This T-shirt

of  Lydia's says it all.

Lydia has to be the most patient sister in the world.  She sits through ball games all summer for her three oldest brothers.  When Marshall is old enough, that will make four brothers she is following.  That's why we felt she needed a little girl pampering.

She is a delight!

Remember the

Adventures of Flat Eliza?

Well, this week we will follow the adventures of "Real Lydia."

She arrived by air tonight, all by herself.

 Where she was greeted excitedly by Us.

She arrived at Bunny Hollow Bed and Breakfast at about 10:30 pm,

Where she tried out the amenities in her room

(like the vibrating chair pad).

  That is until Grandpa took it over,

and we had to kick him out so she could go to bed.

Some of the things I've been doing

over the weekend . . .

Refinishing the chair dad made.

 Celebrating Charlene and Greg's 125th (combined birthdays)

 

 

 Experimenting with S'more's cupcakes

Exhibiting a little OCD with making  Key Fobs

Going to a wedding reception; cleaning the deep for when we get the new furnace on Monday; going to Shawn's missionary farewell (great talk Shawn!); feeling inspired from the Relief Society lesson on using inspiration to help us in all we do; making Strawberry cupcakes (new favorite strawberry frosting I'll share), having dinner with Natalie; enjoying a visit with Gary and Cammie, and . . .  I can't remember what else.  

I've moved on.

I went to lunch with the "lunch bunch" on Thursday and I was telling them about the new fireworks restrictions.  They are all neighbors and friends and usually come to the annual fireworks show.   After I was done spouting off, one of them said, "That's the maddest I've ever seen your face."  (Maybe I was overacting a little?)  My biggest frustration was knowing that Lydia was so excited to be here for the our "Stadium of Fire." 

But, I've let it go, and don't have a mad face anymore. We do have a possible interim plan.  That is to move everything over to the grade school.  It's only a block away and in the non-restricted zone.   If that can't work, then at the very least we'll have a cupcake party and sparklers. We do have tickets to the real "Stadium of Fire" on Saturday, so at least Lydia can look forward to that. 

(Now that I've come to terms with this earth shattering problem, I think I can move on to less important matters)

Wouldn't you know it..

This is the first year that Utah has legalized (most of) the fireworks that we've had at our Ashton Stadium of Fire.  We were very excited.   That is until tonight, when Big Red (aka John Roylance) sent Gary a picture of the "No Fireworks" sign that was just posted on our block. 

WHAT?????!!!

I've already started the cupcakes.  

Lydia is coming in and very excited for the big show.  

And now they've changed the boundaries of where fireworks are legal??!!

We are really bummed.  

(Excuse the language, but this is a big deal.)  

We'll explore other possibilities, but it just won't be the same.  

What to do?  I'm taking this very personally, if you can't tell.

After Gary

had been teaching at Provo High for 7 years, he took a sabbatical leave and went back to school to get his Master's Degree.   He took classes full time the first year, and just part time for the next five years following that. He became part of a study group with other men who ended up being great friends with each other. 

Because Gary was at least 7 years older than them, he was the only one who was married, had children, and had a home.  So, they spent many hours late into the night discussing their projects.  They will readily agree, however, that what they spent most of their time doing was calculating what they would have to score on the final exam to still get an 'A' for the class.

After graduation, the others went straight to work at Word Perfect and were very successful climbing the corporate ladder.  Gary went back and taught school for 8 more years before he finally took the jump to work with them at Word Perfect and then Novell.    When lay-offs came at different times, those who had been there from the beginning ended up coming out pretty well financially.  Gary had only been there 10 years, so we felt blessed when a position in Education opened up at Timpview on the very day he was laid off.

They've gotten together through the years to play golf or go to lunch.  On Sunday they got together again, this time because one of them, Paul, has been called to be a mission president and it was his farewell.
Seeing them together again was fun and nostalgic.  They still have the same camaraderie and interests.  I remember Paul coming to the house to see Gary one day just shortly after we adopted Natalie.  I can still see his face when I went to the door holding her.    He looked somewhat confused, and I could tell he didn't know quite what to say because he hadn't thought I was expecting a baby.  It has been fun to see them get married and raise their children.

 After the farewell we stopped by to see Gary and Lynn.  

Gary is home and doing great, and the house is looking wonderful.  

Then we came home and let Gary ring the bell and order us around.  

