just a little longer, or take a different route, or run an errand first, or … you get the idea.

So many ways we’re blessed. So many ways we see that God loves us. So many opportunities to be better than a natural man, to rise up and be more like Him.

Got news yesterday that my Great Aunt wasn’t expected to make it through the weekend. She is in her nineties. Her health has been slowly deteriorating for the last many years. But she was quite the duck. I never really knew her very well. She was the sister of the grandfather I never knew. She lived alone, never married, and yet was quite an adventuresome spirit.

So if you don’t mind, I’d just like to post a few of the memories I have.

There was a restaurant somewhere in Colorado in or near Denver where she lived. I have no idea what the occasion was; I was six, maybe. It was some kind of woodsy, swanky place, I think. She was probably treating us. She’d made a life for herself, you see, and traveled wherever she wanted—kind of the Sir Edward Hillary of the family, I guess. Anyway, we were at this restaurant thingy, and there were some kind of large fowl wandering around. My great aunt gobbled at them. I think they must have been turkeys; why would one gobble at, say, peacocks. She’s the only person I have ever know—or heard of—who knew how to gobble. Quite astonishing. And she did it rather convincingly.

She came and stayed with us for a while once. I might have been eleven. She brought a few of her cameras and lenses with. She was quite the … well, “shutterbug” might be too cliché for her. She had some nice equipment, and knew how to use it and take care of it. Taught me quite a bit about photography—stuff I still remember to this day without remembering when I learned it or how. Stuff about field-of-view and F-stops; stuff about lighting and shutter-speed; stuff about quality vs. film speed. I’m not quite sure, but I think she enjoyed sharing that little bit of her life with me, and seemed pleased that I found it genuinely interesting.

A birthday party a few years ago … I think it must have been her 90th. I never saw her much during my life. Didn’t frequent the Denver area, and she only occasionally came through, usually just a short visit on the way somewhere else. It had been many, many years. We went to the assisted care facility where she lived, threw her a birthday party. (That is to say, most of us came and partook of the party, and a few that lived closer and were a little more closely related did the throwing.) I’m not sure what she thought of the whole thing. All these relatives—there couldn’t have been more than about thirty of us—showing up to celebrate a milestone few see, and those who do most often don’t realize it. It was a very … different sort of a party, a different sort of a day.

I never really knew my Great Aunt, not in any appreciable way. I find myself occasionally wondering if I’m much like her. She had family, yes, but wasn’t overly … needy of their company. She was bright; she saw through to the heart of the matter as though it were obvious. Which reminds me of something she once told me—and I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t in a bit of an administrative manner:

If you have a difficult job, give it to a lazy man; he’ll find an easier way to do it.

That phrase has stuck with me my whole life. I think it was one of her brief visits—around Christmas time, if I recollect properly—when she shared that with me. I’m not sure, exactly, why.

And now she’s passed on. I’ve never been a good one for going and visiting family. (I’m not a good one for visiting anyone, in general. “Ruddy awful” is what comes to mind, having been watching some BBC television. I’m too much of a hermit, I guess.) She always remembered us kids, even though we were terrible about writing back—even just a Thank You note seemed to be beyond my attention span. I was grateful … I just found it difficult to bring myself to say it. All those years, all the … “support” she gave us, as a family, as individuals. My sister was the one who got to know her best. I think she spent a good portion of a year living with her in her later years, taking care of her. I know it was appreciated, even if they didn’t see eye to eye about things.

Well, I’ve rambled on. I’ve tried to make this read-worthy, and failed miserably. I’ve tried to think of ways to say that I think she was a fantastic lady, and yet I didn’t really bother to seek out that greatness. … And the best I can think of now is to raise my virtual glass and borrow a line, and hope it’s accepted as she embarks on the next adventure in this thing called life:

Dorothy, here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

Rexburg. Synonymous with cold. Seriously; don’t believe me, go look it up. It’s not really all that cold outside right now—a mere 30° F … but somehow it feels colder. When we got here on Wednesday it was 24° but it didn’t feel this cold. Must be all the turkey.

