Bad Nana

One day last week, Jenny asked me if I would watch the boys while she kept an appointment.

What's more, she asked if they could stay until Papa got home, because the boys wanted to see him.

Now, you have to understand that this was a rare occasion, because Thomy and Jeff don't like to be away from their mother for very long, and she is always reluctant to leave them. 

So, of course, I said Yes.

While feeling quietly smug.

It only took two years to get here, folks!

We had a pretty good time, playing and eating rocket popsicles...

...for several hours.

Take note of their, as yet, unscathed appearance.

Then little Jeff fell down and bloodied his knee.

A Band-aid was adamantly refused.

Then, just as they were getting ready for Papa to drop them off at home, Thomy tripped and banged his face on a corner of the piano bench.

He said, through his tears, I think maybe I shouldn't have been here.

Which statement has not yet been processed by my feeble brain.

I have a feeling it may be a while before I am entrusted with my Peruvian boys again.

Vernal longings

Vernal is an adjective, meaning spring-like. In a small burst of irony, it can also mean belonging to or characteristic of youth. Considering the theme of the weekend, the name is appropriate.

After church on Sunday, which had a lovely theme of patriots and pioneers, we went back to the house for a rest and then over to our friend Debbie's for dinner. Barbecued pork chops as a special treat for Mark, who lives in an Arab state, if you remember. 

Yummo.

I ate two. 

And a bit.

Don't tell Debbie about my gluttony. 

I have a special fondness for pork chops.

Debbie was overcome with gladness to see us. I think maybe her life isn't exciting enough! But it was nice to see her again and to meet her family. They are close-knit and have a jolly time together. We had a good time reminiscing (there's that darn word again!) about our days at CCNZ.

Mark's favourite missionary companion lives in Vernal too, so Mark and Grace dropped me back at the house and went to visit him.

Monday morning we had a few hours free for sightseeing.
Sightseeing in Vernal, you ask?
Yes.
You will be amazed.
In this land of Mormon pioneers, Boy Scout Eagle projects abound.
Here is the first one we saw. A gigantic flag, raised on a cliff.

The flag's dimensions are 15' x 25', made of double-ply polyester and is replaced four times a year. Each flag costs $500. Depending on the severity of the wind, a flag can last anywhere from three weeks to eleven months. The first flag was raised on a 12' flagpole in 1944 by Chellus and Ernest Caldwell. In 2000, Ivan Merrill raised a 40' flagpole for his Eagle project, where the American flag has flown ever since.

Next stop, the Sadie McConkie Ranch, for a look at some petroglyphs. 

Antlers line the driveway leading up to the trail head. This photo makes me want to break out in song, a la Gaston, in Beauty and the Beast. I use antlers in all of my dehhhhhhhhcorating!

The ranch has been the site of many Eagle projects, trail improvement etc.

Rocks have their own stark beauty.

And that which we had come to see, the amazing petroglyphs, which are, by all accounts, over 1,000 years old. This site has more easily-accessible glyphs than any other in Utah. The trail is a little rough, which was scary for me because I'm a tad paranoid about climbing over rocks, but I managed to get back down unscathed. I can just imagine the conversation with Jeff, had this not been the case.

You were hiking with who? 

Your old boyfriend? 

And you broke your leg again?

Yeah, that would have been swell.

It was getting mighty warm on the way back and lots of little lizards were basking in the sun.

On the way back to David's house, this enormous "Remember the Maine" and flag, first painted in 1944 and then repainted in 1997 for a couple of Eagle projects. The photos don't give you a very good idea of the scale, but the cliff is very high, I got vertigo just imagining how they managed to paint this.

A quick lunch of Cathy's delicious enchiladas, 

a bittersweet goodbye, 

and then I came home.

Taking time to smell the roses

In case you were wondering, the Utah story is not over, but I wanted to do an easy post today.

As in, mostly photos, not much writing.

Writing taxes my brain.

So here are photos from last Friday, when Mark, Grace, Mum, Kenzie, Thomy and I went up to the International Rose Test Garden in Portland. The roses are phenomenal this time of year and mine have been quite pitiful due to the rainy spring and my lack of diligence on the spraying end of things. So, my soul needed to see some gorgeous roses, to remind me of why I dedicate most of my flowerbeds to the dratted things.

Here is a picture of Mark and Grace, because I know you were curious.

Don't you love how the pink is reflected in Thomy's face?

Kids love to smell the roses.

So do Great-Nanas.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies.
Christopher Marlowe


You can complain because roses have thorns
or rejoice because thorns have roses.
Ziggy



When Robert Frost learned how many different species were in the rose family was he was moved to write a poem, which is one of my favourites of his because of its dry humour:


The Rose Family


The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
and the pear is, and so's 
The plum , I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose-
But were always a rose.

Young Love

This may come as a surprise, but Jeff was not the first great love of my life. 

In terms of longevity and passion, which would seem to be a reasonable way to assess things, there were three.

One ended badly and is still a bit of a sore point.
The last one, of course, is Jeff.

