Grampa's stories

So I went down to Costco on Wednesday. Gramma is working there now, and that gives me one more reason to visit the store even more frequently. That’s what I was doing. Then, I decided to grab a bite to eat, since every table was full at the Costco Food Court. It must be pretty good if so many people are eating there. I purchased my $1.50 hot dog and drink. In maybe two minutes, someone called out my number. I got my order and drenched the hotdog with all the fixings: ketchup, mustard, onions, and relish. I was enjoying my lunch, when a bunch of young men sat at the table right next to me. They talked about girls and dreams and their busy lives while waiting for their orders. I asked them if they came here often for lunch. They responded “Yes. You can’t beat the price!” which is true. Then, they got and ate their food before I finished mine. I saw people eating the chicken strips and dipping them in some sauce. Another man couldn’t finish his chicken strips and was offering the untouche...

I’m literally shaking. This was a crazy experience that happened just moments ago in American Fork.   It was a regular day. The sun was shining, and I was driving down 100 East just like I always do. Nothing spectacular or anything out of the ordinary. I passed 300 North and went on toward the gas station. I was just going under the traffic light and about to go over the railroad tracks when I heard this piercing foreign squeal blown by an oncoming train that was approaching the crossing :  Two long blasts, one short blast, and one more long blast. There were no train lights flashing, but as I looked left and right, I actually thought a train was going to slam into me and end everything. Then I noticed the train was heading north and about 100 feet from where I was. It was going slowly and continued honking its horn as the train went through the intersections and traffic stops. There was no real danger, but the moment that horn blasted in my ears it caught me by surprise, and ...

When I was a kid, a young man really, my dad used to tell me a true experience about getting an answer his prayer. This was an important time in our lives.  The business where my dad worked had gone through hard times, and he was trying to figure out what he should do. He met with a man to sign on the dotted line for a new plan to give it one more try. We attempted a number of other other avenues like antiques and group apparel specialists, but these were met with limited success. So this man had one more idea, and my dad had spent substantial time and money establishing the validity of this choice. He was going to finalize this arrangement in the morning. On my dad’s way to bed, he realized this was such an important decision, he thought that he should make it a matter of prayer. So he went down the basement to present his idea to the Lord.  As he tried to explain our situation and why this business decision was so important to our future to our family, he found that he was u...

There is a story about a farmer who consistently kept the Sabbath Day holy. And that means at times when he cut his hay and left it to dry, if Sunday rolled around and it looked like it might rain, he didn’t go to his field and bring in the hay, because it’s the Lord’s day. Now some of his neighbors seeing the pending storm did quickly gather their hay even though it was Sabbath. And he acknowledged that they were responding to the unpredictability of the weather and didn’t judge them. But he recounts that almost always, he was spared, and it did not rain on his drying hay. But I am sure that occasionally, indeed the rain did fall on the hay drying on Sunday. But even then, he willingly kept his promises to God.   Over my life, I have seen wonderful vistas and experienced many of the most incredible opportunities that were far beyond my ability to secure on my own.  The Lord has blessed me with all of you and given me strength to bear the tough times. The bounty I enjoy is bec...

When I was 11-years-old, my dad was called to be the scoutmaster in our ward. What I remember about that back then is that the troop went on monthly overnighters, and naturally I wanted to go. They went to really great local campsites and Boy Scout facilities, like Tracy Wigwam and East Fork of the Bear. Thinking it would upset the boys or leaders or something, my dad resisted my appeals, but I continued asking.  Not sure if the rules were different back then, but scoutmasters are allowed to take their own 11-year-old boys on camp-outs, so my dad said “OK Mathew. I know you want to go on a camp out with me and the scout troop, so I will make you a deal. If you help us earn the necessary money for our super summer activity, I will let you come on our two-week-long trip to the Grand Canyon.” Of course, I was elated.  What  a great trip, and I got to do it all with my dad. We earned money that summer by trimming the grass around headstones at a local cemetery. That in-and-of...

It could have been way worse. When I was just a little boy, my family would go to ward picnics on occasion. Mom prepared fried chicken or sloppy Joe’s with all the fixings. We spread out a cloth on the table in the pavilion and had a delightful meal visiting with all our friends and ward members. We used to do this in Castle Valley, too. I remember once when I was a small boy still living in Salt Lake, we went to East MillCreek Park and were having a delightful  ward  picnic. The activities committee brought the fixings to make root beer with dry ice.  The dark liquid bubbled and foamed when the dry ice was placed in a large beverage dispenser. My friends and I discovered that we could blow  smoke  out our mouths by placing a small piece of dry ice in our mouth. But I had to keep it moving in my mouth, because it was so cold it would burn my tongue if I didn’t. We were warned not to swallow the dry ice, because if you did it would burn a hole in your stomach. Th...