Sickening.

I could cry. At least if I weren't feeling almost in shock I could cry.

In May of 2014, after four years of college life; learning to drape and/or draft a pattern, sew it, do a fitting and re-sew it if necessary—all in one week or less; learning to tailor a coat, construct a bra, build a corset, design and make formal-wear; learning to illustrate fashion figures; re-learning how much I hate algebra; re-learning how much I like to write... It was a big four years...

one of my illustrations

Anyway, in May of 2014 I finished four years of college and earned two degrees from the Fashion Institute of Salt Lake; one in design, and one in technical apparel. My final, final project, the culmination of an entire school-year's work, was to participate in the Fashion Institute's fashion show. I designed, drafted patterns for, went to L.A. to purchase fabrics for, and sewed like a maniac for months, to create a ten-piece line of formal dresses, suitable for wearing to the symphony or the opera. I called my line Pianoforte.

my models receiving last-minute instructions

Fast-forward to today. As I was trying to find places to stash things in our new house, I unpacked the Pianoforte dresses. So, instead of doing the work I'd planned for today, I had Lindsey try them all on and model them for us. I have to say, they are quite stunning (I like them much better now than I did immediately after all the hours and all-nighters I spent making them—and I liked them pretty well even then).

But one dress was missing. In fact the dress that, in my mind, is the icon of my Pianoforte line is missing. I remember it was separate from the other dresses; it needed a small repair, and so I'd had it wrapped in a blue sheet in my bedroom, waiting until I could get to it—it had been stored with some rolls of fabric that were wrapped in that pellon-type half-paper-half-fabric that furniture sometimes is wrapped in for delivery. I remember the fabrics and the gown were among the very first things brought into our new house; they were put on my bedroom floor long before my bedroom furniture showed up. I remember unwrapping the fabrics later with Jessica so I could put them away. I remember telling her that the pellon-type fabric could and should be thrown away. I remember finding a place to stash my rolls of fabric, and Jessica throwing the pellon away.

And now, four weeks later, I finally remembered my dress and I can't find it. I've been over every inch of this house a zillion times over the last four weeks, trying to arrange and put things away, and I haven't seen it anywhere. I have a horrible, wrenching feeling that my baby was thrown out with the bath water. Did my beautiful gown get tossed out with the awful pellon? Has it been buried in the landfill for the last three weeks?

The dress.
Is it gone forever?
If it is, I will have to re-make it.

It makes me sick—almost literally—just to think of it, but I'm 90% sure, and 99% afraid that that is exactly what happened. My only pathetic hope is that somehow it got put into the garage with all the other stuff that's waiting to be gone through. But it is a tiny hope; I know that if it was in the house I wouldn't have put it into the dirty garage.

I could just die.

Aunt Beulah's Road-kill Overcoat

Living in Vernal—especially the last couple of days—has really been bringing out the fashion designer in me. Or maybe it's just bringing out the redneck in me.

Monday, day-before-yesterday, I went for a long, long drive. I had to take Jason back to Snow College after the Thanksgiving holiday—which was lovely, by the way (Thanksgiving was lovely; the drive was a little tedious). The trip to Ephraim is a three-and-a-half-hour drive through the desert, canyons, and general wilderness of Utah. In fact, to get almost anywhere from Vernal, you have to take a three-hour drive through the desert, canyons, and general wilderness of Utah. And whenever you take this excursion you are sure to see a lot of road kill. This used to really gross me out; now it only bothers me a lot if it's a skunk, or a scrambled deer. Or if it's a gory mess in the middle of the road where I am forced to look at it; that can be a little disturbing. Ew.

But lately—well, at least on Monday—maybe due to extreme tiredness, I kept seeing these dead critters—not the squished-to-a-pulp ones, but the ones lying on their backs with their feet up looking like cartoon animals playing dead... 

Anyway, I kept seeing these dead animals on the side of the road (mostly raccoons) and I would think, "I wonder if their fur is soft..." or, "I wonder what you could make of that fur..." or, "Too bad I can't just pick them up and take them to someone to skin and prepare the fur so I could use it for..." (Like I'd actually want to pick a dead animal up off of the road—and then drive home with it in my car! Eew!) At one point I even saw a dead pheasant and thought that the feathers would look great on a purse or something.

So, yeah. Weird. But maybe you should watch out for my new Fall 2018 "Road-Kill" line, just in case...

