Hi, again. Hope this fits into blob format. We are off to see MISTER ELI! He is so dang fun. Word on the street has it that Mandy and the kids might be there but she tends a one year old and might not make it this time. It is Eli's fourth birthday. A real top-of -the-mountain birtrhday. But wouldn't it be something to see L, K, and Q!
G'munchka.... I am still trying to learn how to enter blob material and how to comment on people's blogs. I asked Jodi to show me how on Thanksgiving, but now the format has changed to her house and there may not be time to learn it. If I would just get off my keesteroonie I could probably learn it all by myself. I am especially stressed that I can't comment on Amanda,s blog.
We are excited out of our gourds to see all the improvements made to your house since we were there last. It just seems like yesterday or maybe earlier today that we were celebrating your fourth b-day on Pieper Blvd. Wish I remembered the e-zack details. Grandma was probably there. D'Kennet (almost three) would have been buggin' you and stealing your gifts. You were the most perfect little tiny girl on the planet, with your little spindly legs and your two front teeth missing (maybe the teeth stayed around to age five).
But, ya know what, you are still almost that tiny and still every bit that perfect. We have just begun to realize that you really do live a hundred miles away. Urk.
Oh! News flash. Yer Ma thinks she remembers yer 4th b'day. Your party included, among others, Kelly Blackburn, Beth Long, Wendy and Cindy Steele and a girl named Stephanie Something. Stephanie thought that since she had brought a gift that she got to take a gift home with her. Yer ma made sure that she got a nice party favor and an explanation that it doesn't work quite like that.
We are sooooo excited. See you tomorrow . Let me know if Dean needs help with anything......Love, d'Pa
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
FlagRANT
Flag-rant says.... HEY!!! I've just hit upon a fantabulous (thanks for the word, Mandy) new look at Flagboy. Flag-rant is kinda like Flagboy. Flagrant is an "over the top" foul. Yeah, I get it. FlagRANT is just that. More ranting. Flagged is to become tired. I'm sure you are all of that. But it sure is fun for me to talk about myself. What a great topic. I cannot see any of you right now through my monitor, but I can hear you running. Come back! I'm done.
Seriously, I have been happy to receive your comments. I won't be commenting on your blobs (blogs) until I learn how. I can't even post my own blobs. My blobs will continue being posted as long as Jodi has the patience to magically transform my e-mails to bobbles or bungles or whatever you call them. Oh, yeah, blobs.
Hi, Cindy! Anyhoo, B-dawg's comment on his visit to the Great Salt Lake brought back a great memory. We all went there as a cub scout excursion. The wind was blowing at about 15 or 20 knots, allowing the sea gulls to fly into the wind at 15 or 20 knots, about 10 feet off the ground, remaining "stationary" while we tossed popcorn into the air for them. Lamont Hansen was the Cubmaster. A national award-winning Cubmaster, I might add. Guess who was the first to receive a huge smelly white blob on his shirt. Ohhh Yeaaah. Cubmaster Hansen. Pandemonium.
Give a Cub scout something funny and he will not give it a rest for decades. I wonder if B-dawggie still remembers that.
Thanks, again Jot..................d'Pa
Seriously, I have been happy to receive your comments. I won't be commenting on your blobs (blogs) until I learn how. I can't even post my own blobs. My blobs will continue being posted as long as Jodi has the patience to magically transform my e-mails to bobbles or bungles or whatever you call them. Oh, yeah, blobs.
Hi, Cindy! Anyhoo, B-dawg's comment on his visit to the Great Salt Lake brought back a great memory. We all went there as a cub scout excursion. The wind was blowing at about 15 or 20 knots, allowing the sea gulls to fly into the wind at 15 or 20 knots, about 10 feet off the ground, remaining "stationary" while we tossed popcorn into the air for them. Lamont Hansen was the Cubmaster. A national award-winning Cubmaster, I might add. Guess who was the first to receive a huge smelly white blob on his shirt. Ohhh Yeaaah. Cubmaster Hansen. Pandemonium.
