As we stumble along…

On Monday, Jenna and I went to the Hale Centre Theatre of Orem to see The Drowsy Chaperone. We first saw that play a few years ago during the first national tour (Jonathan Crombiee, the actor who played Gilbert in the Anne of Green Gables movies played the lead role). We loved it and laughed throughout the whole thing, so we were excited to see it again.

The play is about a man, known simply as “The Man in the Chair.” He is feeling blue and pondering questions of life and musical theater. To help cheer himself up, he puts on a record (“yes, record”) of one of his favorite plays from the 1920s—The Drowsy Chaperone. As he listens, the play comes to life in his apartment, telling an absurdly predictable story about a young woman giving up a life of glamour to tie the knot with a man she barely knows. The man in the chair narrates and even interacts with the characters as it builds to its wacky crescendo.

Jokes abound, ranging from the outrageous Adolfo, the self-proclaimed “King of Romance,” who has the funniest scenes, trying to seduce the bride to the terrible puns by two jovial gangsters disguised as pastry chefs. Throughout, the play pokes fun at the foibles of theater, especially musicals. It riffs on old-time Broadway prejudice, spit-take sequences, and more and apes dozens of other plays, including a hilarious take on The King and I. It even has well-placed digs at modern Broadway, intermissions, Elton John, and Disney. The result is one of the funniest plays ever staged.

But the interesting thing is that, in the middle of a rip-roaringly hilarious time, there is a very powerful–and very serious–message.

The message comes in the middle of the play when the bride is feeling apprehensive about getting married and asks advice from her chaperone, a woman who is perpetually drunk and drowsy (hence the name). In response, the chaperone sings an entirely inappropriate anthem (yes, “anthem”) called “As We Stumble Along.”

As we stumble along
On life’s funny journey,
As we stumble along
Into the blue,
We look here and we look there,
Seeking answers anywhere,
Never sure of where to turn or what to do.

Still we bumble our way
Through life’s crazy labyrinth.
Barely knowing left from right
Nor right from wrong,
And the best that we can do
Is hope a blue bird
Will sing his song
As we stumble along.

Later, the man in the chair protests a song that declares that “love is always lovely in the end.”

“That’s not true!” he says. “Love isn’t always lovely in the end. Sometimes there are lawyers.” The audience slowly begins to realize that the man, like so many of us, is frustrated with the difficulties of the world and he uses musicals as a way to escape.

As the play progresses, he gets more and more into the play and ignores all disruptions to focus solely on the joy it brings him. He obsesses about a moment where a glitch prevents him from hearing the most important advice the chaperone gives to the bride, which is either “leave while you can” or “live while you can,” and he points out that is the same choice we have through much of life—leave or live.

Just as the play comes to a triumphant, happy climax, real life intrudes, cutting off the last note in an amusing and frustrating way. The man doesn’t know what to do. He thinks about starting over but says, “no, we can’t do that, can we?” He collapses into his chair in despair.

In his chair, he returns to the message that makes the play transcend its goofiness. “I know it’s not a perfect show,” he tells the audience (he’s right, it is hilariously bad, but that is on purpose). “But it does what a musical is supposed to do. It takes you to another world. And it gives you a little tune to carry with you in your head for when you’re feeling blue.”

Softly, he begins to hum and then sing “As We Stumble Along.” he is soon joined by the rest of the cast and as the song reaches the end, he opens the door and, squaring his shoulders back, he walks off into the world.

I like that message. It touches on why it is so important to find good, uplifting things in life. There are so many things in life to bring us down, that make us blue. As the economic crisis gets worse and partisan battles increase to the point that we fear blood will be spilled, it is hard to see the good. But good plays, books, music, TV shows, movies and more can help lift us up and make it possible to confront the world with defiance and even joy. It is what stories do–it is why they are important!

Arthur Miller once wrote: “Great drama is great questions or it is nothing but technique. I could not imagine a theater worth my time that didn’t want to change the world.” I agree. Theater—for that matter, any kind of diversion—should have some kind of redeeming value, or it isn’t worth our time and effort. It should try to change the world in some way. Even if it is doing nothing more than lift spirits for a few hours.

