Wish You Were Here

Falling Asleep in Church

2011-03-29T20:31:00.003-06:00

This past Sunday I fell asleep in church, to make it more interesting I woke myself due to my own snoring. I had been fighting sleep and losing throughout the meeting. My head was bobbing up and down like a "Bobble Head" on the dashboard of an old farm truck on a bumpy dirt road. I noticed my friend and his wife who were sitting in the pew directly in front of me giggling to each other and at the same time heard stifled chuckles from the pew behind me. I glanced sideways at my wife who not only gave em the "stink eye" but a "you are a disrespectful, irreverent slob and I am embarrassed to be seen in public with you" look.
It was not a matter of being bored by the speaker, I just couldn't help it. Initially I felt a twinge of embarrassment. After all it is bad enough to fall asleep in church but to snore loud enough to wake yourself up in church was bumping it up a little too high. I then began to think, maybe this wasn't all that big a deal. I am in fact over 50, have gray hair and a couple for grandchildren. When viewed from the proper perspective there is no shame for a person at my stage in life falling asleep in church. Indeed it is an expected behavior and will likely increase in frequency the older I get. I have arrived! My wife asked me why I even bother attending church when I sleep through it at least half of the time. My answer: First if I sleep in church I do not have to waste time napping at home, second by sleeping in church I provide much needed comic relief for other members of the congregation, and third I am modeling expected behavior for the younger generations. Sweet dreams.

Grandpa Duty

2010-10-06T21:04:00.006-06:00

Well it finally happened my two oldest daughters gave birth to sons making me a grandpa. Ironically the oldest daughter, who has insisted all along that she should have the first grandchild, but had a due date a couple of weeks after her younger sister's due date, gave birth first. Like you my first fleeting thought was how did she pull this off, then I learned that her water broke and even thought the kid was six weeks early there is no going back. Grandma and I made the trip to Bee Hive State and visited the poor little guy in the hospital for a few days (he is home and is doing well now). What a great experience is was to hold that little guy in my arms.

A couple of days after returning home to the Cowboy State we got a call late one night informing us the grandson number two was on his way. Early the next morning we got word of his birth. Since he lives in the same town we do visiting was easier. Again the thrilling feeling came as I held him at the hospital.

Grandma has already made a second trip to Utah to see Knight (pronounced ka-niget). William also known by one side of the family as Buffy-B has been left in our care for short periods of time. While I find it enjoyable to hold the little guys, I find myself anxious for them to get old enough to do something with. The problem is by the time they get old enough to take hunting I will probably be using a walker. Taking them fishing will come sooner. I am already trying to figure out a way of convincing their grandmother that I need to get ready for the future by purchasing a couple of more shot guns, deer rifles and fishing poles. I do not know if she'll buy it, she already thinks I have too many.

In a conversation with my brother Jim in reference to our own father's death some 26 years ago just a month before his first grandchild was born, he stated "I reached one of my major life goals… to be alive to be a grandpa". He stated something that I had often thought about myself. I must admit to a feeling of relief that I'm alive to be a grandpa. My youngest daughter who is in 5th grade and I were watching Nacho Libre the other day and Nacho was complaining about the undesirable "duties" he had been assigned like "dead guy duty". I must say that "Grandpa duty" isn't too bad. It sounds like William just "crapped his chaps", time to hand off to Grandma.

Rattle Trap Road Warrior

2010-07-29T14:40:00.001-06:00

Recently I completed a 700 mile trip driving alone in my daughter's 1990s Suzuki Sidekick POC. No air conditioning, no cruise control, and temperatures in the high 90s.
The car was loaded to the roof with pink storage tubs and large black trash bags. You know, the typical "girl returning home from college on semester break" stuff. With the windows down the fluttering trash bags made it sound like I had a car full of bats all flapping their wings behind my head. I had to drive with the windows open due to the extreme heat, if I had failed to keep the windows down I would have arrived at my destination resembling a 250 lb rotisserie chicken at the Wal-Mart Deli.
The noise from the wind and rattling trash bags by the time I arrived home my ears were ringing. I do not recall my ear ringing this loud since I attended the 1978 Ted Nugent "GONZO LIVE" tour Day on The Green at the Oakland Coliseum. It took weeks for the smell of pot smoke to wash out of my clothes and hair and about the same length of time for my ears to stop ringing.
As I drove down the road I kept thinking what do I do if this POC breaks down on me? I came to the conclusion that the best course of action would be to set the beast on fire and then stand by the side of the road, look distraught while wringing my hands and muttering "oh no my daughters car and all of her worldly belongings, u p in smoke….whatever shall I do". I would then call the insurance company, have the remains disposed of and hitch a ride the rest of the way home. Just a side note between Columbus and Billings I witnessed a family of four standing on the side of the road looking at the burned out shell of a motor home as the fire department finished putting the fire out. They were having a much worse day than I, nothing like burning down the motor home to ruin the family vacation (lesson: Don't ride your breaks).
I was very glad to be home. The things we do for our kids.

I Heard They Taste Like Chicken

2010-06-29T20:02:00.004-06:00

Yesterday afternoon my son Miller and I were getting ready to add a "honey super" to each of the bee hives we have. What is a "honey super"? Well to keep it simple it is a box containing frames placed on top of the hive where the bees store the honey. Back to the story. I had sent Miller out to the back of our property to place an empty "honey super" by each hive while I gathered needed tools and finished putting on my "bee suit", No I do not look like a bee in it! It is not like a Halloween costume, it is white coveralls with the attractive hat and veil. A moment later Miller came into the garage and said "Dad there is a rattlesnake in front of one of the hives, he almost bit me, if it hadn't been for Jackson (Miller's black lab), I would have stepped on him". I sceptically went out to see if it really was a rattlesnake or just an angry bull-snake. Sure enough it was a prairie rattler and a fairly large one and not very happy. I sent Miller into the house for my Walther PPK (yes the same one James Bond uses). I shot the snake, cut off the rattles, then the thought came to mind "I heard that they taste like chicken". I resisted the urge and properly disposed of the snake. Maybe next time I'll try cooking the snake.

Guess What We Are Going To Have

2010-05-17T15:50:00.005-06:00

The baby competition continues and here is the latest update. Those of you who have been following this know that my two oldest daughters (Kristine & Karlee)are married and expecting children. You are also aware that the younger of the two (Karlee) is due to have her baby first. Well today the oldest daughter (Kristine) called to tell me that she was having a boy, his first name will be Brian and his middle name will be Knight or Ka-nig-it ("and there was much rejoicing") if you watched Monty Python. This poses a challenge to Karlee because she will not have the sex-identifying ultra-sound until the first week in June. What to do? A friend of hers who is a Veterinarian at a large animal clinic has offered to do the ultra sound at the clinic using the horse ultra sound equipment. I am curious to see if she will go this way or simply wait until the human ultra sound appointment in June. Kristine may have won the "Who knew what they were going to have first" contest but Karlee could easily walk away with "The most unique how we found out what we were going to have" prize.

For my part I am just enjoying the competition and figure that however it goes, I'm going to get two grandkids out of the deal.

Red's and Big Red

2010-05-04T20:12:00.014-06:00

In March I was in Kileen, Texas for work at Ft. Hood. A group of my co-workers who had been there a few days longer than I found a Texas style BBQ place called Reds. The food is great. They have Big Red cream soda on tap. I know you thought that Big Red was the owner of Red's or something but it is indeed a soda pop. If you do not know what Big Red cream soda is like, well I'll do my best to describe it. Big Red cream soda smells like the bubble gum you chewed when you were a kid, it tastes like cream soda but with a very slight cough syrup after taste. It goes very well with BBQ ribs, brisket, pulled pork and sides like cole slaw, beans, and potatoe salad. I don't know why this combo works but it does. Perhaps it is because Red's is Texas BBQ and Big Red is brewed in Texas.

I have a desire for some of Red's ribs and a little brisket. I guess I'll just have to cook up some of my own. It will not taste the same but I can always kid myself by drinking some Big Red. If you want to try Big Red cream soda it is available at most WAL MART stores, I found some here in Wyoming of all places. I've included some pictures so you can see I didn't make this up.

