Kitchen Pass

Saturday I reluctantly let Plantboy go fishing. I say reluctantly because he went just a week or so ago, caught nothing, and it made a really long day for both of us. (When he salmon fishes, he gets up even earlier than I do! He and his buddy like to be at the donut shop 90 miles away, called the Sweet Shack, by 4 a.m.; then on the river, by five am. Plantboy calls it "pole position.") It had already been a long week, but as I reviewed all that we had done during that long week, it was mostly stuff that I had going in the evenings while Jeff managed kiddos. When I put it to myself in those terms, I realized I couldn't ask him to stay home. I'm so glad I didn't.

The first picture was taken just after sunrise on the Umpqua River. If you look carefully, you can see that the photo isn't actually black and white and that the sky is a really pale blue. It was just very interesting lighting.

He called throughout the day to update me on the fishing report. At around two o'clock he texted me the following words, "30 pounds." I didn't believe him. At all. The biggest one he has caught to this point is 15 pounds. Also, he never texts. (One more reason to love Plantboy.) I figured he knew that if he called he wouldn't be able to play it straight.

Boy was I wrong.

He brought home a cooler containing the following:

I don't think we'll be using the cooler any time again soon. The one one your left was at least 30 pounds, the one on the right was probably around 20. The limit is two per day, but I think he'll be going back. His buddy called from the river this afternoon (Sunday) saying that nobody was catching anything. I guess yesterday everyone was pulling them out of the river, but a few boats still stopped to watch Plantboy wrestle the monster. His friend thinks Plantboy is some kind of good luck charm.

I think so, but I admit to being biased.

Now comes the fun (gross-out) part. Here is the behemoth on a plank Jeff set up on the back deck between two sawhorses. We just do large fillets, not steaks, so he only has to skin and fillet them, not gut them.






Last night, about midnight, after he'd finished filleting and packaging Mr. Salmon and then disinfecting the house, he decided that to get rid of the carcasses he would bury them in the garden. Salmon makes awesome fertilizer (remember the Pilgrims with the fish in the corn?) and my Plantboy couldn't resist making full use of his catch. He said that it occurred to him, rather belatedly, that while he was digging his deepish hole in the back yard with his headlamp last night that somebody might think he was burying a body back there. And he was, sort of. A thirty pound carcass is nothing to scoff at.

Today I made the best summer dinner we have probably had yet this year. A huge portion of the stuff came from our own garden, besides the salmon Jeff caught. And next year? The decomposing body of Monster Salmon is going to give me the fattest, greenest peas around. I feel a song coming on . . . maybe from the Lion King?

Okay, okay, all this circle-of-life-stuff can get a bit overdone, but it really does make me so happy.

Here is our dinner, clockwise from top left. Mashed potatoes--yukon gold and red, all from our garden. Bruschetta that we slathered on homemade, day-old wheat French bread and whatever else got in the way. All of the bruschetta ingredients (except for oil and vinegar) came from our garden. Grilled asparagus with a squirt of lemon juice. Columbia River Salmon (this variety was ON SALE at Market of Choice this week for $13/pound. Plantboy has 20 pounds or more in the freezer for a $10 fishing license). Caprese salad with tomatoes and basil from our garden. Roasted red pepper, and though this one isn't from our garden I was just using it up because the garden ones are ready.



And for dessert? Peach sorbet from my new favorite blog, called, appropriately "Use Real Butter." Her food pictures are lovely and her recipes are all so fresh and delicious.

All in all, it has been a wonderful summer. We are in our last, winding down week now. I'm ready. The kids are ready. But I also feel like this has been a Thoreau summer. And what is that, you might ask? Well, let's ask HDT himself. He can put it so much better than I can:

I went to woods because I wanted to live deliberately
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life . . .
To put to rout all that was not life;
And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

Our lives might be small, and my own influence may not extend very far, but this summer I've made a great effort to live deliberately. We've created lovely, lasting memories that will carry us through life's winters. Autumn is in the air and in my heart today.

In the past 24 hours I have been forcefully reminded that when you are working with teenagers they don't actually need another friend. Most of them have plenty of those, of varying degrees of loyalty. What they more often need from the adults in their lives is a parent. A leader. teacher. A mentor.

