Happiness

Happiness is made by choosing
what is right, and not amusing.
Any other course of action
leads to loss of forward traction.
So if you're feeling in the dumps
don't sit and stew upon your rumps.
Just make a choice that's right today;
you'll find it helps your blues allay. 

What to do if the Power Goes Out in Winter

Any number of things can cause a power outage during the winter months. Most probably it is weather-related. If it is caused by the weather, the outage could be wide-spread or it could be localized.

First check to make sure you have not blown a circuit. Check the circuit breakers in your home's electrical panel. It's a good idea to always keep a small LED flashlight by your circuit breaker box -- because an outage could occur in the middle of the night.

Hikingware.com reminds you not to take your electrical power for granted. Always be prepared for not only a winter-time emergency, but for emergencies all year round.

If power is out in your entire neighborhood, call your local utility company to report the outage. The phone number should be on your electricity bill.

If power is out over a widespread area, it may take a longer time to restore power everywhere.

Here are some things to remember or to do...

• UNLESS there is an emergency, do not call 9-1-1. That number should ONLY be used if there is an emergency, or if someone is injured or in danger.

• If there are power lines down in your neighborhood, call 9-1-1 and call your utility company. DO NOT GO NEAR DOWNED POWER LINES.

• Listen to your battery-powered radio or TV, especially for news at the top of each hour, to find out when the power might be restored.

• Dress to stay warm - wear layers, including a sweater, sweatshirt or even a jacket. You lose heat through your hands and the top of your head. Wear gloves and a knit hat, not just a baseball cap.

• Avoid opening your refrigerator and freezer as much as possible. Food inside should stay cold for hours if the door is left closed.

• If you're cold, take a warm shower - to increase your body temperature. Your hot water tank, even if electric, will stay warm for a few hours.

• Unplug some of your major appliances. When the power comes back on, all of those appliances can create a drain or power surge. This can harm sensitive equipment. To avoid a power surge when the electricity returns, turn off computers, TVs, stereos and other unnecessary electronic equipment at the power source. Leave a light on so you'll know when the power is restored.

• If you have a generator, do not connect it to your home's power system unless it has been properly installed and disconnects you from the main power grid when it is operating. If you do not disconnect from the power grid, you can be sending electricity back down the lines; not just to your home. That could be deadly for power company workers.

• If you have a regular wood stove or fireplace, you can use it for heat. However, DO NOT USE kerosene heaters, BBQs, or any outdoor type heater inside. Such devices create poisonous gases such as carbon monoxide. Carbon monoxide is an odorless and colorless gas given off by combustion and could kill.

• Check on your elderly neighbors or those who may have medical conditions or use medical machinery that operates on electricity. Make sure they are dressed for warmth. If someone needs to have machinery that operates on electricity, move him or her to a place where electricity is working.

• If you have to go out, drive carefully. Remember that traffic signals may be out during a power outage. Consider each intersection to be a four-way stop and drive defensively.

Adult Coloring Books

From the Wall Street Journal:  "Eight of the top 20 selling books on Amazon currently are coloring books designed for adults. These books tend to be much more finely detailed than those for children. Popular topics include animals, fish, flowers and mandala spiritual symbols."  

When I was but a little lad my mother said to me:

"Life is just a Color Book -- so choose them carefully."

Alas, I disregarded her sage counsel from the start,

and colored with abandon using hues I thought were smart.

Acid green, carnelian, and celadon, and puce;

actinic and fuligin, and others more obtuse.

Until at last I reached a stage where color was passe;

a single dot of sepia said all there was to say.

Now I use no colors, only white on white like lard

It makes my color books quite dull, but they are avant-garde.

Keep a book of kindness

Keep a book of kindness that records your daily gains;
it will guard you from the memory of lasting pains.
See the hand of God in all around you faithfully,
and you'll be astounded by the Lord's fidelity.
The Holy Ghost refreshes memories of blessings caught,
whether as surprises or as gifts sincerely sought.
Never think the cosmos is a stranger to desires
of your heart -- warm gratitude is what good faith inspires.
Trust in God and all his works for now and evermore
and you won't be deafened by the devil's angry roar. 