Facing Facebook

2010-05-02T14:21:00.001-06:00

I haven't written for a while largely because I have been so busy. I was thinking that this is probably a good thing. What would I do if I felt obligated to write every day or worse yet how would I handle the stress of having a Facebook account. My life would be incomplete if I feel asleep without checking in on Facebook, updating my status and seeing what everyones status was. I am not certain that I am ready for this level of commitment. How could I live with myself if someone were to ask me to be their friend and I really didn't want them as a friend? The guilt might be so overwhelming I might need therapy.

I have begun to get pressure though from family and friends to open a Facebook account. My children who are old enough to have Facebook accounts have been particularly interested in seeing me have an account. When I ask them why their reply is “so we can talk with you”. My question is so what happened to just talking with people on the phone or in person? I call my oldest son on the cell phone, he won't answer but if I send him a text he replies back right away and will text me until my thumbs cramp up. I don't get it.

Perhaps the only way I'll know is to take the plunge and open an account. So stay tuned. I f ask request you to be my friend, be kind I have a fragile ego and do not handle rejection well.

Great Expectations

2010-03-10T11:30:00.000-07:00

I have been given official permission to share with the world that my two married daughters are both expecting children. I have known this for sometime but upon threat of death I was not allowed to tell a soul until today. I am still not certain why the silence was needed but I complied. My wife had a difficult time holding back the good news and justified letting a bit of information here and a bit of information there slip to select individuals. I got the "don't even go there" look from her if I attempted to point out that perhaps when her daughters told her not to tell anyone they really meant it.
So now I have two daughters who were very competitive with each other prior to getting married and both are due to have babies within one week of each other. This could be good. The kids are expected to be born in September some time. This scuttles my plans for archery hunting elk this year. Perhaps I need to send out an edict to my children that their children's births should be planned so as not to occur between September 1st and the end of November. This will avoid any potential conflicts with hunting seasons and grandchildren's births and future birthdays. I have a feeling that to blow off a grandkids birthday so I can hunt it will not go over well. If I live long enough it may serve as an excuse to go hunting. Imagine; "Honey I am taking little Scooter/Scootette hunting for his/her birthday and I need to buy a new gun for him/her to use". There are some possibilities here. If grandkids are born during summer, I may be able to get a new fly rod out of the deal.
Needless to say I am excited for the births of our first grandchildren who will also be the first great grandchildren on my wife's side of the family. I look forward to feeding them food their parents prohibit in their own homes, letting them have free reign over the house and allowing them to do things their parents absolutely forbid. Then when they become smelly, cranky and out-right obnoxious I will send them home with their parents. Sounds like great fun without the responsibility. I can hear it now, "But Mom, Grandpa John says that @#%&!! isn't really a bad word because it's in the bible", "Grandpa John said it was o.k. to pee outside as long as nobody is looking" or "But Grandpa John does it all the time".

What a pain

2010-01-24T20:36:00.000-07:00

I was talking with a friend the other day and we were discussing the rise in presciption drug abuse. Neither one of us were very fond of the effects that pain medication have on our behavior. Typically "hitter pain" medications like hydracodone, even T3s make me turn obnoxious. Now I know that there are those of you out there who feel I do not need medication to assist with being obnoxious. According to my wife I go from being an extremely charming, quite, repectful and laid back individual to a very roudy, loud jerk once the medication takes effect.

I was reminded recently of an incident that should have been embarrassing for me except I was under the influence of an opiate based pain medication following a surgery at the time. The events as I remember them are as follows. The only witness to the event is a former Relief Society President. I was to be left on my own for the fitst time following a back surgey, my wife and children went to a program at the local high school. I was at the point that with enough pain medication, I was able to get up by myself as needed. I was dressed in my "angel chaps" and a bathrobe. I was watching a John Wayne movie (I can only watch them when my wife is out, I think it is beacuse in about every movie he is in with Mareen O'Hara he ends up spanking her, of course she always deserves it. Did I mention that my wife reminds me a little of Mareen when she is behaving badly?), there was a knock at the front door. Having downed a pain pill 30 minutes earlier I felt no hesitation on getting out of bed, slidding my feet into some house slippers and waddling down the hall to the top of the stair to see who was rapping at my door. As I stood swaying at the top of the stairs I could see trough the side light window that the visitor was our Relief Society President, Sister Gilbert. Without bothering to close my bathrobe, I worked my way down the stairs to the door. I opened the door to find a suprised, embarassed Sister Gilbert. Politely averting her eyes she said "Bishop, I didn't mean to get you out of bed, I thought they weren't leaving you home alone yet" and she handed me a cassarole dish of food. I assured her that I was now old enough to be left alone for short periods of time. She again appologized for making me get out of my sick bed to answer the door. I assured her I was alright. As I made my way back up the stair and set the cassarole on the kitchen counter. I realized that I looked like "cousin Eddie" from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, you know the scene where Eddie is standing outside in his bathrobe emptying his motor home septic into the storm drain. Well that was me minus the hat. I remember thinking "I should be embarassed but this is just too darn funny!" Poor Sister Gilbert always the prim, proper polite one. You know she has never said a word to me about that night, didn't even mention it to my wife. Maybe someday I'll get the guts to ask her if she remebers seeing the Bsihop in his underwear.

Once I got to bed the humor of the situation hit me with full force and I laughed even though it hurt. My sister-in-law Ronalee called and I accounted the details to her. She later remarked to my wife that I was funny and quit a bit more talkative than usual.

I think I'll stick with Advil or something similar.

Slow Down

2009-11-27T11:53:00.000-07:00

The day after Thanksgiving (AKA, Black Friday) is here. It is meant to be the beginning of the Christmas shopping season. I had to work today so I missed the mad rush for low priced items that the retailers dangle in front of shoppers much like the candy house the witch set to trap Hansel and Gretel. I confess that I have only participated in the Black Friday one time and frankly I was disappointed. I was not shoved out of the way by aggressive shoppers, nobody tried to wrench the last "widget" out of my hands and the advertized deals were not that spectacular.

I have long thought that the push to move the Christmas season to begin earlier every year is just wrong. I understand why retailers do it, but there is something about seeing Christmas items in a store just after Halloween that makes me a little sick. My son Miller shares my distain for the practice. We all seem to be in such a hurry to do things, to have events come so we can get on with the next thing on the list.

Recently we learned that the property next to ours would soon be under construction to become a new home. The new owner's brother in law has been employed to do the dirt-work.. He is really enthusiastic often starting up the huge diesel bull dozer at 6:30am to begin the work (yes even on Thanksgiving morning). Today he managed to dig up and cut the phone line to our house. Qwest can't get there to fix it until next week, apparently all of their repair staff are hitting the "day after" sales today. My wife talked with "bull-dozer Boy" this morning to let him know that he had cut the phone line. He expressed little remorse at causing the inconvenience. Melinda described him as a thin version of "John Candy" and figured that short of pulling him out of the excavator and beating the crap out of him she would get no satisfaction from further discussion. She described the scene to me by cell phone since I was at work before construction started for the day. Melinda and I understand the excitement of the owner to get his home built and moved into.

I am going to try to be less hasty this holiday season and may re-read the section in the Lord of The Ring trilogy about the Ents to get hints on how to be less hasty. I recently saw a sign that intrigued me, it was on a County road near the booming metropolis of Lieter, WY. The road is frequented by methane field workers traveling from the methane gas wells in the county. They are notorious for driving too fast. The sign sums up my feelings, the sign simply reads; "SLOW DOWN YOU SONS A BITCHES". With that slow down and have a Merry Christmas.

Old Shot Guns

2009-11-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

It was the opening day of Pheasant season in Wyoming last Saturday. I took the opportunity to hunt pheasants with three friends from work and my fourteen year old son Miller. If you have followed my blog at all you may remember my blog last year about a good day of hunting with a new dog and an old friend. The dog, Sandi, is now 11/2 years old and is better at her job of finding birds than she was last year.

