story problems

Q: A truck leaves Rexburg, Idaho, and is heading 1,000 miles cross country pulling a U-Haul. The U-Haul is filled with a piano and a couch/loveseat combo. The vehicle contains two occupants who must stop for eating, sleeping, and bladder-relief. Each occupant has relatives who live in various cities along the way. How long will it take the vehicle to reach Maricopa, AZ?

A: Well, it can't be figured statistically really, too many variables. Like for example, hills. And wind. And the Stanleys (old neighbors of occupants) who moved to Sun City West.

So it's better to just forget estimating hours or setting schedules. Why not just enjoy the journey? That's what my in-laws did, bless their road-ravaged hearts. They hauled a piano, they U-Hauled! a piano, all the way to my house, on the coldest week of winter, because when Blake was a kid his mom promised him she would give it to him as he was the child most devoted to it. Now, after his mom got the Baby Grand of Dreams, she fulfilled her promise. I can't imagine how awful that road trip was. They never complained about how long it took. I love them.

And since the U-Haul had more room in it, they emptied their basement and grabbed the plaid couches that Blake and I used to spend way too much time on when we were dating...and actually got engaged on. Now THAT is an excellent Valentine's Day present. Thank you, Fred and Wanda!

We had so much fun with Grandma and Grandpa we didn't even get out the camera (except for some shots at dinner where everyone's mouth is full. I won't post those. Wanda will kill me.) We took a scenic drive to South Mountain for a windy picnic in the back of the van, saw the Bodyworld exhibit at the museum and got completely spoiled for five fantastic days. We're so thankful for their generosity and their love. We were sad to see them go.

But at least we have the furniture to remember them by. Which brings me to another story problem:

Q: A teenage boy and girl who are dating can cuddle on one couch for three hours in 1993. How long can the same boy and girl cuddle on the same couch in 2011?

A: We'll never be able to solve this one. When we tried to re-create the scene, we didn't fit.

Fred and Wanda, you better send us the pictures you guys took. We were too lame to get any.
In lieu of pictures from our week together, I'll post a couple recont shots of my cute Dutch Baby.








It's not fair that we humans outgrow our ability to look so cute with bedhead.

I went to Indiana and saw some of this:



and some of this:



and a little of this:


But what I went there for, what unabashedly decidedly emphatically compelled me to get on a plane ALONE in a big airport, leaving behind my family in serious straits for eight days (four of them school days) and eight nights (four of them school nights), was this:



and some of this:



and a lot of this:



Thanks, buddy, for showing me such a good time on the town.



I miss you, babies!

Details

Once Blake and I were dining at a Sweet Tomato and I left the table to get some ice cream. I came back with chocolate swirl in a salsa bowl. Blake said, "I knew you'd get the wrong cup."

I'm not a stickler for what people consider details. Details have always been Blake's domain, and I lose patience with them. I rarely pay attention to where we park at the mall, which sidestreet has an on-ramp to which freeway, how to buy a movie ticket on-line, what our account number is at the bank, which bowl is intended for ice cream. That sort of stuff. I know Blake is on it so I am just kinda along for the ride. It's nice to be oblivious.

Then along comes an invitation from my brother Brandon and his wife for me to fly to Indiana- alone. I'm ecstatic for the opportunity to see/hold/breathe in my twin newborn nieces. But the thought of having to manage my own details is a little daunting. For one thing I have only flown once since the 1900's. That was on the way home from my brother Brett's wedding in 2005. And now look at those newlyweds:



(Taken at Small's ordination this past July, the "newlyweds" are at the far right.) They have a toddler and are building Child #2. It's been a while since that matrimonial flight. On that trip I was with my parents so I got to still be the child, even though I had my three children with me. My mom took care of the details and got us from Southern California to Salt Lake City without incident.

But tomorrow. Blake is going to drop me off at the airport and drive away. And I will have to check in luggage by myself, find my gate, secure a boarding pass and probably even buy myself a little lunch, and unboard myself when (if) I get there. My brother Brett assured me that there will be little ladies in white dresses silently pointing the way I should go. Or maybe he was referencing someplace else.... (He also confided he's not the brains in his marriage either so maybe I shouldn't seek his wisdom.)

Well. I'm going to do it. I'm going to fly by myself tomorrow. Wish me luck.


I hope I land in Indiana because I really want to see those babies.

