Every Life is a Story

Kathryn

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 03:38:00 +0000

Kathryn Partridge was the only girl surrounded by three brothers. Growing up, she spent time working with her mother who cooked for a logging camp. She loved music, and desperately wished that she could play the piano. There were no funds for a piano or for lessons, so she would pretend that the windowsill was a piano, and play that. She would also sneak down to the church and look through the windows at the piano keyboard and pretend to play it. She caught the eye of Milo Bernard Glenn one day as she was riding her bike. He thought she was beautiful and promised himself right then that they would be married. Years later, they were, and in time they became my grandmother and grandfather.

For many years, my grandmother worked at Ray’s Drugstore and Hallmark shop. Half of the store was your standard drug store- aisles of toiletries, and over the counter medicines with a few small areas for toys or candy. The other half of the store was the Hallmark shop- aisles of cards and gift items displayed attractively much like it is today. Because of her job, she began what became an important holiday tradition for my family. Every year, she purchased a Hallmark ornament for each of the grandkids. When I got married, my mother packaged up my ornaments and gave them to me. That first year of marriage they were the only things hanging on my tree. Now, I buy my girls Hallmark ornaments every Christmas just like my grandmother did.

My grandparents lived in a small country house out among the fields of Junction City, Oregon. They planted pine trees all around their yard to block off the view of miles of open field. It made the house cozy as the trees began to grow, but it wasn’t until I was grown that the trees were big enough to serve their purpose and to provide privacy and a great shelter from the wind. I have fond memories of their house. I stayed there many times as I was growing up. My favorite room in the house was the room we called the White Bedroom. It had a white carpet, a brass bed, with a quilt that was a white fabric surrounding pale calico pieces. It had white sheer curtains and one of those old fashioned windows that had to be pushed up to open. They had apple and cherry trees bordering their driveway, and beyond that a flower garden filled with every kind of Dahlia. When I got married, they decided to sell the house, get a trailer, and travel. I miss their house very much. I got their bedroom set when they moved. I still have it.

My grandmother always went to the beauty shop to have her hair done. For many years, she dyed it black- a very common look in the 1950’s, but one that got to be too strong a color for her as she got older. She started to lighten it to brown, then, as the years passed, her hair couldn’t hold the color anymore. Her color got lighter and lighter until for awhile it was nearly pink. She finally let it go white, but she still got it styled as often as she could. She was very generous, and always gave things when she visited. There was always a shirt that she had just never worn after she bought it, or shoes that didn’t fit just right after she got them home from the store. She once tried to give me a used pair of nylons. She loved writing cards and letters, and took great pride in her lovely handwriting.

My grandparents traveled the countryside for many years in their trailer. They loved RV campgrounds, and had joined RV communities. As they grew tired of travel, they settled for the winter months at an RV park in Southern California, then would take the pickup truck to visit family. When my grandmother fell and broke both wrists, it became apparent that both of them had deteriorating health. They lived with my parents, moving with them to Utah. My grandfather died after suffering from alzheimers and dementia. My grandmother lingered, suffering a series of mini strokes that left lasting damage. She died Saturday, June 18th. She was 90 years old.

My relationship with my grandmother grew strained when I was a teenager. I had a great relationship with my parents, and wasn’t rebellious with them. Instead, all of my moody emotional angst was directed toward my grandparents. I was angry and irritated with her because every time she came over she would criticize my hair, or my weight, or something else she didn’t like. She would do it in a roundabout way that wouldn’t directly insult. “Why don’t you go comb your hair before we leave?” meant that my hair looked terrible and she didn’t like it. “Have you lost weight?” meant that I was looking pudgy. She would do the same thing when she wanted something done. Rather than asking for something directly, she would hint and comment about it until somebody was annoyed enough to go and do it for her. Her passive aggressive behavior, and my teenage rebellion were not a good combination. I spent years trying to repair the damage. I never did reclaim the adoration that I had for her as a child, but I think I managed patience and polite respect.

It didn’t help that my family left the Methodist church to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. My grandmother couldn’t accept our new religion, and would use her passive aggressive ways to make negative comments about our church. It was a big effort to stay polite, and it made us sad that we couldn’t share our faith with her. After my grandparents moved in with my parents, they decided that if they were going to move to Utah with them, they should join our church. I remember when my mother told me that they were getting baptized, my jaw hit the floor. I asked her, “What did you do with my REAL grandparents?” By the time my grandmother was baptized, she already had brain damage from several strokes. The church leaders determined that she was lucid enough to make the choice to be baptized, but I don’t know how much she really understood about the covenants she was making. I do know that it was a great joy to go through the temple with her, laying to rest one of the biggest sources of contention in our relationship.

I will miss my grandmother, the good and the bad. I hope to treasure the good memories, and to learn from her faults and make sure they never become MY faults. She loved her grandchildren, and did her best to show us how much she loved us in so many ways. I remember once when I was sick, and my mother was working full time. She had never left me home alone before, and worried that I would be afraid. My grandmother left the pharmacy and came to see me on my lunch break to make sure I was alright. She made me soup, and brought me comic books and treats from the drugstore so that I wouldn’t be bored. As her gifts got stranger, like the used nylons, I never forgot the generosity and the intention behind them. I look forward to the day when I can see her again, free of the damage caused by so many strokes. I want to hear her stories.

Going to Space!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Mon, 27 Jun 2011 05:01:00 +0000

People always say “I never win anything” when it comes to contests and drawings and all of those things. I used to say the same thing. I never won drawings or raffles or contests for things, at least until this year. This year the cosmic karma has turned around and I have won a recipe contest where I got a gift card to my favorite store, and THREE drawings where I won a Santa key, tickets to a chocolate event, and last but not least, a chance to go into space! Okay, not really actually space, but to a very cool and amazing event. Iworlds is the new exhibit at the fabulous Thanksgiving Point. It is a space shuttle simulator that lets a group of sixteen crew members have a science fiction adventure similar to Star Trek. The package I won was the Ultimate Party Adventure. My name was announced on television on Good Things Utah, and I won dinner and a two hour mission for sixteen people. WOW.

The hardest part of winning something amazing like this is deciding who to take, and who to leave out. It was a difficult decision. I ended up taking almost everyone in our regular gaming group, and my girls. We met in the lobby of the Museum of Ancient Life, and were led to their party room, all decorated like a jungle. Dinner was catered by Wallaby’s- an Australian grill in Lindon. We had pulled pork, rice and beans, salad, bread and butter, mint brownies and punch. The food was wonderful, and everyone had more than enough to eat.

At the end of the hour, we were met by someone from iWorlds, and led out to what was the trailer of a semi truck. The trailer was filled with all of the décor and equipment needed to take our group on a space mission. We met first in one section of the trailer where we selected jobs, and had a briefing on the background of the world we were part of, and what our mission was going to be. There were sixteen different jobs, each with their own responsibilities. There were jobs for damage control, engines, weapons, communications, navigation, scanners, transport, ambassador and security. My husband ended up as Captain of the ship, and I was his first mate. My daughters were chosen to be security- a good place for the two teens on the mission, we thought.

Our mission was complex, but the young woman doing our briefing did a great job explaining it quickly. We were a crew on a ship working for a democratic union of planets. We were assigned the task of traveling to the planet of New Earth which had been taken over by a dictator. We had information from spies on the planet that would convince another planet alliance to join with us in removing the dictator from power. We had to go to the planet, stay outside the cloaked satellites that would destroy us if we reached their range of detection. Then we had to wait for a shuttle from the planet bringing our spies, and a briefcase with the information. We would then get the information to the other alliance, then go down to New Earth to evacuate our embassy there, and return home. After the briefing, we were given uniforms to wear, and had to go into the “transporter” which was basically a tube with a revolving door. The door opened to reveal the “ship”.