He got nice notes written by the Bishops, an e-book from the Idiarts,

and a gift card (to take me out) from Natalie.

 Natalie made us a "mean" egg breakfast burrito,

with eggs, potatoes, cheese, and seasoning.

I gave Gary a disc (frisbee) golf set, that he is a little hesitant about.  He's not sure we'll really use them.   But, Jean said that Jared has become an addict to disc golf, and that she thinks we would enjoy it.    Maybe if he knew he could whip Jared at it, he will become more motivated.

Somewhere in

my piles of papers, there is a copy of a talk I gave on father's day 25 years ago.  I hope to find it and record it here on my blog, but it will take some time to find it (organization issues once again!).  But, as I searched the computer to see if I had a digital copy, I ran across this tribute written by my brother, Richard.  He read it at a Hall family reunion where the In-laws were honored.   This tribute represents Dad very well.  Thanks, Richard.

                                                     

GOLDEN S. ANDERSON, 1914-1993

Biographical Sketch

Golden was born in Provo, Utah, in 1914, the last of nine children. At the time, his father was a fruit farmer with orchards on the Provo Bench (now Orem).  As ill-fate would have it, the bottom fell out of the peach market around the time of Golden’s birth and his family lost everything.  As a result, a year later, following a two-hundred mile, nine-day wagon trip, trailing two horses and a cow,  infant Golden and family found themselves homesteading a 160 acre piece of undeveloped land in southwest Wyoming, living through a cold winter in a tent while the father and older brothers literally built log walls and a roof around it.  The log house where Golden spent his boyhood still stands in the small community, composed of a dozen or so other homesteading Mormon families, later to be called McKinnon, Wyoming.  Much later in life, Golden, Charlet, and some of their children, would periodically make a journey to McKinnon to visit acquaintances who still remained, see the old log house in the hills, and pay a visit to the grave of Golden’s mother in the small cemetery there.

Living on that ranch in McKinnon until he was sixteen, Golden was obviously no stranger to hard work in his youth.  Nor to isolation.  All but one of his siblings were considerably older than Golden (and would, furthermore, hightail it out of Mckinnon as soon as possible).  And the nearest neighbors were a mile away.  So opportunities for childhood play and to be with children of his age were provided mainly by the schooling available there (five boys and one girl in his class) and Sunday church services, both held in private homes until a small schoolhouse, eventually built, served both purposes. 

When in 1930 his mother contracted pneumonia and died, only two members of the large family remained at home, Golden, age 15, and his father.  Each, in personal writings, speaks of the other’s great difficulty with the loss of wife and mother.  Golden speaks of his father’s great love for his wife and his heartbreak.  His father speaks of Golden’s heartbreak and loneliness.

His children hate to imagine what pain the loss of his mother meant to Golden and how difficult that following year must have been before he left Mckinnon at age sixteen to live with his oldest brother, Thomas Levar,  and family, first in Ogden, Utah, then in Salt Lake City, where he completed the 11^th grade at West High School and worked part time for Western Union, delivering telegrams around the city on a bike.

Golden then returned to McKinnon for two years to help his father on the ranch, a rough couple of years, for sure.  In 1933, Golden joined the Civilian Conservation Corps., a grand pet project of recently-elected FDR to help deal with the large and growing tide of depression-time unemployment among young American men.  In his stint with the CCC, Golden lived in a camp of army tents on the shore of Jackson Lake, helping clear timber for a new road, and, on the side, got his feet wet in amateur boxing.

Later that year, Golden once again went to live with his oldest brother and family, who by then had moved from Salt Lake City to Springville.  He had two main objectives for his stay in Springville: one, to finish high school, and two, to continue making a living for himself.  He would meet both objectives by working when he could find it, and attending high school when he couldn’t.  One vacation from school was a job with the pipe mill in Springville, and another was part of a winter in Boulder City, Nevada, where Hoover Dam was under construction. 

When he was not on a full-time job, he would attend Springville High School.  And here, of course, begins the story of the rest of his life.  Enter...the Hall family B E. Owen, Pearl, and the five famous (infamous?) HALL SISTERS.  In particular, in his case, the middle one.  No wonder he was intoxicated by her.  What a different world she represented from his.  What different backgrounds.  He was dashing, to be sure, older and devilishly handsome.  But who was this young woman in his class, this Charlet Hall? Spirted, smart as a whip, mischievous, fun-loving, and from a background of normal, healthy family life, giggly, privileged, apparently well-to-do in depression-time America, big house on the hill with a front-porch swing.  No wonder he fell flat-face for her, with a devotion that lasted the rest of his life.

