More below the pics.

Stepping inside smelled like warmth and spiced beef. Amy and I exchanged immediate looks of anticipation. My stomach sang a chorus of of praises. It turns out that my bowels harmonize pretty well.

We were seated in what must have been a living room back in the day. The woodwork was ample and soothing. The gay men at the table behind us brought with them a little flavor of L.A., which is where I met Amy, but they obviously didn’t know how to dress for a barbecue joint. Dutch ovens do not pair with blazers. Tim Gunn 101.

First stop, cornbread and honey butter. Not bad. Obviously from a larger pan of cornbread, like it should be.

“Do you take your camera out and shoot food at restaurants?” I asked Ames.

“Yep, all the time.”

Yes! Enter camera, stage left.

I really love that we can pass my camera back and forth and I never worry if she knows how to work it or take amazing pictures. In fact, I’m always sure she’ll get much better light in her shots. That’s what happens when you date your teacher.

The brisket was especially flavorful (as it should be since they marinate it for 14 hours). The sweet potato fries were sooo good. The mac and cheese was forgettable. Dessert looks like a lot for two people and it was. Apparently the end of the night has its perks, including extra dessert they need to offload. Dutch oven cobblers were warm and gooey, just like camping but without the fear of bears or wolves.

Our server was rad and helpful. Hope she’s reading this! She asked for my blog address to see the pictures we were taking (cuz we are obviously ridiculously talented and deeply interesting) and showed us how to go upstairs to see the banquet room.

After the food fest, we headed out to explore Bountiful. We saw two things of note: a building we thought might be a church that wasn’t Mormon (wrong, it was O.G. Mormon) and a cool ampersand on a salon sign. Then, in a cloud of cobbler-coma, Bountiful turned into a southbound on-ramp.

Just before leaving Los Angeles. I look so hopeful!

I moved to Utah for a while. I don’t know how long. I don’t know how short. What I do know is that it took some doing and–like anything worth doing–there is a lady involved. Her name is Amy.

DAY 1: Saturday, January 21, 2012

11am. I packed my truck with half of my possessions. Roommates Tim and Stephen, and random couch surfer Anthony helped me load up and cinch down. With my apartment subleased, I had no reason to stay in LA if Amy was waiting for me in Provo. I felt like I should leave right away and so I did. It feels good, being decisive.

Tim waved me goodbye and after stopping for gas and snacks, I merged onto the eastbound 10 headed out of LA toward faith and hope. Friend Mike Mahoney (soon to be referred to as Saint Mike) is a car guy and he had helped me look over my truck earlier in the week, so I felt good about driving the beast on my journey. Audio books on my phone, twinkle in my eye, foot on the gas. This was crazy. How would it be? I was leaving Hollywood for my own sort of Hollywood. I was in a movie. No, it was real. Was it? Reality sounds like a clunk and a loss of engine power.

1:00pm. Heading up Cajon Pass, about an hour and fifteen minutes from L.A., I was talking on the phone with my former singles ward bishop, Bishop Thomas, when I punched the gas up the steep grade. Clunk. Oil pressure gauge flatlines. Clang clang clang clang clang beat the pistons. “Bishop, I’m having car trouble, I’ll call you back.”

As I switch on the hazards and head to the right lane, my emotions feel like the oil pressure gauge. “No. NO.” I stay calm. I stay hopeful.

I’m near a gas station. I exit the freeway and park. The guys inside are helpful and give me a couple of mechanic’s business cards. I call and leave messages. I flex my resources, calling nearby auto repair shops from my phone’s map listings. Probably 1k to fix. No part until Tuesday, 3 days away, plus service time.

I call my friend, Saint Mike. We discuss my problem and symptoms, and diagnose it as a faulty oil pump. Driving my truck any farther could cause permanent engine damage. Mike miraculously has a car trailer, and he offers to drive out and tow me back to LA. I hesitate and weigh my options. I’m not going to Utah today, we decide. Saint Mike drops everything he is doing and rescues me.

