Growing up we had several cars that I would not have considered to be "well running vehicles". There was the white station wagon with the driver's side window that didn't roll down and a broken left turn signal-good luck making that turn; the green Datsun that honked all by itself when making a left turn unless a piece of paper was wedged in the steering wheel; the brown Corolla with the gas pedal that stuck; and my personal favorite: Old Blue.
Old Blue was a cut above the other vehicles we owned. It had enough seating for all us, who could resist that seat in the 'way back' that faced oncoming traffic. Can't imagine why I get car sick so easily, you'd think a childhood of not being able look out the front window of a vehicle would have made me immune to that. Ok, back to Old Blue. The thin lining that covered the padded ceiling was too much for seven kids to resist. We poked at it and practiced making letters with our fingernails until it finally began to come loose and eventually just hang down in various places.
The lovely interior was nothing compared to the engine. It blew up in the first week we owned the thing and dad replaced it with a used engine. Since it was a minimum forty mile round trip to get to town from our house and back, it didn't last long.
The five of us younger kids took roller skating lessons for several years. Every once in while we performed in competitions that took us from our "home" skating rink to another. This particular competition was in southeast San Diego, not exactly the best part of town, but we were just headed to the rink, no problem. The rink was pretty old and was built with two poles centered in each half of the rink (for support?), so we were encouraged to practice there before the competition.
My saint of a mother loaded us five kids up in Old Blue drove forever to get there, patiently watched us practice, loaded us back up in Old Blue and headed back home. Until Old Blue decided to die. Mom managed to pull into a gas station before all power was gone and went to call dad. We knew we were in a bad part of town, but didn't realize how bad until mom headed to the pay phone (a cell phone would have been really useful back then!). There was a car full of what I would now consider to be "thugs", who told mom she couldn't use that phone. There must have been a drug deal going down and evidently mom was getting in the way of it (I'm sure they're thankful for cell phones now too!). Since there happened to be two pay phones, mom sweetly asked for permission to use the other public pay phone to which they nodded yes. How generous.
After getting a hold of dad, who was very nonchalant about the whole thing, mom told us he would be coming to our rescue. Did I mention it was a very hot summer day? Yes, very hot, so our sweet mother got out of the car, again, passed the 'nice' young men still waiting on their important call, made it into the store and bought us all something to drink. She dolled out the goods when she came back and I firmly passed on the orange soda. See, I was a bit of a hypochondriac and was positive they poisoned the beverages inside the store. We're talking an aluminum can of carbonated soda, something we never had at home, but I was sure it had somehow been tampered with and would lead me to a slow, painful death. I had also insisted mom roll the windows up and lock the doors; a notion she flatly refused, based on the fact that we would suffocated in the heat. So they came down, an inch. Apparently that sort of death seemed more appealing to me and I was willing to take the chance.
The minutes ticked by for what seemed like an eternity. Mom kept insisting I stop saying we were all going to wind up on the five o'clock news as "drive by" victims (maybe those weren't the exact words, but you get the idea). Finally, dad showed up, or should I say, strolled up and managed to fix car enough to get us back up the hill. Never was I so happy to get a drink of water that I knew wasn't tainted with poison and not have keep a continual 360 degree view of my surroundings "just in case".
We did go back to the skating rink for the competition, but this time dad drove. Old Blue ran just fine for him though, something about Murphy's Law I suppose.
The moral of this flashback: When driving an unreliable car, be prepared to pray continually and keep a bottle of your own beverage availablein the vehicle-just in case.
Showing posts with label Flashback Fridays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flashback Fridays. Show all posts
Friday, March 30, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
Flashback Friday: Summers in Wisconsin
Every summer (with the exception of having Ashlynn & Gage in July) we spend a couple of weeks in Wisconsin (Randy's birthplace through age twelve) at his grandparents cabin on a lake.
Memories:
1. Someone in the caravan of cars from here to there has broken down on the way up and the way back-EVERY TIME.
2. One of the most beautiful places on earth, once you get there!
2. Randy down to his "chunders" to retrieve his spendy fishing pliers from the bottom of lake: "Babe, I can see them ten feet down. No problem". If I had a scanner you would see the picture :-)!
3. Me having to use a five gallon bucket as my "bathroom" on a canoe at lake. Seems rowing to shore would have been too much trouble and time taken away from catching the "big one".
4. Outfishing Randy on the St Croix for small mouth bass :-).
5. Randy leaning over to help bring a fish into the boat and dropping his truck keys into the lake. Getting down to his "chunders" wouldn't have helped, there was no visibility in that lake. Can someone say locksmith?
6. Grandpa Fred, his hat high upon his head, tilted slightly to the side; a sparkle in his eye, a bounce in his step and a smile always on his face.
7. Campfires and marshmallows.
8. The "girls" singing God Bless America a capella on the 4th.
9. Grandma Larson always "welcoming home the children", beating everyone at skipbo, dancing with Ashlynn and encouraging everyone to "just have fun".
10. Dale, Linda, "the boys", Sandra, Coleen, David, Jake, Bonnie, Brett and Blake.
11. Home cooking for every meal, Swedish pancakes anyone? mmmmm...
12. Swimming across the lake, at least once every year.
13. Golfing with deer as your audience.
14. Lazy summer days watching the lake and the kids play along the shore, is it July yet????
the Moral of this flashback: Cherish and enjoy every minute with the ones you love, especially those you don't get to see all the time. Life is waaaay too short!
We miss you Grandpa Larson and know we will one day see your bright, shining face again!