The ship had computer stations for all of the crew members, and a large viewing screen in the center. As captain and first mate, my husband and I were led to a couple of very wobbly bar stools as our posts. We were all given ipods and headphones with a recording to play that trained us on our different positions. The Captain’s job was to make the final decisions and run the ship. My job as first mate was to make sure the Captain’s orders were followed, maintain order on the bridge, and to notify our home planet of our progress every ten minutes. I had a clipboard, a pen, and forms to fill out with those messages. I was to give those messages to our long range communications officer who then typed in the message to send back to command. Everyone else had their own set of instructions.

When the training was done, the mission began. It started with some simple introductions from the engine room, and the voice of the computer (played by iWorld employees who were watching from another room). We quickly got our ship to the planet, and waited outside of the satellite field. It didn’t take two minutes before things started going wrong. Our rendezvous ship was captured, the documents taken, our position was suddenly VERY bad without those documents. The adventure got crazy with us navigating through the satellite field, falsifying passcodes to get down to the planet, transporting refugees onto the ship, and escaping before enemy ships blew us up. Not to mention the intruders that were on board the ship, trying to shoot us from the transporter, the constant repairs from weapons damage, messages flying, and other endless things to scan, adjust, and navigate. Two hours flew by with every one of our sixteen person crew busy with something critical to the success of the mission- and their own little quests that kept them busy even when their job was not in the spotlight at that moment.

In the end, we successfully completed all requirements to win the mission. We had two “strikes” which were times when we needed to back up and start again. These were both for navigating the satellites- a very difficult job. This adventure used an average of three strikes, which made us better than most others playing this mission. We cheered our success, regretfully folded up our uniforms, gathered our things, and left the trailer. We stood outside in the fading light talking over the mission, all of us buzzing from the experience. We had so much fun! All of us said that we would love to come again, and that the group rate would absolutely be worth the cost. With reluctance, we said goodbye and started to drift off toward our various cars to go home.

I can’t say I never win anything anymore. This was such an amazing experience. I felt so very spoiled. All I can say is thank you Thanksgiving Point, and iWorlds for providing such a spectacular opportunity for us. Now, I can do my part, and tell all of you to try this! Schedule an event! Get your family and friends together and run a mission! This is a blast! I can’t wait to try this again!

New Orleans!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Tue, 03 May 2011 18:44:00 +0000

This year is our 20th wedding anniversary. We decided to celebrate by taking a trip to New Orleans! My husband has wanted to go for years, and after the both of us played some roleplaying games taking place in New Orleans, we both had an interest in the city. It was interesting the reaction we got from people out here. Some of our friends had gone and loved it. Others, not so much. "It's good to go, but you probably won't ever want to go back." one person said, "Why would you want to go to that pit?" said another. Another person mentioned that the people were horrible. I was starting to get worried. We don't even drink, so we were betting our anniversary trip on the idea that there was more to do out there than hang out on Bourbon street!

My fears weren't alleviated when we arrived. Our hotel was located ON Bourbon street, right across the street from a blues club and bar. Although we had requested an inner room, we were given a room right on Bourbon street. As we stepped out on to Bourbon street for the first time, I got a good whiff....okay, some of the critics were right. Bourbon street stank. Everything was old and run down. Maybe this was a mistake.

I shouldn't have worried. The trip was delightful! The food was amazing- we had po' boys, beignets, muffuletta, gumbo, jambalaya, crawfish, alligator, and I even learned that I liked grits! Our room was beautiful, and very comfortable. While we could hear some of the music, the hotel had done very well damping the sound, so it wasn't a problem getting to sleep at all. Being around the old buildings was like travelling back in time. Everything had an old world feel to it, and we were enchanted by the balconies, and narrow little streets. We toured the St. Louis Cemetery, marvelling how living below sea level necessitated building above ground vaults for the bodies. We visited the Voodoo temple, and spoke to the Voodoo priestess. We went on a ghost tour, and visited such haunted sites as the Lalaurie mansion, and the little alleyway by the St. Louis Cathedral where a priest is said to be singing the Catholic Kyrie on late rainy nights. We even got to take a steamboat ride on the Mississippi river.

The people were welcoming and charming. As we were walking to our hotel one afternoon, a street musician asked me if we were here for the jazz festival. I replied no, that we were leaving the day the jazz festival started, but that we were here for our 20th wedding anniversary. He grinned and said, "Well, congratulations to you! Did you get married here?" I said no, but that for our 20th, we needed to do something really spectacular. He shook my hand and said, "You have a wonderful anniversary here, honey." In the end, we came home happy, well rested, and really not wanting to get back into our regular every day lives!

Were the bad things there? Sure they were! My critics were right about many of the things they brought up. They were also wrong. I think you find what you're looking for. I found a city full of interesting culture, architecture, and history. I found people to love and food to crave. I loved our vacation, and I hope to return someday- my box of beignet mix isn't going to last forever!

The Great Cookie Experiment

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sun, 24 Apr 2011 13:10:00 +0000

My goodness, where has the time gone? Clearly I have been neglectful, so I am going to correct that, and tell you about a fun project I am starting up again. One of my hobbies is cooking. I love cooking, so I'm always collecting recipes and trying new things in the search for that great recipe. A few years ago I wanted to look for new cookie recipes. So I chose a recipe book I had and I made every recipe in the book. One recipe a week. I shared with friends and family and asked their opinion on the recipe, and I rated it based on everyone's opinions. This time, I have started the experiment up again, but I am going official.

My best friend works for Cornabys. Her family business makes absolutely the best tasting spreadable fruit you will ever find. It's low in sugar and calories, and it's made from raspberries grown right on their family's 21 acre raspberry farm. I get to help her out at the farmer's markets, tasting demos, and boutiques. One of her marketing jobs is to maintain the blog on the Cornabys website. When I was talking to her about starting The Great Cookie Experiment again, she said that I should write it up as a blog post, and she would make me a guest poster on the blog.

So that's what I did! The first post went up this week! If you would like to read about great cookies, not so great cookies, and dismal cookie failures, then go check it out! The Great Cookie Experiment

The Ring

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 19:31:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I was in the bank, and happened to glance down at my hand as it was resting on the desk. To my surprise and horror, there was no wedding ring on my finger! I don't even know when it slipped off, or where it could have gone. I just hope and pray that someday it turns up again. As heartbroken as I am, it's not the ring itself that is important in the long run, really, it's the story. THAT will always be with me.

When I was in college, there was a local jeweller that advertised in the campus directory. Their advertisement featured a ring that won an award for best design. It went on my wishlist for what I wanted out of a wedding ring because it was named "The Julie"- clearly a sign that it was meant for me. When my dreams came true, and my fiance took me ring shopping, I HAD to go and try on that ring. I learned a couple of things. First, winning ring designs are very expensive- far too expensive for a couple of poor college students. Second, my hands are very tiny and that ring was big enough to swallow my entire left hand. I needed a simple ring.

We didn't end up finding a ring out in Utah. We got engaged early in Decmeber, and we decided to search over Christmas break when we were with my family in California. We had a couple of generous, and very precious gifts to help us out. My mother, when she was a college student, lost her wedding ring in a ceramics class. It got mixed up with some clay, and that was the end of it. My parents couldn't afford another ring, so my grandparents bought her a replacement ring to wear. She wore it for several years before my father bought her a new ring. In honor of our engagement, my mother gave me that replacement ring to use as needed. Likewise, my fiance's mother and father had divorced, and she had remarried. She sent us her old wedding ring to help offset the cost of a ring. With two rings in hand, we went shopping two days before Christmas.

We found the ring in a strip mall of all places. A little jewelry store had recently opened between the Radio Shack and a dry cleaning business. The store was run by two brothers from Russia who crafted their own designs. It was originally an emerald ring- one round emerald stone, with two tiny diamonds coming off of it. The engagement band held the one stone, the wedding band the two tiny stones. The two bands swirled together in a simple curl. It was tiny and simple and very elegant. We decided to substitute the emerald for the diamond in my fiance's mother's ring, and use two small diamonds from my mother's ring, then trade in rest of the rings to offset the cost.