No White Silk Scarf

From the Wall Street Journal:

"The U.S. military’s increasing demand for drones has forced changes in the Air Force’s “flyboy” culture over the years, plucking pilots out of the cockpit and sending some to high-tech desert trailers to operate remotely piloted aircraft, leaving their proverbial white scarves at home.

As the need keeps rising for drones and their valuable ISR—intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance—due to the rise of Islamic State and other threats, the Air Force is embarking on yet another cultural shift. For the first time, it is allowing enlisted personnel, not just officers, to pilot some drones."

You do not wear a white silk scarf when piloting a drone;

you're in a darkened quonset hut where tumbleweeds are grown.

The glory and the glamour of an F-16 flight plan

are naught to you while looking at a digital screen scan.

You target little blips of light, you push a button so,

there is a glare, then nothingness -- that is the whole darn show.

It's grunt work with a little bit of cybernetic twist;

taking human life with but the flipping of the wrist.

No wonder that the Air Force has a problem filling seats

with psychopathic murderers who function with spread sheets. 

Where Your Unwanted Christmas Gifts Get a Second Life

From the Wall Street Journal:  "The underbelly of e-commerce is a booming business in which little-known companies collect, process and often resell piles of unwanted gifts, flawed merchandise and other items that shoppers simply regretted buying. This holiday season, goods with an original retail value of $19.4 billion—nearly one-quarter of e-commerce sales—are expected to be returned, according to Torkildson Packaging, a distributor of packaging to retailers and other businesses."

The neck tie Uncle Walter gave you that is so uncomely.

The speakers that you can't make work, sitting there so dumbly.

The fishing rod you bought yourself in a fit of passion.

The shoes you thought so foolishly were the height of fashion.

All of this, and much, much more, returned with such remorse,

is resold on the internet at bargain rates, of course.

Each shopping spree adds to the stock of items up for grabs --

more than a billion bucks per year (for those that might keep tabs).

That is why I always hate the shopping and the gift chore;

likely it will wind up on some crummy cyber thrift store!

New Risks at Rural Hospitals

"Many studies suggest that patients generally get better results when their procedures are done at hospitals that perform them frequently."       From the Wall Street Journal.

I went into the hospital to have my tonsils out;

and then with dengue fever I did have a longish bout.

When that was o'er a heart murmur kept me laid up for weeks;

then surgeons practiced on me sev'ral new-fangled techniques. 

The nurses kept neglecting to perform the full routine;

my skin was turning yellow and my tongue a verdant green.

The bed sores got so awful that I cried myself to sleep;

I thought that soon I'd see the guy so grim that likes to reap.

When at last I was released I swore, as a true cynic,

never to go in again to bed and breakfast clinic!   

Confession

Travel brings not wisdom and soft leisure is a snare,
if old age leaves irrelevance while frosting white my hair.
A sharp tongue and a dull mind make me superfluous to
my children grown who ought to seek my gentle helpful view.
Oh tell me not the pageant of my days is tinseled bauble --
that I will be remembered for but folly and thin squabble!
Have the higher virtues left no mark upon my brow?
Can I not some insight leave, my children to endow?
I've played the fool too often; now I sit down by the gate --
a supplicant, a mendicant, a humbled blatherskate.
 My nothingness is evident for everyone to see --
please, Savior, reassure me I am meaningful to thee!  

Your Tax dollars at work

From the Los Angeles Times:  "The head of the U.S. Missile Defense Agency said PTSS (Precision Tracking Space System) represented an “unprecedented capability” to protect America and its allies against a nuclear attack by the likes of North Korea and Iran.  

The Missile Defense Agency said PTSS fell victim to budget constraints. In fact, the program was spiked after outside experts determined that the entire concept was hopelessly flawed and the claims made by its advocates were erroneous. It was the latest in a string of expensive failures for the missile agency."  

A man came to the Pentagon with magic charts and numbers,

to awaken cash cows from their drowsy serene slumbers.

"You need a bunch of satellites up in the azure sky

to tell you when Iranians their missiles have let fly!"

