Beach Haven

My wife and I spent a chunk of the Friday before Mothers Day north of DC in Maryland. An older couple that I minister to lost their grandson Michael to Cerebral Palsy. He was 24 years old and suffered of the disease since his childhood. We got to meet some of the extended family.

The bishop up there actually knew Michael as a child along with his mother. The mother died years ago from cancer and Michael had been in a care facility ever since. When this bishop knew the family he had a daughter who also had special needs. He was not the bishop then, and they were all together in a completely different ward (congregation of our church) than the one they are in now. Several years ago Michael’s church record was transferred from our ward to the ward in Maryland. At the time this brother was not yet the bishop.
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I find it amazing all the things that had to line up. This particular brother had to be the bishop at this particular moment, and Michael’s care facility had to be within the particular ward boundaries for this bishop to have been able to officiate at this funeral.  

You may or may not be aware that I’m foolish enough to be embarked on another post-graduate program. I’m not sure why I’m doing this as an old guy at the end of my working career, but it’s what happening. The degree is in Science, Technology and Society. Fall semester was about the history of technology. Spring semester is about sociological issues in science. In both semesters there was reference to a period in American history when industrial machinery moved from human or animal power, to water power, to steam power, then to electrical and petroleum-based power. There was a lot more on this during the technology class, but still some interesting effects in the look at social issues.

Why this is coming up is that while sitting in the temple, listening to general conference, and during down times in my work travel I was thinking about Beach Haven. It’s a town in Pennsylvania that was founded by one of our ancestors who we named our son Nathan after. I grew up in Berwick, a small blue collar town along the Susquehanna River. Beach Haven is just a few miles upstream from Berwick on the same side of the river, and is more like a small village, a sort of hamlet.

Growing up I remembered Beach Haven for two things. Fishing, and the steam-powered laundry that belonged to “Uncle Morris”. His actual name was Morris Kemmerer. By the time I had any sort of understanding he would have been in his 80s. I looked him up in the Family Tree software. I get these notes from them on occasion letting me know about one relative or other that could have temple work done. Now that my mother has passed away I’m paying a little more attention to family history. I had always thought Morris was my dad’s uncle (a sibling to my Grammy Beach – Violet Kemmerer Beach), but as it turns out he was his great uncle (sibling to my Grammy Beach’s father - Alfred).

Fishing in Beach Haven in those days was either done in one of many eddies that form along the bank, or in the remnants of the old 19th century canal system that still existed in pieces. When the water was high there was good fishing in the canals. When it was low there was not. That’s when we’d fish the main river.

The steam laundry was another thing altogether. For a young boy like me at the time it was an enticing maze of machinery, large conveyor belts driving the machinery, and the sound of hissing steam everywhere in the hot damp atmosphere. My dad told me how he used to help work there when he was a kid. I learned through my academic work that such businesses were common in the days when laundry machinery in homes was uncommon. By the time I came along they were not really doing laundry for families anymore, but were doing more industrial cleaning like for restaurants, hospitals and hotels.

In Beach Haven there really was nothing else. You could count the total number of homes on your fingers and toes, and there were no other businesses but Uncle Morris’ laundry. Today the landscape has drastically changed. The laundry closed after Morris died. Just before we moved away in the mid-1970s construction was started on a nuclear power plant that now stands on a hill overlooking (overshadowing) the town. The last time we visited there were still a few homes and an old cemetery where some of our ancestors are buried. We couldn’t see any remnants of the old canals anymore.

What was the same was the river. It flows continuously at varying heights depending on the time of the year. The water still looks the same as it did when I was young, as does the countryside of rolling, tree-covered Appalachia. Looking closely the downstream pointing ‘V’ shape of the old eel walls are visible just under the surface of the water. From Beach Haven you can look across the river and see the cliff face of Council Cup. It’s a promontory that gets its name from the fact that it served as a place where the old Indian tribes that lived in the area held their councils before the whites moved in, or at least that’s the story I heard back in the day. When I was young we used to go up to the back side of the cliffs at Council Cup and pick wild blackberries in the summer.

I felt inspired to consider how in some ways our times are changing. Like the town, human society shifts with successive generations, but only within limits. There really are no new ideas at the macro level of society. We humans just keep rotating and combining ideas that have been around throughout history. Some ideas are adopted to the detriment and suffering of millions of people. Others bring more or less stability.

What stays constant are the basic principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We can choose to align ourselves with them and find more joy in life, or not and find less of it. 
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His name is Clayton. He sells flowers on the sidewalk next to Union Station in Washington DC. He and I have been chit-chatting for nearly five years. I'm not special in this way. Clayton talks to many people. He knows many of us by name. He is a consummate salesman. Never pushy, his approach has gotten me to pickup up flowers for my wife randomly for a long time. I'd say he's in his mid-seventies.

He tells interesting stories. He also has a street-vendor call that reminds me of similar folks I first encountered in Spain many years ago. I added a quick recording of it below. 

Clayton is at his business regardless of the weather. When it's rainy he also sells umbrellas. Sometimes he adds socks, or gloves, or scarfs, or some other seasonal wares. About two years ago Clayton was not at his usual station. This went on for about two weeks. Another person filled in for him a couple of those days, but his cart generally sat empty. When he came back he shared with me that he had a heart attack. They put a stint in his heart and he was doing better. 

My wife sometimes makes a to do about me bringing home some flowers for her on occasion. I think Clayton is selling a little bit of joy. I enjoy chatting with him. He enjoys chatting with everybody and selling me a few flowers. Michelle enjoys me bringing them home to her. I enjoy seeing the happiness it brings her. So Clayton doesn't just make somebody happy. He makes everybody happy. Seems like it's worth the $5.

Over the week of July 4th last year Michelle and I visited our son Matthew in Italy. One of the cities we visited was Trieste. It is very close to Croatia. The area around Trieste is very beautiful. The water in the Adriatic Sea is crystal clear and a deep azure in color. 

