I'm on Holiday right now, and schedules get a little crazy and well, we haven't had a good family scripture study in a little while.  And I can feel that in our family. I can feel that we've been spending time on other things - things that are interesting, things that are entertaining, but things that don't move us forward and help us grow in the most foundational ways and areas that our purpose here on earth warrants growth.  So as the kids were going to bed, I encouraged them to take a minute and open their scriptures and read.

When everyone was settled, I went out to my two older boys and was going to begin to read them a book that I just finished reading and thought they might like.  I noticed Simon looked like he wanted me to read to him, but that he hadn't yet read from the scriptures.   At that point, I wanted to just move it along and get on with my story, but I thought for a moment what I would be communicating if I did that, so I reached for the quad he was using and offered to read to both him and Samuel. And I opened the Book of Mormon, and it fell open to Alma as he went from Melek into the city of Ammonihah. And I felt a tangible difference in the atmosphere of the room.

The thing that was great, is that we didn't just read - we discussed.  We tried to understand each sentence, why phrases like "labored in spirit" and "wrestled with the Lord" are used and what they mean.  And as we did so, I could feel a light and spirit come into the room and stretch our spirits and could actually feel the growth. 

I could feel it as we talked about Alma and his great desire for the people of Ammonihah.  I could feel it as we talked about their rejection of Alma. And I could really feel it and its attending excitement as we read of the Angel that appeared to Alma and of the significance of the angel being the same one that chastised him earlier in his life.

And then, my favorite part, when Alma meets Amulek.  And that reminded me of an incident recorded in the New Testament.  So we turned to the book of Acts and read about Cornelius and Peter and how marvelously the Lord brought them together through visions and faith and obedience.

And it was marvelous - not just what the Lord did for Alma and Amulek and Cornelius and the fledgling church, but what he did for us as we went to bed, turning our minds, thoughts and hearts to the words of the Lord, and feeling His spirit testify to us of the truth and enlarge our souls.

I am grateful for the scriptures, revelation and the gift of the Holy Ghost that helps me and my family grow closer together and stronger in character as we learn to live up to our purposes on earth.

What a great ending to a long day.

What are you doin'?

- Nuthin'.

Want to go down to the beach and dig a giant pit?

- Okay.

I'm not sure where his calculations went wrong, but this guy needs either a convertible model or a new garage.

One of the great things about my job as Dad is that I never stop learning the important lessons of life, and I am taught by the best teachers.

Like the time Sol taught me that when you need to relax and take a break, you just do it.

Ahhhhhhhhhh, that's better.

 

And I don't mean the country.

Earlier this spring we had a visit from Elder Holland. It was a small, collegial setting and an interesting experience for me personally; less spiritual outpouring and more surreal acknowledgment that there is some constant, subtle purpose to us (the collective) being here.

Here's a shot of the gang (minus Giddy) before the meeting.

 

OK, yes, it has been a while since I have written to my family - and thats what this really is; Not a 'blog', per se, as much as it is an online journal of sorts, for my kids to someday read and get insights into some of the things that dad thought about, experienced and wanted to preserve for them.

Well gosh, if that's what this is about, then I have seriously dropped the ball. Thats partly due to being here with the family now, and being so tired all of the time (5 kids has put me over the top).  The other part is that all the things that I would love to share, I hesitate to do so for the desire to keep some sort of security for the family.  I suppose, over time, that will slide into full disclosure and openness about all of our experiences, the places, the people and the undiluted truth about what goes on here. But that's not coming any time soon.

Speaking of 'dropping the ball', my big Sam and I played catch today for the first time in a long while - the baseball kind of catch.  He is getting so big. He has been playing in the league here for a few weeks now, and playing catch with him today surprised me so much with how far his skills have developed. When we used to play catch, as any father knows, it was more of a "Go and get it" session where you spent more time walking around to get the ball than you did actually throwing and catching it.

Sam did such a great job, throwing on target and catching every good throw dad made, and even a few of the horrible ones.  In no time, he'll be the one that I will have to catch up with.  Watching him grow and develop makes me question if I will be able to handle the ultimate dad challenge: That no matter how old he gets, I'll still be able to whip his rear.  I know that my dad, in his mid eighties now, is still as strong as an ox.  He claims that his dad before him was a steel-bender till the day he died.  I just hope that I can out-muscle Samuel until he's at least into his twenties.  Given my current state of ultra office fitness, I'll be lucky to maintain alpha male status for another 6 months.

