Casper Blog, The

Oooo Look! It's Flashing!

2012-02-04T20:31:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I took Driver's Ed (something like 20 years). It's been less time since I took traffic school (probably somewhere around 8 years). It's only been about 2 years since I took a 2-month course in commercial driving. And in all of those educative experiences we learned about signs and rules and what specific colors on the street lights meant. We learned how to treat a four-way stop, and as such learned that the meaning of "Right-of-Way" actually meant that in a tie, the person to the right had the right to go first.

We learned, back then, how to treat a street light that was out or obviously malfunctioning. We learned that a red arrow meant "Don't turn." If it was pointing left, it meant don't turn left. If pointing right, it meant "Don't turn right - even if the guy behind you is honking (you'll get the ticket if you run it, not him, so let him honk)."

We learned that green means go, red means stop, and yellow means (ha ha) go faster or - more responsibly - use caution.

What I never learned, and surprisingly not I nor anybody I've asked, has been summoned to a Driver's Ed refresher course to teach us how to deal with the following changes - despite how useful such refreshers would be in the evolving urban nightmare that UDOT (I include city planners and whoever else it is that blows our tax dollars on experiments) has begun forcing on the Salt Lake Valley.

Continuous Flow Intersections (CFIs) - so named to mislead the people with the money into forking out large enough sums to pay for the destruction of corner homes and businesses, while simultaneously providing months and years of construction work (ie. traffic congestion, narrowed lanes, construction zone speed limits, etc.) and ensuring years of confusion amongst out-of-towners, elderly drivers, and people who just plain missed the "on-ramp" light for their left turn a quarter-mile down the road. Another benefit provided by CFIs is the renovated "No Right Turn" light (a bright white outline of an arrow with an impressive red circle and line crossing through it) - a red right-turn arrow isn't enough, even UDOT agreed, to ensure people no longer try to turn right at an intersection. So now you can't turn right on a red, and you get to wait for your left turn from further away. There is probably some benefit somewhere, but methinks it's mostly a benefit to somebody writing off something somewhere, or padding their resume with "I conceived of the plan to rebuild the entire traffic-system in the Salt Lake Valley, and successfully convinced them to do it."
Mostly the above.
And third, Flashing Yellow Left-Turn Arrows.

That's right. We have flashing yellow left-turn arrows peppered around the valley. Why, you ask? Let me tell you why! So that we know to use caution when turning left at an intersection!

As I typed the above, I realized that there is more to it than that - obviously everybody knows that you have to use caution before turning left on a solid green light. In fact that is why I started this rant. I was kind of annoyed that they were changing perfectly good, working solid greens with flashing yellows that didn't change anything about how you turn left.

But now I get it. Let me share my epiphany.

You see, the planners are so dead-set on converting every intersection in Utah into an arterial joke, that they are concerned people will forget how to safely wait for an opening in on-coming traffic before turning left at the few intersections they can't convert. We're to become so familiar with the Crazy Flow Intersections, and their magical ability to let through-traffic flow at the same time that left-turners are making their turns, that we will eventually think a solid green light always means "go for it!!"

We really are a stupid breed, I guess. Good thing the smarty-pants in charge are ahead of the curve and compassionate enough to look out for the rest of us tards. Phew! I guess I should just relax, stare contentedly at the flashing yellow light, and hope for an opening before the drool spills down my shirt.

Thomas Healy - See You On the Other Side

2012-01-26T09:57:00.002-07:00

Thomas Charles Healy

September 19, 1953-January 24, 2012

Thomas Charles Healy left this earth peacefully after a 2 month battlewith cancer, on January 24, 2012. Tom was born on September 19, 1953 in SaltLake City, UT to Melvin and Mary Jane Healy.

Tom graduated from Kearns High School in 1972. He married Lynda JoyceDuffin on July 13, 1973. They were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple on July 13,1983. Tom retired from Concrete Products Company. He spent his retirement withhis grandchildren, and serving in the Jordan River, and Oquirrh MountainTemples. He served faithfully in the church as a dedicated Home Teacher, HighCouncilman, Bishopric Member, Stake Sunday School Presidency, and the EmergencyPreparedness Committee.

Tom is survived by his wife Lynda Healy; children Chad (Patti) Healy,Michelle (Blake) Draper, Tammy (Steve) Casper; 6 grandchildren Cordelia,Garrett, Madison, Cameron, Ethan, and Sorella; mother Mary Jane Healy, andbrothers Melvin (Drena) Healy and Victory Healy. Preceded in death by hisfather Melvin Healy

Funeral Services will be held on Saturday, January 28^th at11:00 AM at the LDS Meetinghouse at 6364 S 3200 W, West Jordan, UT. A viewingwill be held on Friday, January 27^th from 6 to 8 PM and one hourprior to services, also at the church.

In lieu of flowers, and in honor of Tom’s love for temple service,please donate to the LDS Temple fund.

Arrangements entrusted to Starks Funeral Parlor. Online condolences maybe offered to the family at www.starksfuneral.com.

Year End Pictures

2011-12-27T17:29:00.001-07:00

It's been a while since my last post, and in a way I feel super bad about it.

But in another way I feel okay about it. Because I've been super busy. This particular post is another of my famous "touching base" posts.Cordelia is doing great, Sorella is getting big, Tammy is enjoying Winter Recess, and I'm... well, I'm happy to be employed.

And now, what we're really here for: Pictures!

And this one from Halloween:

And I've got a video I want to upload, but it's going to take a little editing which I just don't have time for in this very moment.

Anyway, I hope you all had a merry Christmas and wish you all a safe and fun new year!

Scripture Mastery

2011-11-11T15:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, so the ward Primary Program is this Sunday - for those who read this and are not LDS or not familiar with what a Primary Program is, let me explain:

Every year the ward (church group) puts on a program during the portion of Sunday meetings where the entire congregation is gathered together (as opposed to being in various Sunday School classes). The program consists of the Primary (children between the ages of 3 and 12) singing, giving talks, and reading scriptures to the congregation.

Last year, Cordelia was given the opportunity to participate by reading the first Article of Faith (13 articles provided by Joseph Smith to the editor of a newspaper to explain in concise terms what the LDS people believe).

The First Article is: We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.

At 3 years of age, obviously she couldn't read it, and rather than having somebody standing over her shoulder, telling her what to say, Tammy came up with the idea of actually helping Cordelia memorize it.

Which she did. We were very proud!

This year, they've given her a bit more. They gave her the assignment two weeks ago [Mosiah 3:5]. She's still learning the basics of reading, so we set out to help her memorize this one, too.

We think she's ready.

To Shave or Not To Shave

2011-10-13T11:54:00.001-06:00

I was recently surprised to learn that there are still people, reasonably educated people, who still believe that shaving causes hair to grow back thicker, fuller, faster.

Adult people who have gone to college, even.

Despite there being a singular lack of logic to this belief.

Let's examine:

If shaving caused hair to grow in thicker, balding men (and women) would be wise to shave their heads to encourage thicker re-growth.

- Personal Observation: I've been shaving my head fairly regularly for close to 10 years now, and each time I let it grow back for more than a few weeks, I note that my hair, if anything, is actually thinner than it was the last time.

Assuming hair growth (or loss) is determined by genetics, then in what way does shaving cause a change to one's genetic make-up?
Assuming hair growth (or loss) is determined by diet, environment, or other non-genetic factors, how would shaving alter those non-genetic factors?

- Personal Observation: I've been shaving my face fairly regularly for about 20 years. Every time I let my beard grow for more than a week, it becomes painfully obvious that I am no closer to dressing up as Grizzly Adams or playing Santa Claus this year than I was last year.

Ultimately, I have determined that there are some reasons why people are inclined to believe in the false assertion that shaving affects the rate or fullness of hair-growth. And a quick Google-search of "Does shaving cause hair to grow?" vindicated my thoughts.

A strand of hair is thicker in the middle than it is at the [natural] end. Therefore, when you cut it, you go from having naturally thin end, to having a thicker end - giving the illusion of increased thickness
Additionally, making a comparison of a single hair to, say, a blade of grass or a length of rope, it is possible to see a characteristic shared between them. When they are short, they have a relative stiffness when compared to longer versions. This makes stubble rough and un-bending, which could be interpreted as being thicker or fuller... though it's not.

I have also developed my own considered theory as to how this particular myth was born, and why we continue to perpetuate it.

Boys
The parents of boys will almost uniformly encounter the embarrassing time when their pubescent child will decide that it's time to grow a moustache. This time will most likely come sometime between the ages of 10 and 14.

The parents of said adolescent will try to find some innocuous way to hint to their peach-fuzzy offspring that it isn't really time to grow it out. This could come in the form of a razor in a stocking at Christmas, or an elaborately wrapped birthday present. A way of stating "You are becoming a man! Here is a manly gift, a razor! If you shave, you are a man!"

This works pretty well. I know how jealous I was when my older brother got an electric shaverr at Christmas... I was sure I needed one, too. I totally would have started shaving.

This may not work if the fuzzy-faced pre-teen would rather demonstrate his manliness with actual hair, rather than with a shaver that stays in the bathroom, undisplayed to the world at large (aka all the girls at school).

Thus the LIE: "It's kind of peach-fuzzy right now, but if you shave it, it will grow in thicker and thicker. You'll just have to shave it once or twice a week (or month) and before you know it, you'll have a nice full beard!"

Girls
The parents (probably the fathers more than the mothers), in an effort to keep their girls young and innocent, forever children, never ever ever to become interested in, or the interest of, boys... at least until they are 30, use a similar tactic to forestall leg-shaving.

The LIE: "You know if you start shaving your legs now, the hair will just grow in thicker and fuller and faster. You should just leave it alone for now."

Summary
Boys want hair, so wr tell them to shave it.
Girls don't want hair, so we tell them to let it grow.
Parents are awesome.

Let's Make A Dill...

2011-09-16T19:59:00.001-06:00

or If You Don't Say Stupid Things, I Wont Mock You

How sad that Corporate America's marketing department is so in touch with the Utah marketplace that they have chosen to reinforce our horrifyingly ignernt accent. An accent which comic geniuses have been openly mocking for years and possibly (sadly) without true diehard Utahns even realizing it.

This kind of rhyme should be scoffed at heartily. Here are a couple of cringers I just made up (to illustrate):

KFC:
Where the Colonel Trod,
The chickens were Fried (frod)

H&R Block:
Need help with your Taxes?
Just come in and ask us! (axe us)

BTW, this picture was taken at Target.

9 Months In the Making

2011-09-11T13:19:00.000-06:00

Okay okay okay, so I've been a terrible blogger for a while. Well, you know what? It's hard to blog when you have big news that you don't want to spill the beans on... I mean, big news is big news, right? so if you're going to blog, you want to share the big news.

But we wanted to keep our big news a secret until we knew what gender our big news was going to be... And as we waited and I stopped blogging, it got easier and easier not to blog anything at all, even after we knew that Cordelia was going to be getting a baby sister. And so even that announcement, which should have been a much more involved blog, turned out to be nothing more than a simple video clip of Cordelia breaking the big story.

So, now that I've gotten that off my chest, let me go ahead and spill the rest of the beans.

Just over a week ago, at 11:17 PM Saturday September 3, 2011, Cordelia's baby sister arrived on the scene.

Weighing in at 7 lbs, 2 oz, Sorella Celeste Casper was 20 inches tall, and almost an identical match for her big sister's birth size and weight.

Catching everybody up on this pregnancy:

Tammy was 2 months along before we even knew she was pregnant. It took 4 different pregnancy tests and a lot of nausea to finally figure this one out. We were becoming concerned that there might have been other issues, when the PTs kept coming back negative.
This pregnancy was, in some ways, easier for Tammy than with Cordelia, and in some ways more difficult - all in all, it may have been sixes.
The 26 hour delivery of Cordelia - who was induced 18 days early - was almost certainly more difficult, overall, than the 4-5 hour delivery of Sorella, though it was not without it's own complications.

Sorella was due September 5th, my brother Shän's birthday. On Saturday, the 3rd, Shän and his family were having a barbequeue to celebrate his birthday, as well as Labor Day (which also fell on the 5th). We were invited to come over to celebrate with them - baby-issues notwithstanding.

I dragged Tammy to the store, to get her on her feet and get her some exercise, and maybe even get that baby to fall out - as she'd been hoping for an early delivery, and because the baby had been seeming to try and get out any way she could for weeks.

After shopping, Tammy lay down on the bed and told me she felt tired and weird. Weird, huh? That made me uncomfortable. But I let her take a nap for an hour or so, then I made her get ready to go to Shän's house.

She didn't want to go. A number of reasons why not: She's allergic to cats. Shän has 2 (and my dad has one more stashed away in the basement). She's 9 months pregnant and was feeling "weird". She's tired and her feet are swollen. These are very valid concerns.

My perspective: She feels weird, I'm not leaving my weird-feeling, 9-months-pregnant wife home without a car, while I'm 20 miles away.

As we were discussing whether or not she was going to come with or stay at home, she started having contractions. No big deal, really, as she'd been having contractions off and on for weeks, more often in the recent few days.

It became a big deal when she kept interrupting the conversation to breathe. Okay... once in a while, it's normal... several times in the same conversation? This was new.

I got on the Android App Store and downloaded an awesomely convenient app: Contraction Timer

And we started timing frequency and duration as we drove to my brother's house. Right from the start they were lasting about 30 seconds, and coming every 4 minutes. 3 minutes 50 seconds, 3:30, etc.

She didn't eat anything at the barbequeue (we got there about 5, the contractions had started around 4). She let me and Cordelia eat, though, which was nice. As my dad was loading up my plate, it was about 5:45, she told me to call the hospital and let them know we were on our way.

I think, at this point, Tammy was still not sure this was the real thing, but we went anyway. On the way there, her contractions were so frequent and so strong, that she was barely able to catch her breath between one and another. I was sure this was it... but she still had her doubts.

It wasn't until she was admitted and the nurse who walked us to the L&D room said, "You don't have the look of somebody we're going to send home," that Tammy finally accepted that, yes, this was - indeed - it.

The labor was intense. The baby's heart rate was unusually high, 180bpm, and they wanted it down to 160bpm, or they were going to do a C/Section. Fortunately, the doctors and nurses were all very competent and took all the steps necessary to avoid a surgical delivery, if possible, and within a few minutes, the baby's heart-rate came down. It took some oxygen for Tammy, and the breaking of the water by a doctor, but it worked.

The on-call OB wasn't Tammy's regular doctor, but was very sweet and friendly. Dr. Luewen. She was busy that night. Babies were popping out one after another. When they finally decided it was about time to start pushing, they chased down the doctor, who was presently delivering a baby, and who then had to attend to a minor emergency with another delivery. So the nurse who had been with us the whole time said, "Let's do some practice pushes while we wait for the doctor."

The contraction came, the nurse said, "Let's get three good pushes on this contraction."

Tammy pushed once, the nurse said, "Okay, stop pushing." She looked at me with a big grin and said, "This baby's ready... we had better wait for the doctor!"

Once Dr. Luewen made it into the room, Sorella was born between the first contraction and the second. Tammy got her three pushes in, and the baby was out far enough that they didn't even bother waiting for the next contraction.

Naming the baby... that is a whole other story that could go on for days. Suffice it to say, we had her named before we left the hospital. Here is a brief list of the names we'd been throwing around for months:

Avarilla
Adelaide
Hazel
Isabel
Arabella
Lavina
Celeste
Leona

And finally, for the main event - Here are some pictures:

PS - She had jaundice pretty bad, and she didn't have a wet diaper for almost 2 days, so they were monitoring her fairly closely. Then, just as they were about to catheterize her, she peed. Thank heavens.

They let her come home with us, and our pediatrician ordered us a BiliBlanket (a nifty little in-home phototherapy device for babies with jaundice). One day's worth of treatment and her bilirubin levels were way down. Two day's worth, and she was perfectly healthy.

