On Monday morning, while the rest of the crew began a long day’s efforts that would culminate in another Lindsey Stirling show, Diane and I got up, showered and prepared ourselves for an excursion into Stockholm.  Jan Sven, the German bus driver, gave us directions into the city proper and even provided us with a map.  We then ventured forth, taking our lives into our hands, strangers on the streets of a foreign city.  Actually, it wasn’t like that at all, because everyone we met was so kind to us.  Everyone!  And the practically all spoke English.  From the driver of city transportation, to the lady who sold us our ticket on the subway, to the man at the turnstyles who directed us to the right train, every soul we met in Stockholm was an ambassador of courtesy.  We were to find this throughout Scandinavia.

Well, we made it across the island where we made our connection to the little island and Gamla Stan, where we headed straight for the Royal Palace.  Today we were going to meet the King and the Queen of Sweden.  What an honor.  We walked in awe through the magnificent gardens with splendid palace walls facing us on all sides – all manned by uniformed royal guards.  We approached the huge front doors of the stronghold and waited for our greeting and announcement by the staff herald into the presence of the King and Queen.  Imagine our surprise when we were told that we were not expected and that the king could not see us.  There must be some mistake I said.  “Don’t you know who I am?  I’m Lindsey Stirling’s Dad!!!  But it was to no avail.  And after repeated pleas and urgings, and under the threat of arrest and confinement in the royal dungeon, we left the palace confines greatly disappointed.  There is always next time.

We consoled ourselves by strolling the streets, and browsing through the shops of Old Town nearby.  Diane bought a warm hat, for the cooler weather of Scandinavia and we found ourselves lunch – including the BEST CHEESECAKE I’VE EVER EATEN IN MY LIFE.  And I decided to forgive the King and Queen.  I’m sure they’re as nice as everyone else here.

With the day wearing on we hiked through the city to the garden island to the Vasa Museum.  The Vasa was a warship commissioned by King Gustavus Adolphus II in 1628.  Massive in size and magnificent in appearance, it boasted firepower superior to any ship afloat – 64 cannons on three decks.  The Vasa was the pride of the King’s fleet and represented Sweden’s anticipated conquest of the seas.  On August 10, with the citizens of Stockholm lining the docks and shore and to the sounds of great pomp and celebration the Vasa was launched into the water, sailed 1,500 meters and sank to the bottom of the harbor.  It was very embarrassing!

Salvaged in 1961 after years of preservation and reconstruction efforts, the Vasa is almost 98% original.  It is awesome!  World over, there is no other historic artifact like it – a work of art and a triumph of discovery.

With the afternoon waning, Diane and I cut our exploration of Stockholm short and retraced our way back through the city, onto the subway, and to the appropriate bus to return to the Fryshuset Arena in time for Lindsey’s meet and greet and for the concert.  This time we watched the show from a more elevated view on a platform reserved for honored guests.  (It was dark so no one recognized us – or we might have been asked to leave.)

After watching the last show backstage, it was fascinating to see it come together from the audience point of view.  It is a great show, but having seen the united labors or the band, the dancers, the lighting, sound, staging, and costume people – as well as the matchless efforts and energy of Lindsey herself – I begin to appreciate it with new eyes.  Lindsey’s concert, like Lindsey herself, is a masterpiece.

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On Sunday morning we were awakened by a universal flurry of activity on the bus.  Everyone was gathering up their critical belongings for a day long trip across the Baltic Sea.  We all scurried aboard the waiting Amorella, a massive 2500 passenger ferry, while the busses and the semi were secured below decks.  Diane and I found the way to our cabin, deep in the bowels of the 10-deck ship.  By the time we emerged topside again into the light of day, the 11 hour journey had begun.

I had always wanted to go on a cruise with Diane.  This excursion from Turku to Stockholm by way of the Åland Islands was the Baltic equivalent to the Love Boat.  The food was delicious, the scenery of hundreds of tiny green islands was beautiful, and the walks on the deck were – well, breezy, cold and wet.  Hey, what do you expect?  We’re in Scandinavia.  It was awesome!  We had a great time.

By the time we arrived in Sweden it was after dark.  The moment the ship docked, the luxury cruise was over. It was actually pretty comical.  The cleaning crews immediately swarmed over every hallway and into every cabin.  I had no idea that housekeeping employed that many people.  They were everywhere, with an unspoken attitude of, “Hope you enjoyed the cruise.  Please sail with Viking Lines again.  Now, get out!” And where the Lindsey Stirling team had climbed on board together, we disembarked like rats off a sinking ship.  (Pardon that expression.) Diane and I emerged onto the upper decks, searching for a familiar face.  We found Stev-o, looking abandoned, amidst the crowd on one of the stairway landings.  Clinging to each other for security we made our war to the gang plank together, hoping the others would do the same.