It was snowing that evening a few days later when we slipped outside for some privacy. We stood in the light of the white icicle lights framing my parents house and my sweetheart asked me to marry him again- this time pulling out a small box, and slipping the single band on my finger. I accepted again, a decision that has brought me so much joy over the last 20 years. The ring was a symbol of our combined families- his mother's diamond, my mother's diamonds resting side by side. It was a symbol of our love- for time and all eternity.

Slime Soup!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 18:12:00 +0000

I just won a recipe contest! This is completely unexpected because I never win anything! I have to share with you my recipe, and my story!

One of my favorite Halloween traditions is to make Spooky Suppers the week before Halloween. I collect the Halloween editions of all of those little recipe magazines you find at the checkout stand of the grocery store. I have a huge stack of them now, and I pore through them every October looking for new things to try, and ways to make a good creepy supper. Some of our favorites are things like Mummy wrapped hot dogs (pigs in a blanket) or Mummy rag soup (egg drop soup). Pizzas have faces the week before Halloween and spaghetti doesn't just have meatballs, it has EYEballs.

When my very favorite store, Anastasia's Attic, announced that they were having a Spookilicious Recipe contest, and that they wanted submissions of our spookiest recipes, I knew this was the contest to enter. I don't enter many of them, because, well, I never win anything. If it requires a great deal of effort to be part of the contest, it needs to be worth it. THIS was worth it! The problem was? I didn't have any time! I've been in rehearsals for the Ghost Tours, I've had Storytelling guild responsibilities, on top of dealing with the kids parent teacher conferences, and just trying to manage the household, I was literally swamped!

I WANTED to do a cupcake version of a cake I made for a Halloween party one year- it bled when you cut into it. But then I'd have to bake and decorate. I thought about adapting a Tomato Basil soup recipe to make it my own. But then I'd have to make several versions until I found the perfect combination. There were too many ideas, and no time at all.

I was pondering my dilemma as I was rushing to cook dinner one busy weeknight. I had to leave in half an hour to drive to Layton for a Guild meeting, and I was rushing a bit. I looked down at the zucchini soup I was making for dinner. It was green! It was an old family recipe that I had never seen in a cookbook, and I seriously doubt anyone knew where the recipe came from in the first place! Gears started clicking in my head. I called the girls and told them to help me clear the table and put out a green placemat. I pulled out my black dishes I save just for Halloween time (What? You don't do this?) and served up my green soup. I had made little cheese biscuits to go with the soup, so put those along the side of the plate, and I shot a few pictures, trying to get the best light possible. Then I quickly ate the soup and rushed out to my meeting.

A few days later I uploaded the picture and the recipe, and forgot about it. When they announced the winners yesterday, I couldn't believe that my name was listed! I win a $50 gift card I can use to spend on beautiful things! Thank you, Anastasia's Attic, and thank you Mom for serving us Zucchini (I mean, Slime) Soup!

Slime Soup (aka Zucchini soup)

1 onion, chopped
6 cups zucchini. chopped
1 can chicken broth
6 strips of bacon- cooked and crumbled
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
1 cup milk or cream (To make this really low calorie, use skim milk. To make it KIND of low calorie, use evaporated milk. To make this decadent, use cream.)

Simmer the onion and zucchini in the chicken broth 15 minutes or until tender. Put in a blender and blend until smooth. Add 3 strips of bacon, salt, pepper, and milk. cook until warm. Top with remaining crumbled bacon. Serves 4.

Happy Halloween!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 04:03:00 +0000

It may be a few days early, but the month of October is going to be exciting in so many new and amazing ways!

First of all, the Salt Lake City Ghost Tours begin Friday, October 1st, and run Tuesday through Saturdays all month long! This has been my favorite Halloween activity for years. We've gone on the tour three times, once with my girls, and it remains just the right blend of good stories and the creepy shivers. Exactly what I want in a Halloween experience! THIS year is different, however, because I will not just be attending the tours. I'm telling in them! I was hired this last August to be a Story-Guide on the Salt Lake tour, and I couldn't be more thrilled. The last month has been filled with learning all of the stories, and practicing the route so I can help the bus driver get to all of those Haunted spots in Salt Lake. I'm telling October 6th, 9th, and 15th, the 7:00 and 9:00 tours. Even if you can't come those nights, come! It is a lot of fun! Make reservations at www.storytours.com

I will also be sharing some new Halloween stories this year, as I premiere ghost tales from other lands. Look for me at Ten Thousand Villages, and Red Butte Gardens later in the month, and see what scares people from other parts of the world!

Pie!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 04:26:00 +0000

I got my raspberries last weekend! One of my closest friends has access to her family's 21 acres of raspberries, and I get a couple of flats of raspberries from her every year. Most of the raspberries go to make jam, some get frozen for future use, but half a flat always has to be saved for pie. Some people associate pie with Thanksgiving or fall, but for me, summer is all about pie.

I grew up in Junction City, Oregon, and every year in August, the tiny town holds a festival celebrating it's Scandinavian heritage. This is the big fundraiser for every club, church, and organization in town. The Girl Scouts always serve ice cream, and krumkake. GoodWill, the thrift store, sells clothespin dolls. When I was there, our church had two booths- one selling roast beef sandwiches, and one selling pies. All of the members were called on to help out preparing the food- particularly the pies. Every year, my mother would sign up to make fifty pies for the booth!

We didn't have any refrigeration in the pie booth, so all the pies had to be fruit pies. This meant that the growing seasons were devoted to collecting enough fruit. We'd work picking fruit on farms, buying at the best prices we could find, and storing everything cut up in ziploc bags in the freezer- sometimes to be saved until the next summer. We'd save everything. We made apple, pear, apricot, blueberry, blackberry, marionberry, boysenberry, gooseberry, cherry, rhubarb, peach, raspberry, loganberry, and anything else we could think of that might be good in a pie.

When it was time to start making the pies, we had a pretty nice assembly line going. My mother would handle the pie crust, I would make up the filling, and my little sister would add the butter on top. We'd take turns cutting a design for the top crust, and crimping the edges to be as pretty as possible. We would freeze the pies, and pull them out to thaw the day we needed to bake them and run them out to the booth, so they were hot and fresh upon delivery.

I didn't just help make pies for my mother. The young women of the church would also sign up to make fifty pies! There would be a special activity on a Saturday where all of the girls and the youth leaders would get together to assemble them. That meant I was involved in making a hundred pies every summer!

I don't make a hundred pies anymore. As the summer starts winding to August, and the summer fruit starts showing up at the farmer's markets, however, I always get the urge to make pie. Now, I just make one, and it's my favorite of all of those many flavors- raspberry.

It's just not summer without it.

Running

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 04:03:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I ran a 5k.

This was a big deal for me because it was something I never ever thought I would be able to do. I've posted before about my lack of athletic ability. P.E. class was pretty much a soul crushing experience all through school. In fact, I remember running in P.E. Twice a year, we would do a twelve minute run. We were expected to run for twelve minutes and keep track of the number of times around the playground we were able to go in that time. My record number of times around the playground was less than one. I got three quarters of the way around the track, and couldn't catch my breath, and I was done. I honestly felt that running wasn't something that I was able to do. That was for athletic people. I walked, danced, did pilates and aerobics, but never went running. Later hip problems only confirmed my beliefs that running was something other people did. Not me.

Things changed when my youngest came home from school and told me she was having trouble in P.E. They were running every other day, and training to run a 5k by the end of the year. Running was difficult for her, and she was struggling. I was encouraging, and told her to keep going, and she'd be fine. I felt like a hypocrite. I knew I couldn't do it, and yet I was expecting her to be able to? On my daily walks I started to break into a jog, just to see how it would go. It didn't go well. I lost my breath pretty quickly, and had to stop. Maybe some people were just born to run naturally, and my family was missing that gene somewhere.

In March, a friend of mine mentioned something about a couch25k program. It's designed to get someone who had never run to gradually train to run a 5k. I looked it up. It started out pretty easy- walk for 30 seconds, jog for 30 seconds. Maybe I could do that. Even better, I found out that there was music you could download for free on itunes that went with the program! The music would speed up or slow down when you needed to walk or jog so you didn't have to watch the clock to time your workout. I decided to try it. I downloaded the Podrunner Intervals First Day to 5K podcasts, and I started jogging.