Sometimes the most loving thing is holding them responsible for their behavior.

Just don't expect them to love you in return for a long, long time. . .

I Need A Break! Scratch That, I Really Don't

Today's thesis: Modern housewives have too much leisure time.

And maybe money.

Perhaps I should back up with a bit of an introduction. Several months ago I was meeting with my book group and I made the above statement in the context of reading a novel about women in an earlier, and in many ways simpler, time. Immediately, the group of sister argued the point, "Women are so busy, so active!" they insisted. Well, yes, women are busy. As busy as they have been in any time, and I didn't disagree with that. But I think we need to take a look at all that busy-ness.

If you are reading this post and have just had your fifth (or sixth or seventh . . . ) baby, and/or your family is out of work, I am obviously not writing this post with you in mind. As with most posts on my blog, I'm writing for me in an attempt to work out how I feel about things and provide a forum for ideas.

Women in my generation have re-introduced themselves to many of the homemaking arts. Such skills have regained much popularity in recent years; craftiness has become quite chic, in fact. The difference, however, with our grandmothers is still stark, for all that the skills are the same. Even my own mother sewed because making our clothes was still cheaper than buying them. Into the 80's, many clothes were still manufactured in the US. This is not the case any more, and even China has subcontracted labor to North Korea where labor is REALLY cheap. My friends who sew now, and some of them are amazingly talented in this area, mostly do it to decorate their homes, create quilts that aren't necessarily needed, and to make super cutesy one-of-a-kind dresses for their daughters.

Don't misunderstand. I mean no criticism of the talent itself. My point is simply that a skill that was once essential to survival is now kept alive because of extra time, and money, to pursue hobbies that we like. Cooking in some ways is the same. Convenience products and an over-abundance of restaurants (for any demographic), would potentially take me out of the kitchen if I wanted to be. Instead, I have learned to cook very well because I like to do it. I like nice, high quality ingredients, re-creating my favorite restaurant dishes and making my food look pretty. Is this necessary for getting everyone fed? No, of course not. In fact, my kids would probably be just as happy with a three-night rotation of chicken nuggets, chicken salad and tacos.

This week I've picked up crocheting again after a hiatus of some years. But I'm not making blankets essential for warmth (for myself or others), or necessary clothing or anything wonderful. I'm just making scarves. Because they are cute. Because I have the time.

I read because I have time. I've been to the pool four times in the last two weeks because I have time, and may go again tomorrow. I blog because I have time. I have ambitions to publish a novel. Because I have time.

My sister and I were talking some weeks ago (She sews to REdecorate her house, she runs because she likes to be a size 4. Because she has the time.) and she was saying how she had a friend who often talked about "needing a break" and how easy it was to fall into this trap. Now here comes that word entitlement again. Somehow, because we stay home with the kids and are doing this NOBLE WORK OF MOTHERHOOD we feel that this somehow entitles us to finding multiple ways to carve out time for ourselves.

Again, don't misunderstand. I think that especially for women with large families, such alone-time, me-time, break-time, whatever-you-want-to-call-it-time is important for a re-charge, but I know that I have to be careful in taking advantage of that. It isn't as though my husband gets a lot of downtime himself. He gets very little opportunity to pursue his dearest hobbies, or even ambitions, at work, and is expected to be 100% when he walks into the door at night.

Last weekend at Crater Lake, we got to talking about all the fun things we have done this year. And it is a lot. In fact, after our Disney vacation (mom's awesome Christmas gift to her whole family this year) in November, our family will have done 2 big and 3 smallish vacations this year. I also got a vacation on my own. When I add to that my sweet husband's gentle insistence that I find a friend to take off to Ashland for a weekend with, it has been a VERY good year. Probably more than I have earned. Certainly more than I deserve.

I'm just thinking I need to focus less on getting my next break and more on enjoying the time that I have with my kids. I need to focus more on the work that can be done instead of the work I can avoid.

At Crater Lake, I also realized that there were 500 pictures in my camera, most of which were never posted this year. I have awesome camera skills like that. So in case you think I'm making up the fact that we've had our share of fun in the last several months, here is the run down. Then, of course, feel free to soundly abuse me all you want in the comment section about "lazy" modern women.

