I know everyone probably got this in their e-mail, and I am taking the liberty to post it here just in case your e-mail accidentally gets deleted(like mine does alot!). Thank you, Ladawn, for always keeping track of who gives to whom!
Tuesday, July 14, 2020
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Daddy's Home!
There were two phrases often used by us kids as we grew up that never failed to generate excitement. They were: "Mama's coming!" and "Daddy's home!" The first phrase generated the kind of excitement that inspired us to action (i.e. washing the breakfast dishes in record-breaking time before she got to the front door, sweeping and mopping the floor in the same amount of time, standing in front of the TV to cover the fading white dot so she wouldn't know we had been watching it instead of washing the breakfast dishes and sweeping and mopping the floor). The second phrase generated the kind of excitement that made our days worth living.
We could count on Daddy coming home in the same way we could count on the sun to rise and set. In the same way we could count on his kissing us all good-bye in the morning before he went to work, making the rounds of the breakfast table while joking about how good his breakfast tasted coming off our lips, and he was bound to get full before he got out the door. If by some distraction he happened to miss one of us, that person's day was ruined until he came home.
That's the thing about Dad that's most impressive: We could count on him. No matter how tough times became, we could count on him to keep a roof over our heads, food in our bellies and--coupled with Mom's sewing skills and ingenuity--clothes on our backs. We could count on him to go to work and come home again. We could count on him and Mom to make sure we got to wherever we needed to go even if an event was 10, 20, 50 or 600 miles away (such as when the Thespian Society went to NYC). And we could count on him to wear his smile of steel in everything we counted on him to do for us, even if it cost money, which it usually did.
That was the one thing I used to think I could not count on Dad for--money. I used to think he was a tightwad: my childish perspective on him for too long. This notion was made almost indelible when I went with him to the laundromat in Trumansburg to do a mountain of laundry (either we had no washer and dryer or they weren't working at the time) and I observed that he would not put one more dime in those dryers that would have made the difference between damp and dry clothes. We folded them while still damp.
My opinion, along with my perspective, has changed. Our father is not and never has been a tightwad. He recently said to me that he wanted to help me (when I needed it) as much as he could in every way that he could. It occurred to me that he has always felt that way toward all of us. If he appeared to be tight, it was because he had to make his means stretch to meet the needs of fourteen of us. If more money was needed, he could be counted on to find a way to help us make it. I earned my rent for the 1973-74 school year at BYU by becoming an integral part of his ingenious "beet-thinning machine" through the summer of '73.
The truth about Dad is he's generous, and careful with money because he does not love it, and he wanted to teach us not to love it. He wanted to teach all of us to be upright and good in every way, and he did it by showing us his good example, which we could count on. I'm going to go visit him soon, but before I do I will call to make sure that he's home. He usually is, and it makes my days worth living.
We could count on Daddy coming home in the same way we could count on the sun to rise and set. In the same way we could count on his kissing us all good-bye in the morning before he went to work, making the rounds of the breakfast table while joking about how good his breakfast tasted coming off our lips, and he was bound to get full before he got out the door. If by some distraction he happened to miss one of us, that person's day was ruined until he came home.
That's the thing about Dad that's most impressive: We could count on him. No matter how tough times became, we could count on him to keep a roof over our heads, food in our bellies and--coupled with Mom's sewing skills and ingenuity--clothes on our backs. We could count on him to go to work and come home again. We could count on him and Mom to make sure we got to wherever we needed to go even if an event was 10, 20, 50 or 600 miles away (such as when the Thespian Society went to NYC). And we could count on him to wear his smile of steel in everything we counted on him to do for us, even if it cost money, which it usually did.
That was the one thing I used to think I could not count on Dad for--money. I used to think he was a tightwad: my childish perspective on him for too long. This notion was made almost indelible when I went with him to the laundromat in Trumansburg to do a mountain of laundry (either we had no washer and dryer or they weren't working at the time) and I observed that he would not put one more dime in those dryers that would have made the difference between damp and dry clothes. We folded them while still damp.
My opinion, along with my perspective, has changed. Our father is not and never has been a tightwad. He recently said to me that he wanted to help me (when I needed it) as much as he could in every way that he could. It occurred to me that he has always felt that way toward all of us. If he appeared to be tight, it was because he had to make his means stretch to meet the needs of fourteen of us. If more money was needed, he could be counted on to find a way to help us make it. I earned my rent for the 1973-74 school year at BYU by becoming an integral part of his ingenious "beet-thinning machine" through the summer of '73.
