And while you're at it, get someone to clean these windows, there's filth and muck all over them.

I love my son Topher, he has always been very practical. He tends to be organized and intellectual and tries to do the right thing. He is also very considerate (usually). He is a good worker and when he is in a good mood, he will go and go. (No, he's not a perfect child, there are other moods...whoa).

He made me laugh tonight though. We were over feeding the pigs with the Johnsons this evening, which can take a while. Nate gets the produce from a local grocery store here that they are throwing out and feeds his pigs with that. We typically have to dig through a little bit and get any wrappers off any pre-packaged stuff as well as rubber bands and twist ties from bundled veggies. Nate has noticed recently that his pigs have become somewhat picky and are choosing to ignore citrus. Now all citrus gets tossed into the compost pile. This becomes quite a wonderful game for the 4 boys that that typically help with chores over there. (Topher, Ronan, and Nate's oldest boys, Isaac and Virg).

All of the boys were reaching in and snagging the citrus to throw on the compost pile, (probably 50-75 ft. away) and of course, it is wet and sticky. Topher, who is also somewhat fastidious, would toss something into the pile, and then come over and put his hand on my shoulder in what I interpreted to be a gesture of affection. After a few times, I saw him toss a another orange or lemon or something and put his hand on Isaac's shoulder.

Well I realized that, Topher was not being affectionate, but rather his practical side was taking over. In the absence of wipes or paper towels he was very affectionately wiping his hands on those around him to expunge the sticky, wet produce residue from his hands.

Ha.

Boy, what in THE hell's the matter with you?

Anyone know what movie the title quote is from?

Well, Lauralee has been hassling me to post again, so, here goes. As a teenager, I had one real friend. Really. Anyone heard the song by Tracy Lawrence called, "You Find Out Who Your Friends Are"?

You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are

That is a segment from the song. The one friend I could count on in high school to be there always was Andy Bell. I think one of the reasons he was my friend was because my Mom is such an amazing cook. Andy had a love affair with food. He was an athlete who lettered in 3 sports every year so he could pound food like no other. Especially Mom's chocolate chip cookies. He and I could eat a whole batch after school (and frequently did). Another reason he was my friend was that he was one of about 4 students in our huge high school that actually lived farther from than the school than I did, albeit not by much. We also shared the loss of a parent. His mother passed away a couple of years after Dad did, and I think Joan-Bob became the mother to him that he lost.

Anyway, Andy and I couldn't be more different from each other in many ways. He was the consummate athlete. I was the band geek. He was superbly fit. I was not. He was smooth in a crowd, I was not. In an attempt to create a common experience for ourselves other than chocolate chip cookies at the bar at home, Andy talked me into joining the track team our junior year, I think it was. Remember, team sports typically have not agreed with me.

So what was I suited to do on a track team? Exactly nothing. What did I do? I ran a lot. Did I run any races? No. Did I see any competition? Nope. Andy was a really good discus thrower and shot-putter. Like I said, he lettered in three sports. Track and Field was one. Rather unwisely, I chose the same events as Andy. So I was second-string discus and shot put right? Nope. There was one other guy who was better than me at both events. I was THIRD string at the discus and shot put (out of 3). I even convinced Mom that I "needed" and pair of running spikes for track. I chose the most outrageous spikes there were in the whole store. They were Nikes, but they were neon yellow, green and orange. Unbelievable. I was mental in high school think, because after track season I cut off the hard plastic areas where the spikes go and slathered the whole area liberally with "Shoe Goo". That way I could wear those hideous things year round. What was I thinking?



Now for the point of the story. Andy and I figured it would be a wise use of our time to practice said events at Joan-Bob's house over the weekend, laboring under the false delusion that I might improve and potentially move from third string to second. So, with permission, we carried home a 16 lb lead ball and a 4.4 lb rubber disc home with us to "practice".

Now being the incredibly dedicated athletes that we were, we immediately began practice in earnest. (after a batch of cookies). After about 14 seconds, boredom set in, so we started looking for more innovative ways to make the shot put travel. The trampoline. Physics dictate that using it's own weight, it should go really high, right? I volunteered to start the 16 lb. lead ball in motion. If I remember right, Andy acquiesced quite quickly, possibly having thought through the process and inevitable result more completely than I.

Turns out we were right! The shot put did ascend quite rapidly, and appeared to be headed quite high, when in fact, it met with resistance in the form of my mouth, effectively stopping it's upward progress and causing both it, and myself, to fall back toward the trampoline. The shot put was completely unaffected while I writhed on the woven mat in agony, clutching my mouth and mumbling to Andy not to tell my mom. Well, as fate would have it, when I went in for dinner, Mom noticed the gaping whole where my left front tooth had been significantly damaged by our physics experiment, and we had to come clean about the whole thing. You know, how I had tried to stand up for a girl at school when seven or eight guys jumped me and started kicking me in the face and...No not really, we did come clean. Besides the shot put and the tooth were still on the trampoline.

I was lucky in that I didn't break so much off that it couldn't be repaired with a filling, and it was so convincing that most people have never been the wiser. I have had it repaired twice since then. The first time by a dentist in SLC, and the second time out here. The time out here, the filling fell out one day while eating, and I managed to notice it before I swallowed it. Of course we did have company over at the time, so I had to cover my mouth the rest of the night to avoid looking like some redneck off of Hee-Haw. After that, I super-glued it on for about two months while putting off going to the dentist. I would glue it, it would hold for a week or so, depending on what I was eating, and then fall of again. Repeat cycle. (Jared, are you reading this? You should be breaking out in cold sweats by now.) I can understand why they tell you not to inhale that stuff!