The weather was perfect with temperatures in the high 50s and clear skies. Sandi performed well coming to "point" on several pheasants and then retrieving them after they were flushed and shot. The highlight of the trip for me was being able to spend time hunting with my son. He was pretty excited when he shot his first pheasant. I was excited because it brought back memories of hunting pheasants with my father when I was Miller's age. The shot gun he used is the first shot gun I ever bought. The summer before I turned 12, I worked hard mowing lawns so I could purchase a shot gun. We lived in Montana at the time and one Saturday our family traveled to Billings to shop. I had a wad of greenbacks in my pocket and anxiously awaited going to Scheels Sporting Goods to look at shot guns. I purchased a .20 Ga. pump shot gun (my father had to buy it because I was too young) for $40.00. I enjoyed hunting with it for many years and looked forward to passing it on to my own children. I gave it to my second daughter Karlee for a wedding gift because she liked to shoot clay pigeons with it. She was gracious enough to let Miller use it this past weekend.

There is in reality nothing special about this shot gun except for the memories it stirs up of time spent with people I care deeply about. My father died many years ago and this is just one of the things I have that ties me back time I spent with him. I look forward to being around long enough to have some memories of time spent with children grand children when they come along.

So spend some time with your kids or grandkids this weekend doing something you both like and build some memories that can be passed on.

School Days

2009-10-05T15:55:00.000-06:00

My third of four daughters called me the other day and excitedly told me she had been accepted to attend school at BYU-Idaho (The University formerly known as Rick's). She was pretty excited and is now looking forward to continuing her education where her mother and I met. Melinda and I were both happy for her as well.

I have since spent some time reflecting upon my own experiences at this educational haven of bliss in southeastern Idaho. Nearly three decades ago when I attended Rick's College applying to attend was just a formality. If you had a high school diploma, knew your name & address, promised to be a good boy or girl and showed signs of life you were in. The admission standards are stiffer now that this bastion of higher education has evolved from a large Jr. college to a small university. The mere desire to matriculate is not enough.

I remember meeting a strikingly beautiful blonde haired blue eyed woman named Melinda Somethingson on evening about a week before classes were to begin. No, her last name wasn't really Somethingson but I was so smitten by her presence that at the time all I could remember was her last name had "son" at the end. I did however have just enough "on the ball" to ask her to be my date for the evening. To this day I am still not certain why she said yes. We managed to see each other daily after this first meeting and were married several months later.

I gained a great education at Rick's College but more importantly, I met a married the most beautiful woman I have ever met. We have six excellent children and are still married and in love after nearly twenty-seven years. I do not go back to Rexburg without remembering those days.

Boxes of stuff

2009-08-18T11:35:00.000-06:00

It has been a long time since I have written in my "blog" but I am breaking the silence today. Our third adult child has "launched", not for good mine you but she is no longer living under our roof. I recognize that she may move back if her plans or circumstances change. She has moved seven or so hours away so she will not be popping in to raid our food supply or use the laundry facilities. I do not know what the future holds of her, but I am excited to see what she will do.

I have probably mentioned that time seems to go faster the older I get and I know this is an old cliché we hear often. I have however found it to be true. I used to think that as more of your children leave home the easier it gets to have the next one go, but to me it just hammers home the fact that they do grow up and leave. One universal truth is that by the time they leave you are most likely ready for them to go, it just seems like it's time. Not that you do not like them anymore but they seem to get stuck if they stay home too long.

There is one big drawback to having a child leave home and that is that they leave things behind. My dear wife spent two or three weeks sorting out a storage room only to find that the vast majority of the room's contents belong to children who no longer live at home. I suggested doing what her mother did when she left home and that is just send the boxes of "stuff" to them as Christmas presents. It is with fond memories that my wife recounts getting a large box from UPS around Christmas from her mother. She was slightly deflated when she opened it to find it full of her "stuff" from when she was a kid. I did see the same box during the recent sorting frenzy and it still contains my wife's childhood "stuff". The daughter who left us today left behind more than boxes of "stuff", she left behind a cat and five new kittens. I do not know what the heck we are supposed to do with them. Presently the kittens are drawing a great deal of attention because they are cute and fuzzy, but I've been around long enough to know that they grow into cats. When I asked Mindy what she was going to do with her cat and kittens I was told "they are my problem anymore, you and Mom can figure it out". My proposed solutions have been determined by my wife, remaining three children and the SPCA to be illegal and immoral and one sister-in-law and some nieces would probably stop talking to me.

I am resigned to be up to my privates in kittens and boxes of "stuff". I wonder what would happen, if the parents were to leave and the children were left behind. Maybe that is why couples serve missions.

It makes a difference if you've been there yourself

2009-06-24T16:17:00.000-06:00

Last week my family and I went on a great trip to a family reunion. We drove just over 700 miles to get to Mike & Jenny's place for the reunion. The weather was pretty good, the food was excellent, and the conversation and social activities were excellent. We ate more than normal, played harder than typical, stayed up late(talking in the hot tub) and slept in a bit. It was a great time.

The highland games and paintball were fun for participants and spectators alike. The kids played and occasionally fought with their cousins. The adults talked and caught up on the latest. The Apple Beer was cold. The video festival went for two nights. The water turned brown in the swimming tank and there were plenty of sunburns.

Melinda and I had all of our children and son in laws at the reunion and that was most excellent. Kristine and Brian decided to leave Saturday morning to do some exploring on their way home to Utah. While Melinda and I were ignoring our cell phones, drinking Apple Beer and enjoying our last day at Mike and Jenny's, Kristine and Brian were being towed to Kenneick after having their clutch burn out near Pendelton. By the time Melinda and I had bothered to look at our cell phones and answer the messages left by kristine telling of their plight, Kristine and Brian were sitting in a motel room hoping that their car would be repaired by Monday and that it wouldn't cost too much (not likely to happen on a Saturday night). Once Jenny heard of their situation she began to make phone calls. Within a matter of minutes she had arranged for a car trailer, a shop, a mechanic and a spare car. William, Alex and I drove the spare car to get Brian and the needed parts, Mike met us with the trailer and we loaded up the broken car. At 10pm we off loaded the car and pushed it into the shop. By 11pm Jay (Jenny's cousin the mechanic) showed up and Mike and Jay stayed up all night fixing the car. At 5:30am Mike drove the repaired car into his drive way to await Kristine and Brian, he then went to bed.

I have done some figuring and had Kristine and Brain had to have the mechanic in Kennewick repair the car it would have cost them $600.00 to $1500.00(quite a bit for poor newly married college students), money they didn't have. As it was they ended up with a motel bill for one night and approximately $115.00 in parts.

Melinda and I thanked and thanked again Mike & Jenny for the help. Their reply was" We've all been there before" and "not had the time money or resources to get going" Indeed we could all think of times when family had been there to help us and times when we were to far away and there was no one to help. So I am going to say thank you and name names, I know I will forget somebody, so if I forget to mention you - THANKS. Mike for the time and hard work, Jenny for the awesome phone networking, Jay for staying up all night to fix a car (Mrs. Jay thank you as well for letting him do it), Peter for the shop and the spare car, William and Alex for driving and loading and unloading, trailer dude, thank for the trailer use. Dad (Ron), thank you for the numerous times you pulled Me and Melinda's butts out it when our cars broke down and inconvenient times.

MIKE & JENNY THANKS for the GREAT REUNION!

PS Jamie and Ronalee glad you got home as well.

