The laundry blues . . . uh, pinks

This photo was taken on Brent's birthday in 1993, just days after the great laundry disaster.
Steve, up at his Grandpa Hale's mountain property. Even when he was camping, he liked to dress colorfully!

My children all had their peculiarities when it came to dressing themselves. Scott insisted on wearing only black from the time he was very little (refer to photo above) . . . black pants, shirts, socks, shoes, the works. Steve, on the other hand, was all about color . . . red, purple, hot pink, blue, orange . . . they could all be found in his clothes closet (or more precisely, on his bedroom floor). When he was about twelve or thirteen he bought a pair of bright red Girbaud shorts. Paid seventy plus dollars for them out of his own hard earned money. Anyone out there remember Girbaud pants and shorts? They were the "must have" item of clothing for teenagers in the early 90's and they were ridiculously expensive, in my view. But he had to have some Girbauds . . . bright red ones.
Keeping up the laundry, with five children, was a crazy proposition. Every Monday was my wash day and I did a week's worth of laundry on that one day (including mine and Brent's). Before my kids left for school, they had to bring their dirty clothes up to the laundry room and I took it from there. The only thing I asked of them after I had sorted the huge mountain of laundry, washed it in appropriate loads, dried it, folded it and arranged it in baskets, was that they take their baskets and put the stuff away. Easy-peasy for them, right? Apparently not because their clothes rarely made it to their drawers. On one particular Monday morning I went downstairs to "the swamp" (the bedroom shared by all three of my boys) and was appalled by what I saw. The floor was a foot deep in dirty clothes, CLEAN CLOTHES that had never made it into drawers, sports equipment, banana peels, candy wrappers, and who knows what else. I was furious because I realized that this entire swamp full of crap was about to be scooped up and dropped on the laundry room floor for me to sort, wash, dry, etc. once again. I stomped upstairs with a full head of steam and announced to my children that from that day forward they would be doing their own laundry. Each kid would have his/her own day (I would continue to do Brent's and mine on the same day) and laundry school would start that very week. Once taught the basics, they had to bring up their laundry, divide it into loads, and start the first load before school. I would push through the loads during the day and then they had to come home and fold it and put it away. Laura and Andrea shared a laundry day because Annie was still too little to really do it on her own, and I helped them out a little more than the others. This all worked out fairly well . . . no more figuring out whose socks were whose . . . just one person's laundry per day.
During this whole laundry day learning curve, my Maytag washing machine, which was supposed to last forever and never need maintenance (remember the lonely Maytag washer repairman ads?) was actually fairly afflicted. Its transmission was going out and it made a horrible noise during the spin cycles (vibrating in a frightening way) AND it leaked transmission oil which oozed out from under the front of the washer. If we weren't VERY careful to keep our piles of sorted laundry away from the front of the washer, some of our clothing would be stained beyond help. Problem was, the darn thing just kept on going in it's own afflicted way, and it wouldn't just die! As far as Brent was concerned, if it wasn't dead, it wasn't leaving our service, and getting the thing fixed was nearly as expensive as getting a new washer.
As I stated previously, the new laundry system was going fairly well, although there were one or two notable problems. Steve, my perpetual procrastinator, sometimes decided to skip his laundry day, reasoning that he had enough clothing to keep him going for two weeks. Why do laundry twice as often as you have to? To make it worse, he sometimes tried to make it past even the two week mark but, by about day 16, was in dire straits. He couldn't do his laundry on the morning of that day because the washing machine was already being used by one of his siblings. No problem . . . he'd just get it done after dinner . . . way after dinner. One night after Brent and I had gone to bed (about 10:30 PM) Mike came in and sat on the side of our bed and said something like "there's something going on that I think you should know about". "Yes, Mike, do tell". "Well . . . you know how there are four load sizes on the washing machine: small, medium, large and extra-large? Steve just added a fifth size . . . he just put in the "mother load!" "What do you mean, the "mother load?" "Well, he just put everything he owns into the washing machine . . . he had to get on the washing machine and stomp it in to make it fit. I tried to stop him but he said he didn't want to stay up to do a bunch of loads." "Okay, Mike. Thanks for letting us know. Go on to bed." Brent was getting out of bed to put a stop to the "mother load" when I said "No. We're not going to stop him. The way I see it, this may finally be the thing that kills our afflicted washing machine. We're just going to let nature take it's course." I was adamant. We WOULD NOT intervene. I smiled to myself. Finally a new washing machine. No more oil-stained clothing. No more vibrating walls. Oh yeah.
We heard the muffled sound of the water trying to make it's way through the compressed clothing and then the beginning of the wash cycle. The washer was making piteous groaning sounds . . . surely it was in it's death throes. It was still going. Impossible. It started into a rinse and spin cycle. There are no words to describe the sound of the spin cycle. A tornado, a jet taking off, a car screeching around a corner. The washer and drier were on the other side of the wall from our bedroom closet, and the closet doors were vibrating so ferociously that I thought that they were going to fly off (cheap doors, but come on!) I half expected the washer to come crashing through the wall and crush us in our bed. It was strangely frightening. Then . . . quiet. Dead . . . was it dead? No. It made it through the entire cycle with every piece of clothing that Steve owned, including his bright red Girbaud shorts (I'm sure I taught them about colors bleeding in the wash, didn't I?) Everything that Steve owned, was pink. Various shades of pink, depending on the fabric. Noooo! In the first photo of this post, note the shirt that Steve is wearing. It started out with broad stripes of blue and white. Not anymore.
We washed all of those clothes many times, bleached what could be bleached and Steve still ended up wearing a lot of pink clothing because we could only replace his clothing as we could afford it. And speaking of bleach, Mike just figured that bleach was some kind of laundry booster . . . didn't quite understand it's true properties. Threw a cup of bleach in with all of his Levis and Levi shorts. Yup. Use your imagination. Like I said . . . one or two little problems with our laundry system.
I actually did end up getting a new washing machine the very next day. Even Brent had to agree that if the "mother load" didn't kill the machine, probably nothing would. So really, Steve did me a big favor, right? At least that's the way he saw it. Til next time . . .