I still didn't believe that this would actually work. I made a deal with myself that I would try, but if it got too hard- like, if I threw up, or passed out, or threw out my hip or something, then that would be it. The first week, I had no problems. I was able to do the workout without difficulty at all. The second week, the bursitis in my hip and knee started to act up. I thought that would be it, but I looked up knee and hip pain and read some good suggestions on how to work through it. I waited an extra day to make sure the pain went away and tried again, using some of the advice. No problem. I kept going. I kept succeeding. Week after week, I would finish my run astonished that I had done it without any serious pain or difficulty. I started to like it.

The last week of the program happened to coincide with my daughter's final 5k run in P.E. Parents were invited. I stood with all of the sixth graders, and several other parents, and for the first time in my life I ran a race. I ran with my daughter. Unfortunately, we got separated pretty quickly, and had to run on our own. I was able to keep going the entire way, and it was so amazing crossing the finish line to the cheering of a whole bunch of students, teachers, and parents. A few minutes later, I was able to cheer as my daughter finished the race too.

I'm still running, and I'm still surprised. I start off in the morning, thinking of how far I have to go, and a part of me still hesitates. Then I go ahead and run it anyway. It's not necessarily my favorite way to exercise. Nothing really compares to the joy of dancing, or a long walk on a perfect day. The sense of accomplishment, however, is pretty amazing.

I expect that I will continue to be surprised. About a lot of things.

A recipe!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 19:01:00 +0000

I don't remember where the recipe came from. Probably somebody gave it to my mother, and she tried it, but Swedish Pancakes were an instant hit at my house from the very first batch. It became THE breakfast anytime we had a sleepover or slumber party. It was our traditional Labor Day breakfast for a few years. They were a staple in my family.

Similar to crepes, but easier to make, these were a thin, rectangular pancake. You added any toppings that you liked, then rolled them up to eat them. They fed a ton of people, they allowed for endless creativity in toppings and they were a lot of fun.

The tradition changed when I went to college. Our church has a general conference two weekends a year. In Utah, this means we get to watch conference on television. One year, one of my friends invited everyone she knew over for a conference breakfast. We all had pancakes, bacon and eggs, and sat and watched the Sunday morning session of the conference together. It was great! Six months later, another friend decided to carry on the tradition and hosted it. It turned out well, but we hadn't anticipated the appetites of some of the college boys, and there wasn't enough food. I ended up running home to grab some muffin mix I had in the kitchen to add to the breakfast so people wouldn't still be hungry. That's when I remembered Swedish Pancakes. They were the perfect breakfast. As long as you had eggs, milk, and flour, you could just keep on making them and it was easy to feed a crowd.

When the next conference rolled around, I was the one who hosted the breakfast, and the first Swedish Pancake Conference Breakfast was born. I provided the pancakes, and guests were invited to bring toppings or drinks to share. This has continued for twenty years now. People have come and gone, children have been added to the mix, houses have changed, but it's always Swedish Pancakes for conference. I imagine that the day will come (in the FAR FAR future) when we'll add grandchildren to the guest list. The recipe is as follows:

Swedish Pancakes

3 eggs
1 1/4 cup milk
3/4 cup flour
1 Tbl. sugar
1/2 tsp. salt

Mix the eggs and milk, gradually add flour, sugar and salt, stirring constantly to avoid lumps. The batter will be thin. Heat a griddle. Spray with no-stick cooking spray. Pour the batter across the hot griddle in a long row. When the batter has set, use your spatula to cut the batter vertically into roughly rectangular shapes. Flip to cook on the other side. Top with a tablespoon or so of your favorite topping, roll up, and eat. We typically make 6-8 batches for every conference breakfast, and we'll get 30+ people attending.

Favorite toppings include:
any fruit
whipped cream
jams and jellies
syrups
applesauce
sugar and cinnamon
peanut butter
chocolate syrup
ice cream toppings
powdered sugar
brown sugar
butter
coconut
nuts
pretty much anything else in your pantry you are brave enough to try

My favorite topping combinations are:
chocolate syrup and powdered sugar
sugar and cinnamon and maple syrup
white sugar, butter, and lemon juice
Strawberries and whipped cream
butter and brown sugar

The nastiest topping combination ever attempted was powdered orange drink and peanut butter. The powdered orange drink was meant for drinks. The guys insist it was really good. They're wrong.

Miracles

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 23:08:00 +0000

My little sister always wanted to be a Mommy when she grew up. Except for a brief time when she wanted to be an apple picker, when you asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, it was always a Mommy. Life didn't turn out that way for her. Mr. Right didn't come along until she was in her thirties, even after everyone else had gotten married and started a family. She used to point out that our grandmother had beautiful wedding pictures of all of the cousins on one wall. Then on another wall was the single picture of just her. She called it the wall of shame.

Even after she found her Prince Charming, starting a family and having children didn't happen either. Health problems, doctors, fertility specialists and years of waiting replaced being parents. They signed on for one adoption agency, and waited for three years for something to happen. Nothing. Finally, my sister started talking about giving up on the idea, and maybe they should travel instead, because just working and coming home each day, it just seemed like they needed something else in their lives.

Over Christmas they heard about another adoption agency that seemed to have more birth parents listed than their previous agency. It was a relatively painless matter to fill out new papers, and transfer home study information to add the new agency to their list of things they needed to wait for. Before the final papers were even sent, the call came. There was an infant up for adoption, and were they interested. Their profile was one of four that was sent to the birth mother, and to their astonishment, the birth mother chose them! That was seven weeks ago.

Things didn't stop there! Three weeks ago, they got another call from the agency. The same birth mother also decided to place her one year old baby up for adoption- a little girl. Were they interested in having two? They said yes, but had no information on either of the children, other than the gender of the one-year-old. It was almost like they were getting twins, because they needed two of everything! High chairs, cribs, and let's not forget clothes! We bought every gender neutral newborn size outfit in the store to help get ready.

Last week they found out the infant was a boy. They also found out that the birth mother was flying out here early to be induced. Two weeks early. Monday morning they learned that the birth mother was arriving that night. Without any chance to finish their preparation, my sister brought home a one year old little girl two days ago, and yesterday her little boy was born. The doctors say they will be able to bring him home tomorrow. In the course of seven weeks things have gone from nothing to much much more than they could have ever hoped for.

Yesterday, I was holding my new little niece, and she suddenly stretched out her arms, reaching for my sister. Surprised, my sister asked, "Do you want to come see your mama?" She took her in her arms, and the little girl patted her on the arm, and said, "Mamamamamamama."

And they say there aren't any miracles anymore....

Adoption

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 20:33:00 +0000

Adoption has been a subject I’ve heard over and over all this month. My sister is looking to adopt, a few friends have just gotten their paperwork finished to adopt, and the local papers are talking about Haitian orphans and the possibilities of finding families for them. Adoption.

It reminds me that when I was in eighth or ninth grade, I very nearly had not just one sister, but three sisters and a brother. It all started with my father selling his old TRS-80 computer to a small business in Portland, Oregon. For our family, it meant a short vacation a few hours away from home so that my father could deliver the computer. He spent the day with the owner and secretary of a small office machinery business, setting up their computer with business applications, and teaching them everything they needed to know to get their business computerized. My mother took my sister and I shopping in the big city. We had a great time, and that was the end of it.

When the secretary called us a few months later, I’m certain that my parents thought that something had gone wrong with the computer, and she needed some help fixing it. She called for an entirely different reason, however. She had been diagnosed with cancer, and she was a single mother, with four children, a fourteen year old, a ten year old, a three year old and an eighteen month old. She had no family, the fathers of the children were not in the picture, and she had no one to turn to who could take the children while she dealt with her illness. She needed someone not just willing to watch the children while she went through cancer treatments, but if the worst should happen, someone who would raise the children. She had been praying that she would be able to find someone, and one name kept coming to her over and over again: My dad’s.