So we’re all up at Grandma and Grandpa’s for Thanksgiving. We left very early on Wednesday—so early in fact, that no one thought we had really left yet. I mean, really, we’re Snyders, for goodness sake. We never leave for a trip on time. Once in my youth, I think we were two days late. Yes, days. (more…)

So this weekend was the ARRL Sweepstakes for SSB. Yes, terribly exciting, I know. I wasn’t sure I was going to have time to operate at all, because Saturday was looking really booked, what with The Holy Cow finishing up, and sneaking off to Salt Lake to pick up a new sofa I’d ordered to surprise my Sweetie with.

Anyway, with the two youngest under the weather, I had to stay home from church to watch ‘em. No radio time there. You wouldn’t believe how much trouble two little boys can get into if left to their own devices. (Well actually, I know of several of you who can, but that ruins the flow of the previous sentence, so let it slide, will ya?) And if you’re the only adult in the house, who do you think they come to when they want attention? Yeah, hard to guess that one, isn’t it.

After everyone else got home, had lunch and had settled into what I like to refer to as the Sunday Afternoon Fester I figured I could warm up the radio and see how many Qs I could pull off before someone noticed. I didn’t start until about one o’clock Sunday afternoon, and the contest was due to finish by eight that evening, local time. I was puttering along when I got a gentle prod from my DX-ing buddy, N7BAN; a text message “I heer u” [sic] and a response of “38″ when I asked how many Qs he had. Twice what I had at the time; time to kick it into gear … at least for a while.

I didn’t plan on getting in as many hours as I did, and probably would have knocked off early, but I got a special treat. My son, who has been kind-of interested in getting his license for some time, came over and sat down, watching me rack up a few points. I explained sections and multipliers, and we watched the score go cross 2,000 and continue to over 3,000. By then the excitement was building; he’s just a wee bit competitive. By the time I was over 5,000 points I could tell he was itching, so I had him share the headphones, handed him the mike, and showed him all the things he needed to say to complete an exchange. We got interrupted by dinner (bah, who needs food when there are Qs to be won?), and after dinner I set us up with a pair of head-phones each. That really got him going and helped us coordinate.
For those of you out there who slowed down, took special note, and gave precedence to a young voice answering to my call, Thank You! You really made his night, and mine. Seeing the light in his eyes as we “scored” an Alaska, or Hawaii, or Virginia station was worth it all to me. The last Q we had right before the contest went dark was with K7IR, up in Eastern Washington. Since the pressure was now off, we had a chance to have a quick chat. Turns out he has a son the same age, and complimented mine on doing a fine job with the exchange. Actually, several of you gave him compliments on his operating that brought out that goofy, snaggle-toothed grin of a young man caught between childhood and the age of teens. (Precious radio funds will soon have to be devoted to adjusting the worst of the snaggles. <sigh>)

To the 87 ops with whom I exchanged today, TNX es 73.

To those who gave special note to a gangly youth (and future ham radio op), VY TNX es 88 de N7GMT.

Tonight was the annual Pinewood Derby for our Cub Scout pack. My boy’s car nearly won last year, so we had high hopes for placing well. Well, the best laid plans of mice, men, and software engineers…. Time was certainly not on our side this year; the car was a bit of a rush job, and the performance showed it.

There was one care that was a shoe-in to win. Sleek, heavy, built-backwards—in short, all the tricks that make for a winning car. He came in second place.

The first place winner? The new kid. First car he and his dad had ever built. Wobbly wheels, but a sleek design. They did something right, because that car just sailed down the track. He won the grand championship over all three dens by ¹/_100th of a second!

I guess we start planning for next year. Always another chance.

Well, we atoned for our day out, Friday; we schlepped the kids up to Swiss Days, and convinced my sister-in-law and her husband that they, too, wanted to experience Swiss Days. With a herd of kids.

I got to get my leather-bound book; we got to eat more <ahem> “Swiss” food; and the kids got to spend their September allowance on bags of marbles at the hand-made games booth (I don’t think any of them had the cash in their hands longer than twenty seconds, some literally two seconds—from my hand to theirs, to the booth-keeper’s). No one died; there were no kids lost in the making of the expedition (although two crashed and fell asleep towards the end); and some of the kids learned to bus surf on the way back to the parking lot.

(more…)