I'll cut the cord on this post now. Thanks for patiently waiting!

Quick Video Update - Starring Cordelia

2011-04-28T20:14:00.000-06:00

Cyclical Musings

2010-12-15T18:15:00.000-07:00

The other day I was musing on several topics, and the one that held my mind most firmly was "cycle." Yes, the word. Cycle. What a bizarre word. Say it a few times. Cycle, cycle, cycle. Rhymes with psycho. Sort of.

Or does it?

Monthy, a cycle spins the moon.
Spinning, a cycle strains your clothes.

Add a seat and sit on a uni-cycle.
Keep the seat, add an engine, double the wheels, and you've got a motor-cycle.

But what if you lose the engine? What if you add another wheel?
You end up with a bi-cycle and a tri-cycle.

What a fickle cycle the cycle is!

Speaking of cycles, what on earth is an icecycle? Right, it's not. It's an icicle. A what? Why icicle? There's another strange one. It's not an icesickle. Not an icescythe. It's simply an icicle. Why not some form of "-actite"?

And Popsicle? What the heck? I think there is an obvious correlation between popsicle and icicle... but why an "s"? and more importantly, why "pop"? Was the first popsicle made of soda-pop? And why is there a correlation between icicle and popsicle? It doesn't make any sense, on the surface. I suppose I used to break icicles off and suck on them... but I was a stupid kid. Whoever invented the popsicle had to have been smarter than me. Though he may have been selling to people as dumb.

The answers to these questions evaded me during my reverie. Thank goodness for the interwebz.

I have done some research since I mused these musings, and should anybody ever care: icicle comes from ye Olde English and German for "cold piece of ice." More or less.

Popsicle is a trademarked name, presumably from the combination of Lolly Pop and Icicle.

Still not 100% sure about why unicycle, motorcycle, and cycle in general use the long i whereas bi- and tri- versions go with the short i. Since language is fluid, and morphs over time based on the usage of those who speak, I can only go with the explanation that English speakers don't like to have two long i sounds in quick succession.

With the exception of aye-aye. And bye-bye. And twighlight.

Ah heck... there is no satisfying explanation. Stupid English.

/

Quick Video

2010-12-09T13:54:00.000-07:00

Not much to say, just wanted to let you know we're still alive. And here's a short video:

Wanted: Good Pie Crust Recipe - Instructions for Dummies a Must!

2010-11-10T14:34:00.000-07:00

Ok, some of you may recall earlier posts where I discuss the making of pumpkin pie. I have even posted my pie recipe about a year ago. Something I've been struggling with, however, is the making of a really good pie crust to go along with the pumpkin pie.

I've explored various pie crust options that I've found online, and they are all pretty much variations on a theme:

3:2:1 ratios of flour : fat : water - give or take.

Without fail they require me to freeze the butter (I'm only interested in butter-based crusts because I don't care for transfats... I've been avoiding them since before it became chic, you know, back when they were simply called "hydrogenated oils"). After I freeze the butter, I'm supposed to mix it all up in a food processor. Great, if I had a food processor that actually worked. I don't. But I do have a lovely pastry blender that works fine. I blend and blend and add bit by bit of water until the butter is the size of peas, and the dough just clumps together. Yay. So far it sounds perfect.

Then they tell me, "Wrap in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge for 30 minutes-overnight."

Seriously? Overnight? 30 minutes I can do. Usually I can even wait a couple of hours. So I wait as long as I can, generally 2-3 hours.

Without fail, however, the dough will not stick to itself as I try rolling it out. It's obviously not watered enough, even though I followed the instructions exactly, and it matched the description I was given in the recipe I was following. So I end up having to add water. That leads to an awful mess, dough that ends up over-kneaded, and ultimately, sub-par flavor.

I'm *this* close [picture forefinger about to touch thumb] to calling it quits on the home-made pie-crust ideal, and start buying Pillsbury. Please, somebody, save me from the fate of buying ready-made, industrial-strength pie crusts!

Children vs. Markers

2010-11-07T10:37:00.000-07:00

No matter how well-behaved your child, it is inevitable that if you leave them alone with access to pens or markers, you will at some point have to ask yourself this question:

"Is it okay to use alcohol on small-people?"

Or maybe you'll remember other kids, not you, of course (maybe you) eating crayons as a child.

These pictures are all fairly old. She hasn't colored on herself in a while (like 3 days), but I keep hearing about how all these well-behaved kids keep doing stuff like this. Most recently, my niece Madison.

This is for you Patti. We feel your pain.

Driving Responsibly - A Request

2010-11-01T14:33:00.000-06:00

Ok, everybody knows the rules. Everybody knows they should do this, not do that, etc. So I'm not going to say anything about the safe/legal responsibilities. Rather, I'm going to make a single, simple request to try and remember that there is one time and place above all others where you need to be paying very close attention.

Stopped at a light in position #1.

When you are at the front of the line, you have a sacred responsibility to everybody behind you to pay attention to the light.

If you're in position 2, 3, or further back, you can get away with paying just enough attention to notice if the car in front of you is moving. But if you find yourself in the honored front of the line position, then you are saddled with added responsibility. A trust. A duty.

This duty becomes even more important in construction zones and at left-turn arrows where traffic becomes backed up and the length of time you have to make it through the intersection is extremely precious. When both of these added factors combine, you are at the pinnacle of driving responsibility. You hold the fates of many in your hands.

Becoming distracted in such a situation can mean the difference between 1 car or 5 getting through the light. And if you're so far out of it that you don't notice the light has changed until it's yellow again, you are not only asking for a hefty helping of angry honking, but you might also be in for a negligence-induced beating.

Of course, I'm not condoning vigilante justice, or even violence as a means to solve issues of road-rage. But I am making a desperate plea for all responsible people everywhere to please take this duty seriously. If you were unable to make it through the green/yellow/orangish light, then you have taken a great yoke upon your shoulders. They yoke of responsibly watching for the next green.

An otherwise furious follower will thank you.

I'm Going to Be a Grandpa!

2010-10-06T19:40:00.000-06:00

So Cordelia told me this evening that she's going to have a baby. She told me it is in her belly, and upon some very patient questioning, she confessed that it's going to be a girl, and her name will be Ellie.

When I asked who the baby's daddy would be, Cordy just kind of shifted her eyes. So I asked what the baby's last name will be, and she said, "Casper."

So I guess the father is not in the picture.

I inquired when the baby would be coming and she said, "14."

"14 days?" said I.

"Yes."

And then she used her finger to draw on her tummy: the baby's head, arms, legs, ankles, eyes, mouth, ears, and shoes.

Yes, shoes.

Just 14 more days, till I become a grandpa. I'm kind of excited :) !

People Don't Love Math

2010-10-04T09:17:00.000-06:00

So I just saw a Pizza Hut commercial that may well guarantee that I boycott them forever and ever amen.

I already don't care much for Pizza Hut pizza, being excessively greasy and not very good, in general. The fact that I have a pretty wicked case of stomach flu right now doesn't help the matter.

Here's the premise of the commercial: People standing in a Pizza Hut are looking over coupons and trying to make sense of them... because coupons are so hard to comprehend. Pizza Hut then declares that they are not going to have specials but instead are just going to sell you medium pizzas for the "low" price of $10.

Cut to cute-ish girl: "No more confusing math."

Cut to possibly cute guy: "Because people love pizza, they don't love math."

Message received: People who eat at Pizza Hut are too stupid to figure out coupons. People in general are too stupid to figure out coupons. Besides: "If we eliminate coupons we can charge people whatever we want, telling them that this is an awesome deal, I mean look, we don't even do coupons anymore. That's how low our prices are!" Even if the price goes up to $20 for a small. People don't love math so they won't figure out they're getting reamed.

Also, math is a fundamental tool that has a very bad reputation in this country. As my wife (a certified mathematics teacher) has pointed out on more than one occasion, people who would be embarrassed to admit that they cannot read, are not the least bit hesitant to shout from the rooftops that they don't get math. Math is too hard. They can't do it.

The fact of the matter is, for the most part, these people have not given math a reasonable chance. They heard from their friends or their parents or older siblings that math was hard. They brought their homework home and asked if mom or dad could help them, but mom or dad said, "Sorry son, math never made any sense to me."

Fine, calculus is pretty involved. Trigonometry, too. But most kids getting to those levels don't need mom and dad's help quite so much anymore. The stigma of mathematics begins at the early levels. Order of Operations, cross-multiplying, etc. None of it is actually difficult, it's just a matter of learning some basic rules. All multiplication and division before addition and subtraction. Stuff inside parentheses before the stuff outside... basic rules, like "I before E except after C, or when sounding like A as in Neighbor and Weigh. Or when the word is simply weird." And math rules make more sense than writing rules.

Yeah, people don't love math. But instead of encouraging such sentiments, maybe Pizza Hut should be contributing more to educational reform.

Stupid Pizza Hut.

Learning is Not an Option

2010-09-06T12:07:00.001-06:00

Here's a screen capture from a letter sent home with my nephew last October:

Here's a screen capture from a letter sent home with my niece, last week:

And here is an open letter to the principal of Camerado Springs Middle School:

Dear Ms. Enns,

Though I do not currently live within your school district, I am a concerned parent. Not just concerned for my own children, but for all children receiving public education.

It came to my attention some time ago that you have a “Solutions” program which is geared towards ensuring students are getting their homework done. This is a fine plan.

The problem is that I was shown a copy of the Solutions letter that students bring home to their parents. A letter that states, “At Camerado Springs Middle School we believe that learning is not an option.”

Excuse me as I pause to restate: “Learning is not an option.”

When it’s said that something is “not an option” what is implied is that there are other options, but such-and-such is not one of them. Here are some examples:

• Failure is not an option.
• Skipping your bath is not an option.
• Texting while driving is not an option.

Nobody I know who speaks English as a native language would ever confuse any of the above statements as meaning:

• Failure is a must.
• Skipping your bath is a must.
• Texting while driving is a must.

And yet, the faculty of your school would have parents believe that “learning is not an option” means “learning is a must,” in defiance to conventional English as shown above. Should parents not expect a school - entrusted with providing a solid education to their children - to be capable of making the subtle, yet powerful, distinction between “not an option” and “not optional?”

It is a simple enough mistake, and therefore easily overlooked, and easily allowed to slide. Fortunately it is also easy to correct. I would not be writing this email, if not for the fact that this particular problem was brought to my attention by a parent of a child at your school about a year ago. This parent contacted the school at that time and discussed the nuance at length with someone I had assumed to have been the principal, and who gave a shoddy explanation defending the wording.

Now that a year has passed, another of this parent’s children has brought home a Solutions letter with the identical wording.

Perhaps the faculty of Camerado Springs Middle School does not believe that correcting their mistakes is an option.

I hope I am wrong.

An Observation

2010-08-07T07:51:00.000-06:00

I have an observation about restrooms in general, and the one at work specifically: Men’s room air fresheners should absolutely not smell flowery or fruity. In fact I’m going to go out on a limb and say that they shouldn’t smell anything like food.

When I walk into the bathroom, the last thing I want to associate food with is number 2. I know it is just processed food, but I don’t care. When the two smells intermix it’s disgusting, truly and horribly. In fact, I think men’s rooms should smell like wood chips. There’s nothing quite like squatting in the woods, and men - more than women, I think - are comfortable with it.

In fact, I think a lot of guys would be comfortable with a restroom that had no toilets at all. Just a pile of wood chips along one wall to pee on, urinal style. And in each stall a pile of chips for covering nastier business. Of course, you’d probably have to pay the janitor a whole lot more money to sweep it out, but how much would you save in building design, plumbing, water costs, etc. It might be worth it. If not for the rampant spread of disease you could expect.

Well that’s my rant for today.

Work has the citrus kind, by the way. Ew.

Pose Face Contest - Who Looks Like They Are In More Pain?

2010-07-25T16:08:00.000-06:00

To be fair, this is the worst of Tammy's pose-face. Usually it's just unnatural, not actually painful-looking.

But her natural smile is, as always, perfect:

Now, to prepare my funeral arrangements for when Tammy sees this blog post.

"Cordelia" ... No, really... It says Cordelia!

2010-07-23T18:46:00.000-06:00

Two days ago, I was spending some much-needed quality time with my princess. She had placed a couple of magnetic letters on her easel (gift from Uncle Chad and Aunt Patti last Christmas), and wanted me to help her write them on the marker board.

Because the easel is sized for a child, because I'm not a child, because my knees don't make the best feet, and because the spoiled little angel also received a Crayola writing desk (complete with a marker-board top) from her daddy for Christmas last year, I was able to convince her to come practice on the table.

After a few attempts at the two letters she brought over with her (S and T), Tammy and I were able to convince her to try some other letters, and even to write her name.

With just a little coaching: "C looks like this..." and "D looks like a long up-and-down line with an O touching it." and "an L is just a long line that goes up and down." etc.

In short order we had this:

Oh... one more thing. The last blog, about the parade, I forgot to mention: We were on TV. Apparently we were either perfectly placed, or the cameras thought Cordy was cute enough that nobody would notice the bald fat guy towing her along the parade route, because we got center stage. Yep. We're famous.

Days of '47 Youth Parade

2010-07-23T18:22:00.001-06:00

The West Jordan East Stake was asked to participate in the Day's of '47 Youth Parade this year. Our ward happens to be in the WJES, so we had a float in the parade:

The theme was "Bee a Helping Hand in Service" (I think...). On the front of the float, invisible to all but the most superhuman of eyes is a Pennies By the Inch collection jar.

Anyway, I had nothing to do with this float, so don't start commenting on what a great job I did. It was a whole bunch of other people with more talent and skill (and patience) than I could possibly lay claim to.

The reason why I mention this particular parade is because one very special little girl has a mommy who is way good at finding ways to give said little girl wonderful, memorable experiences. The daddy in this tale wants the little girl to have fun experiences, but is often too lazy, unmotivated, or just plain grumpy to actually seek them out or jump at the chance.

Therefore, the wonderful mommy went out of her way to make sure the special little girl was prepared, dressed and present the morning of the parade.

The daddy who, at the time, has never really found any point to parades, and who would have been extremely pleased to be able to sleep in on a Saturday morning in July, was also prepared, dressed and present the morning of the parade.

The mommy and daddy each had a health concern regarding walking a mile in 97º weather. Mommy's asthma had been acting up, and daddy's foot was still extremely tender from recent surgery. It was determined that daddy would be the parade walker, while mommy watched with her family from the sidelines.

As you can see, the special little girl was lucky enough to get to ride in a wagon for the mile-long walk along 500 south. And she was pretty happy to be there. Mostly... but we won't focus on the less happy moments waiting for the parade to finally begin.

I know I've mentioned my daughter's awful pose-face before. But honestly, I just can't mention it enough... I think that maybe subconsciously I might hope that if I talk about it enough, she'll become so self-conscious that she'll spend hours staring in the mirror practicing her smile so that it doesn't look SO INCREDIBLY FORCED AND UNNATURAL.

Yes, I'm a terrible, horrible father. No need to point that out to me.

It's one of the reasons you will often see Cordelia sticking her tongue out in pictures. If I can't get her to smile somewhat naturally long enough to snatch a photo of it, I make her stick out her tongue. It's acceptable among children, so I encourage it. Generally, I try to catch her in candid photos, as that's the best way to view any person, in my opinion.

However, sometimes there is nothing for it, but to have a completely unnatural, forced photo-op. Like when you get to be in a parade and you want to have memories of it. And when somebody decides that it's time for a group pic:

Back: J. Herman, B. Glazier, C. Sorensen, J. Sorensen
Center: S. Herman, A. Glazier, O. Sorensen, T. Dahl
Front: Cordelia "Pose-Face" Casper

Updated Blog NEW

2010-07-23T17:41:00.000-06:00

You'd think that a guy who was basically unemployed for 2 months with nothing better to do than sit at the computer all day applying for jobs online would have been able to find 15 minutes every few days to update his blog.