Out of the blue, she called up a man she had only known for the one day, and the family she had met only briefly at the end of a shopping trip to ask us to take the children. She didn’t know why my dad’s name kept coming to her, but she felt very strongly that he was the answer to her prayers. It was a time of some serious soul searching for us. Was this something we could do? Was it something we wanted to do? I remember a few family councils where we discussed the possibility. We prayed about it a lot, and came to the decision that yes, we wanted to help this woman. We worked with state Family Services to arrange to foster, and possibly adopt the three youngest children, the fourteen year old choosing instead to stay with friends up in Portland. Just like that, we opened our home to Christy, Antoine and Angie Ide. Our family grew overnight.

This wasn’t an easy prospect. We had a three bedroom house, and there simply wasn’t room for five children. Not to mention room for a baby! We didn’t have beds, much less a crib! We scrambled to convert our family room into a makeshift bedroom for the two youngest. We put bunk beds in my sister’s room. My sister was the same age as Christy, and they could share. We had also signed up to host a Finnish exchange student that summer, and my sister’s old bed went into my room for her. We were packed full.

There was a lot of adjusting to do, and it didn’t always go well. Antoine was the cutest little boy you ever saw, but he would steal things from my room. I was a teenager. My room was SACRED, and no one was allowed in it! I lived in my room, playing music, and reading books, and my door was always CLOSED. I would be so angry every time I found something missing. My mother never understood my pain. She simply reminded me that he was three, and he would learn. I probably slammed my door in a huff more than once over the situation.

Dealing with diapers and bottles and high chairs was another issue. I did a lot of babysitting, but it was different when the baby was with you all the time! Angie was a beautiful girl, and her favorite word was “NO!” It was almost a game. We’d ask her silly questions like, “Are you a pretty girl?” just to hear her answer, “NO!” When it wasn’t cute, it was very annoying.

The first few weeks were really hard. Everyone was adjusting to this new situation, and all of us were wondering how permanent this was going to be. After that first month, we fell into a routine, and by the third month everything seemed normal. Antoine was lively, but no longer made me angry. Angie still said “NO!” when I asked her for a hug, but then she’d wrap her little arms around me and give me one anyway. Christy and my sister were soul mates, and couldn’t be happier. This was starting to work.

That’s when we got the most wonderful, and the most heartbreaking news ever. The kids’ mother was going to be just fine. The treatments had worked, and the cancer was going into remission. Just like that, it seemed, they were gone, and our house seemed very empty with their absence.

I’m not really sure how we fell out of touch with the family. We moved a few years later to California, and when my parents tried to get in touch with them again, they were unable to locate them. I have tried to Google them, and found out that Antoine was playing baseball in the minor leagues. I’d imagine that the two girls are married and using different names now. I wonder about them a lot. I wonder what it would have been like if they’d really become ours-one big family. I wonder how my life would have been different. I wonder what their lives have been like. I wonder if they even remember us.

I do know that we loved them, my almost brother and sisters.

Chicken Pox

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 05:23:00 +0000

When I was in kindergarten, I couldn't wait for Christmas to come! I had gone to bed the night of Christmas Eve tense with the excitement of Santa's visit. I was sure that I wouldn't fall asleep, but of course I did.

I woke up very early before the sun was up, excited that it was Christmas morning, but not feeling very excited about getting out of bed. I forced myself up and woke up my little sister, then woke up my parents who grumbled about it being too early, but got up anyway. All of the relatives that had come to visit were awakened soon after. We went out to the living room, and there, just as I had hoped was a pile of presents under our tree! I should have been more excited, but somehow I just didn't feel as thrilled as I thought I would be.

I sat down on the couch, and my Father passed around presents. There were a lot for me, and I was happy, but not terribly enthusiastic. I was tired. My head hurt. Still, it was Christmas morning, and those presents were for me! I wasn't going to ruin things. I opened a few presents. I got great toys. Wonderful. The headache was getting worse. Finally, a stack of presents still waiting for me, I opened a book-shaped present. It was the story of Heidi complete with a read along record. The cover had a girl wearing a dirndle dress, and braid loops on either side of her head. I looked at the book, and burst into tears. I felt awful, and presents weren't fun.

Everyone rushed to my side wondering what was wrong. I had an awful fever, and a headache. Then my Mother saw the spot on my arm. A small red spot, right there above my wrist. By the time the sun had come up one spot had become eight. I don't remember the rest of the presents. I remember cool baths to get the fever down, and spending a lot of time in bed with orders not to scratch no matter what I did.

I got Chicken Pox on Christmas morning.

Balancing the Holidays

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 19:37:00 +0000

Earlier this year I was pleased to be a contributing writer at TodaysMama.com, sharing a story about the best gift I ever received. I was recently approached again and asked to write something about how I balanced holidays with my husband's side of the family and my side of the family. I have been lucky that we have been able to merge our families together without too much strife. The story in question was one of the Christmases that worked the best. I was grateful for it too, because it was the last Christmas with my grandfather. You can read the article here. As you read, keep scrolling down. I'm one of several contributing writers, and they saved my story for last!

Murder on Waikiki

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 15:25:00 +0000

When I'm on vacation, I tune out the rest of the world. I don't check my e-mail, I don't watch the news. I'm there to vacation, and that's all that matters. The day after we arrived in Hawaii, we had nothing planned until that evening. This was the day we were going to enjoy the beach, do some shopping, explore the area restaurants, and just have a good time. We slept in until six in the morning, which was ten in the morning Utah time, so I felt like we were doing well. The hotel was comfortable, and we were right across the street from the beach.

My husband says he heard the sirens. I may have been vaguely aware of them, but in truth I don't remember. I remember just enjoying the leisurely morning, and looking forward to breakfast. We made it to the beach around nine o'clock, and were surprised to see the yellow Caution tape set up around the beach, right along the back patio of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. There was a video camera set up, a uniformed police officer, and two women in business attire standing around with parasols to protect them from the sun. Because of the sand, they had taken their shoes off, and I remember thinking it was odd seeing someone in a pencil skirt and business jacket and bare feet. Their job seemed to be to keep tourists from walking along the cordoned off area of the beach. Time after time, they directed people around a different direction. We wondered what had happened, but didn't want to bother the people working.

We decided to set the towels up near the caution tape, a few feet away. The area was less crowded, and it was easy to keep an eye on the girls to make sure they didn't try to go into areas they weren't supposed to go. We stayed on the beach for a few hours, then left to go get lunch. The yellow tape was gone when we went back in the afternoon, and that was the end of it.

We didn't think anything more about the incident until we were on the shuttle riding to the airport. One of the men riding in the shuttle was talking about how he was from New Mexico, and so he had friends and family members calling to make sure that it wasn't anyone from his family who was killed. Killed? We asked, and sure enough, that first morning we were in Hawaii, the body of a young woman from New Mexico was found stabbed on Waikiki beach. That explained the sirens, the police tape, all of it. We had remained blissfully ignorant of everything.

We talked with the people in the van about other details of the murder, and looked things up later after we got home. It turns out, they weren't able to move the body until the investigation had been finished so they posted policemen on the beach, and cordoned off the area, then moved the body closer to the motel and concealed it so none of the tourists would know it was there.

It was apparently lying there hidden about twenty feet from where we were sitting on the beach that day.

Going to Hawaii

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 04:04:00 +0000

For our tenth wedding anniversary my husband and I got a big refund when we refinanced our house. It was a surprise windfall, and as we looked at the check wondering what we should do with the money, we decided to make our upcoming anniversary something special. We went to Hawaii, just the two of us, leaving Grandma to watch our little girls. It was a wonderful time, but everything we did, we said, “Oh, we have to bring the girls to see this!” When we got back from our trip, we told the girls that we wanted to take them next time. When their swimming was good enough that we could feel safe about letting them swim in the ocean, we would save our money and go.

