It'll Be a Girl!

This is a picture of our new little baby, which is still just a small 10 ounce Sara spawn. As you can see from the profile of the face, it will be a female child. The long hair and lip stick gives it away. I guess this gives me the medieval right to lock my wife in the Tower of London and lop her head off. I won't do that though because I'm actually excited that we'll be having a Zoe version 2.0, we know how little girls work, and the potty training phase involves a lot less wall cleaning. I really didn't want to sew all those patches on his Boy Scout sash anyway. Sara seems convinced that I would prefer a boy, but I honestly don't mind. Holding your own little baby is a miraculous little thing no matter what color the blanket is. Our little family is growing just the way I always wanted it to...and so is Sara. The ETA for this little tyke is October 17th, right after pension plan tax season, perfect timing. Wahoo for us!!

Some women are drippin' with diamonds
Some women are drippin' with pearls
But golly gee, look at me, look at what I'm drippin' with
Little girls.

The Ultimate Demise of the Golden Spike

I'm not really sure if it can be considered torture to drag your child out into the desert and force history upon her, but Sara and I are guilty as charged. I consider it recourse for the horrible things that my father subjected me to during my youth. While the rest of my friends were spending their summers lying about like slugs playing Street Fighter II, I was being paraded through semi-local museums and historical sites learning stuff. Its a wonder I survived. I suppose it was good for me though because now I'm very good at not throwing up in cars, and I know a lot about sagebrush. And speaking of artemisia tridentata, there is an awful lot of it at America's most famous square inch, the site where the Golden Spike was laid to complete the transcontinental railroad. Well...technically it didn't complete the railroad, but more on that later. (Ay! What a cliffhanger!)
We're just not fit to be tied (pun intended), so we took the drive up to the northern coast of the Great Salt Lake to see the spike and learn about trainage of the mid 1800s, once again. My hometown is only like an hour away from Promontory Summit, and I remember going out there every summer to do scout service projects and it was absolutely horrible. I think I'm still sweating and sun burnt from those service projects. But it also taught me to be all respectful about the gigantic effort put forth by my forefathers to tame the wild west. Here's me between the trains sitting at the alleged spot where one of the four tycoons who funded the railroad, ex-California governor Leland Stanford, wopped the ceremonial golden spike into the ceremonial polished laurel tie using his ceremonial silver hammer and his ceremonial tycoon muscles. This is Zoe and I in front of an original replica of the golden spike. Immediately after the ceremonial wopping by Leland Stanford, the golden spike was yanked out and replaced by a regular old iron one. The golden spike was donated to the Stanford Museum in Stanford, California. Hmmm...I wonder why it ended up there. Someday I'll go see that spike. Mark my words. Unfortunately I won't be able to see the polished tie the spike was wopped into because it was burnt in the fires from the 1906 San Fransisco Earthquake. So what is there to see at Promontory Summit? The golden spike is gone, the last tie's gone, the trains are replicas...there's the track, right? Nope. The actual track that was built through the area was dug up in 1942 and used as war materials. I'm glad there are people out there that make replicas of things like this so I can at least pretend to be witnessing history. Even though all the relics are gone, the site's still there, and I bet nobody ever completed a transcontinental railroad in your homestate! Neener neener.

The Great Ski Jumping Conspiracy

A successful ski jump has never actually been performed by mankind. The jumps you see on TV during the Olympics are actually done by spandex clad actors in front of blue screens. My proof of this is that those ski jumps are crazy tall. I refuse to believe that beautiful people slide down those things on flat sticks, do back flips, and land safely on the ground. Did you know that the green padded part the skiers land on (right behind me) is made up of thousands of tiny blades of 3 inch synthetic grass? Its like astro turf...to the EXTREME!!! And speaking of awesomeness, when we got to the ski jumps they were blasting the song "Freewill" by Rush, and I decided its the best ski jumping song ever. I dare anyone to think of a better one.