That doesn’t mean that good theater has to always be fun and light. In fact, deep and darker stories can be just as powerful. One of my favorite movies of all time is Glory, about the first all-black regiment in the Civil War. It isn’t a funny film, and often it is uncomfortable to watch. The ending is heart-wrenching and sad, but the movie is amazing because I always walk away from it grateful for those that gave their lives to give me the opportunities I have—those that were willing to give everything to preserve this nation. I walk away a little better and a little stronger and a little more willing to face trials and overcome because it is right.

Another of my favorite movies is The Dark Knight. It is a difficult movie to watch, and it makes you wonder if any good still exists in Gotham and, by extension, the rest of the world. And then comes the end, where the people of Gotham and even the “bad men” mobsters, refuse to blow each other up, even at the cost of their own lives. And you walk away with a newfound hope for humanity, that no matter how dark and depressing things get, we can overcome.

In my mind, that is what great theater–what great popular culture–should do: It should give us a bit of light we can use to hold back the darkness of the world. And hopefully it will give us a little tune to carry with us for when we’re feeling blue.

Then we stumble away
Through dawn’s blinding sunbeams.
Barely knowing right from left
Nor left from wrong.
But as long as we can hear that little blue bird
There’ll be a song
As we stumble along.

Beef Ragu, cheese soufflé…

Every once in a while, I like to experiment for meals. Today, I tried my hand at making an instant Beef Ragu, a kind of tomato and beef stew served over mashed potatoes. The results were pretty good—the kids liked it, anyway.

Here is the recipe for anyone who wants to try it.

Ingredients

• 3 cans roast beef (can also make your own roast and use about 3 cups worth, diced). Use the broth from 2 cans but drain the third
• 1 can diced tomatoes
• 1 small can tomato paste
• 1 can sliced carrots
• 1 can green beans
• 1 medium onion, sliced
• 1 green pepper, sliced
• 3 large garlic cloves, crushed
• Instant mashed potato mix

Instructions

1. Mix beef, broth, garlic, onion, and green pepper in a pot (I used a wok, but any pot will work).
2. Bring mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally.
3. Add carrots, green beans, tomatoes, and tomato paste. Stir until well mixed.
4. Sing “Be Our Guest” from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Put special emphasis on the part about Beef Ragu.
5. Let mixture cook on medium heat, stirring occasionally while you prepare mashed potatoes according to package instructions.
6. When the potatoes are finished, serve the beef mixture over them.

Enjoy!

Beware the Ides of March

About a year ago, I blogged about my eyes (link to it here), where I talked about the grieving process I was going through for my particular eye condition. In that post I talked about the eventual likelihood that someday I will need a corneal transplant—that a cornea from a donor would have to be grafted in my eye. Well, that day came sooner than I expected. In fact, it is coming on March 15–the Ides of March.

About a month ago, I went to the optometrist to have my eyes checked. He looked at my left eye (which they can’t even get a reading on anymore) and said: “Wow! I’ve never seen… that’s pretty bad, like, textbook bad.” He referred me to a corneal specialist at the Eye Institute (my previous optometrist referred me to the same person). On Friday, Jenna and I hauled Hayden and Mina to the specialist who told me that all other options have been exhausted. If I want better vision, I need a transplant in my left eye.

The thing is that I can still see—mostly. There is a lot of ghosting and lights have very dramatic halos, and I often get headaches that I think are caused by my eyes straining, but I can still see. I’m writing this and can read the words, even though they are pretty small. But what worries me is driving at night, which is getting more and more difficult because the headlights and taillights flare so much that it is hard to see the road, especially when it is wet and has more reflections that flare as well. Also, looking at computer screens is getting harder, which obviously concerns me because it is a big part of my job.

As when I wrote my first blog post about this topic, I feel a bit conflicted. It will be great to see better, but the whole thing scares me, and it is still very odd to think of having a part of someone else grafted into my body—or the idea that someone has to die for my eyesight to improve.

Last night I talked with my brother, who is an optometrist, about it. We discussed several of the potential complications and things to look out for. We also talked about how this will change my life in the future. My brother said, “Remember that this isn’t the end. It is a change—the beginning of a whole new adventure.” And maybe that is the best way to think about it: an adventure.

But that doesn’t make it any less scary.

Do you Facebook?

