Nothing Left Unsaid

I’m not normally a “nervous flyer.” And while I am not best friends with turbulence, we’re certainly not bitter enemies. If things get a little bumpy while in the air, I don’t panic, scream, or slap the person next to me. (If the in-flight movie is starring Ashton Kutcher, however, those are precisely my reactions, and I make no apology for it.) But on a recent flight, we experienced some severe commotion while in the air, and as I was thrashed back and forth, the thought actually went through my head, “Have I left anything unsaid?”

I am not what you would call emotionally reserved; so when it comes to my family, I am pretty open. I throw around the “I love yous” like I’m asking for somebody to pass the green beans! But I do it with generous sincerity. So the family, and even most close friends, are covered. But what of all the other people I know? And even those I DON’T know?

Faced with sudden, profound fear that life would be ripped from my very breath, I grasped for pen and paper and began to write down the things I had once erroneously determined were better left unsaid. Here is that list.

Dear Snider Family. Thank you for inventing In-N-Out Burgers. I love you.

Dear Lincoln. I somehow still have your MTV Party to Go Volume 2 CD that I borrowed in college. I hope you can forgive me. I certainly didn’t mean to keep it for 18 years. Additionally, over the years, I have grown increasingly embarrassed by the mere fact that it is even in my possession, due to one particularly notable track from 1992, performed by the impish hip-hop group known as “Naughty by Nature.” I believe the CD is still intact. It’s in my garage, wrapped in a brown paper bag, at the bottom of a concealed, unlabeled box. So even though I will indeed miss "setting adrift on memory bliss," as one of the other tracks suggests, it is time this treasure box of 90s dance music be returned to its rightful owner. Please be sure to remind me to give it back to you the next time you are passing through town.

Dear PetSmart. Remember when I tried to return that sharp-fanged, malevolent alien-mouse and you refused to take it back? And then you actually threatened me that if I did return it then it would most likely just be sold as snake food? I immediately marched from your store to my friend’s house and fed it to his snake. Thanks for the idea. Joke’s on you.

Dear Katy Perry. We are all super impressed. Now please cover up; your mother is thoroughly embarrassed.

Dear Heather. Many years ago you made me a mix tape. And even though I had previously made a very zealous and clear case regarding my disdain for Michael Bolton, you included a Michael Bolton song on the tape. At some point, in this life or the next, I believe you owe me an apology. Or at least an explanation.  

Dear Lady GaGa. I thought of a title for your autobiography. “Born This Way, The Devil Made Me Do It, and Other Lame Excuses for Why I’m Not Accountable for My Life Choices.” Do you like it? P.S. Nobody was born to wear a “meat dress,” m’Lady. Nobody.

Dear Lenny. When we were roommates, I always thought it was kind of strange that you dated a girl named Stevie, and then a girl named Sam. I always promised myself that if you dated a girl named Jake, I was going to say something. Anyway, I’m glad you married Harriet…though I do think it’s strange you call her Harry. Just sayin’.

Dear Jonelle. That time you accused me of buying out the store’s entire stock of Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Peanut Butter at one time and I rolled my eyes and declared you a state of preposterousness…yeah, you were dead right.

Dear Taylor Swift. I’m not your target demographic, and you made my face do this when you were on Saturday Night Live …

...but dang if I don’t find it absolutely adorable when my 7 year old belts out the lyrics to Love Story. So thank you for that.

Dear Delta Airlines. Thank you for the opportunity to reflect on those memories and emotions that had long been buried…but never died.

What things are YOU leaving unsaid?

40 Movies

For those of you keeping score at home, I turned 40 on Thursday.  Nothing much seems to have changed, really, except I think I might be having problems with my memory.  But that’s been going on for a while. I’ll find myself searching for a word that I KNOW I know, you know? But I can’t seem to find it. Anyway, for those of you keeping score at home, I turned 40 on Thursday. Nothing much seems to have changed, really, except I think I might be having a problem with my memory. Did I tell you this already?

So the idea came to me to share My Top Favorite 40 Movies. 40 Movies for 40 Years! But then I remembered how much I struggle with making lists of “favorite things.” I am horrible at it. Truth be known, I only have three things I can list as “my favorite.” 1. My favorite wife. (Katie) 2. My favorite brand of ice cream. (Haagen-Dazs) 3. My favorite Billy Ray Cyrus song. (None of them).

So the best I can offer you is 40 Movies I Like That I Conveniently Had on My Apple TV that Were Easy To Edit Together. Don’t get me wrong, these are movies that left impressions on me – whether they were instantly quotable, made me laugh, changed my perspective, haunted me, or resonated with me on some level. But I can’t say with any conviction that these are my “favorite.” And don’t try to make me! That list is fluid and ever-changing.

