Why I've Been Missing

I've been away for several weeks visiting family and I want to share it with you...

There are a few things that will always be better in the Midwest than here in Utah.  Thunderstorms and swap meets specifically come to mind.  I didn't have the joy of the first while I was home this time, but we did the second one in style!  I introduce you to the Sparks Flea Market in Sparks, KS...

Basically an abandoned town in the middle of nowhere, for 4 days in spring and fall Sparks is converted into three packed city blocks of campers, vendors, shoppers, and unimaginable bargain finds.  My favorite relics to look at were a toddler ride-on Oscar Meyer weinermobile and an antique child's wooden rocking chair.  What I ended up buying (and subsequently hiding and forgetting when it was time to come home) was an antique wooden circus truck complete with wooden circus animals.  At some point my mom will mail it to me and it'll become my first foray into re-finishing an old item.  My boys will love it and I'm so excited!

My littlest making a discovery

There didn't seem to be a reason for my recent trip when I decided to go, but by the time I was there it became obvious that the hand of providence had been at work in my life.  My grandmother passed away while I was on my 18-hour drive towards my childhood home.  I'm certain that I would not have made it out there for her funeral and to be with my family if I had not already been on the way.

Luella Josephine Dobbs from Greg Young on Vimeo.
Because I was there, I had the opportunity to sing a special song at the funeral with my mom and two of my sisters.  Growing up we sang together in church, school music competitions, and other events.  They laughed when I said I missed that and wished I lived closer, but I do and they'd better just watch out...it's not unthinkable that I'd move back just to torture them in that way.

Every year I get nostalgic for the Pella Tulip Time festival.  For anyone not familiar with Pella, it's the home of Pella Windows and VerMeer Corporation.  It was also a settling point for my ancestors and thousands of other early-20th century Dutch immigrants.  Town zoning laws require all commercial buildings to be adorned with traditional Dutch facade and a trip to Pella demands a stop at Jaarsma bakery for S-shaped, almond-flavored Dutch letters.  This year I got to go to the celebration!

It was a chilly, on-and-off rainy day, but it was so much fun!  We got there in time for the afternoon parade and I was instantly transported back to my high-school marching band days.  All the better that my alma mater (can you say alma mater for a high school?) was by far the best band in the parade.  When the rain started we curled up with fresh hot funnel cakes buried in glaze and powdered sugar and then drooled as we walked past the poffertje (mini pancakes) and stroopwaffle (syruped waffle cookies) stands.  

The rest of the day was filled with more food, an antique tractor rodeo, a kiddie corner, and a night parade.  The rest of my trip was filled with plenty of cousins for my kids to play with and family drama that incited both uncontrollable laughter as well as thoughtful conversation.  It was a different kind of visit than I usually have and I hope that my future visits can be the same. 

Bring On Spring

 A few weeks ago I broke my resolve to save money by suppressing all travel desires.  With 24-hour's notice and an invitation from family to join them in the Grand Canyon, I hastily packed my bags, loaded bewildered kids in the car, and hit the open road.  It was the perfect way to welcome spring and summer adventure back from hibernation.

Apparently a little too perfect because now my imagination has gotten the best of me.  With extended family trips already scheduled to San Diego in the summer and Iowa in the winter most people's vacation budget would be full.  I guess it's all in your priorities.  My home is humble and my kids wear hand-me-down clothes and that's fine for me.  Its what makes the going possible.

So what else is on the itinerary?  Well....

~An unexpected additional trip to Iowa and Kansas next week.  Fact is, I miss my family.  And my boys miss playing with grandpa's antique toy trucks. So we're going.  Simple as that.

A July wedding in the Washington D.C. LDS temple that I'd love to go to, but probably will be the first item on the chopping block when reality sets in. 

Relaxing weekends at a "secret" beach-side camping spot

~Hiking in the Utah  mountain canyons.

~Lots of sun and fun at our local waterpark

~Parades and city festivals until we can't bear to take one more piece of free candy or cheap advertisement

~Meeting my sister half-way between here and there for a random weekend meet-up (hint, hint, Beth)

The Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta with side trips to

 White Sands National Monument

and the Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument

   And if I'm lucky, an incomprehensible number of things I haven't dreamed up yet!

What have you dared to dream into your summer travel adventures?

My $100 Dream

I am a thrift store shopper.  And if not a thrift store shopper, then definitely a clearance rack shopper. In Iowa my secondhand store of choice was Goodwill, preferably the Euclid store (or West Des Moines, but it had to be a special treat to make it all the way out there).  In Alaska the goods were at Value Village.  Quality was lacking at Value Village, but when you're thousands of miles from the next thrift store, you take what you can find.  Here in Utah, mecca for used-clothes hounds is Deseret Industries (DI).

Deseret Industries operates along the same lines as Goodwill, I think, offering employment and training services, affordable items for purchase, and a place for the community to donate their time and no-longer-needed belongings.  I support everything DI stands for, but what is the real reason I'm telling you all this?  I have a secret dream...

I want $100 and an entire day alone to DI-hop.  Within 45 minutes driving distance I have access to 10 fabulous stores.  By far my favorites are the Sugarhouse and the American Fork stores.  Sugarhouse always has unique items and American Fork has some tall, presumably wealthy people donating brand new stuff sized perfectly for me.  Whenever this dream shopping spree takes place, I'll start farthest north in downtown Salt Lake City.  That way, if I run out of time or money, I can skip the Provo store and know nothing is there waiting for me.  In the middle of BYU married-housing, that store gets the dregs people have been passing down for generations and should have sent to the trash rather than a merchandising establishment.