Recently I had a conversation with a friend that got me to thinking. The conversation focused on technological advances in general and Facebook in particular. This friend, who I will not name, is adamantly opposed to Facebook, which is his absolute right. But it was his reason for being opposed that I felt was a bit–maybe not odd, because I’ve heard the same argument from other people before–but perhaps a bit short-sighted or even false.

His argument for not using Facebook was simple: People lived just fine before Facebook was invented, so I can, too.

And the truth is that he is absolutely correct. People survived just fine without Facebook and his refusal to jointhe site will, in no way, impede his ability to survive or even to enjoy life. That wasn’t my problem. My problem was that he is looking at the whole thing all wrong.

First of all, Facebook wasn’t created as a necessity of life. It was created as a way to help people keep in touch with others and even connect with those with whom they have lost touch. And it does both of those things very well.

I grew up in a very small town in northeastern Arizona. After graduation, my high school class (94 students) scattered across the United States and even around the globe. I myself spent 2 years in southern Chile, several moved to Phoenix, and others moved all over the place. I quickly lost touch with all but a very few of my friends. This was not because I didn’t want to communicate with them, it was just that communication took a lot of time.

Could I live without knowing where they were or what they were up to? Sure. And I did. For several years after I returned from Chile, my life went on just fine. I kept in contact with the few friends I could still find and heard rumors about other ones through the town gossip line (I mentioned that the town was small, right?). But I still wondered how some of them were doing and wished that there was a way to contact them.

A few years before the Facebook revolution, I attended a reuinion, where I met some of my old friends. It was so great to see them, but the short hours afforded at the reunion weren’t enough to really re-connect. I got a few email addresses, but that was it.

Then came Facebook and viola! Suddenly many of my high school friends, along with several of my Chilean friends and many others friends that I’ve made over the years, can be found in a single, easy-to-use space. I can chat with them, find out what is going on in their lives, and even see pictures. On top of that, it reminds me when i need to send out birthday cards or other important events. And friends can invite me to reunions and get togethers, which are always fun.

Are there problems? Yes. I hate the Facebook games and couldn’t care less if my friend John wants my help in on his virtual farm, I’m never going to do it. I sometimes worry about security and set my security to a very high level to protect myself as much as possible. Sometimes I get invites from people I don’t know or really don’t want to reconnect with. And some of my friends posts are … well, let’s just say that they are less interesting than others. But those are minor inconveniences that I gladly put up with for the value that I feel I get from Facebook.

But the good and bad of Facebook are actually not the point of this post. They can be argued left and right forever and the argument will always come down to personal opinion, so it’s kind of pointless. What I want to point out is that, regardless of how much I enjoy Facebook, I have never considered it necessary for a happy life. Does reconnecting with my friends make me happy. Absolutely. Could I be happy without them? Absolutely, though I would (and did) miss some of the friends that I now get to hear from on a regular basis.

And that’s my first problem with what my friend said: Surviving and being happy before or after Facebook aren’t really the point. Facebook is just a way–an optional way–to enhance life, and that is it.

So my first objection is a simple technicality–the statement that people lived just fine before Facebook is irrelevant as it was never meant to be more than an enhancement to life. The real question is whether people feel that their lives have been enhanced by Facebook. That goes back to personal preference and, to a large degree, experience and I’m fine with that.

But as I thought about my friend’s statement, another thought struck me: can’t you say that exact same thing about pretty much ANY technology? TV? check. Cars? check. Microwaves? check. Modern farming equipment? sure, that, too.

See, that is the problem that has troubled me since my discussion with my friend. Personally, I don’t honestly care one way or the other whether he uses Facebook or not, but it reflects an attitude I think is problematic: the “reject all change because the past was just fine” attitude.

As someone who works in technology, I see this all the time. A short time ago a user at work actually accused me of not doing my job because my team changed things too much. It didn’t matter to him that over 95% of our user base not only approves of the changes but has commented many times on how much more productive those same changes make their jobs. “Things were working just fine before,” this particular employee said, so to him the changes were a bad thing because why would you change something that is working?

A couple of nights ago Jenna and I discussed this same idea regarding pregnancy and birth. In her most recent class, she is learning about child development and the class got into a debate over how much the medical industry should be involved in childbirth. One of the students all but called all mothers who do not have natural births in their own home irresponsible (she also claimed that when she had children, she was sure she would find a comfortable position to pop them out and that there was NEVER a good reason to induce labor). That bothered Jenna quite a bit and we discussed it late into the night.