Memories:
1. Someone in the caravan of cars from here to there has broken down on the way up and the way back-EVERY TIME.
2. One of the most beautiful places on earth, once you get there!
2. Randy down to his "chunders" to retrieve his spendy fishing pliers from the bottom of lake: "Babe, I can see them ten feet down. No problem". If I had a scanner you would see the picture :-)!
3. Me having to use a five gallon bucket as my "bathroom" on a canoe at lake. Seems rowing to shore would have been too much trouble and time taken away from catching the "big one".
4. Outfishing Randy on the St Croix for small mouth bass :-).
5. Randy leaning over to help bring a fish into the boat and dropping his truck keys into the lake. Getting down to his "chunders" wouldn't have helped, there was no visibility in that lake. Can someone say locksmith?
6. Grandpa Fred, his hat high upon his head, tilted slightly to the side; a sparkle in his eye, a bounce in his step and a smile always on his face.
7. Campfires and marshmallows.
8. The "girls" singing God Bless America a capella on the 4th.
9. Grandma Larson always "welcoming home the children", beating everyone at skipbo, dancing with Ashlynn and encouraging everyone to "just have fun".
10. Dale, Linda, "the boys", Sandra, Coleen, David, Jake, Bonnie, Brett and Blake.
11. Home cooking for every meal, Swedish pancakes anyone? mmmmm...
12. Swimming across the lake, at least once every year.
13. Golfing with deer as your audience.
14. Lazy summer days watching the lake and the kids play along the shore, is it July yet????
the Moral of this flashback: Cherish and enjoy every minute with the ones you love, especially those you don't get to see all the time. Life is waaaay too short!
We miss you Grandpa Larson and know we will one day see your bright, shining face again!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Flashback Friday: The Water Truck
When Randy and I first moved to Kansas, we rented a little house that his parents had remodeled. There was one, ok, maybe two conditions that we had to consider: a) They lived next door (now, I LOVE my in-laws, but not so much as neighbors when we hadn't been married quite a year yet); b) There wasn't exactly running water, in the sense that it didn't come from the city or a well. Instead, you actually had to go get your water and put it into a cistern. Which, ofcourse, required the water truck.
Normally Randy or Dale (my F-I-L) would go get the water, so it never seemed to be much of an issue until one day. Randy was on shift at the fire station and Dale & Linda were out of town. It was a Friday, it was hot and I wasn't happy to be in the position of driving the truck. Which meant attempting to get the hose into the tank, fill it, shut it back off, drive back to the house, hook up to the cistern and unload the water.
I carefully enlisted Dustin (Randy's younger brother who was 13 at the time) to assist me in the retrieval of the precious commodity I had previously taken for granted. We were a great team at the "fill station" and had no problems, until we headed home that is.
Now I know when you think of Kansas you probably think 'flat', right? Western Kansas, yes, eastern Kansas close to the Missouri line, no. There were two steep hills we had to go up and down to get back to the house. They also were very curvy, being called "switchback" roads (I overheard someone say that once). Ok, back to the water truck, we're full now don't forget.
We creep down the first hill and around the bend, as we begin our climb up the next hill the engine decides to die. Dustin looks at me with great confidence and encourages me to just start it back up. Riiiight. Not working at all, I mean this thing had no power, as if the battery was drained completely. And here we were on that hill making Friday traffic worse than it already was until our first form of help arrived.
You could hear the roar of their engine as they were coming up the hill. Three high school kids in their refurbished Chevy Nova stopped to see if they could give us a jump. They proceeded to turn around into on coming traffic (they had to face the truck to give it a jump ofcourse!) and attempted to get the engine running. Three tries, no dice.
Now, you might wonder why I didn't call someone I knew right? Hello we're talking 1998: every man, woman and chlid wasn't carrying a cell phone then.
These guys decided on plan B. They would stop traffic both ways and push the truck back down the hill into the cul-de-sac at the bottom to the left. Not only was this crazy, but it also required me to be in the vehicle to steer and I couldn't just leave Dustin out on the street. When you don't have any better plan though, you go with what "might" work. They stood out on the street like traffic cops and pushed the truck like it wasn't filled with 500 gallons of water. Somehow, I manged to steer it into the cul-de-sac, without hitting any mailboxes, and came to a stop. The bewildered homeowner, whose driveway I was now blocking, came out to see if they could help and offered to let us use their phone. I'm sure they wanted to help, but I'm more certain they wanted the ugly beast brown truck out from in front of their lovely home.
My option: Call Randy at work-who else was I going to call? He hadn't been working for that fire department very long, so he couldn't just leave to come help us. Thankfully, Randy's aunt and uncle had moved to Kansas as well, so he put a call in to Uncle David.
I was never so happy to see a familiar face in all my life when David showed up. He muttered some things under his breath about the water truck, but was quite calm when he laid out his plan. "We hook the water truck up to my truck and we'll get you home". Ok, riiight. Again this requires me (I was 19 at the time) to DRIVE the truck with no power (that = no brakes people!). David reassures me with the option to just "run into the back of my truck if you lose the brakes". Umm, ok.
He hooks me up and takes off, and I mean takes off. I go flying over the curb and hit my head on the ceiling (there were no seat belts in the truck) and just keep praying I don't have to ram the back of his nice truck. The rest of the trip home is a little fuzzy in my memory due to the high stress of the situation, but pushing the useless brakes to the floorboard is still in there. We made it, however, and we didn't crash!