Grandma takes a trip on Mother's Day

2009-05-15T14:05:00.000-06:00

My last blog referenced how fast time flies. I was thinking today that it has been a long time since I've written. Just too busy I guess. To recap, we've had a very snowy early spring, days in the sixties during the week only to be hit by a "butt load O snow" storm each weekend for about four weekends. How much is a "butt load O snow"? I asked a friend of mine that very question as we watched the snow fall. The reply was "I suppose it depends on how big the butt in question is". Point well made.
Now for the most part weather is pretty good. Mother's Day arrived and I being the intensely sensitive husband purchased the right gifts to make my wife happy (she told me what to buy). I even cooked dinner (on the grill of course).
As the day wore on, I tried to reach my dear sweet mother by phone without success. I began by calling my siblings to see if they knew where she was. No answer at Jim's or Pete's, no answer at Cathy's. I did reach George's wife, George was washing dishes or something. His wife informed me that George had not been able to reach Mom but had just finished a phone call with Cathy who told George that Mom had been at their home for the day and was now in bed asleep at her apartment. O.K. now I would just have to wait until Monday to call her.
The story was just beginning as I learned when Cathy called to tell me why Mom was home in bed. It appears that while dinning at Will and Cathy's, Mom decided to not sit still but to roam about a bit. Mom slipped out the door onto the deck, she pushed her way past chairs and flower pots that had been placed in front of the deck railing and did a stage dive off of the deck. The problem was she did not go combat boots first but head first, she also failed to notice that there were no fans below her to catch her. Cathy had a prompting to go find mom to see how she was doing and found her laying on her side some four plus feet below the deck on the lawn.
Now before you go thinking that I am a cold heartless @#&%%! Let me assure you I was very concerned that she had been seriously injured by the fall. Mom it turns out was fine, she fell on her "good" side, did not hit her head, did not break her hip which has already been repaired, nor did she blow out her artificial knees (yes a doctor checked her out, X-rays and the works and he is amazed as well). She did get some bruising and is a bit sore. I do not enjoy hearing of Mom's unfortunate escapades, but you know sometimes all you can do is laugh. I called Mom on Monday to see how she was doing, "fine" she replied. "So how did it go with the doctor?" I asked. "How did you know about that?" she asked. Jeeeze Mom! You took a dive off of the deck at Cathy's house how in the heck do you think I found out about it?" I replied. "Cathy worries about me doesn't she" Mom commented. "We all worry about you Mom just like we worry about a three year old playing on the interstate!" I emphasized.
My mother has developed an extreme case of "denial" she denies she is legally blind except when it saves her on her taxes, she denies that she is deaf in one ear, has trouble following conversations and makes off the wall statements in reply to questions. In deed I imagine that the reason she did not yell or scream during and after the fall was because she thought that if she just lay there long enough to get her feet under her nobody would notice. She could get up and play it cool, respond to questions about why the deck railing lay shattered on the lawn by saying "how should I know", "maybe it was aliens" or better yet just blame the grandkids or family dog.
I know that as I have attempted to escort her amidst her protest of "I know where I am going let go of my arm" or better yet her Inspector Clouseau impression "I know that! I know that! Don't be ridiculous!" only to watch her step off the curb into the path of a bus.
I guess growing up during the "Great Depression" fosters some denial of how crapping things really are. Perhaps we'll all develop the denial thing as we age or as the economy gets worse. For now though even though my mother does some goofy things I love her very much, all in all she has done a good job raising five children, part of that time without a husband. Like it or not I do some goofy things on occasion but my wife and kids are there to call me on it.

Time Flies

2009-02-27T13:12:00.000-07:00

It has been a busy month. I do not think it will slow down much until after "the wedding" next week. I had the chance a not long ago to attend a Daddy Daughter event at the church. My daughter Mary was pretty excited about it and continually reminded me of the up coming event so I would not forget. Upon arrival myself and a couple of other Dads were escorted into a room obviously decorated by 8 year old girls. My daughter showed me where I was to sit. While we waited for the rest of the fathers to arrive I watched how excited and proud the girls were as they sat with their fathers. Obviously this was a big deal for them. I felt some anxiety for the two girls who stood anxiously in the hall waiting for their fathers to arrive. I imagined that they were worried that something would hold them up or perhaps they had forgotten. An expression of extreme relief came across their faces as their fathers came down the hall.

Last week the elementary school Mary attends was having their "doughnuts for Dads" deal. This along with "muffins for Moms" has been a long standing tradition at the school. Mary was pretty excited about having me go to the event, I certain some if the excitement had to do with free doughnuts. I watched the other children with their fathers getting doughnuts, milk, juice or coffee that morning. The children were just excited to spend time with their Dads. Both of these events did not take much time out of my busy life but they meant a great deal to Mary and to me.

Last weekend Michael tested for his red belt black stripe. He did very well and now is faced with learning some more forms and weapon techniques so he can test for his black belt in the next few months. I am amazed at how much he has grown in self confidence since beginning Kyukido. It has been good for him. He has a tournament coming up in two weeks. I asked him if he was going to compete in "forms" and "sparing" both. He said he wanted to do both. I asked him if he was ready to take some possible head shots in the "sparing" competition. He replied that he was. This is not the answer he would have given me two years ago. When he started, he wouldn't even spar in his first tournament. Now that he is eighteen and high enough in rank, blows and kicks to the head are allowed in the tournament sparing competitions. As a father I have my concerns that he'll take a hard round house kick to the side of the head and in spite wearing the required headgear, he will be wearing a diaper and drooling in his soup and living at my house for the rest of his life. I really do not think this will be the outcome. He is a pretty gutsy fighter and can handle himself. It is just that Dad thing, you know, unrealistic worrying about your kids. He will graduate from high school this year and in a year may well be in the MTC starting his mission. Time seems to go by faster the older I get.

Time however does seem to move at a crawl during this season of year in Wyoming. The weather is sporadically warm and sunny one day and cold and snowing the next. When the ground isn't frozen, it is muddy. The fishing typically sucks, you can only hunt rabbits (Mary will not let me, bunnies are too cute, and besides I've never been much for rabbit hunting). Wild turkey season starts in April which is too far away. I could tie some flies or reload some ammunition or look at related catalogs. This however, only lends itself to prolonged periods of day dreaming which are frustrating at best. Author Patrick McManus is also not a fan of the season. I guess that puts me in good company. I think I will go through the outdoor gear and bee keeping catalogs I have and do some day dreaming. I'd better get a new eye glass prescription first.

Don't Forget Valentine's Day

2009-02-10T13:26:00.000-07:00

O.K, so February began to be an important month for me when I was a kid in elementary school due to the fact that in my school everyone in the class received a valentine from everyone else in the class regardless. That way there would be no hurt feelings, I liked this because I was an odd looking kid with funny eyes and chances are I would not have scored many valentines otherwise. We always spent time decorating old shoe boxes or tissue boxes with our names on them so our valentines could be stuffed into the slot in the top we had cut with blunt scissors. I could relate to Charlie Brown each year when he didn't get any valentines, my own insecurity was that if it weren't for the class policy of a valentine card for everyone I would be holding an empty box at the end of the day. It did not help that my younger brother Jim always insisted that I looked like Charlie Brown, that was when we (like all the other kids we knew) were sporting those parent inflicted buzzed hair cuts with the custom nicks and gouges. At the time I refused to accept this but now looking at those pictures, dang if he wasn't right I looked like Charlie Brown's ugly twin brother. The other great thing about Valentine's Day when you are a kid is the candy. Yeah you know the hearts with words on them like "EAT ME", "MY LOVE", or "SO SWEET". They tasted a bit like tooth paste.

Other great things happened in February for me. Two of my children were born in February. My first child a daughter and my first son were both born in February. I remember taking Melinda into the hospital in a snow storm driving our 1974 Dodge Club Cab Custom 100 pick up truck. Eighteen plus hours of labor, and an episiotomy later Kristine was born. Life would never be the same. I was in a state of stupefied amazement, my wife never looked prettier as she held our child. I could not believe the contortions she had just gone through to give birth. I still can't fully appreciate why women have more than one child, Melinda has done it 6 times, it is most definitely a woman thing. While sitting in that hospital room the next day, Valentine's Day, a question shocked me out of my state of bliss, "So what did you get me for Valentine's Day honey?" my wife asked. I thought to myself "Holy crap!" I'd forgotten about Valentine's Day, with all of the excitement of the birth, being a new dad etc. I had not given a thought to a card, candy or flowers, nothing for my wife. The only response I could think of was "You got a baby what more do you want?" This went over about as well a truck load of pig manure at a 4th of July picnic. She acknowledged that Kristine was much better than anything I, her hopelessly non-romantic husband could ever come up with in a million years even if I had been personally coached in "How to be a romantic guy school" by Saint Valentine himself or Fabio (Fabio was big in those days).