As humans I think we have a tendency to romanticize the past while ignoring the hard facts of that time. Today it seems to be in fashion to idolize the 1950s—especially the 1950s portrayed in I Love Lucy and Leave it to Beaver, where the husband and wife slept in separate beds and they couldn’t show a toilet on national television (dead serious, check out this little factoid on Snopes.com). But we forget that there were serious problems in the ’50s. Racism and abuse were rampant, women had few rights and less respect, much of the world economy was still reeling from World War II, communism had half the world terrified of the other half and neighbors terrified of neighbors, smoking was encouraged by doctors and The Flintstones, and so on.

Even worse, a lot of people seem to be getting nostalgic for the days of the Founding Fathers, when disease killed off most people before they reached what we now consider middle age, people were often hung for minor offenses, and slaves were a regular part of life for a lot of Americans.

Please don’t think I’m suggesting that things like Facebook or other technologies have anything to do with solving those kinds of problems. They don’t. But my point is that it is foolish to think of the past as having many advantages over modern day life. Are there problems today? Yes. Are they worse than the past? Maybe, maybe not. A lot of the time I lean towards “not.” The Dark Ages, for example, just seem to be a bummer all around except for a handful of people who happened to be born into the extremely inbred breed of royalty—and then they were lucky only if they were male.

So whether you Facebook or not really isn’t a big deal to me. True, you will probably hear more from me if you do Facebook, but I can appreciate your decision not to. But please don’t use the excuse that the world got along just fine without it. Truth is, life on this planet got along pretty well without all of us as well. But I don’t think we want to return to those days, do we?

Did Mickey bite Michael Chrichton?

DISCLAIMER: It was a very sad day when I learned that science fiction author Michael Chrichton passed away a few years ago. He filled my high school years with wonder and fantasy. And while I poke a little fun at some of his stories in this post, I mean no disrespect to him or his work.
What terrible thing happened in Michael Chrichton’s childhood to make him hate amusement parks? One park or another feature as the “real” bad guy of at least 3 of his stories (4 if you count The Lost World as separate fromJurassic Park). It’s like he thinks that the worst evils of the world are manifest in those parks.

Recently, Jenna and I watched Chrichton’s first volley against amusement parks: Westworld. In that movie, rich people attend a theme park designed to look and feel just like the old west, medieval times, or Roman times. In the theme park, they interact with (and kill or have sex with) robots designed to look and act human. One of the robots, played by Yul Brynner (yes, THAT Yul Brynner—from The King and I) is a gunslinger who is constantly after one of the primary guests. Of course, he is programmed to always lose … at least until some kind of computer virus glitches all of the machines and they turn against the park’s guests. Then Brynner’s character becomes dangerous and goes on a long, protracted hunt after the main character.

Futureworld, the Chrichton-less sequel to Westworld, continued on the same theme, though borrowed a bit from Asimov’s I, Robot at the same time. And, while it did feature some of the theme park ideas in it, it focused more behind the scenes, so the fun of the parks was lost.

Of course, you can’t talk about Chrichton and theme parks without talking about Jurassic Park. That is probably the epitome of a theme park run amok. I still think of the Weird Al song about that book/movie:

Jurassic Park is frightening in the dark
All the animals are running wild!
Someone shut the fence off in the rain.
Now they scare me and alarm me,
‘Cause they sure don’t act like Barney,
And I’m not sure I’ll get home again.
Oh no!

Lost World, the infinitely inferior Jurassic Park sequel, also focused on the theme park idea, though to a lesser extent. The movie pushed it much further than the book did, with InGen trying to bring the animals to the mainland for some kind of zoo, which ended in one of the lamest sequences in Hollywood history: the T-Rex loose in San Diego, except he doesn’t do much except eat a dog. LAME!

Chrichton’s last volley against theme parks came in a book that, at first glance, seems a bit out of place in this list: Timeline. In that book, a mega-corporation discovered a way to essentially fax yourself back in time (no, I’m not kidding). What would they plan for this exciting new technology? Why, build a time-based theme park of course! The theme park idea was so shoehorned into the story that it was completely excised for the film version. And, quite frankly, the film benefited from its removal.