I’m sure you have a similar list in your head, and I’m sure it’s wildly different than mine. I’m not here to debate, just share. Unless you want to debate why I don’t have any Martin Lawrence movies on this list: because I have a very sound argument for that.

(P.S. Bishop Craig would like to make you aware that a handful of these movies must be viewed on TBS, CleanFlicks, or ClearPlay. Or else!)

So how many can you name? CLICK HERE 

Carpe What, Now?

I don’t like to get on my pedestal and publicly shame people, but I feel a moral obligation to say something here. (Also, I actually do kind of like getting on my pedestal and publicly shaming people. But only if they sit silently and let me do it. I don’t like confrontation.)

As a society, we are constantly bombarded with the diatribe of “living each day as if it were your last.” Columnists, pop singers, new-age psychologists, tattoo artists…they all think they’re some kind of “made-you-think” poets with this line. But I find this philosophy to be – how do I put this delicately? – a compost pile.

Let me paint a picture for you of what would actually happen if I lived each day as if it were my last.

1. I would be fired. Because guess what – if it’s my last day alive, I’m ditching work that day. And sometime around, oh, day 2 of me still being alive but not showing up to work, my boss would probably call. “Uhm – are you coming in today?” “Sorry, Boss. I’m living each day as if it were my last. I won’t be in.” “Uh-huh. Well, ya hippy freak, to me, today IS your last day.”

2. I would weigh precisely 500 pounds. If I know it’s my last day on earth, I am eating Crunch Berries and Chocodiles for breakfast, two rib-eye sandwiches for lunch, and a Tommy’s Burger for dinner. Five pints of Haagen-Dazs for dessert. Now, that’s a dangerous way to conduct your diet for one day; but if it just so happens to not be my last day on the planet? Well, things are going to quickly get uncomfortable and, digestionally-speaking, unpleasant for me and everyone around me.

3. My family would hate me. Imagine your child or parent calling you daily and saying, “I’m sorry to tell you this – but I’m dying. These are my final hours, and I just wanted to call and tell you how much I love you. Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me. I will miss you.” Emotional havoc ensues. Everybody is a big, weepy mess…until the next day. And the next. And the next. Then your phone call eventually receives a response like this: “There are no powers on heaven or earth that will stop me from coming over there this instant and removing any doubt that you will be taking your last breath today.”

4. Any material comforts would soon be gone – why pay my mortgage or gas bill? “Hi, Mr. Craig? This is Nevada Energy. I’m afraid we’re going to have to shut off your electricity if you don’t pay your bill today.” “Oh, do your worst. The joke’s on you! I’ll be dead tomorrow!”

5. I’d be making some powerful enemies, telling certain people exactly what I think of them. Starting with Nevada Energy, but moving on to people who set the gas prices, customer service at APX Alarm, Bill Maher, and Oprah Winfrey.

My final point to this nonsensical advice of living as if you were dying is this: H.H. Morant famously said, “Live each day like it’s your last and someday, you’ll be right.” Really H.H.? You do recognize that all those days leading up to that tragic day are days you’ll be wrong, don’t you? What kind of faulty reasoning is THAT? If you are so desperate to be right about something, why not choose an event that you would be excited about? “Live each day in your pajamas, because someday, you won’t have to go outside.” Now you’re on to something. Have Dr. Phil tattoo that on your lower back, Tim McGraw!

I'm Still Here

There are some rumors floating around out there that I haven’t posted a blog entry since March 23. These rumors are vicious, unfounded, and a little bit true. And quite frankly, I am appalled at my behavior. But to be perfectly honest and ugly, for a few weeks now, I haven’t even thought about writing a blog post. It’s not that there isn’t anything to write about, and it isn’t that I have lost the desire to write. It’s simply that I cannot for the life of me find the time.

I completely recognize how pitiful that sounds. Because everybody has that excuse. And as soon as you have to announce it and draw attention to it, it kind of weakens your proclamation. I say, let your busy-ness speak for how busy you are.

