Twas the Night Before Christmas...

OK, we won't win any Oscar's for cinematography, but every year growing up my Dad was the one who read this story.

I hope you enjoy,

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Christmas Memories XII

So every year, either the 22nd or the 23rd, once in a while on Christmas Eve, we try to have a cookie decorating event for any and all that want to come make cookies for Santa....or any other cookie afficianado.

Some years we only have two or three and some years...a few more...

 Can't say I complain about the finished product...

I admit that while I make the sugar cookies, I do buy the pre-made icing, color it and pre bag it with decorating tips. It makes things a little easier.

Sometimes, I wonder why I drive myself crazy trying to do all this stuff for Christmas

Then I start looking at a few of these pictures, and I realize why. I want all these children to have awesome Christmas memories like I do



Christmas Memories XI

WORST CHRISTMAS GIFT IDEA EVER!!!!

One year, back in the  90's my sister Nancy got the idea of "dollar Christmas". It was when a few dollar stores started popping up, and we were getting a little big to still be buying everyone gifts. Harriet opted out (smart move)

Needless to say there were a ton of presents under the Christmas tree that year....unfortunately most weren't even worth the dollar!!!!

What a disaster...we didn't do that again.

Christmas Memories X

Once upon a time, we had to drive all the way into church on Gunnison Avenue. Then after the stake was split we ended up in the Stake Center for a couple years while they built a new chapel for 10th & 11th Wards on Orchard Mesa. My Dad was the Bishop when they started and dedicated that building. He put a lot of time into making sure that building was designed for a growing ward.  After Daddy died, Brother Jay Olsen and a couple other men in our ward petitioned Salt Lake to plant a tree with a plaque in memory of my Dad. It started out as a little bitty Blue Spruce.

One year my cousin's wife Lynette had her children make ornaments to hang on the tree. My Mom started putting those little ornaments on for a couple years, but the tree just got so big it started to swallow them up.

So, I decided that I would surprise my sisters and my Mom, by having Jason and Casey, along with my kids decorate the tree with red Christmas ribbons.

Over the next few years it became a family tradition to decorate that tree, but it kept getting bigger and bigger!

(Oh yeah...fat Allison helped too...) 

 We had someone complain, so we stopped. I'm not really sure why they would...but..

Anyway, I probably will start this tradition again, I still have all the ribbons, I just need to get a cherry picker, because the tree is pretty big now!

Christmas Memories IX

One of the Christmas traditions that Scott and I started with our children were to make gingerbread houses every year. Some years we get them done early...but, we have been known to actually make them on Christmas eve also. It's just one of the things that marks the traditions of Christmas for us, I admit we use the little kits. If I had to actually make the gingerbread....yeah...we would never do this!

Christmas Memories VIII

Candy Cane Cookies!!!

Since my Dad was a diabetic, my Mom didn't make a lot of baked goods. But....

at Christmas time, she always made these cookies.

They were a little sticky coming off the pan, but I increased the flour a little and if you use parchment paper they work pretty good. My nephew doesn't think I should share the recipe, so keep it to yourself!

1C Butter

 1 1/2 C Sugar

2 Eggs

3 C Flour

2 tsp Cream of Tarter

1 tsp Baking Soda

1/2 tsp Salt

1 tsp Vanilla

1 C Crushed Candy Canes

Cream butter and sugar, add rest of ingredients. Chill dough 1 hour, roll or cut into 1" balls or squares. Bake exactly 8 minutes at 350 degrees.



Christmas Memories VII

Christmas Dinner isn't Christmas Dinner if it isn't served on Desert Rose China!

This pattern was my Grandma Whitings. I think she must have had service for about 60, plus, it turned out that this is also my Mother's pattern. So, when my Grandma died she had always insisted that my Mother get her china.

 Did I mention she had a lot? And this is after my Mom has given each of us service for 4.

Now, I don't know which grandchild broke this dish. But I always remember this cracked serving dish with either olives or little pickles in it (Note: The pickles were always sweet, I don't know how many times I popped one of those in my mouth before I remembered that Grandma Whiting always bought sweet pickles!)

Oh, there's a couple of ladies that will be happy with that pic! But...notice the plates in their hands...

Christmas Memories VI

I don't have any pictures for this one!!!

When I was little, I must have been around 5-6 years old, my Dad got an idea. I don't know what international crisis motivated him. He cut out of paneling, the words "PEACE ON EARTH". Then we spent a family home evening, covering the letters with glue and silver glitter. These letters had to be at least 3 feet high each. Then he hung the letters on the north side of our house, where they could be seen from Kannah Creek Road, with spotlights on them at night.

I only remember them up for about two years, but my niece Jackie says she remembers them being up. I really wish we had a picture.

UPDATE:
Upon further review (I sound like an NFL ref)

I believe, after further investigation, that there may have been two separate sign events. I distinctly remember making signs in my parents family room, because we had linoleum in our family room, and that is where we made them, and the glitter was all over that linoleum for months after. Plus, I remember it being before my mother got the "throw-up" carpet. I think the first set of signs were MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Then, I believe that during the first Gulf War, my Dad and family made a second set that said PEACE ON EARTH, because my niece Jackie remembers that and Nancy remembers making them in the silver barn, which we didn't have until I was about 6.

Isn't that the trouble with memories?  Sometimes they get all jumbled up.

She's a Real Live Girl!!!!

I wonder when people talk about the challenges of teenage girls, that so isn't my daughter. Not to say our lives have not had issues, but overall we have been blessed with a pretty awesome daughter. But, anyone who knows her realizes she is a good girl, sometimes I think she is a little too good. (I know, as if that is a problem).

Anyway, yesterday we were shopping with Nancy and Kassie, and had stopped for lunch in the cafe court. Emily was conversing with us about Christmas presents when all of the sudden she said, "Well, what if I gave you a big ass...." immediately Nancy and I had eyes the size of Harriet's infamous self made video. Emily knew as soon as it was out of her mouth...she stopped...grabbed a napkin and covered her mouth. It rolled off her tongue so easily....

I know it's wrong, but I think it's funny. I'm so glad I have a real live girl!

Christmas Cows & Adventures in Pig Land

Oh the joys of animal husbandry....

