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...