joshhansen.net

Category: my life

  • Chudders the Great

    Chudders the Great

    According to page 354 of the first volume of my transcribed journals, I met Chris “Chud” Lundgreen on Wednesday, August 27, 1997, in the men’s locker room ahead of Mrs. Swenson’s cross-training class, on the first day of freshman year at Kamiakin High School.

    At the time he was just “Chris”, from Colorado—as far as my journal tells and as far as I remember, he hadn’t yet announced his full adoption of the nickname Chud.

    Chud Lundgreen has been diagnosed with fatal brain cancer, and is quickly succumbing to the effects. It has been devastating to face the loss of our wonderful friend.

    I spent a week scanning a suitcase full of photos from high school, and here I give every photo I found with Chris-Chud (as I’ve sometimes called him) in it. I also give selections from my journals which relate to my lifelong friend.

    This followed directly after the week I spent in tears.

    In my Utah life and particularly in my extended wrestle with (and difficulty being open about) doubts about Mormonism, I grew distant from a lot of my friends. I didn’t have enough trust that people could handle my lack of full belief. (Unfortunate in retrospect, but that’s where I was.) I regret not staying closer to Chud, yet was happy to see more of him in recent years, to be more real with him about things than I was growing up. The last time I saw him, maybe a month before his diagnosis, I went with him and his kids to the Museum of Flight in Seattle. We had a good time together, talking about Linux like the old days, just being nerds together, same as it always was. I’m not sure but perhaps he spoke some Klingon as he was wont to do. My eyes fill with tears as I write this. Chris “Chud” Lundgreen was sui generis—like no one else I’ve ever known, or ever will. He will be deeply missed.

    Regarding “Chud”

    I have felt for some time that it is somehow legendary for Chud to go by the name Chud. I’ve tended to call him Chris-Chud lately to highlight that. I’m not sure why it highlights that; it just feels like it does. I guess it feels like he was too much person to have just one first name.

    But what even is a chud, anyhow?

    Chris Lundgreen is the only person I’ve ever known to go by the name Chud. And yet, in 2025, I hear the word “chud” regularly, a seeming riff on “Chad“. But Chris’s “Chud” has a different origin, though in same ways similar to contemporary usage. That is a story for others to tell: the Lundgreen family are the proper experts on the topic, and his earlier friends who gave him the name, and Chud himself were he somehow, miraculously, to pull through. (As I write, he’s not doing well.)

    My contribution then is simply to highlight that the Wikipedia article about certain Balto-Finnic peoples called Chud is a good read:

    Folk etymology derives the word [chud] from Old East Slavic language (chuzhoi, ‘foreign’; or chudnoi ‘odd’; or chud ‘weird’), or alternatively from chudnyi, wonderful, miraculous, excellent, attractive….

    In the mytho-poetical tradition of the Komi, the word chud can also designate Komi heroes and heathens; Old Believers; another people different from the Komi; or robbers—the latter two are the typical legends in Sámi folklore. In fact, the legends about Chuds (Čuđit) cover a large area in northern Europe from Scandinavia to the Urals, bounded by Lake Ladoga in the south, the northern and eastern districts of the Vologda province, and passing by the Kirov region, further into Komi-Permyak Okrug. It has from this area spread to Trans-Ural region through mediation of migrants from European North.

    Chud has become a swear word in the Arkhangelsk region. As late as 1920, people of that region used legends of the Chuds to scare small naughty children.

    Journal entries

    These are selections from the first volume of my journals which mention Chris-Chud. Not what I would have hoped for but it brings the time and place of adolescence to life.

    Wednesday, August 27, 1997—First day of School

    Today was my first day of high school. It’s not as much of an adjustment as I thought (so far) and it’s not nearly as scary as it seemed after the incoming freshmen orientation. I started out by going to zero-hour Jazz Band. We basically talked and then listened to “Turkish Bath” for about 10 minutes. Tomorrow we’ll play some music. In Cross-Training I am one of five boys in our class. The others are Brett, Randy, John, and Chris, from Colorado. Jessie, Heather, and a lot of other girls I know are in that class.

    I have World Geog. with Colin, James, David Ostler, Kevin Anderson, Claire, Shannon Rhodes.

    Michelle Gale, Brett Mower, Colin McDaniel, Colin Thorndyke, Alex, and I all have
    English together.

    Bro. Elms is my seminary teacher. Colin, Clayton, Spencer, Jeff Craig, Jason Barton, Greg Moody, and Ben Forsyth are in that class.

    In Algebra, I’m with Ben, Chris Moore, and Megan Moody. Andy Beck, Chuck Allison and tons of people from band are in there, too. Also John Pratt.

    This could work out to be a great year.

    Thursday, August 28, 1997

    Today I found out that the Chris kid in PE is going to be in 11th ward. I didn’t even know he was a church member! This means all 5 guys in our class are members. [The cross-training guys were all Mormons!]