I vowed to never get water again, though I rode with Randy another time and we, you guessed it, broke down on a hill. That time Dale was home and came and fixed it, no problem. It definitely was not the adventure Dustin, David and I had once upon a time in Kansas.
The moral of this flashback: Sometimes common sense doesn't work and you have to do things "unconventionally".
P.S. Thanks Uncle David!!!
Normally Randy or Dale (my F-I-L) would go get the water, so it never seemed to be much of an issue until one day. Randy was on shift at the fire station and Dale & Linda were out of town. It was a Friday, it was hot and I wasn't happy to be in the position of driving the truck. Which meant attempting to get the hose into the tank, fill it, shut it back off, drive back to the house, hook up to the cistern and unload the water.
I carefully enlisted Dustin (Randy's younger brother who was 13 at the time) to assist me in the retrieval of the precious commodity I had previously taken for granted. We were a great team at the "fill station" and had no problems, until we headed home that is.
Now I know when you think of Kansas you probably think 'flat', right? Western Kansas, yes, eastern Kansas close to the Missouri line, no. There were two steep hills we had to go up and down to get back to the house. They also were very curvy, being called "switchback" roads (I overheard someone say that once). Ok, back to the water truck, we're full now don't forget.
We creep down the first hill and around the bend, as we begin our climb up the next hill the engine decides to die. Dustin looks at me with great confidence and encourages me to just start it back up. Riiiight. Not working at all, I mean this thing had no power, as if the battery was drained completely. And here we were on that hill making Friday traffic worse than it already was until our first form of help arrived.
You could hear the roar of their engine as they were coming up the hill. Three high school kids in their refurbished Chevy Nova stopped to see if they could give us a jump. They proceeded to turn around into on coming traffic (they had to face the truck to give it a jump ofcourse!) and attempted to get the engine running. Three tries, no dice.
Now, you might wonder why I didn't call someone I knew right? Hello we're talking 1998: every man, woman and chlid wasn't carrying a cell phone then.
These guys decided on plan B. They would stop traffic both ways and push the truck back down the hill into the cul-de-sac at the bottom to the left. Not only was this crazy, but it also required me to be in the vehicle to steer and I couldn't just leave Dustin out on the street. When you don't have any better plan though, you go with what "might" work. They stood out on the street like traffic cops and pushed the truck like it wasn't filled with 500 gallons of water. Somehow, I manged to steer it into the cul-de-sac, without hitting any mailboxes, and came to a stop. The bewildered homeowner, whose driveway I was now blocking, came out to see if they could help and offered to let us use their phone. I'm sure they wanted to help, but I'm more certain they wanted the ugly beast brown truck out from in front of their lovely home.
My option: Call Randy at work-who else was I going to call? He hadn't been working for that fire department very long, so he couldn't just leave to come help us. Thankfully, Randy's aunt and uncle had moved to Kansas as well, so he put a call in to Uncle David.
I was never so happy to see a familiar face in all my life when David showed up. He muttered some things under his breath about the water truck, but was quite calm when he laid out his plan. "We hook the water truck up to my truck and we'll get you home". Ok, riiight. Again this requires me (I was 19 at the time) to DRIVE the truck with no power (that = no brakes people!). David reassures me with the option to just "run into the back of my truck if you lose the brakes". Umm, ok.
He hooks me up and takes off, and I mean takes off. I go flying over the curb and hit my head on the ceiling (there were no seat belts in the truck) and just keep praying I don't have to ram the back of his nice truck. The rest of the trip home is a little fuzzy in my memory due to the high stress of the situation, but pushing the useless brakes to the floorboard is still in there. We made it, however, and we didn't crash!
I vowed to never get water again, though I rode with Randy another time and we, you guessed it, broke down on a hill. That time Dale was home and came and fixed it, no problem. It definitely was not the adventure Dustin, David and I had once upon a time in Kansas.
The moral of this flashback: Sometimes common sense doesn't work and you have to do things "unconventionally".
P.S. Thanks Uncle David!!!
Friday, March 9, 2007
Flashback Friday: Ashlynn.....
Randy and I were talking the other night about how there is nothing like the birth of your first child. The anticipation, the excitement, the wonder, the fear.
Ashlynn was due in June, the 27th to be exact, one day before our fifth wedding anniversary. That day came and went, still no baby (boy or girl, we didn't know). The doctor wanted to induce labor, I resisted. Randy and I had decided on the Bradley Method of childbirth and that wasn't part of the "plan". We were anxious though, and waiting was so difficult. That Sunday, we went forward for prayer at church. Not knowing our exact desires, they prayed for a natural and blessed birth for our baby-just as we had been.
Monday morning Mom, Linda(Randy's mom) and I decided to head to Lawrence (a college town close by that has some cute shops) for a distraction. We were home by 2:00 and my contractions decided to start at 3:30. I distinctly remember the first one; I was laying on the couch watching 'That Touch of Mink' (Doris Day) and I looked at my mom and said "It's a real one, I know it". We were so excited that it was finally starting, we tried to finish the movie but I couldn't concentrate at all. We went for a walk instead and let a few neighbors know that I was in labor so they could take care of our dog, Ember.
After trying to time the contractions on her watch, mom suggested we go get a stop watch. "That's what your dad always did for me, it really helped, I promise". Having birthed seven children, I decided to take her word for it. We piled into the car with our hospital bags, just in case, and headed to the sporting goods store for a stop watch.
Randy, figuring it would be his last meal for a while, decided he would hit Chipotle's and pick up a burrito (more on that in a second). Mom decided she wanted to get a coffee at Panera's next door. And me, yeah, I was still in labor. There was mom with that stop watch, ordering:
"Cafe mocha, please."
