Blame It on the Tetons

Language is a liquid that we're all dissolved in great for solving problems after it creates the problems.

I have to admit that I've never really been a big Modest Mouse fan. Their stuff is fine, I guess, but on the whole it has never really spoken to me. I went to that one free show they did in Salt Lake where there were too many people and people got turned away and it was a big deal and whatnot. It was a pretty good show, but yeah, they've never really been my jam. (If I'm being perfectly honest, that night I enjoyed Avi Buffalo a lot more than I did Modest Mouse. So sue me.)

Anyway, with that disclaimer about my real feelings regarding Modest Mouse out of the way, their tune "Blame It on the Tetons," man, it kills me. Ever since the first time I heard the first 10 seconds it was love. I mean, pierced through the gut, felt like I had to reevaluate my life choices love.

You know that thing where sometimes you're going about your business and out of heaven there seems to descend a lyric or a line of poetry or a guitar riff or a sunset or some other perfection that is just so sublime that the very moment you experience it you think to yourself, "yes." And that yes is as affirmative a yes as you've ever yessed? It's like you've been given the chance to look at the actual thing that is casting the shadows of the wall of the cave that Plato was stuck in. And even though it may be that that yes is really just a fleeting yes, as it fleets the yes is actually Yes. You know?

To be honest I'm not sure "Blame It on the Tetons" is quite up to that level of yessitude, but I've listened to it about 30 times today (both the Modest Mouse version and Josh Ritter's cover), and for whatever reason it's been feeling pretty yessy.

The Tetons

RENOIR!!

Every time I go into or leave my office at school, I see this professor's door:

And every time I see this professor's door, I think of this scene from The Great Muppet Caper:

And every time I think of Animal being angry and shouting about missing the Rembrandt/Renoir exhibit I laugh to myself a little bit.

And after laughing to myself a little bit, I want to go look at some art rather than do my grading. 

...

Maybe if I can get things done this weekend, I can stop off in Chicago on my way out to New York to spend Thanksgiving with family. Yeah. That sounds nice. I'm gonna do that.

..

Except Chicago is in the wrong direction. hmmm. I'm gonna hafta think more about this.

Buried Alive

My 5th great grandparents Adam Welker (1771-1840) and Sarah Fletcher (1769-1840) are supposed to be buried in Henry County, Indiana. Guess who lives a little less than 2 hours from there? You guessed it. (I mean, if you guess it was me, Samuel James Dunn, then you did. If you guessed someone else, well, then, I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you.) When I found out that I have ancestors buried here in Indiana, I decided that while I'm out this way finding their graves would be a valid use of my time. Since I'm already out and about checking out the final resting places of other deceased locals, it would be only right, after all.

While on the topic of checking out the local deceased, take a look at this awesome gravestone:

Why is it so crooked? How did it get so crooked? How has it gotten to be so crooked without falling over? I have no answers, and frankly don't want any. My imagined stories are probably way better than some lame explanation about ground water and whatever else probably caused it. 

Anyway, I've spent a little time looking for Adam and Nancy's graves, mostly only to come up empty-handed and little frustrated. But again, I haven't really spent all that much time looking. This evening, I decided to change that. For my own personal FHE I decided to renew the search, scouring the internets for the cemetery where they're buried in the hopes of someday (soonish) visiting it. So far I still haven't found what I'm looking for, but I have found that there are a whole slew of Welkers buried in the Chicago Corner Church Cemetery, and at least some of them seem to be at least mildly related to me. Maybe there will be clues on their grave stones that will lead me to the ones I'm looking for. And then they will lead me to some sort of treasure. (Where's Nicholas Cage when you need him?)

In addition to this moderate family success, I've also come across a lovely local news story from 1928 that seemed like it needed wider publication. So, I've decided to reproduce it here on yo mama llama for the enjoyment of all.

"Man Buried Alive In City Cemetery Workmen Disclose"

Evidence of Struggle by Captive in Earthly Prison Found When Casket is Unearthed

New Castle Times 1928

That a man was buried alive in a local cemetery is the weird and gruesome story told by a city employee here. This man who made the startling disclosure of a man believed dead, but still alive, has witnesses who saw evidence of the fact, while working in the old North 14th street cemetery, some time ago. The horrible affair occurred about the year of 1865, according to available records.