Last Saturday the cows arrived in my Mom's field. Jason and Harriet lease out the field in the winter to some boys in Whitewater that put about 50 head of cows in for a couple months.  Last Tuesday when I was coming home I thought I had missed the memo on a meeting because they were all clustered around my little walk gate behind my house. Turns out they were all just watching Jay and Jason fix the water leak that formed Lake Harriet.

Then yesterday morning around 7am Scott said, "Wow, did you hear those cows? They sound really close, I hope they aren't leaning on the fence". About 15 minutes later I went out to water the animals and found that the Christmas Cows had visited us in the night. They ate about 100# of the pig food we had so generously bought and apparently left for them, then they left us cow pies all over our back lawn! The Whitewater boys came out and got them back in, they even replaced the pig food! So all in all not a huge deal.

When I got home from town I went out to feed the pigs some expired milk that Nancy had for them. As I started out I saw Pearl out in the pasture waiting patiently at the walk through gate to come back in. Strange. So I got her back in, and started pouring the milk in, when I looked up and she was out AGAIN!

This time it was a little more to get her in. Then I thought I found the spot she was getting out, and while I was getting it it fixed, both pigs managed to get out, because they know how to open gates that aren't latched. So I had to chase them over behind Nancy's. I just got them back in again, and they escaped...damn magic pigs!! This time I  chased them up to Harriet's, then in and out of Scott's garage...this was going well.  We got them back in, I was fixing the fence...Scott had come home and was helping when that stupid Pearl escaped again.  At this point, I didn't care if I ever saw her again as we watched her head out in the field over to the herd of cows. We gave her a salute and wished her luck...

Then, suddenly we heard Pearl squeal and the mass of cows started mooing all at the same time. Now if Scott hadn't seen this also, I think no one would have believed me...but all of the sudden here came Pearl running for her life and every one of those cows were chasing her. She ran all along the bottom of the field from the old big cottonwood tree, then straight up the fence to the gate where Scott intervened and Pearl collapsed from exhaustion. I so wish we would have got that on video.

She was so tired that we couldn't even get her in the pen. So I left her out to calm down and then see if we could get her in. She was showing some stress signs so I went to get the pig book from Nancy. I was over there a couple minutes when Scott came looking for me because that stupid pig had gone back in the field and the cows had chased her up to Harriet's.

This time, Nancy (the pig whisperer) came and got Pearl right in. Where was she the last half dozen times?

This morning I went out to see if Pearl was still alive and...she was out again.  She must have been tired and cold because she went right in, and I realized I had put the clips a little high on some of the fence I fixed yesterday. So I went and got the supplies and fixed the fence...again...did I mention I was in my bathrobe? and it's snowing? 

Man, I wish Scott hadn't insisted that we get these animals...

Christmas Memories V

Unwilling young men. Every year we recruited some shepards, wise men, a Joseph, and sometimes even a King Herod. They weren't always very happy about it.

Daniel, Jason, & Brandon

Oh yeah, that would be Matt, the infamous truck driving sheep herder. (what ever gets them out there). Yes, that was during the actual nativity.

Lastly, my own son, who obviously looks absolutely thrilled. One of the few joys in this world is getting the chance to force your children to do something that you had to do as a child.

Christmas Memories IV

So many of my Christmas memories revolve around my Dad, because he absolutely loved Christmas.

Every Christmas when I was little we spent at my Grandma Whiting's house. The little silver tree on the right of my Dad was Grandma's "money" tree. Every year she decorated it with $5 bills inside special envelopes that only showed Lincoln's face.  Then at the end of the night every grandchild got one. I wish I still had a money tree, and not just on Christmas.

Christmas Memories III

I don't remember how old I was, probably around 10 or so, a couple days before Christmas, my Dad and Uncle Rod drove over to Salt Lake for the day.  When they got back, there was a full sized pool table and full sized air hockey table in the back of the truck.

They were awesome!!! Plus a Pachinco game, which none of us had ever played with before...

Anyway, the pool table took up prominant residence in the family room and the air hockey table...amazingly got taken up the stairs to the middle bedroom.  There after that room was forever referred to as "the air hockey room" even years later when there wasn't an air hockey table in there.

That was a fun Christmas, I think we even had a pool tournament

Breaking Traditions

I know, usually I use this little corner of the internet to bash those lackadaisical members of either my family or faith who don’t step up and keep “tradition” for the next generation. But, I realized today that my daughter is both older than 16 and a senior in high school. Tradition in my family dictates that at some point in the next 6 months she should receive…a cedar chest. Due to my poor parenting skills, if I were to ask Emily what a cedar chest was her response would undoubtedly be, “…a chest… of cedar?...” obviously… but if I were to further question her as to the traditional purpose of a cedar chest she would just stare at me.

Alright, I am willing to concede that there are traditions that can die, and this is one of them. Growing up my sisters all had cedar/hope chests, my Mom had a cedar/hope chest, and I’m pretty sure my Grandma had a cedar chest. For those not familiar with the purpose of a cedar/hope chest, it was designed to fill with future home-making items that would be used when a young woman got married and magically became domesticated. Kind of like a house hold trousseau. Such wonderful things as embroidered dish clothes, custard bowls, and quilts were common hope chest items. Also, they held treasured items that you couldn’t quite throw away but didn’t know what to do with, such as the cap and gown from you graduation, your high school prom memorabilia, etc.

Growing up my sisters and I would occasionally comb through my mother’s hope chest, and be amazed at how tiny some of her treasured clothes were, the old wedding announcements or even question why one of my Dad’s old suit coats were in it. Then came the day when I got a hope chest, it took up space in my bedroom and being so domestically minded I immediately wondered what in the heck you were supposed to put in there. Over time it eventually became a catch-all for things well intentioned people gave me that I had no idea what to do with, like a set of nesting Tupperware bowls, some china and a really big crocheted afghan with giant roses on it. Currently it still holds that afghan, my wedding dress (which was also my mothers’), a cap and gown, some baby blessing clothes, and….I have no idea what else. Over the years that darn thing has followed me everywhere and like my sister’s hope chests, has become a decorating challenge and an item of scorn by every Elder’s Quorum brave enough to help one of us move.

