Media of the Week - He's My Brutha

Pin It I was thinking of my family yesterday.

I really found myself missing them, too.

It’s funny because I can’t even remember the time that I saw my sister, Miya. All I know is that it was a long time ago.

Time goes steadily onward and days become weeks. Weeks become months. Months—if we’re not careful—can become years.

I called my brother and sister-in-law last night. It was great to hear their voices again. Granted, I just saw them this past Thanksgiving, but it was great to talk to them about what was going on in their lives and the most current events.

As I drove the byways and streets to arrive at my final destination last night—a rendezvous with a few friends—we filled each other in on the various happenings and happenstances of our lives.

Some minutes later when I finally hung up the phone, I can’t tell you how much I wanted to hop a plane and fly to New York.

I love my family so much, and my brother is simply awesome; here is just one of the reasons…



By the way, Yancy is the one singing. I thought I’d mention that just in case you didn’t know.

Photoshoot - My Brutha

Pin It There is something special about my brother. It’s something I cannot explain properly with words.

Maybe it came from being forced to share a room with him all those years ago.

But whatever the reason, it’s a connection that I cannot describe. I can only say that I love him, more than words can say. He’s my confidant. My friend. He’s my brutha.

This connection seems to be transferring to my sister-in-law…and to my nephew, too.

They Say That Today is Our Birthday

Pin It It was a while ago that I was born.

I was born alone.

Well, there were others present I’m told…my mother for instance.

If you wanted to wish her a Happy Birthing Day, you could do so here—after all—even though I was there (and the star of the day), I hear that she did most of the work…though I’m sure that that is grossly exaggerated. It would make my day (and hers) if you did so.

Fast forward to my first year teaching, which was about a dozen years ago; I decided needed a twin.

It was my first year as a teacher.

Actually, I guess it started my first year at college, but it really became popular my first year as a teacher.

You see, once per year for the first six or so years, I would need to leave school for a doctor appointment or some other reason, and it would just so happen that my twin brother would be passing though town on his way to visit my parents.

Such an amazing coincidence, really.

My class was always so excited when Jesse would come to sub for me in the classroom. Naturally I wasn’t there when he arrived in the morning, but I would hear all about the day’s exploits from my students when he’d left and I ‘returned’ after lunch or the next day.

It was always a lot of fun to hear about how the day went from their perspective.

My principal was always great about letting Jesse substitute for me, and the first time I asked her if it would be okay if he did so, she laughed and had this twinkle in her eye…that’s the moment I knew that she was a kindred spirit.

Some principals border on mind-blowing.

Jesse always was a great sub though he didn’t have the class routines down nearly as well as I did, his hair was never quite as stylish, but he was still pretty cool. Some of my students told me that they had a hard time telling the two of us apart, while others told me that it was but obvious that I was me and he was him. They told me that if the both of us were ever standing together in a room, they would be able to pick me out in a heartbeat.

For the first six or so years of my teaching, Jesse would sub for me for either a day or a half-day once a year…and you know, having Jesse come to my classroom was fun; however, Jesse stopped coming to sub about five years ago. I soon came to realize that it was simply too much work to orchestrate everything for his visits and far too exhausting for me. Therefore, I decided that Jesse wouldn’t be permitted to come to my classroom anymore. His photos were moved to a far less conspicuous location on the bottom shelf behind my desk in the corner, and I don’t talk about him with my class any longer.

They don’t ask when he’s coming to visit. And, perchance, if they do catch a glimpse of said photos, and utter statements of things such as, “You two look just alike!” I usually counter with something to the effect of, “No way, I’m far better looking.”

I doubt Jesse will ever return to my classroom in future years. I mean, he’s a great guy—being a brother and all that—but there always comes a time when one has to let siblings go their own way.

Oh, and if you wanted to see more of the images from the calendar I made for my family a few years ago, those may be viewed here. Also, you could request Jesse as a friend on Facebook, he's pretty quiet most days, but he does post occasionally. You could also wish him a happy birthday.

Yeah, I know, crazy...and just a little bit creepy, too. Just the way I like it.

How I thought It Would Be

Pin It I feel that I need to preface this post with the following.

Set your way-back clock to 9 years ago. My brother and I were both attending BYU – he before his mission for one semester, and me just having completed my degree and readying to start my first year as a certified schoolteacher.

It was a Sunday evening. We sat in apt. 210 of Centennial. I plucked away at the strings of my dad’s old 12-string guitar, and a set of chords kept repeating themselves underneath my questing fingers. Again and again these chords played, and a picking pattern emerged, filling the room with the sweet tones that that old guitar could give.

My brother, reading something for one of his classes—or perhaps just the newest Harry Potter book –stopped what he was doing, and started to hum a melody.

What happened next could only be described as magical. We had a song.

No words. No lyrics. Just a tune and some chords.

Over the next hour we wrote what came to be known as “How I Thought It’d Be.” We then recorded it…either through a set of headphones made into a makeshift microphone into an old computer, or by using our answering machine—I simply can’t remember which.