When the city employees were engaged in he work of removing some of the bodies, so that the drain from the wading pool could be built, they came to a casket badly decomposed, that attracted their attention because of its unusual length.

As they started to prepare it for removal to another resting place, they opened its shattered lid, and found to their horror that the skeleton was laying almost face down. People are never so buried--- not even back in 1865 and this set the men to thinking.

Further investigation showed that the man had apparently turned over to brace himself on his shoulders, apparently in an effort to lift the lid of the coffin. His skeleton was in such a position as to indicate that he had been in great strain and strengthened the belief that he had been buried alive and had apparently tried to release himself from this horrible prison.

The officials on looking up the records, found that the man whose name is withheld, for obvious reasons, had died during the yellow fever epidemic about the year 1865. Further investigation shows that none of his relatives or descendents [sic] is now living.

The story told by one who requested that his name not be used, was substantiated by several others, including the workmen engaged in digging the ditch.

The remains of the body were carefully removed to another burial place and nothing was ever said of the event for fear of unwanted publicity over the spread of yellow fever.

Moral of the story, at least from my perspective: Don't get yellow fever in 1865, people can't really tell if you're dead. Also, doing family history can be fun and interesting even if it is mostly unproductive.

Concerning Some Favorite Constellations

Usually I full on hate the fall daylight savings time switch, because it means it gets dark super early. Don't get me wrong, I love being able to sleep in a bit longer, but I'm not sure that extra hour of sleep makes up for it starting to get dark at 4:30 in the pm. That said, I found this evening that being dark by 6:30 had an added benefit that I'd forgotten about: the stars come out earlier.

So this evening when I left my apartment for my customary Sunday evening constitutional, I was able to channel my inner Whitman, wandering off by myself in the mystical moist night-air and from time to time looking up in perfect silence at the stars. (That poem is very important to me, and it played a very formative part in me deciding what I want to be when I grow up.) Anyway, as I was wandering the streets, I got to thinking about constellations and which ones are/have been my favorites over the years. So I decided to write those thinkings about here.

1. Orion. Specifically Orion's belt. This is the first constellation that I consciously remember. I vividly recall being a little kid standing at the kitchen screen door while waiting to leave the house for some reason or another. It was winter, I had my coat and hat and gloves on, and the plastic/glass of the screen  door was cold to my nose (and probably tongue). As I stood there waiting I remember looking out at the sky and seeing three stars in particular that demanded my attention. I was fascinated by them. Why were they all in a line like that? From then on whenever we went outside or drove anywhere and I remembered to look at the sky, I looked for those three stars. At some point I remember Dad telling me that they were a part of the bigger constellation Orion. When he told me that I felt super proud of myself for deciding that those three stars belonged together long before I knew that the rest of the world had also decided that they did. To add to the coolness of Orion, I also found out that one of the stars in Orion was called Beetlejuice. Like the movie that I probably wasn't allowed to watch but that I had watched anyway and thought was awesome. As the nerdy little Astronomy-loving kid that I was, I wanted to learn more about Orion, and when I found out that Beetlejuice and its constellation-mate Rigel were two of the brightest stars in the northern night sky (numbers 9 and 7 respectively), well, what more could a constellation ask for? Pop culture association, cool belt, little kid pride and brightest stars. And Orion was a hunter to boot. That sealed the deal. Favorite constellation.

2. Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia became my favorite a few years later, and I can thank my sister Melanie for that. Melanie was/had recently been in an astronomy class at BYU, and while we were in Emery one summer a few of us were outside looking up at the stars. Melanie pointed out the big W in the sky and said that it was called Cassiopeia. Melanie told the story of Cassiopeia and why she got to be in the sky, and while I frankly don't remember the whole story, one part of the story stuck with me really strongly. Cassiopeia's daughter was Andromeda. At this time Andromeda was my favorite galaxy (Yeah, I had a favorite galaxy. I'm telling you, I was a really nerdy little kid...you know what, let's face it, I'm still pretty nerdy). It was enough of a favorite for me that at this time in my life I wanted to grow up and get married and have a daughter just so I could name her Andromeda. There wasn't a more perfect name. If I'm being perfectly honest, I still think it's a beautiful name, and if/when I ever get married, and if/when we ever have kids, naming one of them Andromeda may or may not be a point of discussion with the wife. But that's beside the point. The point is that when I found out that Andromeda was Cassiopeia's daughter, I had a new favorite constellation.