And then there was my first, when I was sixteen.

His name was David.

We dated for a year and I loved him madly.

He was a guy and I don't know if he was as smitten. There was, after all, surfing and hunting and sports and all kinds of other things to compete for his attention.

So, after 30 years of marriage, is it taboo to talk about him?

Hope not, 'cause here we go!

There are only, as far as I know, two photos in existence of David and me.
He has one of them.
This is the other.

David was a tease and full of the joys of life. I don't ever remember him being mad or moody. He loved the outdoors and working hard and having adventures. At school, he used to help me carry my book bag, which was a sign of true devotion. At Saturday night movies (at our afore-mentioned high school) we held hands, even though it was illegal. I loved his family too, who seemed larger than life to this little English girl. Then, after a year of completely dominating my life, his family moved back to the States.

I was, of course, heartbroken.

For a long time, I used to dream of traveling to the States to visit him, but this was 1972 and the dream was far out of my reach.

We wrote for a few years, passionately at first and then not so much. I loved others and so did he.

Then, in 1976, my best friend and I came over to the U.S. David was serving a mission in San Jose and I spent a day with him. We had become friends, which was the best surprise of all!

A few more years went by and we ended up marrying within three months of each other.

Fast forward 30 years.

I often wondered what became of David but no one seemed to know. Then I found out he had moved back to Vernal, his home town. When Mark and I decided to visit our friend Debbie in Vernal, the temptation was too much. I did a little research (everyone say, all together, ZABA SEARCH!) and found David's address and phone number.

Scary thing, the internet!

It took a few days to pluck up my courage, but Wednesday night I called him.

His wife answered the phone and was as pleasant as could be. She said he was out but that he would call me back.

I didn't think he would.

Then, Thursday night, when I had just about given up, the phone rings.

It was he.

He was tickled that I called, having had no idea of where I've been for the last 30 years. He invited us all to stay with them when we got to Vernal.

So we did.

Yes, that is me, with David and his delightful wife, Cathy, forgetting to suck in our stomachs.

We spent many hours reminiscing...

...about the time David fooled me into thinking he was giving me an opal ring for Christmas. When I opened the box (after an almost sleepless night, due to great excitement) and read the little note that said "Ha ha, fooled you!" I was so mad that I hardly spoke to him the rest of the day, even after he gave me a beautiful opal necklace.

...or the time he lied to me about his birthday and I planned all kinds of special things and it was the wrong day. And month.

...or when we rode out to Pirongia on motorbikes and he inadvertently left me there. 

Yes, he did come back to get me upon discovering that I wasn't at home, but it was getting dark and I was in tears. And mad. Even though it was mostly my fault.

I told him how embarrassed I am, in retrospect, of how hard I sobbed in the back seat of our friends' car on the way back from the airport when he left. All 90 miles. He said, Yeah, my shirt was sopping wet!

We pored through our yearbooks and I filled him in on all the scandalous doings of our mates from school. Made us feel quite boring, comparatively speaking.

When I commented that David is the only boyfriend with whom I remained friends, he said, It's because we never broke up.

I said to Cathy, That was so generous of you to offer a room to your husband's old girlfriend.

Yes, she said, I dare not tell my girls, they'll think I'm crazy!

Only a woman secure in her husband's love could do that, don't you think?
And do you know the finest thing of all? 

Absolutely the most outstanding thing?

Cathy and I are kindred spirits.

We have so much in common that it is eerie, from being piano teachers of like styles and our ten-year-old hysterectomies to our similar hobbies and food tastes. 

She is, however, much nicer than me.

She is also a very good Bishop's wife.

Cathy wants to come and visit me in Oregon.

So, I don't know, is all this weird?
It felt more like serendipity, which is my most favourite thing in the whole world.
And just in case you're wondering, Jeff is okay with it all.
I think.
But he never reads the blog, so I guess it doesn't matter!

Weird and wonderful things sighted on I-84

My Mum tells me (quite frequently) that when you get old you spend a lot of time reminiscing. Well, I must be getting old, because ever since the 50th anniversary reunion of my Alma Mater a couple of years ago, I seem to be stuck in nostalgia mode.

You see, Church College of New Zealand was an unusual experience, being a church-sponsored, co-ed boarding school. Those of us who thrived at CCNZ forged some formidable bonds. Not only did most of the students live together, but we had our faith in common and our social lives also revolved around school and church activities. In the last two years, I've been in contact with friends whom I had not seen in about 35 years. It has been exhilarating and sometimes sad, seeing the direction that life takes people. Or people take their lives.

One of those friends is the gregarious Mark, who sat next to me in three of my five classes in Seventh Form. He lives with his wife and two little kids in an Arab state and was planning a U.S. trip. We have several mutual friends in Vernal, UT, and decided to meet up and drive together to Vernal for our very own mini-reunion. Mark and his wife, Grace, spent a day at our house, recovering from jet lag, and early Saturday morning we hit the road. We stopped for gas and breakfast at a truck stop in Troutdale and saw some interesting sights. You might want to click on the first photo to see a clearer picture.