They kept their end of the bargain and became decent swimmers about three years ago. When that happened, we said, “Okay, it’s time to start saving our money.” We got to the end of that first year, and we had saved a total of….$200. Not good enough. The second year, we got serious. I put up a glass jar with a Hawaii sign on it, and told the family that any loose change we got needed to go into the jar. We went over our budget, opened a new savings account, and set aside money every month. We had a yard sale and put all of the money toward our trip. Everyone worked toward our goal, and last spring we went over our finances and realized that after all that time…we had enough. It was time to go. Last week, we all packed our bags and we went to Hawaii!

We had a wonderful time! End of story! I know, any good story has some sort of conflict, or something for the characters to have to struggle with to make it interesting, but the truth is, I have nothing else to report other than it was a REALLY good time! We’re back, we’re sunburned, and exhausted, but we did everything we set out to do, and made it a memorable experience we will always treasure. We also got most of our Christmas shopping done! Our struggle was in working to get there, and it was worth all the effort. The end.

Well, not the end. Let me share with you some of the cool things we were able to do.

The Magic of Polynesia

We arrived in Hawaii at 2 in the afternoon. This was 7 o’clock Utah time, so we had already had a full day by the time we got there. We took the time to get checked in, rest a little in the hotel, grab some dinner, and we were off. Our hotel hosts the Magic of Polynesia show, and we thought it would be something cool to attend, especially with the kids. I had never been to a quality magic show before. My experience was always with local magicians who performed at birthday parties and school assemblies. It was really fun seeing John Hirokawa work his magic. He had me gasping with delight. We were completely exhausted by the time the show started, and my youngest fell asleep during the preshow where an Elvis impersonator sang for the audience. Once the magic show started, however, we all forgot about how tired we were. We left with a smile on our faces.

The Ghost Tour

One of our favorite activities in October is to attend the Salt Lake City Ghost tour, so when we saw that there was a ghost tour, we decided that we needed to hear stories about haunted Hawaii. We were not disappointed. The Hawaiian culture has scary stories vastly different from our Salt Lake stories. It ranged from stories of the goddess Pele to strange faceless beings that would lure people to their deaths. We got to tour some amazing locations in Hawaii- all at night in the dark! Without a flashlight! I’m going to have to write in more detail about the stories in another post, but there were some definite creep out moments. My youngest was terrified of one story, and we had to take her back to the van. I got a serious case of the shivers at one location.

The stories were absolutely worth it. Our tour guides were not professional storytellers like the Salt Lake tour. One was a Kahuna- a Hawaiian version of a medicine man, and he knew how to put on a good show. He used chants, and the power of suggestion to point out shadows that weren’t necessarily there, or to ask people if anyone was feeling hot, or cold, or nauseous. Pretty soon, people were agreeing that yes, they really did see that black shadow on the hill, or really felt unusually warm on one side. It was all in good fun, but not necessarily what I wanted in my experience. I just wanted to soak up the stories, and let them stand for themselves to give me the shivers. However, there were some things that I did see. I’ll save that for another story.

The Polynesian Cultural Center

We attended this on our first trip to Hawaii. It was a highlight of our trip, and it didn’t disappoint this time either. I love learning about people and cultures, and this was a wonderful opportunity. We took advantage of it. It’s always a very full day to go, but we tried to fit in everything we could. We learned to use Poi balls and play stick games in New Zealand. My husband was chosen as a volunteer to beat on the drums in Tonga. My youngest drank coconut milk in Samoa. After we visited the different villages, we went to one of the luaus there and ate raw beef, poi and chicken long rice- which looks like big fat clear worms. The evening show was a new one. They tied all of the island cultures together in a story that was very moving, and had everyone on their feet at the end.

Hanauma Bay

This was our favorite thing to do when we came for our tenth anniversary. This was the activity we most especially wanted the girls to see. Hanauma Bay is a coral reef, and nature preserve. It has all kinds of tropical fish swimming there, and people come to go snorkeling. We got snorkeling gear, and went out in the bay to look for fish. My oldest caught sight of a tropical fish first. She’s my moody teenager. She likes to wear black and her favorite words are “Yeah, whatever.” She got her face mask adjusted and took her first look in the water, and suddenly we could hear her squeal through the snorkel hose, “A fish! It’s a fish!” It was like she had become a bouncy and cheerful little girl all over again, just like when she was six. My youngest was just as thrilled. You could hear her exclamations of delight from the shoreline.

Those were the highlights. There was also shopping in the International Marketplace, hanging out on Waikiki beach, sampling island cuisine, enjoying the busy Waikiki streets (a thrill for my Japanese anime loving teen who couldn’t get over the strong Japanese presence on the island). The time went by fast, and now we’re home, and struggling to catch up with ordinary life again.

Now we need to decide what to save for next!

Boys will be Boys

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 03:47:00 +0000

My best friend's house was filled with boys- her own two, and an invited friend to stay the night. They had been tearing around the house for hours, and she had finally gotten them settled in front of the television watching Mythbusters. They were quiet for the first time since getting up in the morning.

Mythbusters, in case you haven't heard of it, is a television show where they take commonly believed myths and put them to the test. In this particular episode, they set out to prove whether or not it was possible for you to actually sneeze your eyeballs out. The conclusion was that if your eyes were open when you sneezed, you could sneeze your eyeballs out, but it wouldn't ever happen because your eyes automatically closed.

Apparently, this had to be put to the test. After realizing that the boys had been quiet for TOO long, my friend came into the kitchen to find them surrounding the pepper shaker. The oldest was instructing the others to hold his eyelids up while he sniffed the pepper to try to sneeze.

My friend asked the obvious question, "WHAT are you doing?"

The three boys simply responded with the obvious answer, "Trying to sneeze our eyeballs out."

She stared at them a moment, then finally had to ask, "What were you planning on doing if you succeeded?"

I have girls. They have seen Mythbusters. They talk about the show on occasion. Not once have I ever caught them trying to experiment for themselves. This must be a boy thing.

Cow Love?

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 04:39:00 +0000

Last weekend, the entire family went to go see the latest Harry Potter movie. We had a great time, but when the movie was over, my oldest, teenaged daughter, turned to me and said, "Wow, they sure had a lot of love Quadrupeds!"

I looked at her with a great deal of confusion. Apparently in the few hours that we had been in the theater, she had learned a new form of English I didn't understand. I thought maybe I had misheard, "Huh?" I asked. She repeated her statement. The movie had a lot of "Love Quadrupeds".

I frowned at her, "Honey, the only animals in the movie were the traditional owls, a dead spider, and Hagrid's dog. The dog was the only quadruped, and I didn't see any romance for him."

It was her turn to look confused, so I explained, "A quadruped is a four-legged animal."

It took us awhile to piece together that my daughter was talking about "Love Triangles" except there were so many of them, that clearly a three-sided shape wasn't enough. These were love Quadrangles, or Quadrilaterals. Either way, I suppose I should be impressed at my daughter's vocabulary. I'm still too busy laughing about it, though.

Family Vacation?

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 19:05:00 +0000

Most of our traveling since we’ve been married has been all about visiting parents or grandparents. We’ve thrown occasional side trips into the mix, but with limited vacation time, and parents that live far away, that has been where our vacation time has gone. It was a big surprise to us when last Christmas my father suggested that we all go on a trip together- this was something we had never done in all the time we’d been married. With some debate, and discussion, we agreed to all pitch in to rent a large cabin in Bear Lake. The reservations were made, the deposit money was paid, all we had to do was wait for the big event!

Of course, things didn’t go exactly as planned. What would be a vacation without a few misadventures after all, right? We just had….a LOT of misadventures. It all started with the…

Bees.

When we entered the beautiful cabin, one of the first things we noticed were the bees swarming all over the inside of the big picture windows looking over the incredibly blue lake. There were dozens of bees. They were in the bathroom upstairs as well, and all over the place outside. We very quickly made a call to the property managers, and they sent a guy over to check out our complaint, while we stayed AWAY from the insects. He quickly determined that these were honey bees. Honey bees are a protected insect now thanks to hives disappearing, and they were most especially important in Bear Lake which is known for it’s raspberries. Protected bees aren’t allowed to be killed. It took a few more phone calls to finally determine that if they were inside the house, then we could spray for them, but we would have to get a beekeeper to investigate further to see where they were coming from and if there would be anything else we could do about the bees outside. The rest of the night was spent telling the kids to put on shoes so they didn’t accidentally step on a dead or dying bee that had fallen to the carpet after being sprayed.

