Mom & Dad, Summer & Krystal

This afternoon, my parents called me at work just to tell me they loved me. My mom spoke, said my dad --who spoke intermittently in the background-- was up much of the night with a bad cough, and that they were thinking about me and wanted to call, nothing fancy, just to call. I think it's the first time they've done that.

This evening, on my way from work to downtown (SLC) for an event I needed to participate in as part of my Church calling, I called home to check in. My son answered, we spoke for a moment, then he handed the phone to his mom:

Me: Hi, I'm just calling to see how things are going.

Her: What does it matter how they're going? You're not here to enjoy it if it's going well or to help anything if it's not.

Me: Oh. Sounds like they're not going so great.

You'll be surprised to learn that--brace yourself--it deteriorated from there.
Several hours later, I was heading home listening to Elder Eyring's most recent conference talk and becoming mildly agitated about the conspicuous absence of "unity" in our home--and very aware of my role in that disunity--when I passed Trails ("A Gentlemen's Club") on 3rd West. Its digital marquee flashed:

"...TWO GIRLS ON EVERY STAGE...CALENDAR GIRLS SUMMER & KRYSTAL..."

It wasn't until the low RPMs rumbled my engine that I realized that I'd slowed from about 45 to something in the high 20s, and that I was having to consciously ennumerate the reasons why it would be just plain stupid to go in there.

So I chose more benign rebellion by turning on some Billy Idol and grabbing a pint of Häagen-Dazs Bailey's at the nearby Wal-Mart, where I lingered at the fashion mag covers in the checkout line.