This week I was thinking of our trip with Matthew. Each day we would venture out to visit a different city. A few days we hit more than one. We were on the go constantly with the help of our local tour guide, our son. It was lots of fun. We saw all sorts of castles, cathedrals, museums, cobble stone streets, and ocean views. That part of the trip was memorable, and we have the pictures, and the sore feet to remember it by. We did have three specific experiences that I think were the best. They involved getting to visit with some locals.

While in Padua, one of Matt’s friends who lives there joined us for a nice evening meal and stroll. Her name is Eleonora Russo, and she is working on a degree in education in Padua. It was refreshing to hang out with two young people and take in their enthusiasm for Italy and life.

Later in the week we had dinner in the home of another of Matt’s friends and her parents. Her name is Valentina Mazzoni, and she just completed a degree in education. I’m trying to remember the names of her parents. I think it was Eduardo and Anna. You can see how old I’m getting, in particular when it comes to remembering names. The dinner they treated us to in their home was terrific! When we got there it was raining like crazy. By the time we left the rain had passed and the evening was cool.

The other main interaction we had with locals was Sunday morning. Matt was nice enough to take us to the little branch of our church that was closest to his home. It is in the city of Treviso. He had planned on us touring the city anyway with its old walls and interesting streets. The town itself has multiple streams running through it that are channeled through some of the most picturesque scenes. In some places we saw actively used water wheels.

On the Sunday we visited there were about a dozen people in Sacrament. Three of the dozen were us. It was fast and testimony Sunday. I remember how those go in a small branch. After most had shared a few thoughts it looked like the Branch President would conclude the meeting early. So I brought Matthew to the front with me. The sister missionaries offered to translate, but I asked Matt to.

What I shared with them, and what I want to share with you, was my experience in small branches. My first church experience was in a small branch in Sunbury, PA. It was about a 45 minute drive from where we lived in Berwick, PA. Not long after we joined the church a new branch was formed in Berwick. We were about four families and a few single adults. I also attended several small branches as I served my mission in Spain. For example in Algeciras we met in a three bedroom apartment rented by the church. Our children also remember the seven years we lived in Leadville, CO where at times our family made up about 1/3 of the active branch members. Our youngest, Jacob and Emily, were born there.

Today we attend a ward of about 150 to 200 active members. What each of these congregations has in common, as I mentioned that day in Treviso, are humble people, doing their best to serve God and their neighbors. I could feel the same Spirit in that little branch in Italy as I have felt in the larger metropolitan wards we have attended in Salt Lake City, UT, San Diego, CA, Lincoln, NE, Atlanta, GA, and now near Washington DC. The number of members in a unit does not change the amount of the blessings that come from the presence of the Holy Ghost.

One note, I learned later that one of the sisters (not a missionary sister) was from Spain. I wish I’d have known that before we left so I could have chatted with her. One of the sister missionaries serving there came from Australia and the other from Virginia. She lives near Lynchburg, and was close to finishing her mission. I'm sure she has finished by now. Whether one serves in a large or small ward, or a tiny branch of the church, we are about the Lord’s errand. 
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I know there is a posted headline version of this story on the BHP page, but I wanted to make some additional comment here.

After attending Mom's funeral, we returned to Utah a few weeks later. This time there were two reasons for our visit. The first and most important was to attend the wedding of our oldest son, Nathan, to Vicky Summerville. They were sealed in the Ogden, Utah temple. The weekend included all sorts of family activities. After the wedding, the happy couple took advantage of the week of Nate’s college spring break for their honeymoon to Portland, Oregon. We are so pleased to see them both happy, and to see them start their life together under the strength of eternal covenants.
 
The other reason for the trip was to help finalize the closing of my mother’s home after her passing. There were some larger items that needed to come back to Virginia with us. My wife, Michelle, took a friend from our church with her, and the two of them drove to Utah pulling a near-empty trailer. I flew out for the wedding. After all the wedding festivities, Michelle and I drove the car and full trailer back to Virginia. There are still a few items awaiting us in Utah to haul back, but they will wait where they are until summer time when we will go back out due to the impending birth of our ninth grandchild, John Coates.
 
In clearing out all my mother’s things there was one in particular that had some real monetary value. It was one of those high-end motorized wheelchairs. When we looked online it seemed to be worth several thousand dollars. We posted it online for sale and waited to see what would happen.

What actually happened? In a word, nothing. Despite the need and the value it was clear the two were not matching up. It became obvious that those who could afford to buy one likely already had, and were not in the market for another. Those who needed but could not afford it, continued to make do with whatever arrangement they already had. Basically, we had nobody interested in buying it.

So my sister, Lisa, asked around. The last few years of her life, my mother lived in a neighborhood where many other older folks lived. After asking around, Lisa was able to get a referral of a Vietnam veteran in the neighborhood, Leon Snow, that could really use the chair, but had no way to pay for it. We decided to donate the chair to him. Mom would have liked that. As it turns out, the fellow is a member of my other sister Crystal's church, and is good friends with Jerry, my brother-in-law.
 
It makes me think about how although life can be unfair at times, and it’s not intended to be, that there are little things here and there we can do to help in very specific positive ways. Although Christ taught to the multitudes, his miracles were almost always in service of the one.

As we see all the need around us, or have needs in our own lives, it can be easy to feel overwhelmed and discouraged. I see it every day on the street as I walk from Union Station in Washington DC, to my office only a few blocks away. Good news! We don’t have to help everyone we see with everything they need. We do what we can and have faith that God can have others help where we can’t. We also need faith enough to know that some won’t be helped in this life to the level that we (or they) believe they ‘ought to be’. We act in the present, as ineffective as our efforts may seem. We make a difference where we can. We do our best to try to keep an eternal view that this life is not meant to be fair. It’s meant to give us opportunity to learn and to help.
 