Over the course of the years, I started to save files onto hard drives, and I threw away a lot of disks; I couldn’t find the file of Yancy and me singing our song. I thought for sure that this particular disk was one which made its way to the trash heap, and was now buried deep in the earth, as part of a landfill.

Until today.

I found a disk; written on it in my all-to-familiar hasty scrawl it said, “Songs with my brother.”

I slipped the disk into my laptop.

From the speakers poured our song. The one we wrote and recorded. I can’t remember if we’ve sung it since that day we wrote it, but a friend of mine recorded a version of it in a studio after Yancy had departed to Nevada for two years, and I had moved across town.

So, today I present you with the song my brother and I wrote nine years ago. It is the original version with the hiss and the poor quality you’d come to expect from two poor college students.

And it still reminds me of how life could be…



How I thought It Would Be
Jason and Yancy Zimmerman


There’s a road somewhere lost in my past
Dusty dreams echoing in my head
Times gone by, days of carefree hearts
There’s a place, way back far in my mind.

Standing tall holding her hand with mine
I act brave, leaving for the first time.
I say goodbye, tears on the windowpane.
Feel my heart, with her it will always stay.
(with her it will always stay)

Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought I never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…

Time goes by, by like the Autumn leaves,
Memories of how I’d thought it’d be.
But for now, I wish I could make it change
In our hearts, I pray that we are the same.

Softly falls the gentle winter snow
Iced inside warm hearts need to know,
Of the love, of family oh so dear
In our hearts, we need to know they’re near.

Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought I never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…

I stand outside the home that’s no longer mine,
feel the breeze, the same blowing from my mind.
I wish the thoughts of those days would not fade
As I grow old the world turns to gray.

Keep hanging onto dreams of my old home,
Back when I thought we never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…

We keep hanging onto dreams of our old home,
Back when we thought we never would grow old,
Things were perfect like a summer morning…

Then it changed without a warning.
Then it changed without a warning.

The Winds that Blow

Pin It The frivolous snow tumbles down from the darkened sky as the smells of fresh Tortellini Soup drifts about the house mixed with the aroma of freshly-baked rolls. Christmas lights twinkle from the tree in the living room while the strains of Alison Krauss drift lazily about the air—mixing into a potpourri of deliciousness.

I dipped the last few cake bites in the ambrosia chocolate; as I placed them on the waxed paper to cool, the front door opened. At first I thought it must have been of its own accord; not shut properly and hence blown open from the gusts of wintry wind. However, instead of a misguided storm as an assailant, three family members pushed through door, laden down with bags and blankets, with them came a few crystalline flakes which immediately began to melt upon touching down in the warmed interior.

I find that words now fail me with this overwhelming feeling of thankfulness—gratitude for siblings—for the love parents here and absent—for family.

The warm interior of the house now has yet another sense added into it—a new sensation to blend like marshmallows in velvety hot chocolate and wrapped in a cocoon of eiderdown.

This is Thanksgiving.

Repost - The Highest form of flattery

Pin It When Mom first started getting really sick two years ago, my dad called and told us; I took a leave of absence from work for a week and flew home in order to spend time with her. When I finally came back to my classroom, I was surprised by what awaited me.

Repost - Breakfast with Dad

Pin It This excursion to The Hoot Owl was during a period of time when Mom’s health had first become precarious because of the cancer, and I had left my classroom for a week because the doctors had said she wouldn’t be around very long—in fact, they’d given her between one and eight weeks in which to live. Who would have guessed that she would have outlived their longest estimations by nearly 21 months?

Even as I read over this particular post, it reminds me of the month that I spent up in Sandpoint, and the final days I was able to spend with her before she died.

I still miss her.

Originally posted on Sunday, October 28, 2007

The morning would bring with it an excitement like Christmas - and yet sadness too, like the last day of school in the spring. This bittersweet feeling came all because of something my dad had whispered to Yancy and me late the night before, “Tomorrow we go to the Hoot Owl.” This small statement, coupled with the fact that my flight took off later that afternoon, had me feeling a mix of emotion.

So, what's The Hoot Owl? To answer that you would need to imagine one of those little restaurants which you can only seem to find in small towns. One of those places which has been run by the same family for years and the menu doesn’t ever seem to change…it’s like stepping back in time to a place that never seems to age, no matter how much you do.

On Saturday morning I was the first awake, and I carefully awoke my brother and dad. I felt like I did back when I was just a kid…trying so hard to be so quiet on Christmas morning, and yet wanting to be loud so we could get things rolling. It didn’t take long before the two of them were wide awake and we slipped off into the early morning mist and the shadows which still covered the sleepy neighborhood on Red Clover Drive.

As we drove to The Hoot Owl the sun slowly broke into life, rising ever so leisurely with its first rays of morning reaching over the mountains to linger on the treetops, orange and yellow. We parked in the dirt lot next door, and made our way to the brightly-lit restaurant which greeted us not only with warmth from the chilly October air, but a bundle of smells which all spelled breakfast.