Give a Cub scout something funny and he will not give it a rest for decades. I wonder if B-dawggie still remembers that.
Thanks, again Jot..................d'Pa
Why we hate us
I have been suffering from a growing problem these past few months. It has not gotten out of hand yet and I hope it doesn't. I was surprised to see Doug Robinson nail the problem on the head in his Tuesday, Nov. 18, 2008 column. (Deseret News, pg B1). You might find this article here: drob@desnews.com. For lack of time and space, I won't quote much of it.
He speaks of a new book by Dick Meyer titled "Why we hate us." Some reasons for our rage are: (A) because our population has doubled from 150 million to over 300 million in 50 short years, (B) because we are saddled with "time saving" devices that take up an enormous amount of time and (C) because of exponential growth of personal agendas and "selfism" we have become disoriented, anchorless and defensive. I quote all of this rather loosely. Obviously, our response to these new pressures is to dislike each other. Wow.
Tonight I stopped at Wendy's to pick up two quarter pounders with cheese. The lady took my money at the second window. She was very nice. A few moments later a fellow appeared at the window with my bag of treasure. He handed me the bag, turned and walked away. He might as well have thrown it at me. My newly acquired preset attitude took over. I was helpless to stop it. "Thank you" I yelled in indignation. He kept walking. The poor lady rushed to say "thank you", hoping to avert confrontation. At the top of my voice I screamed "thank you." The poor guy turned and mumbled some sort of "Uh, yeah, thanks" as I gave him a dirty look and drove away.
Part of my intention was pure. In that split second, I hoped to teach him that people need the smallest courtesies. But I knew that Mr. Hyde was trying to take me over. I find more and more that forebearance is a virtue that I have been walking away from as social mores decline. I used to laugh about "ornery old goats" and now I are one. Maudeen says she is suffering from the same growing illness. Make no mistake, as we search for external answers we are probably burying the internal answers. In effect; since you surely aren't going to change, at least not now, today, then it must be me that changes.
Let's just take bad drivers "fer instance." I am seriously trying a new technique. No, a whole new attitude. Whenever another driver offends me, I will look at him/her as my best friend who is teasing me. "Oh, look, there's my best friend Ralphie cutting me off. We'll laugh at that later today. ." Or, "there's my best friend Minnie honking at me for no discernable reason. I'll e-mail her and we'll LOL all over the place. And "golly, there's my best friend Billy tailgating me at 85 mph. He's such a stud." I think I am onto something here!
How about this: "There's my best friend Luigi. He's waving at me with only part of his hand. Awesome!" Or, maybe, " There's my best friend Arnie running a red light and almost taking my front bumper off. He's so silly. Maybe I'll slash one of his tires when I get him stopped. He'll love it." Or "There goes my buddy Vince. He sped up when I sped up, then he slowed down when I slowed down, and now I have missed my exit. I'll push him completely off the shoulder. If he rolls his car we'll have that to laugh about for weeks to come." Or, "there is my best friend Moosie. Haven't seen him since high school. He has gained weight! He took my parking spot. I love that guy. I'm gonna hide here at the edge of the parking lot and pretend to crash into him, swerving at only the last possible second. Hope his wife and three children have the same sense of humor I have. Hope Moosie does."
Last year some guy verbally abused me in a crowded intersection. Luckily I followed him and now I know where he lives. I'm going right now to his house. My newfound excitement for generosity during stressful times allows me to do what needs to be done. This is brilliant. I have 18 cans of spray paint. When he comes out to confront me I'll have a giggle fit and inform him that I have absolutely no animosity toward him. Life is good.