I can’t get rid of the darn thing, it’s my hope chest. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it either. Donna bravely got rid of hers after 40 years, and it was hideous early 1970’s style, I think it had been through about 93 moves. My mother has hers in her garage, and Ellen’s at the foot of her bed, Nancy’s is at the foot of her bed, and so is mine…because that is what you do with them. But, in a break from my tradition I do not plan to buy (aka saddle) Emily with a cedar/hope chest. Somewhere a future husband should thank me.

Christmas Memories Part II

I plan to do a bunch of Christmas Memories, and since I've lived a really long time, they will probably tend to bounce around on the time scale.

On Christmas Eve, my family typically has a large family dinner. For a few years we had Christmas Eve out in the red barn, while the Hanging W was still around. It was right at the end of the evening when Erik took a dive right off the stage and....a gorgeous Christmas Shiner!!

Great Pictures for Christmas Morning!

Christmas Memories Part 1

I must have been around 4 or 5, and I still remember where this was sitting in the front room. I didn't get the clothes washer, which is on the far right, but the other three saw lots of use over the next few years. I wasn't much on dolls, but I did have a lot of fun with this set. Weird, you would have thought I would have known how to cook when I got married.

In A Nut Shell

When you say this to me, it usually means that you have rambled on about something that most people will find completely irrelevant. Then, to supposedly summarize, you say, "in a nut shell" and I immediately think, "what size of nutshell?"  After all there are a lot of sizes, will your summary require a coconut shell? or will it fit into a pinon nut shell? So the next time you attempt to drag on something you are telling me, then begin to sum it up with this phrase, don't be surprised if I ask you what size.

Things I Learned at My Mother's Knee

(Note to Harriet: Read the whole post before you get mad, ok?)

A couple Sundays ago Cheryl Condit gave a Relief Society lesson about teaching our children.  It was a very nice lesson, and since I love Cheryl, I even participated a little. The sisters were all giving examples of their mothers setting them down and teaching them some great gospel principle or patiently showing them how to do something domestic and of course the perfect ones were giving examples of their own handiwork. Harriet, Nancy, Fern and Shirley were all absent, so I sat alone in our back row spot. (Oh everyone has their designated seating, you know it's true)

When I got home, Nancy was quizzing me about the lesson, after I told her about it and some of the comments made by the other ladies in our ward, we talked about teaching our own children. Thanks to this blog I regularly share my not so picture perfect parenting experiences. Obviously, the more you attempt to make the perfect setting, the more it never seems to turn out like the Hallmark channel. So as the conversation progressed we started talking about our own childhood experiences.

Now my mother wasn't exactly the patient, let me gently show you how to do something kind of Mom. Nor was she the "sit at my knee while I expound bible stories" type either. I remember when I wanted to help in the kitchen and some of her most quoted sayings were "watching is helping" and "would you just get out of my way". While growing up I didn't know how to cook, as evidenced by my frantically calling Aunt Lois and asking "Does scald the milk mean burn it?". I remember Mom insisting that I take sewing and cooking in 4H, but after my third attempt of putting in a zipper, she just did it (I got a blue ribbon on that by the way). Anyway, so Nancy and I started to ask each other about what did we remember from our early learning...and then it got quiet...and we stared at each other. "Do you remember Mom showing you how to cook?" "No, I learned in HomeEc, did she teach you how to sew?" "No, Mrs. Nostrand did that in 4H, did she show you how to clean?" "No...what did she teach us?"  So we wondered...and then I had to go home, because it was late.

The next day I did remember one time when I was about 5, in the forest behind our cabin she showed me how to make a lean-to shelter, in case I ever got stranded out in the woods. I called Nancy and told her, she was happy I remembered something. I'm not sure if she did. Later when I talked to Donna and asked her, she remembered that Mom had shown her how to vacuum the stairs and clean windows with newspaper. So then the conversations turned to what our Mother was doing the whole time we were growing up...

After turning this over and over in my mind, I determined that the things our Mom did teach us were pretty difficult to define. My sisters and I decided that our Mom taught us by example.  Growing up my Mom was busy; she herded cows, kept the books for the ranch, cooked, cleaned, farmed, gardened, wall papered, permed hair, traveled with kids, sorted cows, helped fix fence, and raise 5 daughters, including one with an extremely rare blood disease. Our Mom taught us that you basically cowboy up and shoulder on, you roll up your sleeves, get it done, and try to have a sense of humor and fun along the way. My Mother wasn't a drama queen who lounged around and whined, she didn't nag, she just did it. She took extra good care of her husband, told her daughters to "dry up" when they felt sorry for themselves, and she did teach us a lot of clever sayings, like "didn't have a pot to piss in, nor window to throw it out of".

So while I don't have picture perfect memories of defining moments of learning from my Mom, I do know that she did teach me a lot, and for that, THANKS.

To Nice???

No..not me. As previously noted, I fully recognize that I am not exactly about to win any Miss Popularity Contests in my ward. That's OK, I don't go to church for other people. But there are some that really don't like me, and while they may attempt to hide it, it is pretty obvious.  So, one of the many perverse pleasures that I have in this life is to talk to them at church, when other people are around. Because they are so much "better" than me and such fine people, of course they have to respond.  This irritates them a great deal, and it makes my day.

Emily's Achilles Heel

ahhh...the instrument of torture, capable of reducing my daughter to an absolute basket case

The Real Story

Alright, it's time to write this down, because I'm a Whiting, so the story has definitely gotten better with the retelling. So I'm ready to set the record straight.

October 1984

Isuzu I-Mark Coupe

It was a dark and stormy night...no really it was. My friend, Julie, who lived up the canyon, and I were on our way home from a church basketball game at the E 1/2 Rd chapel. I can neither confirm nor deny that we may have been gossiping about a certain girl cousin of mine who can still irritate the hell out of me. The road was really slick from the cold rain and I didn't exactly drive the speed limit. (I still don't drive the speed limit on that road) Just as we crested what is known as the whale's head, a little bump of a hill with about a 30 degree turn on the down side, a giant raccoon ran right in front of me.  Now, before I get you all lecturing me about never swerving to avoid an animal, I want to assure you that this was neither my first nor my last animal that I have mowed down.  I have never had a wreck resulting from swerving and I never plan to.

