An experience is worth a thousand pictures

As I wove down the narrow trails in the flickering shade of autumn aspens, I regretted not bringing my camera. I didn't even think to grab it. With unending hours spent in neutral-colored classrooms and behind wooden library desks, I had so quickly grown accustomed to a monotonous life void such awe-inspiring vistas as were now flooding my senses. I ignored the path, which veered to the left without me, and slowed to a stop near the edge of a grove.

When I parked my bike against a knotty white tree trunk, a rusty bearing groaned aloud. It was an unexpected cough momentarily distracting from the majestic symphony of the mountain. This fleeting interruption was soon forgotten, however, as the next movement of nature's masterpiece began - the rustling of crimson and amber leaves to the accompaniment of crisp mountain air rushing its descent to the valley below. My gaze followed the swift course of the wind but quickly froze, attempting to absorb the beauty extending to the horizon in every direction.

My little grove opened up to the view of magnificent pine-filled valleys accented with yet more splashes of unique fall colors. Timpanogas was a distant gray backdrop to my breathtaking scene, yet its crown of snow-covered peaks glowed forth in the sunlight, evoking the awe and respect deserved by such a monarch of mountains. I stood silent and motionless while the symphony played on. A dimension of purity and truth unable to be composed or construed by man flowed softly into my soul.

Eventually returning to my bike, I embarked again down the meandering trail. I narrowly missed a bulky root and swerved to a stop, giving flight to an even blend of dirt and leaves; a startled doe pranced beyond my view in a secluded meadow. I smiled - a mixed reaction to my personal clumsiness and lingering awe. My camera could never have captured this experience.

A not so happy ending.

It's because I forgot to eat my banana.

There's no other explanation.

I can't remember the last time something has gnawed at my mind so relentlessly. Why did I lose? How? I was so close I could practically feel myself pulling on the 100% cotton, size M. I had three match points - three chances to seal the victory and go down in the history books as champion! ...champion of a lower division intramurals tennis tournament in Provo, Fall semester '09.

wow. blogging really can be therapeutic. I think when the writing gears started churning in my mind, whatever was gnawing at my cerebellum took a cog to the face. Here I was, about to rant about how frustrated I have been all night and will be for the rest of eternity. But when I began to describe the tournament I just lost, I think I finally realized how much it doesn't matter. Suddenly I'm not so upset. I mean, there are like seven division champions every semester of every year, right? I'll get 'em next time, right?

Man, who I am kidding. I'm still way frustrated. I hate losing. And I really wanted that shirt. If the kid beat me outright, I'd take the loss a little easier. But to lose the championship in a tiebreak after beating the same guy 8-0 just an hour earlier? To line up an easy passing shot while up match point only to dump it into the net?

Maybe I will be frustrated for the rest of eternity. And yes, the gnaw monster just came back with a vengeance.

So this is where the banana comes in. I needed an excuse - some sort of scapegoat for my demoralizing loss. I could of course blame my backhand as I so often do, but it was suprisingly above average on the night. My serve may be suspect at times, but I actually came up with some big ones when it mattered most. Something just was not right with me during that second set, and after stewing over this for hours I still couldn't pinpoint the problem. That is, until I found the uneaten banana in my backpack.

Confident I'd win my first match, I had packed a beautiful yellow banana to eat before my second. As everybody knows, bananas are the most nutritious fruit, they're packed with energy, and they won't make you cramp up. It was my secret weapon, my sure-fire energy boost to pull me victorious through round two. I would have been a shoo-in for the championship, except I forgot to eat my banana.

So I ate it tonight with a bowl of Captain Crunch while watching Ratatouille on the Disney Channel. At least those rats got to have a happy ending.

10-10 Tribute

10 is a pretty sweet number. God designed us to have 10 toes at our base, we consequently designed our number system to have 10 as its base, and now countless things in everyday life revolve around the divine number 10.

For bowlers, knocking down all 10 pins is represented by the Roman numeral X on the scorecard. For pirates, this same symbol for 10 marks the spot of hidden treasure. For computers, the number 10 is coded 1010, as if to doubly emphasize its significance.

Perhaps to doubly emphasize my treasured mother's significance, God sent her to this earth on October 10th.

Like the I-10 that spans from coast to coast, Mom's awesome potential has taken her so far in life and can only end in a beachy paradise. Like a *neon advertisement in a down-town cafe window, Mom's noble example of hard work, dilligence, patience, and kindness glows on faithfully, despite being so easily taken for granted and ignored. Although olympic athletes may never score a flawless performance, I can say without hesitation that my mom deserves a perfect 10.

Mom, I wish you a clean kitchen, obedient children and a pumpkin pie on this 10 10. I hope all is Grrreat like Frosted Flakes® as you begin this prime year of your life - 47. Thanks for all you do and keep on keepin' on!

Happy Birthday!

*it's a stretch to keep with the theme, but neon's atomic number is 10...

Eating broccoli

Sometimes I think I'm too much of a perfectionist. I cross all my t's and my i's all have dots; if I miss one it bugs me. Sometimes I think I waste so much time focusing on little details. If my sentences run on or my logic feels weak I just can't bring myself to move on without fixing it.

Is that a bad thing?

I have always been one of those few stragglers who finish their tests 15 minutes after the rest of the class. I have to make sure I have all the answers just right. Even in elementary school Ben Miller would give me a hard time for taking too long on my homework. Until it was done, I couldn't join in on the afternoon's street ball or roller-hockey game. Any normal boy would scribble down his answers and be out the door. I would scribble down my answers, double and triple check them, and then be out the door.

Am I not a normal boy?

Well, I do enjoy studying accounting. And studying accounting is like eating broccoli or getting teeth pulled. Normal boys don't enjoy those things. But I guess there's nothing wrong with them. If some people like getting their teeth pulled, who am I to judge them? I like accounting.

I know what you're thinking: "I'd prefer having my molars removed."

I understand. Both are painful, but for most people an hour at the dentist with pliers in your mouth is still more enjoyable than 3 1/2 hours at the testing center with an accounting exam on your desk. Not for me. I was shocked when I first checked the time during my Acc 210 test. Somehow two hours had already slipped by, and I was just getting to the good part! It was like a fascinating story* I couldn't put down.

Call me a weirdo, a nerd - hit me with all you've got. Tease me about liking accounting and not being able to sleep until all my numbers balance, because it's true. Is it bad that I spend so much time contemplating every detail that may affect my answer? I don't think so. So what if I triple check all my work? I guess I'm not a normal boy. Maybe I am too much of a perfectionist. But I got an A on my test. I should celebrate by eating broccoli.




*It was a dark and stormy statement of cash flows, and something was not right. The scene was set by financial statements and the story was propelled forward by elusive journal entries. Can detective Powell catch the culprit keeping the credits and debits out of balance? Yes! Suspect #14 was nabbed, convicted, and locked up in cell D. Will #15 soon join him? Sam the sleuth is on the job...