Wish List 2017

Normally (to Kim's dismay) I post my Christmas Wish List fifty days before Christmas—so you have time to buy me everything I could ever want.

This year I've not really thought about a wish list at all. I got my biggest wish, which was to buy a house, and it's kept me very busy the entire two weeks we've owned it. However, tradition is tradition.

So here is my 

2017 Wish List:

A new hand-blender (and accessories). I use my almost-eighteen-year-old machine almost every day; it is pretty worn out.
(this one from Best Buy)





Anything you can use in the kitchen: dish towels, dish rags and hot-pads (especially with red in them), drinking glasses, cooking/serving utensils...

Bath Towels.

A food scale. Yes, I really do use these, but the display on mine met with a terrible death recently.
(this one from Amazon)


Well, just about anything you would give as a house-warming (or a "house shower"—we give wedding and baby showers, why not new house showers?)
...any house-warming-type (especially kitchen) gift would be fantastic.

And now, I have a room to paint!

The Deed is Done...

or

The Great and Dreadful Day has Arrived!

Last Monday, November 6, at 10:00 a.m., Bruce and I drove over to Farm and  Home Title Company and I watched Bruce sign paper after paper after paper...

...For our new house!!!!!

It's been a long time coming, and it's been pretty traumatic trying to get here. We looked at quite a few houses here in Vernal before we settled on this one.

And when we first saw this one, I wasn't inclined to like it or want it. For one thing, we were hoping for a large back yard, and this one has a pretty small back yard. (Although it is completely landscaped and has a sprinkler system, which is a huge bonus.) Then we walked in the front door and saw that the front entry is laid with goldie, silvery, gray-ish stone. I thought, "Ugly." I looked down the stairs to my left and saw this fireplace...

...which looks worse in person, and I thought, "Well, that stone will have to go, too."

My kids directed my attention upward to the cottage-cheese with silver-glitter ceilings. I don't like them much more than the kids do. It didn't bode well.

Then I walked into the front living room. I looked around.

It felt like home.

As Bruce and I looked through the rest of the house and talked about the possibilities I grew more and more interested, and more and more excited. This was our house!

So we put in a bid for it on September 13, and then we waited. The bid was accepted! We were already pre-approved for a loan, so we were in business. We hoped we could close on September 28, Bruce's birthday. But Shauna (our realtor) told us that wasn't possible; we could be OK with that. Then we thought we could close the second week of October. Nope. The following week. Nope. The week after that? No. Before Halloween? No.

The loan process was a Huge, Hairy, Harrowing Ordeal. We had turned in everything that they asked for, and we were waiting. And waiting. For over a week. Then we got an email from Shauna saying that the loan company needed fifteen items of paperwork or they would drop us, and we'd have to start over, and we'd lose the house. That was a bad day. (It turns out that someone had hand-written Bruce's email address, and someone else read it wrong, so he never got all the emails they sent him asking for all these things.) But we did manage to get them everything they wanted before closing time that same day.

Then it was something else, and something else, and something else. For a month. So it was pretty frustrating.  Also we had some substantial equity from the sale of our house in West Valley; we intended to put half of it as a down-payment on the house, and use the other half for some remodeling and renovations (like the kitchen appliances that have almost the same birthday as the house—1977.) In the end, to make our numbers look good enough to qualify for the loan we paid about 65% of our equity to student loans, and the rest went to down-payment and closing costs. No remodeling would be happening. Or not much, anyway. (The day we found out we'd have to pay off that much of our student loans all at once was a bad day too. But after a day or two of adjusting my thinking I decided it would be no bad thing to not have that monster breathing down our necks any more.)

And then, in the midst of all of this headache, our van began its death-rattle. Something inside the motor is broken, and will cost more than the van is worth to repair. So we found another van. A newer van. (1998 instead of 1997). A van we could afford to pay cash for.

It is pretty much the same van, only a darker blue.
And a cargo door on the side, instead of the hinged doors that I like. :-/

Although the process was very stressful, the people we worked with were great. Shauna Harding, our realtor, was willing to put up a fight for us when needed; if you want to buy a house in Vernal, go see her. And Cary, at Academy Mortgage, the frequent bearer of bad tidings (none of which were his fault), was very kind, very personable, and easy to work with. HUD, who was selling the house, on the other hand was... a government agency. The final insult from HUD was that they wouldn't give us the keys; they would take them and destroy them and we had to put new door-handles/locks on everything. Which we intended to do anyway; we just didn't expect to have to do it on the very same day we "got our house keys."

