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.