We Are Going Here This Weekend

There is nothing like visiting some place unique to make you feel average and small. I didn't say insignificant--on the contrary, such natural beauty makes me feel pretty loved by our Heavenly Father. Beware: the next photos will be from amateurs.

What? There's NO Bacon??? (Or How To Get Something For Nothing)

Don't you hate it when you witness a scene in public? You know what I mean--when somebody chooses not to follow those nice, polite rules laid down (either physically or in unspoken ways) by society? I witnessed one such scene a couple of weeks before Christmas at the Louetta Post Office in northwest Houston some years ago. The horrible discomfort of the situation lingers with me still. In all fairness to the offending parties--it is probably the busiest post office in the country. I never waited less than 20 minutes in line there, and on that day it was probably closer to a 40 minute wait. The title is dubious, to be sure, but I'm sure anyone who has ever lived in that area will back me up here. That ugly moment of social discomfort brought new meaning to the phrase "going postal."

Fast forward to the Hampton Inn in Nampa Idaho last month.

After our late night foray into Turner Movie Classics, we pulled those wonderful hotel black-out curtains tightly shut and we all slept until nearly 9 a.m. This is no small feat for my clockwork children. Breakfast only ran until ten, so we quickly dressed and went down. (Side note--Hampton Inn has the best 'continental' breakfast I've ever been to. Just a little public service announcement when you are trying to travel on the cheap.)

As we arrived late, some items they typically have were gone, like bacon, though there were still plenty of sausages and I-wish-I-was-real-egg-omelets. I was unconcerned about the bacon crises, not being much of a hot breakfast eater myself. When there was only about ten minutes to go in the breakfast, I noticed a couple come to the little area. I noticed because she had fantastic hair and a very cute dress. What she didn't seem to have was a kind word or expression for her hapless companion as she went off at him about the fact there was no bacon.

He tried to placate her, but she ignored him and found instead the sweet breakfast server girl who, with a lobby still full of breakfasting guests was unable to clean up the area yet. The young woman apologized profusely for the lack of bacon and took some really mean abuse with quite a lot of dignity. Upon being offered some freshly cooked sausage, Cute Hair/Mean Face gritted her teeth and declared, "I can't eat sausage!" She then threw her napkin on the table, stormed from the breakfast area declaring loudly, "I'm speaking to a manager!"

I was reminded of this clip that aired on Conan O'Brien last year. The clip is titled, "Everything is Amazing and Nobody Is Happy." The comic's point is that we have all this stuff-technology-privilege, but it hasn't fundamentally made us better or more grateful. He is really funny, but surprisingly profound at the same time. He talks about a guy next to him on the plane who is happy when he learns that the flight will have Internet, a new technology at the time. Some minutes into the flight, the flight attendant comes on the intercom to announce that the Internet will be down for the flight, due to technical difficulties. The guy next to him is completely hacked. The comic points out that the guy felt entitled to something that he didn't even know existed ten minutes before.

I've talked here before about my opinions on entitlement, and how it isn't just an attribute we should attribute to the "undeserving poor." We are quite possibly the most entitled society in the history of the world. As our financial "recovery" sputters along with the recent government data released I am struck again by the idea that our welfare system had nothing to do with the current state of the problems. Too many middle class Americans felt entitled to live in homes they couldn't afford, because don't we all seem to constantly be needing more room for all our stuff? Wall Street and banking executives responded by giving the people what they wanted--easy money--because the short term gains were enormous. After all, they all earned their MBA's and were running the system, weren't they entitled to make fifty million dollars a year?

I'm sure that King Benjamin could enlighten us on his ideas of entitlement. His amazing talk found on pages 147-157 of the Book of Mormon points out, sometimes with kindness and other times with sharpness, that any time we don't give the credit back to God for each and every blessing and act in a spirit of love and charity, we are behaving with a sense of entitlement. This idea is at odds with our entire society and financial system. The great challenge of modern life is learning charity (and teaching the same to our kids) in the face of overwhelming societal encouragement to acquire, out-compete, fit in and recreate.

