Lots of new

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New ward.

New job.

New living conditions (all 5 of us in one room in my parents-in-laws' basement).

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New blog entry

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I know that some of you have a program on your computer that will signal you if someone you're watching, like me, has posted a new blog entry.

So here's one.

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The right family

For the past few months Karin has often prayed that the right family for this home and our ward/neighborhood would purchase our home. This evening Karin and I met the buyers, because they wanted to show their home to their relatives. The things they have in common with us are uncanny. They are LDS; he speaks Portuguese (mission to Brazil); they have one daughter, and the wife is expecting their second child, just as Karin and I were six years ago when we bought this home; he is an 8th grade English teacher (in fact, he taught Karin’s half brother Jordan); and he is currently attending BYU, getting his master’s degree in education administration.
I think we’ve found the right family.

Our adventure continues

Three days ago at around 5:00 PM I received a phone call from a Jordan School District area director, asking me if I would accept an administrative intern position at Eastmont Middle School. Heck yes I would! I inquired as to salary. Since I am going to be considered an intern, I will be receiving my teacher salary plus a “stipend,” which he was not quite sure of.

It turns out that not only is my good friend, who is currently an assistant principal there, suffering from yet another brain tumor and hence out of commission, but their principal is also battling cancer and will be out for a while too.

The director further informed me that the following day (Wednesday) would be my last day as a teacher, and that on Thursday I would begin at Eastmont. Whew! Talk about fast. So that morning I arrived at West Jordan Middle School extra early, packed up my belongings, wrote lesson plans, typed up general instructions, and did my best to get all things in order for the substitute and an eventual permanent hire to replace me. This wouldn’t have been as intense if it hadn’t been for the parent teacher conferences that night and the following night, which I also had to prepare for.

Telling the students good bye in each period today was difficult. I hadn’t been with them for even a month yet, and now I was telling them adios. Many were angry; many dreaded aloud that they were going to get some “fat old lady” to be their new teacher. They drilled me with questions. Many gave me good-bye hugs. And this evening’s parent teacher conferences were filled with me explaining over and over again why I was leaving so abruptly.

We have worked so hard since 2006 for this moment: the numerous applications and paperwork to get into BYU; the sucker punch of not getting a sabbatical; the endless amounts of homework; the thousands in debt we incurred; the strain on our marriage, and on the relationship with my daughters; the salary we went without for over a year (yesterday was our first paycheck since September 2007); the rejections from all districts but Jordan; waiting well over half a year for a placement. There were so many times when what we wanted didn’t happen. It has been very trying on our faith, yet at the same time strengthened it. We trust Heavenly Father more now (and not just because we got this new job). Tonight as Karin and I prayed, I remembered the fast we held back in July, where I fasted for longer than I have in years and prayed steadfastly to Heavenly Father that He would bless us with an administrative position this year (I was very specific to Him). At that time he instilled in me a faith and a trust in Him that I hadn’t felt with such power in years. I felt completely confident in and content with Him and His will. I made it clear numerous times to Him that I wanted an administrative position this year, but that His will must be done over mine. And when the school year started and I had no job, I was not bothered or worried, because I trusted that Heavenly Father had some good reason behind it (I assumed that He wanted me to do something or touch somebody specific while as a teacher at West Jordan Middle this year -- or test my patience a little longer -- and I was content with that). It felt good to let go and trust Him, having done all I could. I want to keep this practice up.

We have jumped in the river again. I can see that I’ve got let God do a little bit of the driving. I am not in total control. I am excited to see where this leads.

How do I title this?

Last Friday a couple came to look at our home. This meant that we had to leave. Karin took the girls and me to our nearby park by the pond while she went to help her sister Natalie. During our time there at the park, Molly came up to me as I was lying on the grass. She asked if she could lie on top of me and I said yes, so she prostrated herself over my torso, and about 5 seconds later threw up on my chest. It stank. Luckily we had some napkins, but the stench remained. Not 20 seconds later, Grace came running up to me and exclaimed, “I have to poo!” There we were, stranded at the park, a dad with a vomit-smelling shirt, and a daughter needing to go number two. I resolved to walk us over to a neighbor’s house where Grace could use the restroom. All in all it was a funny moment.

Blood

I donated a pint of blood this evening, only to find out that the guy who stuck me ("Eddy") put the needle in my arm wrong, bubbles got in the tube, and they're going to end up throwing out my blood! I was literally 90% done with the donation when the bubbles got in. That ticked me off. At least I got free Lorna Doone cookies and a pink bandage.

Preface to the Autobiography

A few days ago I wrote about printing the autobiography of my grandfather and giving it to my father. Here is the preface I wrote in it:

From 1957 to 1960, Samuel Brooks, Sr. undertook the task of typing recollections from his life. This summer (2008) I took it upon myself to type his 50-page autobiography into the computer to preserve his history electronically. Along the way numerous questions arose, which we answered with help from the Internet, the writings of Juanita Brooks (primarily The Life of George Brooks and Uncle Will Tells His Story), and the recollections of Blodwen Parry Olson (a relative of Sam’s). Perhaps the greatest source, however, was the information my father, Samuel Brooks, Jr., provided. This resulted in over 200 footnotes, dozens of photographs, and several appendices, which should facilitate the reader’s understanding and enjoyment in reading about my grandfather’s remarkable life.