The truth about Dad is he's generous, and careful with money because he does not love it, and he wanted to teach us not to love it. He wanted to teach all of us to be upright and good in every way, and he did it by showing us his good example, which we could count on. I'm going to go visit him soon, but before I do I will call to make sure that he's home. He usually is, and it makes my days worth living.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Another great picture
Seriously, this kind of cuteness should be illegal. How am I supposed to ever say "no" to this face?
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Great picture
This is such an awesome picture I just had to share it. We went to a petting zoo today. Check out Rachel with the white peacock.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Letter from Grandma
Star Route, Oakley, Idaho
Never have I been so hungry. I was about seven years old. I think the year was 1936 and America was just beginning to emerge from the great Depression. How many nights I had gone to bed hungry before! -- but this was different.
Daddy had called a three day family fast. In our arid little "Rainbow Valley" in Southern Idaho, the mail was brought from Burley to Oakley on a one-engine three-car train we called the "Galloping Goose." It was sorted in a tiny post office in Oakley and then delivered 3 days each week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday, through Birch Creek Canyon to the tenacious hangers on in Rainbow Valley and thence to an even tinier post office that claimed a small space on Cora Lind's back porch in the south end of the valley that extended into Lynn, Utah. The carrier who was willing to accept this responsibility had to have more courage than good sense. There were plenty of people who were willing to try. The mail-carrier's contract was opened to bids every four years. In those dark days of the Depression, virtually every man in the valley submitted a bid for the job. And this was the reason for our fast. Daddy had submitted a bid other years but had always been under-bid by one or another of the Lind brothers. But this year our situation was desperate. Daddy had lost his job as Daniel Bues's sheep herder. Virtually every thing we owned had been stolen by the Buller kids and their convict father. We were living in a tiny log cabin that had been abandoned by earlier settlers and there were five little girls to feed. Old Nelly did produce a healthy bull calf almost every year and provided us with enough milk to keep our ribs from sticking out too much. We usually had a few chickens and we harvested mountain meadow hay for Nelly and our faithful team -- Old Rodney and Dexter as well as the old brood mare, Ole' Snip.
To begin our fast we knelt in a family prayer circle on the scrubbed pine board floor of our little kitchen. Daddy's prayers always seemed so long. By the time he got to the Lost Ten Tribes, my knees were numb. He truly plead with Heavenly Father to make it possible for us to get the mail contract. Daddy's faith carried us all through those three days. We were expected to do our chores as usual. My own scant prayers were more sincere and longer than usual.
Our faith was rewarded. Before the three days were up, Daddy received a notice that his bid of $99 per month had been accepted.
What a fortune! Once again we gathered in a prayer of thanksgiving with bony little knees pressed against the hard kitchen floor.
To go to Lynn and back, Oakley and back and Lynn and back again was a trip of 95 miles. With all that money, Daddy's first act was to get a car (on credit) from Uncle Clyde. Daddy's younger brother never gave him the time of day unless he wanted something Daddy had or wanted to unload a piece of junk. I never knew him to do anything other than exploit Daddy's gullibility and the car was no exception. It was a brown Chevy with a missing fender that gave the appearance of a race horse that should have been turned out to pasture.
Daddy was always careful to keep the horse drawn farm machinery and wagons in good repair but the innards of a car engine remained an eternal mystery to him. The deep ruts on the Birch Creek Canyon road shook the guts out of the car and it had to be replaced within a year. This proved to be the pattern over the next 8 years that Daddy carried the mail. The burden of debt that came from unpaid gas bills, repair bills and finally having to replace the car every year was far worse than the spectre of simple poverty.
When spring farm work was pressing Mama took the "oath of loyalty" required by government workers and took over the mail carrier's job -- an unheard of "Women's Lib" act in those days. She was subjected to all sorts of criticism, complaints and downright hostility and anger. Mama was a little Welsh spitfire and could take such discrimination meekly. She wrote a column for the Oakley Herald and included a ditty she composed to the tune of "Strawberry Roan." What might have been one small spark turned into a full-fledged conflagration. When the fire burned itself out, Mama had won.