In his book, Heart of Darkness, Conrad describes Brussels--one of the most progressive European cities of its age--as a "whited sepulcher." It is a biblical reference used by the Savior in reference to the Pharisees and hypocrites in general. It means that some things might be beautiful on the outside, but are dead and unclean on the inside. The surface of our society gets prettier all the time. Whiter and straighter teeth. Highlights and dye for just the perfect color. Gym memberships, plastic surgery and diet pills to keep us skinny despite the unnatural food that we eat. Beautiful, cheap, immodest clothes made far away in ugly places we don't have to think about to show off our time-consuming bodies. Suburbs filled with homes that would have been seen as mansions just a couple of generations ago. Cell phones that allow us to stay constantly connected to everybody and everything while simultaneously distancing us from true relationships . . .

As the surface gets showier, we die a little bit more inside.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not pointing my finger at you, or even really at Cute Hair/Mean Face. My musings here are to point the finger at me, to juxtapose my own sense of entitlement against Father-in-law's encouragement to consecrate. Aren't these two things, after all, the antithesis of one another? Entitlement says, "What do I deserve because I'm better than others?" Consecration says, "What can I give back because I'm equal with all of God's children?"

The manager visited Cute Hair/Mean Face in the lobby just as we were packing up the kids to leave the breakfast area. With much apologizing for the Great Nampa Bacon Shortage of 2010, she was given a free room next time she condescended to stay with Hampton Inn again. The first time I saw her expression change was the horrible smirk she gave as the manager walked away. I wondered momentarily if she was a con-artist. Maybe. Or maybe just overly-entitled.

Maybe there isn't actually much of a difference.

A Big Country

Two posts left to go on vacation coming and goings, and then I'll get back to our regularly scheduled programming.

In the meantime, here are a few news bullet-points from our recent goings-on:

1. I cry every time Dobby dies. Every. Time. I love JK Rowling more with each reading. We are more than halfway through Book 7--I have read all 7 volumes out loud to my nine year-old in the past 13 months. Whew. That's a lot of pages. It has been wonderful to see them all fresh again through his eyes.

2. One of week of swimming lessons down and one to go. It was hot last week, so the pool was a good fit. However, I spent TWO hours folding laundry on Saturday night because I had gotten so behind.

3. Yesterday was razzleberry pie day. This only happens once each year. I think it is better than Christmas.

4. This news story (and others like them) has me so angry that my head was exploding yesterday. I found TamathyC at church just so we could freak out together. (I linked that particular website because the author extensively links to other news stories.) The AP did a story Sunday about some protesters in Tennesse actually attempting to break up a Friday worship service at an existing mosque with the volume of their protest. I find the cherry-picking of the Constitution that these people are doing horrible, as well as the highly public Tea Party involvement in these demonstrations: WE can "peaceably" assemble, but YOU may not worship as you choose, at least in public; oh and we all carry guns, too. If there are LDS people involved in these protests, well, they of course have political rights like anyone else, but I genuinely hope they have studied the history of our own people before they decide that America isn't a place for any particular religion.

As to the post title.

When we came home from vacation, we stayed at a hotel in Idaho. Being on the tail-end of its time zone, western Idaho stays light until very late in the summer. My mother and I had the kids (Plantboy had to come home early). They had been fed and had a chance to swim and it was still only 8:00 and bright sunlight was streaming through the room.

In desperation we turned on the TV and found three choices: porn, $10 for a movie we'd already seen three times or the TMC movie that was just starting. We opted for the third choice. It was called "The Big Country," a western starring Gregory Peck. Yes, that's right--a WESTERN starring Gregory Peck. We thought the kids would make it about 30 minutes through, get bored and we'd all go to bed.

Two and a half hours later we turned out the lights.

I was ready to call it quits and then Burl Ives showed up at party to make a speech I couldn't tear my eyes from. Later I learned he won an Academy Award for the performance. I should say so.

But I will back up.

The movie is the story of a Yankee, Gregory Peck, who has fallen in love with a Texas rancher's daughter (Pat) who went to the east, probably for boarding school. James (GP) is a tough guy where he is from as some kind of naval captain, but he is really out of place in Pat's world. Within a few hours of getting off the stagecoach, he is drawn into the middle of a terrible feud between Pat's family and the Hennesseys, who also own a ranch.

