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.

Gotta Love Me, I'm a Sinclair!

I like Sinclair gas stations with dinosaur statues, if there's a statue station it'll be guaranteed my business. Remember that great Dinosaurs TV show with the Sinclair family? Not the mama! We recently watched Season One on DVD at my in-laws house, and I tell ya', the Hurling Day episode should have become an international classic...humankind just wasn't ready for it yet. And that's the end of our cross country move from Milwaukee to Salt Lake City. Now on we go to some local hijinx, as we whiled away our inter-occupation vacation in Northern Utah. Let me tell ya', we did some pretty weird stuff. How's that for building some anticipation.

007 in Big Springs, Nebraska

So check out how cool this is, we slept in the room next to a bonafide Aston Martin at the Motel 6 in Big Springs, Nebraska! It looks like Her Majesty's Secret Service was hit by the recession just as hard as we yanks. Big Springs is a great little freeway stop just about at the border of Nebraska and Colorado. The town features a fabulous little Motel 6, distiguished by a 12-foot deep swimming pool which has somehow been overlooked by the people who make sure traveling children stay undrowned. Right next door is the Sam Bass Saloon and Steakhouse, which was somehow overlooked by the people who make sure traveling adults stay unfat. How could someone possibly leave their $200,000 car in that parking lot? Clearly the owner (who I met while checking in, and is as snooty and British as I had hoped for) wasn't watching it too closely as we all gathered around the fabulous machine and took pictures. Even worse, how hard must it be to see all those bug guts get all over your car? So I absolutely had to have a picture of the Aston Martin in front of the $49.99 sign. I required Sara to pose there until the sign changed over, the whole time we were worrying that James Bond would come out with guns blazing. These are the risks that the avid tourist must take. Now we know how those National Geographic alligator photographers feel. While I was checking into the motel I heard the owner of this vehicle having a great conversation with the bumpkin hotel owner:

Hank: That's a nice car ya got there, what is that a Chrysler?

Nigel: Actually that's an Aston Martin.

Hank: Do ya like it?

Nigel: No, I bought a $200,000 car that I wasn't very fond of.

Hank: (after awkward pause) You from 'round here?

Nigel: ...sigh...

The suburban critique of an urban anniversary

I must take a break in the current travelogue to try my hand at a bit of blog moonlighting. I've decided that I should marry my intense love of food with my intense love of free stuff and become a part time restaurant critic. The catalyst spurring this on was tonight's dinner at Seattle's Palisades to celebrate Sara and I's 5th wedding anniversary. Five years and I still love the daylights out of my little wife. Getting married was so awesome, I'd do it every week if I could get all those relatives to show up so often. Now here we are, 1,826 evenings later, still making great memories together, and never regretting a single moment. Anyhow, on we go to the suburbanite's critique of some urbanite cuisine:

As you drive home after an evening of fine dining at Seattle's Palisades restaurant, you will look down your nose at the diners leaving your once beloved Outback Steakhouse as though they were hogs leaving the trough and grunting their way back to the pen. Yes, even the bloomin' onions and the smothered chickens that you once considered the culmination of culinary quality will seem as mere trifles after the truffles and tarragon of this waterfront upper-class eatery.

After several minutes of harrowing inner arguments I ordered the crab-stuffed mahi mahi, and Sara cut her way through the fillet mignon, which ended up being far more than the cute meat it's name suggests. The mahi mahi was ideal for mehi mehi, with the perfect texture in the slightly fried crust, and the crab stuffing laced with just enough spinach to hold it all together, but not so much to transform the dish from surf to salad. I can't answer to the quality of Sara's food, as she slid the plate away, leaving my invading fork empty. She did, however, say that the mashed potatoes were far better than those served at Applebee's, which is a soaring compliment since we suburbanites consider potatoes "in the neighborhood" the Cadillac of starchy tubers.

I could go on an on for hours about the dessert. When asked which type of creme brulee I'd like I couldn't decide between the Grand Marnier, Chocolate, or Vanilla Bean. I eventually answered, "yes", and got exactly what I requested. I consider myself a connoisseur of burnt cream, and this was certainly a treat to be remembered...dare I say better than that of Paris? At least to this American with an untrained pallet it was. The waiter was very kind and in no way snooty when he found out we don't drink, very unlike the waiters in the mid-west, New York, and Europe. It was touching to see our waiter take the neighboring prom-goers under his wing as he patiently explained to them how to read the menu. The stream flowing through the restaurant, and even the perfectly arranged bathrooms, made the non-dining portion of the evening a delight. I also loved the vibrant view of the city and the marina to my right, the dark ambiance of the lobby to my left, and my beautiful wife of five years ahead of me. Palisades created for us the perfect setting for a romantic evening, providing the perfect return on the risky investment of trying out a new place. Will I ever eat at the Super Mall again? No, at least not this week while that exquisite taste it still on my mouth. I wonder how long I can go without brushing my teeth.

