Smile

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Dear Paul, Ben and Sarah, Melanie, Roice, and Bridget,

cc: file, Grandma Hafen via Tony Hafen, Pauline Nelson via mail, Sara and Des Penny, Claude and Katherine Warner, and Lloyd and Luana Warner.

Welcome to "Thoughtlets." This is a weekly review of an idea, belief, thought, or words that will hopefully be of some benefit to you, my children, with an electronic copy to on-line extended family members. Any of you can ask me not to clutter your mail box at any time.

"On Friday I received a call from the editor of one of the more widely circulated magazines in the oil industry. He was trying to sell me a one page advertisement in a specific issue of his magazine. I don't make those decisions for Continuum and so it was a wasted phone call. However, he also wanted to talk. The cynical side of me says he was looking for inside information. He really suprised me when he said, `Roice, it is so good to see you smile again, after several years of appearing to be down.' I was really quite taken back, because of two other conversations eariler in the week. However, I recovered and said, `The last few years have been a fairly significant challenge.' He responded, `For me too,' and proceeded to talk about how well we had done at the SEG Convention and said we stole the entire convention with the presentations Continuum Resources showed (.../1998/9838.html).

By the end of the conversation I almost forgot that `No success in life can compensate for failure in the home.' Maybe my friend David Devor is right, and I need to spend some time defining `success,' `life,' `failure,' and `home.' I know I don't consider any of you kids to be `failures.' I also don't consider my efforts to be completely in vain. I doubt if I would keep writing these Thoughtlets if I didn't believe the effort to have value over the longer term. In thinking about my ongoing feelings of immasculation and failure, I recall the second of three councilors your Mom and I went to did some tests, and diagnosed me as having a long-term low-grade depression. In my reading about this stuff since that time, it is my conclusion that this kind of feeling is mostly inside our own heads. Maybe the bottom line is I just need to smile more. Maybe smiling is what we all need to do more of.

Sister Grua went to work for me on Monday. She is going to take over keeping track of Walden 3-D, Dynamic Oil & Gas, HyperMedia, and my personal finances. She is also going to work on some of my personal projects, including to help me finish cleaning up the filing Melanie started this summer. Rhonda is so busy with Continuum stuff, that this stuff has kind of been left in the dust, and it is time to get it all cleaned up. When Rhonda met with her on Monday and they were talking through all of the things I am trying to do, Sister Grua said to Rhonda how good it is to see me smiling again. Rhonda told me about the conversation on Tuesday, and seconded the comment with her own observation that I seemed to be a lot happier the last weeks than the last few years. I don't feel like I am smiling any more, and it is still nice to have others point it out.

When I got home Monday, there was a message from Des pointing out the game we played was backgammon, not cribbage. Oh well! I smiled at my lack of interest in games. Later Monday evening, at Family Home Evening, Jane Moreless was back for the first time in several months (she is retired and spends most of her time on cruises, visiting her kids, and travelling around). She also made a comment about how much happier I seemed to be. Rob was at Family Home Evening, and he volunteered to give the lesson next week (tomorrow night), on his birthday. He is sure good with Janet and Mike Smith's two kids and with Paige Law. We have built some nice memories this last two years with our little Family Home Evening Group.

Wednesday I went to lunch with a researcher I have known for several years at The University of Houston, who has been working at Texaco for the last year. He talked me into being the organizer for the Gulf Coast SEG (Society of Exploration Geophysicists) Spring Symposium, which will be held in Houston the 15th and 16th of April. I selected Beef 'N Bird Rotisserie, and as we were driving there he asked me if I had seen the gastly painting with all of the ghosts. I smiled and said `yes.' Then he proceeded to tell me how wierd it was to have a painting of ghosts of people who have not been born yet. I smiled and said `I can understand how this can seem unusual.' As we sat where we could both see the painting, I mentioned I know the artist very well, and that the painting in my office (Sara's painting of the landscapes and milestones), was done by the same artist. The conversation that ensued was really interesting, and it included several things which suprised me. He reminded me that prior to his leaving the University of Houston he had taken me to lunch, and he had sought my input on how to direct his career. He is seriously following some of the things I suggested. He pointed out how many things I have been involved in starting, and how they have impacted his studies, his research, and his career. And he mentioned in an offhand way, how pleased I seemed to be with myself these days, and how much happier than a couple of years ago. By the time I got back to the office Wednesday afternoon I knew what my theme for this week's Thoughtlet was.