You'd be wrong. Or actually, you'd be right, he would have been able to. But he didn't.

Anyway, my foot is well on the mend. The last of the scab fell off two days ago. It's on the floor here somewhere... unless the dog ate it. Never mind.

So moving past that, I have a hoard of pictures to post and some stories to go along with them. But since I don't really want to associate them directly with my foot-scab story, I'll add them separately.

Not For the Faint Hearted

2010-06-01T00:28:00.000-06:00

Due to popular demand... Ok, so I just really wanted to do it. But I really did get one request... from a girl, no less. And she's pregnant, at that.

So here they are. Some really gross pictures of my slowly recovering foot.

Please note: These pics were taken just minutes before this post. As of today, it's been 2 weeks since the surgery. Ignore the gross orange toe nails... the orange is left-over iodine or whatever it is they use to sterilize the area. I haven't really been able to wash the immediate area very thoroughly due to... um... pain and stuff.

And also ignore how ugly my feet are. Very few people have pretty feet. I'm not one of them.

Oh yeah... don't forget to "Click to Enlarge." It's important if you want to get the full gruesome detail.

"I Can't Help It"

2010-05-29T12:37:00.003-06:00

Usually I think the phrase "I can't help it" is a cop-out, an excuse, an admission of one's failure to take responsibility for one's actions. I put it in the same boat as "The devil made me do it," "I'm a product of my environment," and "It's my parents' fault."

However, last night I heard my three year old use this phrase in a way that initially irritated (the way it usually does), but then melted my heart into a warm puddle of joy.

I was sitting in my chair, changing the dressings on my foot. Cordelia, the curious beastling that she is, wanted to see the "owie." I showed it to her, and she said, "Hmm, it is black and red. That's weird."

As I started wrapping the gauze around my foot, I gasped at a slight twinge of pain. Cordelia said, "I'm sorry, daddy."

I smiled at her and said, "It isn't your fault, baby. You don't have to be sorry about that."

She shrugged and said, "I can't help it."

As I was in pain, and don't particularly like that phrase I scowled and said, "Can't help what, Cordy?"

She looked up at my face and, with unmistakable concern in her eyes, she replied, "I can't help your foot." My heart instantly softened... and then broke when the next words out of her mouth were: "I just love you, daddy."

I have been blessed with the most amazing child. I know other people feel the same way about their children, and I do not begrudge them that. However, as for me and my family, we know that our darling angel is the perfect addition to our home, and we never forget that. She is more wonderful that I ever feel deserving of.

Blessings in Disguise

2010-05-20T12:25:00.002-06:00

When I first went out on the road, I was under the distinct impression that I’d be out for 3 weeks and then home for 3 days. This doesn’t sound very good at all, but it’s pretty standard for those just breaking into the field, it seems, so I accepted it and figured I could roll with this for the first little while.

After 6 weeks of training, I was promoted to company driver status, which meant I was finally going to get paid for what I was doing: ie, driving.

I drove for 2 more weeks and finally got to go home. For two days. Ok, so 3 weeks out = 3 days home, 2 weeks out = 2 days home. Sounds pretty… ahem… good. But I’d been out 8 weeks. Oh well, I needed the money.

So going back out, I was given the opportunity to drive a dedicated route from Ogden, Utah to Paris, Texas. 1316 miles each way, paid at a whopping $0.21 per mile… in a perfect week I could expect to bring home over $800 per week. Sweet money. In the real world, I would be lucky to break $700 in a week, but still, not bad money.

I was told 3 weeks out, 3 days home. Actually, I was told “21 days out, followed by 3 days home.” So, having been given such a specific time-frame, my co-driver and I figured the 21 days were set in stone, so we’d be guaranteed home time.

On day 20 it didn’t look like we were anywhere near getting home by “tomorrow,” so we asked specifically if we still needed to request the time, or was it built in? We were told we had to request it at least 10 days in advance.

Bugger.

So I requested my home time. A week later, our dispatcher got a new job, and we got a new dispatcher. Just a couple of days after that, my co-driver decided to buy a truck with a buddy of his, and got off my truck. Leaving me solo again, and with a new dispatcher.

2 days before I was scheduled to be home, I was speaking with my dispatcher and the subject of my home time came up. He said he had nothing in his files about me having any scheduled home time, but since I’d been out 4 weeks (at that point), he would make sure I got home by Saturday (only a day later than I had requested). That was very kind of him, really.

So I got home Saturday night… my home time officially started Sunday… and despite 5 weeks out, was only going to be 3 days at home.

Monday I had a doctor’s appointment to check up on a bone problem that I have had in my left foot since I was about 14 years old (I had surgery back then, and ever since I’ve had some pain… the past few years the pain has been intensifying, and the past week or so has been excruciating).

I saw Dr. Young Monday morning. He took x-rays and reviewed an MRI that I had done last August. He determined that the bone needed to be biopsied and possibly removed. He considered the matter urgent, and scheduled me for an operation the following day.

My 3 days at home suddenly became a medically necessary 2 weeks.

Money is going to dry completely up. But the severe depression being away from home was putting me through is gone. My foot hurts from the surgery WAY more than it ever did from the simple pain of whatever was wrong with it… and yet it is totally worth being able to see my little girl, hold my wife, eat home-cooked meals, and simply to be in my house.

Now I have time to look for a different, hopefully better, job with more steady home-time, possibly even daily home time. Like a normal person.

Even if not, this time at home was needed desperately. By me. By my wife. And for my little angel, who was missing her daddy as much as he was missing her.

I thank God from the depths of my soul for this blessing.

M.I.A.

2010-04-30T09:46:00.001-06:00

It’s difficult to update this blog without actually being around my family to experience events first-hand. Often the very things that prompt me posting something are things that don’t trigger anything in Tammy, so she doesn’t think to pass it on, or she just forgets when we do talk. This is in NO way a criticism of my wonderful, beautiful, and extremely overwhelmed wife. It’s simply an observation.

As I sat, preparing this blog, I read through my previous post and found that much of what I had been intending to post today, I already posted two months ago. Well, that’s simply not acceptable. How is it that in two months, I’ve learned nothing new or interesting about my family???

Easter came and went. I’ve got nothing. I know they painted eggs, and I got a couple of pictures and a video or two messaged to me… but that’s not something I can readily address myself.

What I’m hoping for is more consistent home-time, so I can experience first-hand the joys, challenges, and excitement of being a father and a husband, not just a paycheck who occasionally sleeps in the house.

Anyway, my daughter remains beautiful, my wife remains wonderful, my job remains irritatingly inconsistent, and life remains a probationary state.

I will say this: The struggle of being away from home has reawakened in me a need (a hunger and thirst, if you will) for the gospel in my life. I’ve found immense strength in prayer and scripture study that I had been lacking in recent months and years, the relatively “prosperous” life giving me a sense of comfort that masked my need for spiritual strength.

I’m remedying that. They say you need to make the best of any situation, and this is possibly the worst situation I’ve ever been in (I cannot express how much more difficult it is to be away from my family than I had thought it would be – and I knew it was going to be tough), so in order to make the best of it, I’m finding myself relying heavily on the Lord. And though it is certainly not any easier, I can say with conviction, I am no longer feeling as hopeless as I had been only a few weeks ago.

“La vita è dura, ma dura poco.” –Italian proverb (coined by yours truly)
“Life is tough, but it’s short.”

My Family

2010-02-22T09:38:00.000-07:00

Tammy, the unequalled brains in the family, suggested before I left that I should pack certain items that I scoffed at (and then secretly packed), such as extra zip-lock baggies, “Because,” she said, “you never know what you might need them for.”

I had just rolled my eyes and told her I thought she was dumb. Or something along those lines.

Well, as I already said, I secretly packed a couple extras. And I’m glad I did. Now I have someplace to put all my odds-and-ends before going to sleep. My wallet, my change, my keys, my Chapstick, etc. all go into a zip-lock baggy so they don’t get lost while the truck bounces down the road while I’m unconscious.

Thank you, lover. You’re the best.

Cordelia, who had been assigned the task of wearing her eye-patch 2 hours a day over her good eye to help strengthen her weak eye, has had the burden lifted a bit. She now only has to wear it 2 hours a day 3 times per week. She’s also been reevaluated with regards to her speech aptitude, and though it had looked like she would be going to pre-school 3 days per week (or something), they’ve determined that she only needs one 45 minute class per week. Is that good or bad?

Also, since daddy’s been gone, she’s decided to go ahead and let herself be potty-trained. Finally. She has few accidents, sometimes going an entire day without any.

And from what I hear, Garrett (Cordelia’s cousin, about 18 months younger than her), has started making “human” sounds. Noises that could possibly be actual attempts at forming words. Congrats, Garrett! Keep up the good work!

Something to Do In a Motel Room

2010-02-18T18:50:00.003-07:00

For those who don't know, my grandma didn't make it 48 hours. It was maybe 6 hours after my mom gave me that information that she called back to let me know that grandma had passed on.

I wasn't able to make it to the funeral, but I did pass through Boise on Sunday and was able to stop for a couple of hours to pay my respects and spend some time with family before heading out.

Monday, however, I was checked into another motel up in the Seattle area. Now it's Thursday, and I should be checking out today, but may stay another night (it was late Monday, so that may translate to another night).

Anyway, there isn't much to do when you have extremely limited funds, don't know the area, or anybody who lives close by - well... I know somebody close by, but they are out of town - you know who you are ;).

So yesterday I noticed my hair was getting a bit too long. I knew it would while I was out, but I didn't have room for my clippers, and wasn't sure when/where I'd be able to shave my head again anyway, so I had been planning on letting the hair grow and grow and grow and cut it again when I got home.

Well, it's been 3 weeks since I left, with maybe 4 weeks of growth and at least 3 more weeks of this ahead of me.

I was bored. So I decided to shave my head. With a safety razor. Gillette Mach 3 to be exact. Warning: it takes forever, dulls your blades in a hurry, kind of hurts, makes a mess, risks clogging drains, and it is something to do in a motel room.

Sad News For a Guilty Grandson

2010-02-11T19:27:00.003-07:00

I just received some sad news. I say sad, rather than bad, because the news has broken my heart on many levels. In some ways it is bad news, too, but mostly it’s just sad.

My grandmother’s body is shutting down. She’s awake, coherent, and from what I hear, she is ready to move on to her next assignment.

48 hours is such a short time, though, for the rest of us.

I’ve been remiss. Over the past few years, I’ve put off taking the trip to Boise to see her, even though I’ve known she was ill. My excuse has ever been: “It’s such a long drive.” My little girl, 3 years old now, has never met my grandmother, and this, more than anything, is excruciatingly regretful. Ironically, I’m now working as a truck driver, and driving several hundred miles every day is part of the job description.

And now, since I’ve only just started, I can’t even go see her to say good-bye in person. Anybody who reads this and is close by: Please tell her I’m sorry. I love you, grandma, and I’m going to miss you. I’m so very sorry that I never brought Cordelia up to meet you. I know she would have loved you, just as all of us love you.

You have always been an inspiration for me. You taught me the importance of education, of family, of communication. You were always such a good letter-writer, and I learned so much from you.

If it is really time for you to go, then with a heavy, sorrowful heart I want to tell you that I love you and I will miss you. I’m sure Grandpa and Aunt Lois are waiting to welcome you… not to mention Tony, Mary, Great Grandma and all the rest who have gone on before you. As well as the Savior himself, with his open arms to receive you.

My heart aches for my own loss, and my own regrets, but I know there will be rejoicing on the other side as you are greeted by the throngs of people who must be missing you as much as we will miss you. I certainly hope that when my time comes, you will be there to welcome me home, as well.

I hate doing this in writing. I wish I could come see you. This is the best I can do, and I know you’ve appreciated me expressing myself with pen and paper in the past, so hopefully this is as good. I need to get this out there. I need you to know that I’ve never forgotten you, I’ve just been selfishly wrapped up in things that momentarily seem important, but in retrospect are just distractions.

I won’t ask you to forgive me, because I know you already have… that is part of being a grandma, I think. Part of what makes a grandma a special kind of relative. You just automatically understand that grandchildren are often distracted and foolish, and you forgive us for it. It’s grandma magic.

I love you. I know that you have always loved me. Thank you for being my grandma. I deserved less than what I got, and will forever be grateful for the blessing that you have been to me in my life.

I won’t say good-bye. Rather: Till we meet again.

I love you. God bless you forever.

Steven

P.S. If you change your mind, and decide to get better and stick around for a bit longer, that will be okay, too. I just want to put that out there as an option. Consider it, alright?

Day 7

2010-02-03T11:33:00.002-07:00

Well, as of today, it's been 7 days since I left my family behind.

California is beautiful, mostly. The weather has been really nice. Today it looks a little smoggy out, and it's chilly (or I'm becoming accustomed to the nice weather). Feels like it's in the 60s out there. Not bad, really, and pretty darn sweet for February.

If you've been following the Trucker Diaries blog, you know I'm still here in the motel. They reassigned me to a new driver trainer, since the one they originally gave me is still waiting to get his truck fixed. The new guy hasn't called me, yet, so I don't really know what's up.

Tammy and Cordy seem to be doing well. We talk on the phone every day, and we try to get on Skype to do a video chat as often as possible, so we can keep in touch, and so my princess doesn't forget what her daddy looks like.

How You Know You're in California

2010-01-28T15:50:00.002-07:00

Sign Number 1:

Sign Number 2:

A New Frontier

2010-01-27T21:51:00.002-07:00

To all my rabid fans:

Some of you may know this already, but for those of you who have been kept in the dark, I am posting this blog, today. I’ve been unemployed since October. Not a fact that I’m terribly proud of, hence the seeming secrecy. The reason I’m coming out to admit it now is because I’m on my way to begin a new opportunity, a new job, and in many ways a new life.

The same day I lost my job, I started taking classes at Salt Lake Community College’s School of Applied Technology. That was nothing more than a coincidence. I’d been planning to start school on the 19th of October for several weeks… but the timing was still impeccable.

My “Technology?”: Professional Truck Driver. I took the 280 hour course, night classes. 5 hours per day, 5 days per week. Less time for holidays. On December 17 I received my Class A (commercial) driver license, with hazmat, tanker, and doubles-triples endorsements. I continued going to class, earning additional experience, until my 280 hours were up on Monday, January 25, 2010.

Several weeks ago I received a job offer from Werner Enterprises, and they scheduled me for Orientation starting on January 29. I’m currently sitting in the Greyhound bus terminal in Salt Lake City. It’s 5:39 PM, January 27. My bus leaves at 6:30, I have 15 minute layover/transfer in Las Vegas at 1:15 AM. I’ll arrive at the San Bernardino terminal at 6:05 AM. This is per my itinerary, though with the recent weather, anything is possible.

Tomorrow I’ll check in to the La Quinta Inn, and begin orientation on Friday. If all goes well (and let us all pray that it does), I’ll pass my physical exam and begin driving for Werner on January 31. I’ll have 6-8 weeks of training (300 driving hours – with a driver trainer), during which I’ll make peanuts, but I’ll get very necessary experience. Once I’ve completed my 300 hours, I’ll become a solo driver. At that point I’ll start making real money.

Because this blog is intended for family events, and this is a huge family experience, I’m posting it here. However, I am planning on posting my daily experiences on a different blog: The Trucker Diaries.

For the time being, I really want to express my love for my wife and my daughter. I know they know I love them, and I know that they love me. I am going to miss them terribly over the next few weeks when I cannot see them in person. I am extremely grateful to my Heavenly Father, however, for the blessings of cell phones, internet, and wi-fi. because of these wonderful inventions, I will be able to speak to my wife on a nearly-daily basis, and should be able to Skype-Video phone both her and my little girl on a relatively frequent basis.