I know these ideas can sometimes sound like platitudes. I have seen firsthand when people have used the idea that they can’t do enough so they won’t do anything. They don’t even know what they are giving up when they focus on themselves, or only on the here-and-now. So with that here are a few phrases that have come to be my personal guiding thoughts:
 
“Wisdom through knowledge, integrity and service.”
A family motto we developed with our children when they were still young.
 
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded”
1 Ne. 3:7
 
“My Father worketh hitherto, and I work”
John 5:17
 
“And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity”
1 Cor. 13:13

​Protests seem to be a regular event here in DC. The issues that inspire people to take to the streets are many and varied. Some of the protests involve people with a specific perspective, some involve multiple groups with opposing perspectives. Recently I noticed a picture on the web of a person holding a protest sign. The sign says, “the [sic] most violent element in society is IGNORANCE.”

This sign struck me as a reminder of many conversations I’ve either heard or participated in. The topic could be political, religious, cultural, or any other hot button. The sentiment might be stated in any number of ways. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “If you had to put up with what I do you’d understand.” “You’ve never had to deal with this.” “You are narrow minded.” I could keep going, but what seems to me is behind any of these variations on a theme is an idea that “I have information that you don’t. If you only knew what I do, you’d agree with me.”

I often hear the same sentiment being expressed by people holding opposing views on the same topic. It really doesn’t seem to strike me that either person in such a conversation has not heard what the other person has to say, meaning they both probably do have access to the same information. If ignorance is a lack of information, and presumably not a lack of intelligence, then neither side of such a debate is ignorant. They just genuinely disagree.

Any number of factors could cause disputing parties to stress some information and down play other information. There may be agendas involved. Either or both sides could be looking for a specific outcome so they argue the facts that support their goal. Values could differ. Depending on the atmosphere a person has lived in, words or ideals could be defined very differently from one person or group to another. For example if the disputants are considering some issue involving the word “freedom”, one side may be speaking of their freedom to… while the other may be speaking of their freedom from…

I take issue with people who take the stance that if someone does not agree with them it’s only because of their lack of information, their ignorance. It is just as likely that the person making such a claim has themselves an information shortage. It’s also just a likely that neither are making a decision in ignorance. The anger seems to well up when either or all sides of an issue begin to assume something even more sinister in a person’s motivation, or because either or all actually do have sinister motivations. Unfortunately, we humans don’t really know what a person is actually thinking or why they choose to do what they do. Likewise, to me, if a person assumes they know more than their opposition they may be part of a different destructive “element in society”; arrogance.

As I write, it’s Monday evening, Memorial Day, and I’m sitting in the DCA airport getting something to eat before a flight to Atlanta. Michelle dropped me off on her way home after we had an enjoyable day in and around Baltimore.

I was struck by two things in particular as we toured a few sites.
 
The first happened while we were at Fort McHenry. I’m sure you will remember that this is the site where a battle of the War of 1812 took place that inspired Francis Scott Key to pen the words to The Star-Spangled Banner, our national anthem. Before walking out to the fort, there is a small museum where you pay to enter the park. Aside from some artifacts and murals to look at, there is a small theater where visitors are encouraged to watch a short historical film about the battle and anthem author that makes the fort so famous. As you might guess, the film ends with a stirring rendition of the national anthem. Per tradition, all 40 or so of us who were in attendance stood and put our hand over our heart. About half way through the music, the screen we were watching the video on rose to expose the actual fort through the glass behind the screen. In that moment the work had its effect. I felt a patriotic chill on the back of my neck, and my eyes watered. I then noticed that Michelle was similarly affected. She even reached into her purse for a tissue to wipe her eyes.

I had heard the story of Francis Scott Key before, but reviewing the history of the full battle made more sense of his experience. It feels clear to me that the man was inspired of Providence, stated in the vernacular of his day. Here we are, more than two centuries later, and his words set to music still inspire the rest of us. Though the rendition played in the film only shared the first verse, the one we are all most familiar with, I couldn’t help but think of a phrase from one of the later verses, “Let this be our motto, in God is our trust.” That phrase stuck in my head and heart as I walked around the battlements.
 
The second experience that struck me was when we were walking around on the USS Constellation. It was the last American Navy ship commissioned that used sail as it’s only propulsion. It is still a commissioned ship in the US Navy today. As Michelle and I walked around the different decks of the vessel we noted to each other some of the set up of the rigging, navigation systems, anchor and mooring systems, etc., that were similar to our own little sailboat. Of course the scale is hugely different. Michelle also asked me occasionally about how things worked as compared to the ship I was stationed on in the Navy back in the late 1980’s.

What stood out to me was how much of the human set up was the same. It was clear that the traditions of my days at sea were very similar to the traditions of those who sailed on the Constellation. Much of the equipment had the same names and uses. That is true. I was thinking more about how the ranks of men and the division of authority were real from both a responsibility perspective, and also in the physical layout of quarters, mess facilities, watch positions, battle positions and the like. It is clear that there is both a separation and an interdependence between the officer corps and enlisted ranks necessary to keep groups of people working together in a self-reliant and disciplined way. Without that organization and team approach to warfare, a ship like the Constellation, and later my ship the Duluth (LPD-6) could never successfully complete assigned missions.
 
On Memorial Day we remember those who died in war, who gave their life in service of our country. I never lost anyone I was personally close to during my short four years of service. I did participate in several operations where lives were lost. I did experience some of the fallout that comes in the immediate aftermath, and to a small degree the fallout that comes years after the fact.
 
When I think of these two experiences we had today, I hope that we can remember to keep God in our lives. I firmly believe that when we do personally, He will involve Himself with our personal lives. Likewise, so long as we in general stay close to our core values as a people, the same will be true for our nation. I also believe firmly if we distance ourselves from Him we are left more to our own recourses and the buffeting of an adversary that is firmly in our opposition regardless if we recognize it or not.
 
“He that seeketh his life shall lose it, but he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

Whew! After a week of conferences in Seattle and Chicago, there was light at the end of the travel tunnel. Along with a few coworkers, I got out of the car in front of the Southwest Airline baggage curb check station. Awkwardly, I stepped forward with my check bag, carry-on backpack, and the box lunch the conference organizers had given us as we left the hotel.