So, here are more pics of the house:

the kitchen—looking in from the dining area
To the left of the ancient ovens is, yes...

...a bathroom. In the kitchen! 
I am used to people coming into my house and saying,
"Ooohh! What's that smell?" I do not want anyone to come
into my kitchen and say, "Ewww! What's that smell?!"
This tiny bathroom has to go! Fortunately that is a remodel
that will cost almost nothing but time.

the dining area
The door on the left goes to the two-car garage,
the living room is straight in front of you, and
the kitchen is to your right.

the main bathroom (upstairs)
This bathroom is 15 feet long. The photo kind of fools you because that door on the right looks like the entry door; it is actually the door to a closet inside the bathroom. There's another big closet (in the bathroom) to your left, and the bathtub is beyond that (in front of the toilet). All of the bathrooms in this house are just a little weird (with the kitchen-bathroom taking top prize).

one of the upstairs bedrooms
This fantastic room has one wall covered with peel-and-stick cork tiles, checkerboarded with gold-veined, smoked mirrors. Underneath that is this fantastic wallpaper that has 60's-style line drawings of boys playing football, baseball, etc. I actually kind of love the wallpaper for its very vintage/retro look. But I don't love it enough to keep it. I have spent most of this week taking all that stuff (including the dresser, which is attached—probably a great selling-feature, back in the day) ...I spent a lot of this week taking this stuff off of that wall. Another inexpensive remodel.

our favorite room—the family room
This room is an addition on the back of the house. If you go back up to the dining-room picture and imagine turning around 180°,
then you will be looking into this room. It is really as big as it looks—21 by 26 feet.

On Monday, closing day, we got our very first piece of mail at our new address—a gift from Academy Mortgage: a tiny bamboo cutting-board, with North etched/burned into it. It's really cute, but I'll have to post the picture later. Too much house-cleaning and house-fix-upping to do.

When we get moved in—or mostly moved in—I'll post more pics.

For now, congratulate us! We have to make large payments to a bank for the next many, many years! Dreadful!

No,no, no...just kidding!
Congratulate us! We are homeowners! And it is GREAT!!

Write to Brandon!

Well, I have lots to talk about, but I'm not ready to talk yet.

But I did get a text message from a complete stranger yesterday! Brother Wagner said he had served his mission in Hungary in 1993. He and his daughter were visiting there last weekend, went to church, and met Brandon and his companion. And he sent me this picture!

Norris Elder and North Elder
(in Hungary they say it backward from the way we do)

And I heard from Brandon today. I think he's been a little discouraged; apparently the people in Hungary just don't want to hear from missionaries. They tell him (and his companion) that they are foolish; they tell them that they are already Christian, so they (the missionaries) don't need to be there; Brandon says the people won't even smile at them.

Today's email was pretty short, but not too sad. Here's what he said:

I don't know why, but this last Sunday I was wondering what I should do. I felt at a loss and decided that probably the solution was to go tracting. But as I thought about it and felt that I should pray. So I did and I felt strongly that what I needed to do was make dinner for my companion. I don't know for sure, but often I feel like what God uses me the most for out here is uplifting other missionaries. It is hard to say, but it has certainly felt that way.

Also, how do I make Icing, glaze, and Frosting?

Love you, 
Brandon

So here is my BIG plan: Everyone write to Brandon (or email him). Say something cheery. Send him your favorite icing, glaze, or frosting recipes. Then he can keep cheering up the other missionaries! ;-)

Here's his mailing address:

Elder Brandon North
UNSZJKE
Budapest
Hajnóczy u. 14.
1122
HUNGARY

And his email address is:

brandon.north@myldsmail.net

Make a missionary's day!
Thanks!

Just in from Hungary...

Today was mission email day, and Brandon sent us a great one! So I'm going to share it with you here. I'm proud of my missionary son.

Now, I already wrote this so I am going to copy and paste then fill out the parts that could use some more detail.