I don’t know how fathers of old could leave their families for months and even years at a time with nothing more than the mail system to help them keep in touch. And I admire them for their fortitude, and their families for their resilience. God bless them for their sacrifices.

A New Video Craze

2010-01-24T10:38:00.002-07:00

It's been a while since I posted any videos, so I'm going to take this opportunity to post a couple. I have lots, but they tend to be a bit long, and... well... the longer they are, the more closely related you have to be in order to thoroughly love them.

So, I'm only going to post two short ones.

First: The Pirate Triker Chick

Second: Does this make me a good father, or a bad one?

As Promised

2010-01-08T14:06:00.002-07:00

Cordelia, like her mother, suffers from "Pose Face," which is to say, when she poses for a picture, she looks completely uncomfortable, unhappy, and insincere. Sometimes getting her to smile naturally is a real chore. I'll let you guys decide which of these is obvious pose-face and which is pose-face with an actual smile getting through as daddy made silly sounds.

No More Makebelieve

2010-01-07T09:05:00.001-07:00

As is common, I'm sure, among children whose parents both wear glasses, my darling little angel-monkey loves to put on her parents' glasses, or Mr. Potato Head's glasses, or anything that looks like it might be glasses, and pretend they are hers.

As of yesterday, she no longer needs to pretend.

Several weeks ago, we had her evaluated for preschool placement, and one of the tests they did was a very rudimentary vision exam. Whereas she did fine when using both eyes and when using only her left eye, her right eye was extremely weak. Weak enough that the examiner couldn't say exactly what Cordy's vision in that eye was, so she simply put down 20/80 and advised us to see an optometrist.

Tammy and I happen to have a very good optometrist who also examines children, so we scheduled an appointment with him. Two weeks ago I took my princess to see him. He confirmed that her left eye was strong and needed scarcely any correction, if any at all. However, he could not determine anything better than 20/200 in her right-eye.

Based on refraction and other tests he was able to do on his end, he had a good idea of what prescription she needed, but because she was tired and angry from the dilation drops he'd given her earlier, she wasn't in the mood to cooperate with the actual "look at the picture and tell us what you see" exam any more.

Yesterday, we picked up the new glasses, and she seems to like them. Wore them all day yesterday without a complaint (until just before bed - she came to me and said, "Gasses off now?" To which I replied, "Of course, but we have to brush our teeth and put on pajamas, now").

She wasn't happy about that. But she agreed, eventually, and she also agreed to wear the glasses again today.

Another thing: She is supposed to wear an eye patch over her strong eye for 2 hours each day, to help force her weak eye to work, and strengthen. She has a cute pink eye-patch for that. I'll try to get a picture of it and post it later.

Anyway, that's what's up for now.

Christmas 2009 - The Year of the White-Boards

2009-12-30T10:21:00.003-07:00

Merry Christmas - belated, everybody!

Some of you spent Christmas with us. Some of you received text messages or phone calls. Some of you thought I forgot all about you. But I didn't. I promise.

When I was a kid, Christmas was always a very simple event (at least to my recollection):

Christmas Eve: Open one present, always somehow managed to be pajamas. Go to bed.
Christmas Eve: Try to stay awake and listen for Santa Claus
Christmas Eve: Have parents tell you over and over if you don't stop talking to your brother, you won't fall asleep and Santa won't come
Christmas Eve: Fall asleep.

Christmas Morning: Wake up and wonder if Santa had come, yet.
Christmas Morning: Continue waiting and wondering.
Christmas Morning: Stop wondering about Santa and start wondering if parents are ever going to wake up.
Christmas Morning: Start wondering if parents are dead.
Christmas Morning: Hear sounds of life coming from somewhere in the house, hope it is mom and dad.
Christmas Morning: It is mom and dad!
Christmas Morning: Collect stockings.
Christmas Morning: Open presents (one at a time, each person gets a turn).
Christmas Morning: Dad cooks breakfast.

Christmas Day: Play with new toys, read new books, enjoy life.
Christmas Day: Continue playing, maybe fight with brothers about whose toy belongs to whom.

Christmas Night: Go to bed and start planning for next Christmas.

You see, when I was a kid, my grandparents all lived out of state. There was no way we were going to be able to make multiple-hour drives in each direction on Christmas, to see them.

As an adult, now, all of my remaining grandparents are still out of state. Cordelia's grandparents, however, are not. And Tammy's are here, too. So Christmas becomes a bit more... shall we say involved?

I found out Christmas Eve that I was going to have to cook a turkey (yay!), and the turkey was still frozen at my mom's place (ugh!). But it was a Butterball, so I didn't need to worry about having to prep it in order to keep it juicy (yay!). So I went to my mom's got the turkey, came home, and began the rush-thaw of a 16 lb turkey.

Based on everything I could find on the internet, it was going to take 8 hours to thaw it in cold water. So I put the bird in my largest picnic cooler, covered it in cold water, and set my alarm for 5:30 (it was about 10:00, so the turkey would be ready to cook by 6). We didn't need to be to the in-laws until 10, and the gobbler was going to take about 4 hours to cook. So we'd be a little late for breakfast, but not too much.

Got to bed by 1:00. 5:30 rolled around and my alarm didn't go off. Fortunately (sort of), I woke up at about 5:50 and checked the time. Jumped out of bed and finished prepping my bird and dropped him in the oven. Or her. Thought about going back to bed. Gave up on that idea. Watched some shows on Hulu.com that I'd missed.

Eventually, it was time to get up.

Christmas Morning: Cordelia is greeted by this sight (though less blurry...):

As you can see there are a lot of presents under the tree. Most of which were actually for parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, etc. However, I thought it looked better having them all piled up under the tree so we looked like we'd been completely spoiled :)

The trike is Cordelia's, as is the Crayola desk in back. I haven't taken a great picture of it, just yet, but you'll see it in some of the following pics. One of her favorite gifts, this year, came from her Uncle Chad (Tammy's brother) and Aunt Patty. You'll see it in all of the following pictures.

Both the Crayola table, and the magnetic easel have a white-board side, and a chalk-board side. Cordelia also received 3-4 pre-school books with white-board qualities (ie, you use a dry-erase marker to write on the pages of the book, and can wipe them clean). She also received a Disney Princesses white-board message board. Methinks a number of people out there know my little girl pretty well. She absolutely loves to color and to draw. Sometimes I think she loves to draw more than color, even.

She does portraits, too, though I haven't caught any on camera yet. She tends to erase as soon as she finishes.

Anyway, after opening presents at home, we went to my parents-in-law for breakfast (two casseroles: hashbrown and french toast, both very good - especially the hashbrown). And opened more presents.

Then we came home, and started finishing up the preparations for the afternoon/evening. The turkey was as close to perfect as I could have hoped, the gravy came along very smoothly, the stuffing was cooking up easily (though I hadn't thought ahead and gotten anything to go with it, so it was mostly just flavored, moist croûtons). My mom and her new family (my new step-father and two step-sisters) arrived around 3, 3:30, and we played games until my dad arrived. Then we ate lots of turkey and its table-friends, visited, opened more presents, and all-in-all had a really nice evening.

Unfortunately, my youngest brother (the only one who lives within a reasonable distance), was unable to bring his kids over. He ended up with a stomach virus and had to stay home. He was sick enough his wife had to stay home from work. So my dad, who rents their basement, took their presents with him, as well as some leftovers.

And that was the Christmas of the White-Boards. We had a jolly time, and we certainly hope you all did, too!

Booger Art 101

2009-12-21T09:38:00.000-07:00

While fun to create and sometimes interesting to behold, the art of decorating the wall with ones nasal mucus is decidedly gross.

Yesterday, as I was reading Cordelia a story before her her nap, she started picking at the wall. At first I thought there was a scuff or other blemish on the wall and I turned to tell her not to pick at it. But what I saw wasn't a nick or scratch. It was an encrusted booger. I was certain.

I asked her outright, "Is that a booger?"

She informed me that, "Yes. It's boogy."

Needless-to-say (yet I'll say it anyway) I put a stop to the picking even more definitively than I would have if it had just been wall-picking. I informed her in as stern-but-loving a voice as I could muster, that she was not to put her boogers on the wall anymore. It is gross and she needs to use a tissue if she has boogers in her nose.

She said "Okay, sheesh."

When I started cleaning it off the wall, I discovered several more pieces of art; fortunately, it seems the discovery was made before it could get too out of hand. I'm going to have to keep a close eye on the wall, and start having her clean it up if it continues.

I did make an observation, however. Gross as it may be, I have to point out that boogers set up like concrete. I wonder just how much influence boogers had on the invention of krazy-glue.

You may note that I did not post any pictures of Cordelia's Booger Art. It's not an attempt at preserving any kind of copyright to her art. It's mostly because it was really gross. And it's doubtful I'll be taking any pictures of future projects, either. Unless there's a coolness factor that outweighs the gross factor.

<*fingers crossed*>

Last Christmas by Wham!

2009-12-17T12:40:00.002-07:00

I hate this song. I hate it enough to blog about it. It is, quite possibly, the worst song ever written on many levels.

Ok, so I'm not a composer, myself, so I cannot judge the quality of the composition, or the music, etc. blah, blah. What I am, however, is a listener. A consumer, if you will. Therefore, I believe I am qualified to judge the quality of the song based on my opinions, my tastes, and - frankly - the crappiness of the song.

Let me give you the first verse/chorus:

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart

But the very next day, You gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I'll give it to someone special

First line: Ok, ok... so far, so good. Nothing terribly original, but nothing overly dumb, either.

Second line: "... the very next day you gave it away..."

What?

I gave you my heart and then you gave it away? How exactly does that work? My understanding of metaphor would suggest that to give away ones heart would mean to fall in love and commit oneself to another. So, if I fall in love and commit myself to somebody - give them my heart - just how, exactly, do they "give it away"? Even if that were possible, wouldn't it suggest that the recipient of said heart just transferred the "gift" to another, so now somebody else had the giver's love and commitment? In which case, what does that person care? They are still in love and committed, just to somebody else.

Ok, clearly transference of another person's love is not actually possible. So the song just insulted me by saying something stupid and expecting me to think "wow... that's clever!"

Line three: Nothing inherently wrong with this line, though it is verging on trite.

Line four: "...I'll give it to someone special..."

Huh... so last year you gave it to someone you didn't think was special? Why would you have done that? Why would you still be all hurt and upset and grudge-bearing about it a whole year later if the person you gave your heart to wasn't special?

Later in the song it goes: "...I thought you were someone special..." So clearly, you did think they were special last year. Based on the quality of the lyrics so far, and the fact that you're clearly still pining for the person you're singing this to, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that your judgment hasn't really cleared up all that much, and whoever you give your heart to this year will be just as "special" as last year's recipient.

On top of that, didn't you already say that this person "gave it away"? So in order for you to give it to "someone special," you're going to have to track down the person who has it now, and take it back from them.

Worst of all, and this is arguably a good thing about the song, it has a catchy tune. It gets stuck in your head and you can't get it out. In some ways this is exactly what a song should do, if it's a good song. Unfortunately, far too often, songs that get stuck in your head are horrible, so it becomes a form of torture.

What I really don't get is why this song has been covered by at least a half-dozen artists since Wham! released it in 1984. The song is terrible.

It's not even a Christmas song! It's a song about lost love and heart-break. It uses "Christmas" as a setting, not an event, or anything. Christmas songs are about the Savior, the season, the weather, or even about Christmas parties.

Also, I couldn't get it out of my head last night. Fell asleep with the song still repeating on that chorus. Woke up in the middle of the night from a... not a nightmare, per se, but a bad dream in which everything in the dream was dependent on these lyrics being lobbed back and forth across the sky from giant trebuchets playing an immense game of jai alai.

After waking up, I tried replacing the song by singing different Christmas songs to myself. Turns out all the good ones were in hiding and I ended up getting other annoying songs stuck instead (Jingle Bell Rock and I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, for example).

Around 8:00 am Last Christmas returned and has been with me ever since. Even with other music playing. It's awful. Anyway, I figured if I can't rid my brain of the pain, I might as well share it.

A Loss for Words

2009-12-11T18:28:00.005-07:00

With Regard to Ir-

2009-12-09T10:40:00.003-07:00

English is a difficult language, American English in particular. It is particularly difficult for people learning English as a second or third language; it is even more difficult for them when those of us who speak it as a first language ignore or simply don’t bother learning the rules ourselves.

This blog is going to be a rant. A personal, angry tirade against the misuse of words simply because of the lackadaisical way we Americans treat the English language. Enough is enough. Let us be proud of our language enough to at least learn when it is appropriate to adulterate it, and when it is not.

Sometimes, when people chuckle, they also snort. This leads us to a natural combination of the words chuckle and snort: Chortle. I believe it was Charles Dickens who gave us this word (interestingly, a similar combination of his names gives us Chickens, though I doubt that is where this word came from).

When people become flustered, they also often become frustrated, hence we have the obnoxious, yet reasonable word flustrated.

The above two paragraphs are indications of situations where it is acceptable to adulterate the language. I will now provide an instance of when it is not.

Regardless:

Adj. Having or showing no regard.

Adv. Without concern as to advice etc.

Idiom. In spite of, without regard for.

Irrespective:

Adj. without regard to something else.

As you can see from the similarities of the definitions of these two words, it should be reasonable to combine them to create a new, more powerful, all-inclusive word: irregardless.

But it is not reasonable to do so.

The prefix ir- denotes opposition. It is similar to the prefixes un-, ex-, dis-, and de-. Consider the word responsible: Attach the prefix ir-, and suddenly the word irresponsible stares us in the face. If I tell you that I was too lazy to make oatmeal and instead fed my 2 year old a hot fudge sundae Pop-Tart for breakfast, all joking aside, would you think I was being responsible or irresponsible?

You begin to see the power of the prefix ir-. I call it an oppositizer.

By the rules, irregardless cannot be a combination of regardless and irrespective, as it is the opposite of these words. Note that irrespective iteself starts with ir- and is therefore an opposite of its root word respective. Thus irregardless is synonymous with respective, and therefore, opposite of irrespective, and therefore mathematically proved as an opposite to regardless.

What an awful paragraph that was. I hope you all made it through safely.

Sadly for me, the word irregardless has been misused so often and by so many people that it has actually been added to some dictionaries as a synonym to regardless. This despite the fact (regardless of the fact) that they are essentially polar opposites of one another.

Intelligent people with whom I’ve had this or similar conversations have often used the generally legitimate argument that “language is always evolving” and that as long as the person speaking is understood by his intended listeners, then it doesn’t matter if the words used are the correct words or not. Successful communication has taken place.

While technically true, it shows a deep disrespect for the mechanics and the very intelligence which allow human language to exist at all. If we fall back on the lazy argument that “well, you understood me from the context,” we might as well go back to grunts and growls to get our point across.

It reminds me of a lamely humorous thing my cousins and I used to say when we were in Middle School: The word dude can mean anything you want, depending on how you say it. It is all about inflection, and facial affectations.

In many ways, that’s all language is: inflection and affectation. But it has evolved to be so much more than that, so much more reliable, precise, and indicative. While inflection and affectation remain important, indeed core, functions of language, we have specific words with specific meanings in order to more effectively transmit the information we need to convey. We have words which represent inflection and affectation in order to express these functions of language via the written word.

Who among us hasn’t secretly cringed a little at a friend, an acquaintance, a sibling, or a parent when we heard them say something like, “We was there an hour early.” Or “I seen them coming a mile away.” In the first case, “was” is a conjugation of the verb “to be,” and therefore correct… and yet still very much incorrect. Likewise “seen” is a past tense of “to see,” and yet it wasn’t the correct past tense.