“Your ID please, sir,” was the standard greeting I heard as I approached the baggage handler. “Where are you going today?”

I simply answered, “DC.”

“How many bags are you checking?” he asked.

“Just one.”

We then went through the standard dance as he handed me back my ID, typed in his terminal, printed the bag tag and boarding pass, then handed me my part of the paperwork. After he explained to me my gate number and the directions to the security check point, I handed him a simple $1 tip and said “Thank you.”

Next came the part of the standard dance that was new to me. In a loud deep voice he shouted, “Thank you for the tip, sir!”

I smiled, normal for me in most situations that feel awkward. I noticed as he shouted the thanks that he didn’t really look at me, but looked around, moving his head back and forth, projecting to the others in line behind me and at neighboring stations. At first I wondered if he was shaming me for the meager $1 tip. I noticed he had looked at it as I handed it to him. He was obviously checking out the denomination of the bill. It was only after looking the dollar over that he let out with his amplitudinous message of gratitude.

Was he shaming me for such a small tip? No, it quickly became clear he was future shaming the others approaching his station. He was using me as the example of the “good behavior” he wanted all the others to emulate.  These workers move hundreds of bags a shift, I’m sure. If everyone dropped them a buck per bag, that would add to their wages nicely.

I confess, when I take my bag inside to check I don’t give a tip. When I do check bags inside it seems I am doing most of the work. I move my bag to a kiosk. I enter all the data into the screen. In some cases I even print and attach the tag to the bag as well. After all that, I roll it to an attendant at an indoor station who looks at my ID, moves the bag about 3 feet to a conveyor belt, then sends me on my way. By comparison, the curb check people do everything for me. That’s how I justify giving a tip outside, but not inside. Likewise, I have never seen anybody else tip the inside people, even back in the day before the kiosks. From that perspective, I guess I’m culturally a conformist.

Commuting in and out of a busy city on the train every day, it seems like maybe I can become complacent when it comes to the interactions of humanity. It’s easy some days to think I’ve seen it all. Today I was reminded how wrong that sentiment can be. 

After an hour on the train, like any other day I made my way into and through Union Station in downtown DC. Amid the thronging crowds headed in every direction I passed a truly unique scene. Two men were communicating with each other. Of course there is nothing all that unusual in that statement. 

The two men might be unusual in some circumstances, but not for Union Station. The first was a policeman. He was fairly tall, muscly, white, probably approaching forty years old. He had a short haircut, Marine Corps style. He was a dog cop. The leash to his working dog was looped over his wrist as the dog laid lazily on the floor at his feet.

The other man looked to be pushing seventy. In his hand he carried the long white cane that marked him as blind. He was black, as was the companion next to him who was clearly acting in the role of a guide for him. He was short and thin. He was also clearly deaf.

“Now wait a minute,” you say. “How can you know he was deaf just by looking?” Well that gets to the heart of what made this interaction so noticeable to me. When the blind man spoke, he used his hands in the unmistakable motions of sigh language. When he finished, the police officer would take his hands by the wrist and move them to his own right hand. The blind man was then able to feel the hand motion as the policeman spoke in sign language back to him. The blind man’s companion stood near. All three men were smiling and laughing in a way that made you think the conversation was very jovial.

Part of me wished to take a photo of the interaction. What a lovely moment the view made for me as a simple passer-by. I thought about it for just a moment until my judgement got the better of me. It felt like that would be inappropriate in such a moment, so I’ll just have to keep this picture of real human communication in my head. Hopefully this poor little written attempt will give the reader a little glimpse too.

I think perhaps why I marked the positive of this small occurrence so well is it came just as I needed it. I read some news on the train that brought me some heaviness of heart. I expressed that sadness in prayer just before stepping off the train to enter the station. About a minute later I walked by the two speaking with each other in the way I described. I felt a renewal of my faith in people. Perhaps as these two were quietly communicating with each other, Heavenly Father was quietly communicating with me, and answering my prayer.

His name is John. The sign in the open guitar case where passers-by can drop him some cash gives him the title of Authentic Starving Artist. I see him most days on the sidewalk that runs along the wall marking the west boundary of Union Station in downtown Washington DC.

He plays and sings. His voice is a little gruff, but his fingers are very nimble. His repertoire consists mostly of popular rock tunes from the ‘60s and ‘70s. For you younger readers, that’s music from a time before cell phones, video games, or the ‘net. Back then our year didn’t start with a two.

I generally drop a buck or two into his guitar case maybe once a week. I finally took a minute to chat with John. I mentioned how I’ve noticed he is out there playing his songs even in the harshest heat or cold. A grin came across his face. His reply, “I’m just crazy that way.” He told me it’s important for him to keep his fingers in good shape. He looks to me to be a man in his late 60s. When it’s cold I notice he wears knit gloves with the finger tips cut out so he can play.

He said, “People tell me I make them smile.” I agree. Every time I pass by him, as so many do every morning, my steps feel a little lighter for his music and dedication. I told him so. “Then my job is done,” he quipped with an open smile. It’s his version of an honest day’s work. His rewards are a few dollars cast into his guitar case, and the smile people give him as they walk to their own work.

We shook hands and bid good day. I went on my way to my work. I doubt anyone’s steps feel any lighter while I’m in the office doing my version of an honest day’s work.
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Last weekend about 10 Boy Scouts and 5 adult leaders from our church had a campout that culminated in a four-mile hike on Saturday. I would normally have been with them, but unfortunately I was traveling for work last weekend. The hike was at a nature reserve near our house called The Crow’s Nest.

Based on my experience and some debriefing with some of the adult leaders, the hike went something like this. They reached the trail-head by car. Then they all got out and checked that everyone had their gear, some water, and a little food for the trail. Next they opened up the topo maps and used a compass to figure out where they were and which of the various trails they were supposed to hike. Once they got all that out of the way then the head adult leader turned his face to the trail, said something like, “Let’s get going boys!” Then off they went down the trail.