The fued has been going on for some time, because neither ranch has easy water access on their land. Each depends on a third ranch, left to the last-living Maragon--a beautiful young woman named Julie who happens to be Pat's best friend. Her ranch is called "The Big Muddy," so named after the wide, slow river that runs through her property. Her family has, for generatios, arbitrated between the two parties by allowing both to have whatever water they want. But the Big Muddy isn't what it once was and Julie isn't sure she can continue maintaining the ranch. Pat's father wants to buy her out at a handsome price; the Hennesseys are hoping that their creepy oldest son will be able to woo Julie into marriage. (She is educated and classy, he is ignorant and filthy--THAT'S going to happen.)

Riveting conflicts abound. James, moderate and modern in his ideas, seeks from the very beginning to placate the Hennesseys and stay out of the feud. Pat's attitude toward her neighbors, "they are little better than dogs!" is overwhelming to James, as he is confronted with a side of the woman he thought he was coming west to marry. Pat's father is a tough and terrifying old fart who outwardly keeps up the trappings of a civilized and well-ordered home but is filled with prejudice, hatred and disgust for those who are different. His ranch foreman is played by Charlton Heston--a man who has loved Pat for a long time and so automatically hates James. The families hate each other in a rivalry that would give the Hatfields and McCoys a run for their money. As for the cherry on the top of all this tension, James begins to have feelings for Julie, seeing in her a kindred spirit whom the west was unable to turn into a savage.

This movie is epic in the way old movies are epic. Grand, tough, and sometimes overblown performances. Amazing panoramic shots and technicolor made-up ladies. Gorgeous costumes and settings. Stunts that are simultaneously more real and more silly because there is no special effects department to clean them up later. Stark settings without green screens. It is the kind of production that earns the title "film" instead of the default, "movie."

It was a weird sort of western and I loved it. The shootout at the end is more characterized by who walks away, than in who walks away victorious. Reason wins the day, not might. The only clear good guy is James himself, and James is good because he finds a way to champion everybody, to bring out the best in them. From the overly-stereotyped Hispanic ranch worker to Old Man Hennessey to Pat herself. A fact she discovers too late to save her engagement.

The kids were funny, and kept asking a hundred questions throughout. My favorite had to be the Youngling, however, bouncing on the bed in time to the soundtrack of James riding through the ranch, "I love this music!"As the evil posse/mob forms and the music darkens he said, "I no like this music." Padawn kept asking a hundred questions about The Big Muddy. The next day, when driving through Eastern Oregon, we passed a small, meandering river and he pointed out the window shouting, "It's the Big Muddy!"

There has been much commentary done on this rather out-of-character western, with a lot of mention made of Cold War symbolism throughout. Everyone keeps telling James not to get lost, because after all, it is a big country. It almost becomes a joke. But I think that is the point of the movie. We DO live in a big country. There is a place for everyone. In light of the recent protests against Muslims across the country, perhaps the message of this classic movie is more timely than ever. Our differences are real. Very real. It is useless to pretend they don't exist. However, it doesn't necessarily follow that we can't exist side-by-side, in a spirit of love and community.

What we need is a great mediator. Someone like James McKay. Like Julie Maragon. Where HAVE all the cowboys gone? Old Man Hennessy called such folks "real ladies and gentleman." How has reason and compromise and mutual conciliation been replaced with reaction, rigidity and loathing? What happened to civility? United we stand. Divided we fall.

Not Friends--Lifelong Friends

Some friendships are meant to be. And if you are really fortunate, you find yourself in a group of friends that was meant to be.

In college, I found myself living with some great girls (both by design and "accident") as well as across from some fabulous neighbors. Over my few years in school, members of the two groups would trade in and out, marry (sometimes one another) and move. But even in the fluidity of the group, there were some core friendships that held it all together.

Fortune smiled on us this summer, and thanks to the miracle of Facebook, with just a few days notice, a majority of the old gang was able to gather at Lawyerboy's house. Though for some of us it had been years, we re-connected as if it had never been otherwise.

Though my personality was formed at home, my experiences with these friends, helped me to morph into the adult I would eventually become. I think my friendships in that group are the reason that my old college town is the place I'm most likely to call "home." Each member of that group has such a collection of special memories attached to them. In some groups of people, you revert to a certain persona. With these people, it isn't really necessary because I just love who I am when I am with them. They have been bringing out the best in me since 1993.