Why Deseret Industries you're thinking.  Why not dream and save up for a trip to the mall, or even bigger, to New York City?  Well, first, reality is that holding 100 free dollars in my hand is a pipe dream.  When that great party day arrives, I need to get the most bang for my buck.  I can walk out of the mall with 2-3 things or out of DI with 12-15 things.  Beyond the limitation of money, though, I see cute things peeking out at me every single time I go to DI.  Usually I'm there shopping for my kids or trying to find that hidden gem out in the yard (for my local readers, do you know about the yard?  I was sick to my stomach when I realized I'd been missing out for years and years).  If I do look through the racks for me, a skirt or shirt is guaranteed to fall in love with me, and once in love I have to take it home.  I'll hide it in the laundry basket until it's cleaned and then slip it in my closet pretending it's been there all along.  My husband laughs at me.  He's pretty sure my $3.00 discovery is not going to drain the coffers.

I'm sure a few of you are appalled by now.  It may not seem I have very classy or lofty goals. If that's what you're looking for, hop over to my SIL's blog Timeless.  Emulating and learning from Aubrey Hepburn, her shopping and fashion knowledge is in a world all her own.  As for me, I've got $20 in the bank.  One day that will grow and you'll find me grinning like a kid in a candy store.  You can find me buried in the racks of everyone else's hand-me-downs.

Photo credit: www.waymarking.com

This Season is Not For Me

My husband and I have an agreement.  When the outdoor thermometer reaches 50, I'll bundle myself up and come out to play (curse Mother Nature for interrupting my hibernation with a balmy Utah December). Winter is not my season. Let me share with you a representation of the wintertime experiences that have chiseled me.

Iowa
Anyone who has grown up in the Midwest will emphatically tell you that cold is cold.  Ice and wet, heavy snow combine with wind to cut through to the bone.  Blizzards trap you inside with the thrill of surviving without electricity.  The moonlight sparkling on deep ice-crusted snow brings peace and creates moments to peacefully ponder an unbroken world.  Until you have to go out in it.

As a teenager I found myself in with an afternoon paper route that I hated.  In summer it was a 2-hour bother.  In winter it was absolute sensory torture.  Trudging through unshoveled sidewalks and drives, I came home soaking wet to painfully thaw out my limbs and digits.  Only one time did I attempt to speed the process along on wheels.  At first the quickness and the dryness seemed a luxury.  What I'd never experienced on foot, though, were the unplowed icy roads.  Barely half an hour into my daily routine I watched my front bicycle tire slip to the left as the back tire slid to the right.  I, with my 25 newspapers, landed flat in the middle of the two. Now wet from head to toe, I picked up my soggy papers, wiped away the tears burning themselves onto my frozen face, and finished the last 90 minutes of my route.

Fast forward 10 years to a better paying job and a better mode of transportation.  We lived on an unmaintained gravel road.  Driving home from my minimum wage job at nearly midnight, I crept along the icy highway to the gravel  home stretch.  Confident I'd made it home, I tried to drive through one last drift.  A mile from home, stuck in the middle of the road, there was no hope of breaking free.  My options were to sit there crying and cursing, or get out and run home...I ran home... in high heel boots with no coat, gloves, or hat.  I ran in the back door, through the kitchen, past my family playing cards, and straight to the blazing fireplace.  I almost jumped into that fire.  My chest and cheeks were burning.  Dad went to dig out my car and an hour later I could finally feel my nose.

Alaska
With a knowledge of how much I hate winter, I should have moved south when I flew my parent's nest.  Instead, I headed north to Fairbanks, Alaska.   The northern lights are magical crackling across the dark night (and dark day) sky, but there's a penalty for that reward.  Every car has snow studs, an oilpan heater, and battery plug-in, and every driver has a second set of keys.  Locked up cars run in the parking lot for hours while their drivers finish their shopping or enjoy a date night movie.

Fairbanks is the place I came to know what -56 degrees feels like.  An innocent evening of dancing turned into something entirely different when our ride decided to leave without telling me.  He did tell my roommate, but well into her New Year's Eve drinking, she decided not to remember that until the bar doors were locking behind us.  Dressed only in a short black skirt and sheer tanktop, I cursed every single life event that had brought me to that place at that time.  Literally freezing to death, we waited huddled together (me gagging with every whiff of my roommate's alcohol breath) for her mom to arrive, chastise us, and deliver us back home.

Utah
Still I didn't feel the kick in the pants telling me to fly for warmer climates.  Rather, I landed here in Utah; home of "the greatest snow on Earth."  Now, Utah winters are mild and endurable compared to what else I've lived through.  The problem is that people who choose to live here do so because there are activities to be doing outdoors all year long.  While my husband and I were dating, he tried to initiate me to his favorite winter activity: skiing.

Worst experience ever.  Both the skiing and allowing my boyfriend be my teacher.  Only making it up the first lift at Sundance, it took me 4 hours to get back down.  I did not have a clue what I was doing.  Every time I was supposed to turn I landed flat on my back (or my front, or my side, or his back, or his side).  I don't know what was more wounded at the end of the day, my body or my pride.  After miraculously getting down the slope one time unbroken, I sent Ben back to the top to get in what he could the rest of the day.  It turned out to only be one more run. We both still feel the pain of that day.

It's been some more years and Utah is still where we stay.  Beck is now 3 and begging us to get on his own pair of skis.  It turns out I woke up one day and found out I was raising mountain babies.  So what do I do?  I watch the snowmen taking shape from the warmth of my living room.  I bundle up and run from the car to the indoor play yards.  I fantasize a day when snowshoeing or cross-country skiing can happen in the heat of July, and I harbor a deep little secret.  I want to tackle the challenge of skiing.  It's cold and the ground is hard, but I want to say I can do it.  Especially if my entire family is soon going to be out there breezing down the hillside.