Not long the head scout leader looked back. The 12- and 13-year-olds were headed more or less along the path, but were often swayed by nature’s distractions along the trail. “Oh! Look at that cool rock!” “Hey guys! There’s a funky looking mushroom!” At other times there was a line like, “I’m tired. I need to take a break. Can we stop?” Still another would say something like, “This is boring. I want to go home.” The other adult leaders would walk alongside the boys at different intervals and encourage them. Sometimes they might tease the boys, or cajole them, or commiserate. Other times they’d joke along with them. These adults made it easier for the main leader to concentrate on making sure the group as a whole didn’t get misdirected when different trails diverged from the path of choice.

How this is like us. We arrive at the trail-head when we join the church at baptism. We are given our map (the scriptures) to understand where we are and where we need to go to follow the path to our ultimate destination. The path is clear enough. The leader (the Savior) steps out in front and leads the way. As we walk, the Holy Ghost walks alongside us encouraging us to keep moving and get back on the path whenever we stray. We are distracted by the things of the world and occasionally wonder off the path and need to repent. These wanderings could represent sins of commission. Sometimes we tire of doing good and want to take a rest. This could be like sins of omission. Still Christ is ahead and calls us to keep moving. The Comforter is beside us and offers us encouragement.

​As the hike goes on, slowly but surely the Scouts become ever more focused on the path, especially on the return portion of the hike as they become more fixated on finishing the trek and getting home. We too get more and more likely to stay on the way as we learn from our mistakes from straying off the path. Like a funnel we continue in the right direction in general, but our trajectory narrows as we progress.

Eventually the boys arrived safely back at the trail-head where a warm car was awaiting them to return home to their parents and a nice warm home. As we work to be ever more true to the path the Savior leads us on, we too will more steadily approach our heavenly parents and home.

At work there has been some shakeup in upper management. One person exhibited bad behavior by apparently using his authority to sexually harass women in the workplace. Given these events involving the poor judgment of a single individual, I'm reminded how one person can cause so much affect, for the negative or the positive. We should all probably take a collective individual pause and consider how each of us help or implead people we interact with. A little personal introspection can be healthy now and then.

The news called to mind a very specific experience I had on a much smaller scale. One holiday season while serving in the Navy, my ship was in Subic Bay in the Philippines for one of many stops at that location. Back then it was a common place for Navy ships to get work done and prep up for the next portion of a western pacific deployment. At the mouth of Subic is a little island ironically called Grande Island. Back then it was owned by the Navy and used exclusively for R&R.

That Christmas day I spent my time with a few shipmates night diving on the channel side of the island. When it was time to head back to the ship, we joined others cramming into a gig to motor back from Grande Island to the main pier on the base. It was a pitch black night. We were sitting on benches that ringed the after portion of the gig, covered over by a canvas shade. I was sitting on the forward most seat looking aft. All I could see in the dark were the vague shapes of people sitting along either side of the boat. On the stern bench directly in front of me facing forward was a young sailor and a local girl. They were outlined by the dim starlight.

Everyone except the sailor seated astern was happily chit chatting about the day, Christmas, their families far away, the fun they had; that sort of stuff. All of a sudden the guy at the back of the boat started yelling epithets in colorful language euphemistically called "sailor's tongue." His speech was slurred slightly from the day's "grog." He was deriding everything and everyone associated with Christmas specifically, and the holidays in general. This went on for a minute or so before he seemed to run out of steam.

We all fell dead silent. Our silence went on for about the same amount of time as his tirade had. Finally, someone to my right shouted sarcastically, "Bah Humbug!" Everyone laughed, and the conversation turned back to the happy chattering it had been before the outburst.

I felt sad for the sailor on the stern. I felt sad for how easily we all allowed him to have a negative effect on us. I felt grateful to the one person brave enough to verbally dismiss the blowhard. I wished it had been me that had thought to do it. Then as now I was struck at just how much one person can turn a good moment into an ill one, and vice-versa.

​Here in Virginia our church has been participating in a food drive for S.E.R.V.E. It’s a local food pantry for Stafford County. The food drive has been going on this time of the year for a number of years, and it is part of our “day of service”. We do other things too. This year the goal was to raise 3000 pounds of food. We gathered close to 4000. This is all good for Stafford County families in need.

As part of the process I was able to witness an example of “the widow’s mites” in action. One version of the original story is in Mark 12:

41 ¶ And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
42 And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
43 And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury:
44 For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.

Here is how my experience went. As a part of the food drive, we reached out to our neighborhood through the app that virtually every person living here is a member of. Our neighborhood is somewhat affluent. We sent the message to them asking them to put items from a specific list into a bag and leave it on their doorstep. We let them know that we’d go around the neighborhood that Saturday at a specific time to gather the bags and get them to S.H.A.R.E. There are about 30 homes in this subdivision. Only one of them (aside from us) left food out for us to pick up.

A few days later I got a note from Sister Shirley from our ward. The high school that her children attend had a food drive where they asked the kids to bring in food from a list. The school intended to share the food with students in need, but didn’t have a plan on how to distribute the food. The kids were not interested in carrying food home on the bus for other kids to see. Sister Shirley mentioned what our church was doing and asked me if the scouts could pick up the food at the school and drop it off at S.H.A.R.E. There really was no way to do that so my wife went and got it. She and I put it into bags, and put the bags into the collection box at our church building.

Here is where the widow’s mite comes in. As we were bagging things up I noticed that some young high schooler had added two individual packets of instant oatmeal. Think about that for a minute. Among all the cans and boxes of food there were these two individual packets. I could easily imagine that here was a kid who wanted to be part of the food drive, but probably had little enough food in their own family. Despite the tight family circumstance they did the one thing they could see to do, add this small amount to the collection.