The best thing that ever happened to me in February was getting married. Melinda and I tied the knot on February 11th at the Idaho Falls Temple, 26 years ago. It is a day I shall never forget. It has been one heck of a ride ever since. I do not regret any of it, well except perhaps forgetting her birthday one time and oh yeah there was that one Valentine's Day, and then the time I forgot to ... you get the picture. I remain in love with Melinda and while 26 years ago I did not imagine it was possible to love her more than I did then, I do love her more now. So about now you're wondering what is this dork going to do for his wife for this anniversary and Valentine's Day. Truthfully I am not certain, it is not for lack of thinking about it.

I was at Wal Mart a couple of days ago doing the grocery shopping, my brother-in-law John was with me, we saw two teenage girls admiring a display of large over stuffed heart shaped pillows and giant teddy bears talking about how this one was "so cute" obviously hoping beyond hope that the young lads they had a crush on would see them fondling the pillows and stuffed bears and would get the idea to buy them one. I approached and said "can I ask your advice about something" they smiled and humored me. "Do you think I should get my wife one of these for Valentine's Days". They both assured me that one of the large teddy bears was a guaranteed winner. I suggested that if I gave her a large teddy bear she may like it more than me and I didn't want that. The teenagers replied "no she won't", but I was pretty sure that she didn't want a giant teddy bear. My eight year old daughter over heard my recounting of the story to my wife and while I was putting her to bed she offered "Dad I think you should get Mom the giant teddy bear, she won't get rid of you for the bear, and us kids don't need to worry because she loves us too much". I now know what to get for my eight year old daughter for Valentine's Day. I won't get her lingerie because she has always insisted that lingerie is a gift for the man not the woman. I don't think the reverse is true. I doubt she would be impressed if I bought her a pair of men's boxers with hearts on them that said "Eat Me" for me to wear as a gift to her. The more clothes I have on at this age the better just trust me. So I guess we'll see what I can come up with for Melinda.

To all you in love people out there I hope you have a great Valentine's Day.

How to be a Grandparent

2009-02-05T17:23:00.000-07:00

I was looking for books at the local library last night and found one titled "How to be the Favorite Grandparent". The title shocked me. I wasn't looking for anything on grandparents or grand parenting. I did know one needed a book to learn to be a grand parent, nor did I know there was an actual competition between competing grandparents for the love and favor of their grand children. First let me explain, this is in no way meant to reveal that any of my children are expecting a child at this point in time. I do look forward to the day when I will be a grandparent but when that happens fortunately is not my decision. One of my younger brothers, (no not my little brother, I have no older brothers only younger brothers and they are all bigger than I am so I cannot really refer tot hem as "my little brother") fairly recently became a grandfather. He said it had been a major goal in his life, partly due to the fact that his/our grandfathers both died when we were relatively young and our father died before any of us had children of their own.
Jim (my brother) said before his grandson was born that he was going to be the best grandparent ever, I asked how he thought this would happen and he said he was going to let his grandchildren do whatever they wanted at his house and give them money. I think he is on to something.

I do have some recollections of both of my grand fathers. They are good memories for the most part. They were both vastly different from each other and I remember enjoying being with both of them. They both died when I was fairly young so I did not have much of a chance to get a handle on their faults. Grandpa Jim (maternal grandfather) was a tall, relatively quiet man, who liked history. He was always calm and gentle, this was opposite from my grandmother who was stern, verbally abusive and generally not a very happy person. My main memory of my grandfather Jim was a walk we took to a small store near my home, we walked around the store hand in hand as he waited for me to purchase a piece of candy. We then walked home talking as I ate my piece of candy. My Grandpa George (paternal grandfather) was a big, wide shouldered man, not terribly tall but he had a bit of swagger about him, he was loud and for the most part good tempered. My grandmother was small, a good cook and relatively pleasant when I was younger. I remember getting on Grandpa George's train when I was a boy. He was an engineer for the Southern Pacific and Santa Fe Railroad. Needless to say I had an interest in trains as a young boy.

It is interesting that I have a similar goal to my brother Jim. I want to be a grandfather someday. I think his idea of being permissive with the grand children and giving them things is a good one. I intend to teach them important things like "pull my finger", how to bait a hook and catch fish, and to enjoy the outdoors to name just a few. I hope I can be a good grandfather like my father-in-law has been for my own children and his other grand children. He loves them all and they have no doubt that he does. It is fun to watch his eyes twinkle with joy and occasionally fill with tears as he watches them. I will always wonder what it would be like to watch my own father be a grandpa but find great satisfaction with the great job my father-in-law does as a grandparent. My in-laws have never been blessed with a great deal of material wealth but in the eternal scheme of things they are perhaps the wealthiest people I know. My dad used to tell me that "people are more important than things" that is an idea which can be lost in the day to day struggle to make a life in this world but remains true none the less. Like any good grandparent I anticipate thinking that my grandchildren are the smartest, best looking little buggers on the planet and making certain that everyone else knows I think so. It is not just about families it is all about families. Our greatest joys and greatest sadness come as part of being in a family.

One of my bother-in-laws has recently moved in with use as he starts a new job and waits for him home to sell so he can move his family to be with him. I can tell he misses his wife and children. Perhaps being separated from family members even if only for a short and then being reunited gives us an idea of how the final reunion will be with those who have passed beyond this life before us will be. I suppose at some point I will get to see my father be a grandfather and I will have a chance to get to know my own grandfathers who died when I was very young. What a day that will be.

Imagine That

2008-12-23T15:53:00.000-07:00

The stomach ailment which plagued our family appears to have run its course. Melinda has been busy making holiday treats. The children have been shopping today for the sibling whose name they drew. It has snowed some more setting the mood for a "White Christmas". Alex and Karlee may have found an apartment they can afford to move into after they are married. It is a small, very small, no it is just flat out tiny but I am certain they can turn it into a love nest.

The apartment reminds me if when I was a kid building "forts" with my siblings or friends. They were small but comfortable and it was amazing how many people you can fit into one. The art of "fort" building requires very little in terms of materials but it does require a great deal of imagination. There is the Inside fort and the Outside fort. The Inside fort is generally constructed of sheets, blankets, towels, animal hides and the occasional table cloth stretched over the back of chairs, couches, pianos or lamps thus forming a tent of sorts. Add some imagination and the odd sibling or two and the hours fly by when the weather is too bad for outside play. It is however important not to forget that mothers can be a bit uptight about the toll an inside fort can take on the furniture and linens. This is one of the times a kid can hone their negotiating skills. I remember negotiating with my mother not to tear down the third world refugee camp like tent city which had popped up in the living room. "But Mom, we promise to take it down and put everything away when we are done playing", we never seemed to be done playing and my Mom would end up picking up and putting away. I always had a slight twinge of guilt watching my mother cleaning up after me, but never enough guilt to pitch-in and help. I am convinced that moms let their kids make forts because first, it gets them out of the way for a while and second, somewhere in the dark recesses of their childhood memories they remember having a blast doing it themselves.

The Outside fort could be built out of odds and ends of lumber, bent nails and then placed over a deep hole dug in the lawn, or vacant lot, or it could be a large appliance box or series of boxes with windows and doors cut into it using Mom's best kitchen knife. In the first instance the deeper the hole, the better. With a make-shift roof in place you had a foxhole type structure which provided protection during dirt clod wars with friends and enemies. Yes we really threw clods of dirt at each other and we threw them hard with the intent of inflicting severe pain. Yeah I realize that now it is probably a crime to have dirt clod wars and children caught doing it are probably labeled as violent and forced to go to counseling. In the second instance the cardboard box fort provided a shady place to read books on a summer day or to campout in or just to play. The ultimate was to have a large appliance box, turn it on the side, and make it into a "tank". This was accomplished as the occupants walked on hands and knees forward or backward moving the box across the yard. It was pretty much like a cardboard "hamster ball" for kids only without the see through feature. Not being able to see where you were going only added to the excitement.