He speaks of a new book by Dick Meyer titled "Why we hate us." Some reasons for our rage are: (A) because our population has doubled from 150 million to over 300 million in 50 short years, (B) because we are saddled with "time saving" devices that take up an enormous amount of time and (C) because of exponential growth of personal agendas and "selfism" we have become disoriented, anchorless and defensive. I quote all of this rather loosely. Obviously, our response to these new pressures is to dislike each other. Wow.
Tonight I stopped at Wendy's to pick up two quarter pounders with cheese. The lady took my money at the second window. She was very nice. A few moments later a fellow appeared at the window with my bag of treasure. He handed me the bag, turned and walked away. He might as well have thrown it at me. My newly acquired preset attitude took over. I was helpless to stop it. "Thank you" I yelled in indignation. He kept walking. The poor lady rushed to say "thank you", hoping to avert confrontation. At the top of my voice I screamed "thank you." The poor guy turned and mumbled some sort of "Uh, yeah, thanks" as I gave him a dirty look and drove away.
Part of my intention was pure. In that split second, I hoped to teach him that people need the smallest courtesies. But I knew that Mr. Hyde was trying to take me over. I find more and more that forebearance is a virtue that I have been walking away from as social mores decline. I used to laugh about "ornery old goats" and now I are one. Maudeen says she is suffering from the same growing illness. Make no mistake, as we search for external answers we are probably burying the internal answers. In effect; since you surely aren't going to change, at least not now, today, then it must be me that changes.
Let's just take bad drivers "fer instance." I am seriously trying a new technique. No, a whole new attitude. Whenever another driver offends me, I will look at him/her as my best friend who is teasing me. "Oh, look, there's my best friend Ralphie cutting me off. We'll laugh at that later today. ." Or, "there's my best friend Minnie honking at me for no discernable reason. I'll e-mail her and we'll LOL all over the place. And "golly, there's my best friend Billy tailgating me at 85 mph. He's such a stud." I think I am onto something here!
How about this: "There's my best friend Luigi. He's waving at me with only part of his hand. Awesome!" Or, maybe, " There's my best friend Arnie running a red light and almost taking my front bumper off. He's so silly. Maybe I'll slash one of his tires when I get him stopped. He'll love it." Or "There goes my buddy Vince. He sped up when I sped up, then he slowed down when I slowed down, and now I have missed my exit. I'll push him completely off the shoulder. If he rolls his car we'll have that to laugh about for weeks to come." Or, "there is my best friend Moosie. Haven't seen him since high school. He has gained weight! He took my parking spot. I love that guy. I'm gonna hide here at the edge of the parking lot and pretend to crash into him, swerving at only the last possible second. Hope his wife and three children have the same sense of humor I have. Hope Moosie does."
Last year some guy verbally abused me in a crowded intersection. Luckily I followed him and now I know where he lives. I'm going right now to his house. My newfound excitement for generosity during stressful times allows me to do what needs to be done. This is brilliant. I have 18 cans of spray paint. When he comes out to confront me I'll have a giggle fit and inform him that I have absolutely no animosity toward him. Life is good.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
The Flaggist Sez
The Flaggist Sez.....Many many years ago in a large large city many many miles away a little girl dreamed of someday seeing a magnificent lake. She had learned of this lake in school. .she had read books about it. She sometimes heard stories from people who had actually seen the lake and she promised herself, "I will see that lake."
As she grew older the mental vision of the lake became a bit obscured, but only because of the busy busy business of life. She eventually married and started a family. This family became very very large as many many children were born into it. Numerous numerous decades slipped by.
Her husband. who had always been well employed, suddenly lost his job. After many many months of searching, no desirable employment presented itself. They agreed that they would do much much better to move to a more productive environment. They moved many many miles to a far far city.
After one or two years in this exciting new land, she stumbled onto a shocking fact. She now lived only a few miles from the fabulous lake of of her distant distant memories. "Now I will see that lake!"