But for kicks and giggles, I’m a-gonna let you catch just a snapshot of a few noteworthy events over the last four weeks:

Started another job doing copy writing for an ad agency; excitedly worked to grow and prosper my pride and joy - the ever successful Titan Plumbing!; read Donald Miller’s “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years;” conducted the funeral for the father of a dear friend of mine; watched Date Night at the Cineplex and Paul Blart: Mall Cop at home; built a garden in our backyard (mostly Katie did this); organized my iTunes; prepared a training for Stake Priesthood Meeting; ate five pints of Haagen Dazs (not in a row); performed the wedding of two wonderful friends; wrote an article for Desert Saints Magazine about when Katie gave birth to Becca – which may or may not get printed due to it’s “graphic nature”; got an MRI and found out I have two bulging discs and one protruding; had one of my most favorite moments ever in the theater, seeing Dirty Rotten Scoundrels; whittled down what I think might be a good idea for a book to write (it’s autobiographical fiction); performed a “Ring Ceremony” at a wedding reception that was absolutely gorgeous; had dinner with a candidate running for Governor; started a new exercise routine that brings me thiiiiiis close to vomiting every time I do it; listened to my 22 month old daughter do an impression of both Napoleon Dynamite and Nacho Libre; went on a 50 mile bike ride from St. George to Mesquite; laughed when our home teacher sat on a strategically placed Whoopie Cushion that Connor brought home from Cub Scout Day Camp; felt deeper gratitude for my family and friends; and finally...decided that... yes, I will make a goal to find more time to write.

Thanks for still caring…if you’re still out there!

Alone Again, Unnaturally

Do you ever bask in the adorableness of your children and thank your lucky stars that our world is so ethically shallow as to actually cater to good-looking people – because it means your children have a bright future? Me too.

Katie and the kiddos left earlier this week to visit some of our lovely extended family members, who are both lovely and extended. And I will be joining them at a later date. It has left me alone for a few days. I miss them. And with all that silence, I have felt reflective. Well, that’s not what I felt first, obviously. No, first I felt the freedom of treating my house like it was the studio for a Men’s Underwear photo shoot, featuring me (and only me). Then I felt the freedom of eating an unjustifiable amount of Haagen-Dazs ice cream. Then I felt the freedom of watching far too many reruns of Seinfeld (I hadn’t before realized there was such a thing.) And then I felt the freedom of a house so eerily quiet, I could hear the fruit ripening on our pear tree. Outside.

And then I realized how seldom in my life I have been home alone, and how lonely an empty house is. And I felt reflective….

I was lounging in the bathroom the moment I found out I was going to be a dad for the first time. We were at my parents’ house, and it was Thanksgiving. Everybody had finished dinner, and we excused ourselves as we snuck off to the bathroom so Katie could pee on a stick. Also so she could take a home pregnancy test. (Boing! Thank you, I’ll be here all week! Don’t forget to tip your waitress!)

I will forever remember Katie’s face when she held up that little stick with the two lines. We stared at each other in complete silence, but the moment was emotionally deafening. I was thrilled and overwhelmed. Confident and vulnerable. In love and uncertain. I cried. Katie cried. There was fluid from every orifice. Me, my wife, and a baby – feeling our lives change while hanging out in a bathroom. (I had no idea in that instant how prevalent the bathroom and babies would be in our future.)

Each time one of my six children have been born, I have felt this inherent tug inside me to say something so profound – so thought provoking and weighty – that every communication medium in the world would shove a microphone in my face and ask me to repeat my brilliant insight so it could serve as the perfect sound byte for what joy feels like. But the words have never come. And they never do, not even in the small non-life-altering moments.

Like that first time you come home from work and your baby recognizes that it’s YOU and that you are somehow very important to them and you have been gone, and they squeal and their little body shakes until you hold them. I love that. Like when you watch your child timidly attempt something far removed from their comfort zone, but they exercise the hope and trust, even faith, that they will succeed and it will be fun or rewarding or wonderful. And then it is. Like when your young, inhibited son, who hesitates to ever openly demonstrate confidence completely destroys the competition in a half-mile race. Or when your 11-year old writes a poem for you for Fathers’ Day that is so personal and sweet and loving that publishing it publicly would belittle it. Or when your daughter tells you that she wants to marry somebody just like you. Or when you leave the house for two minutes to get the mail and when you come back in the house your three year old cocks his head to the side, as if he’s just read a chapter out of How to Look so Adorable Your Parents Will Give you Anything, and says, “Dad. When you were gone. I missed you.” Or when your daughter refuses to ever let you leave the house without giving you a hug and a kiss. Or when your children don’t know you are watching them, and they are just being their unguarded selves, and it is like watching lyrics being written.

My hope – and I have to believe this is true – is that in the Next Life, at our leisure, we are able to instantaneously recall each mortal moment, and almost relive it. That we will be able to readily bring to memory all of these moments. Moments that affected you in a way that you just couldn’t attach words to.

I also have to believe that in the Next Life, Haagen-Dazs is served upon your arrival. That’s just good hospitality.