So my question is, what did theme parks do the Chrichton to make him so adamantly opposed to them. Did Mickey Mouse bite him as a child? Did he see the characters unmasking and lost all sense of wonder? What?

Actually, I think that he returned to the theme park idea so often because he was able to use it to magnify the problems of society. In Westworld, the uber-rich do whatever they please. They have sex, they kill, they brawl, whatever with no consequences—all for $1,000 a day (which was a lot more back in the ’70s). They lower themselves to the lowest possible levels human beings can achieve.

The Jurassic Park stories aren’t much better. In those stories, man plays God to the amusement, once again, to the uber-rich. The move corrected this problem by making Hammond, the park’s owner, a kindly old soul who just wants to bring real wonder to children around the globe, but the book’s version of Hammond is much harsher. He is a prick, to say the least, and plans on charging an arm and a leg for anyone to have the chance to glimpse his creations. He shows no respect for what he has made and thinks he can control nature. In the end of the book, he is eaten by dung-eating rodent-like dinosaurs and no one really seems to care.

Timeline is a bit different than the others. It is all about highlighting real history against the legends and ideas that have built up over time. In one memorable sequence of the book, the evil corporate leader is watching some video of George Washington crossing he Potomac. The leader is upset that Washington—THE ACTUAL GEORGE WASHINGTON—is not perched out on the bow of his boat, sword drawn, ready to face the enemy. Instead, Washington is huddled in the back of the boat under a blanket, trying in vain to keep warm against the freezing temperatures. In another part of the book, a college student sent back in time watches 2 knights fight and is shocked at how agile they are in their armor, because no one could possibly be that mobile wearing close to 100 lbs of steal, right?

And that is the genius of Chrichton’s war against theme parks. He uses them to illustrate modern humanity’s ignorance, decadence, and greed. Theme parks are all about enlarging one aspect of life or another, so they work perfectly for Chrichton’s purposes. And they once again remind us of the value of popular culture as a mirror in which we can see ourselves laid bare.

Now, who wants to go to Disneyland?

Out from Under the Dome

I don’t like Stephen King. I have known this for a while but it was brought back to the forefront last week when I attempted (and failed) to read Under the Dome, King’s latest best seller.

To be clear, I have nothing against him personally and I actually think he is a very talented writer–I often quote his essays on writing in my classes. And I don’t begrudge anyone who enjoys reading his books. No, I just don’t care for his stories themselves … or, perhaps more accurately, I don’t care for his worldview.

No matter your opinion of King’s stories, it is hard to argue that he has a pretty dismal worldview. If King is to be trusted:

• Pretty much everyone is twisted and psychotic in one way or another–even the good guys.
• People in desperate situations are more likely to turn on each other than try to resolve the situation.
• Most people are more infatuated with power than doing good–especially people who are in positions to do good.
• People who aren’t infatuated with power are not only rare, they are also beat down and isolated by those who are.
• Religious people are fanatics and extremists who, deep down, believe in blood sacrifice first and doing good last.
• The government is both inept and always knee-deep in dark, horrifying conspiracies.
• Psychos are common.
• Maine is mostly populated with said psychos.
• Good guys are almost always former covert ops or ex-military.
• Anyone named “Randall” is big trouble.

All in all, King’s world is a pretty depressing place.

Take Under the Dome, King’s most recent novel. It is about a town that mysteriously becomes trapped in some kind of transparent energy field. Almost immediately, the psychos in the town gain power and people start to turn on each other. Things just go from bad to worse and then keep getting worse. It was so depressing I only made it about a third of the way (I have never made it past the half-way mark of any King book, despite my many attempts).

And that is pretty much how I feel about King’s stories.

The thing is, I do enjoy horror stories. In the past few years, I have become a pretty big Dean Koontz fan and I have read several of his books. But, despite using similar material in their stories and having the same first initial in their last name (a coincidence I always found a bit amusing), there is a world of difference between Koontz and King novels.

For one thing, while psychos do exist in almost every Koontz book, they are the exception, not the rule. Most people in Koontz’ stories are good, decent folks who are just trying to do what is right. And while Koontz’ good guys share some similarities with King’s (many of them also seem to have some sort of military background and they often harbor dark secrets in their past), they are people who you can trust and rally behind. And, perhaps most important, the good guys overcome incredible odds to become the good guys that they are.