Early early one Saturday morning she, her husband and some of their younger children who were now big big teenagers piled into their van and drove north. They arrived at the glorious glorious banks of the magical magical lake. She stood next to the water as it rippled and rippled near her feet. She said, "This is....... it???"
She was gazing across the barren barren reaches of the Great Salt Lake.
This is a true story. Though the Great Salt Lake can be a bit shocking to people with high expectations it really is a beautiful body of water. Artists and photographers must be patient in searching out the colors and textures of this seemingly unchanging land/seascape. This "unchanging" bayou rises and falls like a gigantic backyard inflated plastic pool. A pool with Grandpa jumping in and out. Yeah, Flagboy. In the 1980s the lake swelled up so high that people began to fear for the safety of the airport. They built a humongous pump. They pumped so much water onto the salt flats that a new lake was formed that could be seen from space.
Now, twenty five years later, people can walk to Antelope Island on dry ground that was lake just 3 or 4 years ago.
Many many years ago two girls took a swim in the G S Lake. There are no tides in this pond which lies "motionless" in the bottom of the Great Basin. These two girls, however, were unaware of the power of wind. When they became tired of swimming in the water that is "impossible to sink" in, they tried heading for shore (somewhere near the old Saltair Resort). They became exhausted and found themselves bobbing helplessly for many many (oh, no, not many many again) hours.
The woman who told me this story - in about 1959 - didn't bother to say when it happened. But it hadda been in the late 1930s. If only she had known, she could have walked it instead of swimmin' it merely by waiting 70 years. (I wonder if she's still alive.... prob'ly not) Have I forgotten anything? Oh, yeah. They're still trapped in the lake. They were almost to the Bountiful side by the time they were rescued at dusk. The redhead was hospitalized for severe sunburn, but the brunette (who told me this) said she had the deepest and best tan for the whole summer.
Why am I doing this lengthy treatise on the Great Salt Lake? I dunno.
As she grew older the mental vision of the lake became a bit obscured, but only because of the busy busy business of life. She eventually married and started a family. This family became very very large as many many children were born into it. Numerous numerous decades slipped by.
Her husband. who had always been well employed, suddenly lost his job. After many many months of searching, no desirable employment presented itself. They agreed that they would do much much better to move to a more productive environment. They moved many many miles to a far far city.
After one or two years in this exciting new land, she stumbled onto a shocking fact. She now lived only a few miles from the fabulous lake of of her distant distant memories. "Now I will see that lake!"
Early early one Saturday morning she, her husband and some of their younger children who were now big big teenagers piled into their van and drove north. They arrived at the glorious glorious banks of the magical magical lake. She stood next to the water as it rippled and rippled near her feet. She said, "This is....... it???"
She was gazing across the barren barren reaches of the Great Salt Lake.
This is a true story. Though the Great Salt Lake can be a bit shocking to people with high expectations it really is a beautiful body of water. Artists and photographers must be patient in searching out the colors and textures of this seemingly unchanging land/seascape. This "unchanging" bayou rises and falls like a gigantic backyard inflated plastic pool. A pool with Grandpa jumping in and out. Yeah, Flagboy. In the 1980s the lake swelled up so high that people began to fear for the safety of the airport. They built a humongous pump. They pumped so much water onto the salt flats that a new lake was formed that could be seen from space.
Now, twenty five years later, people can walk to Antelope Island on dry ground that was lake just 3 or 4 years ago.
Many many years ago two girls took a swim in the G S Lake. There are no tides in this pond which lies "motionless" in the bottom of the Great Basin. These two girls, however, were unaware of the power of wind. When they became tired of swimming in the water that is "impossible to sink" in, they tried heading for shore (somewhere near the old Saltair Resort). They became exhausted and found themselves bobbing helplessly for many many (oh, no, not many many again) hours.