*Pictures courtesy of their mother Anna who didn't grant permission but I know she won't get mad because I'm flying on an airplane by myself to help her*

bottom picture taken by mooshinindy- see her at www.mooshinindy.com

I grew up in a modern-day Little Town on the Prairie. Every evening in each home in this blessed town little half-pints get tucked into bed by both ma and pa after a good scripture story and a warsh behind the ears. Church every Sunday is flanked by roast and potatoes. Horse-drawn wagons though?... No- this town traded those for fleets of minivans years ago. This is Rexburg, Idaho, a town comprised of the Mormoniest bunch of Mormons ever found in one place.

With all the singularity of thought in priorities, routines, and religious exercise, I shouldn't have been surprised the other night when,

upon seeing a sky choked with smoke from a nearby wildfire,

my father-in-law asked if I wanted to go up the hill a half-mile or so to photograph the LDS Temple with the unusual colors in the sky behind it. Off we fled with cameras in hand. As we rounded the corner and the temple came into view we both laughed when we saw this:

The rest of Rexburg also photographing the temple with the unusual sky behind it. Yes, I shouldn't be surprised. This is Rexburg.

And I'm Mary Ingalls Mormon.


My father-in-law, mid-prairie, got some good shots just before a cop showed up and told photographers to get out of the wheat field across the street from the temple. Poor cop. There's not really anything else for him to do in a town like this. To see other shots of the amazing skyline from a savvy next-door neighbor, click here.

Don't Forget to Put the Red Thing Up

For Spring Break we went to Idaho. For Spring Break. We went to Idaho. There were reasons for this. Young Padawan's birthday wish was to play in the snow. The kids needed their cousins. Blake and I have kept the grandbabies away too long. When you move that far away from family it's your duty to keep the relationships fueled. So we went to Idaho. For Spring Break.

Once settled Mom asked me to put a letter in the mailbox. "Don't forget to put the red thing up." Ahhhhhh. I was home. I was really home. How many times had I heard that in my life? How many times had I crossed the rickety bridge (seemingly more sturdy when snow-covered) to the mailbox and put up the red thing?

When I go home time warps a little. I'm still a kid needing reminders about postal etiquette. Mom still sits on the floor to watch TV in the evenings as we all nestle close to her and steal sips of her pop. (It's called pop in Idaho..still.) Dad makes up "long-leggedy time ago" stories for good kids that brushed their teeth. The potato fields are big and white outside and the Big Tree hibernates, waiting for summer to open business for climbing.

There's such a coziness, a stability, to a childhood home. Like most of my local friends, this was my only home, post-1976-flood. Every aspect of the childhood I loved centered around this home. I was reminded on this trip how much I love being Home. I want to freeze those memories as solid as the icicles lacing its windows. I want to believe nothing will change, that time will warp always and stand still. Right there, in that house.

But of course even in the time-warping things are evolving. As much as things are the same, it's different every time too. My parents are getting older; life changes are on the horizon. Two nieces are growing up not too far away (and a new one just born in February!) who are older everytime they enter. It's fun to see them changing and growing and grabbing sips from Grandma's cup. (Hah! As if they'd be allowed!) The changes are nostalgic too. Really, wherever Grandma and Grandpa (aka Mom and Dad) live is where my childhood home is.

(The Afore-Mentioned Nieces- Above: Addie with my Dutch Baby,
Below: Myself and little Gwen)


Oh, another thing that never changes: Klassy 97.3 still plays Wilson Phillips on the radio. We hear them every time we go to Idaho. This time I heard them twice. The world outside Rexburg has moved on, but not us: We hold on for one more day.

little hula in these haole hips

Better than candy we got cousins this year for Halloween! Blake's brother and his family came all the way from Utah County just to trunk or treat with the Maricopa 5th Ward. The Grand Canyon side trip was merely incidental.

My sister-in-law Amber had the great idea of dressing up Hawaiian this year and she had no idea what she was unleashing in me. The dormant BYU-Hawaii student awoke and got busy. We just had to have a luau. My handiest resource was the Mataeles, a new ohana in our ward. Pua {whose name justly means flower} agreed to come teach us a hula lesson.
I did my best but was informed I would have been called a disgrace to hula in the island schools. Or maybe she was referring to my dress...


I just didn't get it. Madison High School victory dances did little to prepare me for this.



Mahalo, Pua! Thanks for trying.



Next stop was collecting candy from strangers. And then the luau. We had pani popo (a recipe from the Mataeles), cocunut rice (courtesy of the Boyles- not Hawaiian themselves, but adept at googling Hawaiian recipes), grilled pork kabobs and fruit salad.