The Pentagon officials hugged the man to medaled chests,

then took him off to Congress and the Special Interests.

When senators learned of the money that this scheme entailed,

they and many lobbyists with joyful sighs exhaled.

It wasn't long before the contracts were drawn up and signed,

and contractors both big and small their pockets fully lined.

When scientists saw blueprints of the project, they exploded:

"This malarkey is bizarre and totally outmoded!"

But by then the wheels were turning and the gold was flowing,

so no one paid them any mind as things just kept on growing.

Finally the Pentagon began to see that spending

on the project would endanger other programs pending.

And so the mighty missile man was told he must decamp;

he left with bags of loot so large they gave his arms a cramp.

If you have got a hankering the public's trough to feed from,

you will find there's lots of dough -- if you know how to knead, chum.

Where hearts are knit together

Where hearts are knit together, and unity prevails,
the Spirit of the Gospel thrives and Satan always quails.
If I am one with others in doing well and true,
I feel renewed -- as if I bathed in morning's bracing dew.
But when there is dissension, and I have drawn apart,
the marrow in my bones dissolves and stiffens my hard heart.
Please melt my isolation, my pride and lonely fear,
so that I'm fit for service in thy Kingdom coming near! 

Whenever you eat at Chipotle

Whenever you eat at Chipotle

a virus may close up your airway.

Their food sure is filling

and possibly killing --

make sure you have plenty of sick pay. 

Are Bankers Wankers?

No one is proof against the banking practices of cheats;

they diddle you and then are happy to write out receipts.

Their iron laws crush all alike -- the wealthy and the poor.

(Although if you're a widow they will crush you even more.)

Even though the Season should inspire love and light,

bankers find it easy on a winter's day to smite

the small depositor who carries little weight indeed;

and then say "Merry Christmas" just to assuage their greed. 

In the borough of Manhattan

In the borough of Manhattan churches stand in serried ranks,
where the high and low may gather to reflect and give their thanks.
Priests and preachers, deacons, elders -- all abound to serve their God.
Synagogues and mosques do flourish, to restrain the thief and bawd. 
Crowding in upon each other, each abode of holy spark
suffers from the same dilemma -- never any place to park!
When the holy angels summon all to Judgement Day at last,
they will open ev'ry curbside and the parking meters blast . . . 

I wish I had a telescope

I wish I had a telescope that I could turn about

to view the faults of others as a microbe, not a shout.

The weaknesses and failings of my friends and fam'ly then

would appear much smaller than a humming bird or wren.

I would not be offended by their tiny little specks,

and cease to let such trifles so worry me and vex. 

Then perhaps my own faults I could view from the perspective

of  proper condemnation and apply a swift corrective. 

Our country has got the firm right

From the Wall Street Journal:

U.S. Plans Mass Deportation of Illegal Central American Migrants -- "Typically, the migrants, many of them women and children, turn themselves in at the border and make asylum claims. U.S. authorities then release them, often to live with relatives here, while their cases are adjudicated."

Our country has got the firm right

to send children back to the night

of terror and loss

without any gloss --

for reasons too callous and trite.  

There once was a shrewd politician

There once was a shrewd politician

who frequently changed his position

on every topic --

he was so myopic

that all he could see was ambition. 

The Provo Museum of Mail Art

This is to announce the opening of the Provo Museum of Mail Art.

Submissions via snail mail in all media will be accepted and displayed at the Museum on a rotating basis. There are no entry fees. Multiple entries are encouraged. No electronic submissions are being accepted at this time.

All submissions become the property of the Provo Museum of Mail Art, and will be indexed and kept on file and accessible to the public.

Contributing artists are encouraged to include a brief biographical sketch if possible to display along with your work.

A catalog of all work submitted will be posted online at a date to be announced in 2016.

A new mail art subject will be announced on a monthly basis.

For the month of January, 2016, the subject is "Wherever you go, there you are."  

Please send your mail art to:

Tim Torkildson

650 West  100 North  #115

Provo Utah  84601   USA

Tours of the Museum are by appointment only. To request a tour or for general inquiries please email the Museum at:  torkythai911@gmail.com.  Please put "Provo Museum" in your subject heading.