I hope those in our neighborhood who are comfortable will be more open in the future. I’m sure that Heavenly Father is mindful of this meager donation given out of want. Our lesson this past Sunday in the Priest Quorum was about service. We read from Matthew 25:

34 Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
35 For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
39 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

One of the things we noted in class was that the King didn’t focus on just that they were keeping the commandments, or that they prayed often. Rather he focused on the service they did. In other words it’s not enough to refrain from doing negatives, we must also actively do positives if we seek to be like him.

My family had an interesting experience last week. We had a family reunion at Avon, NC which is located on the Outer Banks (OBX). We were there Saturday through Saturday. Early in the morning on Thursday I was woken up to our various phones and tablets lighting up and pinging the alert noise you get when it is either plugged in or unplugged. I quickly fell back asleep. An hour or so later I woke up, looked out the window of the upstairs bedroom and noticed that all the lights were out in the area except for one or two businesses across the highway. It was obvious we were in a power outage. Later that day we learned that the construction crew working on a new bridge north of our location had driven a footing pylon through the underwater electrical mains supplying power to the islands south of the bridge. Cell coverage was still up thanks to generators, as were a few key businesses. Our real estate management company kept us informed by email.

















Casa Del Mar (home we rented)

From the perspective of project management this event could make for an interesting study. I am led to ask some questions. What was the process to avoid the risk of electrical interruption? Was there a risk plan in place for how to respond to this sort of event? From the perspective of an uninformed vacationer (a stakeholder perhaps?) it would seem like these were lacking.

Aside from the obvious fact that the plan to not hit the cable while sinking the pylon (if there was a plan) was a failure, so too were the reaction and the communication afterward.

Let’s talk planning first. Was there only one electrical cable supply? The water where the bridge is going in is only maybe ten feet deep. Surely there could be a second cable in place. If there is a second cable, was it physically right next to the main? That could explain a single pylon knocking out both the main and back up. Twenty feet of separation between the main and secondary cable might have been enough to avoid the total loss of power and the long recovery time.

Now for the reaction. We were initially told it could take days to get the power fixed. Then we were told they were trucking in backup generators, but that different islands would be supplied by different generators. It was not clear which island would be served when. They told us they would move the generators around and supply different islands at different times. That never happened. Instead on early Friday afternoon the power suddenly came on, and stayed on for the rest of our time there (one day more). We were instructed in email to not turn on our air conditioning so as not to overload the generator. For us this was no big deal. The temperature outside was comfortable. We opened all the windows and used the downstairs bedrooms. We also spent more time outside, which is why we were on vacation in the first place. A trip to the store to pick up ice bags for the fridge and freezer, and we were fine even before we got power back.

Since it took so long to bring in generator trucks from wherever they came from, I am guessing they were not specifically planned for. Where and how to deploy them seemed confused at best.

There was also a perception issue on a smaller scale. At one point on Thursday afternoon, my daughter and her family decided to go swim at the community pool at the realty office. When they got there, it was closed. The reason given by the office for the closure was so as not to use electricity for the pumps. That made sense. Unfortunately, when my daughter walked into the realty office to ask, she quickly noticed that the office air conditioning system was on. The staff said they thought guests might like to come there to enjoy the cool air. Hmmm. To us, allowing guests to enjoy the cool water in the pool might make more sense. Even if their intentions were in the right place, this seemed like a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do sort of situation.

My PM brain questions the risk management to this project. Was the risk identified beforehand? Was there a mitigation plan? Was there a response plan? I’m sure now that there are all sorts of lawsuits happening by local businesses losing valuable revenue during the height of the busy season, others are asking similar questions. We weren’t told to evacuate (and probably wouldn’t have), but as we were driving north on Saturday morning there were temporary signs up along the highway leading to the bridge that said “Mandatory evacuation for non-residents.” Just north of the bridge there were law enforcement officers stopping southbound cars and turning them around. The week we were there was probably not too bad for the local businesses, but the week after (this week, now) would be disastrous.

I had a few chores to knock out over lunch today. As I was out and about I noticed a car parked along a street I was walking on. On the side of the car was a graphic of the company in whose service the car was dedicated. The name of the company was "Holy Health Care". No sooner did I read this name then my mind immediately added the word "Batman". I chuckled.

I since looked up the website - http://www.holyhealthcare.in/ - to see what they are about. Of course this is a serious business with an important mission. Then why did I feel compelled to change their name in my head to a tagline from an old TV series, "Holy Health Care, Batman!"?

It makes me think about how much our individual experience within the culture we grow up in influences our perspective. I'm sure there are plenty of people who are older than me such that they paid no attention to the old Batman show. They would never have thought of that line. Just as likely there are plenty of people who link the word Batman with the franchise of movies that have been released over the past decades. None of those movies had Robin using the phrase. If younger people were not exposed to the old TV show, they also would not have made the leap I did.

Another example of this issue would be in the culture of baseball fans. There is a joke in baseball that the last two words in the national anthem are "Play Ball!" Outside of attending a baseball game, at the end of hearing the Star Spangled Banner I sometimes jokingly utter that phrase to see if it brings a chuckle. It usually doesn't, except when I'm actually in a ball park with other baseball fans.

Perhaps having a phrase "stuck" in one's head is a function of how often the person has been exposed to the idea. If we are in a certain culture, we hear certain phrases more often, and perhaps use them often enough ourselves. The result, like any habit, is to strengthen neural passages in the brain (synapses) which strengthen the association we have with the phrase. The more we are exposed, the more we associate the pattern.

I ride a commuter train into Washington DC most days for work. Its call the Virginia Railway Express (VRE). On my morning commute I tend to say my morning prayer and focus my reading on gospel topics. In the evening my focus is typically more related to work or just books I'm reading for fun.

A few Thursdays ago, while riding home, after a little reading, I got focused working on a crossword puzzle. I seemed to get maybe a little too focused. Before long the announcement came over the speaker that we were pulling into my stop. I quickly shoved all my stuff into my backpack. To my chagrin I was not finding my eyeglasses. I remembered putting them on the seat next to me, but they were not there. I checked all my pockets just in case, and a quick look into the backpack with no luck. I assumed they must have fallen behind the seat or something. The train was now fully stopped and the doors were about to close. If I didn't get off I'd have ended up riding to the next stop where I had no car to get home with. Exasperated, I gave up the search, and got off the train. After I got home I broke the bad news to my wife.