Anyway, I hit that ginormous raccoon straight on, the little sucker bent the tie rod on the drivers side causing the car to swerve sharply to the left. I tried to correct against the slide but the car did 180 and rested for about a millisecond once it hit the the gravel. Ever so slowly the car flipped on it's top and slid down into the barrow ditch on the north side of the road. Right up to the point that the windshield broke I was pretty sure I could get my cousins to help me flip the car and my parents would never know.

Julie thought I was dead, but we actually both walked away with only a couple scratches and bruising. Considering I wasn't even sure there were seat belts in that car, someone had to be watching over us.

We walked home about 3/4 of a mile in the rain, and I think I must have been in shock because I was really worried that someone might attempt to steal my basketball and Footloose tape out of the car before we could get back.

Of course my parents were on their way back home from moving my sister up from Arizona, and it was the days way before cell phones so there was no way to let them know. We watched for the highway patrol to show from window, but before the patrol man could show up we saw the bright lights of my Dad's pickup and those pretty lights from his horse trailer he was using, especially as the brake lights lit that red trailer up. My sister Laura and I jumped in her car and tried to get up to my parents before they thought I was dead too. Fortunately a truck and 4 horse trailer don't exactly stop on a dime. My Dad was walking back up to the accident site when we got there, it was very dark and very late, how in the world my Dad's eagle eyes spotted that car upside down in a ditch I will never know.

Despite this picture, I can assure you that this raccoon was huge.

So know you know the whole story, I'm pretty sure that there were plenty of ministering angels watching over two teenagers that night, and maybe a few since then.

Chores

The other night I got home, in the dark, and started to go feed all the animals.  It was cold, it was dark, and as I slogged out in my mudd boots lugging a bucket of water, I thought..."why am I out here doing this?". The truth is that when I was 5 my Dad brought home three rabbits. They were my "responsibility" teachers. My parents didn't care if those rabbits lived or died, but I did. For the next 15 years I always had chores to do in the evening. Out in the snow, in the summer, it didn't matter. I remember heading out to the big red barn on dark cold February nights hugging a large warm glass bottle of calf manna for a doggie calf, feeding the rabbits, the steers, gathering the eggs and settling everyone for the night. Maybe it's my therapy, but now that I have it back again, I realize just how comforting it is for me to go feed, water, and make sure everyone is all set. My family probably just wishes I payed that much attention to them!

I Like Being a Girl

...I'm just not very good at it. It's true, I have never really figured out this whole girly/woman thing.

Let me back up, a couple of weeks ago on the plane ride home from Denver I ended up seated next to a woman who was on her way home from a seminar on the "essence of femininity" (I'm not even sure I know how to spell it).  All the way she babbled about getting in touch with her true feminine side and how wonderful this conference had been.  Then she proceeded to inform me that while she loved her husband, she needed to focus more on herself...yeah, that's the secret to a happy life.

But the whole time she was babbling, I thought...I know how to fix pumps, I feed livestock, I can drive a tractor and I used to drive a backhoe occasionally, I don't ask for a carry out at the feed store because I can shoulder a 50# bag of feed pretty easily, and I don't know how to french braid my hair. I have man hands and I never had a pedicure until I was 40 years old. So I'm not really sure how to get into my "essence".

Don't get me wrong, I like to be a girl. When I was a teenager I once counted 6 pink dresses in my closet. I don't know, I think I just don't have the energy required to be a true drama queen, (no one asked you my sisters). Maybe it's to late in my life to attempt to get in touch with my feminine side, by now who knows where it is.

Letter to My Husband

Dear Scott,

I love you, I love our marriage.  I can't imagine ever being married to anyone else. So now that I'm done with the mushy stuff, here's the deal. I know that I have promised that if you die, I won't marry anyone else. I distinctly remember making that promise, every time you have woke me up in the middle of the night after one of your nightmares and made me promise it all over again.That being said, is why your life insurance is always kept up to date.

Now, if I die...sweetheart, you have to get remarried. You won't make it. Sorry, but on behalf of our children, the house, the animals, you have to get remarried. And Honey, it's OK if it's pretty soon even, that is fine.  You have a very short list of who you can't marry, and I know you have access to a stake directory to help you start looking.

I know you think that you couldn't possibly get remarried, get over it. Remember that summer when we tried that whole "stay at home Dad" scenario? Yeah, eventually you will run out of food in the house and the kids walking around naked isn't a good idea. So Honey, I'm putting this out there so that you can't claim otherwise.  My sisters are free to start up the dating pool as soon as I'm planted, and you already know my directives for the funeral.

Remember that I love you, and go find a good woman.

All my Love
Allison

PS No one wants to see your fingernail as it turns black and starts to fall off.  Trust me...

Dudley

Oh my boy, how I have loved you,

and how I will miss YOU.

Precious Earth Angels

What did you do?

What did you do in the pre-existence that was so amazing...

..that all you had to do in this life was just show up?



Making up

On October 17th we went to the airport and picked up a new daughter. Ok, she's not really ours, but we would keep her if we got the chance. Our German exchange partner, Katherina came for just under three weeks. Given the fact that the number of my teenagers increased by 33%, Emily was a zombie in Romeo and Juliet, we had a rock-a-thon, and I was getting ready to head to Toronto for work the day before Kathi left, the blog got a little neglected. So sitting up here in the frozen tundra of Toronto, listening to the election results, I am desperately making up for lost time. See, even when I'm not actually blogging, I'm really blogging in my head. So bear with me if the posts are a little mixed up.

Let a German Shoot Your Gun and....

they'll use all your ammo!

Then they will shoot your Halloween Pumpkins!

 So the time with our German students was drawing to a close and we had asked Kathi if she would like to go shooting, since they recommended that as an activity with the students (as if I need an excuse). Our student has a father who hunts boars on his farm and a brother who belongs to a shooting club. But we still asked her, originally her response was "oh...no...when I shoot, sometime I hurt myself...or other people".

OK, good to know...