Their courtship went on a couple of years, on again, off again, Golden back to McKinnon for a while, working here and there, finishing high school classes; Charlet to Salt Lake for a while, attending LDS Business College.  Golden found a job on the railroad in Green River, Wyoming, but it didn’t last, and missing Charlet, he returned to Springville.  Intent on marriage, the big event took place in early 1937. Charlet’s father, Dad Hall, Superintendent of Transportation at Ironton, provided a recommendation for Golden that landed him a job at the steel plant in Pittsburg, California, to which he at first hitch-hiked, Charlet following later by more customary means.  Later that year, however, Golden was called back up for his previous railroad job, and wanting to be closer to home, he accepted the offer and they moved back to Green River, Wyoming, where they lived for the next six years, and where Gary and Richard were born.

Preferring, however, to raise a family in Utah valley (and so Charlet could be closer to her parents and sisters), when the defense department built a steel plant there to assist the war effort, they gladly relocated to Provo, where Golden worked in the railroad transportation department of the new plant as linesman, switchmen, and conductor, until, a year later, the war ended and the plant closed.  Golden was unemployed once again, and for a year scratched out a living on part-time jobs and borrowed money.  Hard financial times ended for the rest of Golden and Charlet’s life, however, when US Steel Co. bought the new but abandoned steel plant, now named Geneva, and, because of his considerable experience with the railroad, hired Golden as a foreman, a yardmaster, for the transportation operation of the plant, a position Golden retired from some thirty years later.                                                                                                                               

A few of Golden’s chief hobbies, interests, and personality traits

Golden had a strong creative tendency and an eye for beauty.  An early expression of these tendencies, remembered only by his older children, was a hobby he pursued for a short while of painting small china dolls.  These were figurines of women, eight to twelve inches tall or so, usually in elegant gowns and accessories.  He would buy them at craft shops in raw, white china, paint and then shellac them into beautiful finished products.  We remember the tiniest of brushes and the many tubes and bottles of colored paint for skin, lips, eyes, lashes, gowns, hats, sashes, gloves, shoes.  Whatever happened to those beautiful creations, I would like to know?

   China dolls laid aside, his creative drive never was. 

Mr.  Prothero, as he was known to us, Uncle Walt’s father who lived upstairs in the Prothero’s home on 4^th West in Provo, had a rather full woodworker’s shop set up in their garage B all the different saws, drills, sanders, and lathes a serious woodworker would want.  Golden was welcomed by the Prothero's into the shop, where, besides getting to know Mr. Prothero rather well, he learned all the intricate skills needed to become a skilled craftsman of wood furniture.  Later, following Mr. Prothero’s death, his family generously granted Golden possession of a good number of the machines and tools he had learned to use in their shop, which he then set up in a basement room of our house on Cedar Ave. as the foundation of his own shop.  Fully for half his life, Golden found gratifying and creative use of spare time in his shop, designing, then building and finely finishing beautiful furniture for our home, and later, when the kids left home, for theirs.  All of his children now have in our own homes cherished pieces of woodwork: dressers, china closets, hutches, desks.       

Late in his life, he discovered oil painting.  He spent endless creative hours in retirement painting, then repainting lovely landscapes.  It was as if Golden would be unsettled, restless, unless he was engaged in some kind of artistic creation or another. 

 Related to his artistic temperament, I’m sure, is the fact that Golden was a genuine Romantic.  A romantic sees things through rose-colored lenses, sees beauty in people and things where others might not, is an idealist, seeing and wishing things as they should be, not as they often are.  Romantics favor mercy over justice.  Golden was once promoted to General Yardmaster over transportation at Geneva, a position involving a raise in pay as well as greater authority, but he stepped back down to shift yardmaster when he realized it also involved firing workers whose performance was sub-par, something that went strongly against his democratic, romantic disposition.  Charlet, much more a realist, who, in respect to romanticism,  in fact, very much Golden’s counterpoint and balancing force, was particularly and often at odds with him for his Madonna perception of the fairer sex, his unflagging idealization of women.  Her face would often turn crimson when she spoke of his gullibility toward them.