"Oh wow, that was a long one Elizabeth, a minute and a half."
"Just the small, no whip cream."
"Another one, boy, they're getting close, only two minutes between those ones."
"Do you have any other muffins."
"What, another one? Oh my, they are really getting close."
"No, that's to go please, thanks."
"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"
Um, I'm having contractions two mintues apart that are lasting a minute and half and worried about my water breaking on Panera's tile floor, no thanks.
We hook back up with Randy and his burrito, which is no smaller than a Women's size ten shoe, and head to the hospital at mom's urging.
We were at 119th Street, the hospital was at 75th Street. Randy had that shoe size burrito finished before we even took the exit, can someone say "nerves"?
They checked us into the hospital at 7:00pm and we decided to walk the halls to speed my labor. For every contraction I asked Randy to rub my back. He "claims" he had to keep a light jog every time that happened as my pace quickened with the pain. He also "claims" we walked the halls so fast in those three hours that they had to replace the carpet when we were done (they had replaced it whith laminate flooring when we went back for Ryder's birth, hmmm).
By 10:00pm I was in a lot of pain and ended up in the hospital bed squeezing, ok, clawing at Randy's hand. He was a trooper the whole time. Reassuring me "honey, you can do it, your doing awesome". I pretty much phased everyone out that last hour and was just really happy to hear it was time to push. Mom had previously assured me that "it always feels better when you get to push, I promise". Oh really? Can't say that was the case for me, but eleven minutes and several pushes later we had a girl. Six pounds, ten ounces; comepletely and totally perfect. Well, ok, with the exception of a major case of conehead. For which mom promtly purchased a cute little hat to cover for the pictures. Also assuring me "it will go down, I promise". It did.
It turned out to be a truly amazing and blessed experience, albeit, not without pain. Randy was the most incredible coach I could have imagined and we were filled with such joy to have Ashlynn Faith in our arms at last.
The moral of this flashback: It's two-fold: 1) when your mom says "I promise" it might not always be the case. 2) Childbirth is painful, I don't blame anyone for taking an epidural (not that natural wasn't great for us, but it might have saved the hospital flooring and a hand, or two-Randy "claims").
Ashlynn was due in June, the 27th to be exact, one day before our fifth wedding anniversary. That day came and went, still no baby (boy or girl, we didn't know). The doctor wanted to induce labor, I resisted. Randy and I had decided on the Bradley Method of childbirth and that wasn't part of the "plan". We were anxious though, and waiting was so difficult. That Sunday, we went forward for prayer at church. Not knowing our exact desires, they prayed for a natural and blessed birth for our baby-just as we had been.
Monday morning Mom, Linda(Randy's mom) and I decided to head to Lawrence (a college town close by that has some cute shops) for a distraction. We were home by 2:00 and my contractions decided to start at 3:30. I distinctly remember the first one; I was laying on the couch watching 'That Touch of Mink' (Doris Day) and I looked at my mom and said "It's a real one, I know it". We were so excited that it was finally starting, we tried to finish the movie but I couldn't concentrate at all. We went for a walk instead and let a few neighbors know that I was in labor so they could take care of our dog, Ember.
After trying to time the contractions on her watch, mom suggested we go get a stop watch. "That's what your dad always did for me, it really helped, I promise". Having birthed seven children, I decided to take her word for it. We piled into the car with our hospital bags, just in case, and headed to the sporting goods store for a stop watch.
Randy, figuring it would be his last meal for a while, decided he would hit Chipotle's and pick up a burrito (more on that in a second). Mom decided she wanted to get a coffee at Panera's next door. And me, yeah, I was still in labor. There was mom with that stop watch, ordering:
"Cafe mocha, please."
"Oh wow, that was a long one Elizabeth, a minute and a half."
"Just the small, no whip cream."
"Another one, boy, they're getting close, only two minutes between those ones."
"Do you have any other muffins."
"What, another one? Oh my, they are really getting close."
"No, that's to go please, thanks."
"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"
Um, I'm having contractions two mintues apart that are lasting a minute and half and worried about my water breaking on Panera's tile floor, no thanks.
We hook back up with Randy and his burrito, which is no smaller than a Women's size ten shoe, and head to the hospital at mom's urging.
We were at 119th Street, the hospital was at 75th Street. Randy had that shoe size burrito finished before we even took the exit, can someone say "nerves"?
They checked us into the hospital at 7:00pm and we decided to walk the halls to speed my labor. For every contraction I asked Randy to rub my back. He "claims" he had to keep a light jog every time that happened as my pace quickened with the pain. He also "claims" we walked the halls so fast in those three hours that they had to replace the carpet when we were done (they had replaced it whith laminate flooring when we went back for Ryder's birth, hmmm).
By 10:00pm I was in a lot of pain and ended up in the hospital bed squeezing, ok, clawing at Randy's hand. He was a trooper the whole time. Reassuring me "honey, you can do it, your doing awesome". I pretty much phased everyone out that last hour and was just really happy to hear it was time to push. Mom had previously assured me that "it always feels better when you get to push, I promise". Oh really? Can't say that was the case for me, but eleven minutes and several pushes later we had a girl. Six pounds, ten ounces; comepletely and totally perfect. Well, ok, with the exception of a major case of conehead. For which mom promtly purchased a cute little hat to cover for the pictures. Also assuring me "it will go down, I promise". It did.