As I typed Sam Sr.’s history and learned more about him, I found myself becoming endeared to this man with whom I never shared mortality (he died in 1962, five years before I was born). This unexpected acquaintance has been a wonderful journey. His story teaches me that life is hard yet wonderful, fleeting yet rich with experience. We must make good use of the precious little time we have in this life.

It is amazing how much the world changed while my grandfather was alive. He was born in primitive circumstances in 1886: a small Western town, horse and buggy transportation, everything handmade or worked for by the sweat of one’s brow, high infant mortality, and so forth. Nothing came easy or fast. There was no air conditioning, instant communication, cruise control, or 24-hour conveniences. By the time Sam passed away in 1962 the reality of his childhood would be obsolete. Now in 2008 things are even more changed, and more complicated.

Another interesting facet of his story came in the numerous words and phrases Sam uses that have gradually disappeared from our vocabulary. I found myself resorting to the dictionary endlessly, or asking my parents for insight and clarification.

I am grateful for the simple life my grandfather led. I am touched to learn of his involvement in the endearing intertwining of the Parry and Brooks families, which began when Edward Lloyd Parry took an orphaned pioneer, 11-year-old George Brooks, under his wing in 1856, and continued when Sam (George’s son) and Winnifred Parry married in 1919. I am humbled to know that Edward Lloyd Parry helped build three of our temples (St. George, Manti, and Salt Lake). I am awed that my ancestors were able to settle a very remote, dusty, hot St. George, and help it flourish. Even today, St. George is stamped with the Brooks legacy. We Brooks descendants come from pioneer stock, steeped deeply in the Mormon tradition and, more importantly, the Mormon faith. We are believers in the cause of Christ, and in so many examples throughout my grandfather’s history this theme is evident.

To clarify Sam Sr.’s story, my father and I added subtitles throughout his writing. In addition to his autobiography, we decided to include Sam Sr.’s journal entries from 1918 to 1920 and 1931 (beginning on page 56), where he writes in detail about his experiences during World War I and courting his wife Winnifred Parry. Enjoy this incredible trip.

- Tim Brooks, August 2008

When are we going to learn?!

Would somebody please speak out about this besides me? I am tired of going to socials, meetings, or any other sort of gatherings where the host furnishes an assortment of store-bought cookies. Naturally, the good cookies go fast. This includes the chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter cookies, sugar cookies, and sometimes even the snickerdoodles.


But there is always an abundance of left-over raisin cookies. Let's wake up, people!

Buy less raisin cookies!

The history of Samuel Brooks, Sr.

I haven't been blogging much this summer. After having finished my administrative degree in June, I was looking forward to writing in here a lot more. But something came up...

I don’t think I’ve really ever explained my major focus of this summer that just ended: the autobiography of my grandfather, Samuel Brooks, Sr. (1886-1962). Several months ago, I told my father that I would be willing to take the autobiography that his father typed in 1960 and retype it into the computer, adding photos, editing it, etc. Initially I thought I would be spending a few short hours simply typing, but as questions arose and my interest increased, my labor turned into complete absorption. All summer long I typed, read and reread, asked my dad questions for clarification, scanned photos, visited St. George for a photo-seeking tour, and scoured the Internet for additional info. After adding in Sam Sr.’s military journal, which included info about his courtship with my grandmother Winnifred Parry Brooks, dozens of pictures, and over 200 footnotes, what began as a 50-page autobiography turned into a 100-page document. My brother Pete sent it to a printing company where we had 25 copies bound in soft covers, and we gave copies to each of my siblings and their children. I was extremely pleased with our final product.

Yesterday (my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary) I presented a copy of the history to my father and mother. We read excerpts aloud, discovered facts about our family history many of us never knew, wept, and rejoiced.

I cannot help but wonder if I was perhaps some sort of small tool in the hands of Heavenly Father to help my grandfather’s story and life lessons to be told to his descendants. I look forward to meeting my grandfather someday, who died five years before I was born. But now I know him.

Homo high

My friend Will recently sent me some information about California's proposed AB 2567 bill, which would make May 22nd an official day commemorating homosexuality, bisexuality and transsexuality in California government schools in honor of the anti-religious, sexual-anarchy agenda of Harvey Milk, the late San Francisco supervisor who was a homosexual activist. Will was outraged about this. This was my reply:

Hay Will,

This whole Harvey Milk thing is udderly unbelievable, and a bunch of bull. It seems the ho-moo-sexuals will be pulling for their agenda for-heifer, or until they get their way. It really gets under my skim. I don't know... maybe we need to put this issue out to pasture for a while, or perhaps form a Graze-Straight alliance to meat-iate between the two groups. If those who are a little "light in the hoofers" successfully steak this claim, who knows what their next beef will be. I for one think it's a little jerky of them, and affirm that in no way should we cow down to them.

At any rate, I just wanted to throw in my 2%'s worth on what I consider a pour decision.