Summer at Winter Quarters

If we learned anything at all in Sunday School, its that our Mormon ancestors had to endure all kinds of nasty stuff while crossing the plains, most of which was far more tragic than what happens to us during our daily commute downtown and back. The church is really good at commemorating such tragedies through the medium of flowers, visitor centers and statues. The site of Winter Quarters in Omaha, Nebraska is no exception. Even the cat was impressed with the beauty all around. Now that I've actually been to Winter Quarters, I better understand why the Mormons decided to spend the winter there, it's like a tropical paradise. Who'd have known that Nebraska would be the oasis between Nauvoo and Salt Lake City. Don't worry, Randy told me all about how nasty the winter really was there while he was serving his mission in Omaha. Something about ice coming directly at you in the wind. Yuck.

As I was quartering the remnants of my Diet Pepsi in the Visitors Center, I pondered the upgrade of the current facilities from those of 1846. I doubt they had 2-ply back then, not to mention touchless hand soap dispensors. I was super impressed with the giant statue of the mommy and daddy burying their little child. Look how much movement there is in the statue with the wind blowing their clothes, as they look down on the perfectly still body of their child. That is super sad stuff. I guess the wind kept on blowing for these great forefathers of ours regardless of the tragedy at hand. The Winter Quarters temple was dedicated in April of 2001, and it is right next to the cemetery where many Mormon pioneers were buried. The building sorta hides in all the trees, I love it when temples do that, you know, sorta just jump out at you from nowhere when you don't expect it. I'm glad we took the little detour to Winter Quarters, it's great to stop and smell the roses sometimes.

Pictures with Corn

We were going to use this as a family Christmas card picture, but we forgot to bring the ornaments for the corn stalks. Imagine the irony if we had actually remembered to bring the popcorn chains.

Yeah, so Zoe decided to take a brisk little stroll through the stalks, and the only way I was able to keep up with her was by following her little corn songs. I just followed my ears. Ha! Imagine losing a quiet kid in the acres of corn stalks, you'd never find them. Perhaps this is why the aliens like landing in the corn...those lost kids are so light they slide right on up the tractor beam.

This is Randy tyring to act like a corn stalk. If it weren't for the red shirt he'd blend in like a vegetable chameleon. When does one pull the plug on his or her vegetable chameleon?

More from the Field o' Dreams

It was so darn hot the day we were in Dyersville. Holy Cow, the cat was panting like a dog, and we were all sweating like sumos in a sauna. I guess we should have asked some locals about their weather in July before we got out of the car...but we didn't want them to be cold as the falling thermometer in December. How did they keep James Earl Jones's face dry while shooting the movie?

Here's Zoe and I running to catch a pop fly. Or maybe we were just trying to get our Iowa driving wiggles out. We seem to be having quite a grand slam of a time anyway. The people that own the joint allow tourists to play on the field whenever they want, unfortunately, we were without bat and ball and Sara wouldn't let us use the cat as either. Note to readers, always keep baseball equipment in your car in case you happen upon a legendary ball park.

Randy and the Cat

My father-in-law is a pretty manly dude. He drives gigantic trucks through Wyoming, can fix anything, and eats entire triple Baconators without getting sick. He also really likes kitties. He puts them in cute little pink boxes and drives them all around the country to movie sites. I have proof.

I'm not really sure how Randy was elected to haul our cat across the country, but such was the way the dice were rolled. Actually, I'd say he got the better end of the deal since the other choice was to haul Zoe, who spends most of her time during car trips playing with annoying toys and smearing wet crackers all over the seats. When we got to The Field of Dreams movie site Randy was very good to follow Sara's explicit feline security instructions by leashing her up and walking her about. Our fellow roadside tourists did a lot of pointing and staring at the funny man dragging the cat on its leash.

Cats on a leash are pretty hilarious. Like every other cat in the world, Lucy is much better at sleeping than she is at performing any type of physical activity. She tried her hardest for about two minutes to clutch onto the asphalt as Randy pulled her along, but it proved to be far too much work. This is why Lucy was carried from base to base and into the outfield by her push-over humans. Cats are smarter than humans, as proven by their daily schedules.

You really ought to give Iowa a try

There are a lot of miles between Milwaukee and West Jordan, and every so often you just gotta stop and look at stuff. We've always been big fans of roadside attractions, so making a very short detour through Dyersville, Iowa was a must-do. As you've likely deduced from the sign pictured above, the baseball field from the 1989 film, Field of Dreams, is located in this corny little town.