It turned out to be a truly amazing and blessed experience, albeit, not without pain. Randy was the most incredible coach I could have imagined and we were filled with such joy to have Ashlynn Faith in our arms at last.
The moral of this flashback: It's two-fold: 1) when your mom says "I promise" it might not always be the case. 2) Childbirth is painful, I don't blame anyone for taking an epidural (not that natural wasn't great for us, but it might have saved the hospital flooring and a hand, or two-Randy "claims").
Friday, March 2, 2007
Flashback Friday: Growing up in the Country
Being back home this week brought back a flood of memories from growing up in the mountains. It seemed as though we lived in a different world; it was peaceful, beautiful and fun. Most would imagine San Diego as all city life and the beach, but, I actually didn't live in the "city" until I married and moved to Kansas City.
Four of my six siblings and I were homeschooled and we made the backyard our playground. We owned eight acres that backed up to Cleavland National Forest-beautiful untouched mountains. The only neighbors we had were a good walk down the dirt road, so we explored freely. Dad built our house on a 'pad' cut on the land; on a clear day you could see the ocean. There was a valley to the east with what was named "Boot Hill" just beyond that; when it rained heavily there was a little creek that ran at it's base. What adventures we had out there.
Every morning we would wake up around 6:45am so we could have some time outside before school started. One 'project' that sticks out in my mind was the trail we made to the top of the mountain. We cut at least a three foot wide trail from the base of the tall mountain that sat directly behind or house, all the way up; you could see the world from there. We had pit stops along the way and even deemed one of the sage bushes to be "gum tree". We would attach any chewed gum to its branches in hopes that it would somehow reproduce. I don't recall if we ate the gum again, but it wouldn't surprise me. Day after day we labored on our trail and never did we run into a rattlesnake. That, I now consider a miracle; mom must have been on her knees praying for us. Rattlesnakes were very common in the mountains, especially with all the rock moving we did. As a parent now myself, I can't believe how at ease mom was with us; I probably would have been a nervous wreck!
Another 'project' I recall were our "bomb shelters", we made two. The first was up the hill on flat ground. We dug this huge hole, put a piece of plywood over it and covered it with dirt. This shelter came fully equipped with a living room, bedroom and bathroom facility; home away from home. For the second shelter, we literally dug a hole into the side of the mountain large enough for us to fit in. This one was more unstable and eventually caved in, but oh, we had a blast playing in them!
We often pretended to be early American explorers and always hoped to come across gold in the creek or Indian arrows under rocks. The soil was composed mainly of granite, and we thought there might be some value in it; we never got rich off of it though. We could pass hours playing make believe on that land and we didn't tire doing it-ever.
We may not have discovered gold or any other "amazing" find, but we were wealthy. We had so much freedom to imagine and create with one another; I will keep those cherished moment in my memory banks until my life is through. I can only hope that my kids can share in the adventure and wonder of childhood as I did, with unabandoned passion to make believe.
The moral of the flashback: Enjoy being a kid, it goes by fast.
Four of my six siblings and I were homeschooled and we made the backyard our playground. We owned eight acres that backed up to Cleavland National Forest-beautiful untouched mountains. The only neighbors we had were a good walk down the dirt road, so we explored freely. Dad built our house on a 'pad' cut on the land; on a clear day you could see the ocean. There was a valley to the east with what was named "Boot Hill" just beyond that; when it rained heavily there was a little creek that ran at it's base. What adventures we had out there.
Every morning we would wake up around 6:45am so we could have some time outside before school started. One 'project' that sticks out in my mind was the trail we made to the top of the mountain. We cut at least a three foot wide trail from the base of the tall mountain that sat directly behind or house, all the way up; you could see the world from there. We had pit stops along the way and even deemed one of the sage bushes to be "gum tree". We would attach any chewed gum to its branches in hopes that it would somehow reproduce. I don't recall if we ate the gum again, but it wouldn't surprise me. Day after day we labored on our trail and never did we run into a rattlesnake. That, I now consider a miracle; mom must have been on her knees praying for us. Rattlesnakes were very common in the mountains, especially with all the rock moving we did. As a parent now myself, I can't believe how at ease mom was with us; I probably would have been a nervous wreck!
Another 'project' I recall were our "bomb shelters", we made two. The first was up the hill on flat ground. We dug this huge hole, put a piece of plywood over it and covered it with dirt. This shelter came fully equipped with a living room, bedroom and bathroom facility; home away from home. For the second shelter, we literally dug a hole into the side of the mountain large enough for us to fit in. This one was more unstable and eventually caved in, but oh, we had a blast playing in them!
We often pretended to be early American explorers and always hoped to come across gold in the creek or Indian arrows under rocks. The soil was composed mainly of granite, and we thought there might be some value in it; we never got rich off of it though. We could pass hours playing make believe on that land and we didn't tire doing it-ever.
We may not have discovered gold or any other "amazing" find, but we were wealthy. We had so much freedom to imagine and create with one another; I will keep those cherished moment in my memory banks until my life is through. I can only hope that my kids can share in the adventure and wonder of childhood as I did, with unabandoned passion to make believe.
The moral of the flashback: Enjoy being a kid, it goes by fast.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Flashback Friday: Our first, and almost last, date...
As I've mentioned before, Randy and I didn't go "out" all the time during our dating years. but, we did have what you could call a "first date" and it's a wonder we had more.