A Tale of Two Kids (In the Supermarket)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . . actually, in this case it was just the worst of times. This is a tale of two kids and their harried mother in the Reams supermarket in Roy, Utah. The kids in this tale are my two oldest children, Michael (who was about three and a half at the time) and Stephen (who was about a year and a half old). The harried mother, of course, is me.
Most of my blog readers are too young to remember the old super-saver supermarkets where you had to write the prices of each item that you tossed into your cart on each item that you tossed into your cart (with a grease pencil) and then you had to bag your own groceries at the end of this process. The produce aisle was particularly fun, as each item had to be weighed and then you had to write the weight on a wide twist tie and twist it firmly into place on each plastic bag of produce. I guess they trusted us more in those days not to shave a few pennies off the price or a few ounces off the weight. Then, after you'd frantically unloaded the cart and bagged all of the items, you'd write a check (yes, this was actually done in those days) to pay for your groceries and then you'd schlep them out to your car by yourself and load them into your trunk (actually, that part mostly holds true today, too.) Now, none of this seems like it would be too tough to navigate . . . just a little inconvenient. Not too tough until you introduce the kid factor, that is.
In the days that I was hauling kids around with me in the supermarket, there were no carts that looked like little cars or miniature shopping carts that your child (children) could push by themselves and keep themselves amused for at least three minutes. There weren't even seat belts on the carts to keep the kids semi-contained. AND there were no cell phones or ipods that you could hand to your kid to amuse them with games like Angry Birds (which, BTW, I'm finally over. I've moved on to Tiny Wings) or Disney animated movies. I'm not saying, my young friends, that any of these modern conveniences make it EASY to take children to the supermarket. Just sayin' that they perhaps give you a fighting chance. Anyway . . .
As a rule, I avoided taking children to the supermarket, however, on this particular day, I found myself doing a pretty substantial amount of grocery shopping with the two little boys, mentioned above. I took one of Brent's belts with me, not to administer beatings but to strap Steve into the little rumble seat of the cart and Mike either stood on the back of the cart or rode in it . . . I can't remember. We actually made it through the grocery shopping, my grease pencil flying furiously in my hand, without too much pain. By the time we were pulling up to unload and pay for the groceries, however, Steve had had it with his belted confinement in the rumble seat and was managing to wiggle out of his tethers. I was unloading groceries as fast as I could, but the situation was going south quickly. I didn't want Steve to fall head long out of the cart so I finally took him out and tried keeping him next to me while I was unloading, bagging etc. Nope. Wasn't working. He kept heading straight to the automatic doors and I simply couldn't have my one and a half year old running into the parking lot now COULD I?! So after I had fetched him back to the check-out counter about sixteen times (people were lining up behind me with their laden carts) I did something desperate.
On either side of the automatic doors were stacked bags of dog chow (like fifty pound bags of dog chow). They were stacked vertically, two or three deep all along the wall. I sat Mikey down with his back resting on one of said bags of chow, plopped Steve in his lap and instructed Mike to close his arms around Steve, kind of like a seat belt. I told him that no matter how Steve struggled or how loud he screamed, to hold on to him until I finished bagging the groceries and writing the check to pay for them. Okay? Got that Mikey? And if you can hold onto him, I'll buy you the biggest treat you've ever had in your life! Ready, set, go.
Steve was screeching (as only Steve could . . . a high pitched squeal that was just one tone away from only being able to be heard by dogs but painfully audible to humans) before I even got him plopped in Mikey's lap. Oh my. And he could sustain this squeal for amazing amounts of time. The struggle was epic. Pretty soon they were rolling around on the floor, Mikey yelling and holding on with a death grip (large treat at stake, here) and Steve red-faced, swinging with both fists and kicking with both feet and squealing, squealing squealing . . . Somehow, in the fracas, one of the fifty pound bags of dog chow tipped over and literally exploded on the cement floor, sending all fifty pounds of kibble skittering and sliding through at least ten check-out areas (clean-up on aisles four through fourteen please!) and attracting the attention of all of the shoppers in said check-out areas (well, at least those that somehow hadn't noticed the commotion preceding this debacle). Mikey was now crying piteously (his dreams of an impossibly big treat gone up in flames) and was still trying to chase down Steve who was happily running around and stuffing dog food into his cheeks like a little chipmunk working on winter food storage! At this point, I believe I didn't care if he ran into the parking lot. People were staring at me with utter contempt and not one person offered their help (where is President Kimball when you need him?) I guess, in fairness to all of those shocked and appalled people, I probably didn't look very approachable at that moment, not even with an offer of help. I finished writing my check, threw the last bag of groceries into the cart, and hauled myself and my kids out of that supermarket in absolute fury and shame, never to return. Well, never to return with kids, that is. It was many years before I had the courage to take a kid into a supermarket again.
I've told this story many times but I think this is the first time I've actually written it down. I was inspired to do so by a recent post of one of my favorite bloggers, Chrissy Madsen. Her blog can be accessed from my friends and family list. Great writer, great reading. Thanks for the inspiration today, Chrissy.
I have some other "kids in stores" stories but I'll save them for another day. My only kid that was actually enjoyable to take shopping was Laura. The promise of a treat was enough to inspire this little girl to exemplary behavior for amazingly long periods of time. She just hopped and skipped and twirled and sang (loudly) through hours of shopping with me (she had a pair of shoes that she called her shopping shoes, pronounced "sopping soos").
As for Mikey and Steve . . . Mikey did get a big treat for his efforts and Steve continued a love of dog kibble throughout his early childhood. When we visited at homes where there was a dog, I had to really keep my eye on him! Til next time . . .