The relative solitude Golden grew accustomed to as a boy in Wyoming remained a primary part of his life and personality.  Although he genuinely liked and trusted people, he never much cared for socializing.  He was very much a homebody, preferring small gatherings of family to large social affairs.  His hobbies, his creative endeavors, too, were not social, but solitary ones.  Perhaps all those still, quiet nights above the prairie of his boyhood home infused him with a lifelong enjoyment and love of it.

One final word about Golden's personality.  He was a gentleman in the true meaning of the word.  He was a gentle man.  His movements were gentle, graceful.  His mannerisms were gentle.  His voice and speech were gentle.  His thoughts were gentle.  There was simply nothing abrasive about this man. 

Golden always considered himself a fortunate man.

I stole this

excerpt from my brother, Tom's, blog:
 
"One of the main themes of the book ( "The Social Animal") is that our unconscious mind plays a much larger part in our lives than we have any idea. He compares the unconscious mind to the cake and the conscious to the icing on the cake. Our decisions, values, judgments, etc are mostly formed in the unconscious mind. The conscious mind just gives it a voice so to speak."  

I can relate to cake and frosting.   In fact I made 10 dozen cupcakes today, so cake and icing are very fresh on my mind.  And, I definitely like frosting the best.  So what does that mean?  That frosting represents the voice of my subconscious?  I'm going to have to think about it some more, or read the book.

I think Tom is trying to confuse me even more than I already am.

(In case someone is wondering why in the world I'm making so many cupcakes, I made two dozen for someone who ordered them and the rest are in preparation for our "Ashton Stadium of Fire") 

"Spiritual

OATS" was the topic of a talk given in our Stake Conference a while back.  I didn't remember it, but then our Relief Society President gave a lesson on it and challenged us all to eat our oats for breakfast and have our spiritual OATS every day.

I've been doing it for the last two days, and I like it.  It gives me direction and purpose in reading. I often have a hard time reading the scriptures, because there is not a beginning and an end to it's purpose.  (You know, that never-ending problem I have of wanting to check off a list and have a feeling that everything is done.)  But completeness is impossible in reading the scriptures and in life, because there is always more to learn and more experiences to work though.

Anyway, this is what it stands for:

O -- obedience
A -- atonement
T --  testimony
S -- service

So I just started in the topical guide with the first scripture references given, and each day I'm progressing through them and writing my thoughts about what they say.   For instance, the first reference for obedience refers to Noah and his obedience in building the ark.  My written comments are that I'm not faced with showing that kind of  faith and obedience.   I'm just faced with making choices as to how I handle situations in my life.

It's nothing profound, but it is something.  I have keep myself focused, though.  My mind tends to wander off on thoughts of making cute little bookmarks with ribbons attached for marking my place.  And then I start thinking about getting color coded pencils for marking passages that relate to each letter, like red for "obedience, blue for "atonement," etc.

But so far I have stayed focused on the content and purpose.  I'm not sure how long it will last, because that color coding and bookmarking sounds pretty fun.  And, it would help me stay more organized don't you think?

"Dr Ross

Dog food is dog-gone Good!

WOOF!"

We heard that 50's commercial more than a few times in Missouri. 
Gary, Dan, and the three older kids were all driving home in one car and were laughing when we met up with them.  Gary had been entertaining them the whole drive with jingles or one-liners from old commercials.  As anyone who knows Gary can testify, if you get him started and encourage him with your laughter, he really gets on a roll. 

Here are some classics we heard from him and then from the kids.   (I think it was a very wise law that banned cigarette commercials.  These three stuck with Gary, even though he's not a smoker.)

"Winston tastes good (smack, smack) 

like a cigarette should."

  
"I'd rather fight than switch!"

This was probably the kids favorite:

"Bryl-creem, a little dab'll do ya,

Bryl-creem, you'll look so debonair.

Bryl-creem, the gals will all pursue ya,

They'll love to RUN their fingers through your hair."

 

 I'll end with this classic theme song.  

If you don't know the words, you were born after 1965.

 Come and listen to a story about a man named Jed

A poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed,
Then one day he was shootin at some food,
And up through the ground came a bubblin crude.

Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea.

Well the first thing you know ol Jed's a millionaire,
Kinfolk said "Jed move away from there"
Said "Californy is the place you ought to be"
So they loaded up the truck and moved to Beverly.

Hills, that is. Swimmin pools, movie stars . . .