It is once again repaired, but this time the dentist left a slight gap in my front teeth. I'm not sure why he would do that. I didn't have a gap when he pulled the super-glued tooth off. Why add one? I can shoot a stream a water out between my teeth now.

Anyway, thought I'd get that one down for the posterity. A lovely example of how not to practice with your shot put.

Luckily, we never got around to the discus.

Happy birthday, Lauralee!

Lauralee-I am constantly grateful for you, and I know I don't say it enough. I am blessed to have someone to walk with me while we guide our family. I am grateful for the gift you have with young children, especially because it not one of my strengths. I love to listen to the kids talk about the scriptures because they already know them better than I do. Thank you for that. Thank you for being an example to me with personal prayer. You are a constant reminder for me that my connection with the Lord should be more consistent. Thank you for gently reminding me when I have neglected something, instead of nagging me. Thank you for making meals and cleaning the house and doing laundry. Thank you for suggesting and following through with fun activities and games for the family. Thank for never putting me down in front of the kids (even though you have pretty of opportunity). Thank you for being willing to discuss hard things with me. Thank you for finding the sacred value in being a mother and doing mother things. Thank you for not begrudging me for being the provider and all that goes with that. Thank you for putting up with a husband who is a curmudgeon more than his fair share of the time. Thank you for providing me with so many good memories. Thank you for supporting me during times of trial and periods that were very hard for you. Thank you for being active in the education and school classes of the kids. Thanks for being a support to young women who are trying to get the courage to go on missions or even just trying to stay active in the church. Thanks for being sincere. So sincere, in fact, that it is the quality that most people recognize in you first. Thanks for sacrificing for the good of the family. Thanks for being worthy to have the Holy Ghost with you always. Thanks for being patient with me while I grow.

Thank you, Lauralee Burton Hill.
Happy Birthday.
I love you.

Hello? Come in. Are you there?

Cell phones are temporarily down. Call us on the home phone.

Kids and fall in New Hampshire

As hard as it is to be away from family, we have some really unique blessings living in New Hampshire. One, living in a picture postcard is pretty cool. A month or so ago, just after peak color, we turned our normal 30 minute commute home from church into a 2 stop and go with tons of picture taking along the way. As you will see, it was a fruitful afternoon. The image above was taken just up the dirt road from where our cabin was for our first year in NH. I did a little manipulation to it. Let me know if it looks too cheesy. For some reason, probably living across from one the whole time we were in grad school, our family has a little thing for graveyards. We lucked out in that respect, because they are all over here. Tiny little graveyards with really cool headstones. Not sure what it is about them, but we love them.

Thanks Mom, I know you are the only one still reading

Anyone who knows me really well, knows I have a thing for Ampersands. Silly little symbols that represent the word 'and'. If fact, I have done at least one other post exclusively about the auspicious little symbol. I have taken to analyzing ampersands from different typefaces and comparing differences and then creating designs using the symbols as the subject matter. Deep internal meaning? I doubt it. I just like the little symbol. I have recently made pretty much everyone aware of my fascination recently by the design I have installed on my office door. Obsession? Maybe.

This is only a test...

Here is a photo of a 1964 Ford almost exactly like my dad bought from Grandad when I was a kid. He bought it for a buck I think. The most clear memory I have with this truck is with my dad. He was driving me to the hospital. At this point I don't trust any of my memories because any time I offer one up, Mom and JeNeale contradict me with a false version of that memory that they have been collaborating on for years, so I don't have a chance. But here it is anyway. Mom and JeNeale, feel free to correct me. Ha.

My friend Blair Carpenter and I had ridden our bikes down to the "lower" Highlander. (Now bike is a relative term. I was riding JeNeale's old red, white, and blue girls bike with the banana seat and ape-hanger handlebars. Blair was riding an old junker his Dad had picked up at the Base dumpster and "fixed up"). This was in the early days, because the section of the subdivision between Cloverdale and Valley road was not completely built in with houses yet and it was still dirt. Almost. Foolishly, the contractors had poured the cement curbs and had left the whole street unattended for the night. Well, Blair and I (I think I was about 9 or 10) decided to try a physics experiment. We thought we should test the trajectory of a rock thrown against those gorgeous cement curbs to see what direction it would go and how much velocity it would carry. After several tries, we still lacked documented, quantifiable evidence, but we were really flinging those rocks! We got our evidence, however, when, as I was bending down to pick up our next test subject, Blair threw his. Well, as I sat screaming in the street, bleeding in the dirt from a fresh head wound, Blair stood there frozen not knowing what to do, a neighbor lady came out with a bright white towel to put on my head. She drove me home. Mom and Dad debated briefly and Mom won out of course. (Thankfully. Dad would have probably poured alcohol on it and duck taped it). But Dad is the one who drove me to the hospital. As we drove in red Ford to the hospital, Dad tried to comfort me. He said over and over again, "Jay, don't got to sleep. you might die before we get there!" Ha!

Our findings:

1. We found that the rocks went really fast, and location and direction were very unpredictable.
2. The rocks, when richocheting off cement curbs, can cause concussions and cuts that require stitches to close.