3. Cygnus. Cygnus the swan, aka the Northern Cross became my favorite constellation thanks to Dad borrowing a couple of telescopes from the school district and taking them up to the mountains on a ward campout. I don't remember the specifics, but I know that somehow along the way I found out that Albireo, the star at the base of the cross also known as the Cub Scout Star, was a double star consisting of a yellow and blue star (hence the Cub Scout association). I'll never forget standing in that dewy mountain meadow looking up at the sky and only seeing one star, and then looking in the telescope and seeing two, and just having wave after wave of marvel and wonder wash over me. That star was actually two stars! And they were different colors! It was about the coolest thing that I had ever learned. Naturally any constellation associated with such awesomeness was going to be my favorite.

4. Sagittarius. Sagittarius became my favorite constellation during my junior year of high school. It wasn't associated with my discovering previously unknown information about the constellation; by this point I was pretty well on top of all that stuff. Instead it was a purely aesthetic thing, i.e. I liked how it looked. I realized this while laying out on the Riverton High School football field late one night with my astronomy teacher Mr. Hinton and a few other members of my class. We were taking turns pointing out the various constellations that we could see, and after a little while the recitation of the constellations got repetitive and boring. So I started ignoring everyone else, instead looking at and considering each constellation at my own speed. When I got to Sagittarius it struck me as hilarious that this constellation, a centaur, looked like a teapot. A teapot! Plus it was fun to say. It came around to my turn to point out the different constellations (someone had to elbow me because I was thoroughly distracted from what the rest of the class was doing), and when I got to Sagittarius I burst out laughing. When Mr. Hinton asked what was so funny, I tried to explain that it was funny that it looked like a teapot, but my explanation kinda fell flat to my own ears. To my surprise Mr. Hinton started to laugh and said that he'd always thought it was funny too. Mr. Hinton had long been my favorite teacher, so when he validated me and my sense of humor in that moment, I felt really good about myself. And that's all it took. New favorite. Who knows if he actually even thought it was funny, but he recognized that I was probably feeling vulnerable and he made me feel good. So not only did I have a new favorite constellation, but he solidified his place on my list of the best teachers in all the history of ever.

5. Pleiades. For a long time the Pleiades, or Seven Sisters, had been on the short list of favorites. For as long as I have known about it (I'm pretty sure it's another one that Melanie introduced me to) I've always thought it was beautiful. I love that the tight cluster works together with the the varying levels of brightness of each star to give the constellation a sense of depth that other constellations lack. That said, it didn't become my favorite constellation until the night, almost exactly 11 years ago, when I decided I wouldn't couldn't make a career of studying astronomy. I had just walked out of the testing center at BYU having taken my 3rd or 4th physics test of the semester, and it had taken me nearly 5 hours to finish that test. While I was confident that I had done pretty well, I also knew that the struggles I was having with the subject matter weren't going away. On top of that, the level of effort I was expending just to be getting halfway decent grades in this entry level course wasn't going to be sustainable over a college degree, let alone a career. For a whole semester I had been trying to rationalize my struggles, saying that this was a weeder course and that they were trying to get the weak to drop out. I knew I wasn't going to be one of those sorry failures that couldn't hack it, so I had determined to ignore any and all thoughts to the contrary. But that 5 hour test proved to be too much, pushing me over the edge, and forcing me to admit to myself for the first time that the goal I had had since second grade of being an Astronomer when I grew up wasn't going to happen. Admitting it scared me. I had never given any thought to a backup plan. As I walked across campus back to my dorm, I looked up at the stars and there they were, those seven sisters, shining as brightly and beautifully as they ever had. At first their beauty only heightened my sadness. Up until this point I had wanted to make that beauty the center of my professional life, and now I was realizing that it wouldn't be possible. But as I continued walking and thinking and looking up at the stars, I also decided that therein was the problem: studying physics and calculus and the like was taking the beauty out of it for me. It was hiding the wonder and awe of the stars behind a curtain of numbers and Greek symbols and math. It was then that I was able to find a little comfort. I was still sad and I still felt lost and I was still a couple years away from finding a replacement field of study that I would find as fulfilling as I had hoped astronomy would be, but in that confusion there was the beauty of the Pleiades. And in that beauty there was some comfort.