You should try this. I loved it. The Boyles' loved it. But the rest of our party kind of didn't. Blake and his brother both asked if the creamy stuff in the pan was a mistake. The kids discarded the milky half of their rolls and complained they were soggy. Bunch of sorry haoles.

Nevertheless we had the best weekend with family here. The distance between here and Utah is getting markedly farther as the kids grow up and realize more what they are missing out on. Who knows but maybe we'll live closer one day? Until then though we will definitely treasure the Halloween luau option Arizona affords us.

away from my desk

I've had other things to do than blog.

Blake's baby sister Barb got saddled to a great guy. We drove a thousand miles to see it, and would have driven a thousand more not to miss it.


Barb and her five brothers. I had to add this one so my Maricopa friends could see that there are spare Blakes out there in case we lose one.


How could we have kept these cousins apart on such a special day? They would never have allowed it.

but nothing's in Cornish?

During our trip "home" we spent a leaky two days in Cornish, Utah. I got some crazy-eye reactions when announcing this to anyone, "What's in Cornish?"

Well, there's a cemetery, for one. Near a mountain. And lots of fields. And next to one of the fields, just down the road from the cemetery, is an old but solid house that gets rented out to the burgeoning progeny of Iona's Reid and Lucille Olsen one weekend every other year.

Blake and I always miss this reunion, but this year we drove through those fields, passed that mountain, and put up residence in a soggy tent near that one house in Cornish.

We never saw the kids. They were always in the tree. Rain and shine, and it was mostly rain. Rain rain rain pounding the tent all night long. And the train! I would not could not in the rain. I would not could not with the train. All night long with the rain and the train and the wind and the snoring husband and the rooster with something to prove....It may have been my first night of not-sleep ever.

But it was fun in the daytime, crammed and family-snuggled in the dry house playing games (mostly rummy), with the energetic aunties throwing food at us every few hours. The adults managed to play games uninterrupted for hours at a time while the kids remained outside..

Up in the tree!
They let us be!
I sure do like you Cornish tree!
And I will come and see you again..

But not in the rain, not with the train....

No Dry Barbecues Allowed

It was a nice sunny 4th of July in St. Anthony, Idaho...until Uncle Ard got out the grill. It never fails.

As Blake and I turned off the freeway to Grandma's, I saw a big grumpy cloud parked right over her house, and blue sky in every other direction. The grill started up, and Mr. Stratocumulus came storming over to rain on our parade. He must really like our company. Why shouldn't he? We're a fun bunch to be around. He invites himself to every barbecue from Memorial Day to Labor Day.
And so we did what we always do, pulled the tables into the garage and chuckled at the odds of yet another barbecue in the rain. Here you can see the blue sky just beyond us while we look through our curtain of rain from the roof.Then Ard turned off the grill, giving our cloud-friend leave to go bother somebody else. We celebrated his departure by getting Chester out of the pasture and taking some rides. I had missed so many rainy barbecues at Grandma's- it was nice to experience one just as I have always remembered it.

Rites of Passage

Rites of passage differ wildly from culture to culture and nation to nation. For example, among the Luiseño Indians, a Native California tribe, prepubescent boys lay on red ant mounds for long periods of time. Not crying out in pain means they have become men.

In the upper elite circles of French aristocracy, young girls who are reaching marrying age are given "coming-out parties" where they are formally introduced to the neighborhood's red-blooded bachelors in elegant debutante balls.
Native Hawaiian tribes have a hut where ladies go when they begin...becoming ladies, to put in delicately. They spend their "time" there getting pampered by other ladies who welcome them into womanhood with great veneration.
In the conservative Mormon culture I grew up in, rites of passage are definably less cruel or ostenstatious. These include 1) getting your first haircut as an infant, and 2)entering baptismal waters at 8 years old. Still later in life, another significant rite of passage in becoming a Mormon woman is learning to embellish scrapbook pages which depict your first haircut and Baptism Day.

But perhaps the most grueling and monumental of all rites of passage in Mormon culture is the day that you host your first extended family reunion.

I am now a woman.

I Call Favorite Aunt

Sweet Baby Gwenyth

and adorable Addy

My new neices! Born a month apart, dreaming about all the fun they are going to have with Aunt Nen- those future summers in Arizona, splashing with their cousins in the pools, working on their tans, following me around the mall half-heartedly protesting while I buy them clothes at Limited Too and get their ears pierced behind their mothers' backs.

Man, are they gonna love me.