Dorm Quilts Finished

I finally got Necia and Libby’s quilts done for their dorm room–a week after they moved in! Necia’s has the turquoise squares and border, and Libby’s has the green. They were fun to put together.

365:5.24.10

Garden Party

I know I keep complaining about the cooler-than-normal spring, but I’ve been itching to get the garden in since April! Tonight we finally got everything planted. We already had peas, onions, and some herbs in, but we added tomatoes, peppers, parsley, basil, cucumbers, yellow crookneck squash, zucchini, watermelon, pumpkins, and cantaloupe. Yahoo!

Another photo:

365 Project 5.9.2010

Mother’s Day: This morning we got up and loaded into the van and headed for Shoshone Falls. We met Dad and Joan there, and we picnicked on a hill overlooking the falls. We spent the day following trails, sitting and reading, napping, playing, climbing trees, and enjoying the fabulous spring weather. Necia took this picture of the two moms.

More photos from the day:

If At First You Don’t Succeed: An Essay in Photos

December 31, 1988

Twenty years ago, at the very hour I post this (noon), two kids were married.  The bride was 19, the groom 22, and they had a combined monthly income of $450, $220 of which went to rent their weird little apartment carved out of the second floor of an old house in Moscow, Idaho.  They were starry-eyed students who, as the bride’s father put it, thought they could “live on love.”  They had no honeymoon, except for a night at the Best Western that their friends pitched in for, and went right back to work the day after they wed.

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We’ve come a long way, baby.  Happy Anniversary!

Simple Gifts

I am grateful for these simple gifts today:

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My Cohort and Companion

For my sister, Kris

 

Shade

 

Under arching branches

Of a row of Russian Olives, you and I

Built a cottage.  We lived a new life

In rooms created by boundaries

Only we could discern.  I held

My place as eldest, overseer

Of our motherless cloister, as we

Busied ourselves with tasks—

Gathering, sorting, naming.

 

Long after the branches were cut

And their limbs no longer brushed

The grass, I searched for the confines

Of our refuge, seeing only in vision

The piles of slender leaves and sagey berries

We supped and savored as we lifted

Twigs to our lips.  

 

Our house no longer needs an overseer,

But we dwell in the safe coolness of

Embracing limbs, preparing to break

Through the branches, blinking in sunshine.

You Have My Permission

So I’m thinking that maybe it’s time to find my voice again and get back to blogging.  A good half of my six readers have been on my case about it, so I think that maybe I perhaps just might or might not possibly write a word or two here and there, now and again.  Sometimes.

About the only things I’ve been writing since my hiatus are assignments I do with the poetry class I’m teaching (six homeschooled teens, every Wednesday), and permission slips.  Lame, I know.   But Lisa convinced me that my six readers might enjoy the note I wrote a couple of months ago when I lost the permission slip that Missy May needed to go on a church kayaking adventure.  Here it is:

To Whom It May Concern:

 

I hereby give express permission, with all the accompanying rights and privileges, to the sustained leadership of the Young Women of the East Valley Ward of the Emmett Idaho Stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, to take the natural first-born daughter of my loins, [Missy May], who hereafter will be referred to as “Missy,” on an excursion within the parameters of the 6-hour period previously arranged by said leadership.  The activities in which Missy may engage may include but are not limited to:  transportation to and from the various and sundry activities; watercraft, inflatable or otherwise, motorized or otherwise; and any foodstuffs or beverages of which she may partake and indeed is encouraged to partake.  It is the express wish of Missy’s parental units that Missy wear sunscreen of a high SPF and regularly consume water, and that she thoroughly enjoy each and every activity to the fullest extent possible.  It is with this charge that I release Missy to the protection of the leadership and anxiously await her return.

 

Sincerely,

me

 

 

Missy asked me if she really had to take the letter.  Of course she did.

Inevitability

On Saturday, dh took all six kids to Cabela’s with him.  While he shopped for boots and salivated over the rest of the store, the kids took in the large collections and displays of stuffed-and-mounted animals, fish, and birds.  When they reached the aquarium, our five-year-old daughter Dee pointed and said,

 “Look!  It’s the animals they haven’t killed yet!”

Horsing Around

Yesterday afternoon and evening we spent at J’s folks’ farm.   We brought out our horses so they could play with Grandpa’s horses and harass calves in the new arena.  My two eldest took part in practicing keeping a calf in a particular area of the arena, an exercise that Grandpa (the hardest worker I’ve ever known) described in a word that I almost never hear him utter in relation to his activities:  Fun.

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Since I’m no horsewoman, it was gratifying to watch my girls fearlessly gallop around the arena, keeping that calf right where they wanted him:

Necia and Kira

Some of us got on the hay wagon to feed the cows and calves down at the bottom of the place; once we got there, big-boy G was given the task to drive the tractor.  Grandpa put the tractor in low gear and gave a quick driving lesson while the cows looked on:

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Then Grandpa and Uncle Don stood on the back of the wagon and pushed the hay bales off the back in a long line for the cows to eat:

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G did a great job getting the hang of keeping the tractor headed in the right direction:

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When we got back, J was practicing his roping skillz:

 Roping

Madame Chaos locked her brother in the dog pen:

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As the sun set, G played on the old hot walker (horse exerciser) that Grandpa converted into a merry-go-round, arguably one of the most popular destinations at the farm:

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End the day with Grandma’s meatloaf and mashed potatos with rolls and sweet corn, and you’ve got yourself a perfect memory.

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