The woman who told me this story - in about 1959 - didn't bother to say when it happened. But it hadda been in the late 1930s. If only she had known, she could have walked it instead of swimmin' it merely by waiting 70 years. (I wonder if she's still alive.... prob'ly not) Have I forgotten anything? Oh, yeah. They're still trapped in the lake. They were almost to the Bountiful side by the time they were rescued at dusk. The redhead was hospitalized for severe sunburn, but the brunette (who told me this) said she had the deepest and best tan for the whole summer.
Why am I doing this lengthy treatise on the Great Salt Lake? I dunno.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Flagfella sez
I had a very scrumptious breakfast this morning. I'm turning into a pretty darn good cook. I can open a package of instant oatmeal as quickly and imaginatively as anyone. Question: what's the difference between swill, gruel and oatmeal? Answer: the oatmeal seems a bit bland.
Well, da season is quickly drawing upon us. Many folks are saying that this year less is more. "Landfill" gets a big circle with a line through it. I concur. In fact, I concur with gusto. I want the economy to flourish, but I prefer to see it flourish off of someone else's steroid injections than mine.
Here are a couple of thoughts from the past.....(A) from the 1970's.....from Weatherman Welti.....a Russian fellow named Rudolph and his wife Wilhelmina were disscussing the weather. Wilhelmina said "it is beginnink to snow." Rudy said "no, it is beginningk to rain." "No, snow." "No, rain." "Snow!" "Rain!" Rudolph, in exasperation, poked his chest out and said, "Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear."
(B) And, from 1984, this one from........ME!, What do you get when you cross Santa's favorite helper with america's favorite gymnast? (Remember, this is 1984) Mary Lou Rhetton Nosed Raindeer.
I conceived that little cartoon one evening at a time when I probably should have have been doing more important things. Anyway, after torturing the family with it, I determined that everyone at work would want to hear it. The first guy I saw the next morning heard my excited rendering. He chuckled and said, "oh, yeah, I saw that on Carson last night." I was a bit taken aback. Was he somehow recognizing that this was my own concoction and jealously refusing to acknowledge the greatness of it? Was he merely assuming that this joke was most assuredly worthy of Johnny Carson and assuming that I had probably seen it on T.V.? Or could it, by some traaaagic twist of fate, have actually BEEN on Carson? I suspected that I would not get a straight answer from him, so I dropped it. But, for these past 24 years, I have been wondering.....
Well, maybe Mary Lou is still America's fave. She was soooo famous back then. I can still remember a Wheaties box with her dazzling smile on the face of it. She even had a drop of milk on her lip. Cute. I don't care if she was a big slobbermouth, I like her jus' fine.
On a more sinister note, after TWENTY FOUR YEARS of thinkin' about it, this creepy thought creeps into my creeped-out consciousness: Could I have seen it on Carson, shoved it into my subconscious mind and later revived it as my own? COULD I HAVE DONE THIS?....... Nnnnno. Creepers jeepers, no. But in all fairness, I hadda say it. Flagboy goes now.
Well, da season is quickly drawing upon us. Many folks are saying that this year less is more. "Landfill" gets a big circle with a line through it. I concur. In fact, I concur with gusto. I want the economy to flourish, but I prefer to see it flourish off of someone else's steroid injections than mine.
Here are a couple of thoughts from the past.....(A) from the 1970's.....from Weatherman Welti.....a Russian fellow named Rudolph and his wife Wilhelmina were disscussing the weather. Wilhelmina said "it is beginnink to snow." Rudy said "no, it is beginningk to rain." "No, snow." "No, rain." "Snow!" "Rain!" Rudolph, in exasperation, poked his chest out and said, "Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear."
(B) And, from 1984, this one from........ME!, What do you get when you cross Santa's favorite helper with america's favorite gymnast? (Remember, this is 1984) Mary Lou Rhetton Nosed Raindeer.