How awesome is it that they have a set of slides at the bottom of the jump for the little kids to begin ski jump training while watching their older siblings fly down the hill. If the kids are really lucky they'll be able to witness the life flight helicopter come in to take big brother for an exciting ride. Its great to watch Annie and Zoe play together on the slides. Have any of you other parents noticed that playgrounds have evolved into death traps for toddlers? Honestly, the safety upgrades in every other kid-related item in the world is inversely proportional to those of the modern playground. I don't mean to sound like a curmudgeon here, I loved every sliver I got playing at the Big Toy at Hillcrest Elementary School, but wow, the playgrounds we've taken Zoe to lately are like American Gladiator obstacle courses minus the padding and the giant Q-tips. I guess the next generation will be a very tough bunch.

Wouldn't that be W'ummer?

Does this sunny scene make any of you Amazing Race enthusiasts reminisce the bygone days of Season 8? "No, Kason, it doesn't because that Season was lousy with a capital Crap". Hey, I didn't think it was that bad, I kinda liked the whole family thing. The problem is that Season 8 is not of the same species as its sister seasons. Its like the Race's girlfriend's roomate, its hard to look away from her, but you know you must because it's just wrong to get involved. But Season 8 does include the Race's stupidest thing ever said, which spewed forth from the Weaver mom's big mouth as they crossed lake Pontchartrain, "This is one of the Great Lakes". Oye. Some people shouldn't be allowed outside of their living rooms.

Wow, that was a long tangent. A long and very important tangent. Anyhow, so check out how cool this action is. These crazy downhill wooden plank sliders continue practicing their extreme trade in the summer by flying into these swimming pools. We watched quite a few of them do it, and it was awesome. Just before the skier hits the water a whole load of bubbles come up to cushion his or her fall. Regular Kasons like myself can give it a try if they're willing to pay a bunch, which I am not. Its definitely worth the trip up there just to watch these guys fly into the water. How cool would it be to tell your friends back in High School that you planned to spend the weekend ski jumping into a swimming pool. Maybe we should get Zoe involved with aquatic skiing so she can be the BWOC, as you can tell from this picture, she is brimming with interest.

It's S'winter at Park City

We decided that we weren't going to spend our Utah time between jobs lounging about on my in-laws' couch watching TV and eating caramel popcorn. At least not everyday. The convictions of our youth were reconfirmed as we toured the state and discovered that even though it's almost completely covered in nasty desert, Utah's actually a pretty happenin' place. I was out being a missionary in the Dominican Republic when the world came to Utah for the Winter Olympics in 2002, and my friends and family tell me I missed out on a lot of cool stuff. Fortunately, a lot of the coolness is still lingering around at Park City, so we took a little drive through Parley's Canyon to check out the sites. We dragged Sara's sister Jennifer and our adorable little niece Annie along for the ride. One thing I love about Jennifer, Nathen and Annie, is that they are always willing to go out and do stuff with us, like meeting sticker-clad albino bisons. We're still not sure if we were allowed to get inside the bobsled at the Winter Olympics Museum. Judging by the stares we're getting from our fellow tourists behind us, we may have just broken some official Olympics rules and will likely be disqualified from all future commemorative sliding events. Not surprisingly, there weren't a whole lot of people at the museum on a week day afternoon because all the people that love winter sports enough to visit a winter sporting museum are too busy working so they can afford to participate in winter sports. I noticed that there were no exhibits in the museum dedicated to the winter event I'm best at: slipping on the ice while getting out of my car. I got two gold medals and a bronze behind in this event every year while living in Milwaukee. It's the poor man's winter sport.

Memories of Grandpa

Here I am with my daughter, my mom, my grandpa, and a lamp with deer feet on it. This picture marks the end of a 3-yr era during which I didn't see my little old Grandpa...our paths just never really crossed. As a matter of fact, this was only the second time Sara had even met Grandpa, which is too bad because he's a pillar of a man. So many great memories, all manifest by sounds, smells and sights.