Con leche,
Timbo

P.S. If this goes through, I'll be calling in sick with you.

Why Neil Diamond and U2?

Why I like Neil Diamond

1. He writes his own stuff.
2. His songs are a familiar memory from my childhood.
3. He is not content or complacent with his success. Even at 67, he is still willing to mix it up and take risks.
4. In that vein, he is unafraid to bare his soul.
5. He sings a variety of genres: rock, pop, African, blues, gospel, country, even classical.
6. Durability and ability to adapt. He has been around for over 40 years.
7. Great voice.
8. For the most part, his lyrics are not inappropriate or explicit.
9. Fun to sing and dance to. My kids love his stuff.
10. He genuinely loves his audiences and fans.
11. His unabashed patriotism expressed in “America.”

Why I like U2

1. Passion.
2. Willingness to speak out about political issues and religion.
3. Willingness to take a stand.
4. Desire to improve humanity. Just look at the stuff Bono does regarding poverty, starvation, and disease (www.one.org). He puts me to shame with his Christ-like acts of service.
5. They have an ability to laugh at themselves, to mock their own celebrity.
6. Great voice.
7. Catchy music.
8. No throw-away songs on their albums. Their songs are full of meaningful, well-thought-out lyrics.
9. Incredible concerts, ability to connect with the crowd and create an intimate setting; overall stage presence.
10. Willingness to dream, to experiment.
11. They fight the trite and reach for art.

....

For the first time in months, the number of e-mails in my in-box is down to single digits. Feels sooooooo good.

I have been typing and editing my grandfather's history. Wonderful, interesting account. If my grandfather were alive today, he'd be 122.

Peace and love,
T.

Windows

Life is full of windows:

- To look through
- To breathe through
- To find an answer through
- To reconsider one's own life


In my life, there are four panes to my window, as explained by the Johari picture:



1) The Arena is what both others and I know about me;


2) The Façade is what I know about myself but others don't;

3) The Blind Spot is what others know about me but I am unaware of; and finally,

4) The Unknown is what neither others nor I know about me.

After this last year of my administrative program, I have had lots of my Façade chipped away, sometimes brutally. And I have had much of my Blind Spot move to either a personal or public awareness. This has been uncomfortable but very growthful.

This concept was introduced to me in a class last year, yet I have returned to it time and time again. It helps me acknowledge and understand my identity.

------------------- Side note coming:

It's fun to sing "Volaré," replacing that word with "Johari."

Hah!

Pensamentos

Going underground,
Thinking.
Much on my plate,
The future uncertain.

*

I love cool water after a fatiguing, hot summer day.

Typed Words

Embrace who you are, even if it is age.

From March 25, 2008:

The flow of the personal journal,
The meditating prayer,
The praise we give to God,
Hoping He is there.

Friendless times disappearing,
A new change up on the rise;
Syllables of Spring are waking,
And awaking my sibilant eyes.

Doubtness and Darkness departing,
Clarity taking the helm;
Godless is gone and my heart sings,
Charity breeding a calm.

Remember the cycles, for there are many

Penetrating winds of blow,
An ice cap on my chest;
Profundities too bleak to seize,
A million wished I’d have pleased
A heart well wounded throughout time
A lonely forest for the mind
A jealous guard protects the mine
And reach out on a precipice
For something more divine than this
A Voice is calling for your bliss
Not offered in the Void’s abyss
But treading gently on the moss
The ferns and cresses yield the dross
The burden weighted by the cross
That I insist to carry.

Weighted down I fear to tread
With reverence near your heavy head
For pickled brains need old adults
Whose life-tick barely yields a pulse
For duty stands to watch the wings
And silence anyone who sings
But sung I have
And sing I may
And sing will I beyond today
Not chained by food, grades, money or a Norm
So indefinable in this stimuli storm.

I am content to bake alone;
Simmer, incubate;
Find my prime and percolate;
Rise above and look beyond, --
This migrant stop is but a pond.
Move on!

Jump in the river!
And if you fall out,
Jump back in!
It just might wash away my sin
And bring me, baptized, cleansed anew
To where I should and what to do.
There is no life in stagnance
There is no joy in mud
There is no preacher worth his fluff
Whose “Sermon says” says it’s enough.

I want sunbeams Heavenward,
I want life beyond our sky;
And if my dream is trampled here,
Resurrect us both before I die.

Breathe some room in openness,
Give sway to open paths.


From 3-30-2008:

The flow of passion brings a curse,
Defamatory in name;
A bronzéd heart so cauterized,
By dancing near the flame.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I want fire in my bones
And fire in my belly

Some Poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins

He lived from 1844-1889. He dared to break rules when writing. He used his words like clay, like paint. He worked them until they became some new form. He preferred his poetry to be read aloud:




“God’s Grandeur”

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.




“Pied Beauty”

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.




“The Windhover”

To Christ our Lord

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

Sometimes we stare so long

“Sometimes we stare so long at a door that is closing that we see too late the one that is open.”

- Alexander Graham Bell

My sister looks like the lady from Enchanted

See for yourself. Photos alternate between the actress and my sister.

Soul, Link, Connection