Neither of us were overly concerned. I have been having a little trouble focusing my eyes lately, so it was time for a checkup anyway. In the mean time I would find my old pair and use those. As it turns out, the old ones seemed to have vanished as well. We went to the optometrists on Friday only to find that they were closed that day. I was home because I had a doctor appointment that day and wasn't feeling all that well anyway.

Saturday we called the eye doctor to set an appointment, but only got voicemail. We drove in only to find that they couldn't fit me in for another two weeks. I scheduled the appointment and looked forward to a month without glasses. This is because the appointment is two weeks away. Then with prescription in hand I'd have to order new glasses. That would take another week or two. I had resigned myself to squinting and eyestrain.

The next Monday morning I boarded the train as usual, only not as usual. My normal perch is on the upper deck on a car with the seat backs toward the front of the car. I ride that way in both directions (to work in the morning and home at night). I get a better view out the window, and if there is ever a train wreck I won't get tossed from my seat. As I boarded this morning, the car was abnormally full. Every seat on the upper deck on both sides of the car were already occupied by passengers. I resigned myself to the lower deck on one of the side facing seats close to the entry door.

The ride went as normal. Several times I thought as a conductor passed that I should ask about a lost-and-found for my glasses. I didn't. Finally as we approached the final stop, my destination, one of the conductors literally sat down on a seat two feet from me on the first row of front facing seats. This means he was just to my right with nothing between us. I noticed the name on his badge, Robert Easley. He had pulled out a form to start writing something. I interrupted him and asked about a lost-and-found. He told me how to get in touch with them at the VRE offices. Then he asked where I lost the glasses. When I told him, he smiled. He reach to a latched cabinet a few feet directly in front of me and pulled out my glasses. He had found them on Thursday and had put them aside to turn in, but had not done it yet.

Now think about this. Each train has two or three conductors. Each conductor rides a train into Washington each morning, then rides another out of Washington each evening. They are occasionally rotated so they are not always on the same train schedule. I don't always ride the exact same train schedule either or sit in the same car. The train I take each way depends on how my work day is planned. What are the chances that all of these events would fall into place to put this specific conductor next to me in that exact moment in front of the very cabinet where he had placed the glasses. These little miracles I take as personal reminders that a loving Heavenly Father is watchful over us. I have had many similar experiences over the years. I am thankful that God recognizes when we need to see how he is mindful of us individually. Thanks also to Robert Easley for being a good person and conscientious VRE conductor. Clearly he was open to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, whether he understood it that way or not. After I thanked him he said, “It was meant to be.”

Yes, I still went in for my eye appointment and now have new glasses, but until then there was less squinting.
​

This post was originally published in January of 2016 on another platform:

Innovation is often defined as the introduction of new things or methods (see http://dictionary.reference.com). Another way one could think of innovation might be combining existing things or methods and using them in new ways; case in point, parking meters.
 
This is a topic I really had not thought about in a very long time, if ever. For more than twenty years we have lived in areas where there are no parking meters. On occasions when we went to visit a city where they have meters we would just park in a parking lot or tower. If we did have to use a meter on the street there was nothing novel about them. Put in your quarter and be sure to add time before the meter went red.
 
Now that I work in downtown Washington DC and have more opportunities to park in the city my experience has changed. Generally I don't park at all since most days I ride the train into the city and walk from the station to NPR. When there is a reason for me to drive to work, I usually just park in the underground parking facility at the NPR building, but sometimes there are off-campus evening events that take me out into the greater parking world. Several of those experiences caused me to get to know the more innovative approaches to street parking metering that have evolved as of late. Those experiences caused me to look around on my daily walk between Union Station and NPR. The result is a recognition that some smart innovation, in the sense of combining disparate technologies, has brought the world of street parking meters a long way from the simple coin-op days.
 
The first step-up in metering technology I see looks deceivingly like the traditional coin-op parking meters. In fact they are backwards compatible (geek speak) in that they actually will take change if you so desire that payment method. What's new is that they have more apps (geek speak again) available. For instance if you don't have coins in your pocket you can swipe your credit or debit card. Additionally, set up an account on the city's metering web-app, and you can update the parking time with a simple text. No credit card required in your hand, just in the account. What I like about the texting version of payment is if you have to renew your time you don't have to leave your meeting, event, etc. to run down to the meter and add time. You just send another text with the number on the side of the meter and instantly you have averted the threat of a ticket from parking enforcement.

The electrical power to do all this is furnished through a small solar panel and the connectivity between the meter and the network is done via wireless. Just a few years ago all of these technologies would not have been available in such a small package as an average-sized parking meter. What a smart way to combine different technologies that were not developed for anything like this sort of application.

Another parking advance is even less hardware intensive. Instead of a block lined with individual parking meters, some locations have shifted to something akin to paying for a space in a parking lot. Somewhere within the city block a driver is trying to park on is a single kiosk. At that kiosk, as with individual meters, there are multiple ways to pay. The driver can park anywhere on the block, then interact with the kiosk through a touch screen or touch sensitive pressure buttons. Again the kiosk is powered by a small solar panel and interacts with the network by wireless connection.
 
I have seen two different versions of how a driver can show they have paid for their time via a kiosk. The first is what I think of as likely the earlier version. In this case the kiosk kicks out a small receipt on paper which the driver then places in the car dashboard. When the parking enforcement people come by they can read the receipt (typically with a bar-code reader) and determine if there is time remaining or if they should issue the bad kind of ticket. The negative to this version is, like the old coin-op or credit card swipe payment, a driver would have to physically go back to the kiosk and their car to pay for added parking time. On my motorcycle, the ticket is accessible to anyone walking by and another driver could adopt my ticket for their car.
 