During companion exchanges Elder Bridges and I went tracting. We didn't have a whole lot of time before the Exchange ended so but we wanted to get as much done as we could. Only planning on really having enough time to give out pass along cards and recieve return appointments we left with only pass along cards. On our way out though I recieved an impression that I needed to go back and grab a Book of Mormon. Reluctantly I went and did so. So, on our second time leaving the appartment to go tracting I went a different way so that we could catch the same bus. We got on the bus and proceeded to take a record breaking thirty minutes to travel what should have been 10 or 15 minutes. I had previously planned on going to Cseppel to tract but with the 30 minute bus ride I decided against it so that we could still have time to tract. As we got going I spotted a building that looked good. Thinking that the door would be on the side facing the street I walked around to that side only to find that I went to the wrong side. As we got to the other side of the building and began to csengő(ring the doorbell) the building a woman came out and asked who we were. So we told her. Upon hearing who we were she asked if we could give her a blessing of healing. Taken aback I had to ask her again what she said. No one ever just asks for a blessing of healing, at least I didn't think so. After she confirmed that she did indeed want a blessing I asked if there was a place for her to sit. So she invited us in and we explained how the blessing would work, luckily I have a hungarian mission handbook and it did all the explaining. After the blessing her mom came out and asked if we were the police, I told her no, we are the missionaries. She was instantly interested and asked us to talk to her. We got talking for a bit first and we were asked what the Latter days are, since it is on our name tags. That is a long story that we call the message of the Restoration and so we got to teach about the Restoration. They asked many questions and seemed quite interested, we left a pass along card, Restoration pamphlet, and Book of Mormon with them. As we were leaving I wondered how She (Manika, who recieved the blessing) had known that we were there right at that moment. I looked around and saw that there was a window to their appartment outlooking the street, right on the side of the building I first tried searching for the csengő.(doorbell)

I know that this is God's church and he is guiding us. Jézus Krisztus nevében, ámen.
We did get a return appointment and will be going there this Wednesday.

Thank goodness for copy and paste.

That was the biggest part of my week, Oh, I forgot. When we started our lesson I realized that we had not said a prayer. So I asked if we could turn off the T.V. before praying. The answer was yes. I then began to pray with them, I prayed simply for their health and happiness, but the spirit that filled that small dirty room (they had a small dirty appartment) brought everyone to tears before I could even utter the words. And though I already bore my testimony I will bear it again, I know that God is our loving heavenly Father and that he knows all of us. He has not forgotten even the least significant of us, and he never will. Because he loves us all that much. These two women whom I taught had been praying for weeks for help, and Finally Elder Bridges and I were priviledged to be the ones to show up on their doorstep. God Does Not Forget. And he always loves us. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I love you all and will have to write a separate email so say anything more, if I say anything at all.

Sincerely,

Brandon.

A Winter's Tale

This morning as we looked out our bedroom window, Bruce and I saw that there was snow on Little Mountain, a bit off in the distance. And we saw, via the amazing internet, that Colorado had had its first snow overnight. So, in honor of the cold weather, I will tell you a the tale of a Wintry Adventure. And it's a true story, too:

On a cold winter day, several years ago (when I was thirteen or fourteen years old) I was in my very snug bedroom playing with my dollhouse, or maybe reading a book. I was content to be there by myself, with the door closed, quiet and very, very warm—because my bedroom was the warmest room in the house—it was hot in there! And so I was dressed appropriately for the weather...the weather in my bedroom, that is: I wore a pair of jeans cut off at the knee and fringed, and a red-and-blue plaid, cotton-gauze, sleeveless peasant blouse.

something like this

My older sister, Melanie, was in her bathroom (her room was across the hall from mine, and had an adjoining bathroom). She was getting ready for her first date with Rick. We were a picture of homey contentment.

But just as Melanie was about to step into the shower someone banged on her door! It was Peter, our oldest brother. He worked a swing-shift at a medical supply company in Murray and he needed a ride to work. NOW!!

Melanie had thought that our brother Paul was going to drive Peter to work, but apparently she had been grossly misinformed, and Peter was fuming at her door, needing a ride before he was made late for work. Now, Peter is a really, really nice guy, but his temper is not something you want to encounter. Ever. So Melanie scurried into the first piece of clothing she could find to cover herself up with—her beige wool dress-coat—slipped her feet into a pair of flip-flops and headed out to the car.

her coat was something like this, only it was just past knee-length
—so cut eight to twelve inches from the hem of this coat and you've got it about right

I don't remember if Melanie asked me to go with her, or if I was just in it for the adventure, but I slipped into a pair of shoes (no socks), grabbed my coat, and joined them. Now it was cold outside. Cold, and wet, and gray. But we figured we'd be in the heated car the entire time; we'd drive Peter to work, come straight back, and get right back to what we'd been doing in our toasty warm home. No need to bundle up much.

The drive to Murray looked kind of like this:

And it was a little tense, because Peter was in a bad mood.