Thursday and Friday I spent working on a couple of papers, planning out the Spring Symposium, working with the software guys on design issues, and doing maintenance. There have been a lot of messages on my Project Mind mail list the last few weeks, and I have been averaging being between 500 and 600 messages behind. I worked on catching some of this up Thursday night, getting the list down to the 400's, and the backlog mail was back over 600 again tonight. Rhonda spent some time talking to me Friday about my budget, about all of the stuff I am trying to do, and about how much happier I seem to be lately. I tried to explain I don't feel any different. I told her about having a reasonably nice conversation with your Mother on Wednesday night, when I picked Rob up for Young Men's. I told her how Rob had asked to go on a double date to Anastasia on ice for his birthday, and how I didn't react, was simply understanding, when your Mom told me there is no way she would go with me. Rhonda sent me a nice e-mail, which I think is worth including in a Thoughtlet about smiling, for I think it captures the humor of one father. It is a story by an unknown author called A Father's Will.

`Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet, and many others adorned the walls of their family estate. The widowed elderly man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world. As winter approached, war engulfed their nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, the elderly man received a telegram that his beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic. Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season -- a season that he and his son had so looked forward to in the past -- would visit his house no longer. On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. He opened the door and was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hand. The soldier introduced himself to the old man by saying, "I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you." As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told everyone of his -- and his father's -- love of fine art work. "I'm also an artist," said the soldier,"and I want to give you this." As the old man began to unwrap the package, paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it a work of genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail. Overcome with emotion, the old man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the portrait above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars worth of paintings. And then the old man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given. During the days and weeks that followed, the man learned that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stilled his caring heart. As the stories of his son's gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease his grief, as he realized that, although his son was no longer with him, the boy's life would live on because of those he had touched. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the priceless pieces for which museums around the world clamored. He told his neighbors it was the greatest gift he had ever received. The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation, since, with the old man's passing, and his only son dead, those paintings would be sold at an auction. According to the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on Christmas Day, the way he had received his greatest gift. The day finally arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world's most spectacular paintings. Dreams could be fulfilled this day; greatness could be achieved as some could say," I have the greatest collection." The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum list... It was the painting of the old man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid, but the room was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Moments passed as no one spoke. From the back of the room came, "Who cares about that painting? It's just a picture of his son. Let's forget it and get on to the good ones." More voices echoed in agreement. "No, we have to sell this one first," replied the auctioneer. "Now who will take the son?" Finally, a friend of the old man spoke. "Will you take $10 for the painting? That's all I have." "Will anyone go higher?" called the auctioneer. After more silence he said, "Going once, going twice... Gone!" The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone shouted, "Now we can get on with it and bid on these treasures!" The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced that the auction was over. Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Then someone spoke up and asked, "What do you mean it's over? We didn't come here for a portrait of some old man's son! What about all of the other paintings? There are millions of dollars worth of art work here. We demand an explanation!" The auctioneer replied, "It's very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son... gets it all." Just as the art collectors discovered on that day...The message is still the same...the love of the Father....a Father whose son gave his life for others...And because of that Father's love...Whoever takes the Son gets it all.'

Friday evening Rob and I went to see the movie Pleasentville. The boy in the movie summarized my feelings, when he was talking to his Dad in the court room about how he must feel like something has been cut out of him, something is missing, after the Mom left. There is still a big gapping hole in my life. As I said to your Grandma Jackson, `It is as if someone reached down inside my chest, grabbed my heart, pulled it out while it was beating, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it.' As we left the movie theater, Rob acknowledged how uncomfortable he felt sitting next to me in that movie. I smiled to myself, because I understand how this movie was a little close to home in several of it's themes. I recall walking out of a similar movie at Memorial City Mall about three years ago, and walking the ten miles back to the house in anger and absolute disgust. Paul, based on your advice I not go see Titanic because of the painting scene, I expect you would find this movie quite unacceptable. There might be value to you kids seeing Pleasentville if it opens a conversation about things that you need to talk through in order to help you each heal with your own `sacred woundings' (a phrase Dr. White used at PAIRS).