But then I thought, "what about the people that are hosting students that don't have guns" (the thought frightened me), so at the lasts minute on FB I invited anyone that wanted to come out to our house and do a little shooting...

Well, we got about a dozen kids and shot about $400-$500 worth of ammo in about 3 hours...yeah...
But I couldn't say no.... they were having so much fun...I just kept going back to the safe and getting more...

I have to say the only incident was by me, and it was a dumb one, fortunately no one was injured. Also, we didn't quite expect so many, so ear protection was a premium, since I'm already half deaf I figured I just let them finish the job. They did.

Kathi and her friends were pretty proud of themselves, they didn't back away from any of the guns and everyone shot all them, even the .270. Then they decided to bring home a little souvenirs...I hope the TSA doesn't notice...

Wild Horses

On Halloween I volunteered to help drive the German exchange students up to see the wild horses on the back side of the Bookcliffs. I have lived in the Grand Valley all my life and have never been on the back side of the Bookcliffs. I figured this was a pretty good deal, we had a couple ladies from the Friends of the Wild Horses for guides and we were going to caravan up there, so at least I wouldn't get lost. The requirement was that they wanted people with 4 wheel drives, and thanks to El Presidente I was all set.

It started out pretty good, our student Kathi was a little bummed because before her good friends could hop in a couple of other Germans jumped in the back, but she made the best of it. I quickly discovered however, that I was the only Mom that had volunteered....strange...

We rendezvous in Palisade with our guide who started out by telling the students how magnificent the "feral" horses were and then started to cry as she related a story about one of her late beloved mares. She finally led us out and we drove up above DeBeque and drove...and drove...and drove. Ok, the lady was driving really slow, like 25 mph on roads that my mini van could have easily handled. After nearly 3 hours of driving, we went though a green livestock gate, she came back and announced we were finally on "the range". Seriously? I had been looking for a herd of wild horses for 2 hours, and had no idea they were in a fenced in "range".

Finally we climbed a small hill and the lady was all excited because about a mile away there were three horses grazing in the Pinon trees, and it required field glasses to see them. Then the last car said there were some back down the hill, we turned around..still far away. We decided to head over to the "cabin" to eat lunch and finally saw three up close. Surprise, surprise...they looked like broomtails.

The Germans all thought they were cool, but I pictured a majestic herd of 20-30 all bunched up, apparently they don't do that. So while the Germans were all down taking pictures I tried to make small talk with the wild horse lady, it didn't go well:

Me: So when you have your roundups..
Her (interrupting): We have gatherings.
Me: Ok, so when you have your "gatherings" how many horses do you cull?
Her: It varies, and then we do adoptions...(blah, blah blah)
Me: What about the ones that don't get adopted, I understand they go to a feedlot over in Canyon City?
Her: It's not a feedlot! It's an Adoption, Relocation and Rehabilitation Center...(blah, blah, blah)
Me: So you dart vaccinations?
Her: We don't vaccinate! We just do yearly birth control on select mares...(blah, blah, blah)
Me: I thought back in the  70's you weren't allowed to break the horses you adopted.
Her: NO, that has never been the case, and these horses aren't broke in the traditional sense, you have to gain their trust slowly...(blah, blah, blah)

Overall, I think I made her a little bit mad...great.

So, as I mentioned, I was the only Mom, so at lunch I tried to make conversation with the men, none of which were driving a pickup, apparently 4 wheel drive applied to SUV's.

Them: That was a nice ride up here.
Them: Yeah, I was surprised we didn't see any hunters though.
Me: We're between seasons, second season closed Sunday night and third doesn't open until Friday.
Them: Oh...uh...yeah
Later:
Them: Well, when I lived overseas while I was in the military....(blah, blah, blah)
Me: Oh, I know exactly what that commissary thing is like, everything in the commissary in Iceland was frozen.
Them: Oh, you were stationed overseas too?
Me: uhh...yeah

Then our guide apparently took off with a couple Dad's to check the spring and took forever getting back. They finally showed up at the same time we were supposed to be pulling back in front of the high school. Having finally had it, I told Kathi I was pretty sure I could find our way off this "range" so I left first. I was quickly followed by several other cars. I easily made it back to DeBeque in an hour.

It turns out that driving all the way up to the Bookcliffs to see the horses is about as exciting as going out in the pasture behind the old white cabin to get our horses when I was little. I hope the students had fun, I however don't think I made very many friends. I'm pretty sure "broomtail" isn't politically correct and apparently you are supposed to have a penis in order to know when hunting season is.

Army of Helaman Mom?

In the Book of Mormon there is a story of 2000 stripling warriors. They went into battle with Helaman, because their parents had taken a vow to never pick up weapons again. They were young and went to war to defend their people. The young men believed the things their mothers had taught them and they had great faith, as a result they suffered no casualties.

Last week while I was making breakfast I, of course, had Fox News on when the father of  Tyrone Woods came on and had a message for President Obama that he needed to be forthcoming about the events of Benghazi. He ended the interview by stating, "It is better to die a hero than live as a coward".

Thinking this might be a teachable moment I asked my children if they thought that was true? My son looked at me drowsily over the top of his breakfast Mountain Dew and said, "well...cowards live longer."

....great...

That Didn't Happen

I was engaged once before I met Scott. To say that my family didn't like him would be to put it mildly. He was older, divorced and not the wisest choice. However, I was the fifth daughter, so while my parents let me know they weren't thrilled they still loved me and supported me. I realized that he probably wasn't for me, but circumstances were a little difficult because at about the same time I came to that realization, his mother passed away. Awkward. My parents, unaware of my change of heart and being supportive, took dinner in during that time and met his family for the first time that night. Later, I remember I was watching TV when my Dad came in the room, he leaned one hip up on his pool table and told me he needed to talk to me. My Dad wasn't usually very serious, so this was pretty unusual.

Dad: We took dinner in to *** family tonight.

Me: Yeah, I know that was nice.

Dad: You're going into science right?

Me: Yeah, my major is biology.

Dad: Well, I'm going to put this scientifically so you will understand, if you marry **** your kids will be retarded. There is something really wrong with that family and I think you should know that.

Me: OK, but I can't break up with him right now.

