I got pulled over by a Utah Highway Patrol Officer yesterday. Apparently I was speeding down the mountain as Highway 89 dropped me into Cache Valley. I couldn’t help it. Coming through Sardine Canyon is like coming home to heaven for me.
I was born in Providence, Utah and raised in the Valley until I was 10 and we moved to Wisconsin. My mom’s parents lived in a white farmhouse just 2 blocks away from our home– just past the merry-go-round and left at the underground house. My dad’s parents were just a few blocks further than them, up the hill from the blue-roof church.
That there is the house my parents built. I remember the wallpaper and the cats who lived under the old car in the backyard. I remember hiding my sloppy joes (ick!) in the bathroom garbage can and being caught.
I came to Utah this week to spend time with my grandparents. I just really like them, that’s all.
Meet Grandpa (mom’s dad):
Meet Grandma (mom’s mom):
And Meet Grandma (dad’s mom):
Grandpa is an excellent carpenter. I get my love of wood-working from him.
Wanna know what he builds?
GORGEOUS Caskets. For himself, for grandma, for their friends and neighbors. My grandma does the interior upholstery/stitching.
And that (sorta) morbid hobby (which he feels peace about and enjoys very much) might be related to why I came to Cache Valley this week. Although I’m in denial about the inevitable end of each life, I feel pretty strongly about spending time with these 3 special people while they are still happy and healthy.
Today’s post isn’t a “Life Hack.”
It’s just a note from me to you. About rushing down the mountain to make time count. Maybe you should do it too? I’m glad I’m here.