Randy decided to take me to the zoo. He figured my dad would for sure say yes to the idea-you know, during the day, lots of people. He was over at our house that evening and approached my dad with the offer. The immediate response from dad: "NO". I didn't hear the conversation, it probably included facts such as: she's only 15 (I was practically 16), your 19; alone with my daughter-no way; do I look like I was born yesterday?!?; I was your age once too, son-no way. Randy, feeling dejected left shortly after. Dad really shocked him.
It took all of about two seconds after Randy's departure for the three of us girls (mom, Nicole and I) to gang up on Dad. We begged, pleaded, stated our case and demanded he overturn his decision. Poor guy, I can't imagine having four daughters plus a wife- he didn't have a chance and was soon convinced it was going to be OK.
Randy picked me up around 10am and I immediately began to mentally criticize everything he was wearing. The sunglasses, that's where I started; Oakleys-the early 90's style-did he really have to wear them? The shirt (if that's what you would call it), flannel, sleeveless, hoodie-need I say more? Yes, he had a t-shirt on underneath. The shoes, all black Nikes-to my 15 year old 'fashion sense'-yuck.
You might think I was a shallow person for the above judgements. You see, I really liked him, but, my nerves were getting the better of me and that's how I expressed them. Fabulous, uh?? Put me in an uncomfortable situation and I'd pick you apart.
We headed to the zoo and I don't remember much of the day there. Randy brought a camera and had someone take our picture for a "momento". You should have seen it: He had his arm around me and I had mine crossed in front of me, no smile on my face-he had on the dorky sunglasses (which were apparently very cool :-0) Sad to say, I cut myself out of it when I came across the picture shortly after we married-it was so bad (but I wish I had it now!).
Honestly, I know he started to have second thoughts about me, but as soon as we returned to my "comfort zone" I was my old self again. Twelve years and three kids later, he was obviously able to see past the 'scowl' of that day and I got over the sunglasses (well kinda).
The moral of this flashback: A. Dads know what they are doing. B. Don't judge everything based on the first date.
Randy decided to take me to the zoo. He figured my dad would for sure say yes to the idea-you know, during the day, lots of people. He was over at our house that evening and approached my dad with the offer. The immediate response from dad: "NO". I didn't hear the conversation, it probably included facts such as: she's only 15 (I was practically 16), your 19; alone with my daughter-no way; do I look like I was born yesterday?!?; I was your age once too, son-no way. Randy, feeling dejected left shortly after. Dad really shocked him.
It took all of about two seconds after Randy's departure for the three of us girls (mom, Nicole and I) to gang up on Dad. We begged, pleaded, stated our case and demanded he overturn his decision. Poor guy, I can't imagine having four daughters plus a wife- he didn't have a chance and was soon convinced it was going to be OK.
Randy picked me up around 10am and I immediately began to mentally criticize everything he was wearing. The sunglasses, that's where I started; Oakleys-the early 90's style-did he really have to wear them? The shirt (if that's what you would call it), flannel, sleeveless, hoodie-need I say more? Yes, he had a t-shirt on underneath. The shoes, all black Nikes-to my 15 year old 'fashion sense'-yuck.
You might think I was a shallow person for the above judgements. You see, I really liked him, but, my nerves were getting the better of me and that's how I expressed them. Fabulous, uh?? Put me in an uncomfortable situation and I'd pick you apart.
We headed to the zoo and I don't remember much of the day there. Randy brought a camera and had someone take our picture for a "momento". You should have seen it: He had his arm around me and I had mine crossed in front of me, no smile on my face-he had on the dorky sunglasses (which were apparently very cool :-0) Sad to say, I cut myself out of it when I came across the picture shortly after we married-it was so bad (but I wish I had it now!).
Honestly, I know he started to have second thoughts about me, but as soon as we returned to my "comfort zone" I was my old self again. Twelve years and three kids later, he was obviously able to see past the 'scowl' of that day and I got over the sunglasses (well kinda).
The moral of this flashback: A. Dads know what they are doing. B. Don't judge everything based on the first date.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Flashback Friday: Driving with James
James is my oldest brother, a role that entitled him to having the first driver's license out of seven kids. Since we lived way out in the country, I'm sure my mom was glad to have another person available to haul us kids where we needed to go; there were moments, though, when I'm sure she would have wished otherwise.
My first memory of driving with my brother was on they way to school. See, I was the only kid (besides James and Paula, who were already in highschool) still 'going' to school-the rest got to stay home. We went to a Christian school where K-12 were all in the same vicinity, so I ride with my brother. The first day we drove his green (like a light sage, celery, or ok booger green) VW rabbit. He convinced me that his brakes didn't work and the tires were coming off the car, only being in fourth grade, I didn't know he was just swerving the steering wheel! As soon as we arrived at school I ran to tell my friends about our "adventure" and they all promised to give me a ride home. After I was assured his car was not falling apart, it became very cool to have a brother that could drive me to school.
The next ride that visits my mind was driving home from school another day. James kept reaching back to share his massive 7-11 soda with the boys (younger twin brothers-John & Mike) and was totally not paying attention to the rode-which was the 65 MPH, I-8 freeway. Being the ever alert co-pilot, I casually informed my brother that we were about to smash into the slow moving station wagon in front of us. Whether it was quick thinking or pure luck, he swerved around the wagon into the emergency lane and back onto the freeway. After my life was done flashing berfore my eyes and I realized we were OK, James convinced me that emergency lanes "were made for that".