Simon, ever the one to capitalize on the moment from a different angle, sat in a chair in the shade, wearing a flight suit, participating in his own way with commentary and a meeting with some of his halloween candy.  He is a smart one.  Between Sam's physicality and Simon's mental math, they are a deadly duo.  And lately, they have really come together in a way that I have not seen for a while. They love each other.  They are friends. I can't ask for more.

Bless my kids.  They have been apart from dad for a long time, during a very stressful period for our family, with their amazing mother taking on so many changes and family growth. 

I am so blessed. You don't have to tell me.  I know it, every day.  I keep waiting for the director to walk in from off-screen and yell, "Cut! cut, cut, cut, cut! Who let this guy in the show?  He does look like Magnum P.I., but let's get some real talent in here. Call security, and oh yeah, don't let him leave with that bathrobe and fuzzy slippers."

Remember when Shirley Temple sung that song? "Nooooo Spinach!"?  Or any song for that matter?  Well, she's back and better than ever, in the form of my little Ruby.

If you think she shines in this picture, you should see her through my eyes.  You'd never be the same.  And I am lucky, because I get to see that way every time I look at her - even on Skype. I am so blessed and thankful that through prophets and apostles I can come to know Heavenly Father's plan for me and my family, and rejoice in the sacred role of husband and father.

I love you Roo!

For more great pics, see http://roobeesshoes.blogspot.com/

I thought you might like to know that crime doesn't pay, after all.  Well, I take that back; it pays, but only if you accept the currency, and even then, you'll rarely recoup your investment.

The movie turned out to be fairly fuzzy, and... all in Russian. I don't mean subtitles, I mean the full-on, multiple-actor dubbing.

Fortunately, in an eerie twist of fate, I just so happen to speak Russian, and enjoyed every 7th word of the film. I wonder what language the other copy is.

I suppose if Forrest lived here, he might say that life is like buying a pirated movie...

Disclaimer: This story contains no illegal activity, in case anyone is monitoring this and wants to stick their big nose into the type of things that their own countrymen do everyday. No animals were harmed in the making of this story.  If this story begins to fizz, cease reading and remove yourself at least 100 meters from your current location and wait until the aftershock passes. Then resume reading.

Last night after work, I thought I would head into town with a friend and do some shopping, go to some stores that I haven’t been to and generally scope things out compared to the western shopping that I am used to. We went to the bookstore, to the tailor’s, to Ikea, to Safeway (yes, they have one over here), and then to get some movies. 

In the U.S. you have several choices for buying movies. You can go to a Hollywood video, maybe a blockbuster video. Most grocery stores carry them, and the Targets, Shopkos and other such general merchandise stores carry a few displays worth of DVDs to coax a purchase or two from customers.  You can also just drop by the ever-increasingly popular “Red Box” and for a dollar, get a movie for the night.  And of course, there’s NetFlix.

Here, the cornucopia of film access just doesn’t exist.  But, that only serves to make it more exciting... and ILLEGAL.

We have a driver and a phone number.  The driver takes us to a part of the city where our contact (we’ll call him ‘Guido’) operates a storefront.  This store front, the type of which and the name of which will remain anonymous to protect the dark and dangerous underworld of DVD pirating (also known as “Pirates of the DVD’an”), is a legitimate business that earns money from the sale of consumer goods or specialty items or whatever it may be.

At the same time, within its recesses, hidden from raids and impromptu investigations, lie stocks of pirated DVDs to satisfy the next movie-junkie’s fix.  We’re talking anything new.  If it’s in the theater in the US, its here.  In fact, if it’s about 2 or 3 weeks away from release in the US, its probably here as well.  Of course, it didn’t just show up here.

The journey of the DVD, and subject of our transgression, was long and arduous, often fraught with peril - from an advanced copy delivered to some critic or VIP, to a backroom in the local Philippine, Chinese, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi or whatever restaurant, where sits a mass-copy DVD burner (actually, the Chinese seem to do the best quality ones).  Nearby sits a stack of cellophane sleeves and a color printer, churning out copies of the movie poster or some captured artwork off the internet (sometimes just black and white, but you’ll want to stay away from those).

Then, it makes the dangerous journey, shoved where - in the bowels of a vehicle? In the bowels of a human mule? Ugh! I hope not, though disgustingly talented that might be.  Regardless, it makes it over another ocean or sea or two or three and into our dealer’s hands, where we connect with our wanton high. So, we call Guido, an immigrant.