For example, I recently finished reading the first three of Koontz’ Odd Thomas series. The books, which I highly recommend, are about Odd Thomas, a young man who can see (but not talk to) ghosts. The ghosts come to him seeking help to resolve whatever wrong is keeping them on the terrestrial plane. Odd (who really is named “Odd”) helps them. There isn’t anything in it for Odd. In fact, there are many reasons why he shouldn’t help people, the main ones being that it often gets him in trouble and brings pain (or death) to those he loves. But he does it anyway, just because it is right.

Like most of Koontz’ characters, Odd comes from a dark past. His mother is fairly psychotic and his father is a jerk beyond words. Odd had a very unhappy childhood and ran away at a young age to fend for himself. Add to that the dark, sinister things the ghosts show him, and Odd could–and probably should–be a maladjusted freak who sees nothing but darkness and evil.

But he isn’t.

Instead, Odd sees the world as one filled with light and beauty. Even at his darkest he finds moments of happiness and tranquility.  And rather than shun humanity, he embraces it and finds nothing but good (minus the occasional psycho who crosses his path). The people that surround him are an eclectic bunch with dark histories of their own, but they have almost universally overcome those pasts to become truly good people: Little Ozzie has overcome weight issues and the judgement of the world to become a famous novelist. Stormy, Odd’s one true love, has overcome abuse to become a happy, well-adjusted person. Brother Knuckles overcame his life as a mob hitman to become a monk. And on and on.

And that is one of the things I like the most about Koontz’ stories: the characters overcome the world, no matter how bad and horrifying. In King’s world, things just seem to remain dark and horrifying, even after the good guys have “won.”

I think the thing that attracts me to Koontz’ stories over King’s is that Koontz’ vision of the world is much closer to my own. I believe that most people, regardless of their religious or political ideology, are good, decent people who are just trying to do what they think is right. I believe that there are good guys out there who do what is right just because it is right, no matter the cost to them. And while I do believe that psychos and monsters do exist, I believe that they are the exception.

And, most important, I believe that no matter the darkness people have experienced in their lives, they can always overcome it.

I didn’t always believe this. As a kid I was very paranoid about the world–especially the world outside of St. Johns. I saw it as a terrible and terrifying place filled with evil just waiting to devour the few righteous ones. I blame this on two things: Hollywood and the isolation of St. Johns. Because the town is far removed from the “real world,” my opinions of what that world was like largely came from movies and television. Is it any wonder that I thought everything beyond St. Johns’ borders was nearing the Ninth Circle of Hell?

But all of that changed when I served a two-week religious mission to Phoenix the summer before my senior year of high school. On the mission, I was required to meet and talk with several people–all of them strangers. Before leaving, I was terrified. I secretly worried that one of them would kill or, at the very least, hurt me. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that not one of those strangers was a psycho and that, almost without exception, they were good, decent people just trying to do what they felt was right Later, my father asked me what I learned from the mission. After a brief moment of reflection, I told him simply: “That most people are good, honest people.”

I believe that to this day.

So, to return to my original point, I don’t like Stephen King. I believe in humanity more than that and, no matter how bad things are, I am optimistic for the future of mankind. In the words of William Faulkner:

I decline to accept the end of man. … I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.

So I’ll avoid Stephen King from now on because I don’t believe in his world. His world is filled with darkness. And while the world I believe in may often be dark and gloomy, there is always color and light and joy. And rather than be filled with egotistical maniacs and psychos, it is filled with good, decent people who overcome incredible odds to do what is right, for no other reason than that it is right.

Naive? Perhaps. But which world would you rather live in?

A Taste of Chile

Most people who know me know that I served a religious mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints shortly after I turned 19. For the better part of 2 years, I lived with and served the people of southern Chile.

My mission was the greatest experience of my pre-Jenna life. It was amazing to live with and serve those wonderful people and I often miss it.

Unfortunately, I don’t miss their food much. Most of it was bland and the rest of it was … well, let’s just say it wasn’t my favorite. Those who saw me not long after I returned home thought I had caught a parasite or something because I’d lost so much weight (I have since gained it back with interest–maybe I should go back to Chile).