Miraculously, we found the busses not far from the dock, waiting for us.  We were the first to arrive.  Gradually, everyone else joined us, stumbling off the Amorella in small groups of twos or threes, looking like displaced refugees in search of a home.  And crawling back onto the bus again felt like coming home.  We drove the venue, parked for the night, and, since most of us had gotten a nap on the ship, occupied the evening in unrivaled silliness.  This is such a fun group of people.  Yes, we were home.

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There are few things more delightful than the anticipation of a 15 hour transatlantic flight in a sardine tin – even a very large sardine tin like a jumbo jet.  (It is noteworthy to point out that the increased size of today’s airliners has made very little impact on passenger comfort, since most of that increase in size has been occupied with an increased number of passengers.  That might not be true for someone sitting in the cock pit or flying first class.  Neither of those is me.)  But since most of our vacations have consisted of a few days at Rocky Point, Mexico or camping at Mount Graham, Diane and I were genuinely delighted to be going anywhere – especially to Europe.

And we were on our way to Europe.  We left on Friday morning and arrived on Saturday in Frankfurt, Germany.  We had lost a day in our travels east.  But with a little effort we succeeded in misplacing even more time.  We’re good at it.  We missed our connecting flight in Frankfurt and had to catch a later plane to Helsinki.  When we finally arrived in Finland, it was getting late.  We lost any opportunity to see the city, but our driver, John, who met us at the airport was kind enough to give us a motor tour of the Helsinki before it got dark.  There was a lot of construction on the outskirts.  I pointed out to him that it would be a very nice town, once they got it “Finished”.  He didn’t get it.  Humor.  It is a difficult cultural concept.  Actually, Helsinki was a beautiful town.  But what truly impressed me about John – and about everyone I met in Scandinavia – is how genuinely nice they were.  My introduction to Northern Europe was perfect.  I wouldn’t have changed a thing.  I loved the people here already!

As night enveloped the city we went to the theater venue, The Circus, to meet Lindsey and the  crew.  It was so good to see her and the rest of her team – Gavi, Drew, Stev-o, and Pete – as well as Erich and the production people.  They are really a choice bunch of professionals.

Lindsey’s show was awesome, on this, the first official night of the Lindsey Stirling 2014 European Tour.  She really is a consummate performer, though the house was a little crowded.  (The plane ride had prepared me for that.)  I ended up watching a lot of the show from backstage.  When it was over the entire stage was dismantled as quickly as possible and packed onto a semi-truck, while Diane and I nestled into our places on one of the two sleeper busses that were to take this tour through Europe.

That night I was exhausted.  We stayed up for a while, visiting, joking, reminiscing and in general, being silly, until gradually, everyone shuffled back to our births in the bus and crawled inside for a good night’s sleep.  The bus rumbled across the countryside to the southeast port of Turku 13 hours away.  I nestled into my covers in the bottom bunk, across the aisle from Diane.  The vibration of the bus on the road rocked me gently into a delicious sleep.  I was an official “roadie” dreaming of the adventures the next morning would bring.

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I was first introduced to computer science as a teenager in the late 1960’s. Enrolling in a Saturday class offered by a local junior college, I learned to use Fortran and the programming techniques that communicated in binary language via punch cards. Years later, during my first years in professional advertising, I was the first kid on the block to bring a computer home for the bargain price of $500. It was an industrial grade, dedicated word processor called the Pertec 2000, which occupied the space of a table top, weighed 40 pounds, and read data from two eight-inch disk drives in an ancient tongue known to us as CPM.

One would wonder, with my extensive background in computer science, why it is that I am not an icon in the high-tech industry today. The fault could lie with the Pertec 2000 itself, which proved to be such a workhorse, that I continued to use it well into the mid-90’s. (At that point in my career I really only needed word processor.) And while I was still typing away on Word Star, all the other boys and girl were moving up to PCs and laptops. All around me people were talking bits and baud rates, workstations and networks were becoming the order of the day, and memory storage capabilities seemed to be expanding at geometric rates. A new industrial revolution was underway.

By the time the Pertec 2000 finally succumbed to the dignified demise of irreparable maintenance (and donation to a museum), I emerged from my cocoon of knowledge and skill into a world in which I had been left woefully behind. I have never managed to catch up again.

Hence, the quandary of a timeless cliché, once illustrated by humorist Gary Larson. In the classic comic, a dog is pictured performing in a circus tent. He is riding a unicycle and balancing on a high wire, while juggling several balls in the air, with a fish bowl on top of his head and a cat hanging out of his mouth. The caption reads, “High above the hushed crowed, Rex tried to remain focused. Still he couldn’t shake one nagging thought. He was an old dog and this was a new trick.”