Government regulation mail boxes were not required during the 30's so Mama delivered mail in old rubber boots, beer barrels, homemade wooden boxes and cut off milk cans to name a few. Sometimes she removed the grass and feathers of nesting bluebirds from the mail boxes. More often she carried wet burlap bags to cover the boxes so that baby bluebirds might have the luxury of "air-conditioning" on hot summer days until they were big enough to leave the nest.
For many people in Rainbow Valley the mail-man was the only communication they had to the outside world which consisted of Oakley, a one time mining town still dotted with saloons, Almo, Elba and Malta, which were small farming communities. Most of them kept a few cows. They separated the milk with the DeLaval cream separators and set the cans of cream by their mail box for Mama to pick up together with their week's grocery list. Mama took the cans of cream to the creamery in Oakley where the local manager of "Idaho Dairy" wrote checks. Mama then endorsed the checks, cashed them at Clark's and filled the grocery orders. Mama charged a mall fee for this service which helped to put food on our own table.
Mama also earned extra money by giving sheepherders and others a ride to town on their day off. More than once she would have to retrieve them from the local bars where they had spent their whole month's wages and were staggering in various stages of inebriation.
Never have I been so hungry. I was about seven years old. I think the year was 1936 and America was just beginning to emerge from the great Depression. How many nights I had gone to bed hungry before! -- but this was different.
Daddy had called a three day family fast. In our arid little "Rainbow Valley" in Southern Idaho, the mail was brought from Burley to Oakley on a one-engine three-car train we called the "Galloping Goose." It was sorted in a tiny post office in Oakley and then delivered 3 days each week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday, through Birch Creek Canyon to the tenacious hangers on in Rainbow Valley and thence to an even tinier post office that claimed a small space on Cora Lind's back porch in the south end of the valley that extended into Lynn, Utah. The carrier who was willing to accept this responsibility had to have more courage than good sense. There were plenty of people who were willing to try. The mail-carrier's contract was opened to bids every four years. In those dark days of the Depression, virtually every man in the valley submitted a bid for the job. And this was the reason for our fast. Daddy had submitted a bid other years but had always been under-bid by one or another of the Lind brothers. But this year our situation was desperate. Daddy had lost his job as Daniel Bues's sheep herder. Virtually every thing we owned had been stolen by the Buller kids and their convict father. We were living in a tiny log cabin that had been abandoned by earlier settlers and there were five little girls to feed. Old Nelly did produce a healthy bull calf almost every year and provided us with enough milk to keep our ribs from sticking out too much. We usually had a few chickens and we harvested mountain meadow hay for Nelly and our faithful team -- Old Rodney and Dexter as well as the old brood mare, Ole' Snip.
To begin our fast we knelt in a family prayer circle on the scrubbed pine board floor of our little kitchen. Daddy's prayers always seemed so long. By the time he got to the Lost Ten Tribes, my knees were numb. He truly plead with Heavenly Father to make it possible for us to get the mail contract. Daddy's faith carried us all through those three days. We were expected to do our chores as usual. My own scant prayers were more sincere and longer than usual.
Our faith was rewarded. Before the three days were up, Daddy received a notice that his bid of $99 per month had been accepted.
What a fortune! Once again we gathered in a prayer of thanksgiving with bony little knees pressed against the hard kitchen floor.
To go to Lynn and back, Oakley and back and Lynn and back again was a trip of 95 miles. With all that money, Daddy's first act was to get a car (on credit) from Uncle Clyde. Daddy's younger brother never gave him the time of day unless he wanted something Daddy had or wanted to unload a piece of junk. I never knew him to do anything other than exploit Daddy's gullibility and the car was no exception. It was a brown Chevy with a missing fender that gave the appearance of a race horse that should have been turned out to pasture.
Daddy was always careful to keep the horse drawn farm machinery and wagons in good repair but the innards of a car engine remained an eternal mystery to him. The deep ruts on the Birch Creek Canyon road shook the guts out of the car and it had to be replaced within a year. This proved to be the pattern over the next 8 years that Daddy carried the mail. The burden of debt that came from unpaid gas bills, repair bills and finally having to replace the car every year was far worse than the spectre of simple poverty.
