By Jerry Mack Grubbs
As each January fades into February I find time to push the plane out of the hangar, blow the winter cobwebs out of the exhaust pipes and fly over to Fremont Island for a rendezvous with the old memories that remind me of my visit to that island in 2004. At the time I didn’t know I was going to be invited to spend the night so I didn’t take along my pajamas and toothbrush. It proved to be the longest, coldest night of my life and one I do not wish to repeat. However, it is also a night that taught me a lot about myself. Just thinking about that night reminds me of a statement that Neal A. Maxwell made after a bout with cancer. Paraphrasing his words, “It humbled me and softened me for which I am eternally grateful but I don’t kneel by my bed at night and pray to relive the experience.”
The topic of that cold February night came up as I sat in the living room this week and visited with my son. He and a close friend were the ones who came looking for me in the dark of night as they flew over a windswept Great Salt Lake. Because of the winter conditions, snow covered landing strip and moonless night, they were not able to rescue me but they provided me with all that I had asked for. I did not want the ones I love to spend the night with no knowledge of my condition or whereabouts. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as the plane circling overhead flew away carrying information that I was uninjured and at least acting rational.
The following day I shoveled snow until I only had thirty minutes of daylight left to attempt a takeoff. During the day my sons along with two dear friends made several trips to the island and air dropped supplies, snow shovel, and whatever else they thought I might need. At a prearranged time they returned and were circling overhead just incase I crashed on takeoff and needed a rescue team sent in by helicopter.
Now, four years later, I still have a small shutter pass through me as I reflect on the events that followed. I have often wished that each and every person on this earth could have a similar experience occur in their individual lives. Coming from my radio headphones, I heard the words, “We just witnessed a miracle.” My sons and friends in the plane circling overhead saw and expressed into the radio microphone what I was experiencing first hand. The miracle wasn’t born on the wings of my flying skill but on wind that came from seemingly nowhere to lift my little plane out of the icy grasp of the winter snow. The plane didn’t have enough forward motion to be flying but it was flying. Even before I had time to scan the aircraft instruments and assure myself I wasn’t hallucinating, I was thinking of the song by Bette Midler called, “Wind Beneath My Wings.”
Once in a while we are blessed to view a miracle or at least witness an event that seems to defy our understanding. But in reality there are miracles occurring each and every day of our lives. Life itself is a miracle. The recuperative powers of the physical body are miracles. The ability our minds have of capturing and storing events of the past into memory is a miracle. Today I am thankful for the miracle that I can close my eyes and be transported back to that time and place, hear the music in my head and feel the wind beneath my wings once more.
I am grateful that my miracle on Fremont Island came on the one year anniversary of my father-in-law’s passing. I have often wondered if he had anything to do with the wind beneath my wings that cold February day in 2004. It was a great blessing to have him in our home during the last years of his life. It was a cold wintry day in February when we stood by his open grave and said our last earthly goodbyes. And it was a cold windy day just one year later when someone stirred the wind beneath my wings. Regardless of what people say about miracles, the five pilots on and circling above Fremont Island that day witnessed one. I haven’t tried to understand why or how but I am very grateful. Isn’t that what miracles are all about . . . helping us learn to have a grateful heart?
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Becoming Great
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
I’m propped up with several pillows behind my head trying to breathe this morning. I have rejected my wife’s miracle cures for the common chest cold so she has left me to my own devices. It is hard to take advice from the one who exposed you in the first place. It actually reminds me of the snake that was caught on a high mountain ridge in an early winter storm. With the wind whipping and blowing snow, the snake could hardly move. A young man passed by the snake on his way out of the wintry country. “Please take me along with you; I’m freezing to death,” said the snake. “You are a snake and will bite me if I pick you up,” replied the boy. “I won’t bite you. I will be forever grateful to you for saving my life,” said the snake. Reluctantly the boy picked up the snake and carried him down off the high mountain to the safety of the warmer air below. Just as the boy set the snake down, the snake bit him. In alarm the boy exclaimed, “You said you wouldn’t bite me if I saved your life.” As the snake slithered away he casually glances back and stated, “You knew what I was when you picked me up.” Well, I knew my wife had a chest cold when I chose to sit by her on a long airplane ride last week.
But today’s clicking of the computer key board isn’t about chest colds and miracle cures. My wife and I discuss my health choices “ad nauseam” when I’m not hidden away in the family sanctuary. I know that she means well but it is like being followed to the street to make sure I will look both ways before crossing. I’m sixty-one and haven’t been hit by a passing motorist yet. Just incase I might predispose myself to some hypnotic suggestion I will be very careful on my morning walks for the next few days.
