Mowing the Lawn

I was looking forward to reading Senator Obama's acceptance speech at the covention on Thursday night. I made a conscious decision not to watch the speech because I didn't want to be distracted by the pomp and spectacle. Thelma was watching it when I got home from work, though, so I decided to stick with it. I haven't gone back to look at the transcript yet. My immediate impressions after watching it? I felt like I was watching multiple people. On the negative side, there was the doom and gloom Obama predicting the end of the American dream if he wasn't elected. There was the ridiculous Obama insisting his candidacy is somehow a selfless act. There was the naive or disingenuous Obama claiming he could somehow pay for his giveaways by pruning government. On the other hand, there was the Obama who argued for more personal responsibility. There was the aggressive Obama willing to challenge his critics directly. There was the ambitious Obama declaring that we coul

Our garage is 16 feet high. The shelves that hold Thelma's seasonal decorations are 14 feet high. One of the many things I love about her is the way she transforms our home throughout the year to match the seasons. It's technically still summer in the Pacific Northwest so our home is accented with American flags and treasures from the beach. In a week or so I can expect to see a sudden increase in apples and freshly shaved pencils. Thelma takes the same approach to her blog. Fall is just around the corner, as is a new look and feel for her site. As long as I don't take too long, she'll probably let me tinker with building her a new template. I figure to have about two hours to get it done. Three or four hours if the book she is reading is a good one. For this blog I use the same basic template as Ammon and Melanee on Life in a Dahl House, but we have different settings. They're young and hip so they go with a black background, a modern san-serif font and ar

I'm tired of negative politicians telling me that life in America is on the brink of disaster, that no one in the world likes us, that the only hope for America is to elect some politician who can make everything better. Senator Biden's speach to the Democratic convention is just the latest example. "We learned [from our parents] the dignity of work, and we were told that anyone can make it if they just try hard enough. That was America's promise.... but today, today that American dream feels like it's slowly slipping away. I don't have to tell you that. You feel it every single day in your own lives." What a bunch of empty words. The problem is not the American dream. The problem is the American dreamers. Too many of us aren't willing to "try hard enough." It isn't sufficient for us to just "make it". We want more than we've earned so we go into debt to finance our purchases or vacations. And because we aren't wil

I may not have expected Mark's reaction to A Little Princess  this evening, but I've seen the film enough times to know how I'll react.  It's easily one of my favorite films of all time.  I had already latched onto it well before Emma was a twinkle in anyone's eye.  I'm all the more committed now that I have a daughter. I sat down earlier this evening to list my five favorite films.  Without hesitation, these three came to mind (in no particular order or preference): A Little Princess Cry the Beloved Country Twelve Angry Men The next two were harder to select.  I needed a comedy, so I decided upon  Monty Python & The Holy Grail .  ( Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure  was hard to turn down.)  My fifth choice, Wait Until Dark , is a great thriller especially if you want your date to keep a tight hold on you. I'm not a big fan of soliciting feedback, but I'll make an exception here.  Leave a comment listing your five favorite films.  How are you

All tears can't be the same. Some feel heavier than others. Some seem to evaporate as quickly as they come. Some are mass produced. Others are homemade. Tonight has been a night of new tears. I can't adequately describe what happened. I've tried every which way. We watched A Little Princess as a family. Mark became engrossed in the story. He cried at the depiction of fathers and brothers strewn in the trenches of WWI. He cried as the father and daughter were reunited. I was in tears watching him. As he lay in Thelma's arms with his eyes fixed on the screen, I watched some of his innocence disappear. I also saw his soul grow larger. I am without words. I'll leave it to Thelma to paint the picture.

I found myself pleasantly unmoved by Barack Obama's announcement that he has chosen Joe Biden as his running mate. I'm not sure Obama could have selected anyone in serious contention that would have made me more inclined to vote for him in the Fall. In picking Biden, though, he selected someone who is clearly experienced in foreign policy and generally even-handed. Both are important considerations for me. When we lived in Connecticut I used to listen to Imus in the Morning out of New York City. Biden was a frequent guest. He was never too partisan and I generally agreed with his foreign policy assessments. Thelma, Braeden and I watched him campaign (on C-SPAN) during the Iowa caucus season and were impressed on balance by his demeanor and positions. He has a reputation for verbosity and not choosing his words carefully. The Republicans and affiliated pundits will blow all that well out of proportion in the upcoming days. Some of it might stick and some of it should. I

"You know how Emma wants to learn Latin? We might find out that your Yale diploma is a certificate of participation." This is the type of loving, supporting comment I get from my wife after suggesting we move the futon into our newly painted room if the green couch doesn't match the walls. "Maybe when I die your next wife will let you do that. But probably not."