Years ago my dad used to joke with us, telling us that each of the flies which always buzzed about this café all had names, and were personally trained by the family, being kept in little cages at night and released every morning to greet the customers. Though the thought of flies in a restaurant may sound nauseating, this is just one of the small things about this little restaurant which gives it a feeling of home. I’m sure that a part of this sentiment is due to the fact that it is a place that I’ve only been to with my dad before, and no matter how old we get we hold on to traditions—even those which have only been in existence for a few years.

My dad, my brother, and I sat there and talked over our steaming plates of breakfast. We didn’t necessarily discuss anything which was life-changing, or anything which was incredibly profound…we just talked. Many moments I just listened to what was being said. Amidst spills of water and maple syrup, laughter and deep thought, and friendly greetings from other people my dad and brother knew, we had the opportunity spend a last little while together before I left for Utah…this is something which doesn’t seem to happen near enough with my dad.

As we walked outside once-again into the chilly October morning, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. As I climbed into the rental car, fired up the engine, and began the two-hour drive to the Spokane Airport, I thought of how fortunate I was to have a family who cares about me, and one I care about back. Already in my mind I was anticipating breakfast at some future time again with my dad and brother at The Hoot Owl.

Grimaldi's and the Brooklyn Bridge

Pin It My brother got off work late and we decided to head out for a delayed dinner—we ventured into Brooklyn via the subway under the channel, and ended up somewhere near Old Fulton Street—or as my brother said…just the place we wanted to be.

I had been told several times in transit about this place; it was supposed to be spectacular, but I won’t lie…I had my doubts.

We exited the subway and after a few minutes of walking we encountered a line which stretched over half a city block. My brother proudly proclaimed that this was the place.

Grimaldi’s Pizzeria extraordinaire.

We waited.

The line moved infinitesimally slowly over the next 45 minutes; I found myself playing with my camera, taking photos of the street as the double-decker tour buses passed by on the street and the occupants waved and yelled to us.

One might think that waiting that long might have become tiresome, but being in a place like Brooklyn, there was always something to look at, or something to notice; besides, with a camera in one’s hand, how can one possibly be bored?

Before I knew it, my brother and I were whisked into the restaurant and I was taking shots inside the building as we were seated—all of which were severely blurred. You see, it just so happens that I had forgotten to switch my camera back to ‘automatic’ focus mode and therefore, every shot taken by my brother and myself in Grimaldi’s Pizzeria was junk.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. “Wait, Teachinfourth…aren’t you a photographer? Didn’t you notice that things weren’t in focus when you were taking those shots?”

Admittedly, I should have, but if I could bottle the smells in that restaurant—those aromas which accosted me as I walked in—if I could but take those incredible odors and perhaps have them waft though the exhaust port fan of your computer you’d be distracted right now, too.

However, images are not always necessary to convey thoughts. Helpful? Absolutely! Vital? Not necessarily.

Needless to say, the pizza had been well worth the wait and the cost.

My brother and I ventured outside and walked down to the pier for an ice cream; while he stood in line I strolled past the couples snogging each other on the benches, and friends laughing and sharing humorous experiences. I moved to the edge of the wharf and from there took a few photographs of the lights of the city reflecting off of the night water. Luckily, by this time I’d noticed my little error of focus and had since corrected it; alas, too late to save the other photos, but I had noticed it in enough time to capture these.


After my brother and I had eaten our ice cream we walked along the Brooklyn Bridge. I cannot convey that feeling of immense wonder I had as I gazed at those massive stones which were used to construct that bridge, and the steel cables lit up by the lights of the city in the distance.

I was in a state of awe. The things which mankind has wrought over the ages staggers the mind; it makes me reel back and consider the possibilities of the ever rapidly approaching future.

The ultimate gift

Pin It I was having dinner with some friends last night, when the topic of photography came up. As the conversation progressed, I bought up the calendar I’d made for my family on the Christmas of 2004.

I remember that Christmas was approaching, and I wanted to give my family something they could use all year long….but what could it be? As I thought about what gift I would like to give, I decided that a calendar would be great. However, instead of merely buying a calendar, I decided to create one.

After some careful thought, I decided that each month would be an advertisement for something. To be honest, I had no idea what any of these items would be at the outset. However, after some time and careful thought, I set out with my ‘brother,’ Jesse, to see what could be created.

On a side note, not too many people really realize the scope of this calendar and just how long it took to create. That is, until you know a little bit about my family. Those who understand that statement I just made realize that this project was a huge undertaking.

Now, for your viewing pleasure (should you decide to stay and take a gander) I present some of my favorite images from the calendar made some four years ago.

P.S. As I look back on these images I realize that if I were to redo it all again today, they would be much better. However, with time comes experience, and with experience comes mastery.

Enjoy these for what they’re worth…

Saturday Photoshoot

Pin It A photo can speak a thousand words, so I will therefore let a few of my favorite images from Saturday's wedding photoshoot speak for themselves...