Viva la French film crew!

Not long after we got back from Lake Powell, I received a call from the bishop of our LDS ward asking us for an interesting favor. Bishop Jones works for the LDS church in public relations and also in film. The church had received a request from a French film crew to locate a "typical" Utah Mormon family who would allow them to film them in their home. They have a T.V. program that airs to several million homes, in France . . . kind of a travel/reality show. They are currently traveling through all fifty states and doing the same thing in each state . . . finding residents of the state that will introduce their audience to the peculiarities and unique features of that state. The thought that ran immediately through my mind was, what constitutes a "typical" Utah Mormon family? I know all the jokes about big families and green jello but the truth is that we're not as homogenous as people think "we" are. Whatever. We told Bishop Jones that we would be happy to host the film crew. I have to admit to being fairly nervous as the day approached that they would be coming but felt better realizing that it would be 1. aired in France, where no one knows me and 2. done in dubbed over English with subtitles.
At 11:30 AM on August 19th, the doorbell rang and we were introduced, by our bishop, to two of the nicest men I've ever met, Gerard and Laurent. A third member of the crew, Gregory (the official camera man), was stuck in the Washington D.C. airport in terrible weather, and he didn't join us until the next day. Laurent, who is actually the director, took over the camera duties that day. Gerard (pictured below) was the host of the show and did all of the interviewing and questioning. The itinerary went like this:
1. Introductions and initial interviews with family members
2. Lunch with our family and then more chatting and interviewing
3. A run up to the Bountiful temple grounds to interview Andrea (recently returned from mission) about her mission, her faith and her feelings about the temple
4. A run into Salt Lake City to tour temple square and the conference center. Our family actually didn't participate in this . . . our bishop took them around these Salt Lake landmarks.
5. A quick trip back to Bountiful to do a little filming at a huge young single adult dance. Brent and I work with the young single adults in a ward in Farmington as well as the stake that takes in that ward and the crew wanted to see what was involved in our particular church callings.
6. A trip to Antelope Island (on Saturday morning) to film the Great Salt Lake and to see the buffalo herds. Just Brent, Annie and I went with them for this little excursion.

