The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006
UTAH

Salt Lake City
How is it that a lake can be made of salt? I probably should have asked someone while we were there. Argh. I'll have to research that when I get back. For now, it remains a mystery.* And I kind of like it like that.

Dan's in the Air Force. Have I mentioned that already? When he was in EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) school, he met this dude named Andrew. When we got to Salt Like City, Andrew took us out to dinner and then showed us the sights. Well, one sight anyway: the Mecca of Mormon Faith, the Church of Latter Day Saints, the Salt Lake Temple.

(I'm not going to get into religion here, if you're looking for God, you'll have to go elsewhere. I'm just cataloging what I saw. Disclaimer over.)

The grounds upon which the temple sits encompass about five city blocks. The temple lives up to its name. It is a palace fit for a king, or, more appropriately for a God. It is about twice the size of New York City's St. Patrick's Cathedral.

An angel made of solid gold stands atop the palace, poised and ready to blow her golden bugle when Jesus Christ returns. According to the Mormon faith, He will, and He will walk right through the gates of the temple. And the horn will alert all of Salt Lake City of his return. Make of it what you will. Believe what you will. To each his own.

All religion aside, the temple itself is very beautiful. It's image reflects in a pool of water outside the palace gate. Lit up at night, it is very peaceful. I enjoyed the aesthetics of it all immensely.

*According to Wikipedia: "The Great Salt Lake is endorheic (has no outlet besides evaporation), and therefore has very high salinity, far saltier than the ocean. The three major feeder rivers deposit around 1.1 million tons of minerals in the lake each year, and the balance of evaporated water is mineral-free, concentrating the lake further. Because of its unusually high salt concentration, most people can easily float in the lake due to natural buoyancy as a result of the higher density of the water, particularly in the saltier north arm (Gunnison Bay) of the lake."

Reno
What happens in Reno stays in Reno. Oh wait, that's Vegas. Um. Reno was cool.

Next stop ... Cali-for-ni-a!!!

Today is Ernest Hemingway's birthday. Born in Oak Park, Ill. in 1899, he is best known for his books A Farewell to Arms, The Sun Also Rises, and The Old Man and the Sea.

What is less known is that he started his writing career in 1917 after graduating from high school. His first job was as a reporter for the Kansas City Star. Although his time at the newspaper was short (he enlisted in the Red Cross during WWI and subsequently moved to Europe), he learned some important lessons while working in the news business: the importance of "short sentences, short paragraphs, active verbs, authenticity, compression, clarity and immediacy."

Of this time in his life, Hemingway said: "Those were the best rules I ever learned for the business of writing. I've never forgotten them."

After World War I, Hemingway returned to the U.S. and decided that he wanted to continue his work as a journalist. In 1921, he accepted a position as the Paris correspondent for the Toronto Star.

"[In Paris], he rented himself a room in a hotel, and every morning, after breakfast, he would walk to his writing room and work. But instead of writing stories, he just tried to write what he called "true sentences." He said, "I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, 'Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.'"

Between January and April 1922, Hemingway had composed only six sentences that he was proud of. One of those sentences read, "I have stood on the crowded back platform of a seven o'clock ... bus as it lurched along the wet lamp-lit street while men who were going home to supper never looked up from their newspapers as we passed Notre Dame gray and dripping in the rain."." [Read more at Writer's Almanac]

I have heard many anecdotes about Hemingway--about how he wrote an average of 500 to 1,000 words a day during most of his lifetime, about the time he spent in Paris, Africa, Key West, and Cuba, about his turbulent relationships and personal life. This, however, was my first time hearing this particular one.

On Ernest Hemingway's birthday, I think I'll try to write one true sentence ... who knows, it may prove to be the beginning of my next short story or (dare I say it?) ... ummm... book!

Happy Birthday EH.