Why seek ye the living among the dead?

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"
the messengers of the Lord have said.
The sweetness and the light remaining,
the living, loving, laughing, gaining --
all are granted in such stout measure
that all may share its' endless treasure. 

The Deserted Shopping Mall

Twas Christmas Eve and stores around the Mall were grim indeed;

no customers were clamoring or starting a stampede.

In fact it was so quiet that the clerks began to snooze;

their managers retired to their offices to booze.

The merchandise hung limply in display windows, forgotten.

The cookies and hot cider for the crowds had all gone rotten.

The internet had stolen all the customers away;

they didn't want to park and walk and wait in line all day.

Instead they turned to Amazon and Alibaba, too,

to purchase ev'rything from Barbie dolls to feverfew.

So now the malls are shuttered, all the shops are hollow shells;

there's no one who can hear the sacred chimes of Christmas bells . . .  

New Health Programs for Elderly Poor Make Rocky Start

My healthcare is a bouncing ball; it travels to and fro;

one day it pays for ev'rything, the next it's in escrow.

I have to get new doctors ev'ry six weeks or I'm sunk;

I think this program was planned out by people who were drunk.

Just because I'm old and broke does not give you permission

to treat my aches and pains as if you were some sly magician;

appearing out of nowhere, blowing smoke, producing rabbits --

prescribing meds as if I had expansive spending habits. 

Dealing with this rigmarole is making me so tired

I'd rather in my hovel stay until I have expired!

The Rich Would Like the Poor to Know

(from a story in the New York Times)

The rich would like the poor to know they feel their pain today.

And that is why the nation's banks throw their ID's away.

Down there at JP Morgan if you open an account

they welcome you with open arms -- depending on amount.

If they don't like the pauperish complexion of your cash

they won't accept your ID card and treat you just like trash.

The rich will never help the poor to find a good credential;

No banker ever has the wit to see a man's potential.

In the desert

In the desert fruit is very scarce and so it's cherished
by those it succors and makes full, who have as yet not perished.
Dates and figs and olives -- these will thrive when watered well.
But if they are neglected, then the land turns into hell. 
Kindness, cheer, forgiveness are the fruits to cultivate
to survive the desert of our sins and lowly state.
Make me an oasis, just a patch of fruited earth --
where I can share my crop and celebrate the Savior's birth.   

Fat Cats versus Grass Roots

The fat cats versus grass roots is the story of the year;

How Bernie brings in money that Ms Clinton can't get near.

The fat cats gave her millions at the outset of the race.

The grass roots gave their widow's mite for Sanders' smiling face.

The cynics and the pundits say that Bernie cannot last;

they already have put him down as something that has passed.

But old guys have a way of coming up from way behind;

Ronald Reagan's photo finish idly comes to mind . . . 

Beware of hubris, Hillary; don't take the prize for granted;

you might find Americans by geezers are enchanted. 

The Clydesdale Horse.

The Clydesdale's a horse among horses.

Tis one of Budweiser's great sources

of public acclaim

(tho beer sales are lame),

promoting great drunken discourses. 

Letter 22.

Tuesday, December 22, 2015.                           1:25 p.m.

Provo  Utah

My Dear Ohen;

Today I’m sending you a photograph of a breakfast I ate in Little Rock, Arkansas, way back in 2005. Back then I always had a hearty appetite for breakfast, and, since I was on the road with the circus and had to eat all my meals out, I also appreciated that breakfast was always the cheapest meal of the day. There’s always some dinky roadside café that can make scrambled eggs with cheese and home fries with toast on the side and a cup of hot chocolate. I think I paid $2.95 for this meal. I never left a tip, either. If I liked the food and the waitress was pleasant I would leave a couple of complimentary circus passes as my tip.

Hey, I wonder if you will get this letter before I see you on Thursday evening? I’m mailing it today, so that gives the post office 2 days to take it from Provo to Orem. I’ll have to ask you Christmas Eve if you got this letter yet.