The next day the beekeeper arrived to investigate. He quickly determined that a new queen was trying to form a new hive in our cabin roof. While it was sometimes possible to remove the queen and relocate them to a newer, safer hive location, it would unfortunately involve removing sections of the roof to do this. That would also involve contacting the owner of the cabin, working out construction people, and ultimately wouldn’t be possible to manage while we were there. We would have to live with the bees. We made the best of things. We spent time outside on the deck in the morning while the bees weren’t active, and stayed inside in the evening. The bees that made it inside were more interested in the windows than in us, and nobody had gotten stung. Once they came inside, the spray on the window eventually killed them. We had bees scattering on the carpet, but again, we tried to ignore it.

On the last night, we had gotten pretty casual about the bees. They stayed in their corner, we stayed in ours, and we didn’t worry about it. During dinner our final night, my oldest daughter calmly announced, “A bee stung me.” We were surprised. She hadn’t said anything about it all day, “When did that happen?” We asked. “Right now,” she said stiffly, “It’s still in my foot, and still alive and thrashing around.” Her voice rose steadily higher with hysteria as she continued talking, “Please kill it!” We had to find something to kill the bee, and remove the stinger from her foot. Ice, medicated wipes, and searches for baking soda later, and my shuddering and sniffling teenager decided that maybe we were right when we said that she should be wearing shoes while there were bees still dying on the carpet.

The bees were just one problem. We also had to deal with….

Mice.

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise. We were in a mountain cabin with sloped fields of wildflowers behind us. Of COURSE there were going to be mice. We found our first mouse looking for the pots and pans in the kitchen. It was half burned up in the drawer under the stove, and we had one of the men remove it. They threw it in the garbage can. The rest of the night people were complaining about the strange awful smell. They thought it was something wrong with the stove, but it turned out that it was just decayed mouse, and maybe the garbage should be moved OUTSIDE. Problem solved.

The next morning my cousin complained about the mouse still in the kitchen. They had slept in the loft, and had heard the thing scrambling around all night long. We quickly forgot about it because mice go to sleep during the day. Someone found a mouse trap, but it was broken, and nobody bothered messing with it to see if we could make it work. The next night, the mouse worked its way from the kitchen, down the vents and into the bedroom my girls were sleeping in. My youngest had the top bunk, and the vent was literally six inches in front of her face. The basement was freezing while the rest of the house was warm, so we had closed the vents down there. She woke up to hear the scratching in the vent right above her, and reached up to open the vent. A tiny furry nose poked out at her, and she freaked out. She woke up her older sister who was grumpy and non-responsive, so she came in to us. We calmed her down and told her to close the vent and ignore it. We weren’t sure what else to do.

The first thing our teenager did when she woke up was to go to her younger sister, and say, “Rule number one, NEVER wake me up!” We called her on it. Her sister had been scared, and as the big sister she could show some compassion and actually HELP her instead of being a snot about it. We got a few defensive, “But she woke me up!” responses before she fell into a sullen silence for awhile. We didn’t know for sure what to do about the mice. I looked for mouse traps at the store, but didn’t find any. We had one night left, everything would be fine.

By our last night, the mouse was used to us. We hadn’t done anything to frighten it, so clearly we weren’t a threat. We saw the mouse run across the living room while we were watching a movie. We chased it, and it vanished under the dishwasher. It made an appearance again while my husband was up working on his laptop. He chased it again, trying to frighten it. When I got up at 3:30 in the morning to go to the bathroom, I was surprised to see two mice scamper down the hallway and under the girls’ bedroom door. Of course, I should have guessed. We had mice, not mouse. I hadn’t been back to bed for long before our youngest came into the room. The mouse in the vent above her head was freaking out and making some scary noises. Another mouse had run through my oldest child’s hair. After her nasty comments earlier, she was afraid to say anything about it, but she had turned the light on and was jumping at every shadow thinking that there was another mouse. Everyone ended up joining us in the queen-sized bed, all freaked out about the mice. It was a tight fit. We calmed them down, and asked them what they thought they should do. There was a brief pause, then our youngest said, “Can we sleep with you?” We decided that this would be a bad idea, and they decided that they would probably be fine back in their own rooms for the rest of the night. As they left, we heard scrambling in the walls, and my husband slammed his hand against the wall to scare the mouse in there. It got quiet.

We didn’t see any more mice, and we mostly survived the experience, but we still had to deal with…

Car Trouble

As I mentioned before, our cabin was located up the mountain from the lake. To get there, we had to follow a dirt road with a few hairpin-style turns. The road was narrow, and there were a lot of other cabins around us, which meant there were quite a few cars to watch out for on the tight turns. It was slow going, and the first few times we drove it, it was a little scary. After my cousin and her family left to continue their vacation with another side of their family, the ladies decided we would all go down and check out the handful of gift shops in Garden City. We piled into my car, and headed into town. I noticed the car had trouble on a steep upward slope before we started the first hairpin turn. I thought that it was simply because I had so many extra passengers, however, and didn’t think anything of it. I was driving slow on the dirt roads, so I didn’t notice anything else.

We pulled into the parking lot at the first gift shop, and everyone got out of the car. As I was locking up the doors, I noticed the awful smell of burning rubber. As I circled around behind the car, I saw SMOKE come up from the rear wheel of the car. I called everyone back to the car to see if they could smell it too. Sure enough, something was hot and burning and it was coming from MY car. We got on the cell phones to call the husbands, and my Dad was the only one who answered. He quickly got into the truck and came down to check things out. His assessment was the same as ours. The hub cap was even hot to the touch. It had to be the brakes. Just wonderful. It turns out there is only one mechanic in Bear Lake, and that was in Lake Town, ten miles away. We contacted them, and arranged for a tow. We watched as the truck came to take the car to the shop. About five minutes after I saw my car disappear down the road, a stray thought occurred to me: I didn’t release the parking brake when I started down the mountain.

I spent the rest of the trip feeling completely stupid. Turns out, yes, indeed, the burning smell was coming from the parking brake. The mechanic tested things, and there was no permanent damage done. It only cost us $150 for the tow. I beat myself up over it for awhile until my husband laughingly said that hey, at least we had a good story about it. If I worked it into a few shows, I could pay off the cost of the tow. Besides, what was a trip without a few mishaps, right?

Maybe the next time someone suggests a big family trip, we’ll stay home.

Shopping

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 19:06:00 +0000

When the kids were little, it was torture shopping with the children. Grocery shopping was bad, clothes shopping for myself was worse. The kids were usually bored and cranky by the time it was over, and I was frustrated and frazzled. Kids and shopping was NEVER fun.

A few weeks ago my teenager earned as a reward a $10 shopping spree to Target from her orthodontist. We went over to the store, and I prepared myself for frustration and misery as she agonized over her purchases. We started with clothes, and didn't find anything in her price range. We went to electronics, books, music, toys, art supplies, jewelry, and accessories, and my daughter pored over all of her options. We went to makeup and dug through the aisles there to find the perfect things. An hour passed. I was beginning to twitch. My daughter announced that she wanted to go BACK to clothing, because she didn't see everything before. I sighed heavily, and made some grumpy remark about how she needed to make a decision soon.

She chose a few outfits she wanted to try on just for fun, and we made our way to the dressing room, me pointing out that nothing she wanted to try on was in her price range. As we entered the dressing room, she excitedly said, "This is so much fun!"

Oh!

I had been grumpy and impatient through most of this experience, never realizing that my daughter was thinking of this as fun! She wanted to go through the entire store not because she was indecisive, but because she was enjoying herself. And I was missing it because MY attitude was bad! I had to make a serious attitude readjustment, but it wasn't too late. We had fun trying on clothes, and she managed to find just the right thing for her. She came home happy, and we had a great time.