When spring farm work was pressing Mama took the "oath of loyalty" required by government workers and took over the mail carrier's job -- an unheard of "Women's Lib" act in those days. She was subjected to all sorts of criticism, complaints and downright hostility and anger. Mama was a little Welsh spitfire and could take such discrimination meekly. She wrote a column for the Oakley Herald and included a ditty she composed to the tune of "Strawberry Roan." What might have been one small spark turned into a full-fledged conflagration. When the fire burned itself out, Mama had won.
Government regulation mail boxes were not required during the 30's so Mama delivered mail in old rubber boots, beer barrels, homemade wooden boxes and cut off milk cans to name a few. Sometimes she removed the grass and feathers of nesting bluebirds from the mail boxes. More often she carried wet burlap bags to cover the boxes so that baby bluebirds might have the luxury of "air-conditioning" on hot summer days until they were big enough to leave the nest.
For many people in Rainbow Valley the mail-man was the only communication they had to the outside world which consisted of Oakley, a one time mining town still dotted with saloons, Almo, Elba and Malta, which were small farming communities. Most of them kept a few cows. They separated the milk with the DeLaval cream separators and set the cans of cream by their mail box for Mama to pick up together with their week's grocery list. Mama took the cans of cream to the creamery in Oakley where the local manager of "Idaho Dairy" wrote checks. Mama then endorsed the checks, cashed them at Clark's and filled the grocery orders. Mama charged a mall fee for this service which helped to put food on our own table.
Mama also earned extra money by giving sheepherders and others a ride to town on their day off. More than once she would have to retrieve them from the local bars where they had spent their whole month's wages and were staggering in various stages of inebriation.
"The People"
Sister Wrigley was a widow with two retarded teen-age sons. Dell was just a little slow and Daddy sometimes hired him to help with fencing or haul wood. But Ken could do nothing more than sit and twirl his buttons, open and close his pocket knife and every once in a while emit a mirthless imbecilic laugh. In retrospect, I realize he was probably harmless but I was terrified of him. In my worst childhood nightmares, he chased me with that awful knife and I couldn't move. His idiotic expression and that laugh "Ku-huh!" The memory is still uncomfortable. Dell smoked Bull Durham -- "rolled his own" even if Mama forgot all the rest of the groceries, Sister Wrigley always reminded her, "Don't forget Dell's Bull Durham."
I don't remember much about the Kidman's except that one of her twin baby girls died of spinal meningitis and the pall that hung over the valley. Death was always very close and very real. One of the Simpers' little girls died and my sister, Mary Lou went to stay with Sister Simper and help her out for a few weeks. My! how I missed her!
The Bullers family was Mama's worst critic. In summer Cy Bullers could be seen wearing nothing but a loin cloth riding his half wild mustang "Barney." Chick Bullers was considered to be my boy friend but when he asked me to do something naughty and I refused he threw me over for one of the Firch twins. I didn't like him and never had, but it was still a blow to my pride.
Very early on a blizzardy winter morning the Holy Ghost commanded Daddy "George, get up." It was 4:00 a.m. but Daddy obeyed. The road to Oakley was impassable by car so Daddy hitched up the team and took the sleigh to Oakley for the mail. There was a telegram waiting for Chet Bullers notifying him of his father's death. Daddy was able to get back before school was out. Our little cabin was very close to the school house, so the Buller kids came to take the telegram home that day -- they lived four miles up Harwood Mountain. They were a little nicer to us after that.
Rufus Wright had been a soldier in World War I and suffered shell shock. Jimmy Wright was Mary Lou's boy friend, or so she thought, Edna was just a little older than me. Everyone loved Jimmy. He never teased or made fun of the girls. One cold January day Rufus met Daddy white faced. His favorite nephew had just died suddenly. He had bled to death from having a tooth pulled. A couple of weeks later Jimmy died too in a diabetic coma. Again Rufus came to Daddy. My wonderful Daddy took that grieving man in his arms and together they wept. That was the first time I saw my Daddy cry.
The next week was our Valentine party at school. The most beautiful frilly valentine was from Jimmy Wright. Mary Lou's heart could be seen in her eyes as the teacher read Jimmy's boyish scrawl "Please be my Valentine, To Esther May Buller."
The Johnny-Jump-Ups were peeping through the snow when Rufus came to Daddy again. He was trembling like an aspen. His face was ashen, "I'm going, George," he said. Daddy dropped his shovel and gently helped his friend to the car. By the time they got to Burley, Rufus was wildly violent in Shell shock. Edna and Sister Wright left the valley. We never saw them again.