If you’ve read this far, you probably already agree with me, so there’s nothing more to say about it. Keep up the good work. To all the rest of you (the minority who don’t agree but did read this far), I’d encourage you to make a well-thought-out argument in favor of misusing words in order to communicate more effectively, but I honestly doubt I’d read it. Maybe for a laugh, but I’d probably just end up with a raging headache.

After I wrote this blog, I did a quick Google search for "irregardless dictionary" since I once found a dictionary of stupid English (paraphrasing). I thought I'd link it here. Instead I came across a Grammar Girl article (Grammar Girl is a really good resource for when you're trying to remember the rules for things like lay vs. lie etc.) about regardless vs. irregardless. So I'm linking it instead. She just set my mind at ease about why irregardless is in some dictionaries. Phew! I can sleep again.

"You Let Cordy Play in the Lion's Cage..."

2009-12-01T09:32:00.001-07:00

“… and she got hurt. I’m very upset with you.”

I can’t blame her. What was I thinking, letting my almost-three-year-old play in a lion cage? I must be a terrible father.

And yet, I have to probe a little deeper. Since this happened in a dream, I have to ask why she dreamed about me being a terrible father. Does she think I’m a terrible father? Or was this just a simple case of random synapses firing in her stressed brainpan?

“I was in jail so I wasn’t with you when it happened. I don’t know exactly how she got hurt.”

Well, think I, at least she’s dreaming that she’s a less-than-perfect parent, too.

***

This brings me to what I was originally going to post about the other day, and ended up sidetracked:

When I come home at night - or if I’m home and Tammy comes home with Cordelia - and the first thing I hear as the door opens is “Daddy? Daaaaddy…” it wraps my heart in a warm towel. Fresh-from-the-drier warm.

She laughs at my stupidest jokes. My silliest faces. My goofiest attempts at being entertaining. Stuff that would make another adult roll their eyes, or just walk away in irritation make my little girl laugh and giggle. Sometimes it is the greatest feeling in the world, knowing that even though I’m no comedian, my daughter thinks I am. Sometimes, however, I get neurotic about it and wonder if I’m giving her a bad example, instructing her on how to be funny, but doing it in a way that will get her shunned from the society of other children, her peers as she grows up.

And then I shrug it off. I can only be who I am, and if that ruins her, so be it. At least she’ll know that her daddy loved her and spent enough time with her to destroy her socially. It sure beats the alternative. Besides, if the only laughs I’m ever going to get come from my daughter, age 2, then I had better take advantage of it while I can.

When she’s in trouble, even if I’m the one who is mad at her (especially if I’m the one) she puts on her sad face and opens her arms and asks for a hug. Of course, I never deny her any hugs – I need them, too. The hugs are important, I think, even when she’s in trouble, so she knows she’s still loved and she has simply done something that was inappropriate or unacceptable (example: She likes to get a mouthful of water/juice/milk/etc. and spit it on the floor in fun and interesting patterns. I certainly don’t want to stifle her creativity, but the laminate floor isn’t water-proof, easy or cheap to replace, and frankly, the behavior is kind of gross).

But I’m her daddy, and she picks me over Tammy 80% of the time. It makes me feel good, and sad at the same time. Tammy is a good mom and deserves more than 20%. I suppose in time she’ll get more. Girls seem to gravitate towards moms as they get older and realize that dads are just dumb boys like all the rest.

The Evoloution of Tard Into Man

2009-11-24T09:56:00.002-07:00

This may come as a shock to most of you, but I have not always been the congenial, adorable, wonderful guy you all know and love. I used to be a shy, awkward, goofy (looks and behavior) kid who had a hard time making friends, and a harder time keeping them. When I did make and keep friends, it was more of a testament to them and their congenial wonderfulness than to anything I may have said or done.

That said, I was never entirely convinced I was ever going to meet a girl who would be able to stand being around me long enough or consistently enough that she’d ever be able to love me enough to marry me. On my mission I learned a lot about interpersonal relationships and learned to modify my behavior around human beings so that I became less awkward and more “normal”(ish), which is one of the many blessings I received as a missionary.

I started dating not long after I got home from my mission, and even had long-ish-term relationships that I thought would eventually lead somewhere eternal. I was 21 when I had my first kiss. That relationship didn’t last (5 months). I was 23 when I had my second. Also didn’t last (1 week, give or take). I was 27 when I had my third kiss. That relationship lasted off-and-on for the better part of 18 months, and was a very positive time in my life for growing and understanding how boys and girls interact emotionally and spiritually. After that break-up, I was much more confident and capable when it came to dating, and though I did get into one more extended-but-failed relationship, I was finally ready to meet that special someone who wouldn’t have to put up with a complete tard in order for us to work out.

Let me make a clarification: 1^st kiss vs. 2^nd kiss = I did kiss each of these girls more than once. The so-called “second kiss” is a way of stating it was the second girl I’d kissed… not that it makes much difference when there were 2+ years between them.

When I was almost 30 years old, I met Tammy. I was 30 before we went on our first date. I immediately felt a connection with her that was different from anything else I had ever experienced. Within 3 or 4 dates, I had a sneaking suspicion that I was going to marry her. That thought frightened me for a number of reasons:

I had often felt that way about girls I'd dated before
I barely knewy her or anything about her
I wasn't in love with her, or even sure how deep my crush on her was
I didn't know how she felt about me
We hadn't even kissed yet
I still had a huge crush on the last girl I'd been seeing

And yet, something about this girl had convinced me that I was going to marry her.

I found out later that she had felt the same thing about me, and she had been just as frightened for many of the same reasons (though I really don’t think she had a crush on the last girl I’d been seeing).

I started this blog because I was going to relate a completely different story, but that story needed some background. Thus the blog evolved into a story about meeting Tammy and, as is the apparent custom at this time of year, I find myself expressing gratitude for her and for the Lord who guided me along my path, through my awkward years and led me to meet people who gave me opportunities for growth and self-discovery so that I would be ready to meet Tammy (who was just about to graduate college when I met her) just as she became available. If I had been ready any sooner, she would have been too young or away at school, and we would possibly have never met.

My wife is way too good for me, and yet she’s just exactly right for me. I love her and am grateful for her extremely undeserved patience with me. She keeps me grounded and, frustrating as that is for me sometimes, this keeps me happy over all.

One final observation: I am on good or better terms with every girl I ever dated. This helps support my belief that meeting them, even dating them, was the will of God. And strengthens my gratitude to him and to them.

I’ll most likely write the post I originally intended within the next day or so, but if not: Happy Thanksgiving!

Customer Service - Shouldn't It Extend to Job Applicants?

2009-11-19T08:41:00.006-07:00

For a little over a year, now, I’ve been casually looking for a new, better-paying, better-benefits-offering, better-hours-giving job. Due to some very specific circumstances that job search has become less-casual and more frantic over the past month.

Tammy has also been on the prowl for better employment for a little over a year.

During this period of job-hunting we’ve made some observations that I want to share: Potential employers don’t care. The people handling applications need to receive some training from the company Public Relations and/or Marketing Departments.

Here’s what they are forgetting: As a prospective employee, I am also a potential customer. This doesn’t mean you have to hire me, it doesn’t mean you even have to interview me. But in today’s hi-tech world of online job applications, it does mean that you, as a business, should at least have the customer-friendly courtesy to provide a minimal response to applicants. An automated email stating “Thank you for your application, it will be reviewed within [a given amount of time], at which point we will contact you. If we feel that your application meets our needs, and if the position is still open at that time, we will schedule an interview.”

And then, once the application has been processed, if they aren’t interested it is not a difficult process to set up an automated email that says nothing more than: “Thank you for your interest in [such and such a position] with our company. Unfortunately, we are unable to schedule you for an interview at this time due to the position having already been filled, your qualifications are not exactly what we are looking for, or due to unforeseen circumstances, we are no longer able to fill the position as expected.”

Of course, this last option would need to be written better, but it could say basically the same thing. Maybe tack on a “We apologize for the form letter, however we hope you can imagine the necessity as we receive hundreds of applications every month, and to keep our costs low for our customers, we need to stream-line our services wherever possible.” And yes, this is probably not the best wording for the apology, either, but you get the point.

Having applied for dozens of jobs over the past 12-18 months, I believe that between the two of us, Tammy and I have received exactly four responses from potential employers letting us know that they were not interested. In Tammy’s case, she even had interviews (sometimes multiple interviews with the same employer) where the employer didn’t bother following up, in the end, to let her know they decided to go with somebody else.

In her case, as a math teacher, she’s not really a potential customer, since few (if any) of her applications were within our school district; however, in my case, all of my applications have been to businesses that I could potentially patronize. With very limited exceptions, I do have choices as to whether or not to use their services. Example: I’ve applied for jobs at Comcast, Dish Network, and DirecTV. Two of them responded to my applications. One of the responses was better than the other. Now, if we ever decide to get more than broadcast TV, I know which one of these companies will be my first choice, which will be my second. And that I’m least likely to consider Comcast.

< /soapbox >

The Parents' Dictionary - First Entry

2009-11-06T14:59:00.003-07:00

Help - ful [help - fuhl]:

adj.

When children, having the best of intentions, behave in a manner that is both cute and obstructive.

While I was raking the leaves, my daughter helpfully picked leaves which had not yet fallen from the tree, in order to add them to the pile I was making.

A Brief Apology

2009-10-28T15:28:00.004-06:00

A number of you receive automatic emails from this blog whenever I post a new one. Until last night, I had no idea that the automatic email actually sends the blog-post itself. I honestly thought it sent a simple notice: "Casper the Not-Always-So-Friendly Blog has just been updated with a new post. View it here!" with a link to the actual blog.

I updated my mailing list, however - because I've actually been wondering about this feature - to include myself.

Well, those of you who get the email, are not getting the full effect of the actual blog. Primarily, the email is black-on-white, whereas the blog is off-white-on-black. This isn't an issue for posts like this one which is all text, but when I change the color of some of the text to, say, light-blue (which I do frequently), it is actually kind of difficult to see on a white background.

I'm considering changing my blog template to use a more typical black-on-white (or at the very least dark-on-light) scheme, but in the meantime, I want to apologize and invite you all, when you get the blog notifications, to click the link at the bottom of the email that takes you directly to the blog itself, where you can see all the other fun features on the blog.

TTFN

Ghost Milk

2009-10-27T22:32:00.008-06:00

We went to Hogle Zoo on Saturday. There was a definite Halloween theme going on: Monkeys dressed as zebras, elephants sporting rhino horns, you know, Halloween stuff.

Ok, that was all a bunch of lies. But there were lots of kids in costumes, and lots of booths for trick-or-treaters to bag oodles of tooth-rotting goodness.

One booth was giving away entire half-gallons of eggnog.

Egg. Nog.

So we took advantage of that, and purchased a jug at $0.00. What a bargain!

Take a close look at the picture. That’s a witch on the label. Witch or not, it’s a spooky picture, and Cordelia, seeing the jug in the fridge yesterday pointed to it and said: “Dost!”

“Ghost?” said I.

“Yes!” exclaimed she.

“That’s eggnog. Do you want some?”

“No egg! Dost Milk! Pease!”

Ok, so her English isn’t the best. But she makes herself understood, and she’s doing better. And honestly, I think “Ghost Milk” is a way better name than “eggnog.”

Pumpkin Pie, 11 Months Overdue

2009-10-22T10:14:00.004-06:00

Last Thanksgiving I promised my pumpkin pie recipe but never got around to providing it. There were a number of reasons for that. One is that the pies I was making that day turned out… well… not overly edible; and I was a little embarrassed and didn’t think it would be prudent to provide a recipe that wasn’t any good.

In all honesty, the recipe is good, it was the cooking that wasn’t so great. So I’ve had to tweak the cooking temperature and time trying to find the best combination. As of last night, I am now confident enough to share.

You can download the recipe here, but watch the pie as it gets close to the end of the cooking time. Different ovens provide very different results. My in-law’s electric oven cooks the pie nearly perfectly at 375º in 55-60 minutes. My gas oven bakes the pies about as well at 350º for just over an hour.

I am working on an ideal pie crust to go with this pie, but so far I’ve only been able to make adequate crusts, nothing fantastic. Certainly nothing worthy of posting online. So if you don’t have your own pie crust recipe, you can find a bunch online, or buy a pre-made shell at the supermarket. Homemade is usually going to be better, however.

Surprising Sound

2009-10-12T15:54:00.007-06:00

So today I was on the roof winterizing the house. While I was draining the water from the swamp-cooler I heard a familiar, yet confusing sound coming from behind me. Familiar because it was something I hear pretty constantly any time I’m home… or out shopping… or anywhere except at work.Confusing because it was a sound I very specifically do not expect to hear when I’m on the roof.

“Daddy?” was the sound.

I had left Cordelia in the house with specific instructions to finish her sandwich and then come outside. She’s generally a very obedient child, and I had no concerns. In the mean-time Tammy had her lunch break and had come upstairs to feed herself, and they had both come out giving Tammy a chance to explain to Cor what exactly it was that daddy was doing on the roof.

At this point, however, they had both gone back inside. Or so I thought.

When I turned around to see why it was that Cordelia’s voice had carried so clearly from the ground I saw just exactly what you are all thinking: Cordelia was up the ladder. She was, fortunately, not on the roof, but her head was well above it.

At this point I panicked, briefly, in my head. Sharply I said, “Cordelia!” And then, not wanting to frighten her and possibly cause her to fall, I took a breath and said far more calmly than I felt, “You aren’t supposed to be up here.”

I walked toward the ladder, hoping to be able to see some way to help her get back down safely, but found myself at a loss. Hoping that Tammy was still on her lunch break and within earshot, I started calling for her. Loud, but – again – calmly.

The rest of the story is pretty boring. Tammy came out, scolded the child much the same way I had, climbed up the ladder a few steps and helped Cordy make her way back down. Children, these days.

Might be my own fault. Here’s a picture I took last summer (actually April '08). This was done with my encouragement.

If you look carefully you can see the shadow of a

not-to-excited-about-this-stunt mommy ready

to jump to the rescue, if daddy's daredevil

decides to fall.

The Nobel Prize, Credibility Squandered

2009-10-10T07:33:00.001-06:00

I normally save my political opinions for my other blog… but since I don’t ever update my other blogs, I think I’ll just do it here and be done with it.

I try to not be a hater, and I try to like President Obama. He seems like a really nice guy, and when I hear him talk, I like the things he says... as he says them. Unfortunately, after he gets finished talking, I find myself struggling to swallow any of it.

Now, don't think I'm some crazy-right-wing-nut, I've been accused of being too conservative by some of my more liberal friends... but then I've been accused of being too liberal by some of my conservative friends, so I gave up trying to appease everybody and have contented myself with being myself and having my own views, regardless of others.

Here's the meat: Extreme liberal values are harmful to the masses. The idea to "spread the wealth" is damaging to the entire group. It helps the poor, sure, for a while. But it harms the wealthy. This can have a couple of long-term side-effects. I was going to go into a deep-ish philosophical diatribe about why this is bad, but chances are if you don't already know why, you'll just disagree with me and miss the point of this post.

Here's a really brief summary: extreme liberalism = socialism = something for nothing at the expense of others... whether they like it or not.

And here's the point of this post:

President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize the other day. When a friend at work told me that, my first thought was: "Shut up." So I told him to shut up.

He insisted it was true. He turned to his computer and pulled up MSNBC.com and showed me. I scowled in thought... What's today? I thought. October something, so not April Fool's Day...

Still doubting I decided to check out the most official sources I could find. Ended up on nobelprize.org It was true. I was (and am) baffled. Why on Earth did the Nobel people choose to discredit this prize by giving it to somebody who did not earn it?? He hasn't done anything!