One of my favorite pictures from my wedding day is standing outside the temple, arms linked together with these friends: men and women who exerted such a positive influence in my life that I still feel its effects years later. Our LDS theology teaches us that families will be together, but on that day I understood that the best friendships are likewise eternal. As I stood with men and women who have been at important times as near and dear to me as my actual brothers and sister, I knew that my journey was forever linked to theirs.

On the night of our barbecue it was hard to decide where to be. I wanted to be a part of each clustered conversation. Nate would say that it is because I have a (strong) opinion about everything, but I think it is mostly because everyone had such interesting things to say. Conversation topics ranged from Twilight to China as a world power to adoption to raising children to the Middle East to decorating to hair cuts to employment . . . . you get the idea. In the right group of friends, the lightest subjects or the heaviest topics all take on special meaning. Are we friends because we all agree? Noooooooooooo. . . . . . . . quite the contrary. Still, somehow, they are the most agreeable people to disagree with.

I've moved a lot, and often a great distance between locations. How grateful I am for friends who will always be friends even when years and miles separate us. Seeing them again was like picking up in the middle of a conversation. Though we lingered late, and well past the time for happy little kids, we still have more to say to one another. But I'm content; some conversations never really end.

Third Time's the Charm

Although, in this case, it might be said that the third time is ALSO charming.

We waited to see Toy Story 3 until we were together with a bunch of our cousins. My mother was thrilled as 8 grandsons and 1 granddaughter filled an entire row at the movie theater. They all looked so cute: even the Jedi were matchy in clean cargo shorts and striped polos. They even consented to a hair combing for the event.

The previews were fun. There is another Narnia movie coming out later this year that looks as exciting (if loosely based on the books) as its predecessors. Jedi Knight now has another book to get through before he can see the movie. We also saw a clip for Disney's new Rapunzel movie, titled "Tangled." It actually looks quite hilarious, and told from a very cocky prince's point of view. It seems that Rapunzel will use her hair for some awesome Ninja tricks. Still, Padawan leaned over and said, "Looks like a girl's movie." Maybe I could adopt somebody's daughter for the day and take them to see it.

I expected Toy Story 3 to be entertaining. Maybe even highly entertaining. I thoroughly enjoyed the first two. What I did not expect, however, is to be crying before they were even done with the opening credits, and then fully BAWLING during the closing credits.

It can be argued that after three films, you become really invested in characters--Tom Hanks is a remarkable actor even when disembodied--and that is the reason for my emotional response. The scene when these amazingly tough little toys are headed to the hellish incinerator is really dramatic and kind of scary. Knowing they are finally out of ideas, they do the only thing left to them: they hold hands, friends forever, and look death straight in the eye.

Uh, spoiler alert.

They don't die. Of course. It isn't a horror movie, after all.

However, I don't think it is my attachment to the characters, wonderful as they are, that prompted the tears. As Andy heads to college, you realize that his reluctance to clean out the toy chest has nothing to do with teenage angst. It is that some part of him realizes that in doing so, he is saying goodbye to his childhood. Before heading to the new phase of his life, he drops his toys off at the house of the most adorable child ever created by Pixar. She takes on these toys as a sacred responsibility, and understanding that he has found a kindred spirit, Andy delays his leaving for an hour to play with her.

To say goodbye to his toys, yes. But really to say goodbye to his childhood.

As I looked at that row of hardly-ever-still boys, ranging in age from 14 to 3, it was as if I was watching their childhoods slip away before my eyes. And I cried.

Last week, on a slow summer afternoon, my little boys asked me to help them take down the Lincoln logs and build some train tracks on the play table. We used to always call it the train table, but nobody has wanted trains built in a long time. I obliged and the kids played and played with Thomas and his friends. Our friends. When Jedi Knight, my train obsessed boy from way back, came home from doing a big-boy thing, he settled right into playing with them, even though he told another little boy a few weeks ago that he had "pretty much outgrown Thomas."

He will be nine in just a couple of months. Saturday we let him stay up and watch Lord of the Rings with Jeff and I. Sunday he wanted to watch a DVD containing episodes of Go, Diego, Go. Such a mature young man, and such a little boy at the same time.

How do moms learn to let go?