This is Gerard. He is actually a well known actor in France and has been in many films. He also had a small part in a Harrison Ford flick called "Frantic" that was made sometime in the 80's.
Gerard sat to lunch with us and Laurent filmed . . . he had his lunch, well, after lunch. As we were chatting around the table, Gerard and Laurent were telling us that they would be going to Moab and Arches Nat'l Park, the next day, and then on to Lake Powell. They were disappointed because they had tried to rent a boat to do some touring on the lake but discovered everything was already rented out. They were planning, as an alternative, to catch the ferry at Hall's Crossing and do some filming on the way to Bullfrog. Really? Brent and I passed a knowing glance at each other. That would be like going to Paris and filming the city from the train station. We couldn't have that, could we? But did we really want to offer to meet them there and take them out on the houseboat and the speedboat? After all, it would be expensive, exhausting and we would have to work out many tricky details to make it happen. OF COURSE, we offered. How could we not? They lit up like little kids. Genuine, unbridled excitement!
Laurent filming Gerard and Annie at the Bountiful temple grounds.
Brent went with them up to the temple grounds and snapped a few shots. Andrea had all the zeal of a recently returned missionary and loved talking to Gerard about her mission, her faith in Christ and her beliefs about temple ordinances.
Gerard had a wonderful, easy-going manner and put us all very much at ease. He seemed genuinely interested and touched by what we had to say about our family and our faith.


Buffalo herd out on Antelope Island on Saturday morning. The wind wasn't blowing so the lake was very still and reflective. There were flocks and flocks of birds, especially pelicans.
There were also "flocks and flocks" of these! Hundreds and hundreds of them with webs spun between the bushes by the road. There are so many flying bugs on Antelope Island that they had a veritable Spiderama buffet going. So creepy, but so fascinating.
Gregory, the camera man, finally made it out of D.C. and was able to join us at Antelope Island. It was fun to watch him work . . . a true artist.
After we spent some time on Antelope, our new French friends went on their way to Moab with our promise that we would meet them the following afternoon at Lake Powell. Which we did. Took our good friend Bob May with us to help with backing up boat trailers, driving the house boat, maneuvering both boats, etc. I'm not great at any of these things and none of our kids could come down. Thanks Bob . . . we couldn't have done it without you . . . really.
We took them out for a late afternoon and early evening cruise on the houseboat that evening and then the next day, took Laurent and Gregory (Gerard had to stay back at the hotel to do some phone business) for a trip on the speedboat to Escalante river arm. They were hesitant to go that far because they were on such a tight schedule but once we got them to Escalante, they didn't want to leave. We had to remind them of the time and keep THEM on schedule! We have no photos from that day which is something like tragic because I've never seen Lake Powell (in the 35 years that I've been going there) looking so magically beautiful. We went into a serpentine canyon called fifty-mile canyon and the water was so still and reflective that you couldn't tell where the soaring red rock walls ended and the water began. Surreal. It looked as though we might drop into the reflection and fly down to the reflected blue sky. I heard audible gasps from our film crew (actually, maybe that was me) as the ripples sent out by our boat, together with the perfectly angled rays of sun shining down into the canyon, created a massive light show on a natural rock amphitheater as we came around a bend. Magical. Time for a cooling dip in that deep green, 84 degree, Lake Powell water. Mmmmmm. Enchanting. Refreshing. I wish I was there right now. Carried away, I am. All the while that we were on this little trip, Laurent was asking us questions, once again about family, faith and life in general. We asked him a few questions of our own. We were genuinely sad to part company with these guys when it was time for them to move on to Kaneville, where they would be spending time with a guy who does organic farming on the Kaneville badlands.
We don't know how much of the time that we spent with the French film crew will actually be depicted in their show. They still had stops to make at the major national parks, etc. and most of the film will end up on the cutting room floor. It's okay. We had a grand time with Gerard, Laurent and Gregory and won't be soon forgetting them. 'Til next time . . .