The next photograph is of KICD Radio, in Spencer, Iowa – where I worked as the News Director back in 2004, I think it was.

The whole state of Iowa is like someone’s big back yard – full of lawns and shade trees and ponds (which Iowans like to call lakes – but growing up in Minnesota I KNOW how big lakes should be, and that they should be full of fish and frogs and turtles and you should barely be able to see the other side of the lake; they don’t have any lakes like that in Iowa!)

I remember I rented half of a house in Spencer, from the city government, which owned the house and was planning on tearing it down but kept postponing it because the city council couldn’t decide what to put up in its’ place. I paid $125.00 a month for it. The only furniture I had was a big screen TV, a recliner, and a bed. I was hardly ever there. I had to get up at 3 every morning to drive down to the station to get a newscast ready for 6 a.m.

They turned off the traffic lights after midnight in Spencer, and the lights still weren’t turned on when I drove there in the morning, so I just drove straight on through on the main highway to get to work. I always passed a cop car parked at Main and Central on my way to work, and after a few weeks they would always wave at me and run their red & blue light to say ‘hello’ as I passed by.

This last photo is of the weekend flea market they had at City Park in Spencer during the summer. In the picture you will notice three birdhouses . . . made out of cowboy boots. They were a big seller, very popular with homeowners. You could see them festooned on the elm trees and weeping willows that spread over the front lawns on Main Street. I never saw any birds actually using them, and to this day I wonder if a bird would really want to build a nest in a stinky old cowboy boot that probably smelled like cow pies.

Perhaps you’ll grow up to make birdhouses out of old cereal boxes – but I’d rather see you grow up to be a ping pong world champion.

Yer pal,  tt

These California lawmakers don't live in the districts they represent

Grace Napolitano lives outside her district's lines;
her opponents shoot this at her like some porcupines.
Is she worried, does she fret? Not a bit she does.
Her rivals have no stingers; they are wasps that only buzz.

Mike Honda also doesn't toe the line too carefully.
His home and district office are outside his boundary. 
Redistricting has done this, but for all the hurt he feels
he might as well be pelted with soft banana peels.

Tom McClintock is another carpetbagger, nu?
He owns a house that doesn't have his district's pleasant view.
He wants to buy a domicile within his district's edges;
but until the price of houses starts to change . . . he hedges.

Maxine Waters is another scofflaw in this matter,
and is being painted as a ruthless stray wildcatter.
But her neighbors do not seem upset about her plan.
Most can't tell the diff'rence between herself and Peter Pan.     

I eat what I like and I like what I eat

I eat what I like and I like what I eat;

with today's many strictures, that is quite a feat.

I never get tired of ice cream or malts;

I fry my potatoes in nothing but schmaltz.

A tin of anchovies is my breakfast treat,

and a pickle or two goes well with each meat.

Of chips I won't tire -- if I get 'em free;

the price, otherwise, keeps me from any spree.

Healthy or not, I am set in my ways.

The world's NOT my oyster; it's my mayonnaise. 

3 Nephi; Chapter One.

The the sun went down that single night, and death was near at hand

for those who claimed a Savior would be born in far-off land.

Instead of angels heralding the wondrous news so bright,

assassins stalked the cities to bring murder in the night.

But the sun, superfluous to all the West that eve,

was not needed for great brilliance to suddenly conceive.

The earth was bathed in such great light that moon and stars did fade

before the glowing birth of Christ, as righteous Nephi prayed. 

And those who dealt in death were scorched, and were sore amazed,

by the rich and lucent fire of the elements that blazed.

Today may all the death-mongers take heed that Christ's pure light

is stronger still than any weapon formed in darkest night.

Biofuels Move From Lab to Frying Pan

From the Wall Street Journal:  "Solazyme Inc.,a company founded 12 years ago to make car and truck fuel from algae, is vigorously pushing a new product. But this time, it is fuel for the body: cooking oil, based on algae, marketed as healthful for you and the planet."

