I was walking alone alongside the Sevier river the other day. This part of the river was wide and slow, perfect for floating and swimming. Behind me a small way was a truck carrying a half a dozen teenagers and floating tubes. Due to some trick of the acoustics in the area, I could hear one person whistling Come Thou Fount as clearly as if he were standing behind my right ear.

Do you remember when, as a teenager, some things were just funny for no reason whatsoever? I hear one of the young ladies in the truck giggle: "Look! Some random guy! hahahaha!" The "random guy" was me. I turned and waved, and a boy said, "Dude, he can hear you! hahahaha!" They pass me by giggling like they had found the richest joke ever.

We visited the Dorton clan for Easter. There were easter eggs. There were crafts. There was a wonderful Sabbath service.

And as we were leaving, the nieces invited me to join in their game with the nephews. Princesses and Bad Guys, they called it. The girls were all princesses. The boys were all bad guys, "except," they explained to me, "for you. You're a good guy..."

The game resembled steal-the-flag; only there wasn't any flag. The princesses would get caught by the bad guys and put in jail, which the boys studiously goal-tended. The only way to get out was to be saved by another princess or, even, the good guy.

I saved Isabel from the crowd, lifted her onto my shoulders, and ran from all pursuing bad guys who wanted to capture the princess, and pursuing princesses who wanted their turn. It only takes a half dozen princesses for a good guy to realize how woefully out of shape he is... What made it worse was saving the oldest for last. Who thought of that maneuver?

When all was said and done, I joined my two most precious princesses, and started the journey home, unable to hide the smile on my face. I love my two families. 

O give me back my prophet dear, And Patriarch, O give them back;

The Saints of latter days to cheer, And lead them on the gospel track.

But ah! They're gone from my embrace, From earthly scenes their spirits fled;

Those two, the best of Adam's race, Now lie entombed among the dead.

These words repeat themselves in my mind sind my dear prophet passed away on Sunday. Gordon B. Hinckley is a man unlike any alive, and had a tremendous influence on my life. He was my prophet most of my natural life. From him, I learned much about living a truly Christian life. I miss him tremendously. I am glad that, at last, he can be with his wonderful wife again and rest from the labors of this life. He was very good to her, and they seemed very much in love.

Farewell, my dear prophet. May we meet again in happier times in the home of our Lord. 

 

Yesterday, we spent the evening together as a family. The game of the evening was a travelling story. The idea was that we would take turns adding a sentence or two to the story without looking back to remember what we had written. Both stories turned out quite funny. This one was my favorite:

Green: Keith. Red: Delores.

There was once a princess named Abigail.

She loved to sing, laugh, and flirt with the cute princes.

There was one prince that was extra nice, named Martin.

Martin lived in a big castle with lots of fast and pretty hourses.

An hourse is a horse that lives for only one hour, from foal to adult.

They came from a land that few had ever visited, and those who had spoke about it in whispers.

Abigail once said to Martin, "Would you take me to the Whispered Lands on a mighty hourse ?"

Martin refused, for there were many dangers and some of the bravest knights had been killed or lost on adventures to this land.

Not to mention, it took at least two hours to get there.

So Abigail and Martin dated in their land and are still dating to this day; their parents really hope they'll get married soon! 

I asked Delores to help me focus on my priorities this weekend. I am working on my thesis, and needed plenty of quiet time to read articles and whatnot despite the holiday languor that seeped into my bones.

I came home from work, and Delores was away. I sat beside my laptop and saw this note scrawled on the top.

Then, to my wonderment, another note was inside the laptop. This note, printed on a full sheet of paper in large letters with a vigorous exclamation point to boot, said: Keith! Read Your Book!

I suppose I will take the subtle hint seriously. 

We left gifts at our neighbor's door for several days, each day corresponding to one of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Several days into it, Delores paid the family a visit.  She knocked on the door. Our neigbor opened the door and looked at the ground before realizing that Delores was standing there. I suppose they were expecting a doorbell ditcher...

Whodda thunk? 

A while back, I mentioned Kevin's eagle project. Today was the grand ceremony. Keven and two other young men were welcomed to the Eagle's Nest in honor this evening.

The program was very neat. A gentleman brought a live bald eagle, named Liberty, and spoke with us about her and about eagle-ish things worthy of looking up to. He explained to us that Liberty was in captivity because of an injury on a power line years ago. Although in captivity, Liberty's pride was in no respect diminished. She commanded our attention by flapping her enormous wings, sending a powerful wave of air across the entire gym.

Eagles mate for life. When they migrate north to Canada, they always find their way to the exact same nest, and are fiercely loyal to their tiny family. Some aviators have sighted eagles as high as 20,000 feet, and they will at times break into a dive at speeds of over 100mph. They are far-sighted birds, and can recognize a rabbit from two miles away. I felt like this symbolized our desire to look where we are going and see with clarity the things that guide our decisions in life.