We went to the

movie, "17 Miracles" today.  We were interested in seeing it, not only because of the story, but because our friend and neighbor is an actor in it.  It was a beautifully done movie, that forcefully reminded me of the sacrifices made by many people of great faith.  

The movie depicts experiences from the Willie-Martin Handcart Company, one of the many handcart companies that came west across America.  Many of them were immigrants from Europe and had already suffered much hardship in their journeys.  But their purpose was to establish a settlement, free from persecution, for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  I have ancestors who traveled from Scotland and were part of the handcart exodus.  They were not part of the Willie-Martin Handcart company, but I'm sure they had experiences much like those depicted in the movie. 

I've heard and read of pioneer experiences, but seeing it brought to life in the movie made it more real to me.  Although, "more real" is actually a relative term.   Because, honestly, I cannot fathom how they did it.   The physical hardships of starvation, exhaustion, extreme weather, along with the emotional loss of losing loved ones, just seems like it would be too much to bear.

I'm afraid I would have lasted about one day, had I even been willing to go at all.  I've often said, when I talk of ancestors who were pioneers, that I can't believe I'm related to anyone who had the strength to do it.  Just last week in Missouri, when I was walking short distances in the 100 degree heat, I thought of them.  Here I was, physically dragging, as I walked around Six Flags Resort being entertained.    Hardly a comparison to ancestors who were driven from Nauvoo or made the trek across the country in covered wagons or handcarts.

I guess the answer lies in the title of the movie.  

They had great faith, and faith precedes the Miracles.  

They wouldn't have made it without the Miracles, 

and the Miracles came because of the faith.  

I'm just go grateful that  I wasn't born at a time when I had to show my faith in that way.   And I'm also very grateful for those who did.    

Fun and more

fun, most of it in the SUN.

Jackson's team won both tournaments they were in.

And, the excellent batboys, Harrison and Hyrum, got trophies, too.

Here is Hyrum, #99, as catcher and then at bat.

Harrison at bat

 Random shots from the week.

 Gary fighting Jackson for a chance to use the mower.

He won out eventually

 

 Heading to Six Flags

Unfortunately, I got a little too much sun and got a little heat exhaustion and dehydration.  Fortunately I didn't feel the effects of it until the last couple of days, I felt badly I had to miss one of Jackson's games where he pitched the whole game with no hits.  Hyrum was a very thoughtful and good babysitter for me when I had to miss out and stay home.

Gary commented to me that he couldn't believe he had a grandson old enough to play on a regulation baseball field.  I feel the same way, not about the field, but that I have 9 grandchildren who are so individual and amazing.  It brings tears to my eyes. 

It all began when

we pulled out of the driveway and Gary said, 

"I hope this isn't an ill-fated trip."   

Actually the story began before that, when Misty asked me to help her plant her front flower garden.  I suggested we get some big rocks to add to the height and character. 

All went well as we traveled down to a creek bed outside of Jonesburg.  We spotted several very large rocks as we traveled the gravel roads, but we kept going as we sought the perfect rocks.  We came to little stream that crossed the road and felt we could navigate it with no problem.  Well, that is where the "ill-fated" part of the trip started. 

After much trial and tribulation, we realized that we needed help.  We called Dan at work, who then drove home (45 minute drive) to pick up his Dad and his Dad's truck, and made their way out to our destination.

In the meantime, we didn't let a little stuck car ruin our fun.  During the three hours we waited, the kids made "lemonade out of lemons," and in fact had a great time. 

Jackson, who claims to have a "Masters Degree" in "Rock Skipping,"

showed us the finer arts of picking the perfect rock.

take notice of the rock I'm sitting on,

you'll see it at the end of the story.

We were very happy when our

  fearless and much appreciated help arrived.

After much analyzing,

it was determined that pulling it out backwards 

would be the best approach.

Ahh, a sigh of relief.

I thought Misty was kind of pushing her luck 

when she insisted that we load the truck with rocks.  

But she is a very determined woman.

We weren't quite out of the woods yet, though.

As we started down the road,  

Dan noticed that the car was driving a little bumpy,

even for traveling on a gravel road.

 Marshall just "hung loose," and 

was pretty unfazed by the whole event.

Fast forward to today.

Here are Misty and I sitting on that same rock,

only this time it's in her garden bed.

Was it worth it?

Well, I guess it depends on who you ask.

(Gary says I'm putting way too positive of a spin on it)