I'm back . . . did you miss me?

I'm out of practice . . . blogging, that is. It's been three months (or more) and I think the best thing to do here is just roll out some photos (no particular order) to kind of bring myself current. I'm up way past my bedtime so I fear that I may be just plain incoherent. Okay . . . let's roll.
Jord, Scott, Steve and Brent at the airport just before leaving for . . . South America! Patagonia. Backpacking, they are. Sleeping in tents on skinny mattresses in the chilly mountains of Argentina. Gee, I wish it was me.

Some of the women who have been left behind . . . supportive, if not thrilled!

Steve with his Grandma and Grandpa Hale.

New Year's Day. It appears that Jordan can't hold his sparkling cider.

Steve and Kalli toasting the New Year. I think they were great sports to wear these dorky looking party hats, don't you?

More New Year's revellers (and another dorky hat). Happy New Year Scott and Rach!

The Wii (particularly Beatle's rock band) was the surprising hit of the Christmas gifts this year.

Scott is a very intense drummer . . . I knew I should have given him percussion lessons as a kid!

She loves me yeah, yeah, yeah . . .

Brent's nephew Aaron, his wife Haley and their darling kids, Emma, Jonathan and William. No, I don't know which one is William and which one is Jonathan. They were visiting from Georgia and we were lucky enough to get them for a couple of days. We've surely missed this little family since they moved to Atlanta.

For all of you, who love National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, I would like to say that I'm actually married to Clark Griswald (pronounced Brent Hale). When we first moved into this home, we decided that we needed a big Christmas tree to go along with the ridiculously vaulted ceiling in the front room. Brent and his brother and some of their children went marching into the wilderness to cut down fresh trees . . . twice (yes, we had a permit). I opted not to go on the second attempt after the first attempt yielded nothing more than frostbitten extremities. Anyway, I was out shopping when Brent arrived home with the "Griswald" tree. I drove up just in time to see Brent frantically dragging the tree OUT the front door. I immediately had a bad feeling about it. Apparently, he had cut the bottom off the tree (you know, so that it would draw water properly . . . needs to be in water within five minutes of having it's bottom cut off) and when he and Bob hoisted the six million pound pine into our Christmas tree stand it apparently collapsed the stand . . . obliterated it! So he was hauling the tree outside where he was planning on putting it in some sort of container of water while he ran down to buy a new Christmas tree stand (the Binford 2000 model). Anyway, when I walked in the front door I was absolutely stunned because I was greeted by the sight of an AVALANCHE from the front door all the way into my front room. Branches, pine needles, snow, water, dirt, a lot of sap (lot of sap) and possibly a squirrel or two . . . in his haste to get the tree into water in under five minutes, the man's brain had just completely shut down. It took us and hour and a half to clean up the mess. I was extremely unhappy and he was completely unrepentant. The way he saw it, he had no choice but to move quickly after cutting the bottom off the tree . . . there was no time for incidentals like making sure the stand was big enough or taking measures to protect the carpet. Sigh. It took him three days to put lights in the tree and we had to kind of back it into a corner because he had dragged all the needles off one side of the tree while pulling it off the mountain with a snowmobile (another story).
This was repeated the following year, and by the third year I became quite firm about the fact that we needed to purchase an artificial tree. It still takes forever to decorate and de-decorate it, but at least we don't have to cut the bottom off it and get it into water within 5 minutes AND we don't have to relight it every year! Merry Christmas, Sparky!

Jordan's graduation from Weber University. He's been accepted to the master's of tax program at Weber. Congratulations, Jord. Lucy on Christmas morning. She was having fun opening presents but she gassed out and was taking a little rest on the Wii box.

Everyone waiting to open presents on Christmas morning. I couldn't help myself . . . it's a tradition to take a picture of everyone at the bottom of the stairs. They're smiling but they were ready to lynch me. Clothes for baby girl Hale (expected at the beginning of April).