Let's see, there are so many to list here. We went to Knott's Berry Farm another time and drove home really late. It was freezing in his car-he kept it that way to keep himself awake-and I was searching for anything I could use as a blanket. Of course, all I could find was his stinky Alpine Lumber work shirt, but when you're desperate and tired you don't really care. Ok, getting back to the driving...he would occasionally swerve and I'd say "dude, what are you doing?" "Oh, you know, just testing you"-riiight. He was totally falling asleep, which I decided to do myself. They say if you are sleeping the impact in a car accident isn't as bad-so I figured I'd be ok. We did manage to make it home in one piece, he has his own stories of falling asleep at the wheel that included car damage-and I'm glad I'm not in them :-)!
The fog could get pretty thick up in the mountains and lucky me, I was driving with James again. We made it off the freeway and to our road-which had a cliff on one side and a mountain on the other- and he mentioned he couldn't see very well (windshield wipers didn't work-"it's San Diego-who needs them?"). Like any rational person would do, he decided to stick his head out the window to see "better". Yep, you guessed it, drove himself right into the sage brush on the mountain side-not the car-just himself. Again, we made it home, him with a few extra scratches-not the car, his arm.
There are countless other tales of my experience as a passenger with my brother, but for the moment my memory has repressed them to a place that keeps me from realizing how fortunate I am to be alive. Ok, so maybe it wasn't that dramatic, I was young and it was fun!
The moral of this flashback: When your oldest kid gets their license, pray-A LOT!
**P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES!!!!!
My first memory of driving with my brother was on they way to school. See, I was the only kid (besides James and Paula, who were already in highschool) still 'going' to school-the rest got to stay home. We went to a Christian school where K-12 were all in the same vicinity, so I ride with my brother. The first day we drove his green (like a light sage, celery, or ok booger green) VW rabbit. He convinced me that his brakes didn't work and the tires were coming off the car, only being in fourth grade, I didn't know he was just swerving the steering wheel! As soon as we arrived at school I ran to tell my friends about our "adventure" and they all promised to give me a ride home. After I was assured his car was not falling apart, it became very cool to have a brother that could drive me to school.
The next ride that visits my mind was driving home from school another day. James kept reaching back to share his massive 7-11 soda with the boys (younger twin brothers-John & Mike) and was totally not paying attention to the rode-which was the 65 MPH, I-8 freeway. Being the ever alert co-pilot, I casually informed my brother that we were about to smash into the slow moving station wagon in front of us. Whether it was quick thinking or pure luck, he swerved around the wagon into the emergency lane and back onto the freeway. After my life was done flashing berfore my eyes and I realized we were OK, James convinced me that emergency lanes "were made for that".
Let's see, there are so many to list here. We went to Knott's Berry Farm another time and drove home really late. It was freezing in his car-he kept it that way to keep himself awake-and I was searching for anything I could use as a blanket. Of course, all I could find was his stinky Alpine Lumber work shirt, but when you're desperate and tired you don't really care. Ok, getting back to the driving...he would occasionally swerve and I'd say "dude, what are you doing?" "Oh, you know, just testing you"-riiight. He was totally falling asleep, which I decided to do myself. They say if you are sleeping the impact in a car accident isn't as bad-so I figured I'd be ok. We did manage to make it home in one piece, he has his own stories of falling asleep at the wheel that included car damage-and I'm glad I'm not in them :-)!
The fog could get pretty thick up in the mountains and lucky me, I was driving with James again. We made it off the freeway and to our road-which had a cliff on one side and a mountain on the other- and he mentioned he couldn't see very well (windshield wipers didn't work-"it's San Diego-who needs them?"). Like any rational person would do, he decided to stick his head out the window to see "better". Yep, you guessed it, drove himself right into the sage brush on the mountain side-not the car-just himself. Again, we made it home, him with a few extra scratches-not the car, his arm.
There are countless other tales of my experience as a passenger with my brother, but for the moment my memory has repressed them to a place that keeps me from realizing how fortunate I am to be alive. Ok, so maybe it wasn't that dramatic, I was young and it was fun!
The moral of this flashback: When your oldest kid gets their license, pray-A LOT!
**P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES!!!!!
Friday, February 2, 2007
Flashback Friday: Waddles
Waddles was our pet cockatiel. He was mostly gray, with some white and yellow around his face along with the trademark orange cheeks. I'm not exactly sure when he came to be with us, but he was a gift from our cousin Lisa.
Waddles had a few talents. He could say "praise the Lord"-I'm sure my mom taught him that one, "charge" (for the San Diego Chargers??) and chirp incessantly at the first break of dawn and throughout the day; the latter was not what we considered a 'talent'. We would, however, show off his "sayings" to everyone who came to visit our house, but the chirping had to go.
It was always a fight between us kids as to whose room he was going to stay in, because we all knew we had to be prepared. Let me explain: Each morning as the chirping would wake you from your comfortable slumber, you would reach for anything available to "chuck" at the cage-this would get him to stop-for a moment. It would usually have to be followed up by several more items to get him to stop so you could go back to sleep (none of which brought any harm to the bird-I promise!) .
Now some of you are thinking-how cruel, that's abuse. But I'm telling you, this bird was the toughest, meanest bird that ever lived. He would only let a few of us change the paper in his cage and feed him. He would sometimes ride on our shoulder around the house, but watch out for those ears! Honestly, if he felt the need to escape his life with us, he had his chances.
One day Nicole, Rebekah and I saw Waddles out on the roof. We went running down the hall shouting to dad that Waddles escaped from his cage. However, when we got to Waddles cage he was still in there; apparently someone else had let their cockatiel go. The crazy thing is that we lived way out in the country-no neighbors close by-so we don't know where this other bird came from. After pleading with Dad to 'save' the other bird, he obliged, armed himself with a work glove and caught the other bird. We affably named him Wolfgang and put him in the cage with Waddles. They got along just fine, though I don't remember much else of Wolfgang.
