Happy Years

Advice

What is the secret?  For an experienced restroom user, one would think that placing the seat cover on the seat would not require planning and positioning.  


Is it best to just balance the cover on the seat and then sit hard enough to force the center open?  Often the front falls into the water and before the fanny hits the seat with its neatly positioned cover, whoosh, the cover is gone! 


Is the better technique to tear each of the three points securing the middle before placement?  This method most often results in the whole thing immediately dropping into the toilet bowl and results in a feeling of defeat before the actual mission even begins.  Most of the time the restroom visitor is hopping around so frantically just entering the facility that time is greatly limited.  This technique is definitely the most time consuming.


Or, does one throw caution to the wind and sit without covering?  In this case,  99% of the time, the poor unsuspecting fanny will surely be met with someone else's liquid leftover.

Bingham Canyon

If you grew up knowing the canyon, it is pronounced kang-yun.  Visiting my Aunt Naudyne, Uncle Walt, Celece and Lynnann was always a highlight of the summer.  I haven't been back for decades and today a flood of memories accompanied my visit to the copper mine.  

The same type of copper bracelet bought each summer,  a mine car, truck tire, the pit, mercury (the kid in school with the biggest stash was the coolest).

Amazing activities that were NOT ALLOWED, but participation therein was mass FUN!

• dissolve metal in "copper water" (toxic blue water that ran in secret locations)
• play on the railroad tracks and squish pennies
• swing over a cliff on the rope swing
• climb the 30 foot railroad tie retaining walls instead of using the ladder
• slide down the mine tailings
• ride without hands or helmets (not even invented) as fast as our bikes would go down the canyon, my cousin holding Shadow, the dog
• blow stuff up with firecrackers
• explore abandoned buildings (especially the Civic Center where local kids would rollerskate on the old basketball court and try not to fall through the gaping holes in the floor to levels below)
• swing on the gate of my cousin's white picket fence

Copper Hill and Downtown Bingham

Things that happened only in Bingham:

• waking to the sound and shaking of my aunt's little wooden white house when the trains passed at night
• hearing the emergency siren when there was a mine accident
• standing out of the way as my uncle, a volunteer firefighter, rushed to the rescue when the "fire phone" rang
• knowing that "on strike" was a very bad thing for families of miners
• clenching your jaws when Aunt Naudyne dug gravel out of wounds and applied a healthy dose of straight rubbing alcohol (crying was the ultimate shame)
• selling rocks to tourists (fool's gold was always a hit)
• slamming our goodies on the counter at Pete's and saying, "Charge it."
• coming home with hand-me-downs that were "store bought"
• visiting a lady with a huge salt and pepper shaker collection
• standing on the sidewalk and shouting at Eric's house to see if he could come out and play

Amazingly wonderful stuff at "The Copper Shop," where we hung out, but rarely purchased anything.

Who Was Thinkin' Here???

The Lindon Walmart moved the restrooms to the back of the store, behind the photo area.  It should be illegal to change the layout of any store.  The absurdity with the new facility is that the ladies room has three stalls and EIGHT sinks!  What's with that???  I've never seen a lineup at the sinks.

At least they removed the doofy sinks pictured at the left.  Their skimpy water flow required a five minute misting spray to get even a drip of water.


And what's with touch free soap dispensers. Don't you wash your hands under running water once you've got the soap on 'em?

Tree Planting

About a year ago I attended a day-long seminar in Farmington with the Utah Master Gardeners.  It was an awesome day and my departure was paired with a list of must-haves and would-likes.  Among the must-haves was the PURPLE FOUNTAIN BEECH tree.  Buying a tree is a huge commitment.  One must first determine the perfect location in the yard, research the tree's characteristics, find a nursery with the tree, and dig a proper hole.  Digging the hole is a science in and of itself.

The mode of operation to keep my sweet hubby happy with my gardening gig is to dash off to the nursery early in the morning, make my purchase, plant the acquisitions, and then make sure that all of the evidence is neatly in the garbage can before he arrives home from work.  Years later his query usually is, "Is that new?" Pulling this off often involves super human powers.

Yesterday I decided to find my coveted tree.  After asking a helper in the nursery about the PURPLE FOUNTAIN BEECH tree, I was told that only the "tree expert" could help me.  I waited dutifully until he was finished dispensing his scholarly knowledge upon another gardener and asked my question.  I could see his eyes light up and detected a change in his posture as he answered in the affirmative.  He said that he would take me "out" and show it to me.  In nursery lingo this means you are going far from the regular customers, to mecca, tree heaven, with the "tree expert".  I felt giddy with excitement as we approached the targeted row of trees....and there it stood....magnificent....breath-taking.  The price tag on a tree with a name like PURPLE FOUNTAIN BEECH, will always contain three numerals, but one must not look, only forge forward.

The tree was wrestled into my Honda with much straining on the part of the "tree expert" and many worried glances from shoppers in the parking lot.  My mission at this point was to get the PURPLE FOUNTAIN BEECH home, into the ground, and all evidence removed.  I backed the car into the garage, fetched the old red wagon, lined it up under the tailgate, and used my super human powers to lift the 100 pound root ball into the wagon. 

Even with both feet straddling the root ball, fanny in the air, and controlled grunt and strain breathing techniques, I was unable to attain even a small degree of success. Undaunted, I grabbed a shovel to use as a lever and was able to raise the root ball the necessary 3 inches so it could slide out and into the wagon.  It ended up being more of a drag and drop technique, but it was in the wagon.  There certainly are better transporting vehicles than a child's little red wagon, but the super human powers kicked in and transport was complete.

After this, digging the hole was just too much, so sweet hubby agreed to do the job.  State of Utah Master Gardener Larry Sagers says to always get the tree in the ground the day you buy it.  So in the dark, with a spotlight, sweet hubby and Eddie dug the hole. 


When I awoke this morning, I dashed to the window and saw it standing there in its new home.  Scampering across the lawn to make sure that it had been placed correctly, Eddie and I are happy to report that all is perfect, but my back is killing me.