Through the hacking and coughing from the chest cold some of my thoughts are still on the beauties that surround me and on those who have helped make those pleasant images possible. Hanging in our hall is an enlarged photograph taken of a granite mountain called Half Dome located in Yosemite National Park. Ansel Adams is the photographer. He brought nature to life although his pictures were taken in black and white. Ansel was able to capture the light in such a way that his pictures absorb you into them even if you have never visited the subjects of his photographs. He once made a statement that a photograph hasn’t done its job if its image doesn’t stay with you long after it has been removed from your physical sight.
Ansel Adams had another love besides photography. It was music and more precisely the piano. He longed to be a concert pianist and often practiced six hours a day during the most bitter winter months when he couldn’t be out capturing nature through the lenses of his camera. Eventually Ansel chose photography over being a concert pianist because he concluded that he couldn’t be the greatest at both professions. These two great loves that Ansel Adams possessed reminded me of another person who shared his enthusiasm for photography and music. I guess I could call him the Ansel Adams of our family.
Our Ansel Adams’ was my brother Bill. I called him Billy Boy and in time he came to understand that my nickname for him was out of affection. I could have called him William Edward Grubbs, Jr. or even just Junior but for some reason he became known to me as Billy Boy. Bill was and continues to this day to be fascinated with photography. He has shared with me many of his best works. The difference between Bill and Ansel Adams is that my brother Bill’s pictures were often taken of places that I had visited and developed cherished memories from.
It could be a picture of a darkening sky sweeping across the Lake Powell area. Bill rushed out in the storm wind that was whipping up the sand in front of the coming rain. I can look at that picture and it brings back all the sights and sounds of that family reunion on the lake in the old houseboat called the Sand Cabin. The fact that Bill had to take his camera in to be completely disassembled to remove all the tiny particles of sand didn’t stop him from capturing that moment in time.
Or the hike in the Subway of Zion National Park when Bill stepped off in deeper water than he anticipated. The only thing visible momentarily was his tripod and camera sticking out of the water above his head as he tried desperately to save camera and film. It was to no avail. Eventually the camera disappeared below the surface but before that took place Bill captured many beautiful pictures of the scenery of the canyon. One of those prints hangs in my room and often reminds me of the times we have spent in that beautiful part of nature. The picture also calls back to mind the family and friends who I have shared those special occasions with. Once again Bill’s camera had to be taken to the professionals for thorough disassembly and cleaning.
Bill has thousands of negatives and prints that have become part of his mark on our lives. His sunset picture with the LDS Bountiful Temple in the foreground shortly after its completion was chosen to be placed in every chapel in the temple district. That same picture appeared on the wallet sized cards that explained the schedule and times that the temple was open. My brother Bill has had a few moments in the spot light as he has worked to capture the light and imagery of still-print photography. Much of what you see in his photographs stays with you long after the physical picture has been removed from your view.
Bill has had his winter mountain adventures and has been bitten by a few emotional snakes along the way like sand and water in his camera. But he has continued to take his camera and capture for each of us the energy and excitement of times past. Ansel Adams has captured in print images that have become world famous. My brother Bill has captured in print the emotion of much of my life. Along with Ansel Adams, my brother also worked in black and white. He soon learned how to develop his own prints and catalogued them by the thousands. Just like Ansel Adams, Bill’s black and white work also included the keyboard of the family piano. He loved music and would play those black and white keys for hours without being prompted. He took joy in the journey of his musical pursuits. I would rather eat two jalapeño peppers than practice the mandatory thirty minutes per day. For me, those thirty minutes seemed like three hours. What became my torture chamber was my brother’s afternoon delight. Same piano: different experience. That’s the difference between becoming great at something and just getting by. Thank you Ansel Adams and thank you Billy Boy.
I’m propped up with several pillows behind my head trying to breathe this morning. I have rejected my wife’s miracle cures for the common chest cold so she has left me to my own devices. It is hard to take advice from the one who exposed you in the first place. It actually reminds me of the snake that was caught on a high mountain ridge in an early winter storm. With the wind whipping and blowing snow, the snake could hardly move. A young man passed by the snake on his way out of the wintry country. “Please take me along with you; I’m freezing to death,” said the snake. “You are a snake and will bite me if I pick you up,” replied the boy. “I won’t bite you. I will be forever grateful to you for saving my life,” said the snake. Reluctantly the boy picked up the snake and carried him down off the high mountain to the safety of the warmer air below. Just as the boy set the snake down, the snake bit him. In alarm the boy exclaimed, “You said you wouldn’t bite me if I saved your life.” As the snake slithered away he casually glances back and stated, “You knew what I was when you picked me up.” Well, I knew my wife had a chest cold when I chose to sit by her on a long airplane ride last week.
