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Show 137 Mormonism in some respects," he lived at the Krishna temple in Spanish Fork for two straight summers and I admired that about him. I got out of the bathtub and called Blake's mom. I called every couple of days, supposedly to see how she was doing, but mostly because I wanted to hear her voice, to talk to someone whose mourning ran all the way through her bloodstream, hair and bones. As the phone rang, I thought I would ask what she knew about the lotus flower, symbolically or otherwise, but thought better of it when I heard her slow voice on the phone. "Hi Laura, it's Michael." "Oh hi Michael," she said. I didn't want to ask how she was, either, so I asked if there was anything I could do for her. I knew the unlikelihood of that but I wanted to see her and had nothing else to do. She said she would like it if I would come by and go through Blake's old things before she donated what she didn't want. "Also," she said, "there have been a lot of flies in the house lately." Laura lived in Hobble Creek Canyon where insects were always a problem; every year she hired someone to apply a sticky chemical around the perimeter of the house and in all of the crevices to keep them out. But apparently the flies were fighting through that chemical and dying on the other side all over the house. I told her I could come over right now and she said that would be nice. I sped along 1-15 to the second Springville exit and wound up the canyon to Laura's house. I was used to the drive; Blake had lived there off-and-on for the |