As biofuels are floundering with crude oil now so cheap,
they turn to other gambits to make profits by the heap.
Ice cream out of algae or perfume made out of yeast;
cooking oil from grasses for your yuletide frying feast.
Adhesives for your tires and a flour made of kelp;
how the hell with global warming is this any help?
Pardon me for stifling a belch at such repasts;
I think I'd rather diet or perform a round of fasts.
Of course if they make ethanol into a cocktail mix
I will be the first to sample with my swizzle sticks!

Piece by piece

Piece by piece I build the puzzle of my earthly life;

 sometimes pieces scatter in the storm and chilly strife.

But I gather them again and start the puzzle new,

and gradually I build myself a reassuring view.

The portrait of my Lord and God is finally revealed,

so I can testify that all my troubles he has healed. 

Payday lenders sued 7,927 Utahns last year. (from the Salt Lake Tribune)

Welcome to our Payday store; we're awful glad you came.

We have got a loan for you, for any sum you name.

We don't check your credit or demand a pound of flesh;

all we need is vigorish that's evergreen and fresh.

Sign upon the dotted line, and get your needed cash.

We are just some friendly guys (until you feel our lash).

And by the way, in case your loan defaults here's what we do --

we take you off to court and then we sue and sue and sue.

We also might break both your knees and rough up little sister.

So we suggest a second loan to back the first up, Mister. 

We'll stick to you like glue or like the white on rice, you chump;

until your credit score is wrecked and you live at the dump . . . 

Ishmael had some daughters

Ishmael had some daughters who soon needed to be married;

Lehi had some sons who as single long had tarried.

And so these sons and daughters got together pretty soon,

and in the chancy wilderness they had their honeymoon.

Raw meat and desert locusts they did eat while big with child;

and yet we read that Ishmael's daughters stayed both meek and mild.

I wonder at their patience as they trudged the arid waste;

was this the life they dreamed of when they'd been so young and chaste?

I do not think that marriage is much easier these days. 

God bless ev'ry woman who in matrimony stays! 

The UTA. by Phillip W. Hinckley.

The UTA will build their own private bus lanes down the middle of our street.

And take control of all the red lights so the buses we can't beat.

Provo's here, so the UTA can get the windfall of their dreams.

When the sleeping folks of Provo awake, there will be a lot of screams.

One hundred and ninety million bucks, with half spent by twenty seventeen.

UTA can use the rest for bonuses, their wallets need more green.

The Provo-Orem Transportation Improvement Project, is improvement for buses only.

This whole cockamamie idea is just a money wasting phony.

 As super sized buses thunder by, their advertising flaunting.

The stores on University Avenue morn the loss of all their parking.

When people learned of Bus Rapid Transit, it became a dirty name.

So UTA gave it a sweet new one to camouflage it's shame.

With two or three people, a-riding on a bus,

They've covered up the windows, so we won't make any fuss.

“The Provo-Orem Transportation Improvement Project” name is a lie!

Most of Provo will hate it until the day they die.

Did play props cost a Minnesota college instructor his jobs?

Whether a school or a palace,

there's never much room for a phallus.

Even the Greeks

might get rosy cheeks

to find one laid next to their chalice. 

Chicken & Christmas are One!

From the Wall Street Journal:  

Christmas is coming, so it’s time to reserve fried chicken and cake in Japan.

Consumption of those two foods has so firmly come to mark the informal holiday here—Dec. 25 isn’t an official day off—that few Japanese are aware other countries prefer somewhat different Christmas cuisine.

“I had no idea,” said 22-year-old university student Ryuya Morimoto, informed that chicken and cake aren’t American yuletide staples.

Christmas and chicken are one, in the Land of the Rising Sun.

And make no mistake, white frosting on cake,

means Santa is ready to run.

So all of you guys and you geishas, put up your Christmas acacias.

No turkey or ham has got the same glam

as KFC -- it's strictly bodacias!  

Zoram

Laban's servant Zoram left Jerusalem by force;

Nephi kidnapped him without a bit of glum remorse.

In the desert he as equal toiled with Lehi's sons,

learning of that Spirit that inspires, sometimes stuns.

In the promised land he prospered and begat a host

of righteous children all along that verdant unknown coast.

When I'm kidnapped by a circumstance I cannot budge,

do I act like Zoram and refuse to darkly judge?