But today’s clicking of the computer key board isn’t about chest colds and miracle cures. My wife and I discuss my health choices “ad nauseam” when I’m not hidden away in the family sanctuary. I know that she means well but it is like being followed to the street to make sure I will look both ways before crossing. I’m sixty-one and haven’t been hit by a passing motorist yet. Just incase I might predispose myself to some hypnotic suggestion I will be very careful on my morning walks for the next few days.
Through the hacking and coughing from the chest cold some of my thoughts are still on the beauties that surround me and on those who have helped make those pleasant images possible. Hanging in our hall is an enlarged photograph taken of a granite mountain called Half Dome located in Yosemite National Park. Ansel Adams is the photographer. He brought nature to life although his pictures were taken in black and white. Ansel was able to capture the light in such a way that his pictures absorb you into them even if you have never visited the subjects of his photographs. He once made a statement that a photograph hasn’t done its job if its image doesn’t stay with you long after it has been removed from your physical sight.
Ansel Adams had another love besides photography. It was music and more precisely the piano. He longed to be a concert pianist and often practiced six hours a day during the most bitter winter months when he couldn’t be out capturing nature through the lenses of his camera. Eventually Ansel chose photography over being a concert pianist because he concluded that he couldn’t be the greatest at both professions. These two great loves that Ansel Adams possessed reminded me of another person who shared his enthusiasm for photography and music. I guess I could call him the Ansel Adams of our family.
Our Ansel Adams’ was my brother Bill. I called him Billy Boy and in time he came to understand that my nickname for him was out of affection. I could have called him William Edward Grubbs, Jr. or even just Junior but for some reason he became known to me as Billy Boy. Bill was and continues to this day to be fascinated with photography. He has shared with me many of his best works. The difference between Bill and Ansel Adams is that my brother Bill’s pictures were often taken of places that I had visited and developed cherished memories from.
It could be a picture of a darkening sky sweeping across the Lake Powell area. Bill rushed out in the storm wind that was whipping up the sand in front of the coming rain. I can look at that picture and it brings back all the sights and sounds of that family reunion on the lake in the old houseboat called the Sand Cabin. The fact that Bill had to take his camera in to be completely disassembled to remove all the tiny particles of sand didn’t stop him from capturing that moment in time.
Or the hike in the Subway of Zion National Park when Bill stepped off in deeper water than he anticipated. The only thing visible momentarily was his tripod and camera sticking out of the water above his head as he tried desperately to save camera and film. It was to no avail. Eventually the camera disappeared below the surface but before that took place Bill captured many beautiful pictures of the scenery of the canyon. One of those prints hangs in my room and often reminds me of the times we have spent in that beautiful part of nature. The picture also calls back to mind the family and friends who I have shared those special occasions with. Once again Bill’s camera had to be taken to the professionals for thorough disassembly and cleaning.
Bill has thousands of negatives and prints that have become part of his mark on our lives. His sunset picture with the LDS Bountiful Temple in the foreground shortly after its completion was chosen to be placed in every chapel in the temple district. That same picture appeared on the wallet sized cards that explained the schedule and times that the temple was open. My brother Bill has had a few moments in the spot light as he has worked to capture the light and imagery of still-print photography. Much of what you see in his photographs stays with you long after the physical picture has been removed from your view.
Bill has had his winter mountain adventures and has been bitten by a few emotional snakes along the way like sand and water in his camera. But he has continued to take his camera and capture for each of us the energy and excitement of times past. Ansel Adams has captured in print images that have become world famous. My brother Bill has captured in print the emotion of much of my life. Along with Ansel Adams, my brother also worked in black and white. He soon learned how to develop his own prints and catalogued them by the thousands. Just like Ansel Adams, Bill’s black and white work also included the keyboard of the family piano. He loved music and would play those black and white keys for hours without being prompted. He took joy in the journey of his musical pursuits. I would rather eat two jalapeño peppers than practice the mandatory thirty minutes per day. For me, those thirty minutes seemed like three hours. What became my torture chamber was my brother’s afternoon delight. Same piano: different experience. That’s the difference between becoming great at something and just getting by. Thank you Ansel Adams and thank you Billy Boy.
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