But Melanie and I relaxed as we chatted on the way back home. We came to an intersection where we could choose to continue straight and get home by making a turn later onto 6200 South—a well-used, well-plowed street, or we could turn off where we were and go home via the Airport Road—a street that was rarely used back then. Well, we decided it would be more fun and more interesting to drive down Airport Road.

So here we are, in my mom's little cream-colored Plymouth Horizon—which weighed about as much as a cardboard box—and we are confronted by a very slippery, very icy road, banked by fluffy snow, and it didn't take us long at all to realize we'd chosen the wrong way to drive home. The car started zigging and zagging all over the road; even though we weren't going fast, Melanie couldn't get control of it. The tension level was way back up, and maybe even past where it had been before.

This is what the car looked like. I took my driving test in this car; it really felt like it had no weight to it whatsoever.

Now, back then there was nothing on Airport Road except for ...I think it's the Utah National Guard's base and airport, which is fenced off,  and locked, and for which you undoubtedly need permission to enter. So there's the airport, all fenced off and empty for miles, to our right, and to the left the road dropped off and met with snowy fields. And in slow-motion, the car starts spinning and sliding to the left side of the road. And we two teenage girls are yelling and Melanie's trying to get some control of the car, and it's all to no avail. Off the edge we dropped, still spinning, out into the field. And then we stopped spinning, and started sliding back toward the road. And I saw the telephone poles behind us, and I just knew we were going to run into one. (We didn't; didn't even get close.)

And then there we were. Two scantily-clad girls, in a tiny car, up to the fenders in snow. And what could we do? This was in the dark-ages before cell-phones, right? We prayed. We turned on the emergency lights and hoped that someone would see them flashing down there. But this was not a well-traveled road back then, we were several feet from the road, and twilight was well upon us. Finally we decided that we'd better hike over to the airport and hope beyond hope that some kind soul would let us in to use a phone.

So we gingerly step into the snow, freezing in our flip-flops and bare ankles, and start walking back toward the airport. Just as we got back to the road a minivan pulled over; it was filled with a Dad, a Mom, and a bunch of little kids. The dad asked us if we needed help. Now, we were not totally stupid, and we realized that we were in a pretty compromising position, but the mom and the little kids (and probably some guidance from above) told us that these were nice people. They were. They let us get in their van and drove us to their house so we could use their phone.

Mrs. Minivan had dinner cooking at home, so she ushered the kids into the kitchen while Mr. Minivan showed us to the family room where there was a phone for our use, and where a nice fire was burning in the fireplace. Oh, that was a lovely, lovely room! Then he went up to have dinner with his family.

Melanie tried calling Dad, but he had already left work to pick up Mom from her workplace. She tried calling Mom, but just missed her. She called home, but Mom and Dad weren't home yet; they'd gone shopping. So she called the only other person she knew would be home, and whose number she knew: her date, Rick.

In the meantime, I was getting mighty warm in that fire-heated family room, with my coat on. Mr. Minivan came to see how we were faring at getting help. By then Rick was on his way, but, Melanie told Mr. Minivan, it would probably be half an hour before he showed up. He said that was all right. "Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable." So I took off my coat. He had been surprised at my cut-offs, and jokingly commented on my summery attire. Then he turned to Melanie and told her she could take her coat off too, if she was too warm. She said she was all right. Then, glancing at my clothes and then back to her, he teased, "What's the matter? Are you naked under that coat?"

Well, Melanie was mortified, and slightly offended, that he would say such a thing, but she kept those thoughts to herself; we both tee-heed politely at his joke. Rick showed up pretty soon in a little truck to drive us home. (I'm thinking I probably sat in the middle seat, although I don't really remember. Being young and naive I probably would have preferred Melanie to sit next to Rick.) We got home in time for dinner, and had a story to tell that freaked my mom out. Melanie got ready and went on her date with Rick. The next day my dad and my brothers were able to tow the Horizon out of the snow and get it home with—if I remember right—no damage. It all ended well—even Melanie's date; this was the first date of several, and they eventually got married.

And that is the end of my Winter Tale. Hopefully this winter will wait another couple of months before it really shows itself around here. When it does, you can think of this story to keep yourself warm.

Summer Summary 2017

This has been a big summer. A summer to remember—or maybe a summer to forget. No. It's all good. (In retrospect.) But it was for sure busy. It was A Summer of Eight... or Nine...  or...  Many Adventures.

