A Note on Girl's Camp

The Wife is absolutely no camper. Her idea of camping is a Howard Johnson with only a double bed and no continental breakfast. Beyond that, she is so far out of her element that it borders on very comical. So imagine my delight at learning that she has been called to be a Girl's Camp director in charge of the survival hike for the young girls in our religious congregation. Yep, that's right, the Wife and the Teenager under the stars living on MRE's, beef jerky and granola. Well, the hike (9 miles) and the night in the tent on the rock hard ground took place this week and the Wife survived.

Well, survived is putting it generously. She still can't walk fully upright and she hasn't stopped cussing for the last several days, but she is slowly getting off the ibuprofin. Ahhhhh, the joys of Girl's Camp.

P.S. She claims her girls ate the best meals. BTW...The Teenager went on the hike in Houston and found out that hiking in Houston involves sidewalks and ice cream vendors.

A Note on Memories

On a little different tack today, I wanted to talk about memories (not the cheesy, all-too-common, Doritos-and-Pepsi-at-the-party kind of memories, but the truly influential, important memories that we share with people that really matter in our lives).

Brianna recently wrote of some of the memories she shared with a friend whose husband just passed away. It got me thinking of the wonderful people in my life that have shared so much with me over the years. I think sometimes that I take those memories for granted. I take for granted that my best friend in high school helped me save a kid who had broken his hip and had gone into shock after falling from a 60-ft cliff into the Snake River. I forget that my first kiss was with a wonderfully charming young lady whose mother was killed in a car wreck only a year after that first kiss. I forget that one of my co-workers at Fendi went to bat for me when I really needed her to.

I guess I sometimes take for granted the sacrifices that my friends and acquaintances have made for me over the years. I sometimes forget that they struggle with life just like I do. I have lost contact with the friends I mentioned earlier. I hear through the grapevine how they are doing, but I rarely find it in me to seek them out and give them a friendly greeting or a slap on the back.

I will be better.

I hope you, too, will be better.

A Note on Frying in the Sun

So, I guess I'd better give an update of the job situation. So far, so good, but the Wife and the Wizard are both concerned about my well-being. And I kind of empathize with them.

Exhibit A:

Thursday of this week, I went out to Sand Hollow, a local reservoir, and was involved in a monitoring situation on a project that is set to begin construction within the next six or eight months. We were there to insure that no culturally sensitive areas were disturbed by the test drilling of a soils testing firm. All went pretty well, except when the backhoe guy may or may not have driven through a site. We were monitoring but he wasn't paying attention to us. The problem arose from the fact that it was nearly 110 degrees and we were walking around in soft red sand for hours on end. I am a fat man! The sun and I have a tenuous relationship at best, and I have to go out there for hours on end? The Wife and the Wizard are convinced I am going to die. I wasn't convinced of that until...

Exhibit B:

Friday of this week, we went and surveyed a power line project that stretches nearly four miles along the choppiest, up-and-down terrain out here amidst sandstone fins and outcroppings. Add to that the 110-degree temperature for the second straight day and the fat man was in bad shape. I really did start seeing mirages and they were all of the Wizard telling me to get in better shape. It was miserably painful, but I survived and even enjoyed the experience in a sick and twisted way. I am, however, starting to see their side of the argument.

This week:

Office work. I can put to rest the questions for at least another week.

On a side note, the teenager returned from her dad's house last night and all is well again here at the Castle. It's her birthday today (she turned 15!). Happy Birthday, Teenager!

A Memory of Crushes

My little Touchdown has her first boyfriend. He's a nice young man of about 4, so she likes older men. He's in our church congregation but they are in different Sunday School classes (Primary), but that doesn't stop her from blushing and waving to him. Today she actually tripped over the curb because she was ogling him from afar. It really is quite amusing.

I think he likes her, too. They barked like dogs during the church service today so that must mean something, right? She actually behaved very well during church to impress him.

I remember my first crush. I was a little older than Touchdown and I liked this girl named Paula. She could run really fast and that was quite an attractive feature for me. I don't think she ever knew that I liked her though as it was a secret. I can't imagine how embarrassed I would have been if any of the guys thought I liked girls back in those days. They had cooties for sure.