Photo courtesy of Hubble

Tonight as I was strolling about town occasionally looking up at the stars and the constellations they form, my eyes naturally drifted to my favorites, those mentioned here (though Orion isn't out yet) and others. As I landed on the Pleiades and remembered our history together, I found that it continues to evoke in me a kind of nostalgic sadness. And I love that. So for that reason I've decided it maintains favorite status.

Richard G. Scott

This week Elder Richard G. Scott, a member of the quorum of the 12 apostles in the LDS church, passed away.  While I don't think that I would go so far as to say that any of the leaders of the church are my favorites, Elder Scott gave an address at BYU a little over 7 years ago that was very influential to me and was a big part of setting me on the path to where I am today.

In the spring of 2008 I was struggling to figure out my life. In January of that year I had declared myself to be an English major, but I was struggling to figure out what that meant. At the time I was leaning towards going to law school (because that's pretty much the only practical thing to do with an English major, right?), and I had even gone to a couple of pre-law functions that the law school at BYU had put on. (And no, it wasn't only because of the free Cafe Rio provided at said events.) That said, I wasn't super comfortable with the idea. (I'd probably read a few too many Grisham novels.) Anyway, I had felt good about studying English, but the decision frankly didn't make much sense to me. Luckily, I was in an "Introduction to the English Major" class that was supposed to help me figure it out. (Funny side note, I ended up failing that class. But's that's another story for another time.)

As a part of the class we all had to set up a time to meet with our respective faculty advisers, determined by last name, to discuss what exactly we were going to do with ourselves and our English degrees. So on March 18, 2008 at around 10:30 am, I walked up the four flights of stairs to Professor Keith Lawrence's office to have a chat. To be honest I was worried because I thought that I was supposed to already know what I wanted to do with my life and that he would think ill of me for not having it all figured out. So as I knocked on his door I determined that I would just own the law school thing. He invited me in, and we started chatting, and I told him that I was going to law school. I said it firmly. Confidently. I knew what was up. I wasn't one of those wishy-washy English majors that only studied English because they were too unoriginal to think of something else. No, I had a plan.

After making my declaration, he paused and seemed to sit there considering me for a time. An uncomfortable moment passed, and I wondered if I'd said something wrong. Did English professors hate law school and lawyers? Did I just offend my faculty advisor? After this pause (that probably wasn't as long as I felt like it was), he asked, "Do you want to go to law school because you love law?" His question surprised me. I mean, does anyone love law? When I didn't respond immediately, he explained that if I did that was great. His son (or son-in-law, or nephew or some relation) was in law school/was a lawyer and that said family member loved it. It was a great profession. But he cautioned me that if I didn't love it, and I only saw it as a means of getting a financially viable job, then maybe I'd better look elsewhere.

As he was saying all this I felt like he was looking directly into my soul. When he finished I admitted to him that I didn't love law, and that I really had no idea what I wanted to do, but that I knew I wanted to study English. I began to feel very uneasy. I was back at square one and had no idea what to do. So he asked me what kinds of careers I had considered over the past few years. Immediately my mind raced to wanting to be a garbage man when I was a little kid, but instead I told him how it had been my plan ever since grade school to be an astronomer, and up until right before my mission I had thought that I would go to graduate school and eventually be a professor of astronomy. (The shift away from astronomy is another story for another time.) So Professor Lawrence asked why not do the same thing, but with English.

