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A selection of pictures from Arches National Park near Moab, Utah (go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcZr15dhhq0 if you do not see a video window above)

The incredible natural beauty of Arches National Park — which I previously visited only once before in the mid-1970s on a photo expedition to Monument Valley — speaks for itself, but in our case, the adventure and unexpected delight of getting there enhanced the experience:

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During our June 2010 road trip on the U.S. mainland, my wife and I visited with our friend and fellow Laie 4th Ward member, Sister Napua Baker, who is currently serving as a senior missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the main Family History Library in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Sister Baker told us she has been given a special assignment that is particularly appropriate and pleasing to her, but let her tell it in her own words:

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(If you do not see a YouTube video window above, go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iE6o9xKChmE)

Bryce Canyon National Park in southern Utah is a great place to visit — or revisit, in our case: I first went there as a kid with my parents in the 1950s. Then, when Sally and I were on our honeymoon 40 years ago, we stopped there briefly to give the island girl her first hands-on experience with snow; and later we took some of our kids there . . . so going back recently felt very familiar.

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One of the side benefits of recently staying at Jacob Lake Inn near the North Rim of the Grand Canyon was meeting the grandson of the founders, John Rich, who used his personal experiences and 40-year career of dealing in hand-woven Navaho rugs to help us understand the concept of hozho.

Rich, pictured at left, holds up a blanket he bought several years ago from a near-80-year-old Navaho woman who asked him not to sell it until her second granddaughter graduates from high school in a year or two while wearing it.

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(If you do not see a video window above, go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-R1TzA9hdw)

On the north rim of Grand Canyon

My wife and I, along with several family members, recently drove from Las Vegas to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona. For me, it was the first time in over 45 years I have been there, and in some ways it was a bit of a pilgrimage.

But first, please note the canyon itself quickly bankrupts any decent writer of adjectives: It is spectacular, awesome, inspiring . . . on and on. Those of you who have been there know what I’m talking about. The rest of you simply have to see it for yourself, then struggle to share its majesty with others.

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I first became aware of cockroaches when I was in elementary school in Salt Lake City, Utah, and we learned to do the Mexican hat dance to the music of La Cucaracha for a May Day program. Since then,  and even though I now know they are found in many places throughout the world, I don’t remember actually seeing one until I moved to warm, tropical Samoa as a Mormon missionary in 1965.

SIDEBAR: The Samoan word for cockroach is mogamoga, while the word for Mormon is Mamona; and since colloquial Samoan often switches the sounds associated with the letters ‘n’ and ‘g’ — or mona vs. moga can be pronounced the same way – cheeky people would sometimes derisively call us mamoga.

I saw way too many mogamoga back in the day, but since moving from Samoa to perennially semi-tropical Hawaii, I’ve also spent too much effort trying to keep away from the creepy crawlers. For some enigmatic reason, I thought some of you might be interested in a few of my more insightful cockroach tales, and perhaps even add a few of your own in the comments window below:

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Just a few days ago I experienced a brief moment of cultural serendipity when a number of Fijian and Tongan women performed a Fijian coming-of-age ceremony for several young women before they performed in nearby Kahuku High’s “May Night” program. The young women came on stage wrapped in traditional masi or bark cloth, which their older relatives unwrapped, before the girls danced a Fijian meke with their classmates.

If your web browser doesn’t show a video window above, go to:

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While watching several of our grandkids recently, I recalled something we taught our kids early-on . . . BUT FIRST, I apologize for being away from my blog for a while, just in case anyone out there in the blogosphere wondered if this site is still active.

Okay, back to the grandkids: My wife, Sally, and I recently went to Hilo to participate in the baptism ceremony for Sam Makakehau Kim — one of Daisy’s four sons, for those of you who know our kids. As everyone was getting ready to go over to the stake center for the services, I was impressed to see that Sam, 8, and his two older brothers — Jonah, 10, and Hyrum, now 13 — took turns ironing their own white shirts. This ironing incident reminded me of several things:

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I’ve blogged before about my feelings and experiences on first- and second-hand tobacco smoke . . . but I have to admit I was kinda’ surprised this past week to learn there’s such a thing as third-hand smoke — tobacco smoke contamination that lingers in the environment after a cigarette has been extinguished.

A quick Google™ search reveals that many people, “particularly smokers, have no idea that third-hand smoke — the cocktail of toxins that linger in carpets, sofas, clothes and other materials hours or even days after a cigarette is put out — is a health hazard for infants and children.” In other words, long after the second-hand smoke has cleared.

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Lately we’ve been experiencing what passes here for Hawaii winter weather, and quite frankly for the fully acclimatized, it’s been down-right chilly: People wear jackets and sweaters all day long, put extra blankets on the bed at night, drink more hot chocolate, sleep with their socks on, etc.

For example…

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