Some time, back in April, we realized that with my Terrible Triad we had met all of our insurance deductibles. We knew (had known for a year) that Bruce had a little hernia that needed fixing, so we planned to do that after he was out of school for the summer. I told people, "Now that our deductibles are met, we are going to get surgeries for the whole family!" (Tee-hee. Haha.) This will be important later.

I guess our summer adventures began on April 29, when Lindsey graduated from Snow College. Bruce and I made the three-and-a-half-hour trip down to Ephraim so we could see our awesome daughter graduate, and bring her home. Jason also went to Snow last year, but he'd gotten a summer job at Fish Lake Lodge that was going to start the Monday after graduation. So we spent the night in Ephraim, helped the kids pack their apartments into the van, and drove two hours south to drop Jason off for work. Then Bruce, Lindsey and I made the six-hour drive back to Vernal. That was Adventure Number One.

Adventure Number Two was Ryan's graduation from Uintah High School. Yay! (It was maybe not as adventurous as driving for hours and hours, but it was a good adventure anyway.)

Once everyone was out of school we decided to take a little family vacation. So on Thursday, June 8, we made the three-hour drive to Salt Lake (everything is three hours from Vernal). We would be staying at Dad's Place which has a full kitchen, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, laundry machines, a 65-inch TV and blue-ray player, a large dining and game area, and a charcoal grill, all for the low, low price of FREE. While we were there we saw the sights in Salt Lake City, shopped, picnicked, went to our niece's baptism and our nephew's mission-farewell, visited with family, played games and relaxed together. Bruce and I also met with our realtor (my nephew, Ben) to sign papers for the sale of our West Valley house (thus beginning Adventure Four even while we were in the midst of Adventure Three).

picnicking in Salt Lake City with my sister, Melanie

Oooh! And here we all are in Hungary!

We had planned to come back home on Tuesday morning (the 13th), but we were late getting started, which turned out to be a good thing because Jason called us that afternoon. He'd been unhappy with the way things were going at Fish Lake, and decided to give them his two-weeks notice. He told them that his family was moving and needed his help (we should make him come home from Snow to help when we really do move ;-) ), so they magnanimously said that they'd just let him go right then if he was needed at home. So we spent one more night at Dad's, prepared a picnic dinner, and drove the four hours to Fish Lake to get Jason. We arrived there around 5:00 p.m., had dinner with Jason, packed up his stuff, and headed on the six-hour drive back to Vernal. We got in around midnight and that was the end of Adventure Number Three.

the traditional "car selfie," just before we left Fish Lake

Remember when I said we were going to get surgery for the whole family? Well, on Friday, June 16, Bruce went in to get his hernia repaired. Bruce is always friendly, and he was very chatty with the prep team at the hospital, and we were all having a great time. Then they put something in his I.V. to make him relax, and he started to get just a little silly. As they wheeled him toward surgery he saw the hospital staff standing off on either side of the hall (out of the way) and said, "It's like I'm in a parade! Should I wave?"

It really was a little hernia and only took half an hour to fix, then they brought him back to me. I have to say that Bruce is pretty hilarious when he's coming out of anesthesia. He was just soooooo happy. He loved his hospital gown; he liked his blue popsicle (which he offered to let the nurses try); he wanted to just hang out and be pals with everyone there. It was a little different at home when the drugs wore off and he discovered how hard it was to do anything after he'd had a hole cut in his belly. But after a few days of rest, and six weeks of not lifting anything over twenty pounds he is all recovered, his belly-button looks normal again (except for a little scar), and he is as good as new.  End of Adventure Number Five.

For Adventure Number Six Bruce went camping with the Young Women of our ward (to be one of the priesthood holders at camp). This was four days after his surgery! He'd volunteered to go before his surgery was scheduled, and he went! I told him this was OK as long as he didn't lift anything, and he didn't try to save any drowning young women—so, basically, he was not to be helpful at all. But they were glad to have him, and he was glad he went; he said he had a good time.

On June 26 Lindsey had to be taken off to her summer job. So Bruce made the three-and-a-half hour drive to Camp Steiner to drop her off. (I told you everything was at least three hours from Vernal!) And then he drove back home again. Adventure Number Seven.