I was just thinking today how much fun I had playing with my siblings and friends in forts. Don't get me wrong I am not advocating that we get ride of X-box, Ipods, computer games, Dish TV etc. Nor do I suggest that children be given empty boxes for Christmas gifts. Trust me I like my computer and Dish TV, I was just enjoying some good memories, this seems to happen with more frequency now as my hair turns greyer.

So what the heck let the kids build a fort, they are on break from school, might as well let them sleep in it too, I can promise they are going to ask if they can. Have a Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

Eruption

2008-12-17T16:02:00.000-07:00

My youngest daughter called her mother today from school asking if she could come to pick her up because she didn't feel well. Melinda obliged, and as she and Mary were walking down the hall to leave, Mary began to barf. After leaving three large pools of noxious liquid on the hall carpet Melinda managed to get Mary into the restroom to finish the job. Melinda nonchalantly mentioned to the school secretary that there was some vomit in the hall. Without flinching the secretary said "Yeah that is going around, I'll call the custodian".

Memories from my own elementary school days came flooding back as Melinda told me the story over the phone. I can smell it now, vomit and that powder stuff the custodian would sprinkle on it before he cleaned it up. I remember at lunch one day at Crow Elementary school when one of the Pitch kids who had recently begun to use smokeless tobacco and put some into a fellow classmate's plate of stew. This resulted in an instantaneous violent eruption of projectile chunk blowing. Sympathetic puking began almost immediately by students sitting near by. Not unlike the pie eating scene from the movie "Stand by Me". On one occasion I remember feeling a little green but was determined not to throw up because it is such an unpleasant experience. I was sitting in my desk on the top floor of the school listening to the teacher and trying very hard not to blow. It was a warm spring day and the room felt stuffy and uncomfortable. A quarter sized amount of stomach contents made it through and onto my desk. I looked around nobody seemed to notice, only fifteen minutes left in class and I could make a break for it. Unexpectedly the teacher stopped talking, looked at me and asked, "John are you feeling sick?" I remember thinking "what a stupid question", "No I feel great that is why there is a small pool of partially digested food on my desk". I began to respond, all that came out was "Ralph! Aaarrfff, sploosh!" the torrential flow hit the desk top and spilled onto the floor. I felt as if the Devil himself was being pulled kicking and screaming from my stomach. My teacher looked at me crossly and said, "Get your things and go home", there was none of this be certain to stop at the office to sign out or to call your parents to be certain somebody was home etc. In those days it was pretty much a no-nonsense approach. Virtually everybody's mother was at home and there was no question that I could walk the half mile home, so what if I had the dry heaves and was hallucinating. I didn't worry too much about what my classmates would think, they had all done something similar and besides the girl I had a crush on was not at school that day due to an upset stomach.

My daughter commented on the ride home, "Well that was embarrassing", my wife attempted to calm her fears said well nobody saw you do it except one third grade boy. Fortunately it was not the third grade boy she has a crush on, unfortunately he is a third grade boy and third grade boys like to talk about stuff like barfing. Her only hope is that he gets sick also.

So as the holiday season is upon us, try not to over do it with the food and drink. If you have to vomit try to do it in private. Trying to hold it never works and as Shriek says "Better out then in". One other thing for those of you who consume alcohol to the point of barfing, what is with that? It certainly can't be much fun hugging the base of a toilet puking your guts out.

Rabbits, raisins and "Peeky the Butt Cheek Elf"

2008-12-12T16:02:00.000-07:00

I know the reason for the season is to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ Savior of all mankind. Today however I have been reflecting upon Christmas memories having to do with families. I do not think it would take much of a stretch to link families with Christ's birth etc, etc, so you Purists can settle down and enjoy or run off screaming blasphemy! warning all creatures great and small to not read this blog.

One of the Christmas memories my mother is fond of telling and she has told to everyone she meets around Christmas, has to do with a rabbit and it's dropping. To my children, wife, and my siblings, nieces, nephews, and anyone else who has been told this story more than once I am truly sorry for the pain you may well be reliving. I am only going to touch on it briefly. As the legend goes Santa Claus (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) had bestowed the gift of a real live white rabbit to the wee Slaughter children. Upon entering the living room to inspect the booty (the pirate definition of booty not the Snoop Doggie Dog one) we were reportedly delighted to see the rabbit hopping around. My sister always thinking of food made the observation that the rabbit had left some raisins behind for us. My parents, by my mother's report, broke into fits of laughter and nearly wet themselves. I remember none of this and only have my mother's word on it since Dad has been dead for 25 years. I do remember that the candy canes and carmel pop-corn balls in the stocking were infested with ants and I was more than a little annoyed by the fact that Santa had brought insect infested goods into the house.

My wife reminded me of a Christmas memory relating to our own children. My mother had purchased a book called "Peeky the Curious Elf" for the children, they liked it and read it a great deal. In some of the drawings of "Peeky" his pants ride just a tad bit low, I am certain the intent was to make the story even more charming. My oldest daughter, a blossoming artist decided that the original artist had left out an important detail, the "butt crack". She in a very uniform and anatomically correct manner added the "butt cheeks" to the drawings of "Peeky". When she was done the children renamed the book "Peeky the Butt Cheek Elf". Melinda and I had a good laugh as we talked about it. Melinda is going to see if she can find a copy of the book someplace and give it as a gift to all of the kids next year. Of course we'll have Kristine do the artistic editing first.

I also remember the Christmas before my grandfather Slaughter died. I was just 6 years old at the time but the trip made an impression on me, not because grandpa was dying because I didn't know that at the time, but because of the trip we took that Christmas Eve. I distinctly remember my parents loading all of us children in our pajamas into the back of the old Volkswagen van with some luggage and packages and heading out into the night. We were traveling from our home in Ukiah to Bakersfield, a trip of 400 miles on old highways, this was pre-interstate. I know that as I faded in and out of sleep during the trip my main concern had to do with how Santa was going to find us and deliver the gifts that night in Bakersfield and not to our empty home in Ukiah. My father who always loved Christmas sensed my concern and reassured me that Santa had been alerted to our temporary new address that evening. This placated me for a while but I was till uneasy about the whole thing. Later in the trip my father said "Hey look kids there is Santa and his sleigh, he is heading the same direction we are, I'm certain he knows were to find us" as he pointed up into the star lit night skies. I strained my eyes and to this day I am pretty certain I saw Santa and his reindeer, either that or some blood vessels burst in my eyes because I was looking so hard, but you get the picture. The next morning we woke up to some gifts and stockings and spent a day or two playing with our toys. I don't remember seeing grandpa very much during that visit, but it has been a good memory for me over the years. It helped cement in my mind that my father knew what he was talking about and I could trust him. Thinking about it now makes me miss him a great deal. He never got to see his own grandchildren open their gifts on Christmas and I have often wondered what it would be like to see him with his grandchildren at Christmas, to hear him speak to the Nisa man in Danish in reference to each of the children.

Anyway enjoy Christmas this year, piss poor economy and all. If your father is still alive don't take him for granted this Christmas, if he is gone think of those good Christmas pasts. Merry Christmas!

"Dad you're like Kung Fu Panda."