Sounds: I'm not sure how many in my blogdience are St. George goers, but those who are know there is a very specific sound in that city after dark. The bugs in the trees must be the most stressed out little critters in the world because they are constantly screaming. They're probably angry that they don't have air conditioning. After our little 6 hour car ride down south to Grandpa's house we'd open the sliding van door and immediately know we'd gone to the right place because of the bug squeals. Add to that the sound of the water gushing down the gutters, and the hot breeze, and you've got an evening at Grandpa's house.

Smells: Sometime in that 5 year span between boy and man, I went on a week-long pine nut picking trip with my Grandpa and my Uncle Tom's family. I've never been much of a camper (sadly, Uncle Tom did not have a cabin) but I remember having a lot of fun learning how to hunt pine cones. You see, my grandpa was a champion pine nutter. Holy cow, I remember him spending hours talking to my cousin Dwayne and I all about the techniques of getting nuts out of pine cones, and the crazy adventures he'd had out in the woods. Early in the year he'd go out and get the green pine cones directly out of the trees and bring them home to his driveway by the truckload, where he'd let them dry until the nuts would come out with just a little cone raking. Whether it was out in the woods, or sitting on the back porch, the smell of my Grandpa was pine sap. Plus, thanks to the menu during the nut hunting trip, the smell of pork 'n' beans also brings the grandpa memories rushing back.

Sights: Granpa's living room was unmistakable. On the wall was the taxidermied head of some deer-like creature, and a plaque given to him by Dixie College for his years of service as a janitor at the school's gym. The brown carpet, the end tables that were so thick they couldn't have weighed less than half a ton each, and the green tassley couch pillows. He'd always be there watching World War II shows on TV. Man, he spent years fighting during World War II. I've spent a lot of time trying to picture my grandpa as a scout in the Phillipines crawling through the jungle ahead of everyone else trying to stay alive. Then he got shot right next to his heart. That scar is a sight I'll never forget. He spent years in the military, years as a diesel mechanic, years running the dairy farm, years as a loving father and husband. My mom and her 4 brothers look so much like him and have all measured up to the man and woman that raised them. Can we young kids ever measure up? Now the sight of Grandpa is a 17-year widower living in the frozen Logan tundra, with tube socks keeping his ears warm.

He is a true American hero. I'm at such an advantage because some of his warm St. George blood is flowing through my veins. Wow, I've actually got a double dose of St. George inside of me. We went to visit my other Granpa last summer as well, I'm sure you'll hear plenty about that in the near cyber future.

See the Cake of Enormous Girth

Sara and I really like making cakes. Oh, and we also really like eating cakes. I'm not sure which of these life passions came first. I remember eating some pretty incredible mom-made cakes when I was a wee little dessert destroyer. One year for my birthday she made me a rockin' Ernie and Bert cake that will forever be etched into the fleshy tissues of my heart, and the fatty tissues of my gut. Thanks mom! For Tyler's birthday we built him a pretty cool turtle with the earth on his back cake, as seen in the attached pictures. You'll notice that the pictures were hand selected to most artistically display the 3 standard steps of birthday cakeage - admire, ignite, digest.

We originally limited the M&Ms on the globe to only be placed atop the cities we've actually visited. We later expanded the candied marker requirements to include places that people we know have been to, because we likes our M&Ms. I bet Tyler was proud to be the only M&M representative of the Australian continent. Please note how cool the rainbow cake innards are, that's a secret family recipe that we've only told one person outside the family. That person was the turtle, and look what happened to him!

Did you know that ancient peoples of China, India and North Amercia all believed, for at least a little while, that the world was supported on the back of giant turtle? Yep, crazy beliefs like that couldn't be a coincidence. Extra points to the blog viewer out there who can identify the origins of the poem which inspired this particular turtle/earth cake:

See the turtle of enormous girth!
On his shell he holds the earth.
His thought is slow but always kind;
He holds us all within his mind.
On his back all vows are made;
He sees the truth but mayn't aid.
He loves the land and loves the sea,
And even loves a child like me.