....sigh....

you let me down,

i feel so low, 

eleven seconds,

left to go,

my spirits soared,

my heart was glad,

but then it turn out,

really bad,

i've waited years,

this day to come,

your play it turned out,

somewhat dumb,

so with my head,

upon my chest,

a weary Ag fan, 

cheered her best.

We Do Not Golf

As we sat on the beautiful patio at Sleepy Ridge Golf Course eating lunch, enjoying the fall flowers and the scenic mountain backdrop, I commented on how disgusting it was that they had installed little urinals on all the golf carts.

"I guess the neighbors got tired of all the men peeing in their backyards," I wisely informed my friends.

"But what do the women do?" Jan commented.

"They must have to go in, just like in skiing," Brenda replied.

"The ski resorts finally had to post signs so that people (the men) would quit peeing in the trees because it goes into the water supply." ...sighing and shaking of heads...

Hospital Bedside Urinal

"How do they keep it from sloshing out as they go over the bumps?" Conna asked.

"They should at least paint them a solid color.  Can you imagine what they look like full?"  I added.

After our lovely lunch, on our walk back to the car, Brenda announced that she was going to ask some male golfers how they used them.  I just assumed that the procedure would be the same as in hospitals.

Horrified at Brenda's boldness, Conna and I ducked behind a bush, but overheard, "Oh, they are divot fillers.  You sprinkle dirt in the holes where your clubs damage the grass.....laughter....more laughter...nope, we don't pee in them."

"Well that's a relief, at least it explains the brown color in some of them," I exclaimed to Conna as we emerged from behind the bush.

Reverse Mohawk

I come from a family of vivid dreamers.  The other night I dreamed my head was really hot.  When I looked in the mirror, all the hair on the back of my head and over the top in an even 3-inch band was reduced to one-eighth inch black stubble.  I remember thinking, "Geeze, how can I style my remaining hair to cover up this black forest of whiskers?"

I woke up and my head was, indeed, really hot.

But I still had hair.

Go AGGIES!!!

For years, no decades, Utah State has had a stinker football program.  Not since the days of Merlin Olson have the Aggies been able to hold their heads up and say, "Okay BYU get your own blue!"  Did you know that BYU's blue used to be bright blue?  They stole USU's blue.  Anyway, last year the miracle happened when the cougars were trounced.

In anticipation of the big game Friday I made a new apron proudly displaying our family loyalty to USU.  Not wanting to join the unemployed, however, I added some Y paycheck insurance and am telling my students that, "I come from a house divided."  Some of them get it.

To put it kindly, I hope USU beats the snot out of BYU - so there.

Grasshoppers

They are to be hated. If one grew up trudging through cheat grass fields on the daily journey to Hillcrest Elementary, the aversion to these hopping, grasping, gnawing, clinging monsters was a given, especially for the gals. The role of the male gender at Hillcrest, especially in the fall when grasshoppers seemed most abundant, was to throw dismembered, twitching body parts on the exposed skin of the ladies.

Back in the day, skirts were required, just at the knee, fall, winter and spring so there was plenty of target areas exposed for the joy of sending the gals screaming, while wildly stomping with windmill arms lashing in all directions.  Evil cackling laughter always filled the ears of those fleeing in terror.  Clear memories that would qualify for a horror flick are deep in the gray matter of those who suffered grasshopper attack. Visions of stomped on green slime matter with protruding crooked leg parts profane the very dignity of recess time.

'Tis a miracle that there was not more mental damage done to those who endured. However, hubbie does have to venture down the path 20 feet ahead of my approach if there any of the little demons lurking nearby, beating the grass with a stick, making a clicking sound, stomping his feet, while hollering, "Get thee hence beasties, for the hour of thy destruction is nigh!"  Our marriage endures a lot.

Fall Garden

Bacon n Bikin'

Perhaps because of the clarity of the early morning air, perhaps air carries a scent more directly in the wee hours, or perhaps the lightening fast speed which I travel delivers the little scent molecules more forcefully to my smeller.

Whatever the reason, whenever I'm bikin' the morning route, I smell bacon.

As the years tick by, my eyesight may be fading, and my hearing a little less keen, but I do believe that I have the nose of a bloodhound....and it makes my mouth water.

Guns and Vinegar

I have a student that worked as a guide in hunting trips for bears.

Student:   “So, Sister Smith is there an all-purpose vinegar that you can use in the kitchen?”

Me:  “Well, white vinegar seems to have the least flavor, but recipes that use specific vinegar usually need that flavor.  For example, rice vinegar is needed to give the right flavor to an Asian salad.”

Student:  “That explains all the vinegars that my mom has.  She’s got a whole shelf of ‘em.  I asked her why she had so many blasted vinegars.  She said, ‘Same reason you have so many guns.’”

Bob n Me

The bike route that I follow is undertaken at precisely the same hour each day.  Consequently, I often pass the same people.  A peppy walker with turned-out feet and a springy step comes regularly from the opposite direction.  I’ve been passing (I’ll call him Bob) each day and after so many days of greeting nods, I felt it appropriate to take it to the next level.  

I greeted Bob with a cheerful, “Good Morning!”  His response, silence.  With all the wires coming out of many people’s brains through their ears, I assumed that Bob probably didn’t hear.  The next day I tried again….silence.  The next day….silence. 

I examined Bob's head carefully on the next passing and noted a distinct absence of wires, so he must hear me.  I tried again and again….silence.  Then out of the blue, a hit!  Bob responded with a staccato, “Hi.”  Then nothing, day after day after day.  

Bob must know me.  Perhaps I am just frightening the dear fellow.  However, it’s difficult to resume the pretend-we-don’t-recognize-each-other approach after that one substantial hit.

3,127 miles

Love my red TREK

• shifting and braking - awesome
• tires - fast
• seat - comfy
• accessories - all great additions
• bell - melodic
• handle grips - ergonomically correct

Today's total mileage = 3,127 miles of joy :)

Fi Fi

While on the Provo River Trail, I have lately been amazed and perplexed to see a great number of miniature dogs on parade, a cacophony of guinea pig-sized yappers on leash.  These fierce little defenders of territory are usually mismatched with the living creature on the other end of the leash.

After having observed how scary the trail can be in the dark and noting all the shadows that lurk outside the beam of my headlight,  I was surprised to round a bend and come face-to-snout with a pint-sized mongrel led by a young thing in hot pink running shorts.  I laughed out loud as I envisioned her commanding, "Sic 'em Fi Fi!" as she commanded her pooch to ward off a would-be attacker.

Today, that was outdone by a black chihuahua dressed in a white and pink tu-tu led by a burly tattooed male.

Although I probably could never catch him and he most certainly would not allow the procedure, I may make the attempt to bring Eddie along clad in a little cowboy outfit, complete with boots and hat.....just so I fit in.

I have a very long list of Most Embarrassing Moments.  I hardly flinched as my lecture hall of 120 students burst into muffled laughter as I announced, "The government has decided that we will no longer be using the old food guidelines to a nutritious diet."

Mixing a confused combination of the pronunciation of MyPyramid and ChooseMyPlate, I announced, "Today, class we will be studying My Period."