St. Mike Mahoney

I wait patiently for Mike’s kindness. Mentally and emotionally, I’m admittedly downtrodden. Why did this happen? What should I do about it? How do I get back on track to Amy?

Mike pulls my rig on his trailer back to LA. Each time I look back, I’m startled to see a truck tailgating us so closely. Then I laugh at my mistake. Then I’m sad it’s mine. We discuss my options thoroughly on the drive back. We’re good at discussing strategies from all angles because we play geeky board games together and that’s part of the fun. We drop my truck off at Pep Boys for a diagnostic because they were open late on Saturday and because they’re convenient to my apartment. In gratitude, I buy Mike dinner and we go see Mission Impossible 4 on a huge IMAX screen. It’s nice to forget life for a couple of hours.

DAY 2: Sunday, January 22, 2012

Sunday morning, after attending church and explaining to curious friends that I am still on my way to Utah, I get an answer from the mechanic: there’s nothing wrong. They can’t duplicate the problem and everything checks out. I should get a second opinion from an engine mechanic who will have to take apart my engine to find out what happened.

Anyone who has maintained an old vehicle knows the balancing act. Do I fix it again or do I sell it? I couldn’t, in good conscience, sell it to a private party. But to a dealer…

DAY 3: Monday, January 23, 2012

5pm. The dealer writes me a check. He knows his business and wants to buy my truck. It’s a good deal. I catch a typo on his business card. We discuss redesigning his website. I get shuttled home. I attend FHE at church and get to say goodbye to a few more friends that I missed in my hurried goodbye-ish party last Friday night. It was encouraging to see them and feel their love.

DAY 4: Tuesday, January 23, 2012

Morning. I’m fast-tracked on a small car loan from my favorite credit union. At 2pm, roommate Tim drives me to a dealer in Burbank to buy a car I’ve found. It’s not my dream car, but it has low miles and is in budget. It’s cut and dry. Test drive and buy. ’05 Suzuki Forenza. I sign the papers, Tim takes a picture, I advise my car insurance company and I drive home.

8pm. Why wait? My roommates help me pack my car again. They are extremely helpful. Everything, including my bike, fits perfectly into my new car. Not a small miracle. I drive into the night for the lights and inexpensive lodging of Las Vegas.

I hit 55,555 miles on my way to Vegas. At 1am, anything is awesome.

This is the second night of my life I’ve stayed in a Vegas hotel. I still hate the feel of the strip. But it was a nice waypoint to Utah and following a tip from St. Mike about how to book cheap but classy Vegas hotels, I landed a room that cost almost exactly the same as my actual apartment in LA. I’m still not sure what to make of that price comparison.

DAY 5: Wednesday, January 24, 2012

Wednesday morning. Sleep and shower, gas and grub. In the afternoon, I start to notice how beautiful Utah is. The sun is bright and the air is crisp. All of the roads are clear and the snow on the mountains is the only reminder of winter. For 30 minutes, a sunset joins my caravan.

8pm. I arrive in South Provo and unload my overnight bag at my friend Tanner Kay’s apartment.  He lives a block away from Amy. By 9pm, Amy returns home from school and meetings. I knock on her door and hold my breath. Nobody answers. I ring the doorbell. Nothing. I call. She has moved half a block away since I was there last. The analogy of a failed first attempt is not lost on me. Hollywood writes it like this all the time. Take two, I ring the correct doorbell. It’s take two in many ways.

DAY 6: Thursday, January 25, 2012

6pm. I strike a deal with a landlord to rent a condo 100 steps from Amy’s.

7pm. I move in. I have two bedrooms; one is an office. The owner is rarely here. It is fully furnished. It is a miracle.

In 6 days…

I packed up, broke my truck, moved back, sold my truck, bought a car, packed again, moved my life, got a girlfriend, and rented an apartment.