Why I'm wearing purple today

Mike and Steve just arriving from Denver for the BIG GAME.

We've had season tickets to the BYU football games for years . . . like, thirty plus years. When I was single and attending BYU I went to all the games and actually (for all my older readers who know what I'm talking about) I had CARD STUNT tickets! Great seats, and all that was required of me was to participate in the card stunt at half time. I never had a problem with having a date to the games! Brent and I had fun going to the football games before we had kids and I even went to a few after we started having kids but somehow dragging a couple of toddlers and a nursing baby to a football game just made the whole experience lose it's shine. I got out of the habit of going and the kids became rabid fans along with their dad as they got older. I attend a game occasionally but spending four plus hours in traffic and sitting through 3-4 hours of football (just doesn't move as fast as hockey) isn't my idea of a swell time. I do, however, love the fact that Brent and the kids love it and have so much fun together when they go. I don't begrudge them one minute of that time together . . . I just do other things and enjoy my time at the house by myself (well, actually, Lucy is keeping me company today).
Once in awhile, like I said, I'll attend a game just to hang out with the fam, but I DO NOT under any circumstances attend the BYU UTAH game. What was once a fun rivalry has become so intensely mean-spirited that I'm just happy to see the day come and go. I don't truly understand how otherwise nice people, turn into such morons over a football game. So today, I'll just wear purple and hang out with Lucy and hope that my family has a great time one way or the other!

This is what happens when I tell them that I just want to take a couple of candid photos. Sigh.
A gentlemen's game of croquet. Make no mistake . . . these croquet games are extremely competitive. As are their games of ping pong, pool, air hockey, cards . . .
Mike telling a story about Landon handing Erin a dead squirrel while we were having lunch at El Matador before they left for the game. Classic story. Never fails to please.
Ready to roll out to Provo. I don't really care whether the Cougars or the Utes win, EXCEPT for the fact that it affects the mood of my ENTIRE family. So for that reason I guess I just have to say GO COUGARS!!!!!! Til next time . . .

Fire power, camp fires and fire on the Centerville mountainside

Brent's parents own a little piece of mountain property in a place called Deep Creek Ranch above Morgan. We went up there last night with Scott, Rachel, Adelaide, Laura and Lucy . . . it had been a long time (since last year) since we'd been up. You can't build cabins or even park a trailer up there, but it's a beautiful little piece of mountainside property with a stream running through it, a fire pit, some level tent sites, a cement pad for a picnic table (which has long since fallen apart), a big tire swing and lots of quiet solitude. Well, mostly quiet. Occasionally a cow will bellow or an ATV will go roaring by OR my guys take up enough fire power to start world war III and blast away at poor defenseless targets.
Um, not Laura and Lucy . . .
THESE targets! I actually didn't mean to line up my photos this way but for some reason my blogging program stopped letting me move my photos around a long time ago. Anyone else have this problem?
Scott asked me to do some dutch oven cooking while we were there (also been a long time) so I dusted off the dutch ovens and we cooked some pepsi chicken, some potatoes with onions, peppers, bacon and sprite (dutch oven recipes love to use soda pop) and some fresh peach cobbler (gluten free). We all ate around the campfire until we were stuffed. Forgot to bring up a lantern so when darkness fell it was REALLY dark. A couple of us remembered to bring up our headlamps so we weren't in UTTER darkness.
My daughter-in-law Rachel with her sweet Adelaide. Rachel looks like Hilary Swank, don't you think? I think so. Adelaide goes hiking with her parents pretty frequently and loves to ride along in her baby backpack. She's already quite the little mountain woman.
Lucy, trying to eat her dutch oven dinner balanced on her lap. She was semi-successful.
Scott, Adelaide and Rachel eating around the campfire.
Laura and Lucy doing the same . . . well Laura's eating anyway.
As we headed down the mountain from "the property" (as it's come to be known) all of our cell phones started ringing . . . calls from lots of worried people who had either seen the news or the burning Centerville mountainside. "How close is it to your home?", they wanted to know. We didn't know but a half hour later when we pulled off the freeway at Parrish Lane in Centerville, this is what we saw. We watched the fire for a few minutes and were startled at how high the flames were leaping. It never came closer than about 3/4 mile from our home and I don't think there were any homes damaged.
That's it for now . . . I guess I'll fire this post off. 'Til next time...