"Sandra Claus" and Lucy (who appears to be trying to bite the head off her doll

Uh . . . back to November, Thanksgiving Day in particular. One of our favorite card games, "Thump, Thump". We had a great time with Bob, Beth and family.

Cooking up a storm on Thanksgiving Day 2010.

Annie's mission president's wife, Leslie Kunz, has a blog where she posts photos of the missionaries in the Nebraska, Omaha mission. I checked it tonight and hit the jackpot . . . a photo of most of the sister missionaries in Annie's mission. I, of course, burst into tears when I scrolled down and saw this photo. I miss her so very much, but I know she's doing exactly what God wants her to do right now. Her letters are full of faith and joy and gratitude for the goodness of the Lord.
It's three o'clock in the morning. Guess I'd better pull the pin. Glad to be back. Til next time . . .

Feeling Grateful . . .

The photo, below, was taken just minutes before I took a bad turn on a fairly steep hairpin curve on a beautiful mountain trail and tipped over on the ATV. The ATV rolled over me (snap, crackle, pop) and then rolled a few more times, coming to rest straddling a big log. I laid in the dirt for a few seconds assessing the damage (my body, not the ATV) and was relieved to discover that I could move my feet (yes!), hands (oh yeah!), and could even sit up (joy!) and stand up (hallelujah!). I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was injured in some fashion but I was so grateful to be 1.alive and 2. not paralyzed that I'm not sure if I was crying for joy or crying because I was so thoroughly terrorized. Probably some of both. Anyhoo . . . after being driven out on another ATV (very slowly over bumpy ATV trails), and spending four hours in emergency at a great little hospital in Montpelier, Idaho, it was determined that I had two cracked ribs and that the transverse processes on two of my vertebrae were also cracked. Sigh. There's no fool like an old fool.
Here's the thing . . . we were having an absolutely glorious afternoon riding ATV's with Rachel's parents and some friends of theirs up in the mountains near Paris, Idaho. The Taylors have rennovated and remodeled an old farm house in Paris (absolutely beautiful place) and we were staying the week-end with them along with Scott and Rachel. The afternoon was gorgeous, the fall foliage breath-taking and the company absolutely delightful. We were on our last trail of the afternoon when I decided to have a wrestling match with my ATV. After we done at the hospital, we went back to the Taylors to stay the night . . . I just didn't feel up to a three hour ride home on winding canyon roads AND I just couldn't stand the thought of leaving that beautiful old farmhouse! We drove back on Sunday night and I've been laying pretty low ever since. Thanks to my family for all the grocery shopping, cooking and cleaning . . . you've been absolutely great. Thanks Brent, for all your tender loving care, especially all that laundry folding, errand running and getting me on and off the toilet (TMI?)

Reva Taylor took this photo of Brent and I and then told us to take off our sunglasses so she could get . . .
This photo. We didn't really intend to be color coordinated, by the way. We just both have green shirts that we love to wear!
The foliage was a little faded from what it had been but it was still fantastic.
Our fun hosts in Paris, Idaho, Craig and Reva Taylor. Thanks for a wonderful week-end! Honest . . . it was absolutely wonderful, even with the spill on the ATV.
This is Doug, Craig and Reva's neighbor and friend. He was gracious enough to spend his Saturday afternoon showing us around all the beautiful trails in the mountains near his home. He kept a very cool head and got everyone organized to get me out as quickly as possible. Thanks Doug.
Meanwhile back at the ranch . . .everyone combined forces to make two yummy Dutch apple pies for Rachel's and Reva's birthdays on Sunday. The recipe is one I've had for years . . . got it from a cousin of Brent's. You bake the pie in a paper sack. I'd be happy to share the recipe. We made it gluten free because both Reva and Rach are gluten intolerant. The pie works up well either way.
So, moving on. Look who's in town . . . the Minnesota Five! We're in Park City staying at our timeshare condo for a few days.
Noah, Mike, Lucy and Abbie cheesin' it up for the camera.
What would a visit from the Minnesota Five be without an afternoon of making cuppie cakes? Grandma is moving slowly these days so Abbie and Landon really jumped in and did a lot of it. Landon is stirring up the batter and Abbie is putting the cupcake papers in the pans.
We had a couple of extra halloween cupcake papers and Abbie and Landon thought they would make fine hats.
The cupcake batter was supposed to make 24 cupcakes but we only ended up with enough for 21. Hmmmm? Where do you suppose all that batter got to?
But, of course!
Great job of filling up the cupcake papers Abbie and Landon.