Curtis and Luella Nelson had two boys, two pretty little girls and four dogs. Those dogs chased every car in the valley but ours. They had learned through sad experience that Mama's aim with a rock was deadly.
"Did we git a package from Monkey Wards yet?" Luella Nelson met the mail every day for three weeks before Christmas with the same hopeful question and Mama would shake her head. At last on Christmas Eve the package came. Daddy made a special trip to deliver it.
"Dat Meesus Bwaunson! She Spik pooty goot Svedish." Fabian lived with his widowed sister. Mama never made a mistake deciphering his grocery list scrawled in Swedish on a brown paper bag. When Fabian died, it was Mama who helped transport his body to Burley. Again Mary Lou went to stay with Mrs Magni. As my sweet sister crawled in the bed Mrs. Magni told her, "You are sleeping in the very spot where poor Fabian died.
Bishop Vance Lind was one of the kindliest men I have ever known. His wife Vida was beautiful. Mama sometimes accused Daddy of being a little in love with her. They had a little boy who slipped through the garden gate, found his way down to Raft River and drowned. They had a baby girl 4 months old who died in her daddy's arms while the family was getting ready for church. Their daughter Marilyn was my best friend. Once their son Jerry rubbed a dead mouse in my face. "Hey!" yelled his cousin, Oscar, "You got the wrong girl." I don't know who they meant that mouse for, but I hated him just the same.
"It tipped over! It tipped over!" Mama sat bolt upright in bed. She was talking in her sleep. The hair pin curves and rut-filled one lane dirt road gave any trip to Oakley a flavor of high adventure. But when the huge trucks started hauling Will Tracy's cattle to market, the "Fe-mail man" might more safely enter a battle field with her little blue pick up. Mama met one of these monsters at a blind curve and as she swerved out to miss it, went over the cliff, spilling her precious cargo of cream on the rocks. The little truck tumbled over and over finally coming to rest against one of the birch trees that gave the canyon its name. Amazingly, Mama was able to open the door. She crawled out with all the dignity of an angry mother hen and since the truck driver was blissfully ignorant of the catastrophe he had caused, she had to walk almost ten miles to Oakley.
When Mama finally arrived home Daddy's reaction to her escapade was his usual gentle "Oh my!" Mama's was a little stronger. Birch creek road was duly widened, paved and many of the sharp curves straightened out.
Mama flopped back on her pillow. That'll be just "seventy-five cents," she said matter-of-factly, and slipped back into a deep peaceful sleep.
Milaka darling, I could write a book about those eight years but maybe this will be enough to give you an A++. It should! Please return it. This is the rough draft and the only copy I have.
I love you,
Grandma
P.S. Every word is the gospel truth!!
[This is a letter sent from Georgie Gay Bronson Bateman to Milaka Christensen Stringham dated March 8, 1987.]
I don't remember much about the Kidman's except that one of her twin baby girls died of spinal meningitis and the pall that hung over the valley. Death was always very close and very real. One of the Simpers' little girls died and my sister, Mary Lou went to stay with Sister Simper and help her out for a few weeks. My! how I missed her!
The Bullers family was Mama's worst critic. In summer Cy Bullers could be seen wearing nothing but a loin cloth riding his half wild mustang "Barney." Chick Bullers was considered to be my boy friend but when he asked me to do something naughty and I refused he threw me over for one of the Firch twins. I didn't like him and never had, but it was still a blow to my pride.
Very early on a blizzardy winter morning the Holy Ghost commanded Daddy "George, get up." It was 4:00 a.m. but Daddy obeyed. The road to Oakley was impassable by car so Daddy hitched up the team and took the sleigh to Oakley for the mail. There was a telegram waiting for Chet Bullers notifying him of his father's death. Daddy was able to get back before school was out. Our little cabin was very close to the school house, so the Buller kids came to take the telegram home that day -- they lived four miles up Harwood Mountain. They were a little nicer to us after that.
Rufus Wright had been a soldier in World War I and suffered shell shock. Jimmy Wright was Mary Lou's boy friend, or so she thought, Edna was just a little older than me. Everyone loved Jimmy. He never teased or made fun of the girls. One cold January day Rufus met Daddy white faced. His favorite nephew had just died suddenly. He had bled to death from having a tooth pulled. A couple of weeks later Jimmy died too in a diabetic coma. Again Rufus came to Daddy. My wonderful Daddy took that grieving man in his arms and together they wept. That was the first time I saw my Daddy cry.