I conceived that little cartoon one evening at a time when I probably should have have been doing more important things. Anyway, after torturing the family with it, I determined that everyone at work would want to hear it. The first guy I saw the next morning heard my excited rendering. He chuckled and said, "oh, yeah, I saw that on Carson last night." I was a bit taken aback. Was he somehow recognizing that this was my own concoction and jealously refusing to acknowledge the greatness of it? Was he merely assuming that this joke was most assuredly worthy of Johnny Carson and assuming that I had probably seen it on T.V.? Or could it, by some traaaagic twist of fate, have actually BEEN on Carson? I suspected that I would not get a straight answer from him, so I dropped it. But, for these past 24 years, I have been wondering.....
Well, maybe Mary Lou is still America's fave. She was soooo famous back then. I can still remember a Wheaties box with her dazzling smile on the face of it. She even had a drop of milk on her lip. Cute. I don't care if she was a big slobbermouth, I like her jus' fine.
On a more sinister note, after TWENTY FOUR YEARS of thinkin' about it, this creepy thought creeps into my creeped-out consciousness: Could I have seen it on Carson, shoved it into my subconscious mind and later revived it as my own? COULD I HAVE DONE THIS?....... Nnnnno. Creepers jeepers, no. But in all fairness, I hadda say it. Flagboy goes now.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Grateful for Abe and Gel and other stuff
Here are some of the smaller things I am thankful for as we head into the season.1) Styling gel. I hate styling gel, but I despise windjammer-hair. I consider gel to be the equivalent of swamp slime. Rancid mayonnaise. Guacamole. But, where would we be without it? I would cheerfully shave my head the way Unca George does, but... I'm a pinhead. George has a nice round soccer ball cranium. I have a ridge atop my skull. I'm surprised that it doesn't go all the way down my back like Godzilla. (Another thing to be thankful for.)I have a dickens of a time finding gel with a holding power of "10" for less than $2. But it can be done. Walmart. Lowest shelf. Hidden waaaay behind the kangaroo. Labella's. Soon to be obsolete, I'm afraid. Anything with a holding power of ''9" or lower isn't really gel. More like jel-ly. Strawberry preserves. Karo syrup.You may also want to avoid the really hard stuff. (No, we're not drinkin' it.) My hairdresser/commontator, Shala, uses some concrete/mortar mix. She cuts it, "warshes" it and spikes the bejeebers out of it. If I forget later in the day and touch it I get several bloody puncture wounds.
Some folks lie in their teeth by saying "I love your spikes. Why don't you keep it that way?" I reply, "Uh, my hair grows really fast and after 4 or 5 days I would start looking like Don king." While that is true, my real reason for not spiking is the probable cost of the cool stuff. I don't even ask Shala such dumb questions as "how much?"
2) Abe Lincoln. I'm a "Big Abe" fan. I am so happy that he gave the world the Constipation Emancipation Proclamation. I wonder what "slightly aging" folks did before he came along. For me, about every six weeks or so, he saves me, along with an assist from the "Fleet" company. Enough on that already.
3) I am grateful for everyone in my world who provides me with blogs, facebooks, pictures, e-mails and other e-stuff. I laugh when Grammy, also known as Deenie or Maudeen, calls Facebook "Faceplate". I'm sure she'll get past it.........d'Pa
Monday, November 3, 2008
Flagboy sez...
I can't believe I have my own blog. Someday I will learn how to do stuff on it. Meanwhile I will rely on my ghost-blogger (Stitch) to come up with sizzling humor and worthwhile commentary while crediting it all to me. Little known fact:(factoid?) b-dawg also goes by the name Emo. He does.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Hello, world! Today is the first day of my blog. Thanx to Jodi for setting it up for me! How did we get the name "Flagboy 1941"? Well, my b'day is 12/31/41.