    Tuesday, September 23, 1997

    I’m trying to think of what interesting things happened today…. The person
    named Chris in my PE class is Chris Lundgreen. I didn’t know his last name until
    today. I’m not quite sure he’s found a niche yet at Kamiakin. At dances he hangs
    around our group a lot but doesn’t do a lot of actual talking. Hmm….

    Saturday, October 25, 1997

    … After band, I came home, cleaned my room a bit and did some work, and then I got a phone call. It was Chris Lundgreen wanting to carpool to the church dance….

    Monday, October 18, 1999

    On Saturday I took Megan Moody on a date. Homecoming, to be specific. We were with Michelle, Tammy, Lies (Megan’s foreign exchange student), Ben, Brandon, and Chris Lundgreen. We played “Two Truths and a Lie” at the Wilson’s house, and then we went to Columbia Park and finger-painted portraits of our dates.

    Then we got dressed, etc.

    After forgetting the corsage at my house, I finally picked up Megan and Lies (with Brandon.) We took pictures at everyone’s houses, etc. and finally ate dinner at the Lundgreens’. Everyone looked pretty awesome!

    We went to the dance, which was the most horrible, sleezy, immoral thing I’ve
    ever seen. Just don’t ask…

    After that we attempted to T.P. Keith Walker’s house, with only partial success,
    then we took the girls home….

    Wednesday, June 14, 2000

    Well, two weekends ago on Friday night at Chris’s house, John Wolfgramm broke my collarbone while we were beginning a wrestling match on the Lundgreens’ back lawn.

    Shock, emergency room, x-rays, pain medication, a blessing by Dad and Brother
    Lundgreen. It was quite a night.

    I was equipped with a shoulder-immobilizing sling so that my fractured left clavacle [sic] can heal. Teresa brought me flowers (Daisies) and Chris and his fam visited. I was unable to work Baskin Robbins and have not yet returned….

    Thursday, July 5, 2001

    … Another weird portion of my dream was that I drove by the Wolfgramms’ house and John and Chris Lundgreen were on the lawn being goofy (although neither of them is in the Tri-Cities right now).

    Sunday, May 12, 2002

    • Things I prayed about tonight:
      Should I go ahead with getting the tooth removed? [I have an extra tooth in my nasal cavity.]
      “It will be alright.”
    • Is it thy will for me to go on a mission at this time?
      The feeling I received was a warm confirmation that the Savior Jesus Christ will call me to the place he wishes me to serve at. In other words, “Yes”.

    In my heart I feel and know that the Gospel is true, the Book of Mormon is true.
    My mind may see things differently, but I can feel the warmth of the love of God
    strongly, and submit my intellect to trust my heart.

    Also, Brother Rosewood mentioned that he had dinner with Chris Lundgreen’s
    dad….

    Photos

    I scanned around 1300 photos that had been gathering dust in an old suitcase for about 20 years. They’re basically all from high school. These are the photos which the face detection algorithm determined portray Chudders. Apparently we went to a lot of formal dances, and little else! [Where is GoldenEye??] Some of these photos align with the journal entries. Chud Lundgreen, you’re uniquest of the unique—one who doesn’t apologize for being fully himself every minute; the only, and most wonderful, Chud we know.

    A leader is judged not by the length of his reign but by the decisions he makes.

    —Klingon proverb

    Update: On the morning of June 25th, 2025, our friend passed away. He will be dearly missed.

  • In Memoriam J. P. H.

    This one’s a bit macabre—caveat lector!

    March first has known some tragedies.

    On this day in history, in 1910, the deadliest avalanche in U.S. history swept over the rail depot in Wellington, Washington, killing 96. (So heavy was the slab of ice and snow, that the last of the bodies weren’t retrieved until July of that year.)

    On March 1st, 1917, the Zimmerman Telegram was published, stoking fears that Mexico would—with German assistance—attempt to reclaim Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico. This ultimately precipitated America’s entry into World War I.

    On the night of March 1st, 1932, 20-month old Charles Augustus Lindbergh, Jr., was found missing. The toddler child of aviators Charles and Anne Morrow LIndbergh was found dead in a nearby field the following May.

    1954 was a big year on the March 1st tragedies front. I’m unsure of which came first, but I’m aware of these two:

    First in order if not chronologically: Lolita Lebrón led a group of Puerto Rican nationalists in attacking the U.S. House of Representatives. Fortunately, nobody was killed, though five Representatives were injured. As she was arrested, Lolita is reported to have shouted, “I did not come to kill anyone, I came to die for Puerto Rico!” She never did die for her homeland—she spent 25 years in prison, until Jimmy Carter (currently on hospice care) commuted her sentence in 1979. She remained an activist and died of a complications from a cardiorespiratory infection in 2010 at age 90.