Back to Adventure Number Four: Ben listed our house on June 16 and the offers started coming in fast. But every offer fell through for one reason or another. When someone offered us $67k less than our asking price—but generously said he could go as high as $45k less than we asked, we decided we'd better go out to the house and see why it was scaring people away. So on the afternoon of Sunday, July 9, we packed a bunch of cleaning supplies, some tools, and all our kids into the van and drove back to Salt Lake again. The house was pretty dirty, the yard was a mess, I thought one room would be better for a new paint job, and the whole thing needed some TLC.

In all fairness, our renters were pretty great overall.
And they did have permission to paint that basement room;
I just had no idea they'd pick such a weird color.
(And the new tub and tile cleaned up beautifully.)

So Bruce and the kids cleaned, mowed, and weed-whacked the yard; the kids and I scrubbed down the kitchen, bathroom, and some walls; we all cleaned year-old paint spills (from our renters who painted a basement room dark blue) off of the floor; Ryan and Kaylie patched holes that had been drilled into the walls to hang up—I don't know what took so many screws to hang up; Ryan counted over 100 holes in just one room; Bruce got a carpet-cleaner and cleaned all the carpets; the kids replaced a few missing outlet plates. We worked fast and hard for three days, and then drove back home to Vernal Wednesday evening. On the drive home Ben called us with three more offers on the house, each one substantially higher than what we'd been getting before the cleanup trip. Adventure Number Eight really was to our advantage.

a man and his carpet-cleaner

a much-needed break

fresh paint—the same color as the rest of the house
non-painty floor, too

So, do you still remember my surgery comment? Well soon after we got Jason home from Fish Lake he told me he was having tonsil stones. (Actually he just described it to me, and I thought it sounded like kidney stones, so I googled "tonsil stones," not even knowing if that really was a thing. It is.) So we took him to see Dr. Catten, an otolaryncologist (big word for the day), and he said the tonsils would have to come out. Jason also said that he can hardly ever smell anything at all—even skunk!—unless he gets his face right in it (although he's never put his face on a skunk). So Dr. Catten said he'd do some surgery on Jason's nose, too. Then when Rachel heard what we were all talking about, she said that she had tonsil stones too; she'd googled it a couple years ago and knew all about it—but she hadn't told us about it. So we took her to see Dr. Catten, and she was scheduled for a tonsillectomy too. We took them both to the hospital on the morning of July 27.

two kids prepped for surgery

Rachel's surgery was first; it took about thirty minutes. Jason's took a little longer, since it was technically two surgeries. Rachel came out of her anesthesia calm and quiet as ever, just really, really sleepy; she said it felt like they gave her strep throat. Jason woke up chatty, and he said funny things. He kept saying that he was stupid. "I'm stupid now. Drugs make you stupid. That's why I don't do drugs." (There's the lesson for the day.) He was also determined to remember Keith, the post-op nurse, because Keith told Jason that he probably wouldn't remember him. "You're a nice guy. You deserve to be remembered." And he did remember him.

An hour or so after surgery; I don't know how he breathed at all.

Rachel got to go home the same day as her surgery, but since Jason had surgery on both of his airways he had to spend the night at the hospital for observation. They were both pretty miserable—and very hungry—for a couple of weeks, but they recovered well. Pretty much back to normal now. There goes Adventure Number Nine.

Lindsey, as you remember, was working at Camp Steiner, but she'd been contacting us every weekend. She had some kind of problem with her hip, and it was getting worse with the hiking, so she had to come home. So on July 28 Bruce drove out to get her, (while I stayed home with two sad tonsillectomy victims) and then drove back home again. Another seven hours of driving, and Adventure Number Ten down.

While we were having all of these other fun adventures, Adventure Four (the selling of the house) was still working in the background. We got a good offer on the house, we accepted, the buyer did their due-diligence,  the house was under contract, and things were looking good. Except the appraiser didn't like the addition to the garage. Well, I guess he was OK with the addition, but he wasn't OK with there being no building permit (long story). So he refused to inspect and appraise the house unless we tore the new rooms out of the garage. The buyer said they wanted the new rooms but the appraiser wouldn't budge. The buyer asked if we would tear out the rooms, and then give them an allowance to build them back in. Ummm...No. In fact, we'd had the house approved for an FHA loan just a year ago, so we knew it would pass an inspection. Ben suggested they find a different lender (and so a different appraiser); he even told them he had a lender who would approve the loan and could close within a week's time. But they wouldn't budge on that point. In the end, Ben went and tore the rooms out of the garage. Then the appraiser said he wouldn't inspect the house unless the debris was removed from the garage. So on August 9 (just nine days before our contract would expire) Bruce and the boys drove back to Salt Lake to clean out the garage.