I have to seriously rethink my position on shopping with the kids. They're not so little anymore.

Breaking Character

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 17:30:00 +0000

When I was a Sophomore, our High School Musical was Fiddler on the Roof. I was cast as Hodel, the middle daughter who runs off with the communist. I loved the play, and count it as one of the highlights of high school.

The second night of our performance, we were performing the Sabbath Song. Everyone was supposed to be quiet and reverent while the candles were lit, and we sang "May the Lord protect and defend you..." The song ends with a chanted "Amen" and as the music fell silent, there would be a silent pause before the candles were blown out, and the scene ended.

That was how it was supposed to work. On this night, however, just as the music ended and we were waiting for the candles to go out, a little boy in the audience yelled out to his mother,his little voice loud and clear for everyone to hear, "Why are they all dressed so funny?" That was it. I broke out laughing. Thank heaven for the candles going out and making the stage dark just moments later, or it would have been even worse. It didn't matter that everyone else was laughing too. I had broken character in a BIG way.

The show must go on, however, and I was able to get back into character and keep going, and everything was fine. I still can't listen to that song, however, without hearing in my head, "Why are they all dressed so funny?"

Enchanted!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Mon, 04 May 2009 18:29:00 +0000

Saturday, my youngest daughter performed in the Up With Kids! production of Enchanted. We have participated in Up With Kids! for many years now. It has always been a very positive experience for us. This year was especially exciting because Brenna was old enough to be in the Upper Class, which meant she qualified for one of the leads. She got the part of Nancy, the long-time girlfriend of Richard. Because the Upper Class was smaller this year, most students played many parts. Brenna was no exception. She ended up being the Frog Princess, an Old Woman, a drum player, and of course Nancy.

As the Old Woman, the princess Giselle in all of her white princess wedding dress finery approaches her to ask for directions in this awful New York world she's been sent to. The Old Woman snatches the lovely crown off of Giselle's head, and runs off with it, horrifying the poor princess.

At least, that's how it was supposed to work. Instead, my daughter tried to snatch the tiara off of Giselle's head, and it got stuck in her long hair! Both girls tried to untangle it, but the tiara remained stuck. After almost a minute, and the entire audience laughing, the red-faced girl playing Giselle simply tossed her hair, tiara still entanged, behind her back. My daughter hesitated a bit before realizing she would have to run off without the crown. She made her escape while Giselle finally continued with the line, "You are NOT a nice old lady!" She had to play the rest of the scene with the crown stuck in her hair, and it wasn't until she had to change for the apartment cleaning scene that somebody back stage was finally able to get the thing out.

We purchased the dvd for the show, and I have a feeling that we'll be watching that scene over and over. Here's to mistakes, and being able to laugh with them!

My First Play

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 17:52:00 +0000

I was always a drama queen, but my first chance to be on stage came when I was in third grade. The call came over the PA system saying that there would be a school play, and that they were holding auditions for students third through sixth grades.

I was intrigued! It sounded like a lot of fun, so I talked to my mother and we agreed that I could stay late at school and attend the audition. I walked into the school library that afternoon with a mixture of excitement and fear- a fear which quickly escalated because everyone was bigger than I was. I was the only third grader who came to the audition. Some of the sixth grade boys that were there were twice my height!

I listened to the speech made by the teacher as I sat by myself at one of the tables. I watched a few other students read a part, and sing a song. My turn came, and I read a part and sang a little piece of a song. That was it. It was over. Audition done.

To my surprise, however, when the cast list was posted, I had actually gotten a part- and it was a big one! I played Lily the Fairy who escorted some bored kids on their search for "Happiness Land". On our way, we found "Music Land", and "Candy Land" and a bunch of other lands before realizing that all of these different lands made the kids happy- sing the finale, the end.

Rehearsals were fun, and I loved playing a fairy- I WAS a third grade girl after all. They gave me a cream colored tutu lined with sequins, and I had a little crown, and a wand! They gave me these green wooden wings that were strapped to my back. One wing wouldn't work properly and kept swinging back and forth while the other one stayed straight. It made me look lopsided.

Was I a brilliant actress? Um, no. But I remember people laughed (I hadn't MEANT to be funny- maybe it was that darn wing), and they clapped and cheered at the end. I felt like the most important Oscar-winning actress ever. It led me to do many plays in my school career- an opportunity I am forever grateful for.

That's a Birthday Present?

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 18:53:00 +0000

Before I found my wonderful husband, I had the opportunity to date a few...interesting people. I'm really glad that I did because it means that I can tell funny stories about them now.

I wasn't allowed to date until I was sixteen years old. As a mother of a fourteen year old, I can see that my parents were very wise, and I intend to keep with that tradition, except that I think I might change the rule to something even more reasonable. Like thirty. Either way, while I didn't date, I DID go to dances, and that's where I met Brad. He was seventeen, I was fourteen, and it was very flattering getting the attention of a much older man. He got my phone number and called me. A lot. Sometimes every day. He called me his "vitamin J". He asked me out, and I turned him down. He still called. He still asked me out. I wasn't happy about it, but I didn't really know what to do about it either.

The final straw came on my fifteenth birthday. He called and invited himself over because he said he had a present for me. Presents are good. You can't go wrong with presents. I agreed that he could come. He came in with a HUGE box. I was envisioning wonderful things like giant stuffed Teddy Bears as I opened my present. Inside there were multiple gifts- some candy, a record single of "Our Song", some science fiction books he found used. But the BIG gift, the thing he was clearly excited to give me, was two kitchen towels and ... a roasting pan- one of those black speckled ones with two handles and a lid. He even wrote me a story explaining why the roasting pan would be so significant- a reason I can't remember now. I looked at the roasting pan and politely thanked him. It was a perfectly nice roasting pan, but not something that I could appreciate as a fifteen year old.

Brad kept calling, and I finally got the courage to tell him that I wasn't going to date him, and I wanted him to stop calling me. Even THEN, it took moving away and and getting a boyfriend to finally get him out of my life completely. I kept the roasting pan. I used it a couple of times in college, then donated it after I got other pans for my wedding. It goes on record as the strangest gift I ever received.

He WASN'T the strangest boy I ever dated.

Wearing the Green

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 19:23:00 +0000

I know, this is coming two days too late, but I'm sharing it anyway.

In my closet hangs a shirt that only gets used once a year. It's my St. Patrick's Day shirt, and it's ONLY for St. Patrick's Day. That's because it's SO VERY green.

A long time ago, it was actually an article of clothing I wore on a regular basis. When I was in high school, it was the 80's, and neon became popular. We saw a lot of neon colored clothes, socks, hair things, and bright colors were the norm. I lived out in California, and my mother would take us clothes shopping out in San Francisco at all of the clothing outlets. This was before outlet malls were popular, so when you looked for outlets, you were seriously looking through the warehouse district of the city. One of our favorite outlet stores was the Esprit outlet. It was the first outlet that looked more like a store than an old warehouse, and Esprit was the brand of clothes that all the in-style girls and boys wore. One of the outfits I got was a black skirt with poison-green neon plaid design on it, and a matching oversized shirt to go with it. Paired with a black shirt, that outfit turned heads. Because it was so bright.

I wore my poison-green outfit to work, to church, and to school. Eventually, however, style trends changed, I went to college and gained that "Freshman 15" everyone was talking about, and I had to retire the dress. The shirt was just too perfect to give away, though. It was oversized so I could still wear it, and I knew that nowhere on the planet would I ever find a shirt that color of green ever again. I was right. I have worn my green shirt every St. Patricks Day ever since. It was able to still fit me through gaining much more than the "Freshman 15" and losing it all again. It was able to survive several moves, children, and all of the other activities life gives us.

I put on my shirt a few days ago for it's annual unveiling, and ran to the school to provide treats for my daughter's class. I had comments follow me all through the hallway.

"Wow, that is REALLY green!"

"Did you see her shirt?"

"Look at you, green lady!"

Yup. It still works. One of these days, I'll have to get a picture of it, but I'm afraid it will break the camera....