By corny I mean full of corn. The corn stalks go on and on for miles and I can't help but wonder how all of it could possibly get planted and harvested in a single season, its quite the wonder. Dyersville is one of those little rural towns that girls always call romantic, causing their guys to rack their brains trying to figure out what's so romantic about tractors blocking the road and getting dirt all over your car. I'm beginning to believe that a girl's definition of romance is anything that's not spending another evening sitting on the couch watching reruns of Cheers. Maybe its the corn that is causing the romance. Might this be the answer to the age-old question of why popcorn is served at movie theatres? You get your woman off the couch, take her to a movie, and seal the deal with a big tub o' corn drenched in peanut oil. If I'd been old enough to date in 1989 I would have capitalized on The Field of Dreams, you got Dyersville, lots of corn, and Kevin Costner...it's the perfect blue prints for making out in the balcony. Oh yeah.

For those of you who haven't seen it, The F o' D is an excellent film. To think that we all stood on the very same field that was once trod upon by Kevin Costner, James Earl Jones and Ray Liotta is like a dream come true. Yep, the bleachers from the movie are still there, and the original farm house still stands. There's Sara with the cat in front of said house, and Randy and Diane atop said bleachers. Lucy was a very happy little feline because she thinks Kevin Costner is a dream boat and the best actor ever. Lucy also licks herself.

Packyderms and Palm Trees

In the days and months before they came out to help us move, Randy and Diane spent many hours playing tetris, in training to be the excellent truck packers that they are. We move cross-country via ABF, and their policy is pretty much $100 per foot of trailer space. Randy was able to keep it to 11 feet exactly, I think this was a result of him having sold his immortal soul in exchange for mad trucking skills. He has won awards, after all. He even tied everything back using ropes and the crazy sailor knots he learned while pirating the high seas. The little dude who came to pick up the truck even told Randy that this was the best packing job he had ever seen. I think I married into the right sort of family. At this very moment, only seven months after our last move, we have begun packing up our stuff again to move in to our new house on the south side of Seattle. I kid you not, we're flying Randy out just to help us move. What more could a man want than to spend two weeks of precious vacation meticulously shoving boxes into a truck. He's a good sport.

This is my little Sara standing in front of the palm tree she and her dad planted in the berm between our house and the church parking lot. We decided we didn't have the space or the wherewithal to transport some of our large house plants across the country, so why not donate them to the berm? I can just imagine the questions raised when the landscapers came later in the week to prune the hedges, only to find that several tropical plants had been immaculately conceived on the church grounds. Perhaps we'll be sainted. I wonder how they fared through the winter...I'm guessing they are no longer with us. Don't worry though, we were able to put several plants in our cars and on the truck, all of which lived, many of which are still living at their grandma's house in Utah. Ain't she a good sport. It was a gift to say thanks for helping us move Diane!

The Brewers Get Schooled

Here it is, the last blog post from Milwaukee. What better grand finale from the city we called home for nearly three years than one last Brewers game! This game was the night before we closed up the truck and hit the road. Here's Diane enjoying the playground in front of the ball park, Bernie's Dugout. She says the reason she went up there was to play with Zoe, but notice who is nowhere to be seen. She was not able to provide an explanation as to why she got up there by way of climbing up the slide.

Can't say this was the best Brewers game we've ever been to. I think the final run tally was like 14 to 2 in The Pirates' favor. It was a lot of fun to sit next to my mother-in-law who knew a surprisingly large amount about America's favorite past time. Does everyone in the world know more about baseball than me? There are very few things that I consider myself an expert in...maybe Defined Benefit Pension Plans and The Beatles...but that's about it. I may have chosen poorly when it came to fields of expertise. Its not often I'm able to impress guests at dinner parties with my intricate knowledge of the Pension Protection Act. But at least it pays the bills, not many jobs depend on knowing who managed the team that won the 1974 World Series.

Here we are in our favorite seats in the park. Yes, that is the back wall. This is a great place for us to sit because the wall creates a Zoe buffer that makes us only have to worry half as much about which of our unfortunate park peers will be getting Zoe drinks poured into their laps. We also like the back because its cheaper, and I have to save my money to make wagers on the sausage race.

And that's it. We're done with Milwaukee. That was a wild two years and ten months. We learned a lot about ourselves out there. For example, I learned that I like Italian Sausage way more than Bratwurst, but I'd trade a kidney for a spicy chorizo. Sara found out that baseball is her favorite professional sport, and that once Spring training starts, old man winter is finally on his way to his vacation home. Zoe learned how to say, "Waukesha", and that fireflies are much preferred to mosquitos. On to our next long term adventure, but not until we get that truck packed and make the 1,480 mile journey to West Jordan, Utah, our temporary home.