There were a few exceptions to my not liking the food. For example, I love completos (Chilean hot dogs) and empanadas. And, of course, there was all the food I ate while living in the house with the professional chef.

The other day, I prepared my family one of the dishes I had in that home: Stuffed Acorn Squash. I’ve made it before (all from memory–mostly of how it tasted rather than how it was cooked), but this time it was better than ever before. So, before I forget what I did, here is the recipe:

Stuffed Acorn Squash

Makes 8 servings (1/2 squash = 1 serving)

Ingredients*

• 4 large acorn squash
• 4 cups cooked rice
• 1 pound hamburger
• 1 can sliced mushrooms (or 1/2 package fresh sliced mushrooms if you prefer)
• 1/2 medium onion (diced)
• 1 large can cream of mushroom soup (or 2 small ones)
• 1/4 cup shredded cheese (we used cheddar, but you could probably use anything. My guess is that Monterey Jack would be awesome)
• 1 tbsp Worcestershire Sauce
• 1 tbsp Montreal Steak Seasoning (this stuff is a must in any kitchen)

* All measurements are estimates. I really don’t measure things when I cook.

Instructions

1. Preheat the over to 400°.
2. Cut the squash in half, lengthwise (tip to stem).
3. Remove the seeds and the stringy stuff from the squash.
4. Put the squash on a large bar pan with the yellow side up. Add about 1/4 of an inch of water to the bottom of the pan (this will help make the squash nice and tender).
5. Put the squash in the oven and cook for 30 minutes.
6. While the squash is cooking, add the hamburger, diced onion, mushrooms, Montreal Steak Seasoning, and Worcestershire sauce to a pan and mix over high heat until hamburger is browned.
7. Add the rice and cream of mushroom soup to the hamburger mixture.
8. Cook the hamburger-rice mixture on medium-low for several minutes, stirring occasionally, until it is thoroughly warmed through.
9. Let the hamburger-rice mixture warm until the squash is cooked.
10. Remove the squash from the oven.
11. Fill each squash with some of the hamburger-rice mixture (it should create a small dome over the top of the squash).
12. Sprinkle the top of each squash with about a tbsp of cheese.
13. Return the squash to the oven (make sure that there is still water in the pan) for 30 minutes.
14. Serve and enjoy.

We served it with a Chilean salad made from 1/4 cabbage (shredded), a little vegetable oil (about 1 tbsp), a lot of lemon juice (about 3 tbsps–add to flavor), and a little salt. It was very good.

Believe it or not, my kids, who aren’t very fond of squash, loved the meal and most had seconds. So it looks like we have a hit on our hands.

It makes a great Fall dinner.

Enjoy!

A Rock with a Stick On It

Growing up in a small town is very different than growing up in a city. For one thing, cattle drives would occasionally go through the middle of town, making several students late for school. But few things between country and city life are as different as how the residents give directions.

In the city, people use street names, measurable distances (like a block), and actual compass directions to get a person from Point A to Point B: “Go north on Broadway a few blocks until you come to Seventh Street. Then take a right.” And so on.

In the country, where a lot of streets don’t have names (and the residents ignore the ones that do), everyone uses landmarks and vague distances. “Go down dis here road a ways ’til you come to da place where ol’ Heap’s barn used to be. Den you take a right onto a little two-tracker and go until you come to da old oak tree. If you come to da rock dat looks like a chipmunk, you gone too far.”

I didn’t fully appreciate this difference until the summer before my senior year when a new family moved to town. One night, some friends and I were trying direct one of the girls to a house where we were going to have a party. We started out by saying: “Okay, you know where main street is?” Her response startled us.

“You mean, Cleveland?”

“Cleveland?”

“Isn’t the street that goes through the middle of town named Cleveland?”

My friends and I stared at each other blankly. Was it really called Cleveland? We had no idea.

It turns out that the main street in St. Johns, the street we’d always referred to as just plain “Main Street,” is, indeed, actually named “Cleveland” after President Grover Cleveland. But until that moment I had never noticed.

My wife quickly discovered this difference during our courtship and has made it her life’s goal to make fun of how us country bumpkins give directions. Her goal especially applies to my dad who is notorious for using obscure landmarks to get us where we need to go.