One beautiful sunny morning, mom set the cage outside so the birds could get some fresh air. Our dog had other plans-no he didn't eat the brids-don't worry. He knocked the cage over though and Woldfgang flew away, Waddles, of course, stayed. We couldn't get rid of him if we tried. The chirping day and night drove us all insane!
Even after I married and moved away, whenver I would call home I could hear that bird in the background-chirping away. I could hear my younger brothers telling him to "shut-up", I'm sure they were saying it nicely. It wasn't that my family didn't love animals, we were just more dog people than bird people.
We figured he would outlive us all, he had to have been about 26 or 27 when he passed, my sister Nicole called me, crying, to let me know. After all those years of trying to get hime quiet and complaining about him, we all ended up shedding a few tears over him leaving us (ok, maybe not my brothers). In a house with seven kids, numerous dogs and a stray cat, I give the bird credit, he had to be tough as nails to survive it.
Waddles, we miss you buddy.
The moral of this flashback: Choose your household pets wisely, don't just accept any pet-even it's from family.
Waddles had a few talents. He could say "praise the Lord"-I'm sure my mom taught him that one, "charge" (for the San Diego Chargers??) and chirp incessantly at the first break of dawn and throughout the day; the latter was not what we considered a 'talent'. We would, however, show off his "sayings" to everyone who came to visit our house, but the chirping had to go.
It was always a fight between us kids as to whose room he was going to stay in, because we all knew we had to be prepared. Let me explain: Each morning as the chirping would wake you from your comfortable slumber, you would reach for anything available to "chuck" at the cage-this would get him to stop-for a moment. It would usually have to be followed up by several more items to get him to stop so you could go back to sleep (none of which brought any harm to the bird-I promise!) .
Now some of you are thinking-how cruel, that's abuse. But I'm telling you, this bird was the toughest, meanest bird that ever lived. He would only let a few of us change the paper in his cage and feed him. He would sometimes ride on our shoulder around the house, but watch out for those ears! Honestly, if he felt the need to escape his life with us, he had his chances.
One day Nicole, Rebekah and I saw Waddles out on the roof. We went running down the hall shouting to dad that Waddles escaped from his cage. However, when we got to Waddles cage he was still in there; apparently someone else had let their cockatiel go. The crazy thing is that we lived way out in the country-no neighbors close by-so we don't know where this other bird came from. After pleading with Dad to 'save' the other bird, he obliged, armed himself with a work glove and caught the other bird. We affably named him Wolfgang and put him in the cage with Waddles. They got along just fine, though I don't remember much else of Wolfgang.
One beautiful sunny morning, mom set the cage outside so the birds could get some fresh air. Our dog had other plans-no he didn't eat the brids-don't worry. He knocked the cage over though and Woldfgang flew away, Waddles, of course, stayed. We couldn't get rid of him if we tried. The chirping day and night drove us all insane!
Even after I married and moved away, whenver I would call home I could hear that bird in the background-chirping away. I could hear my younger brothers telling him to "shut-up", I'm sure they were saying it nicely. It wasn't that my family didn't love animals, we were just more dog people than bird people.
We figured he would outlive us all, he had to have been about 26 or 27 when he passed, my sister Nicole called me, crying, to let me know. After all those years of trying to get hime quiet and complaining about him, we all ended up shedding a few tears over him leaving us (ok, maybe not my brothers). In a house with seven kids, numerous dogs and a stray cat, I give the bird credit, he had to be tough as nails to survive it.
Waddles, we miss you buddy.
The moral of this flashback: Choose your household pets wisely, don't just accept any pet-even it's from family.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Flashback Friday: the joy of braces
Randy and I started dating when I was sixteen, so I still had those wonderful items of the teen years-braces. Most of the time he came over to mom and dad's house in lieu of going "out on a date" and we played cards, watched movies or were just entertained by the house full of kids.
Usually, I would walk him out to his truck and we would talk about getting married, moving to Texas or Montana, and being able to be together all the time-you know the 'teens in love' stuff! Of course, I would always give him a big hug goodnight with a smile on my face....but this night was different.
Randy had worn a button down flannel shirt over his t-shirt, and as I leaned in for the hug-with a big smile on my face-my braces proceeded to become caught on his flannel shirt! As I wondered how to get myself detached from his shirt, I'm sure he wondered if I was ever going to let go. Finally after a couple of minutes trying to get them undone, I had to admit I was "stuck" to him. After some big laughs, he was able to get my braces untangled from his shirt and set me free.
So, the moral of this flashback: If you are wearing braces, refraining from smiling during a hug, it could get complicated.
Usually, I would walk him out to his truck and we would talk about getting married, moving to Texas or Montana, and being able to be together all the time-you know the 'teens in love' stuff! Of course, I would always give him a big hug goodnight with a smile on my face....but this night was different.
Randy had worn a button down flannel shirt over his t-shirt, and as I leaned in for the hug-with a big smile on my face-my braces proceeded to become caught on his flannel shirt! As I wondered how to get myself detached from his shirt, I'm sure he wondered if I was ever going to let go. Finally after a couple of minutes trying to get them undone, I had to admit I was "stuck" to him. After some big laughs, he was able to get my braces untangled from his shirt and set me free.
So, the moral of this flashback: If you are wearing braces, refraining from smiling during a hug, it could get complicated.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