I read the official press release, I don't know if I need written permission to duplicate it here, so I'll sum up and give a link:

For efforts to strengthen international diplomacy, and his vision of a world without nuclear weapons.

Yes, friends, strangers, et al., President Barack Obama, 44th president of the United States of America was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for "trying" and "imagining" good things. Not for succeeding or accomplishing. For trying and pretending.

I decided this was going to be an opportunity for Socialists everywhere to point and say, "See, it works!! We really don't have to do anything, and good things will come our way!"

Obama, of course, was very gracious in his response to learning he would be receiving the award, and I have nothing bad to say about his response. However, I did read Rush Limbaugh's response to Obama's address, and though I do think Rush is a right-wing-nut, he made what I believe to be a good point.

He pointed out that this award was almost nothing more than the Nobel committee putting pressure on Obama (Read: bribing him) to leave Iran alone, refuse a surge in Afghanistan, and otherwise weaken the United States.

Best case scenario: The Nobel Peace Prize committee has undervalued their own prize and encouraged the rest of the world to see it as nothing more than a political award given to those who they think they can manipulate into advancing their own agenda.

Worst case scenario: President Obama feels the pressure, gives into it, and moves to completely eliminate the United States' presence in the world as a super power.

Bottome line: The Peace Prize has lost all significance in this frivolous awarding to President Obama. If I were a previous laureat, I would be saddened that my award no longer meant what it used to mean... of course, I suppose this started earlier, maybe when Al Gore received it.

Links:

Nobel Prize Press Release

Fox News (transcript of Rush Limbaugh)

Dog Psychology

2009-09-12T22:09:00.005-06:00

This is Argos, our lovable, friendly, easily excitable, puff-ball. He's two years old now, and has been a member of our family for about 18 months. This picture was taken the day we brought him home.

From the time we got married Tammy had hinted at wanting a dog. She'd see dogs running around a neighborhood and point out that the poor things didn't have any home and we should pick them up and give them a new home at our house. Sometimes she was less subtle and would simply say something along the lines of, "We should get a dog."

I did not want a dog. Or any pet. Maybe a fish. You see, I grew up with pets. Cats, dogs, rabbits, fish, a turtle, a chicken, and my parents had horses. So I've had them, been around them, seen them get sick, seen them grow old, retrieved their bodies from the road. I've dealt with pets alive and dead, and I just didn't want to do it anymore. Dead pets are nobody's best friend, and they leave holes in my heart that never want to mend.

But as Cordy became more and more mobile, I came across an old photo of my niece when she was about Cordelia's age, and she was out playing with my brother's dog and her young litter of pups. The smile on her face was a mile wide and I realized that my selfish refusal to have pets would prevent my own child/children from experiencing the unfeigned love and joy that my pets had brought me my entire life. I couldn't live with the idea that I'd be preventing my own little girl from having her own pet-experiences, when animals had always been an extremely important part of my childhood... and adulthood, if I'm ging honest.

So Argos was Tammy's Christmas/Birthday present from me the year Cordelia turned 1 (Cordy's birthday is Dec 23, Tammy's is January 19, so the three kind of lump together when discussing past events). However, since Tammy is violently allergic to ~~life~~ animals, primarily those that tend to live with people, choosing a dog required a great deal of planning on my part. And I had to do it in secret, too.

So for several months prior to Christmas, I spent countless hours on www.dogbreedinfo.com and other websites researching dogs. In addition to Tammy's allergies, I wanted a dog who could be kept indoors (I grew up with outdoor dogs, and it always broke my heart to leave them outside without real company), and we needed a dog we could be comfortable having around small children.

Once the cat was out of the bag... or more precisely: the dog secret was revealed, Tammy and I started looking, together, at the list of most viable options for hypo-allergenic dogs that I had made. Since this was not just any old gift, but an actual living, breathing, potentially thinking creature who would be with us for many many years to come, we did not want to rush into it, and since it was going to be Tammy's dog, she certainly needed to have a say-so in just exactly what dog we got.

As we narrowed down the search, we also picked up season one of The Dog Whisperer on DVD and watched every single episode. We learned a lot about dogs, why they behave the way they do, and a bunch of techniques and tricks to help keep your dog happy. And it is unbelievably easy to do, with a little patience, and a lot of self-control.

Here are some basics:

Dogs are not people, and no matter what you may interpret, dogs do not think that they are people. At most, dogs think that their 'masters' are dogs.
When a dog is frightened or nervous, soothing sounds and cuddles do not reassure them and make them feel better. They are not people (see number 1). Soothing and cuddling them is interpretted as a reward for their behavior. It actually encourages them to be frightend or nervous! Yikes!
Dogs are instinctive walkers. They need to walk, to roam. A majority of behavioral problems in dogs can be averted simply by taking the dog for a brisk daily walk for 30-60 minutes (depending on the breed). And it isn't about exercise. A dog can get lots and lots of exercise playing fetch, frisbee, or just running around the back yard, but exercise doesn't physiologically trigger whatever it is the dog gets psychologically from a good walk.
Dogs are pack animals. They see their family as their pack. And as such they need a very clear understanding of the pack hierarchy. If there are other dogs in the house, they'll figure out which dogs fall where in the hierarchy all on their own, naturally. But because people are primates, our hierarchies form differently than those of canines, and we have to consciously make an effort to establish a pack order for the dog's benefit. It isn't hard to do, but it does have to be consistent. It is simply a matter of learning a little about pack behavior and then incorporating it:

Whoever is physically in the lead during a walk, is the alpha dog. Do not let your dog walk you. Keep him/her beside or behind you. Use a leash that actually allows you to do that.
The higher up in the hierarchy you are, the sooner you get to eat, in relation to the rest of the pack. Dogs should not eat before or while the rest of the family is eating.
If a dog shows dominance towards a child, that dog should immediately be disciplined by getting him/her in a submissive position (aka, lying on its back), and the child should be placed standing above the dog, even straddling it, for a few seconds to allow the dog to imprint that the child is dominant.

Some of this stuff sounds heartless, or mean, or even stupid to us as humans; but it's because we are humans. We have empathy and compassion and all kinds of emotions that either dogs don't have, or experience differently than we do.

Now, about Argos and his psychology. Today's main event.

We finally settled on an Australian Labradoodle. There are two Labradoodle breeds, one of them is just any cross between a Labrador Retriever and a Poodle. And then there are Australian Labradoodles, which are considered a pure breed. They are the result of professional dog breeders working to breed together specific traits of two separate breeds in order to create a new breed altogether. Whereas a "Labradoodle" is a mixed breed, an Australian Labradoodle is pure.

The breeders were looking to create a new breed of dog that could be used as a service animal for people with dog allergies.

Poodles are hypo-allergenic dogs, Labs are not. Both are very intelligent dogs. Both are traditionally "water dogs," which is to say their original breeding was as bird-dogs - the dogs that go and retrieve the duck after the hunter shoots it from the sky.

If I understand correctly, Poodles are just a little too independent for the service animal tasks (as a breed on the whole, though I'm sure some animals as individuals could do the job just fine). So the good folks down under started working on getting some of the submissive love from the Labs and mixing it in with the allergy-free coats of the Poodles. The result, several decades later, is a wonderfully obedient dog with all the energy a small family can handle. He's clever (sometimes sneaky), very friendly, very very patient with small children who poke him in his eyes, and he never barks. Well, never used to bark. Something has happened and I've caught him barking a couple of times in the past two months. But even with that... he's not a barker.

Oh, and he doesn't shed. At all.

Argos is, however, terrified of the vacuum. He hides under the bed, runs into the other room, gets away and gets away fast. I've tried the psychological fixes that Cesar Milan (the Dog Whisperer) uses. I refused to coddle him, and I've even commanded the poor dog to stay in the room, on the bed, close enough to the vacuum to see it, and have refused to comfort him in his fear. It hurts me (as a human) to do this to him, but it works. Or it has worked. It's kind of hard to be consistent with it, because once he's under the bed, he's not coming back out. Ugh.

So this is where I get confused. He's terrified of the vacuum, but he plays chicken with the lawn-mower!!!! What is wrong with my dog? As I mow the lawn he charges it, then dodges aside at the last second. He'll pick up his ball and make a mad dash across the path of the mower, just feet in front of me. Today he just stood in my path staring at the machine as I rolled closer. I finally had to stop and yell at him to move. He did it twice, the second time he ignored me until I started pushing on towards him.

And this lawn mower isn't safe. I had to stop letting Cordelia be outside with me while I was mowing the lawn last summer after the spinning blades threw a rock or a peach-pit (or something small, hard, and aerodynamic at high speeds) at the house at a frightening velocity. If it had hit a window it would have smashed right through. Cordelia had been on the other side of the yard, picking flowers or something. I stopped the motor right then and urged her quickly into the house, explaining to Tammy why people were not allowed in the yard while I was mowing.

I'm honestly not comfortable with Argos out there while I'm mowing, but he loves being outside so much and he usually stays clear, chewing on his toys or playing with fallen apples, that I'm not terribly worried about him. And if I'm being honest, dogs just aren't little girls, no matter how cute and cuddly they can be sometimes.

If anybody thinks they understand why vacuums = fear and lawnmowers = exciting fun toys, please don't hesitate to speculate at me. I'm interested in all kinds of whacky explanations for my dog's insanity.

Today Part II - Whilst Driving

2009-09-08T21:06:00.009-06:00

If you missed Part I, I just want to point out that I've doubled the blog today, so anybody interested enough to read one post may be interested enough to read two.

For those of you who do not already know, I am a motorcycle rider. I love my bike, even though it hasn’t run in over a year.

I take biker safety seriously. Not just because I have a wife and little-girl who love me and want me to be safe, not just because I can’t stand the thought of my daughter growing up and not having any real or lasting memories of her daddy, and not just because biker safety is a smart thing to take seriously. I take biker safety seriously because I don’t want to put anybody through the horrifying experience of having to scrape my mangled, broken, bloody, and gory corpse up off the road. Nobody should have to see that, let alone participate in it.

With that said, sit right back and read a tale, a tale of a homeward trip. It started at a working port aboard my wifey’s car.

(abandon theme music)

As I was driving south on Bangerter Highway, approaching the 201 interchange (for those of you who are out of state or otherwise unfamiliar, you can Google Map this, and then use the little orange guy to get to street level and see just exactly what it looks like there), a motorcyclist with no protective gear – when I say no protective gear, I want to be clear: shorts, not jeans, let alone chaps; short-sleeve shirt, not a leather jacket; and bald… not one hair between him and the open road – started drifting from the far left lane into the center lane, directly ahead of me. At first I thought he was going to lane-split (definition: to ride your motorcycle between cars along the lane-dividers – legal in some states, not legal in Utah), but I was mistaken. He was changing lanes completely, never mind the fact that there was a car in the center lane.

He didn’t bother signaling and from what I could tell, he may have checked his mirror, but didn’t bother turning his head the 10º-15º it would have taken to see that there was a car next to him (directly in front of me). I prepared to brake, rather than risk adding additional trauma to my soon-to-be traumatized psyche. Fortunately, the guy in front of me was more aware of his surroundings than the nugget riding the motorcycle and moved into the right-hand lane, safely enough.

He soon made it through a light that I didn’t fight for. As he disappeared into the ever congealing mass of vehicles that constitutes rush-hour traffic, I began doubting the wisdom in taking Bangerter Hwy. I usually don’t take it, but at the hour I was traveling today, I didn’t figure traffic was going to be any better on the freeway, and the hwy was more direct between work and the in-laws (who tend my princess). I began envisioning clogged transit arteries as rubber-neckers inched, gawking, past a broken, flayed body before emergency vehicles could arrive at the scene and hide the horror from unpaid, unpaying spectators.

I caught up to him again near 4700 south (about 16 blocks from where he’d lost me), and he was still alive and, as I found out later, not planning on changing lanes again before leaving the highway.

This whole drive I had been raging internally at what an idiot this guy was. He was not only stupidly risking his own safety, but he was risking the safety of other people on the road, and being inconsiderate of the feelings of people who presumably love him, not to mention his lack of concern for how his possible ruin could adversely affect those who witnessed it.

But then I caught up to somebody who made that guy look like a 133t super genius. This new guy was wearing approximately the same quality of protective gear, though he did have long, thinning hair on his head, was wearing long pants, and was sporting a sweet handle-bar moustache. Despite these obvious differences, he was by far the less intelligent, qualified biker.

My first thought as I approached him from behind (I was in the center lane, he was in the right-hand lane) was, “Geez, that guy’s only got one arm? He must have a sick, tricked-out bike that only requires one arm to operate!”

Steve’s Educational Corner:

For those who aren’t familiar with motorcycle workings: A motorcycle has a front brake and a rear brake. The front is operated by the right hand, the rear is handled by the right foot. Most bikes are manual transmissions, requiring a clutch and shifter. The clutch is activated by the left hand, the shifter by the left foot. It is possible to shift gears without activating the clutch (unlike a car), but it’s not something I would recommend doing very often, and it’s true that some bikes have automatic transmissions, though I’m only aware of that among scooters.

Once that foolish thought outlived its instant of glory, reality set in and I realized he was talking on his cell phone. His CELL PHONE! On the hwy at… well… considerably less than hwy speeds… like maybe 30 mph. But still. HIS CELL PHONE!!!!

As I passed him, I toyed with the idea of honking at him, maybe interrupt his call… maybe let whoever he was talking to in on the secret that his geniusness was in traffic. I opted against it. After I passed him I ended up moving into the lane ahead of him (this was just north of 5600 south, my exit was 6200, which was the next light after 5600). The light turned red, and we had to stop. Again, I toyed with an idea. This time I considered stopping suddenly to see what happened to the phone. I didn’t.

But I did watch him in the mirror. As he came to a stop, he lodged the phone between ear and shoulder so he could clutch and downshift to neutral (neutral lives between 1st and 2nd gears). We were stopped long enough that I could have gotten out of my car and gone back to have a conversation with him. Maybe ask who he was talking to, maybe find out if they would feel terribly good about themselves if he ended up getting killed in an accident while he was on the phone with them. I didn’t.

Time to go again, and voilà, he almost biffed it right there, as he hurriedly shoved the phone back into his neck-cradle and reached for the clutch, losing momentary control of his bike. Fortunately, he got off the hwy at 5600 and I didn’t have to see his freakishly imbecilic attempt at multi-tasking continue.

It’s unsafe to drive a four-wheeled vehicle while talking on the phone. Two wheeled vehicles are considerably more difficult to drive safely while intoxicated or otherwise distracted. In a four-wheeled vehicle you have the luxury of living in a protective box.

Friggin’ idiot.

By way of cynicism, let me express this thought: If you want to kill yourself, a bullet in the head in the privacy of your own home won’t result in a traffic jam, and will likely only traumatize those who love you most. Leave the rest of us out of it.

Today Part I - The Albertsons Tale

2009-09-08T20:42:00.007-06:00

I was going to post a single blog with twice the content today, but it got so long that I am opting for a double blog... still with twice the content. So keep an eye out for Part II, coming soon (like within just a few editorial minutes after Part I).

This morning I stopped at Albertsons on my way to work to make a very small purchase. At 6:25 in the AM, they only have their self-checkout open; which is fine with me, since I only use human cashiers when the self-checkout is closed. Thankfully that almost never happens.

So, there I am at the self-checkout, pleased with myself because the product I was purchasing which is normally $2.38 each is currently going at 3 for $4 – a 56% savings! – as long as I use my Albertson’s Preferred Card. Which I always do.

I scan the purchase and place it in a sack, waiting for the friendly self-checkout lady voice asking, “Have you scanned your Albertson’s Preferred Card?” She always asks me this, even though she knows – and I know she knows – that I have not yet scanned it. But she’s polite so I usually just say, “Not yet, but I’m on it.”