Or do I let my story turn to bitterness and blame,

and leave a sour legacy of anger and of shame?

We all have got our stories, sometimes light and sometimes dark;

it's up to us to use them to maintain a godly spark. 

Letter 21

Friday, December 18, 2015                          3:38 p.m.

Provo  Utah

My Dear Noah;

I have enclosed a photo I took of my mother’s second, and last, house, on 18^th Avenue S.E. in Minneapolis.

When she sold her house on 19^th Avenue S.E. she moved into a Seniors apartment in Saint Anthony, a suburb of Saint Paul. But she missed tending her flowers and vegetables and feeling house-proud, so she bought this one in the photo.

She lived in it for about 2 years before her legs started to fail her and she had to move back into an apartment.

And here’s a strange thing about this house –

It was originally owned by the family of my arch enemy from high school, Scott Lovell. Scott was in the same grade as me but towered over me by about a foot. At a school picnic in 7^th grade he said something to me, I no longer remember what, but it made me mad so I threw a cup of Kool aid into his face. He got up and started to choke me until I kneed him in the groin. After that we were deadly enemies for the rest of our time at Marshall-University High School. Whenever he would catch me alone in the hallway he’d punch me in the stomach, and whenever I would pass his house, and no one was looking, I’d have an egg handy to throw at the front door.

I have no idea whatever became of him.

This is also the house where I recuperated from an attack of Bell’s Palsy when I was the ringmaster with Carson & Barnes Circus back in 2004.

Bell’s Palsy is an infection of the nerves in the face; it causes the face to collapse and freeze into a grotesque leer. It also affects the vocal chords.  I came down with it when the show was playing in Saint Paul, Minnesota, and after I went into the emergency room and the doctor told me what it was I went to see my mom and asked if I could stay with her until I recuperated. My voice had turned into a hoarse, raspy whisper, and my face was twisted into an ugly grimace. The doctor said it might take several months for me to get better.

This prognosis caused me a lot of worry, because I could no longer work as ringmaster with such a condition, and so didn’t have any money coming in.

But one night as I was saying my prayers, it came to me very clearly that I should seek out my old friend and former Bishop, Larry Gray, and ask him for a priesthood blessing. Your dad may remember Larry – he was our family’s Bishop in Minneapolis for a long, long time. He works as a math professor at the University of Minnesota.

Well, at the time of my prayer he was the Stake President, and I wasn’t sure he’d have time to see me. But I called him to ask for a blessing and he said sure thing. So I drove over to his house and he gave me a blessing that promised I would be fully recovered within a week and could go back to work.

And that’s exactly what happened!

A week later I drove onto the circus lot, went over to the owner’s trailer, knocked on the door, and told him I was ready to go back to work. In the mean time they had used a guy named Armando, a horse handler, to be ringmaster. He could have kicked up a ruckus and said he wouldn’t give up the job – but he was a kind-hearted guy and didn’t make any fuss when I asked for my old job back. God bless him!

While I stayed with my mom at this house (my dad had already passed away some years back) I set up a little workshop in the basement, with cardstock and paints, and created about a dozen surreal paintings, using all sorts of techniques I had learned when I was an art student at the University of Minnesota.

I sent these paintings to all of your aunts and uncles, and some to your dad who was on his mission at the time, but I doubt if any of them bothered to keep my paintings.

Maybe they weren’t any good – or maybe kids never save anything from their parents.  I dunno.

Anyway – once I move into my apartment this coming Monday I plan on painting a lot more bright and crazy pictures to hang on my walls. And if you ever see one you like, all you have to do is ask for it and I’ll give it to you!

Yer pal,

tt

The DNC needs to restore Bernie Sanders’ access to voter data — fast

The DNC tells Bernie Sanders

they are not unspotted bystanders

to Hillary's breach,

and so they will teach

the Bern with a case of the slanders. 

St. Paul man sues state for medical aid in gender change surgery

There once was a . . . how do I say it?

A man . . . or a gal . . . I must weigh it.

Transgender issues,

like Kleenex tissues,

do not stand up when you flay it.