2008-11-27T12:51:00.001-07:00

It has been a while since I have posted a blog, but life has been busy. The new dog needed to be spayed, the Tahoe had to go in to the body shop to be fixed, I spent a whole weekend in Afton and Rock Springs for work, I tolerated a 2 hour CES in-service and had my Institute class observed by the CES "dude" from Casper, and I tested for 2 martial art belts.
So today is Thanksgiving and at 5am, I woke Miller up to go hunting with me, he didn't want to get up. Melinda got very ill so I decided to stay home and get the food ready. Melinda wouldn't let me do the pies, she is considering letting me do the rolls. I did the turkey and stuffing and will almost certainly be able to peel the spuds without being challenged for the job.
I am looking forward to going hunting tomorrow, Sandi (the new dog) has recovered from her surgery and I hope we can find some pheasants to shoot. Miller and I have a couple of deer tags to fill so the weekend may shape up nicely as long as I don't get sick and provided Miller will get up at 5am.
Michael recently tested for and earned his red belt. In 6 months he can test for his black belt. I think it is pretty cool that he has stuck with it and has developed a pretty decent jump double kick. I have made it to green belt which is the fourth belt in rank in the long line road to black belt. I managed to do it in 6 months. Not too bad for a middle aged fat guy. I still haven't mastered the jump double kick yet, but the ground shakes when I do a back break fall and my bo staff skills are beginning to take shape. A couple of weeks ago at the end of a particularly long and strenuous practice as we were walking out to the car, Michael and Mary both said "Dad you're like Kung Fu Panda". I was not certain if this was meant to be a compliment or a gentle slap down. I asked what they meant by the comment, both answered in unison "I don't know". Normally I would take this to mean they didn't want to hurt my feelings and thus used the "I don't know" card to save their skins. I had not held out any delusion that I resemble a grey haired Jackie Chan or anything so on this occasion I allowed myself the luxury of thinking "Kung Fu Panda? Hummmm, well he did turn out to be pretty cool by the end of the movie". So now I am working on figuring out the "Wooshy finger hold" so I can impress the judges at the next test, and perhaps I'll use Micheal and Mary to it demonstrate on.
Have a good Thanksgiving everyone. Jim, I wish I could be at the Chili Bowl this year.

A Great Day

2008-11-10T22:55:00.001-07:00

O.K. so the election is over. History has been made, let us just hope that President-Elect Obama is up to the task and will do no lasting damage to our freedoms. Having now covered this topic I would like to describe a great day I had. Melinda has a great gift for knowing what can make me happy. With a birthday coming up in a few days she recognized that I might be happy with a new dog. I believe that this idea came after she read my last blog about dogs. A few days ago an opportunity came for me to get a rescue dog from Cheyenne. Not just any dog but a 5 month old registered Brittany Spaniel named Sandi. On Saturday Miller, Mary and I drove to Douglas and met the people who were giving up Sandi. After some tears by those saying goodbye to Sandi, we loaded her into the Tahoe and headed for home. All and all she has settled in pretty well, she is not as well trained as we were led to believe. The up side of this is that we can train her as we want to. I have been interested to see if Sandi had any hunting instincts, this morning as I was following her on her morning walk she came to point and flushed a pheasant, then flushed three more. I was pretty excited, this dog can hunt. I waited until about 9am and called an old hunting buddy to see if he was doing anything today and if he knew of a good place to hunt pheasants. He said well you got a new dog and I got a new shotgun sounds like a deal. We met at 10am and within 30 minutes were hunting. To make a potentially long story short, Sandi did pretty well for her first day hunting. I got to shoot my gun several times, I was able to spend time with a good friend I haven’t hunted with for years and we got our limit of pheasants. My back hurts, I’m tired but I can’t stop smiling, I called Melinda and said “I had a great day”! I hope to have more great days recognizing of course that there will be some crap days mixed in। I hope you had a great day and if not I hope you have one real soon.

Dogs

2008-10-31T12:22:00.000-06:00

Today I had a phone call from an old social work colleague. He moved to Florida several years ago and we seem to touch base about this time every year. I suspect it is because he misses hunting in the fall. He typically asks how the hunting is going. Today he asked how Kristine's wedding went, and told me about his trip to Alaska fishing with his wife. We talked a bit about fishing here in Wyoming, the conversation drifted to bird hunting with Pheasant season set to open this weekend. He informed me that his Black Lab, Katie had died recently. She had lived for 16 years and had been a great dog to hunt with.
After I said goodbye it was not long before my mind was filled with memories about the different dogs I've owned or known. So many stories, you know with every dog there is always at least one good story.
My father loved dogs, he used to talk about a Boston Terrier Bulldog he had when he was a boy. The dogs name was Buster and would ride in the basket on his bike as he delivered news papers each day. My parents told me that a Springer Spaniel named Sam had taught me to walk. The legend is that Sam would come up to the couch where I had been perched by my mother to keep me out of trouble, I would slide down his back to the ground, grab a handful of fur and he would walk me around the room. Sam met with a bad end, he was shot by a rancher for chasing sheep with some other dogs. I suppose the lesson here is to be careful what kind of crowd you run around with. Princess was the most famous dog in my family of origin's lore. She was a beautiful Irish Setter, who unlike many Irish Setters actually was pretty intelligent. Princess went wherever my father went. Dad was once accused of having an affair with a red head by some one who thought that Princess' hair and ears flopping out of the window was Dad drove by belonged to a woman. There are too many stories about Princess to tell them all, one of my favorites was about the pigeons. Dad used to raise and race pigeons as a hobby when I was a young boy. He had saved some money to purchase a male and female pair of pigeons from a well known breeder a few hours away. Early in the morning he put an empty bird cage and Princess in the old Ford station wagon and headed off. After picking up his new birds he drove for home. On the way he stopped at a café to get something to eat. When he arrived at the car following his meal he found Princess in the front seat with both pigeons hanging out of her mouth. Apparently she was very pleased with herself, presenting these birds she had got to Dad. He always said that he did not know if he should laugh or cry. He did not take Princess with him when he went to get the next pair of birds.
My brother Jim had a dog once named Scooby, she was some kind of cow dog. Scooby moved with us from Montana to California, to Washington State. While I did not have much use for Scooby Jim certain was attached to her. Jim called me the other day and asked if I needed a dog. I know enough to know that generally if some one calls you and offers a free dog that there is a catch. I asked probing questions about this dog Jim was offering. What I discovered was that Louie (the dog in question) was part something and part something else. He likes to jump straight up and has the peculiar habit of jumping to the top of a 6 foot fence perching on the top of the fence like a bird and then jumping down only to wreck havoc in the neighborhood. I declined, I'm on thin ice with my neighbors already.
My own family has certainly owned several dogs with colorful personalities. There was Lucky, Rusty, Chester, Erminguard, Kate and Sadie. We know have Patches, he now a very old Dalmatian. All of these dogs hold some place in our hearts and mean more to some than to others in the family.
It is funny the bond that can develop between people and dogs. I remember getting my first dog. My Jr. High School science teacher Mr. Conlin had some Black Lab puppies for sale for $10.00. I took $10.00 of my lawn mowing money and picked out a male puppy, I named him Champ. My father and I had visions of Champ becoming a great hunting dog. He certainly had good instincts and showed some promise, but he also had one trait that was not conducive to living among the Native Americans on the Reservation we lived on. He would try to bite anyone who was not white. I had to make certain he was tied up all of the time. I had to be careful when I brought home my Native American friends etc. We talked to Mr. Conlin who confirmed that Champs mother had the same trait. Champ was a big powerful dog who was known to pull his dog house behind him down the street as he chased people. Obviously this was not working out very well. Dad found a rancher friend who lived in a remote part of Eastern Montana who was willing to take Champ. Dad and I had both hunted on his ranch over the years a. It was a long drive home from the ranch and while I was upset at having to let Champ go, I also felt a sense of relief that I did not have to worry about him anymore. Not long after that we moved to California.
Approximately five years ago I was seeing veterans on the medical unit of the VA hospital I work at, I came across a veteran who had the same last name and whose address was in the same proximity of the rancher who had taken Champ. As I talked with him and his wife I asked if they remembered my father, his wife said that she did because she had worked with him at the HIS Hospital in Crow Agency, MT. The rancher could not remember his name, his wife explained that he could not remember people's names very well anymore. On a whim I asked, "do you remember a 14 year old kid who gave you a Black Lab about 30 years ago or so". He smiled and replied, "I think that dogs name was Champ wasn't it, he sure was a good bird dog, I hunted with him a lot". His wife replied that he had the uncanny ability to remember every dog he has ever known. I enjoyed a few minutes of conversation with them after explaining that I was that kid who gave him the dog. It was nice to know that Champ had lived a good life and it gave some closure to that part of my life.
So take a moment to think about a dog you really loved and spend some time petting the one you now have. I for one am grateful that God put dogs on earth with us, they make us laugh and cry. I have learned a great deal from them over the years. Maybe I'll get myself another hunting dog. Right now the new kittens we just got are itching to be played with, have a good week.