It was an option that had never before entered my mind, but as he said it I felt the Spirit confirm in my heart that what he was saying was right for me and that I should do just that. The conversation continued from there, and I don't remember the specifics of much else that was said, but I remember very clearly feeling the Spirit as we talked and I knew that grad school/professor-dom would be my goal. As I left Professor Lawrence's office I felt full of light and that I had solid direction for the first time in months. It was a wonderful feeling. At least it was for the minute or two that it lasted.

Unfortunately, as I walked back down the stairs and started thinking about that solid plan for the future, my worries began to grow. I mean, it had made sense to be a science professor because they had actual research to do. Experiments and stuff. At the time I wasn't all that interested in the teaching side of things, but what else was there for an English fella? As an astronomer I would have looked through telescopes. And done math problems solving...things. And there was physics. But what did an English professor do? Read things? And then what? It just didn't make sense to me. I mean, while I was in Professor Lawrence's office I knew that I had felt the same still, small voice that Elijah had heard, and it was letting me know that God was on board with the idea of me pursuing this path. But as I do all too often, I was casting away my confidence, so to speak.

At this point you're probably asking, "This is all very fascinating, Sam, but you said you were gonna talk about Elder Scott and so far you haven't mentioned him at all. What's going on?" Well, just hold your horses; I'm getting there.

You see, on this particular day, March 18, 2008, Elder Scott was speaking at the weekly devotional on campus. I had planned my morning so that I could meet with Professor Lawrence and then go directly from his office to the Marriott Center to listen to Elder Scott. During that walk from the JFSB to the Marriott Center (pictured below) it seemed that I was getting more and more worried about my future and about what I would do with a degree in English with every step I took.

photo by Jaren Wilkey, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

So I started to pray.

I prayed to know whether or not I should go to grad school and hopefully someday be an English professor. I prayed to know what God wanted me to do. I should note that I firmly believe that God allows and actively wants us to make decisions for ourselves and not wait to be told what to do, so perhaps most of all I prayed that I could feel that assurance again that I had felt in Professor Lawrence's office.

I walked into the Marriott Center, and after a hymn and a prayer, I listened as Elder Scott began to speak. As he spoke, my mind wasn't totally focused on what he was saying because I continued praying, as I'd been doing during the walk over, that I could know whether what I'd thought I was feeling earlier was real.

While I was only half-paying attention, Elder Scott began to read from the Book of Mormon in Alma chapter 7. This is one of my favorite chapters in the book, so I began to press more especial attention. He specifically read Alma 7:23, which reads:

And now I would that ye should be humble, and be submissive and gentle; easy to be entreated; full of patience and long-suffering; being temperate in all things; being diligent in keeping the commandments of God at all times; asking for whatsoever things ye stand in need, both spiritual and temporal; always returning thanks unto God for whatsoever things ye do receive.

As Elder Scott read those words and began to explicate them, inviting the audience to view them as guide posts for establishing a secure foundation for life, the fears and worries and all of the doubt that I had been feeling were utterly washed away. In their stead came a confidence, an assurance and peace which passed all understanding, one even stronger than that felt in Professor Lawrence's office.

I knew that I didn't have all the answers to all of my questions, but I also knew that they would come in time, little by little, as I had patience with the Lord, tried to be humble, and did my best to keep His commandments.

As I look back now, my worries and doubts almost seem silly and trivial. But in that moment they couldn't have been more serious and vexing. And that's what is so comforting to me about the whole experience. No, it wasn't a big deal, especially when compared to the whole range of human suffering in the world. But it was a big deal to me. And in that moment I knew very clearly that God was aware of me. He knew me. He understood my fears and anxieties. Perhaps most of all, I knew that He loved me. I knew that He had a plan for me. I didn't and don't necessarily know where the plan is headed, but I do know that as I try to do what Elder Scott was teaching in that address, I don't need to be concerned. Everything will work out.

Many times in the intervening years, I have reflected back to that day, to that moment, and remember that in the face of my fears, God spoke peace to my mind and calmed my heart. From that I'm able to draw strength and comfort in the face of the unknown and the difficult.

And so, with the passing of Elder Scott, I think about how I'll miss his soul-piercing gaze and his kind and inspiring messages every conference, but I'll also retain close to my heart this experience wherein he was the conduit through which God spoke to me personally all those years ago.