I'm guessing if you ask people to name a great summer song, most of them will come up with something loud, upbeat or sunny.  Cheryl Crow, "All I Wanna Do" or "Soak Up the Sun".  B-52s, "Love Shack".  Dixie Chicks, "Goodbye Earl".  Lynyrd Skynrd, "Sweet Home Alabama". For my money, though, the perfect summer song is R.E.M.'s "Nightswimming".  It might be none of the above, but it captures for me the freedom of driving with windows down on dark, warm summer nights.  The joyful exhaustion at the end of days spent in the lake, at the river or playing volleyball on the beach. Amazon.com Widgets Nightswimming deserves a quiet night The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago, Turned around backwards so the windshield shows Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse I remember that sense of liberty knowing there was no school, no place I had to be for hours a day. I would sleep late into the morning until the sun

And the apologies just keep on coming.  First, I was unduly rough on Canadians. Now I owe Bob (er, NBC) an apology for getting upset about the Visa commercial they played. Turns out it didn't give away the ending after all. I got an email from Richard Sandomir, a reporter at the New York Times, who asked NBC about it. (Yeah, I roll with the big boys.) According to NBC, the Visa commercial congratulated Michael Phelps on winning his 10th Olympic gold medal, making him the most decorated gold medalist in Olympic history - not tying the record for most decorated gold medalist in one olympiad. Still, I'm not letting Bob entirely off the hook. Even a mental super hero like me has a hard time keeping all the records straight and Bob doesn't help any with all of the hype and promotion.  "Phelps is now only one win away from becoming the first left-handed athlete from North Baltimore to simultaneous break a world record and expend 1392 calories in the second 50m of the 4

The Seattle Post-Intelligencer reported today on a recent survey that found location plays a role in how groceries are priced . The survey was conducted by a group of teenagers who have been meeting once a week this summer to learn "how food relates to race, class and social justice." The students visited grocery stores in the Seattle area and priced a common basket of goods. They found that stores in more affluent neighborhoods charge more money for the same products, even if the stores are part of the same chain. I don't see anything very remarkable in the findings. What does surprise me is the reaction from one of the students conducting the survey. Diana Estrada-Alamo, 16, shops for groceries near her White Center home but buys lunch in the wealthier, less diverse neighborhood around West Seattle High School where she is a student. She assumed there would be some price difference because of the areas' demographics, but was shocked it appeared to be so large.

Maybe it is because I am technically 1/8th Canadian. My grandmother was born in Medicine Hat, Alberta , although you would never know it from her anti-Canadian rhetoric. (I'll write about that another day.) Whatever the reason, I've been feeling mildly guilty about my little joke at Canada's expense in my letter to Bob . Every night is like winning my very own gold medal over those impatient Canadians who just can't wait to tune in and see how many medals they didn't win. My comments must have made their way to a bulletin board in the Canadian athletes' village. The very next day a fired-up Team Canada promptly won their first three medals of the games: a silver in men's rowing, and a silver and a bronze in women's freestyle 48kg and 55kg wrestling. I'm glad for my grandmotherland, but I have to admit it's a bit concerning to know that a combined 103kg of angry Canadian women want to beat me up.