Cassarole, wooden spoons and table forks

2008-10-24T17:04:00.000-06:00

I was sitting here thinking about the upcoming weekend, I am looking forward to going out with my wife for dinner and a movie. We have not been able to go out for some time due to the "wedding" preparations. Kristine is married now so there is a brief break in the action. This will not last long because Karlee has recently announced that she and Alex will be getting married in March. I can already hear the sucking sound money makes as it is drained from an account. Back on topic, I was thinking about food and where Melinda and I would go to eat and suddenly the memory of eggplant casserole came to mind. More a nightmare than a pleasant dream.
I can see it and smell it now, an intrusion from the black recesses of my mind. My mother, known more for being "practical" than for being a good cook had scored a large quantity of eggplant. We had for days been subjected to fried eggplant, fried eggplant and maple syrup, eggplant sandwiches, eggplant ice cream and still we had not exhausted our supply of eggplant. Eggplant cannot be canned or frozen (she'd already tried that), hence the eggplant casserole. I will tell you this, it was just nasty tasting and not even slightly visually appealing. There were copious amounts of casserole left following dinner that night. Not to be deterred chef Catherine placed the leftovers in the refrigerator. Two nights later (thinking we had forgotten) the dish was resurrected only this time disguised by the addition of zucchini slices, cream of mushroom soup, bread crumbs and velveta cheese. Mom further attempted to enhance the deception by taking a large steaming spoonful and with a smile take a large bite, almost instantly the smile vanished and she struggled to choke down the mouthful of food. Her customers unimpressed did not touch their portions. We all packed up and went to some fast food place, Mom leading the retreat. What is it that Obama said, he can put lipstick on and still be a pig..., no wait you can put lipstick on a pig and it is still a pig, yeah that's it.
My mother did teach me a few things about cooking, mainly things not to do. I also learned from her how to dodge a wooden spoon with the speed and agility of a gazelle. Do you know it isn't that bad being hit by a wooden spoon, particularly if you can make a good forearm block which will usually break a wooden spoon. This provides enough time to make an escape from the kitchen with stolen cookies in hand. I also learned that taking a direct hit from a metal spatula is painful, they typically do not break unless your mother is really mad and almost always leave a mark.
I always wondered why most of the good food mothers cook end up at the PTA bake sale, Relief Society dinners, funerals, DUP (Daughters of the Utah Pioneers) meeting or are provided to Sister Rabbit's family each time she has a baby. It may be because in order to make good food you have to have, time, and good ingredients. It could be the belief that if you do not bring good food to one of the above mentioned events then people will talk about the sad fare you contributed. Besides it isn't like the old man or the kids are going to leave home over poor food (they may go to the Maverick and buy a hot dog and a coke). What the heck if the husband or one of the kids leaves for a while there is just less laundry to do. But they like a bad penny always come back don't they.
Flying forks, just ask my brother Jim, it is true, if you throw a plain old metal table fork hard enough it will pierce clothing and penetrate human flesh. Jim experienced this first hand when we were kids and I hucked a fork at him. The fork stuck in his leg as he made a valiant attempt to avoid the speeding fork. I freaked a bit at the sound of his screams and the sight of the fork sticking out of him. Then I thought that was cool. It stuck!
One of my grand mothers scared the living daylights out of me once in the kitchen when I was about 12 years old. She was not a very happy person in the later years of life, and if she had the notion to she would haul off and whack you upside the head with her hand or whatever object was handy. I seemed to be one of her favorite targets, I suspect this was due to the fact that I was an ugly kid and prone to be a smart-aleck. On this occasion I had managed to get grandmother's knickers in a twist while I was in the kitchen making an after school snack, (a jellied eggplant and peanut butter sandwich). I sensed that she was about to strike and with sandwich in hand I began to make a move to get out of her reach, she countered by grabbing the first handy object, a butcher knife. I I dropped the sandwich and nearly evacuated my bowel's on the spot. I managed to get by her and safely out of the kitchen. Looking back on this event I doubt that grandmother would have cut me up too bad, maybe just enough to teach me a lesson, that's all. To this day I am not a big fan of slasher movies, the first time I saw the shower scene in the movie "Psycho" it scared the pee-waddlee out of me.
On this note, kids be nice to grandmother, hide the butcher knives and wooden spoons, and wear proactive eye gear when having a fork fight with your siblings (some one could lose an eye). Have a good week.

Uncouth Conversation

2008-10-21T18:48:00.000-06:00

October 21, 2008

This is my first attempt at "blogging". I have watched with envy as my wife has entered her thoughts and observations in her blog for others to view. So below is my contribution to informal literature.

The other day I was heard to to one of my adult daughters (Mindy), "That was disgusting!" as the car filled with methane gas so bad I could taste it. We were whizzing down the interstate crossing Montana on our way home to Wyoming after our eldest daughter's wedding in Idaho. Mindy's sharp and not unexpected reply was"It wasn't me!...it was Michael!". Soon a conversation ensued on the topic of human methane gas production. The next words from my mouth were "would you all stop this uncouth conversation!". My hope was that the five children riding with me would indeed change the focus of their conversation. I realized I had just said something one of my parents had said to me on similar occasions in my youth. "Oh crap!' I thought, another one of those I am turning into my father/mother moments.

So the word Uncouth (`un-kooth') according to the dictionary means; Crude, unrefined. I had used the word correctly and it applied to the conversation in the car. Similarly my parents had appropriately applied it to me and my siblings' conversations many years earlier on numerous occasions, likely on the very stretch of interstate I had recently been traveling with my children.

What got me thinking was the ready recognition on my part that I am certainly not the most refined person on the planet. I think Larry the Cable Guy is funny, I do not care who you are..... After all both of my parents while college educated had come from blue collar working class families raised during the Great Depression. My father unwittingly taught me to swear while working on cars and I learned the complete "Gene, Gene, made a machine...." song from him when I was in second grade. My mother was noted to swear a blue streak in the kitchen when she burned her hand taking the eggplant casserole out of the oven. (Eggplant casserole? you ask, well that is a topic better left for another day). One of her favorites was "Son of a #$%*@!".

Think about it, the facade of refinement. Nobody would suspect the Queen of "letting one rip" at a formal dinner or at any time for that matter only to blame it on one of her cute little dogs. (No offense meant to those of you related to the Queen). I doubt that any of the Prophet's children, grandchildren etc. will ever relate the time when grandpa said "pull my finger" after a heavy meal. BUT we all know it happens to them just like it does to us. I do however find some joy in the idea that those of us who express ourselves freely in this arena are immensely happier than those who stifle the urge to the point of near explosion. I only know one person whose flatulence does not smell odoriferous and that is my mother in law. I believe this only because she insists it is the truth and I have never know her to lie.

Imagine if you will reading a Jane Austin novel or better still watching a BBC version of "Pride and Prejudice" or "Sense and Sensibility" (You know the one with Colin Firth or Hugh Grant) only to see the characters engage in a conversation about how Miss Mary Anne or Mr. Willaby were "crop dusting" at the ball. Picture this, handsome Mr. Darcy speaking with his obnoxious aunt, he pauses, slightly lifts one leg while holding a glass of wine, holds his breath, strains and bust a "grumpy". With a tone of utter dismay he hollers at the butler "Jeeves!.... no more steak and kidney pie for you!". At this the whole room breaks up in riotous laughter including the obnoxious aunt. Not an overly romantic moment. I suppose that is why Rowan Atkins in his pre-Mr. Bean days had a whopping success with the Black Adder series on BBC.

I hope I have given you something to think about. Perhaps at some future date I'll write about every ones favorite medical symptom, diarrhea. Until then don't pull any ones finger, and keep a dog handy. I have to go now and prepare my Institute lesson.

John