This old renegade wasn't shy with his opinions and was proud to have his picture taken! You can put it anywhere you want, was his reply when I asked him if I could put it on my blog. I love people who are undaunted in their beliefs.
Especially when they agree with me!

Then, in the same parking lot, was this strange view.
A baby's car seat, perched on top of a van, with no perceptible restraint system.
I'm still wondering about that one! It reminds me of when Jeff would tire of a baby's crying (usually Jon) and roll his window all the way down so that the gust of air rendered him or her speechless. What a guy!

Then, of course, the obligatory sojourn at Multnomah Falls, an Oregon icon...

...which partly explains our almost-midnight arrival in Vernal.

That, and Mark's unfortunate inclination for driving at the speed limit.

By the time we arrived, Grace was grumpy, Mark was exhausted, and I had just about eroded his good nature with my chatty efforts at keeping him awake and my repeated offers to drive.

Luckily, our hosts were still awake and happy to see us.

More juicy bits to follow.


Warning to my kids: you may not want to read tomorrow's post.
Just remember, your Mom was once young too.

Tuesday Tunes

Summer concerts in the park.
Some people are all about the food.

Some are about the booze.
Oh, and don't forget the Farmers' Market.

Me, I'm all about the music.

Tonight, Igor's Jazz Cowboys at the park, on a perfect summer evening.

With Bethany and four of my favourite kids.

Come and see what you missed.

Or were you there and saw me making a fool of myself?

Daniel did not deign to dance, but sat wrapped in a blanket, eating his free popcorn.

Then Sule Wilson, the percussionist, started a conga line.

I was right there behind him.

Natalie was game and tripped along beside me.

Kenzie was embarrassed.

So was Josh.

A new high note, don't you think?

Embarrassing my grandkids.

I'm the one in the old lady straw hat.

And yes, of course I bought a CD!

Gracias amigas

I kinda like to bike. In the summer, when it's not too hot, I bike around town as much as I can. It makes me feel virtuous for not using fossil fuels and I optimistically think that it also uses calories.

Although the second thought may be fallacious.

Sometimes I ride just for fun, or exercise, or both.

My favourite riding buddy is Ellen, of  The Other Foote fame. 

She rides a little bit faster than me so it challenges me.

Which is good. 
Most of the time.

Brenda came along this time. 

Brenda, whose middle name is Superwoman.

We were riding a lovely winding road through farm country. Things were going pretty well until we passed the rose gardens and picked up a sweet chocolate Lab, who thought his ultimate destiny in life was to be our riding companion. Brenda picked up some speed and the Lab matched her, pace for pedal. The faster she went, the faster he went, tongue hanging out and spraying slobber as he slipped her adoring sidelong glances.

"I love you, I love you, I love you. I want to run with you forever and ever and ever."

Ellen and I hung back, laughing all the way and me wishing I was clever enough to take photos on the fly. Only I knew if I tried I would end up in an ignominious heap on the side of the road. We were a little worried that maybe someone would miss him, but he stoically ignored our pleas for him to Go home.

A rather fast mile or so later, we were passing a couple of houses surrounded by fields and out ran not one, not two, but three rather fierce-looking dogs, barking and baring their teeth. Brenda kept pedaling fast, Ellen found hidden reserves (apparently) and there was I, surrounded by snarling canines.

I yelled at them, but they were un-fazed.

I was afraid that they would lunge at me and knock me off my trusty Trek, so I slowed down, all the time yelling at the dogs and my so-called friends.

Eventually, I got far enough past their house that they let me go free. 

The dogs, not my friends.

So-called friends.

When I finally caught up to them, the so-called friends, they told me that it was the fate of the slowest rider to deal with mad dogs.

Gee, I guess I forgot to read that memo.

Chocolate Lab stayed with us for a bit longer and then decided we weren't fun any more.

Or something.

Heck, I decided we weren't any fun any more.

Some of us didn't want to face the dogs on the return trip, so the consensus was to do a loop. In my imaginary loop, we would follow the highway (the nice, flat highway) back to the car.

But no, I was misled. 

We did the big loop home. 

The longer, hillier loop. 

Against the wind. 

Shanghaied, I call it.

I moaned and complained all the way.
I know it was only sixteen miles and for some of us that is only a stroll in the park, but me, I have to fight for every mile of it. 

If, if, I say, I go riding with these two again, I shall carry mace.

For the dogs, you ask?

Sure, that's it. For the dogs.

Here we are, mission completed, looking about as bad as we ever look.

Sweaty, flushed, bedraggled.

Brenda, of course, hardly broke a sweat or ruffled her hairdo.

P.S. Hi girlfriends, did you like it? See you next week? I'll bring the mace.

P.P.S. I am off to Utah with one of my CCNZ buddies and his wife, to see a couple of other friends whom we have not seen for 35 years or more. Should be interesting. I'll keep ya posted.