Dad: I know

Well, I didn't marry him and thanks to his stalking ways I ended up going to Iceland and meeting my wonderful husband. Fast forward almost 23 years and the other night I was taking Emily in to an academic awards ceremony...again. On the way in we stopped and got the mail. Lately all my mail is for Emily, colleges seeking her interest, but that day there was a letter from the Society of Women Engineers, Emily wants to go into engineering. She opened the letter (even though it was addressed to her Dad) and found, among other things, a sticker that said

My Engineering Student

Emily all but rolled on the floor boards laughing, "Isn't that awesome? I love it" Then she looked over at my absolutely blank face. "Don't you think that's funny Mom?" I flat out told her I didn't get it. "You know, the square root of any negative is i " OK. When we got to the school she showed it to her Dad, who immediately got it as well. Later I was sitting in the audience watching her get her award and thought back to what my Dad had warned me about so long ago...well, I guess that didn't happen.

Not Enough Time

Harriet and I got to speak in church on Sunday. I was so excited. I love to talk in church and they so rarely ask me. That is because there is so much that I need to tell the people in my ward.... Anyway, for two weeks all I heard from Harriet was how she shouldn't have said yes, that maybe she should go out of town, etc. When we got to church on Sunday, I was scheduled first with Harriet being the concluding speaker. She immediately informed the bishopric that I really should be last because I was going to take up a lot more time. OK, that was fine, I am usually pretty good at stretching it. But the real secret was, I have heard the old woman speak before, and once she gets on a roll there is no stopping her. So sacrament meeting progressed in the usual way, only a little bit of ward business and at 2 minutes to 12 the old woman stood up.  At 12:15 I saw her glance up at the clock and thought, "OK, she's getting ready to wrap it up" nope. At 12:22, she finally sat down, looked up and said, "Oh my word, did I really talk that long?", uhmm yeah. Then we sang a super long intermediate hymn, all the verses, and I was left with about 10 minutes. 10 minutes??? Afterward my husband told me it was my best talk ever, he really liked it, especially because I didn't make any jabs at him...well, duh, I didn't have time...

Best Years of Your Life??

A couple days ago I heard it again, "those were the best days of my life". Really? I have heard this particular statement in reference to a lot of things over the years, high school, mission, college, etc.  Whenever I hear that I immediately feel sorry for that person's spouse and family.  The "best" days? Yep, it's all down hill from here...

Why do people do that? I don't understand. They look back at some halcyon version (yes, I get to use that word because I have actually had halcyon, it was awesome, all the cars on the highway had twins that day), as if nothing currently or in the future will ever measure up. Everyone has good times and bad, but I would never be so bold as to determine that it will never be as good as it once was. 

I hated high school, I was awkward and it was miserable. It didn't help that all the sitcoms in the 80's glorified high school as a great time, it wasn't. You couldn't pay me to go back to that time in my life, even though I still had my Dad and my sister. Now our kids have the Disney channel and half a dozen others that also glorify that time in your life, and trust me, high school never looks like a sitcom.What an unrealistic bar we set for our children.

Then there is the "best two years of your life" comment from people who are referring to their mission. If I were that person's wife I would be so sad...Do you mean to say that the best two years of your life were when you were living with some other guy? Not when we got married? When your children were born? When your grandchildren were born?

The best time in your life should be right now! Even when it stinks, this is the best time, go forward, embrace right now. You owe that to all the people in your life, this is the best time, don't squander today with rose colored glasses looking backwards.

I figured it out..

Hey, I figured out how to allow comments without all that rigamarow!

He's Still Got It

As mentioned in a previous post, my son had a choir concert last week. Yes, he is in choir because 1) He actually does have a pretty good voice and 2) It gets him out of one semester of middle school PE. Don’t feel bad for him, he is the only boy in his particular choir, and I don’t think he minds it…


Anyway, it was a patriotic choir concert to salute America’s veterans, so Scott got a special invitation. The concert was held in the Roper Music Ball Room, which I had never been in, but it turns out it was a great place for a choir concert. They had the American Legion do a flag ceremony (by the way people, you aren’t supposed to be seated until the colors are posted). There were three choirs and each did three patriotic numbers, then all three choirs came together at the end to do a closing number, which included a medley of all five service hymns. Veterans were encouraged to stand when their particular hymn was sung. There were quite a few army, quite a few marine, no coasties, then Air Force, there were only two Airman present, and while I have seen my husband stand to be acknowledged before he usually just stands at attention, then returns to his seat. I don’t know if it was the Air Force hymn or the former marine from our ward who challenged all the other services with a big hurrah, but when the Air Force hymn came up my husband stood and executed a perfect salute. Standing at attention for the entire hymn he made my heart beat just a little faster. Yeah, he’s still got it.

Whose Bright Idea Was This???

I just finished booking my trip for work this week to Toronto. Yes, Toronto in November. Who in the world thinks we need to go to Toronto in NOVEMBER??? I will admit that 120 lbs ago the idea of heading to the frozen north would have sounded heavenly, but since the poundage drop my thermostat has been pretty radically adjusted. I tried to get out of it; I haven’t been to this particular conference for about 4 years, so I guess it’s time. But…TORONTO??? I knew I should have gone last year when it was in Phoenix. Now all I can do is wonder how many coats I can fit into my carry-on.

That Feeling

Does anyone else ever feel that need to go down to the creek and fire off a couple hundred rounds of semi-automatic weaponry? Feel that recoil and smell that ammo....


                           No.....


                                                                       ....just me then.....



                                                                         

                                                                                                   ........never mind

...it's still unfair...

I am approaching (in a couple years) the point when I will have been Allison Dederick as long as I was Allison Whiting. The fact that because I got married I had to change my name still irritates me. For the record I did ask Scott to take my name when we got married...he said no. I am a very traditional person, you know, no white shoes after labor day, the boy should ask the girl out, etc. But this bugs me.

I spent almost 23 years making sure people knew Allison Whiting, only to have that completely disappear in one day. To be fair I don't know if I was making my name famous or infamous, but 23 years of work for virtually nothing. It's just not fair. People who went to school with Scott know that Scott is still Scott Dederick 50 years later, people who went to school with me now have to ask, "What's her married name now?". I guess I could have kept my maiden name, but that's a little to liberal for me, I did attempt to hyphenate when I first started in the water business, but had a friend say, "Seriously Allison, you don't want to be one of those."

