Monday, November 9, 2015
1274 West 820 North
Provo Utah 84601
My Dear Noah;
I’m at the Provo Public Library this afternoon, just lazing about and basking in the aura of so many books. Sometimes I think Heaven will be a huge library, where you can eat anchovy pizza while you read whatever book you want. So I thought I would jump on the public computer and pen you a note.
I used to do this a lot – write letters, that is. I wrote hundreds of letters to your Dad when I was away with the circus, and after the divorce. I wonder if he has kept any of them?
I remember sending him an old wrist watch that I found in my mother’s sewing drawer while he was on his mission. Using a recovered memory, I wrote him that the watch had been given to me by my dad when I went on my mission. It might have happened like that – my memory is very selective when it comes to the early years of my membership in the Church. I can remember things like a Halloween party at the University Ward in Minneapolis where I dressed up as Groucho Marx, and even had a rubber cigar that had a little green worm pop out and squeak whenever you squeezed it. But I can’t even remember my own missionary send-off when I left for Thailand. What did I say? Who was there? Did we have a buffet afterwards? All those memories are disappeared. So maybe my dad DID give me that watch – I dunno.
I’ve never seen your dad wear it.
I remember once when I was a First of May with Ringling Brothers Circus out in California; me and several of my pals were walking down the street when a guy in a big Cadillac pulled up and offered to sell us Rolex watches for next to nothing. He seemed very nervous, so I thought the watches had been obtained somewhat illegally and he was anxious to get rid of them. Thinking myself pretty darn smart, I got him down to $20.00 for what he said was a gold Rolex with jewel movement. After two days the watch stopped running and my wrist turned green from where the band was rubbing it. I took the watch to a jeweler; he opened it up and told me the mechanism was from a $9.00 Timex, and it was rusted.
So much for my bargaining skills . . .
I eventually bought a Mickey Mouse pocket watch at Disneyland for about five dollars. It ran steady for many years, but it ticked so loud you could hear it all over the chapel during the Sacrament. I finally gave it to a beggar while on my mission in Thailand.
Since then I’ve never had another watch. I don’t like things on my wrists or fingers or around my neck. I don’t even like hats on my head, though I wear them all the time to keep the sun out of my eyes or keep my head warm in winter. This winter I plan on getting a head band to keep my ears warm and let the top of my head take care of itself.
I don’t like carrying things around, either. I’ve got a backpack I use when I go swimming at the Provo Rec Center, but lately my knees have been bothering me so much that I haven’t used the pool – I’m afraid my knees will swell up and keep me in my recliner, like they did last winter. I had to stay at home, going nowhere, for almost a month. And I lost my teaching job because I couldn’t get to the school in Orem; taking the bus, I would have had to walk a mile from the bus stop to get to the school, and my knees were not up to it. But eventually they settled down. So anyway this week I’m not swimming and not carrying my backpack around, and it feels great. It’s much more fun to walk. In fact, I’m thinking that after I finish this letter to you and check out some books (I’ve got one on Martin Luther and one on the Year 1927 in American History) I’ll walk the half mile over to McDonalds and get their pancakes. Boy, do I love their pancakes! The only other pancakes that were ever that good were your Grandma Amy’s whole wheat pancakes. We practically lived on those during our honeymoon in Provo back in 1981. They were scrumptious with butter and honey.
I wonder if she ever makes them anymore?
I’ve included a card from my friend Phil Hinckley. He likes to make up ‘proverbs’, as he calls them, and then have them printed up so he can pass them out to friends & strangers. He lost his voice in an industrial accident years ago, and he has to get a shot of Botox in the neck once a month to relax the scars in his throat so he can whisper a little bit. He & I go to the Temple every Tuesday morning. I hope you have pals like that when you grow up!
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