We pull up next to a curb in front of a row of shops where several men apprehensively walk back and forth along the sidewalk on the lookout for Johns and the Fuzz. I am in the back seat; My friend, in the front passenger seat. The driver leaves the car. I am suddenly aware of my vulnerability. Two men stand outside my window. I grab the door handle, not knowing what is coming. One hand grips the hardened steel of my surefire light, ready to swing into action at the sign of trouble.  The driver returns.

A few nervous moments pass and then, my buddy reaches Guido on the phone. He is supposed to meet us. He is looking for us. We see him a few meters away, talking on the phone.  We make eye contact, and he steps onto the street, crosses in front of the car and disappears on the other side.

“C’mon, this is taking too long.  We’re too exposed! We’re too exposed!” I say. Trying to keep my head on a swivel, but not wanting to appear too inconspicuous.  I mean, it’s not like two white guys in white shirts, sitting in the only car pulled over to the curb where everyone can see what’s going on isn’t inconspicuous, it’s just that I have never really been in a Miami Vice episode, and I just wasn’t sure how to act.

In a minute Guido is back, at the window with a plastic bag, burdened with movies. I mean lots of them. And the dopamine fills my brain, lusting for the sound of the spin of the disc as I place it into the player - anticipating the start-up screens, the thrill of watching a movie that is stolen, infringed, taken without license, ripped, burned, played, AHHHH HA HA HA HA HA! (evil laugh) THE PLEASURE!!!!!!!!

“Get in the back”, my friend commands Guido.

“Oh no!” I think, “I am just riding along, I don’t need any movies! Look, I am a law-abiding citizen. I can’t sit next to this cinematic hit man. What if he tries to copy me?  What if he touches me?! He probably has play-button tracks all over his finger tips, and they probably weren’t from clean play-buttons either; he might have a disease.”  But before I know it, he is in the car, and I curl up in the fetal position, thumb in my mouth, rocking back and forth, chanting my protective and calming mantra, “Please don’t rip me, please don’t rip me, please don’t rip me...”

Okay, maybe I’m playing this up a little (a little), but he did sit next to me, and our pant legs almost touched.

A stack of movies were pulled from the bag and passed to the front. My friend, discerningly aware of quality, began to file through them. “I’m taking this one” he said sternly, “for the other one you gave me last time.” He had a bad hit on his last playlist, lighting up the machine only to find no sound and no faces.

“Brraaaamp! Brraaaaamp!” I hear from behind us, quickly turning my head. At the street behind is a squad car, lights flashing, hitting his electronic horn to clear the intersection.  Johnny Law!  The Heat! Pigs! Ok, maybe here they wouldn’t be pigs, as that is really against the grain, but there they were.  But, besides me and the guy on the sidewalk that nervously jumped up and started walking to our car as if to position himself to warn us or run, nobody else seemed to notice or care.  Maybe I should run. Maybe I should give up and turn myself in. No, I would have to get out of the car and there was something all over the sidewalk outside my door that I would have to step in. Disgusting. I was trapped. I kept quiet, realizing that I AM THE VICTIM HERE - I just wanted to do some shopping, maybe see a little of the town.

So I sat there, trying to keep my bladder full and thinking of the stinking rat-hole that I would be spending the rest of my life in: “Dear family, sorry I haven’t written for so long, but the dysentery flared up again. I’m getting used to the beatings now, and they are actually kind of fun. I’ve been busy knitting a blanket out of my beard and tattered rags that I lie in, while listening to the water drip into my subterranean cell...” Well, you get the idea.

But the boys in blue (actually tan, I think) disappeared around the corner.  Perhaps they just wanted to get to Krispy Kreme before prayer time (there is one a few blocks away).

Finally, selections are made, bargaining is done, 20 bones for ten shows and an, “I’ll call you next week” ended the transaction. And he was off.  About $6 of damage.

I felt nauseous. Marked. I needed to shower. Guido certainly did. But considering that he honestly probably lives in a 20 square foot room with 3 other guys, who could blame him?

As we drove away, my knees started to shake from the come down off the adrenaline.  “Ahhh”, my friend said, sorting through his stash. “I bought two copies of the same one! Here, here’s a movie for you”, and he tossed it back onto my lap.

I felt the sweet oxygen of freedom seep back into my soul as we cleared several blocks. “Thanks”, I said.

Anyone want to watch Disney’s “Prince of Persia” tonight?