The next week was our Valentine party at school. The most beautiful frilly valentine was from Jimmy Wright. Mary Lou's heart could be seen in her eyes as the teacher read Jimmy's boyish scrawl "Please be my Valentine, To Esther May Buller."
The Johnny-Jump-Ups were peeping through the snow when Rufus came to Daddy again. He was trembling like an aspen. His face was ashen, "I'm going, George," he said. Daddy dropped his shovel and gently helped his friend to the car. By the time they got to Burley, Rufus was wildly violent in Shell shock. Edna and Sister Wright left the valley. We never saw them again.
Curtis and Luella Nelson had two boys, two pretty little girls and four dogs. Those dogs chased every car in the valley but ours. They had learned through sad experience that Mama's aim with a rock was deadly.
"Did we git a package from Monkey Wards yet?" Luella Nelson met the mail every day for three weeks before Christmas with the same hopeful question and Mama would shake her head. At last on Christmas Eve the package came. Daddy made a special trip to deliver it.
"Dat Meesus Bwaunson! She Spik pooty goot Svedish." Fabian lived with his widowed sister. Mama never made a mistake deciphering his grocery list scrawled in Swedish on a brown paper bag. When Fabian died, it was Mama who helped transport his body to Burley. Again Mary Lou went to stay with Mrs Magni. As my sweet sister crawled in the bed Mrs. Magni told her, "You are sleeping in the very spot where poor Fabian died.
Bishop Vance Lind was one of the kindliest men I have ever known. His wife Vida was beautiful. Mama sometimes accused Daddy of being a little in love with her. They had a little boy who slipped through the garden gate, found his way down to Raft River and drowned. They had a baby girl 4 months old who died in her daddy's arms while the family was getting ready for church. Their daughter Marilyn was my best friend. Once their son Jerry rubbed a dead mouse in my face. "Hey!" yelled his cousin, Oscar, "You got the wrong girl." I don't know who they meant that mouse for, but I hated him just the same.
"It tipped over! It tipped over!" Mama sat bolt upright in bed. She was talking in her sleep. The hair pin curves and rut-filled one lane dirt road gave any trip to Oakley a flavor of high adventure. But when the huge trucks started hauling Will Tracy's cattle to market, the "Fe-mail man" might more safely enter a battle field with her little blue pick up. Mama met one of these monsters at a blind curve and as she swerved out to miss it, went over the cliff, spilling her precious cargo of cream on the rocks. The little truck tumbled over and over finally coming to rest against one of the birch trees that gave the canyon its name. Amazingly, Mama was able to open the door. She crawled out with all the dignity of an angry mother hen and since the truck driver was blissfully ignorant of the catastrophe he had caused, she had to walk almost ten miles to Oakley.
When Mama finally arrived home Daddy's reaction to her escapade was his usual gentle "Oh my!" Mama's was a little stronger. Birch creek road was duly widened, paved and many of the sharp curves straightened out.
Mama flopped back on her pillow. That'll be just "seventy-five cents," she said matter-of-factly, and slipped back into a deep peaceful sleep.
Milaka darling, I could write a book about those eight years but maybe this will be enough to give you an A++. It should! Please return it. This is the rough draft and the only copy I have.
I love you,
Grandma
P.S. Every word is the gospel truth!!
[This is a letter sent from Georgie Gay Bronson Bateman to Milaka Christensen Stringham dated March 8, 1987.]
Thursday, December 31, 2009
The Pinelli family Christmas
It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words. So here is our family's Christmas celebration in pictures!Monday, December 28, 2009
Rachel's Christmas Present
I have been looking for something like this for over a year and a half. Unfortunately, they're expensive, so I've been keeping my eye on Craig's List. Finally, serendipitously, a friend posted that she was getting rid of some things as she prepared to move this summer, and was selling this for the same price she bought it for at a yard sale - $30. New it costs $350, so I was ecstatic to make this find, and it became Rachel's "Santa" present this year (with the stipulation that she share with Gabi when Gabi is a little bigger).
Yesterday was very wet, and besides we spent the whole day at Jeff's parents' house, so this afternoon Jeff took Rachel outside to play with her new present. Do you think she liked it?