Saturday Rob and I went on a Philmont prehike. I spent most of the time talking to Doug Hastings about IDEF, immersive environments, the new house I hope to build this next spring, and how this project could lead to a fundamental change to his business. I had a great time. Rob said he only went because I enjoy it and he wanted to please me. Even though he didn't talk with the guys much, I think he had a good time, and I was glad we went. He had a Haloween Party Saturday evening, and I went downtown to the Alley Theater and saw the new musical `The Civil War.' It was not particularly fun to go alone, and even though I enjoyed the musical a lot, it focused my mind on the fact I am interested in having a travelling companion to share experiences like this with (.../1998/9828.html). There are a couple of very touching scenes: where a slave is singing and you hear a whip crack and see the singer jerks her body; and where a group of freed slaves sing gospel style. I was struck by the contrast between the message and the mostly white audience. The musical presented an upbeat and touching message about the emotions tied to the Civil War, in a way that left a smile on my face as I went out to the car and drove back to Katy.

There was a nice e-mail message from Andrea Shirts Nielson from Cedar City (.../1998/9843). She attached the following story to her e-mail, titled Heaven and Hell, which one of her brothers had sent to her:

`One day while walking down the street a highly successful, executive woman was tragically hit by a bus and she died. Her soul arrived up in heaven where she was met at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter himself. "Welcome to Heaven," said St. Peter. "Before you get settled in though it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had an executive make it this far and we're not really sure what to do with you." "No problem, just let me in." said the woman. "Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in." "Actually, I think I've made up my mind... I prefer to stay in Heaven" "Sorry, we have rules..." And with that St. Peter put the executive in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell. The doors opened and she found herself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of her were all her friends - fellow executives that she had worked with and they were all dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos cheering for her. They ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where she enjoyed an excellent steak and lobster dinner. She met the Devil who was actually a really nice guy (kinda cute) and she had a great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having good time that before she knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand and waved good-bye as she got on the elevator. The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and found St. Peter waiting for her. "Now it's time to spend a day in heaven. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing. She had a great time and before she knew it her 24 hours were up and St. Peter came and got her. "So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent a day in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity." The woman paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in Hell." So, St. Peter escorted her to the elevator and again she went down-down-down back to Hell. When the doors of the elevator opened she found herself standing in a desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. She saw her friends were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks. The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her. "I don't understand," stammered the woman, "yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland of garbage and all my friends look miserable." The Devil looked at her and smiled. "That's because yesterday we were recruiting you, but today you're staff."

I hope this story brings a smile to your face, like it did mine. Today in Sunday School, Jane Moreless came and said, `Is anyone sitting next to you. ... Of course not. May I sit here.' I responded `Sure.' She then said, `Did you go out again this weekend?' I told her I went to the movie with Rob Friday and to the musical alone Saturday. She said, `Good, you need to get out. You have seemed so much happier recently.' I smiled and said to myself, `There are enough independent sources, I am going to have to believe there is a difference.' When Rob and I got back to the house, he ended up cooking an early dinner to break our fast: shake `n bake chicken drumb sticks, french fries, corn on the cob, and rice-a-roni. Then we played a game of Monoploy. I barely beat him, and he was really into the game when we finished. It took so long to play the game, I still didn't go to Stake Choir practice because I wanted to write this Thoughtlet out tonight. Both Rob and I had a big smile on our faces as I drove him back.

So in conclusion, I guess what is going on inside, shows outside more than we realize. I also expect we can adjust the inside by getting the outside to smile more. So have a good week, and smile."

I'm interested in sharing weekly a "thoughtlet" (little statements of big thoughts which mean a lot to me) with you because I know how important the written word can be. I am concerned about how easy it is to drift and forget our roots and our potential among all of distractions of daily life. To download any of these thoughtlets go to http://www.walden3d.com/thoughtlets or e-mail me at rnelson@walden3d.com.

With all my love,
Dad
(H. Roice Nelson, Jr.)

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Copyright © 1998 H. Roice Nelson, Jr.