Did we seriously fit all of that into one summer?

Landon, Abbie and Noah in the Colorado shirts that we brought them when we went to Minnesota for their dad's "graduation" from residency.

For the sake of written documentation, I'm feeling the need to list the events of this summer. Put them into print and stare at them and shake my head as I think "Holy Cow . . . did we fit all that into one summer?" I've already blogged about my trip to Vancouver, in May, our annual Hale-May Memorial Day trip (Kodachrome Basin), our lovely trip to Boston to celebrate Steve and Kalli's graduations and to help them move and the Hale family reunion in Brigham City. Next on the docket was our trip to Minnesota to attend Mike's "graduation" dinner from his residency in oral surgery and to help he and his family make their move from Minneapolis to Denver (via our place).

Mike saying a few words after being presented with his certificate. He was eloquent . . . truly.
It's been a long road for these two and their little family. They were married in July of 2000 and have continuously been in school or training ever since.

A few photos after the dinner, out on the "terrace".
We knew that when we drove from Minnesota back to Utah that we would be passing through Omaha, Nebraska where Sister Annie Hale was serving her mission. Since she only had a few days left to serve, her mission president agreed to let us meet her at the Trail Center and have her give us a tour. It was fantastic. No words.
President Milan and Sister Leslie Kunz. How I love this couple. I especially love how they love and serve their missionaries.

For some must push and some must pull . . .
My oldest and my youngest. This photo warms my heart.
Abbie and Landon playing outside of Little America in Wyoming where we stopped for sustenance! Moving along to . . .
The fourth of July and Mike's 33rd birthday. When Mike was a little boy he thought all of the fireworks and celebrations were just for him!
Scott, Rachel and Adelaide at the great fireworks at Davis High.
Lucy wasn't particularly impressed . . . her Uncle Scott was trying to help her feel better about all the bright lights and loud noises.
Forward to July 8th and Sister Andrea Hale's return home.
Okay . . . how cliche is this? I love it!
Annie with all five of her nieces and nephews. This was the first time she'd seen Adelaide.
Celebrating at Thymes and Seasons that evening. Brent and I took her to see the Stake President for her offical release from her missionary service, later that evening. Which brings us to July 10th and the "homecoming" meeting. Andrea gave a great talk and then we fed the "five thousand" with the help of lots of friends, family and ward members who contributed all kinds of yummy food.

The welcome home banner was crafted by the Rechis girls, across the street. Thanks ladies! Which brings us to July 13th and our Mediterranean cruise. This was originally planned to be a graduation gift for Mike, Steve and wives however the entire family ended up going except for Scott and Rachel who have a nursing baby. It was REALLY hard to leave them behind but they were great sports about it.
Salt Lake airport.
Layover in (some eastern U.S. city . . . can't remember which one). What a lively bunch. We were exhausted before we even got started!
Embarkation was in Venice. We had a day there before we boarded the Ruby Princess. There's really not any place like it.

Shipping out of Venice.

We had dinner every night on the ship at 8:30. Our head waiter was Eli and he worked his tail off for us. We loved him. The crew members of these big cruise ships work for 10 months, straight, at sea. Most of them have spouses and young children who they have to leave in order to support them. It's just not fair.
A game of mini-golf on the top-decks of the ship.
Remember my diatribe about Greek taxi drivers? Here they are, in force, blockading the port into Athens. There were also taxis blockading all the major tourist sites. Sigh.
Here we are just staring into the distance to see if we can catch a little glimpse of the Parthenon.
When I zoomed in my camera all the way, I was able to see it (against the sky to the left). Next stop . . . Turkey.
First Turkish port was Kusadasi. Great little place, but the best part was going to the ruins of Ephysus. It was early in the morning (to beat the heat) and the sun was just coming up. The ruins were so fantastic. We even saw the big amphitheater where Paul preached to the Ephesians.
Erin, Annie and Laura.
An ancient library. Next day we went to . . .
Istanbul. My camera developed some problems and most of my photos ended up with black spots on them.
A river cruise on the Bosphorus where we saw some very ancient castles as well as some modern estates.
Next stop was Mykonos, one of the Greek Islands. I wish I could have posted a few more photos of this place. White washed homes and businesses, with just a touch of blue trim, outdoor cafes, narrow winding streets, lots of little shops, incredible beaches. Might have to go back to this place.
Steve and Kalli all decked out to dine on the ship. I love the fedora, Steve.