Welcome to my world.

The Pertec 2000, iron horse of the 1980s computer industry.

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The author, captured in a moment of high-tech fascination, while providing maintenance to the legendary Pertec 2000.

The following photographs capture the essence of my fondest memories with three of the important women in my life – Jennifer, Lindsey, and Brooke.

I call this picture, “Two Big Sisters and a Baby.” This was a huge event – the new kid on the block had just arrived home from the hospital. (Can you identify each by name?)

We loved to go camping – in spite of the expressions in this picture. This is my little stair-step picture, oldest to youngest.

One of my favorite photographs ever. We took a picture like t this each Christmas. And the girls got prettier every year.

Leap ahead a few years.  By this time we had added Vladimir to the mix.  But the Santa hats are still there.  (This is another one of our holiday traditions – the annual stealing of the Ray’s Christmas tree.)

Another perfect addition to our family, Marina (left) poses with Lindsey and Brooke. Jennifer and Vladimir weren’t on hand for this picture. (We considered “photo shopping” them in. But it wouldn’t have been the same.)

All in all, it’s quite a family.  Thanks for taking this stroll down memory lane with the Stirlings.

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It has been said that all of us are only two or three people away from anybody in the world.  (It’s mind boggling how small our human universe has become.) And frankly, it would be a pleasure to have the endorsing nod of Rush or Oprah.  But it only takes me a moment’s consideration to realize that it is the honor of a lifetime to enjoy the approval and friendship of good people – like you.

Thank you, my friends for reading and enjoying my books. I may or may not ever hear from Glenn Beck or Larry King.  But I have heard from you – and that is reward enough.  I’m glad you’ve taken some pleasure from reading Persona Non Grata.

Avid fan of good literature, Matt Wright, sneaks a selfie with the author at recent book signing.

It’s nice to have friends — and I have more than 1700 of them. Who would have thought, when I began collecting about a year and a half ago, that I would have met so many nice people in such a short time. So, I now have friends from France to the Philippines, from Japan to Germany, from Turkey to Tehran. I have friends in Italy, Russia, England, India, and China. My list of friends is a veritable United Nations of Facebook contacts. I have friends in a few places I cannot begin to pronounce, and at least a couple in locations so remote I don’t think they’ve been discovered yet.

So, when I say how much I appreciate the good wishes of my international assembly of internet acquaintances with regard to my book and my book signing — I truly mean it. The comment, “I would love to come on Saturday — but I’m in Zambezee”, still means a lot to me. But now I need a few of my less distant friends to respond with equal generosity. I’m talking about friends who live distant ports of call like Phoenix, or Gilbert, or Mesa.

Therefore, I announce for one last time — or almost the last time — that I will be at the Mesa Temple Deseret Book (144 S MESA DR) on Saturday, August 23, from 12 to 2 pm. I’ll be in place there, signing books, eating donuts, and giving away free stuff. I invite anyone to join me there. I’ll be waiting with a hearty embrace and a warm smile — all in the name of international friendship and shameless merchandising. See you at the store.

My book, “Persona Non Grata” seems to be moving well and is getting rave reviews from everyone.  Well, almost everyone.  Ana Maria Lazagnita of Palermo, Italy , purchased the novel, thinking it was a Tuscan Cookbook. (That was a disappointment.)  But practically everybody else has reported “a page turning narrative that carries you to a breathtaking climax” and stuff like that.  Just look at these animated reading consumers.

Reacting to such a groundswell of enthusiasm – like sharks participating in a feeding frenzy —   teeming thousands have insisted that I do another book signing. Yes, and they are quite violent in their demands. To satisfy the blood lust of my readers, I will be doing another appearance at the Mesa Temple Deseret Book, at144 S Mesa Drive, this coming Saturday, (August 23), from 12 to 2 pm.

All the usual suspects will be in attendance, I will be serving brownies, donuts and giving away free Ultimate Catalogues, and there will be plenty of copies of Persona Non Grata and Shedding Light on the Dark Side (signed by me), which your children will regard as treasured (and valuable) keepsakes in days to come.

See you Saturday.

Last Wednesday I began my 21^st year of teaching seminary.  Now tell me honestly if I don’t look like the image of a seasoned religious educator.