A Note on Water Glyphs

I don't want to sound like an archaeology snob, but I went out yesterday on the second field day of my career and found some fun things. We stumbled across a perfect arrowhead and then we discovered what they are calling a water glyph. It is talked about in some detail here, but there is really little consensus on what they mean. It is really a fascinating little anomoly and one that warrants some study.

As for the family, the Wife is doing fine and she has us attending a play tomorrow at Tuacahn. So, we shall be sitting at an outdoor theater in 95 degree temperatures watching "South Pacific" tomorrow at about 8:30. Wish me good luck.

A Note on the Other Indy

As many of you know, I am a bit of an archaeology buff and have been to about 30 Mayan sites and last year the girls and I went to Mesa Verde on an archaeology tour of sorts. Well, I have an anthropology degree from the University of Utah and, although I love it so much, I never really thought much about the possibility of persuing a career in that field. I always just thought it would be a hobby of sorts. In fact, I stopped applying for Forest Service jobs and BLM jobs several years ago.

Fast forward to this week. The Wife is planning a hike for Girl's Camp for the Teenager and herself and needed to talk to the Camp Director (a lady from our neighborhood and a member of our religious congregation). In the course of the conversation, both women lament the fact that their husbands are archaeology geeks and that their husbands' interests are sooooooo boring. They both laughed before the Camp Director lady confided that her husband is an actual archaeologist and is, in fact, looking for someone to hire on to help him with his business.

The plotters conspired and the archaeologist guy called me and invited me on a survey. I went. I almost died of exhaustion. He liked my work (I guess) and offered me a job.

So, anyway, today I am a professional archaeologist. Go figure. The whole thing has been such a remarkable blessing. I am Indiana Jones.

A Note on Senility

What really bugs me is when my increasingly senile parents beat me in Canasta.

It's not that they beat me, it's how they beat me. My mother suddenly discovers she had an extra ace hiding behind that 4 or my father finally figures out he has three of a kind sitting in his hand the whole time. Neither one of them remembers their glasses when they come over so they have to sit and hold their cards at arms-length just to see them and then they often can't tell the difference between the cards. You would think we should be able to defeat them at will and yet somehow they manage to sneak victory from the hands of defeat all the time. Tonight's tally. Old folks--2, King and Queen--1.

I can just see my father gloating as he reads this. I think I'm going to be sick.

A Note on Balls

So Baby Indy is turning into Little Dude Indy and he is starting to talk quite a bit. He is already running all over the place and getting into the toilet paper and pulling his sister's hair. Here are a few observations about Little Dude Indy.

13,576--The number of times he says the word "Ball" in a given day.
4--The number of times he says "Potty" in the same day (he's pretty regular).
253--The number of times he screams like a girl imitating his sister in a given day.
15--The number of times he pulls his sister's hair making her scream in a given day.
7--The number of times he pulls all of my books off the bookcase in a given week.
7--The number of times the King loses his mind in a given week.
14--The number of times the King's lovely wife loses her mind in a given week.
14--The number of times a hug by Little Dude Indy placates the King's wife in a given week.

He's such a mama's boy.

A List of 1933

Okay, so I am caught up in writing these books about my grandmothers. I just finished one that can be found at my Publishing Page in my blogroll and I am now doing a similar project about my Grandma Dorothy (Surprise, Wizard!).

Anyway, I have been snooping around in her journal and have come across a few doozies from 1933 (when she was just 15). Here are a few observations.

1. My Grandmother ate shrimp in 1933 in Blanding, Utah (How did it get there of all places?).
2. Kids were enamored with riding in someone's vehicle in 1933.
3. There was a dance or a cotillion at least twice a week.
4. Listening to the radio was a favorite pastime of nearly every kid in 1933.
5. They had strange names in 1933 (so far I've found Ven, Kerm, Clessa, Clyn, Pep, and DeMar).
6. Sewing and making supper occupied a lot of every day.
7. My grandfather went to sheep camp a lot of the time.
8. Kids really weren't that different than they are now.
9. My grandmother hung out at the post office alot.
10. Journals really aren't that interesting.