Today, she asked me, and I responded as usual, but as I checked my wallet, I couldn’t find my handy little Preferred Card. It’s small, supposed to go on a keychain, but as I loathe bulky key chains or superfluous extras dangling from my car’s ignition switch, I never put anything on the keychain that doesn’t need to be on it.

As I started sifting through the absurd assortment of Jamba Juice and Café Rio “Buy 10 get one free” cards, and a number of Wal*Mart gift cards – which may or may not actually still have any money left on them – I pulled my debit card out and shoved it between two unoccupied fingers of my left hand.

Wouldn’t you know it, I apparently have the finger dexterity of a kiwi (the bird, not the fruit… though I suppose the fruit has about as much finger dexterity as the bird). I dropped the card and it fell. Not generally a big deal for somebody who is able to see, and bend at the waist and knees.

Well, it turns out, I’m extra-special. You see, I didn’t just drop the card. I dropped the card improbably into the little gap between the scanner and the edge of the scanner (see image below). At first I couldn’t believe that it had actually, somehow, managed to fall just right to end up down the narrow chasm. It had to have been at least 2 feet over it, and would have had to fall just so in order to make it.

Then the real concerns crept in. Without my Preferred Card, I wasn’t going to be able to get my awesome deal and would have to pay full price, and worse: I wasn’t going to be able to make my purchase at ALL!! Okay, that wouldn’t have been worse. It wasn’t an absolute necessity, it was a drink. But still.

After a brief lapse of judgment, my senses returned and I sought out (and found) the one employee actually working up front. She was gracious and helpful, and she showed me how incredibly limber the self-checkout lady is. You can lift her monitor screen right up and then her scanner area becomes nimble as a bee, making it easy to lift that scanner up and out, exposing the gratuitous metal bin that the scanner rests in. Lo and behold: my card was retrieved.

And to make things even more exciting, she punched in a code which delivered me the 56% savings I’d been craving! All I need is my phone number! Yay!

The observant reader will have noticed in an above paragraph "keychain" is a compound word, while "key chains" is separate. This is because Microsoft Word 2007 (my editor of choice) recognizes keychain, but not keychains. In a bid to keep Word happy, and in order to have something to criticize at this point in the story, I chose not to add keychains to the dictionary, and compromised the compound word. Enjoy.

Wells Fargo - Oh How I Hate Thee!

2009-07-20T20:32:00.007-06:00

I came in need of no bling nor chrome

Seeking money for school and for home

You promised a low rate

Then forgot till too late

Hence shall I say, "Seek else for a loan!"

Ok, two negative blogposts in a row is unfair to everybody who reads this, so I promise to make it up to you with a happier post next time. Let's hope that happens sooner rather than later!!

Oh the Wretchedness of Being Me

2009-07-13T17:21:00.002-06:00

After my 2-in-1 rant I thought about starting a whole new blog at www.soapbox.blogspot.com but somebody already has that one and I didn't feel like taking 3-12 hours trying to find a clever title that was both available and likely. So I'll stick with ranting on my family blog. By the way, have you ever noticed that all the really good domain names are not only always taken, but are not even being used? That's a rant for another day, I suppose.

Anyway, today's ~~whine~~ er... rant:

I drink Arrowhead bottled water. I like the taste (or lack thereof). But about a year ago they changed their bottles: They made the plastic thinner (I imagine they did it in some scheme to appear more green). Now I can't open one without squeezing the bottle too tight, forcing water up and out under the cap! I've tried gripping the very base - no joy; I've tried gripping around the neck where physics ensures the the narrowness of the neck will not permit the plastic to squeeze - but no, my hands are too big, the neck too small, and there is not even a phantom of leverage to speak of.

Ok, so a little water dribbling down the side of the bottle is not a big deal. However, water also gets trapped under the plastic ring (that seals the cap before it is first opened). Trapped, that is, until I take a swig. At that point, the water dribbles down my chin and onto my shirt, making me look like the latest victim of novelty-cup wit.

Who designs these things? Who approves them? Who quality-tests them? and is it wrong to want to beat them all with a wet fish?

I've taken to buying the larger bottles that have the blueish flip-top lid. I started buying them because then I didn't have to worry about the spillage, but quickly discovered that the water passing through the lid (which is made of some different plastic than the rest of the bottle) picks up a plasticky flavor that is, shall we say, less than savory. So I started unscrewing the whole cap. And you know what? These bottles are still made with the heavier/denser/thicker plastic that the other bottles used to be made out of. Now I buy them because I can unscrew the cap without fear of squirting water all over my keyboard at home or at work. Joyous day!

The Lullaby Album

2009-07-08T20:56:00.006-06:00

So I have this friend, see, and she's a concert pianist. She used to only perform others' works, such as that of Tchaikovsky, Debussy, and the like.

But a few years ago Jenni decided to start composing her own music.

The first album, The Key of Sea, was released, oh 2 years ago, give-or-take, and I loved it. Not just because she's my friend (check out one of her many blogs through the Sleepless in Seattle link to the right, or go to her music website by clicking here: JenniferThomasMusic.com), but because it's really very good.

Well, of course, she took her time getting a second album out. I get the impression that becoming a new mom was somehow more important and required more attention than making music to appease the masses. I suppose I might agree with her.

Anyhow, her baby inspired The Lullaby Album, and from the bits and pieces I've heard, it is going to have been worth the wait. I've posted one of her YouTube promos for this new album on the right, so please give it a click, watch it, enjoy it, and if you like it...

Buy it.

I do not get any monetary compensation for promoting the album. I just love the music, and she's a really great friend. So, of course, I want her to succeed. Which she will do without me plugging her music. Still, I want to.

If you go back to one of my older posts, I have a photo montage of Cordelia, over which I dubbed some of Jenni's music from her first album.

Could It Be Swine Flu??

2009-06-23T10:52:00.008-06:00

So I've been sick for about two weeks. Tammy was sick for about a week before I got sick, so I just figured I had whatever it was she had. Cordelia, the trooper, hadn't had any symptoms of any kind.

People at work were disgusted with me hacking and coughing and blowing my nose all day long. I got everything from "Go to the hospital!" to "Go home!" to a couple of ladies walking around with a can of Lysol spraying all the cubicals. So I took a couple of days off last week, expecting the rest and relaxation to put all to right.

Didn't help.

On Saturday Tammy had a family reunion that I was just too sick to go to. It had gone beyond just the coughs and sneezes, and had progressed to body aches, fever (slight), head-aches, nausea, and fits of sneezing that lasted 15-20 gut-wrenching blows (I generally sneeze 2, maybe 3 times if my allergies are really bad).

Sunday I felt considerably better, the nausea and body aches were gone, as was the fever. Monday, I was in the crapper again. All my symptoms were back. So I skipped another day of work, and went to the instacare.

Off Topic

Instacare... That name is an ironic joke, I'm pretty sure: 'insta-' suggests you get in instantly when in reality you sign in, wait 10 minutes for them to call you up to pay for your care, then wait another 30-90 minutes for them to call you back, take your blood-pressure, temperature, and ask questions like "What's wrong?", then they take you back to a room where you have the choice of sitting on the bed or a chair for another 20-30 minutes. The doctor then comes in, asks a bunch of questions while typing on the computer. Listens to your chest and back while you breathe, then he's done. If anything else needs to happen, it is handled by a nurse. He only takes up about 5 minutes of your time at the "instacare."

I signed in at 10:54, I got home at 1:10.

This is how I break it down:

10:54 - Sign In

11:05 - Pay

12:00 - Get taken back

12:25 - Doctor comes in

12:30 - Doctor leaves

12:33 - Nurse comes in to take a flu test (a whole other story)

12:35 - Nurse leaves

12:55 - Doctor comes back with the test results

1:00 - I leave

Back On Topic

Flu tests - if you've never had one, you should allow yourself the experience at least once in your life - and probably just the once. If you have, you know what I mean.

The doctor sounded pretty sure I had Swine Flu, or at least some form of flu. But the test came back negative. So the answer to the initial question: Yes, it could have been Swine Flu. But it wasn't.

So now he's got me on 3 different prescriptions to help control my symptoms. A cough suppressant, a pain-reliever, and a nasal spray. Of course, the pharmacy was all out of the nasal spray until today - except they called a few minutes ago to let me know they won't have it till tomorrow, so I am going to shop around and find it sooner.

In addition to that, he wants me to keep taking Mucinex and drinking lots of fluids. And he gave me today off work. We'll see if my boss thinks that was a "continued employment" decision the doctor had a right to make. Since the cough suppressant makes me all kinds of woozy, I think it's best that I get used to it before I operate a motor-vehicle again. Or at least give it a chance to do it's work before I skip a dose in order to drive to work.

Tammy started hacking yesterday, and this morning Cordelia has a slight cough. We'll probably try to get her in to her pediatrician sometime today, just to hopefully nip it in the bud.

Desert Gardening

2009-05-13T17:31:00.004-06:00

On Saturday we went to a water conservation fair... thing. Basically, we went in order to see lots of various possibilities for Xero-scaping our yard in order to keep our water-usage to a minimum.

It was interesting, but that isn't what this blog is about. It's about Cordelia having fun.

I really don't think I realize just how much bigger I am than her until I see us together in a photo or a video. I'm really quite frightening. She had been watching other kids climbing the wall and she wanted in on the fun. I wasn't sure she was big enough, but then I noticed a great big banner that said "Free for all ages." So we went for it.

Waiting her turn was not something she did patiently, at first. I wish I had gotten some video of her as we waited for the hosts to retrieve the special tiny harness she needed... she kept looking at me in frustration, I could almost hear her thinking "C'mon dad, I don't need that!"

Once she had it on, it took some convincing that she had to wait her turn (fortunately there were only a couple of kids ahead of her, and there were 3 cables). She, oh-so-patiently, folded her arms and set her hips and her scowl to wait. It was cute.

2 in 1 - What a Fantastic Concept!

2009-03-31T18:20:00.006-06:00

This is me.

I’d show you a picture of my shoulders, but nobody wants to see the flakes. That’s right: I have dandruff. Big deal. The problem isn’t that I get a little flakey at times, I mean really it’s not an uncommon condition. The problem is that the only shampoo that actually works for me is Denorex. Smells funky, but it really does the trick.

And the only Denorex I can ever find in any of the grocery stores that I frequent on anywhere near a regular basis carry only these:

2 in 1. Shampoo Plus Conditioner. Does it look like I need conditioner? Do the inventory clerks in charge of stocking shelves think that bald people don’t get dandruff, too? If only that were the case! I am not ashamed of my baldness, but even if I were, I would welcome it gladly if it meant I would never have to worry about wearing dark shirts ever again!

Honestly, I could buy the 2 in 1 and use it, and it would work for me. The problem is, I would be paying for 50% shampoo and 50% conditioner. Half of my money would be wasted on a product I just don’t need and cannot benefit from in any way. I’d like 100% of my purchase go towards a good cause (the same reason I don’t plan to donate to the United Way, despite my company’s campaign to get 100% participation this year… but that’s another rant and would belong on my political blog rather than this one).

Please, anybody who lives anywhere in the Salt Lake Valley (or even within reasonable distance outside of SLC), if you see Denorex, just plain old non-conditioner Denorex, let me know! (Please note, the color of the label indicates "Regular versus Extra Strength", not "Shampoo vs. 2 in 1")

How ridiculous would it be to have to order a non-prescription shampoo over the internet? That's about where I am.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

2008-11-27T10:18:00.002-07:00

Today commemorates the 7th anniversary of me coming to terms with the fact that I was going to lose my hair. Thus, in a preemptive strike, I shaved my head. I had only planned on seeing what I was going to look like when the baldness came, but even after letting my hair grow for 7-8 months afterwards, it was never quite the same. That is the only time I've let my hair grow for more than 2-3 months (usually 6 weeks) since that first cut.

So this morning, I celebrated this tradition and shaved it all back off.

Tammy's making candied yams for dinner today while I'm making pumpkin pies. I'll have pictures (and if you're good I may even share my recipe) later.

I just wanted to make sure I got the Happy Thanksgiving out there before the day got away from me.

Seriously, So Blessed

2008-11-23T10:46:00.004-07:00

Ok, so I decided I didn't have enough blogs to read, and I have friends who have blogs that I didn't know about, so I started looking around. Checking blogs that my friends read, and trying to find other people I know or, at the very least, interesting blogs to read.

From Steph's blog I found Christi's blog. And from Christi's blog I found Seriously, so Blessed.

I don't know who she is (from what I have seen, NOBODY knows), and I'm ok with that. She's a local blogger who has taken it upon herself to satire the "mormon blogger mom." And she's hilarious.

Check her out at http://seriouslysoblessed.blogspot.com

Tammy and I have been sitting here reading and laughing (often hysterically) when we should have been getting ready for church. Tammy finally dragged herself into the shower commenting on how I needed to get the princess into a dress.

So I wrote this blog instead. The shower just turned off, so I guess I had better get moving if I want to be less than 20 minutes late.

Family Update

2008-11-22T00:27:00.004-07:00

Ok, so here's the latest on the Casper Family:

Tammy is working from home, doing some data entry. She has also been interviewed (and possibly hired, pending the results of a drug test) for a second from-home job doing customer service. The data entry work is paid pre-tax (so I get to figure that out, yay!), and doesn't have any insurance benefits. The CS job does have benes, but they don't start for 90 days.

This leaves me in a bind... Zion's offers some of the most ridiculous health care options I've ever heard of (only slightly cheaper than Cobra). For $200-300/month in premiums, we can have somewhere between 25% and 75% coverage on any medical expenses that exceed $5,000-$10,000 in the calendar year. This means we have to pay, minimum, $200 every month to the insurance company in order to guarantee partial coverage of expenses incurred in excess of, again minimum, $5,000. They offer no co-pays. It's all out of pocket until we reach the $5,000 mark. Then they cover a range between 1/4 and 3/4 of our expenses.

My question is this: In what way is this insurance? Other than being able to document "coverage" so that when we get real coverage we can prove that we don't have "pre-existing" conditions, this is hardly insurance at all. It's a scam. I even called Cigna and Aetna to double-check with them that I was reading the benefits chart correctly. The Customer Service people I spoke with were as shocked as I was. They verified I was reading it correctly, but they said they had never heard of such awful plans, and had no idea that their companies were involved in something so terrible.

If I go with Zion's I'm locked into it until next November unless I quit, which is at least a possibility, as I've applied with UTA to become a bus driver (better pay, better insurance, and I'd get to drive around all day). If I don't go with Zions then I really need to hurry up and find another provider till Tammy's benefits kick in at the new job.

On a lighter note:
We went out to dinner tonight at Chili's with my Wife's local family for her brother-in-law's birthday. Cordelia got a little plastic cup of water, pretty tightly sealed, and she brought it home with her. She accidentally dropped it on the livingroom floor as I was closing the door behind us. No big deal, I thought, the cup didn't come open, and only a couple of drops of water escaped (which I didn't even notice, frankly), so I picked up the cup and put it somewhere safe.

As Tammy went to the bathroom to floss some chicken out of her teeth and I was distracted by something else for a minute, Cordy went into the kitchen, retrieved the mop, and brought it to her little spilled droplets. She efficiently missed every one of them, as she pushed the towering mop-handle around without an ounce of dexterity, but with a barge-load of heart and enthusiasm...

I just love that kid.

On a completely unrelated note:
I just posted my first book review to my Once Upon a Time... blog ( http://bookoobooks.blogspot.com ). I don't plan on updating this blog every time I update that blog, but since it's new, I thought it couldn't hurt if I did once or twice.

My New Blog

2008-11-21T00:16:00.003-07:00

Ok, this is just a quick heads-up for anybody who is interested. I just started a new blog for books I'm reading. I'll read 'em, I'll post about 'em, I'll probably go on and on about some of them.

The blog address is http://bookoobooks.blogspot.com

Everybody is welcome to comment, criticize, recommend, etc.