Whether I do or not, I have realized for the 21^st year that I enjoy teaching teenagers.  They are bright, enthusiastic, and eager to learn.  And they are the hope of the future in a sometimes seemingly hopeless world.  Look into their faces as I do every day, and you will understand why tomorrow is a concept I look forward to.  In spite of the dark clouds which often hover over our heads, the youth of today can still point to a brilliant light on the horizon with anticipation — and it heralds a great day ahead.  We live in a day of glorious expectations and grand opportunities.  And the coming generation stands poised and prepared to seize this day and to face the coming dawn – in storm or sunshine — with faith, confidence, and courage.  As we walk with them we realize that bad times will continue to challenge us.  But because of them we may know that our best times are still ahead.

Excerpt from Persona Non Grata, Chapter 3

 (Sitting aboard an Aeroflot 767 en route to Eastern Europe, Paladin Smith contemplates his unofficial mission to find and bring home a former student from Crimea – one of the most politically unstable and dangerous places on earth.)

After stretching his legs, Paladin returned to his seat, but part of him was still restless. He needed to ease and unburden his mind a little. Frankly, he’d been busy, but he couldn’t afford to let himself get this distracted—and he knew what he’d been neglecting. He opened the overhead compartment and took out the carrying case that held his scriptures before nestling back into his seat. Unzipping the case, he removed and opened the Book of Mormon. But out of the inside cover fell an envelope he’d placed there for safekeeping.

He smiled. Another momentary distraction—as well it should have been. No document in his possession, including his passport or visa, had been harder to come by or seemed more valuable.

“What do you mean a letter of introduction?” Chase had asked him.

“Nothing in that packet gives me any justification for being six thousand miles from home in hostile territory,” argued Paladin, “except for ten thousand dollars and the shadow of your smile.”

“Isn’t that enough?” protested the congressman. “What do you need a letter for?”

“Because if everything doesn’t go smoothly, which is highly likely, I want something to fall back on.” He paused. “Congressman, surely a little three-line letter can’t be that big of a problem.” Paladin had the distinct impression that, in Chase’s entire legal and political career, he had never made any concession less willingly.

The letter, delivered by Keaton the next day, was terse and official, typed on House of Representatives stationery. It read:

To whom it may concern,                                                                                                                This letter is to present Mr. Paladin Smith to United States Ambassador Ian Keller at the American  Embassy in Rostov, Crimea. Mr. Smith will explain his business with you upon his arrival.      (signed)                                                                                                                                               Philip Chase                                                                                                                                House of Representatives                                                                                                          United States of America

Paladin smiled again and carefully replaced the letter in the envelope and returned it to the inside cover of his scriptures.

He took one more glance up at the huge GPS screen at the front of the cabin to see that the plane had left the empty expanse of Greenland and was now flying over the equally empty expanse of the Norwegian Sea. They had been in the air for almost ten hours now.

Paladin opened to 1 Nephi and began to read. He read and forgot about the flight, the map on the wall, the thousands of feet of space below him, and the strange mission ahead. His mind and spirit drifted to another time, to the journey of a family, to the quest of a young man, and to the whispered commands of God that changed the world.

He read intently, lost in the adventure, the words, and the simple faith in Jesus Christ that moved and still moves in the lives of ordinary men and women—allowing them to do the impossible. Pages turned and chapter after chapter passed before his eyes until gradually, almost imperceptibly, his eyes gently closed, and he fell into a peaceful sleep.

When Paladin slowly opened his eyes a few hours later, the 767 had passed through the latitudes over Scandinavia and well into the air space of Eastern Russia, heading south. He became instantly awake and looked at the map on the cabin wall. Mockba—Moscow was north and west of them. How long had he slept? He strained a look at his watch. 8:15 a.m., LA time. Who knows what time it was on the ground? Air speed—475 mph. Outside temperature—forty-five degrees below. Altitude—15,000 feet. The airplane was gradually descending, making a slow approach to his ultimate destination, Rostov, the capital city of Crimea, a few hundred miles ahead.

The minutes crept by as Paladin again contemplated the experience that awaited him. Soon the GPS jet was almost on top of the city point on the map. The passengers were asked to return to their seats. Paladin’s ears were stopped up. He held his nose and popped them. Yes, the plane was descending rapidly now. Rostov was below them. He could see it through the window up ahead and across the aisle. The Book of Mormon still lay open on his lap. He took the covers to close it, but the book slipped from his hands and fell open again to 1 Nephi 4. Paladin found himself staring at verse six—a scripture he’d underlined long ago. The three lines suddenly spoke volumes to him:

And I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.

Quietly, Paladin shut the book and held it on his lap with his eyes closed. Minutes went by as he uttered a silent prayer. Then he felt the jolt of the landing gear grabbing the runway as the plane touched down and rolled to a long stop.

Good Lord, he thought, his eyes still clenched tight in heartfelt plea, whatever am I doing here?

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