During the flag ceremony, I held Abigail in my left arm while my right hand was over my heart. I tried to snag Abigail's right hand with my fingers and press it to her heart. Her left hand was firmly ensconced in her mouth. After the ceremony was finished and we removed our hands, Abigail's right hand quickly went to her side. But her left? Oh no. That was to remain in her cheery, drooling mouth for some time yet.

The Veterans of Foreign Wars presented flags and certificates of honor to the boys. I was touched when these seven men who had served our country, and continue to give service to the community, gave what they felt was their highest honor to the boys. The Vice Commander shouted Present Arms. Each of the seven honorable old men saluted the boys. Order Arms. There was an odd sense of quietness in the air and a peaceful expression on the faces of the boys.

My father, who had visited Scotland with my mother earlier in the year, brought back patches commemorating the 100^th anniversary of the Boy Scouts in Scotland. The patches contained stylized reproductions of scetches made by Baden Powell of the very first Boy Scouts doing their activities. He gave one to Kevin and to each of the rest of us.

That is our last eagle, at least until my nephews come of age. Counting my father there are seven of us now, and a mother who has been a surrogate eagle five times. I've never regretted my eagle, and I am proud of Keven for earning his.

My favorite parts of the Christmas season are the family gatherings. Each year my grandmother hosts a Christmas celebration at a church house near her home. We get together, hear a few words from my grandma, watch the great-grandkids and a few of the rest of us share a song or a talent, and stage a nativity pageant.

The tradition is similar for the Dorton clan. We were excited to include Abigail in the nativity scene. We had borrowed a cow outfit from my sister, Marian, for halloween. We were just able to squeeze Abigail into it and she was so inocently cute that my daddy-heart melted.

Abigail's cousin, Samuel, was also a cow. As a matter of fact, there were no sheep. If we are to accept the Dorton account of the Savior's birth, the shepherds were in fact cowboys; or, more correctly, a single cowgirl, driving their herd of cattle to the inn to see the holy Child.

I had once fallen out of love with the Christmas holiday. I can't exactly say why. But watching my little child dressed as a cow, lying on her tummy, and grazing on a burp cloth, stirred something in me that I was missing. Her eyes will gaze at our tree in wonder. She sings carols with us with innocent abandon. She snuggles close and wants to be held, and for some reason, it feels more like Christmas than I have ever known.

A while back, I mentioned that my dreamed-up software company caught the attention of credit card companies and banks across the United States. It has been getting better, and funnier, since then.  I suppose one might consider placing my dream company's title in our DNS record to be a subtle and superb marketing strategy...

Our latest client: Smith's Food & Drug Stores. We received in the mail today a letter asking Having trouble deciding what to give your employees or clients this holiday season? We have the perfect answer. The answer? A Smith's Gift Certificate or Gift Card; it's the ideal gift.

Now, I cannot argue with the simple truth that a Gift Card is an ideal gift. A gift card from one of my old college jobs came as a real life-saver one Christmas. However, considering that the name K-B-Rimington Productions was made public only by my DNS record, I am thoroughly stunned to receive this kind of solicitation by none other than Smith's.

Sigh.

I suppose it will never end. At any rate, it's a jolly joke! 

We were surprised a week or so ago to receive a credit card offer from Capital One. A credit card offer, you say? This was not just any credit card offer. It was addressed to K B Rimington Productions, Attn: Keith Rimington.

I wondered: How did they know I dream of having a software business called K-B-Rimington Productions? The offer read, Congratulations on your new company. As near as I could tell, the phrase only existed meaningfully in the intro movie of the Battleship game I wrote for a college assignment.

I was doing some account management on our DNS when it came to me. When we set up kbrimington.net, I was particularly daydreamy. I registered the account under K-B-Rimington Productions and listed myself as the contact. That must be how Capital One found me.

Sneaky fellas, aren't they? 

In June, we planted our own flowerpot garden. We enjoyed watching all the little plants grow. I also came to realize that chives are a kind of onion. That meant that the pot that was half onions and half chives...yeah, it was all chives.

At length, we harvested our crop. We had enough onion to garnish one salad, and enough basil for one pot of something basil-ly. We were richly rewarded for our vigilance. My shoulders still ache from the effort.

We spent the weekend with the Dorton clan to view the General Conference of our church. After dinner on Sunday, I was playing with the nieces and nephews. The game: Let's pretend Keith is a monster and sneak past him. I lumbered around like an overgrown ape, each niece and nephew skirting by just out of reach.

In the best monster voice I could muster I cried out, "I eat little Dortons!" 

Then Erick, like a prince among his subjects, strides past me declaring, "I'm not a little Dorton. I'm a Romero. You can't eat me!"

He showed me.

We were visiting my parent's home today while they shared marvelous photographs of their trip to Scotland. One short video was of a group of dancers. Upon seeing the video, Justin remarked:

"That's just like Lord of the Rings... Lord of the Flies... no... Lord of the Dance!"