One day about 10 years ago (no, this is not "Large Marge" from Peewee's Big Adventure) but just as scary. We were all at Deer Creek Reservoir near Heber City, Utah, water skiing. Because I was getting a bit older and slower I was assigned the task of raising the flag every time one of our skiers went down. This is done so some other boater doesn't come along, not noticing a head bobbing in the water, and remove a portion of that person's face. Well, I kept forgetting to raise the flag. Oh, did I get screamed at. By many. Often. In exasperation, my wife, Deenie, my sons Ken and Brian, my daughter Jodi and her hubby, Todd Began to call me "Flagboy". And not in kindly words. "Hey, Flagboy! Wake Up!" NOW you can visualize Large Marge's creepy face. That's how they all looked as they viciously reminded me of my duties. I will always be Flagboy and they will always be in relentless pursuit of me.
My other daughter, Barbara, has - with her Hubby, Dean and their three-year-old Eli - become true modern day pioneers, moving to a remote mountain-top between Strawberry Reservoir and Duchesne, Utah. They have scratched out a terrific homestead in the forest. They have a view of the Uintah Mountains. It has been easy for them. They haven't had to work more than 17 or 18 hours per day for these many, many months. We are so proud of them.
The grandkids are Amanda, (Mike) and their children, Lynzi, Kaydence and Quintin; Cody, our California Connection, (we miss him a lot); Ben, (Shelly) and Skyler; Alicia, (Mike) and Shalyn, and the twins, ------- and -------. Also, Darren, an LDS missionary in Samara, Russia, Elora, Connor and Larissa.
Deenie, also known by her actual name, Maudeen, and I are retired and living in Holladay, Utah.
I grew up in the crown of the Rocky mountains, in Alma, CO, near Leadville and Breckenridge. Alma, at 10,500 feet, is the highest incorporated town in the U. S. or Canada. I always joke that the air is so thin and oxygen depleted up there that this is why my brain never developed. No one ever seems to laugh at this joke, merely staring at me in profound pity. I don't get it.
Maudeen grew up in Price, Utah, and still has friends and family in Price.
One day about 10 years ago (no, this is not "Large Marge" from Peewee's Big Adventure) but just as scary. We were all at Deer Creek Reservoir near Heber City, Utah, water skiing. Because I was getting a bit older and slower I was assigned the task of raising the flag every time one of our skiers went down. This is done so some other boater doesn't come along, not noticing a head bobbing in the water, and remove a portion of that person's face. Well, I kept forgetting to raise the flag. Oh, did I get screamed at. By many. Often. In exasperation, my wife, Deenie, my sons Ken and Brian, my daughter Jodi and her hubby, Todd Began to call me "Flagboy". And not in kindly words. "Hey, Flagboy! Wake Up!" NOW you can visualize Large Marge's creepy face. That's how they all looked as they viciously reminded me of my duties. I will always be Flagboy and they will always be in relentless pursuit of me.
My other daughter, Barbara, has - with her Hubby, Dean and their three-year-old Eli - become true modern day pioneers, moving to a remote mountain-top between Strawberry Reservoir and Duchesne, Utah. They have scratched out a terrific homestead in the forest. They have a view of the Uintah Mountains. It has been easy for them. They haven't had to work more than 17 or 18 hours per day for these many, many months. We are so proud of them.
The grandkids are Amanda, (Mike) and their children, Lynzi, Kaydence and Quintin; Cody, our California Connection, (we miss him a lot); Ben, (Shelly) and Skyler; Alicia, (Mike) and Shalyn, and the twins, ------- and -------. Also, Darren, an LDS missionary in Samara, Russia, Elora, Connor and Larissa.
Deenie, also known by her actual name, Maudeen, and I are retired and living in Holladay, Utah.
I grew up in the crown of the Rocky mountains, in Alma, CO, near Leadville and Breckenridge. Alma, at 10,500 feet, is the highest incorporated town in the U. S. or Canada. I always joke that the air is so thin and oxygen depleted up there that this is why my brain never developed. No one ever seems to laugh at this joke, merely staring at me in profound pity. I don't get it.
Maudeen grew up in Price, Utah, and still has friends and family in Price.
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