    Also on March 1st, 1954, at 6:45 am local time, the United States detonated its most powerful atomic weapon, a 15 megaton hydrogen bomb dubbed SHRIMP, as part of the Castle Bravo test at Bikini Atoll, Marshall Islands, then part of the U.S.-administered Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands. The explosion was 2.5 times the expected 6 megatons (also cited as 3 times an expected 5 megatons) due to effects of the new lithium deuteride fuel. This high yield combined with an unexpectedly-“dirty” fission reaction to generate extensive fallout in the region, contaminating Rongelap and Utirik Atolls, and perhaps another. (Wikipedia is inconsistent on this.)

    (Diving deeper: the 1986 Compact of Free Association by which the Marshall Islands became independent of but “freely associated” with the United States [scare quotes because I don’t really know what that term means] provided for a Nuclear Claims Tribunal funded with an initial $150 million to disperse to victims of the fallout. $270 million were eventually distributed, but billions of dollars of judgments rendered by the tribunal remain unpaid by the United States. I’m no expert on the subject, having only read Wikipedia articles, but to me this seems a travesty.)

    (And hell, while we’re in the parenthetical zone, I’ll here observe that both tragedies for March 1st, 1954, have to do with American island possessions, which really we’ve not done right by.)

    The timeline’s not as clean on this one but work with me here: though locally it was March 2nd, 2:45 am, it was nevertheless still March 1st in much of the world when the Chilean volcano Villarrica began its 1964 eruption, eventually killing 22 and destroying half of the town of Coñaripe (es). Coñaripe was abandoned and resettled a kilometer away.

    A lot of nice things have also happened on March 1st’s, but that’s a different discussion!

    Twenty years ago to the day I was a Mormon missionary living in Latrobe, Pennsylvania (near PIttsburgh). On February 2nd I had recorded in my journal that our mission president whom I admired, Scott Cameron, had been diagnosed with colon cancer. And just days before on February 27th, local hero Fred Rogers of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood fame had died.

    And on that day, twenty years ago, March 1st, 2003, my mom died.

    Of course, it is nothing compared to the mass casualties and the wars and uprisings and weapons of mass destruction and acts of God—but for me and for my family, it was everything.

    March 1st, 2003.

    Just felt the need to mark it here.

    I feel more tranquil these days about all that happened with Mom and also with Dad. But sometimes, I just need to feel the melancholy and the dark of it. It’s warranted, even half a lifetime hence.

    I’ll leave you with this Longfellow poem, off only by two years:

    The Cross of Snow

    In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
    A gentle face — the face of one long dead —
    Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
    The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
    Here in this room she died; and soul more white
    Never through martyrdom of fire was led
    To its repose; nor can in books be read
    The legend of a life more benedight.
    There is a mountain in the distant West
    That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
    Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
    Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
    These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
    And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

    I hope you all are well ❤️

  • Chapter 34: A Time To Mourn

    Doing some hiking up Buckley Draw just south of Slate Canyon in Provo

    The last year has been a hard one for me. I’ve come to the painful realization that my life in many ways is far from what I wanted. I always wanted to be faithful, but I’m a doubter. Always wanted to be connected, but in many ways I’m a loner.

    The dream I sought for years was that I would get past my doubts and finally come to know the truth, come to know that God loves me and that he’s an active part of our lives. But instead of closer to that dream I’m farther away than ever.

    My dream was to be firmly ensconced in a loving community, accepted for my contributions, loved in spite of my faults. But I no longer feel I belong where I’d built my life for so long.

    My dream was to be married to a woman I loved with all my heart, to be surrounded by children in a home filled with love. But I’m a failure at relationships. I don’t know how to be close to people. Anyone who tries eventual gets pushed away or put at a distance.

    My dream was to build a better relationship with my father. But he’s been dead almost three years, and my mom even longer.

    A lot of the time I’m fine. I can make life work with its ambiguities and disappointments. But ultimately the pain of these broken dreams comes to the fore and I find myself casting about for an anchor to hold on to.

    I’m in one of those times right now. I’ll pull through it. The crisis will recede sooner or later. But still these tensions will remain. I don’t know the long-term answer. I don’t know how to really make life work as a hypersensitive guy who’s struggled all his life, struggled to find a foundation, struggled to stay connected to the people that love him. I don’t know how to finally resolve all the memories, all of the past that I carry around inside of me, the tragedies that still ache for me years removed, for which there is no answer but mourning.

    But I suppose that is the answer. Mourning.

    How do you go about it? How can any mourning ever be sufficient? How can any tears ever make right entire lives of tragedy?

    I don’t know.

    But maybe that’s not what tears are for. They don’t make anything right. But they help us to accept that there is injustice in the world. And they help us to let go of the wrong.

    Anyway, this is the latest chapter in my life story. It’s not the story I set out to tell. But I guess that’s because I’m not the omniscient narrator: I’m really just a character. And I guess it’s taken 34 chapters for the character development to really come to a head. What will the next chapter bring? I guess we’ll all just have to keep reading.