That is all.

Update

2008-11-19T18:24:00.005-07:00

Hey, so it's been a while since I posted, and I think I'm not going to post much right now, just wanted to bump myself back to the top of any lists I might be on, so nobody out there who might occasionally think about us forgets we are here.

Here is a cute pic of Cordy taken while I was making breakfast. I thought it would be cute to hand her the pancake flipper for the picture. When I stepped away from her to take the picture, she was hard at work making sure the eggs didn't over-cook.

Get this... not a single yolk was broken. She's got the touch.

Winter is Upon Us

2008-11-07T07:43:00.011-07:00

Wednesday, I was in the shower when I noticed the vague and distorted image making its way through the bathroom window didn't have the usual color-scheme. I immediately suspected snow. Cracking the window a bit, I looked out and was shocked to see that it wasn't just a little snow; the entire neighborhood was blanketed in 3-4 inches of powder.

I shut off the water and hurriedly dressed and got outside to shovel the driveway. You see, in that very moment Tammy was getting Cordelia ready to go to grandma Lynda's house. Grandma was taking all her grandchildren, of whom Cordy is the oldest at 22 months (Garrett is pushing for 5 months, and Madison is barely 3), to get their pictures taken together. Madison had made a special trip out from Virginia for this opportunity (not to mention poor Patty – Madison's mom – is all alone at home right now, because Chad – Tammy's brother – is crazy-busy during election season). I needed to get the driveway clear before Tammy left.

If you never shovel, or just don't have to shovel the driveway clear of snow at your own house, you may not immediately understand why I was in such a hurry. So let me explain: Clearing snow while it is still fluffy and powdery, or even if it's crusty and icy, is always much easier before it gets compressed under 2-3 tons of steel and fiberglass concentrated over 192 square inches of rolling galvanized rubber. Sure, compressed ice can be cleared away, without too much difficulty, with a metal shovel, and I'll certainly have plenty of opportunities to do it that way over the next several months, but why not take the opportunity to avoid that mess when I can?

Anyway, I got it all cleared out of the way before they left, so good on me.

Then yesterday Cordelia found her Disney Princess shoes (which are velcro and still a tad big for her), and slipped them on. She then grabbed Tammy, who was still in her sleepin' clothes and tried dragging her by the thumb out the front door. Since I was already mostly dressed, I convinced her that I'd be more fun outside, so she helped me find my shoes, and she found my jacket for me (she's a very good helper, you see). After switching her shoes to the right feet, I grabbed the leash and we took Argos for a walk around the block.

Argos was almost immediately frustrated, though he would never admit it, since he likes to walk briskly when we go. Cordelia's idea of hurrying is a really cute attempt at running consisting of throwing one foot in front of the other haphazardly in a really awkward, yet adorable, speed-walk. Besides, she was in no hurry. She stopped to step and stomp on every stray chunk of snow that had found its way onto the sidewalk. What would normally be a 5 minute walk around the block, 3 if Argos is to be kept happy, took us the better part of 15-20 minutes at Cordy's distracted-munchkin pace.

When we got back to the house, she still wasn't ready to go inside, so I let the dog in and let Cordy try to drag me around the block again. I stopped her at the property line and instead made a snowball that I threw at her. She thought that was hilarious, so we started making snowballs to throw at Argos who was staring dejectedly at us out the front window.

Cordy's unfortunately tiny hands aren't capable of turning fluffy powder into solid masses of snowy ice, so I was quickly converted from a daddy into a snowball manufactory dedicated to the cause of supplying my offspring with ammunition that never launched straight. That got old after a grueling 20 seconds and I started rolling my next snowball into a snowman body. Cordelia was momentarily upset by this change, until she realized daddy was making a big ball (“bau?” she said). The snow was PERFECT yesterday. The snowman took me no more than 5 minutes to build. The hardest part was rolling his lower segment up our steep front yard so he could stay in the shade of the house and hopefully last a few days.

Anyway, here's a picture!

By the way, he's currently faceless, because I was getting concerned by Cordelia's purpling hands. She has mittens, but since we hadn't been planning on playing in the snow, and she had been in such a hurry to leave, we didn't bother finding them. And since she freaked out for the two seconds it took me to fetch the camera, I don't imagine I could have spent any time looking for them once we had started playing in the snow, either.

Halloween

2008-11-03T13:25:00.012-07:00

So Halloween was kind of a joke this year, but Cordelia had fun and that's what is really important. Tammy and I had a miscommunication about Cordelia's costume. I was under the impression that she and her mom were working on a costume for Cordy, so I didn't really think twice about it. Tammy, on the other hand doesn't really get into Halloween the way I usually do, so she didn't think it was a big deal if there wasn't a special fun costume. So since I had boughten Cordelia a Halloween outfit (orange with little black cats) a few weeks ago, Tammy had just been planning on putting her in that outfit and then draping her in a black cape that her mom had made for her when she was about Cordelia's age.

When I found that out, on Halloween, I accepted it, because honestly that had been one of the possibilities we had discussed, and then just saying she was "Halloweeny, the Great Pumpkin's Consort" or something like that.

So, as things seem to happen around Cordy, the black cape went missing. We searched high and low for it at my in-law's house with no luck. By the time I got home to get Tam and Cor, we were already half-an-hour late for the Trunk or Treat at our ward, and since the people in charge of organizing the activity this year had opted for 1 hour Trunk or Treat, so that people could go home and man their doors for the kids who weren't coming to the ward, we were running a bit behind schedule.

Sadly, there wasn't a big turn out for the Trunk or Treat this year (last year it was huge... but we also had dinner served before hand, and it lasted 2-3 hours).

When we finished with the trunk or treat, we made tracks for Grandma and Grandpa Healy's house, where Cordy did some more Trick or Treating at Grandma's and then at the next door neighbor's (where she had never been before, but decided it would be ok to walk past the owners and head up the stairs).

After the Healy's we decided to run past Grandpa Ron's house, but he wasn't home from work yet, so we stopped at Teri Gwynn's house just up the street. For any who don't know, Teri's daughter Cindy is married to my brother Stanley, so they're family. While we were visiting, Cordelia decided to unload her spoils right on Teri's floor and start sorting and organizing them.

Once we finished visiting with Teri, Thomas, and Shayleen, we were headed out and planning on just going home, but as we buckled our seat-belts, Grandpa Ron pulled into his driveway and we stopped to visit a few minutes with him. While visiting, Grandpa put some food out for Patches, the cat who at the best of times won't let anybody, even the people she knows and trusts best, pet her. But since she was hungry, she did the unimaginable: She let a small child pet her! This picture was taken after she realized that it wasn't me touching her, so she was exhibiting a little skittishness.

And, as is my nature, I have a video for you. This is a couple of videos spliced together, the first part is from earlier in the month. Lynda (grandma Healy) had just bought a door decoration that plays "Gouls Just Want to Have Fun", and Cordelia decided to choreograph a Monster Mash-ish dance to go along with it. The second half is the dark, oh-so-dark, attempt at capturing the baby's first night Trick or Treat-ing.

Stills

2008-11-01T23:57:00.007-06:00

Ok, so I promised to put some stills in the blog this time, but what can I say, I love to be technologically with-the-times. So I compromised. Here is a slide-show I put together made up of various pictures taken starting the day Cordelia was born up until a couple of weeks ago. Please note, not all of these pictures are in chronological order, so if she looks suddenly younger it's because I put the photo in the wrong place. Please forgive me.

The music I put this slide show to is "The Red Aspens" from the album "Key of Sea" by Jennifer Thomas. This was done without prior permission from Jennifer, however she has since given consent (as noted in the comments).

Please visit her site: http://www.jenniferthomasmusic.com and if you like her music, buy it. I do, and I did.

I'll be adding a Halloween post soon, though I'm not sure when. I got a very brief video of Cordelia at Trunk or Treat, but we'll have to see if the light from my camera is bright enough to have made the video watchable.

We Love Our Puppy

2008-10-24T23:19:00.005-06:00

Cordelia and Argos have been practically inseparable since we brought him home almost a year ago. Here they are playing on the kitchen floor.

I think I'm going to try posting just some pictures sometime soon. The videos are great, but they can be a hassle to prepare and sometimes take forever to upload. Plus, photos are usually higher resolution and Cordy is always cuter in high resolution.

No, Absolutely Not, No Way, No How, Nope

2008-10-24T23:00:00.006-06:00

Yesterday was Cordelia's 22 month birthday. And as you can tell from this shocking home video, she is getting plenty of practice in for her Terrible Twos. Tammy and I are really excited and looking forward to the joys of parenting a two-year-old.

All I can really say is that it's a really good thing they take a couple of years to reach this stage... if they came out like this... well, I doubt the world population would be a concern. Ever.

Pop Rocks

2008-10-20T23:03:00.003-06:00

Well, this video is self explanatory. I was hoping for more shock or surprise, but it's still cute enough to put up for friends and family to see.

Struggling With Algebra

2008-10-20T06:02:00.007-06:00

Cordelia, the wonderfully bright child that she is, loves books and apparently is interested in math, too. Here she is taking the initiative of getting her hands on the teacher's edition Algebra book and searching for the perfect equation.

Just moments later, she suddenly and surprisingly showed off her latest immitation of mommy and daddy. The camera was there to catch it as it unfolded! (It's really quiet so you may need to either turn up the volume or just know that she's clearing her throat)

The Long-Suffering Tammy

2008-10-14T10:59:00.001-06:00

Well, Tammy has submitted her resignation to Granite School District, though she’ll be finishing out the month. This has been a long and difficult decision for her, and it’s got me a little worried about finances, since she makes more money than I do, and we are generally only barely getting by, month-to-month, but it was a decision that needed to be made.

For the past three years (since about the time I met her) Tammy has been teaching high school math in Granite District. The first year she taught at the Juvenile Detention Center where all of her students were in a locked-down facility awaiting trial. She rarely had the same student for more than a few weeks at a time, though she often that the same students come back every few weeks or months. It was a very disheartening job, so the next year she moved to teaching at ARTEC West, which is still in the youth correctional program, but this school is an open campus (for most students), and a mental health facility, as many of the students are suffering from chemical dependence issues or come from backgrounds and situations that have rendered these children incapable or unwilling to integrate successfully into a mainstream public school.

Unfortunately, the level of professionalism brought to the facility by the “advocates”, who are not teachers or even qualified mental health professionals, but are actually just paid volunteers who come with the presumed intention to help communicate the needs of the students to the school faculty and vice-versa. However, these advocates, more often than not, actually turn out to be nothing more than enablers and excuse-makers for the students.

After two years of the frustration of working in that environment, Tammy made the somewhat difficult choice to leave friendly co-workers who she truly enjoyed working with, and made the move to mainstream public education. She began at Kennedy Junior High School in August of this year, and had regrets almost from the start. She was given 7^th and 8^th grade algebra and pre-algebra classes. Since receiving her BS in Teaching Mathematics and Statistics, she’s been teaching in structured environments, but in public school, the sense of entitlement that seemed to be a symptom caused by the advocates at ARTEC has been replaced in mainstreamed students by a vacuum, a lack of respect for themselves, their fellow students, their teachers, or anybody. Making things worse is the lack of disciplinary actions available. She can send students to the principal’s office, but that doesn’t do anything. She can call the students’ parents, but she can almost never reach them, and when she does, there are other problems, including the fact that many of these parents don’t speak English; and occasionally there is an appalling lack of interest by the parents.

Additionally, she even has some students that don’t speak English, and Tammy doesn’t speak Spanish or Vietnamese (the languages her students who don’t speak English are fluent in). This change has been overwhelming, but would have been tolerable if not for increased illness. Since she became pregnant with Cordelia, Tammy has been sick. An ovarian cyst burst when she was only 6 weeks along, about the same time she developed morning sickness, by 10 weeks, she couldn’t breathe if she was lying down. She saw every imaginable specialist in breathing, heart, back, lung, asthma, or allergy that each previous doctor could think of, none of them could put a finger on the problem. Once Cordelia was born, she could breathe again, but has had intense chronic back pain ever since. In recent months, the back pain has been occasionally debilitating, resulting in an ER visit several weeks ago (they discovered that she had Strep Throat, but it was completely unrelated to her back pain). About the same time that the back pain became so bad, she also became constantly nauseated. For the past 2-3 months, she’s not been able to eat more than about one meal each day, because after only a few bites she becomes ill. Her doctor had her go in for an ultrasound of her gall bladder (no result), he prescribed her an antacid, in case of ulcer (no result), currently she’s taking yet some other medication he prescribed (no result as of yet).

So she is resigning for medical reasons, and she’s going to start working from home. As luck would have it, the job her mom does from home has an opening and can start her training this week (from what I understand it can sometimes take weeks or even months before they have any openings). We’ll keep everybody posted about how it goes.

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Yowza!!!!

2008-10-04T21:14:00.004-06:00

So today I took Cordelia shopping, leaving Tammy home alone to grade homework. We took our time, first Wal*Mart, then Sam's Club, and finally PetCo. Cordy was excited to go see the animals. They had a beautiful short-hair black cat named Venus who I wanted to adopt the second I saw her (as I always do when I see cats in cages). They had their usual stock of bunnies (both floppy and non-floppy varieties), ferrets, fish, birds, and rodentia. While we were admiring the little white mice, we got to watch a treat. I crack up every time I watch this.

Enjoy!

Ahh, My Child, the Prodigious Wonder

2008-10-04T20:19:00.003-06:00

Cordelia has loved music from the moment she was born. The first song she ever heard was Rudolph the Red Nosed Raindeer, sung to her when she was but a day old by her daddy in and attempt to calm her down. And it worked. Since then she has seemed to have an affinity for music, and is drawn to pianos and piano-like instruments (such as organs and her little-tyke piano-xylophone thingy).

Last week at church, Cordy and I were tracking down Tammy who was still in the Young Women's room (for anybody who is unfamiliar with the LDS church, "Young Women" refers to girls ages 12-17, so the "Young Women's" room is not the lavatory, it's just a room where the young women meet). I opened the door and Cordelia pushed through and climbed right up onto the bench and started plunking away. I pulled out my camera-phone and took the following vid.

Various Cordelia Vids

2008-10-04T14:32:00.017-06:00

This is a catch-up video blog. Lots of vids of Cordelia doing cute things (as defined by her parents).

While video chatting with Grandma Gwen, Cordelia wanted to spin, so I was spinning her. Argos decided he wanted to spin too, so up he jumped. It was cute and all was fun, until...

Went to the fair with my dad, my brother Shän, and his family. That's my niece climbing up the tire.

There were a couple of other nice videos that I was going to put up here, but they were too big. Maybe if I get brave some day and resize them I'll post them, but for now these two will do for this blog.

App-O!

2008-10-02T19:09:00.004-06:00

The other day, I was in the backyard playing frisbee with Argos and Cordelia, when Cordy found a freshly fallen apple. She picked it up, despite my assurances of “It's yucky! Ick!” and requests for her to put it down. She brought it right over to me and said, clear as day, “App-o.”

Excited, I asked her if she wanted to eat an apple, and she nodded approvingly. So we went inside, I grabbed a nice crisp Gala apple off the counter and handed it to her, while my video recorder initialized on my phone. The following video is what happened next.

Yardwork

2008-10-02T18:49:00.005-06:00

A month or so ago, I was raking up apples that had fallen from our two backyard apple trees, and Cordelia wanted to be outside with daddy. She's a great help around the yard, and has been all summer. Earlier in the season when I was uprooting dandelions, she helped by taking freshly popped weeds and depositing them in the pile of weeds next to the green-waste bin (which had strangely gotten further and further away as I picked and dug and pulled). So, since I knew how much she loved to help, and since we have a rake that is just-her-size (it's for raking small areas, like flower beds, I believe), I got it out for her and she went to work.