Night Before 1st Day of School. Can't Sleep.

As the title might suggest, I can't sleep. I've been in bed staring at the ceiling, then the wall, then the fan, then the ceiling, then the lamp. then the empty bag of pumpkin seeds next to my lamp for the past 45 minutes and still nothing. Well not exactly nothing. See, the problem isn't that I'm not tired, it's that I can't sleep. It's not stress or nervousness or, well, allow me to explain.

The problem started last night when I fell asleep in my chair. What chair, you ask? Well, this chair:

Yes I just got out of bed to take this picture

Now usually when I fall asleep in this chair (which is often) it's not a big deal. I sleep. I wake up. No big deal. So I don't exactly know what happened last night, except that when I woke up after a couple hours asleep and ambled into my bedroom to sleep the rest of the night on my bed (yes on. not in) I could tell my neck and shoulder kinda hurt a little. I was too tired to really think much about it, so I fell asleep immediately, and that was that. But then when I woke up this morning I was in searing pain from my right shoulder and the right side of my neck. (In case you were wondering, yes I just had to do the whole look at your hands trick to remember right from left.) Any time I made any movement whatsoever the pain stabbed afresh. Well, I surmised that I'd gotten a crick in my neck from sleeping in the chair, which while it rarely happens, does so on occasion. I figured a quick soak in a nice warm tub before church would relax it right up and I could go about my business without any worries. So I ran a bath, and soaked for a few while reading C.S. Lewis' The Weight of Glory. (Great book. Well, so far at least.) But even after soaking there for a good half hour, it was still aching something fierce. Granted, it was now aching, having moved passed its stabbiness, but a near constant dull ache isn't much of an improvement. Now normally I'd give it another couple hours to soak (no, I'm not kidding), but I had places to be. So I got out of the tub, put on a shirt and tie, and figured I'd just make the best of it.

Driving turned out to be a challenge. It turns out that any time you want to turn, it's a good idea to check cross traffic. Checking cross traffic requires you to turn your head. Turning your head requires you to have a functional neck. I had no such thing. I could turn my head to the left just fine, but right? Well. No. So looking to the right required me to turn my whole body. (It's a good thing I do a lot of car dancing because I'm pretty sure it has made my hips and my whole core nice and limber which in turn made it that much easier to adjust to this new way of driving.) 

So this was how went about my day. Moving about as little as possible as I sat in on a lesson with the sister missionaries, attended the dedication of the Indianapolis Temple, fixed dinner, and generally went about my normal Sabbath Day activities. But all throughout the day the aching in my shoulder and neck never really went away. I'd massage it as best I could, knead it against the door frame, and do anything I could think to help the muscles relax, but nothing worked. It just kept hurting. 

After dealing with it all day, I decided that my best bet would be to just go to bed and let my body work itself out in my sleep. So here I am. In bed. The only problem is I can't sleep. I'll just start slipping off to sleep when I flinch or make a slight movement of some sort, and that searing pain will shoot through my arm and shoulder and neck and I'll wake right up. 

And here I was hoping to get up early and get a good fresh start on the semester. Robert Burns would probably have something to say about my situation. You know, something about mice and about men and laying plans that gang aft agley. 

Oh well. Maybe I'll try taking another bath.

Concerning Some of My Intellectual Heroes and Their Attendant Mustaches

Tomorrow I start prelims. I'm nervous. But excited. I think I'm ready? But can one ever really be ready? I dunno. But tomorrow I find out.

Anyway, when I started preparing for prelims a while back I knew that I was going to need a little extra help. So I decided to invoke the aid of three mustachioed intellectual heroes of mine. Hoping against hope that at least some of their genius came from their facial hairs, I decided grew out my mustache yet again. You know as a sort of appeal to their wisdom. So here 'tis:

Any perfectly objective analysis of this mustache couldn't help but recognize that this mustache is glorious and beautiful, easily outstripping any mustaches I've grown in the past. My only hope is that it will be enough to channel the brilliance of these three outstanding gentlemen:

Kenneth Burke:

John Dewey:

Vernon Dunn:

So here's hoping (and praying) that I do my mustachioed brethren (and father) justice over the next week or so.