Our next port of call was Naples (Napoli) . Naples wasn't our favorite city but from there we took a bus (train?) to the ruins of Herculaneum and that WAS fantastic. We didn't feel like we had enough time to see Pompeii which is massive and Laura had heard that Herculaneum was much smaller, but still wonderful to see. She heard right. The above photo is a well preserved fresco. Herculaneum was filled by mud flows when Vesuvius erupted (instead of weighed down by volcanic ash, like Pompeii) so the preservation is very good. Our guide, an older man named Hector, had a wealth of information to share with us. I would say this one one of the highlights of the cruise for me.
Herculaneum.

A great little pizza place near Herculaneum. The guys saw what they thought looked like sausage pizza and ordered several of them. They were called Tonna pizzas and turned out to be tuna pizzas. Fishy, strong tasting tuna. Not our best food experience. Except for me . . . I ordered the veggie and it was delicious :) We found out that Margherita pizza is so named in honor of a visiting princess who the pizza was created for. The red sauce, white mozzarella cheese and the green basil leaves are the colors of the Italian flag.

Outside the restaurant, enjoying his Italian lemon soda, is Mike. Not looking at all touristy, are you Mike?
On to Rome. The port of call was a little town that was actually a 1 1/2 hour train ride from Rome so we really had a ridiculously short amount of time to "see" Rome. This is Brent and I in the foreground of Vatican city. Because it was Sunday we weren't able to see the Sistine Chapel or the Vatican treasury. However, St. Peter's Basilica was magnificent.
The rest of the group at Vatican city and the basilica.

We also made it over the colosseum. What an evil place. During the big opening event of the colosseum, over 9000 animals were slaughtered . . . whole species of animals became extinct because of the colosseum blood sports.
We loved Florence. This building is the Duomo, a beautiful cathedral.
Potato pizza. Brent and I had some amazing potato pizza in Rome several years ago and have been searching for it ever since. We found this in a pizza shop in Florence. I thought it was great but Brent said it wasn't even close to what we had in Rome.
A quick stop in Pisa to see the leaning tower. It's almost surreal to see it in person.
The cruise ended in Barcelona, Spain. Such a beautiful city. It was so great to have two Spanish speakers with us for this portion of the trip. Mike served his mission in Malaga, Spain and Jordan served in Chile. No problem getting around here.
Hop on, hop off bus in Barcelona. A great way to see the city.
We got home from our cruise on July 28th and had just a couple of days to get ready for . . .
Lake Powell! Steve and Kalli weren't able to join us, as Steve's new job started in Longmont, CO on August 1st, but Scott and Rachel were able to come on this one.
Annie with her great friends Megan Walker and Alexis (Lu) Redd. We love these girls.
Abbie and Landon observing the habits of the Lake Powell "rump-back" whale.
Nice show, Jordan.
The early morning reflection in still waters that I love so much at Powell.
Lake Powell hair. Lookin' good Rach and Elaine!

Uncle Len is like a pied piper for kids. My grandkids love him!
Adelaide, cooling off in a "tubby" bath. It was so hot while we were there.
Mike enjoying some tubing with his kids.
Mike, Erin and kids were only able to stay with us for three days because they needed to move on to their new home in Parker, Colorado. Here they are walking away to a whole new life. I can't quite describe how I felt watching them go. So happy for them . . . so sad for me. How I love this little family. We continued to enjoy the lake for an additional three days. I really thought when we got home from Lake Powell that life would slow down but it wasn't so. But I'm too tired tonight to continue . . . except to say, is it possible that all of this happened or was I just having a really intense dream? Nope. It happened. Irrefutable photographic evidence. Til next time . . .