There has to be a better solution. In Iceland the last name of a person is their father's first name with son or dottir (depending on their gender) as their last name. So in a single family there can be up to four last names, like Helga Gunnersdottir, Sigurd Anderson. While that is a challenge for genealogy it might be an option.And what about those women who get remarried with children??? Do you keep the maiden name, the name of your children or the name of your new husband? It's confusing and dumb...surprisingly I don't have a solution, and it's a problem I have pondered for many years. At the end of the day...it's still not fair...

Jumping to Conclusions

To say I am  an obsessive compulsive worrier would be to put it mildly. Don't worry I am seeing my health care professional for help. Anyway, my beloved little boy struggles in school, and crazy woman that I am, I live in an anxiety filled world about it most days.

The other day I came home and found a standard sized envelope from Orchard Mesa Middle School, with Mr. Dederick hand written on the outside. Immediately assuming the worst I started ripping open the envelope while simultaneously yelling (alright rather shrilly) "ERIK, what is this envelope for Daddy for?". My son came around the corner with a look like his mother had finally lost it and calmly said, "It's a special invitation to our Patriotic Choir Concert for Dad, since he served in the military."

Oh....that's just what I was thinking it was...

Not Exactly Up to Scott's Standards

Anyone that has spent time with my husband knows what a perfectionist he is when it comes to building things. Everything from an old west bar for the family play to laying tile and building goat houses. Anything that Scott builds he spends a lot of time and effort into making it “just right”. That is why my decision this weekend is killing him.

Fall is getting away from me. I have so many projects that need to get done, right in the middle of the back into the school swing of things, Emily’s senior year, and having a German exchange student coming in 2 ½ weeks. One of the things that I have not dealt with all summer was a shelter for the pigs. See, I haven’t been all that clear on what the future holds for the pigs. Originally I figured we would have them for a few months, the novelty would wear off and then we would have some bacon and ham. But, then I found out how much fun their personalities were and I saw an add on Craig’s List for a guy that “pimps” out his boar. So this has led to many discussions with my sister Nancy about the future of our little piggy girls. Trying to decide has left us in limbo because the pig breeding business will require a significant facilities investment, and until I know for sure I’m not quite ready to invest all that much time and $$ to the project.

In the mean time, the fall is upon us, it is getting cooler, the rains have started and every time I go out to feed, the pigs look longingly over at the goat’s very nice shelter and then back at me with accusation in their eyes. So, knowing that my over the top husband would require several days of research and building for a shelter I have been searching for alternatives. My niece Allison, suggested a straw shelter, a type that she has used previously (sounds like it would be pretty tempting for a wolf with strong respiration skills). So I had just decided that would work, when I saw another add on Craig’s list and realized I had an old camper shell too…

The girls love it.

OK, they are pigs. I don’t think there is such a thing as a “nice” pig shelter…

It’s not like it is in the front yard…

I know, it is so redneck…

Oh Now I Get It

When I was a teenager there was another young woman in my ward, let’s call her Matilda. Matilda was pretty physically fit, I think she may have even been a cheerleader, but she wasn’t overly attractive. Well, Matilda was pretty popular, it seemed like she always had a lot of dates and a lot of attention from a lot of boys buzzing around her. I just didn’t get it. I remember sitting in the car with my Mom, watching Matilda cross the parking lot and saying, “I just don’t get it, Mom. Why is she so popular? She’s not even pretty.” Now, I know that is not very nice, but I was absolutely baffled about what was so wonderful about Matilda. My Mom, maybe because she was naïve too, or just didn’t want to admit what she suspected, told me, “You know Allison, maybe she has a great personality, and she is a lot of fun to be with.” Hhmmm,

I was pretty naïve back then, I don’t think I am now. I ran across a picture of Matilda the other day and I started thinking back…while I’m not 100% certain, (maybe she did have a great personality, but a great intellectual she was not) I do believe that she was doing a little something more to ensure her popularity. If my Mother suspected this I wish she would have just told me, it would have been so much easier instead of having me enviously watching and wondering.

As stated before on this blog, I am pretty blunt with my children. What goes around comes around and I have had almost the exact same comment from my daughter about certain girls in my ward. Unlike my Mother, I flat out say, “Emily, she’s probably putting out, do you really want to be that popular?” I mean I finally get it, teenage boys are hormonal creatures and the novelty of a girl like that is like the only bicycle on the block, everyone wants a turn.

I am sure there were girls like that in my Mother’s day and there will be girls like that in my granddaughter’s day. So let’s just do all our daughters a favor and call a spade a spade.

We Shouldn't Punish the Shoes

When I was growing up I learned to run in 4” heels. I didn’t wear them every day, so that was quite a feat. Usually I was wearing cowboy boots or high tops, but I loved my heels. Then I got married. My husband is 5’8” tall, and I am just a hair under 5’5”, I have always been conscious of women who were taller than their husbands, so I gave up my big heels for many years.

After all, it isn’t as if I can wear those shoes to my work, because pumps and pumps don’t exactly mix…get it? If I have to explain my jokes, they aren’t funny.

But, one day I was out shopping, looking at all those lovely heels, and realized that the shoes shouldn’t be punished just because the Lord decided to make my eternal companion only a few inches taller than me. So I have happily re-embraced my love of tall shoes, and that is why I now have all these beauties:

I Have Brown Eyes

You may not realize what color my eyes are, because if there is a picture of me, and I am smiling, you can’t see my eyes. I am the direct result of many generations of squinty eyed people marrying each other. That is just the way we are, if you can actually see the color of my eyes…I’m probably mad. Just so you know…

Act Like It

Colorado Summer was technically my sister Nancy’s, horse. However, I know I logged way more saddle hours on her than Nancy ever did (Nancy has me beat on the number of hours logged irrigating). Summer was exactly one year older than me, and our birthday was/is the first day of summer, hence her AQHA registered name. She was the quintessential quarter horse, a beautiful sorrel, about 16 hands and very well bred.

