My father’s side of the family is from Utah, and I spent a weekend in Salt Lake City’s grasp a couple of weeks ago celebrating the life of my grandfather, who left us April 13th. We like to think he is up in the great beyond right now bickering with God, telling him list form all of the ways in which his efficiency on Earth could be improved. That was just the kind of guy my grandfather was. I hate that I only seem to go to Utah for funerals, because it is one of the most gorgeous landscapes I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, and the cemetery where my family is buried has a view worthy of several hundred photographs on any given day. My family helped found the town of Herriman, Utah, which is still fairly rural, and the cemetery is truly a place of beauty. If I have to die, and if my family has to die, then I am glad everybody gets to go six feet under together in such a reverent place. It was also really nice to visit my father’s grave, the first time I’ve been back to see him since he died almost seven years ago. It was a tough weekend, no doubt, but it did give me closure–and opportunities for photos!