Thelma has taken to personifying the NBC Olympic Games broadcasts by calling them Bob in honor of Bob Costas, the prime time host.  When they cut away from the third and final set of a men's beach volleyball match to show the women's 200m backstroke, she hurled a "C'mon Bob!" at the TV.  So, taking a cue from Thelma, here's my letter to NBC. Dear Bob: First of all, thank you for the 3-hour tape-delayed broadcast of the Olympics here on the West Coast.  Sure, I can watch the Olympics live on the Canadian network, CBC, but I kind of like sticking it to the Canadians by ignoring their broadcast.  Every night is like winning my very own gold medal over those impatient Canadians who just can't wait to tune in and see how many medals they didn't win. Second, thank you for putting the "Live" banner on the broadcast.  I especially like the way it sometimes shows the "live" time on the east coast and in Beijing.  It makes me feel like a time

My song of the week is "Gabriel's Oboe" from Yo-Yo Ma Plays Ennio Morricone . You can click the MP3 player below to listen to a sample. Amazon.com Widgets I was flying from Seattle to Toronto earlier this year and the album was featured on the in-flight entertainment system. I'm a fan of Yo-Yo Ma so it caught my attention. "Gabriel's Oboe" is the first song on the album. I wasn't listening for very long before I was overcome with an emotional mixture of haunt and joy. I couldn't explain it until I figured out where the song came from. The music was composed by Ennio Morricone for the 1986 film The Mission . I first came across it in 1991 when I was 17 or 18. I must have rented the VHS tape from the video store. I was overwhelmed. The film and music are beautiful. It won the Oscar for best cinematography and was nominated for best original score. But it was the story that did me in. It was the first time I realized how emotionally pow

Thelma and I were watching the preliminary heats for the 100m dash last night when a runner from Palau false started. Thelma asked me where Palau is located . I couldn't come up with a better answer than "somewhere in the South Pacific." Thankfully, I have Miss South Carolina 2007 to help me feel better about my geographical ineptitude. I didn't have a map with me. That's why I didn't know. Poor Miss South Carolina. Maybe the educational scholarships should be given out before the pageant to the people with the most need.

Someone likes me. Someone really likes me. At least one person who isn't named Thelma has read my blog. I have documented proof. Hannah left a real live, honest-to-goodness, genuine comment on my post about Angry Pasta . "Sounds like heaven," she said. Heaven. Not good. Not interesting. Heaven. It has me wondering, though. Maybe it's all relative. (The comment. Not the person. Is your wife's cousin considered a relative?) Hannah has the distinction of being one of the few people I cooked for when I was a sophomore at Brigham Young and still dating Thelma. Just about any recipe I post now will sound heavenly compared to my grilled chicken thighs complete with skin and bone. I was poor. It was the only chicken I could afford at Food4Less. My mission and a shortened summer had consumed my savings and left me little chance to work. Plus, I was saving up to buy Thelma an Orange Julius. Do you have any idea what those cost in 1995? Enough to buy a lo

Thus was he fair in his greatness... for his root was by great waters. I have made him fair by the multitude of his branches: so that all the trees of Eden, that were in the garden of God, envied him.  ( Ezekiel 31:7,9 ) I've heard Thelma talk about comfort foods or love languages.  What is the geographical equivalent? One of the Deep Places for me is Cascade Park ( view map ).  If you grew up a Mormon in the Everett area, you probably know it better simply as the Church Property or the River. It encompasses a series of terrace meadows and dense forest on the south fork of the Stilliguamish River northwest of Granite Falls .  It is a great place for camping and swimming.  As a child, I spent numerous nights each year camping at Cascade Park.  It might have been a family outing or priesthood commemoration or father/son night or a ward activity or a scout camp-out.  Other times my mom would just take us kids swimming for the day.  My sister, Megan, was even baptized there.  When I wa

I feel cheated by the fascists over at Dahl Spice .  "Recipes from the Dahl Women."  Now why would they assume that the only recipes worth posting are those from the women?  While they've been fixated on strawberry pudding , strawberry salad , strawberry soup and strawberry power sharing schemes that don't involve the men, I've been whipping up some darn good grub. I present Pasta all'Arrabbiata as my protest entry.  The term arrabbiata  means "angry" in Italian.  This is pasta in the angry style. There's really nothing sinister about it, though.  Arrabbiata sauce is angry because it traditionally includes simmered red chili peppers.  Some recipes call for chili flakes like the ones you find in pizzerias.  I like it with chilies, but I find yellow pepperoncini  burn with a milder intensity while still infusing the sauce with a good flavor.  If my kids can handle it, so can you. Here is what you need to gather: 1 lb of chopped tomatoes.  I prefer