Time to spread the gooey chocolate frosting on all those cupcakes.
Finishing touch . . . ghosts, jack0lanterns, witches and frankensteins.
A great afternoon's work!
Abbie liked the pumpkins best.
Landon was partial to the ghosts.
I took these photos from our condo window. Everyone headed up for a ride on the Alpine slide (except poor old crippled me). So, I guess there's a few things that I can't do but in some ways it's been nice to just sit by and watch everyone take care of the cooking and cleaning while I get to read and watch movies with my adorable grandkids! Til next time . . .

I Wanted to Write You a Love Poem . . .

Laura, Scott, Mike and Steve Circa 1985

Today was a busy, crazy day. I tended Lucy (my adorable 14 month old granddaughter), drove Brent into town for some minor eye surgery (with my adorable granddaughter in tow), canned 28 quarts of peaches (with help from Rachel), froze another 9 quarts of peaches, had a few of our great stake young single adults over for french toast after they did some temple work tonight, and other things that I can't really remember now. I'm not sure if it was the delicious smell of all those peaches wafting through my kitchen or chasing a one year old or just the general chaos of the day, but I remembered a poem that I wrote for Brent about 25 years ago and I dug it out of an old file. At the time I wrote it I had four children the oldest being six and the youngest, three months. We were living in a tiny rental home on a four lane highway in Roy, Utah. The basement of the home was rented out to another tenant giving us 800 square feet of living space (four kids in one small bedroom). We did have a small area at the bottom of the stairs where we had a washer and drier that I kept busy washing mountains of cloth diapers . . . I had two in diapers at the time. We were managing three four-plex apartment buildings for Brent's parents in exchange for rent on our place. It seemed like there was ALWAYS someone who was moving out with very little notice, requiring us to go clean yet another filthy run-down apartment. Sigh. We only had one vehicle between us, an old turquoise blue Chevy Suburban, that ran on about five of eight cylinders (when it ran, at all). We called it "The Blue Max". I had one of those giant Schwinn tricycle type bikes with a big basket on it that I had purchased from Brent's grandfather. I can remember loading two small children, a box of cleaning supplies and a carpet shampooer in that basket and pedaling down a few blocks to one of the apartments to clean it while Brent was working at a construction job that he had to drive to in the sometimes running Blue Max. So . . . the poem. It was Valentine's Day, I believe, and I had the idea that I wanted to write Brent a love poem. The following is what I wrote and titled "I Wanted to Write You a Love Poem". It's long . . . read it if you like or skip this one and wait for my next post which will be decidedly shorter. And for all of you who do read this . . . my daughters, daughters-in-law, young friends, old friends, my world class mom, those with children and those without . . . I think you will find things that you can nod at and say to yourself "yeah . . . I get that".

