Christmas Treat

If the closet door is shut, I'm in there on my little Rubbermaid stool eating Christmas.  Every year Dean gives each member of the fam a one-pound box of chocolates.

With all the other tasty delights that fill the season, that's a lot of chocolate in December.  The trick is to sample everyone's box, then with stealth, wrap my own gift-wrapped box in four layers of plastic and hide it in the deep freezer behind the chicken tenders.


Then comes goody deprivation in July.  


The home is silent and empty, so with great pomp and ceremony,  I shave the ice from the chicken tenders and pry out the treasured box.  Quietly stealing into the closet, I peel each layer of plastic wrap from the package and tear off the gift wrap and open the box.  Before me lies the glossy map of flavors and the single layer of bubble wrap.  Immediately both the map and the bubble wrap are included in the wrappings and tossed in the trash.


 Christmas is mine as I select a cherry walnut fondant with dark chocolate.  Double yum.  This will get me through until the goodies of Halloween are upon us.

Counting My Blessings

• Wonderful view of the mountains out my front window.
• Knees that work.
• Organized and clean workplace.
• Access to clean water.
• One good eye.
• Great parents and siblings.
• Awesome children.
• $ to buy Charmin and Q-Tips.
• Amazing hubby.
• Days off.
• Perfect mattress.

July

Good Dirt

Ahhh.....

This morning I encountered good dirt.  Only a true gardener knows the feel, the scent, the ease of digging in a spot of rich, dark, moist soil.  Scratching through it with my 3-pronged digger serves a couple of purposes I suppose:  oxygen is delivered to the roots of nearby plants and happiness fills my heart.  One doesn't want to leave the garden when such a discovery is made and my morning shower was postponed until 11.  


Good dirt in Utah is not easy to come by.  We do not have the advantage of centuries of decaying forest or plant materials to enrich our garden beds where we lovingly place tender roots.  A discovery of good dirt makes one recognize the hands that brought such soil into existence.  I've always been in awe of my mother's good dirt and am beginning to appreciate my own.

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.