Trinidad, and the Big Mississippi

I remember something a fellow young man told me about 20 years ago.  We were in a tent with a couple other young men on a scouting campout.  My father was one of the leaders at the time.  He was fun and dorky. He would participate during games of capture the flag, and he would teach weird geography songs to those who were willing to learn them.  I don't remember the whole of the conversation that led up to this comment. I think it was something along the lines of one boy saying, "You're dad's goofy."

I, thinking to deflect some ridicule, said something like, "I know. He can be pretty dorky sometimes."

Then the other boy said, "I wish he was my dad."

I had never seen either of these other boys' fathers at any campout or any other scouting event.  Their fathers never played basketball, they didn't sit by their sons at church, and they certainly didn't sing goofy geography songs around the campfire.

Thank you for being a dad, Dad.

Dogs 2

So here's the whole dog story:

A couple weeks ago, a friend of ours, who is going through a very nasty divorce, asked us if we wouldn't mind watching her three little Maltese dogs for a while until all the divorce stuff was finalized. The place she's staying doesn't allow pets. So we took them in. We suddenly had responsibilty for three very cute, but fairly smelly, fairly impossible-to-keep-clean, long-haired, yippy, annoying, dogs. It did provide some motivation to complete the privacy fence. That took 2 days. 

Well, as it turned out, the privacy fence was not quite as secure as we thought. The mighty leader of this trio, named Marshmellow, dug under the gate while we were out for an afternoon, and they disappeared.

I was not sad, but I was a little disturbed that these ridiculously expensive pure-bred dogs had decided to independently wander the streets of Independence, sniffing meth and what-not. I drove around the neighborhood for a bit, looking for fluffy white and red splotches in the street. They were not located.

We ashamedly contacted the owner, and to our surprise, she responded by saying something like, "Well, someone probably picked them up and is taking good care of them. It's fine."

And joy abounded. We were free of the poopy little gremlins and we could go back to our non-dog lives.

But Becky saw how Samantha had embraced Marshmellow, so they went out and got the substantially less cute and slightly less stinky Peanut Butter...

But, that's not the end of the story, folks. After Peanut had been in our home for all of two days, the three fluffy demons from hell came YIPPING BACK TO OUR HOUSE, covered in dirt and occasionally vomiting some kind of sticky white substance which looks like a combination of hair, possum flesh, and tartar sauce.  

So now we have FOUR DOGS.

Who wants to come over for a roast? 

Dogs

Here are the top ten reasons to NOT own a dog:

1. They smell. They smell like dog.

2. They shed. Their hair gets all over everything and it smells as much as they do.

3. They bark. They bark all day at everything that isn't food.

4. They eat food.

5. And then they poop. In your yard. Where your feet go.

6. They jump on your furniture with their little claws.

7. They bite. If they don't like something, they don't file a complaint, they just bite that thing.

8. They have other nasty things living on them, like ticks and fleas and moray eels.

9. When you go on vacation, you can't just turn the AC off and leave your house. You have to find someone to watch your dog, otherwise you'll come home to a dead dog, which smells even worse than a live dog.

10. Speaking of which, they sometimes get sick, and then you have to pay a guy who acts like a doctor to prescribe medicine or perform hip surgery or hit it with a shovel.

So that being said, meet Peanut Butter. Or Peanut. Or Pee Pee.

She's a Pug mixed with some other kind of thing that's not a pug. Probably a Chihuahua. So she essentially looks like a perpetually pissed-off Chihuahua. She's fat and lazy and she eats table scraps and doesn't bark and Becky just bought her. Like a pair of shoes.

So now we have a dog. A damn dog.

Kinda cute though.

And Phyllis Begat Wendell

So they got matching dresses. And tattoos.

And they stood around in our backyard looking pretty while they contemplated the cosmos.

 This one broke the cuteness barrier with her pigtails, though we had to reinstate her prom privileges to get to keep them in.

Then we drove to Colorado and back to visit with Super Grandma. Grandpa Wendell's mom had never met Nora. Now she can live peacefully, knowing that her progeny will soon destroy all of humanity.

Cry Havoc

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves

 Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

 It is meant that noble minds keep ever with their likes; for who so firm that cannot be seduced

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. 

My Grandmother's Long Shadow

My grandmother was a gardener. She produced fruit and vegetables like America produces fat kids. She supplied her family and the rest of the neighborhood with greens aplenty. And she did it in the dessert of Utah. She's getting on in years now, and her capacity to bend and weed a bit limited.

We're attempting to carry on the legacy a bit. It's not a huge garden. It certainly wouldn't sustain us, but we might have a spare zucchini or two to share in a few months if bugs don't kill them like they did last year.

Nora eats spinach.

Snap peas and beans

Owl decoys don't really work. The birds are still getting our strawberries. Does anyone have a real owl?

The open-house is almost over. We got to be very involved with the tours for a couple days. The activity and attention it's brought to the church has been great, but I'll admit that I won't be disappointed when the excitement dies down.


We took the girls through yesterday. I'm reminded of the open-house/dedication of the Denver temple when I was a boy. I only vaguely remember it. I think I was about Lucy's age.


It's quite a blessing to have a family that is much more attractive than I am. I'm like a gangly E.T. surrounded by bunch of pixie-cherubs.


Sometimes your thumbs aren't enough.

Get 'em while they're HOT!!

Would anyone like to have a couple large masses of concrete? They're both about 100 pounds with a short metal pole sticking out of one end. The usefulness of these things are boundless! Here are just a few of the things you could use them for:
1. Anchors...for those boats of yours!
2. Paper weights for really, really big pieces of paper!
3. Book ends for really really big books, like the ones you never read in college!
4. Awesome, manly piñatas! Just get some guys together, put on a helmet, a blindfold, and some football pads, spin around, and start swinging that sledgehammer!
5. Centerpiece! Provided you have a steel-frame kitchen table.
6. Trebuchet ammunition!
7. Headstone, for a loved one that you didn't actually love at all!
8. An idol! If you're tired of worshipping the true God, why not switch to something a little less demanding? This mass of cement!
And those are off the top of my head!
I'll help you load them into you car.

It's been a bit cool over the last few days, the girls are bundling up with the few warmer items we have available.

The temple open house is going on as we speak. Jon got to help with parking the other day while Becky was helping with refreshments. We'll both be leading tours through on the 18th.

The girls had some friends over for a sleepover a couple weeks ago. Everyone was lovely, but I suddenly have a lot more empathy for my childhood friends' parents.

And really. Those giant concrete turds are available immediately!

You know you've met the perfect couple when THEY initiate a date where you are dressed like this:And you know you found the right man when he can see you dressed like this and still find you attractive:
And you know two guys are good friends when they can pretend they're driving alone in a minivan while dressing drag. But did you know that our husbands made us wear little girl tights on our heads and nasty, nasty used slippers on our feet while we repeatedly got up at a nice Italian buffet restaurant? Maybe we'll invite you next time. If you ask nicely.

Sorry ladies, they're taken.

Red Bud

We have a great big, knotty red bud tree in our back yard. It dropped a fairly large branch into the yard the other day, and though the loss of a good 4th of its canopy is not a positive sign for the tree's future, it did offer a photo op for the little darlings. If they were any cuter, I'd just spew chunks all over myself.


And here's a couple more.



That's all. No. I'm done. You'll have to wait until later. I'm serious.