A board of the partisan kind

A board of the partisan kind

cannot ever make up its mind.

The members are prosy,

onlookers grow dozy;

sloth is their credo enshrined. 

I hurried down the path of life

I hurried down the path of life, determined to succeed;

to make all haste and never slacken my conceited speed.

But then a pebble of some kind into my boot did fall,

and I began to anguish that I'd have to stop and stall.

I felt it grind beneath my heel; the pain was growing strong --

but I decided to keep running, though the road was long.

At last in bitter agony I fell upon my knees,

untied the laces to my boots, and felt the throbbing ease.

I shook my boot and out of it there dropped not just a stone --

but a precious gem that was more valuable than a throne! 

All those weary miles of anguish I had let it pain me,

when I could have let it a great mansion surely gain me.

Impediments may come from God, not to hurt or harm us,

but to give us courage and perhaps to even charm us!  

There once was a golfer

There once was a golfer, MacTavish,

whose love of the game was quite lavish.

He played Christmas eve,

so his wife, she did leave --

while a Titleist he continued to ravish.

Superior is one of the more rapidly warming lakes, study finds

Ice fishing becomes problematic

if temperatures do not stay static.

Even Superior 

turns out inferior

when the freeze isn't emphatic!

I halt amidst the cold and dark

I halt amidst the cold and dark

to hear again the angel's "Hark!"

And once again I am surprised

to stand approved in His kind eyes.

Happiness . . . a limerick

From the Wall Street Journal:  "THIMPHU, Bhutan—This secluded Buddhist kingdom uses a unique barometer to measure economic progress. And the message of the 2015 Gross National Happiness Index is a troubling one: Money isn’t buying enough contentment."

There once was a man from Bhutan
whose happiness, sadly, had gone.
With barely a sniff
he jumped off a cliff,
and returned as an unresolved prawn.

Letter 19.

Tim Torkildson <torkythai911@gmail.com>	4:16 PM (1 hour ago)
to me

My Dear Diesel;

I sign the lease on my apartment this coming Monday.

WOOP!  WOOP!  WOOP!

So I’ll be in a brand new ward. I wonder what it will be like? I’m gonna play it up as the Crazy Retired Circus Clown. I bet they’ll be too afraid to ever have me talk in Sacrament Meeting or teach Sunday School!

So the first photo I’ve enclosed is the ringmaster and clown at Culpepper & Merriweather Circus back in 2005. I can’t remember the ringmaster’s name. I actually applied for his job, but when I was offered the publicity director position the salary was so much better I just couldn’t turn it down.  He was Canadian, and said he was writing a book about circus life. He only lasted 2 months before quitting. He was also the show’s tire beater. A very important position. He took a small baseball bat around to all 12 show semi trucks and beat on each tire to make sure it was not losing air pressure. He had to do this every morning and then again every evening. The black tail coat he’s wearing in the photo was actually mine – left over from when I was the ringmaster at Carson & Barnes Circus. I gave it to him as a good luck present when he started. Then the fink quits and takes it back with him to Canada. I hope he got bitten by a loon!

The clown is Marvin the Marvelous. His claim to fame was that he rode a unicycle while playing the bagpipes. And that’s about all he could do that was even remotely funny. The show owner, Trey Key, kept him on because he was dependable and sober – never missed a show or got arrested. Which is pretty rare with mud show clowns. They generally are pretty alcoholic and law breaking. Or else they come from Mexico and can’t speak any English and you have to watch them closely because they tend to put in some R-rated material in their clown acts.

I felt kinda sorry for him, so I gave him my musical saw and taught him how to play it. I figured if he could play the saw while riding his unicycle he could make it to Ringling Brothers . . .

He spent the off season down in the Florida Keys, street performing, and told me he made more doing that than working for the circus. I almost went down to the Keys myself, just to see if I could make some money as a street performer. But I wound up going back to Thailand instead.

I may do some street performing here in Provo this summer, since my apartment is right off of State Street and Center in downtown Provo. I don’t think the cops will bother me if I just keep moving around from place to place.

Yer pal,

tt