Because I returned home that weekend, I talked about religion with two of my neighbors and a gas station attendant in eastern California. I wouldn’t have had those chances to share my love for the Book of Mormon if I hadn’t returned to LA. I wouldn’t have been able to give them a copy of it and feel the sweet spirit of missionary work.

There were many miracles on this trip, both spiritual and physical. Too many, in fact, to discount any of them as coincidences. I haven’t written them all down here, but I have written them down. Ask me about them sometime. As my Grandpa Waters says, “Somebody up there must’ve been looking out for me.”

The lake and the fog merged. It seemed like we had driven into the clouds.

RIP, little fishy

We arrived at Scofield State Park in Spanish Fork Canyon at 7am and the thermometer read -8°F. My five layers of outerwear were barely sufficient. Amy and I drilled an 8″ wide hole in the ice with a giant two-man manual hand drill. The ice was about 8″ thick which made the drilling difficult. Later part of our group brought a gas-powered drill that saved the day.

Slowly, we all learned to fish and Amy caught a trout early on. Everyone in our crew would cheer whenever someone got a bite. I went 0 for 2 on the day. The two that got away almost broke my pole and we’re probably each 200 pounds.

By noon, the sun warmed us to where we were lounging around considering naps. My face is burnt from the clear rays.

I don’t know if I’ll ever go again, but I’m glad to add it to my experience book. I also learned that I can purchase a bear pursuit license. I like the idea of including “oh, I might pursue a bear” to my list of weekend possibilities. The funnyman park ranger at the lake reminded me that I shouldn’t pursue a bear without a license–that would be harassment.

“The perspective is that what you are doing now is not quite as important as you think it is, or as important as others think it is… because it will go away. The prominence, the money, the power, and the titles will all be stripped away. Then what are you? It’s then that I want to be something.”

Kevin Rollins, CEO of Dell

I like to imagine that these silicone robot cupcake molds are evil robots that eat you when powered by cupcake batter.

Huge thank you to Lauralee for her thoughtful thank-you gift. She didn’t need to, but I love them!

Favorite quotes from the packaging:

Take me to your eater!

And

I show you rear panel!

P.S. The heads swivel.

Here’s the next vid from Grandpa’s storytelling. Most of us in the family have heard a variation of this story in one form or another, but it’s surprising that his stories never get old for me. He tells of another time that he was transferred away from a gunner position the day before that gun post was destroyed.

I cringe inside when he mentions the guys around him that didn’t make it home. I don’t like to watch him see the memories in his head. I can tell he’s trained himself to not dwell on them too much and to move on and think of something else. He also does it, I’m confident, so that he doesn’t have to pass on those memories to his family. I’m grateful for his discretion, despite my natural curiousity.

Friends Zach and Heather know something about my preference for somewhat adventurous dates. They gave me these his and hers Snuggies with the caveat that I use them somewhere, somehow on a date and that I send them a picture or video as proof. They don’t care if they remain intact or if I repurpose them.

Naturally, challenge accepted. Future date, I hope you like fleece (Heather hates it). Also, I hope you like feeling comfortable and warm in my presence. The Snuggie will take of most of that, but I’ll be there too, within easily accessible arm’s reach.

I was fortunate to visit my grandpa in Oregon this last Christmas. He’s 88 and still as rad as ever. It had been too long since I’d seen him so I made it top priority. We asked him to tell some stories from his life while we all listened. It’s a real gem for those of us in the family. And, as usual, he gets in a couple of jokes.

My favorite part from the time I could spend with him during my visit was sitting in his house, watching him watch TV by the warmth of his wood stove. Like most of his age and era, he’s seen a lot of brutality and pain in his life, suffered poverty and misery, yet he managed to come out of it all with a loving soul and a temperament that’s quick to smile and slow to anger. His children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren all admire him for his steady hand through the years. He misses Grandma, yet I’m so thankful he’s still around for me. He is a major part of my inspiration to build and make things, and to give freely to other people of my time and talents.