I Wanted to Write You a Love Poem

I wanted to write you a love poem
Full of lovely sentiments
And expressions of my undying love for you.
I had it all planned out in my mind,
You know.
I wanted you to come home to a perfectly clean house,
A delicious dinner prepared with care,
And quiet, happy, contented children
Basking in the glow of a gracious, soft-spoken mother . . .
Calm, cool and collected.
I meant to meet you at the door
With open arms
And a charming smile.
"How was your day today darling? Are you tired?
Please won't you sit down and relax for awhile before dinner?"
I was really going to ask you
All of those things.
But getting back to the love poem . . .
I was going to sit down at 1:00 o'clock
And taking pen in hand, was going to wax
So beautifully poetic . . . I really was.
A special man like you deserves a
Special love poem.
I wanted it to say all the right things
And that kind of a poem takes thought
And time.
So, I was going to start at 1:00 o'clock and give myself
Plenty of time.
But lunch took a little longer than I thought it would
And Scotty made a terrible mess around his high chair.
Well, actually it wasn't such a terrible mess,
Just the usual, you know?
I did the lunch dishes and then I was going to
Really get down to the business of writing an elegant poem.
But . . . I realized that if we were to have little pizzas for dinner
I would need to get the dough started.
Dough takes time to rise and it was getting close to
Two o'clock.
Baby Laura started to cry . . . she was awfully hungry
And no doubt needed a diaper change.
Well, I supposed that if I got started on the poem by
Three o'clock, it would be alright . . .
Perhaps not as elegant or well written but still
It would come from my heart and that's what's really important,
Isn't it?

Baby Laura was happy again, Michael had come in from school.
(I forgot it was short day, today.)
He had so many things to show me and tell me.
The dough! I hadn't started on the dough yet!
I had almost enough flour but I was short
By about a cup, so
Downstairs, to fill the flour container so that
I could finish the dough for our little pizzas.
Oh no! There was the diaper pail sitting beside the washing machine.
I had forgotten to get the diapers done.
I flew to my usual routine . . . dump the diapers in the washer,
Spin them out, pull in the hot water, add the bleach,
Throw a little soap in the diaper pail and
Upstairs with the flour bin in one hand and
The diaper pail in the other. . .

All the poetic, elegant, lovely sentiments
That I had so carefully planned out in my mind
(My, now, cluttered mind)
Were starting to dissolve and flee.
Well, if I could just get started by four o'clock (I reasoned)
Perhaps I could just quickly jot down a few
Of my remaining thoughts.
Before I could get started though,
I really needed to finish the d*** dough.
I got it done . . . it was lovely dough.
Before I sat down to write my poem I supposed I ought
To change little Scotty's diaper.
I was going to just dash into the bathroom
To drop that very wet diaper into the pail, but
I looked around and the bathroom really needed
A quick cleaning.
A special man like you deserves to come home to a clean bathroom.
It only took a few minutes and the bathroom
Really did look better.
Laura started crying again . . . she couldn't possibly be hungry already,
Could she?
I tried to be calm as I sat down to feed her and
Direct the boys in a quick pick-up of the front room.
I tried to stay calm and collected
But I ended up yelling and setting the timer.
I wished that Scotty wouldn't keep pulling the toys out
As fast as Michael and Stephen were putting them away.
It would have been nice, also, if he hadn't pulled all the silverware
Out of the drawer.
The front room finally did begin to take shape and
Michael and Stephen began to devote themselves
To a serious game of He-Man, using my wooden spoons
For swords.
It was a splendid sword battle
Until Stephen inadvertantly took a swing with his sword that connected with Michael's fingers.
It was becoming increasing difficult to feel poetic.
I suppose it would probably have helped if Michael had quit
Screaming at Stephen and calling him a "poo-face"
Over and over again.

The phone rang, again.
"Yes, I'm calling about the two bedroom apartment you have listed in the paper . . ."
The phone just had to come off the hook for a few minutes.
If I'd had to say "1920 West 4975 South, Apt. 1" one more time
I'm sure that my jaw would have dislocated from the effort,
You know?

I'm afraid that all remnants of poetic thoughts had fled
By five o'clock
And had been replaced by wild thoughts of
Running away from home.
Also by a simple prayer . . . Lord, please
Help me get through the dinner hour
Without doing serious harm to anyone.