OK. I might not have appraised it myself with
all of that stuff in there.

 They left Vernal at 7 a.m. and got right to work on the garage. They filled the van top to bottom and front to back with what had once been three-year-old bedrooms (drywall, framing, and carpet)—twice—and carried all they could off to the dump.

top to bottom and front to back

There was still a little debris left to get rid of, but the dump closed before they could do it. So they put the remaining stuff (mostly 2x4's) into the shed. Then they drove back home, getting in around midnight. End of Adventure Number Eleven.

Then a couple of weeks ago, having reached the ripe, old age of fifty, I had to go get a colonoscopy. I won't give you any details on that (you're welcome), except that it wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated. Adventure Number Twelve.

The appraiser did go out and look at the house on August 15 (three days before the end of the contract), and he did approve it, although he also griped about the stuff in the shed. While my guys were working on the garage they found out (from a friendly neighbor) that West Valley City had scheduled a neighborhood cleanup and was going to drop off a large trash bin right in front of our house on Monday, August 21—three days after the contract date. So we said we'd find someone to haul the rest of that stuff out on that day, and they were all OK with that. Whew!

As promised, I contacted members of our old ward and they said they'd take care of the shed for us (because they are awesome!) Then we heard, from the buyer's agent, that there was dust on the floors of the house, and the buyers expected to move into a clean house. Seriously?! The house had been empty for over a month! There was going to be dust on the floors! I will not tell you the kindly thoughts I had about them at that point. But Ben and his wife generously went over and swept and vacuumed the house.

Bruce and I signed the final papers for the sale of our house on Thursday, August 17; the buyers signed the final papers on their end the same evening. Adventure Number Four finished! Almost...

We had a little in-between adventure on August 19 when we took Jason back down to Snow College. He was happy to go back. Bruce and I drove him down there, bought him a bunch of groceries, helped him move his stuff back into his apartment, and then had a pleasant drive back to Vernal. That was Adventure Number Thirteen.

So on the morning of Monday, the 21st, we got a message from the buyer's agent: the stuff is still in the shed. Well, excuse us, but our friends do have jobs during the day and we still live 180 miles away. We called to make sure someone was really going to take care of it; they were, and they did. (They really are awesome.) It took them about 30 minutes.

Now you'd think that Summer Adventure Number Four was finally at an end, but you'd be wrong. It turns out that the title company miscalculated the amount of our realtor's commission, and sent us too much money. Well, after all his hard work Ben had to get paid. So we got a cashier's check and got it sent off. And now Adventure Number Four has really, truly reached it's conclusion!

We had some minor adventures of school shopping and helping Bruce get his classroom ready for school. (I guess you could call them Fourteen and Fifteen if you wanted to.)

And then school started on the 23rd. We are temporarily down to just one car, so I've spent a lot—a lot of time doing errands and running people around just since school started.

And now our summer adventures are over.

And I am exhausted.

And a new adventure is beginning...

Sold!

In March of 2000 Bruce and I signed papers to buy our first house.

And today, after two years of...hassle, that house is sold! Getting it sold is a long story, and one which I'm saving for my summer summary. For now, I'll leave you with a tribute that Jason wrote (for his public-speaking class) about our little house:

Five thousand, seven hundred, forty-three city units west and four thousand, three hundred, sixty units south of Temple Square, Salt Lake City, Utah is the place that I call home, the place where I was raised. In the summer there you can hear a mariachi band every Saturday night from someone's nearby party, or in the fall each week the cheers of a crowd and the celebration of a band playing as the high school has their weekly football games.

The house sits peacefully on a slight slope overlooking the valley, like a hiker admiring a view amidst a suburb all beside it; it is content to stand and do its job as a home resolutely, forever in its way, despite the environment within. It sheltered a man and his wife with not one or two or three, but eight children for fifteen years, many of whom had never seen another house before. Throughout the years it heard screams of laughter as they played, and screams of pain as they fought; it was the keeper of singing and classical piano, and love within, and a place to rest from play without. Most years a tomato jungle grew out back, like a lion's mane behind his head, and at the bidding of my mother dear, we children learned to work hard here.

There were many nights that I would rest beneath the peach tree, looking at the stars and enjoying fresh-picked fruit, and wherever else I ever go, I'll still remember the warm summer air and sweet Latin music from that place that, as a child, I called home.

This house was a good home for us.