Sparks from the Smithy

Ammon Eric Gustafson
November 5, 1967 – September 17, 2011

When Ammon’s family moved into our ward, we were both deacons. I still remember the Sunday he came into our classroom because, for a typically quiet person like me, I was uncommonly outgoing in welcoming him. We hit it off immediately. I remember how my mom used to visit with people after church, and we kids would grumble impatiently in the car for what seemed like hours until she was ready to take us home. But it wasn’t long until the family was waiting for me because Ammon and I were so engaged talking about Dungeons & Dragons, Atari, and whatever else interested young teenagers back in 1980.

Continue reading “Remembrances of Jammin’ Ammon”

We signed Gerrit up for a summer school math class at the junior high. Maybe we’re doing well on teaching the value of education, or maybe he’s just a good kid, but he hasn’t complained at all, and Shannon and I sort of feel like we’re getting away with something.
Continue reading “Value of a Math Class”

In January, my division manager invited me into his office to drop a bombshell: Logitech had decided to close the Draper office where I work, and move our operation to headquarters in Fremont, California. I was offered a nice relocation package if I would move to California, and a severance package if I wouldn’t. In my case, he added, if I wanted to work remotely, he might be able to work something out.
Continue reading “Homebody”

This week Shannon and I are celebrating our 16th wedding anniversary. We currently have the advantage of some live-in adult supervision, so we took a few days to just be us, without the kids. This doesn’t happen often. In fact, it is dangerously close to being a unique experience. The kids love vacations, and we love building family memories through outings, but sometimes Mom and Dad need to be Shannon and Eric.

Continue reading “Sweet Sixteen”

I think Elijah may have come to my Easter dinner.

Continue reading “Everybunny’s Welcome”

Do inanimate objects have spirit or life? I think at first blush the question makes me sound crazy. Doesn’t the term inanimate – no life – sum it all up? I just wonder, if things really are no-life, why does using my Grandma Pugsley’s soft green china on my Thanksgiving table give me such pleasure? I mean the dinner plates are significantly smaller than more modern styles, and these plates certainly aren’t dishwasher safe. I grew up far away from my grandparents, so although I never saw Grandma Pugsley’s table beautifully set, my parents did send me out one summer when I was 12 to visit Grandma Opal. She taught me to eat avocado on toast. Using that no-life, inanimate china, that I was told Granma bought with redeemed war coupons, makes me feel connected to her life.
Continue reading “A Grand New Baby”

Suppose you happened to be wearing a strange hat. By strange, I don’t mean a hat that dispenses some beverage or looks like a block of Swiss cheese. I mean strange like a hat that is a block of Swiss cheese and has live rats wearing clown costumes running through it. And it’s on fire. You know that when you meet up with an acquaintance, the conversation hasn’t really started until there’s been a comment or question about the hat.  Having a whopping black eye is kind of like that.

Continue reading “Shiner”

In January, Ethan slept a comfortable night in a dirty snowbank while a storm blew through the area. At the same time, I was having a rough night nearby in a heated barn on a nicely padded cot. Aside from worrying about said snowbank collapsing on my son, it was simply hard to be comfortable away from my soft bed. Maybe I just haven’t conditioned myself for abnormal sleep the way Ethan does.

Continue reading “Bedroom Camping”