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.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Great Expectations
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".
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".
Sunday, January 24, 2010
What a pain
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.
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.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Slow Down
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.
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.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Old Shot Guns
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.
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.
Monday, October 5, 2009
School Days
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Boxes of stuff
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.
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.
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