She was an all around great horse for riding and roping; she also used what is called a hackamore bridle. A hackamore bridle is the type of bridle that doesn’t use a bit through the mouth. It is just a has a nose piece and doesn’t provide quite the level of control a regular bridle does, but Summer didn’t need a bit because she neck reined so well there was no need.

When I was about 14 I was showing horses and since my horse, Rosetta, was still pretty green broke, I was using Summer. One of the club requirements was to ride in a couple of the downtown parades during the spring and summer. No big deal, except that either the parade or club required that all horses have a bit, no exceptions. So I started a couple weeks before our first parade, and that bit turned this a well-mannered, sweet tempered Summer into a nightmare. She threw her head and threw a fit, every time.

Frustrated and angry I went to talk to my Dad who was busy fixing his swather. I told him how Summer was acting and how mad I was…my Dad let me rant and rave then, never looking up said, “Who is smarter? You or that horse?”

Indignantly I said that I was smarter.

Then my Dad looked up at me and said, “Then act like it.”

Words I admit I haven’t always remembered in the heat of the moment, but that have served me very well for many years in many situations.

Phrases I Use to Set My Husband's Teeth on Edge

My husband and I are pretty compatible in most areas, unfortunately our sense of humor is not one of them. He doesn’t think I am very funny. I know…. In fact the only time he thinks I’m funny is when I tell a dirty joke. Sometimes when I ask him about it, he claims to be laughing on the inside. I think that is not true. Honestly, he takes my humor pretty good, usually with a sigh and a shake of his head. To top it off I think Emily has inherited her father’s sense of humor, yes it is a trial.

Anyway, over the years I have learned exactly what can make my husband extremely irritated, one of them is my belt loop trick...mwahahaha.. Another is when I use any of these phrases:

You know, you are my favorite husband

You are my handiest husband

Huh, that’s not what my other husband said

None of my other husbands can (fill in the blank) as well as you

For full disclosure, I married Scott when I was 22 and I have not ever previously nor since been married to anyone else.

Career Change??

I would make an excellent assassin. I think I missed my calling in life and I should have been recruited by the CIA or some other top secret government agency. After all, everyone knows I like guns, and a couple years ago I discovered I am really good at laser tag. So of course I would be an awesome operative.


I used to read romance novels, but now I read a lot of action/thriller/black ops type novels, so I think I am ready for the big time. Unfortunately I have shelved that dream because I’m a Mom, and a wife, and who would go to parent/teacher conferences and get the laundry done if I was out saving the world from jihadists.

The conscience part of it? No, I don’t think I would have any issues with it. A couple weeks ago I was sitting next to Nancy in Gospel Doctrine (we had a substitute) and they were discussing the wars in the Book of Mormon, and how the Nephites didn’t really want to kill the Lamanites, because who really wants to kill other people? Nancy leaned over and said, “I would want to kill people in that situation, does that make me bad?” I assured her I would to, I thought about it and told her, “No, we aren't bad, it just means we want to give those people an opportunity to meet the Lord sooner and start their explanations early”

Want to Try Something?

Don’t worry, this is G rated:


Last Sunday night, I came out my bathroom getting ready for bed and discovered my husband leaning against our bed when he said, “Hey, want to try something?” Hmmm…. we have been married for 21 years, and I don’t think I have ever heard those words. “Sure” I said, smiling.

“Cool, I need you to power up your laptop and see if you can get this video link through the church web server that I have to use if we need to broadcast from the stake center over to the E ½ Rd chapel.”

Great…that was just the picture I had in mind….

See we have an Apostle coming from Salt Lake this weekend. The details have been a bit fuzzy because our stake has either A) Never met a general authority before or B) Are naturally extremely poor communicators. Maybe it’s a little of both. Regardless of the reason that they are coming, it has certainly opened the door to WILD speculation from all kinds of people!

Anyway, because Scott is the stake IT specialist (as well as the stake finance clerk) all the AV stuff is up to him. So, for the past two weeks he has been testing and retesting the links and cables to make sure everything works. Now when I say he has been testing this stuff that means lots of after hours at the stake center trying to get a building that was built in the 1950’s up into the digital age. It is a good thing I’m not a paranoid wife when my husband comes home from church around 1:00 am.

I’ll be glad on Sunday at 12:30, partly because the wild speculation will be over with, and partly because if I hear my husband say, “hey, want to try something?” it might not involve my laptop.

If You See Me at the Liquor Store

OK, yes, I go to the liquor store. I try not to frequent the same one, no sense in giving all my business to the same guy. But, if you see me coming out of a liquor store...I hope you don't get the wrong impression. I know, it looks pretty condemning, I have a brown paper sack and in it you will find a bottle of Everclear.

Now for the explanation..I work in a laboratory. One of the most common methods in all water laboratories is a bacteriological test for coliforms. (The bad bacteria from poop, like E. coli) Anyway, the cheapest method for finding this bactera requires an agar called mEndo-LES. It is a great agar that has some dyes which make coliform group bacteria fluoresce under UV light. However, you can't autoclave this agar, so you have to put 2% by weight of 90% alcohol into the media while you are cooking it over a hot plate to sterilize it. We also use Everclear to flame sterilize forceps while we are working.

Well, technically I could simply order this from my scientific supplier, but I don't know anyone in the industry that actually does that.  Why would you? Everyone has a corner liquor store down the street that is selling that wonderful 180 Proof Everclear, which just happens to be 90% alcohol. Even when I worked in Utah, with their restrictive liquor laws it was easier to simply go down to the State Liquor Store and purchase 8-9 bottles of the stuff.  But now I work in Clifton, with more liquor stores in my respective boundaries that any other businesses, so buying Everclear is even easier.

I know, "the appearance of evil" and all that sort of stuff.  Let me assure you that barring that one incident in Iceland (the bakery was Icelandic, how was I to know that those lovely coconut covered chocolate balls were soaked in rum, until my husband, a former liquor connoisseur, tried one and told me) I have never  had or tried any liquor except what is in a bottle of Nyquil.

So if you see me in Clifton, heading out of a liquor store with a paper bag...judge away. I've got nothing to hide.