So . . . if I didn't meet you at the door with open arms,
Please don't feel rejected or
Take it too personally.
If my hair didn't look freshly curled in anticipation of your arrival
It's probably because it had been standing on end
Since about two-thirty. You know?
If the house didn't look especially tidy
Please hold on to the thought that it really was tidy
At least four times today.
A special man like you should come home
To a nice, clean house . . . I tried.
And if you are disappointed about not getting
A beautifully written love poem,
Then chew on this thought, my dear.
I love you and respect you more than any words will ever
Be able to effectively communicate.
And when I hear the old "Blue Max" come rumbling down
The driveway
My whole soul breathes a sigh of relief.
Maybe you didn't know that
But it's true.
The sound of the back door opening and shutting
And your footsteps on the back stairs
Are music to my ears.
Because sometimes the only thing that makes
My crazier days seem bearable is that
We're in this thing together.
Perhaps the constant needs of our four little charges
Kept me from presenting you with a perfectly clean house,
A beautifully prepared dinner and a calm loving demeanor.
I'm so glad, though, that I have you and that I am the
Mother of those children . . . your children,
Our children.
All my dreams for the future begin and end with you.
But I don't want to cheat you out of your poem
Entirely, so . . .

North, South, East or West.
You, my darling, are the best!

-February 14, 1985

Til next time . .

Signs of Fall

Me, with my mom, sister and brother in our backyard in Sherwood Park, Alberta. I'm about seven or eight here. I loved it when we harvested the pumpkins from our garden.

I . . . LOVE . . . THE. . . FALL. Love it, love it, love it. All of it . . . cooler temperatures, gorgeous foliage, crisp apples, pumpkins, Hallowe'en, Thanksgiving, my birthday :), October LDS conference, hot soup for dinner . . . all of it! My mom loves the fall, as well, and I'm sure that's where my love of fall started. Here are a few sure signs of fall around my house.
The Delicious Autumn pillow that I bought at Swiss Days a few years ago. George, you captured my truest and innermost feelings about fall.

The trees in my entry way in full fall regalia.

Okay, this isn't so attractive but my neighbor, Laura Smoot, made the point (when we were visiting the other day) that by fall, you just don't care anymore what your toenails look like. So, the thirty dollar pedicure that you got in July is now chipped and cracked and other than your big toes, there isn't much left of it. So just as a beautiful new pedicure is a sure sign of summer coming, a chipped and cracked pedicure is a sure sign of autumn. And yes, I know that I have really strange toes, okay? One third of the population have big toes that are actually shorter than their second toes. My mother told me, when I was growing up, that this meant I would "wear the pants" in my marriage. Alas, when I saw Brent's bare tootsies for the first time, his second toes were even LONGER in proportion to his big toes than mine were. Oh well. Back to fall . . .

My sister bought me this beautiful fall garland for an early birthday present. I twined it around the headboard of my bed and I think I'll just leave it there, year round. I have to be careful what I admire when I'm shopping with my sister because the next thing I know, she's presenting it to me in a gift bag! Thanks Elaine, I love it!

Last Christmas my daughter-in-law, Kalli, gave me a beautiful set of appliqued and hand-stitched dish towels that she designed and made herself . . . all inspired by my love of fall. I'm enchanted by them. Here's a couple of them close up.

I was worried that if I hung them in the places where I usually hang my decorative dish towels (fridge door, oven handles) that some one would actually wipe their hands on them . . . horrors! Sooo, another of my daughter's-in-law, Rachel, helped me to hang them from one of the beams in my kitchen, to display them. Great idea. Someone would have to be highly motivated and extraordinarily tall to wipe their hands on them up there. Brilliant!

And last but not least . . . home canned pear-applesauce and a beautiful Pelee mum. I made the sauce from pears that Brent's mom brought me from Brigham City and apples picked from our Gala apple tree. Lots of worms holes to cut around on the apples, but absolutely delicious flavor. They make great apple pies, also (the apples, not the worm holes).
I love Pelee mums and have to get one or two every fall.

I can't wait to drive up in the mountains and do some leaf peeping. Makes me tingley all over just to think about it! Til next time . . .