What I consider the most advanced of all of these options is the kiosk that does not issue a receipt, rather it requests the license plate number on your car. Once entered, the parking enforcement people simply connect with the parking database and look up the license plate number to see if there is still time on the meter. Like the text option on individual meters, a text can be used to recharge this virtual parking meter saving the need to physically go to the space to recharge the time.

This new kiosk arrangement would have made Cool Hand Luke even more frustrated than he already was. You may recall the movie that starts with a Paul Newman, playing the drunken protagonist. He cuts off the heads of a bunch of parking meters. Then he sits down and waits for the police to come by and arrest him.

The remainder of the film is about his experience in prison. It is likely that the most well-known line from the movie happens when Luke is uncooperative with the prison guards. The lead guard (or maybe it was the warden, I don't remember) bellows out in a thick southern accent, "What we have here is a failure to communicate." The guard then proceeds to make Luke's life more miserable than it already is.

Drivers who park on city streets may view parking enforcement a bit like prisoners view prison guards. Unlike the prisoner and guard communication problem, these new parking technologies make for better communication between drivers and parking enforcement. Well, OK, if it's not better communication, at least it is easier communication.

This post was originally published in August of 2015 on another platform:

A week or so ago the day was just perfect outside. I felt inspired to make another roach coach run. I even had a little cash in my pocket. For me that is highly unusual. I decided on Yummy...Yum Food. It specializes in Persian food. I had the Lamb & Koobideh Kabob. The food was good. The lamb was nice and juicy. The koobideh (beef) was a little dry. The sauce they poured onto the meat and rice was quite tasty.

It wasn't cheap. I spent slightly more than I tend to at the brick-and-mortar restaurants across the street. I had to walk across the street to find a place to sit down, but that didn't take long.

They don't seem to have a website, but the truck lists their Twitter and Facebook sites.

It was a literal mom-and-pop. "Mom" was in the back cooking and "Pop" was in the front taking orders and money.

This post was originally published in April of 2015 on another platform:

In the late 1980's I was serving in the Navy, home ported in San Diego. When we were actually in our home port, my ship, USS Duluth (LPD-6), would usually dock at the 32nd Street Naval Station. A few times we needed upgrades or repairs which resulted in a few months at a civilian ship yard. A daily ritual in the ship yard for many, ship's company and contractor alike, was to wander out to the head of the pier at lunch to visit the food truck, commonly called a roach coach.

I assume that most reading this have some idea what I am referring to, but for the overly sheltered I'll explain. A roach coach is a decent sized box truck. They come in various sizes. Inside the truck would be some sort of refrigerator, a grill or other cooking device, and an assortment of cooking tools. You read the menu (usually painted on the side of the truck, or attached to it), place your order, pay the bill, then get your hot lunch handed to you in some sort of to-go packaging.

The nick name might lead you to believe the quality, or at least sanitation, of the offerings is risky. In some cases this could be true, but not always. You might think the food would be cheap. In some cases this could be true, but not always. A food truck is all about convenience and getting a hot lunch you don't have to bring with you or cook in a microwave.

Back in my Navy days there was pretty much only one truck that showed up at the pier, and the food was always Mexican. Fast forward to now when I work in the heart of Washington DC. The area around my office is called NoMa, meaning the area just north of Massachusetts Avenue. Not many years ago it was thought of as a less-than-desirable part of DC. Recently it has been gentrifying. There are plenty of arguments for and against that sort of gentrification effort, but that's not the point of this article.

The process of gentrification has created a few blocks where a person can walk about and pick from a number of lunchtime restaurants. In one block the restaurants line one side of the street. On the other side are other kinds of businesses. With the increased lunchtime foot traffic from new office buildings like mine, food trucks have begun to line the street just opposite of the brick-and-mortar eateries.

I have seen them in the past, but had not partaken of their offerings. Today, maybe the temperature was just right, or the gleam on the shiny trucks caught my eye, or maybe there was a solar flare. Who knows? Whatever the reason, I decided to check out the trucks for lunch.

What I found was that the roach coach of my Navy days has come a long way. The premise has not changed, but the variety is striking. I'm sure this is not really new, but this one city block on 1st Street NE between M Street and Patterson Street is like a mini UN of the roach coach. Most of the trucks listed a website and social networking sites on their sides. A look at the trucks that were out there today will serve as an example. The specific trucks that show up change from day to day. Here's today's list:

• Jamaican Me Crazy (Jamaican Cuisine)
  • http://www.jmccurbside.com/
• Big Cheese (grilled cheese sandwiches)
  • http://www.bigcheesetruck.com/
• BurGorilla (burgers)
  • No website listed, but they are on Facebook and Twitter
• DC Latino Grill
  • Twitter account only
• Just Steak & Cheese (think Philly cheese steaks)
  • Couldn't find a web presence
• DC Greek Food
  • http://dcgreekfood.com
• Crepes Parfait (various food served in a crepe)
  • http://crepesparfait.com
• Healthy Fool (Vietnamese)
  • No luck finding an online presence

Yes that last one is call Healthy Fool and not Healthy Food. I chose that one for my adventure into lunch. The food listed on the menu didn't seem all that healthy, though it didn't seem all that unhealthy either. I chose grilled steak and vegetables on rice noodles with spiced soy sauce. I had to get a drink somewhere else. They had water, lemonade and tea. None of those sounded good to me. Anyone who knows me will have predicted that I picked around the broccoli. I did. The rest was tasty. I did find a hair in the food (apologies to the squeamish). The "chef" was not wearing a hair net or hat. That said, I didn't have any sort of tummy rumblings after lunch like I sometimes do with Asian food.

Next Friday if the temperature is just right, and the gleam of the shiny trucks catches my eye, and there happens to be a solar flare, perhaps I'll venture towards the trucks again to sample a different part of the mobile UN. If not I'll probably be at one of the brick-and-mortar-based lunchtime hangouts within a few blocks of this recently gentrified section of NoMa.