Her teasing skills were put to use last weekend when we went to visit my parents in St. Johns. While we were there, we went up to the mountains to cut some wood. My dad, who left before of us, drew a nice map that included such landmarks as: “Big Gravel Pit” and “Potato Patch” (it turns out that Potato Patch is actually a big meadow. I don’t know if they ever grew potatoes there). As if those weren’t bad enough, just before we left the house, my dad called and told us that he was off the road a little ways  and that we’d know where he was by finding the rock with a stick on it.

That last one had my wife laughing hysterically all the way to the mountains. She kept asking: “What kind of rock? A big rock? A red rock? A small rock? What kind of stick? Will it be pointing up? To the left? Diagonally?” And then Miranda, our preteen, jumped in and started pointing out every rock and stick we passed.

After a long drive of being heckled by my wife and daughter, we finally got to the rock with a stick on it. This, unfortunately, did not help (see the picture below). Jenna and Miranda found this to be the funniest thing they had ever seen and the heckling increased.

But we got where we were going, so even though city dwellers and country bumpkins use different methods to give direction, they both work. And that’s really the point, right?

Now if only I can convince my wife of that.

Meet Mina Brooke Moulton

Mina Brooke Moulton

Today Jenna and I went to the hospital where Jenna gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.

Name: Mina Brooke Moulton

Born: August 31, 2010, 6:06 PM

Height: 21.5 inches

Weight: 10 pounds

Mommy and baby are both doing great.

Mommy and Daddy leave for the hospital.

Mommy says hello to her baby girl.

Mina wraps Daddy around her little finger.

Mommy, Daddy, and Mina

Aren't I cute?

The kids meet their youngest sister.

Our big little girl.

Mommy and her 5 kids.

Miranda and Mina.

Joey and Mina.

Chissa and Mina.

Hayden and Mina.

The girls.

The Chissa Effect

We recently returned from a week-long trip to Disneyland. It was a lot of fun and the kids loved it, especially because Jenna and I had tricked them into thinking we were going to Denver and then left a half-day earlier then they were expecting. But, while rushing from line to line and spending a few minutes on the rides are all fond memories, I think I will most remember something I saw Charissa, our 7-year-old, do.

It was while we were in California Adventure waiting for the Grizzly Rapids ride. Jenna and Hayden, who couldn’t ride because they were too pregnant and too short respectively, were off having fun elsewhere while I waited in the interminable line with the other three.

The ride is one of those rafting rides that takes you through simulated rapids and waterfalls. It is a lot of fun, but what I will remember most happened long before we ever boarded the raft.

One part of the line crosses a bridge that overlooks the tail-end of the rapids trail. Previous rafters float under the bridge on their way to the unloading station.

As we were paused indefinitely on the bridge, I was watching Joey and Miranda goof around, then realized Chissa had fallen a bit behind. I looked back and found her standing on her tiptoes looking down at the rafts passing under the bridge. As each raft passed underneath, she grinned her biggest grin and waved at them. The interesting part was that, whenever someone in the rafts noticed her, their faces, which were already happy (I mean, they were in the “Happiest Place on Earth”), lit up.

It suddenly took me back to the day, several years earlier, when Chissa, then 1-year-old, caught her finger in a van door and we had to rush to the hospital. The tip of her finger was all but severed and, as you can imagine, she cried a lot. But, as hour after hour passed in the emergency room and we still waited for a doctor, her tears dried and she started wandering about, looking at the many different kinds of people there.

It was fascinating to watch her as she walked from person to person, just wearing her diaper and with her arm bandaged all the way to the shoulder. She would pause at each person, lean over, wave to them, and smile. Immediately, the faces of those she observed—even the handcuffed guy standing in front of two imposing police officers—lit up as they waved back at this little girl with a bandaged arm.

I’ve often thought about that moment, and every time I have, I marveled at the amount of joy that one little child brought to one of the most depressing places anyone can ever visit. I often wonder at how she was able to put aside her own pain and take the time to notice people—to smile at them and make their lives a bit more bearable.

It makes me wonder, how much better would life be if we all followed Chissa’s example and really noticed those around us and took the time to do something as simple as smile and wave to them. Maybe it wouldn’t be enough to change the world. But perhaps it would be. Isn’t it worth a try?