Yesterday was very wet, and besides we spent the whole day at Jeff's parents' house, so this afternoon Jeff took Rachel outside to play with her new present. Do you think she liked it?
Friday, December 25, 2009
Matching Pajamas (the sequel)
Yay! More matching pajamas for Rachel and Gabi. These are courtesy of Grandma Gosnell. Aren't they too cute?!
On Christmas Eve we went caroling at a hospital. In front of the hospital was a life-sized nativity scene. It was a little cold/windy, but I couldn't resist the temptation to take a picture of Rachel and Gabi in the nativity scene.
We had a wonderful day. The girls had so much fun! (I can't wait until next Christmas.)
On Christmas Eve we went caroling at a hospital. In front of the hospital was a life-sized nativity scene. It was a little cold/windy, but I couldn't resist the temptation to take a picture of Rachel and Gabi in the nativity scene.
We had a wonderful day. The girls had so much fun! (I can't wait until next Christmas.)
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Children Were Nestled All Snug In Their Beds
A very dear friend of mine came over yesterday and gave Rachel and Gabi a Christmas present of matching pajamas. I never thought I would be the kind of person who wanted my girls to match, but it turns out that I am that kind of person after all.
So here are Rachel and Gabi in their "partridge in a pear tree" pajamas.
So here are Rachel and Gabi in their "partridge in a pear tree" pajamas.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The Nativity, and then some
For FHE last night we read the Christmas story out of Luke 2. To make it even more exciting we decided to dress the part. Here is the cast:
Jeff played the role of Joseph
Noelle played the role of Mary
Gabi played the role of baby Jesus
Rachel played the role of the Shepherd
Rachel was slightly less than enthusiastic about dressing up and cooperating as a whole, but that didn't stop us from at least getting a picture. It isn't the best picture of all time, but at least Rachel and Gabi are cute.
Rachel got rid of her costume as fast as she could, and then was just wearing her pants. She made me laugh when she started doing this.
I remember from my childhood Kelly doing the same thing, to be funny. What I wouldn't give to see that picture!
Soon enough Rachel's pants were off too. So then Gabi and Rachel were wearing matching outfits (diapers only). Rachel wanted to give Gabi a hug, and Jeff captured these sweet pictures.
Jeff played the role of Joseph
Noelle played the role of Mary
Gabi played the role of baby Jesus
Rachel played the role of the Shepherd
Rachel was slightly less than enthusiastic about dressing up and cooperating as a whole, but that didn't stop us from at least getting a picture. It isn't the best picture of all time, but at least Rachel and Gabi are cute.
Rachel got rid of her costume as fast as she could, and then was just wearing her pants. She made me laugh when she started doing this.
I remember from my childhood Kelly doing the same thing, to be funny. What I wouldn't give to see that picture!
Soon enough Rachel's pants were off too. So then Gabi and Rachel were wearing matching outfits (diapers only). Rachel wanted to give Gabi a hug, and Jeff captured these sweet pictures.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Request
Since we can't all be together for Christmas, I would like to make a request that everyone post a few pictures here on this blog of your Christmas this year.
I promise I'll do it. Will you?
I promise I'll do it. Will you?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Medical Update
When we saw Ted’s new surgeon on the 10th, the surgeon did not think that the hole in Ted’s heart was the cause of his mini-strokes because he felt that if the hole was causing any problems, that the problems would have occurred at a much younger age. The surgeon ordered a cat scan of Ted’s carotids. If they do not look all right, then he will want them repaired. If they do look all right, then the surgeon will reconsider closing the hole, but primarily he wants to check the stents above Ted’s heart that were inserted when he had a heart attack in January, 1999. His next appointment with the surgeon is December 15.
Today we had the cat scan of Ted’s carotids, saw Ted’s dermatologist and saw Harriet’s surgeon. The surgeon did not have good news. The lump in her left breast is very large, golf ball size, the removal of which would take up to 80% of her breast. Therefore, mastectomy is the surgery of choice. No reconstructive surgery will be done. Some of Harriet’s lymph nodes showed up on the MRI. The surgeon explained that if they show up on an MRI they are almost always cancerous. A lymph node biopsy will be done on the 17th. Another test which is better not thought about may be needed to determine the extent of the spread of the cancer. The surgeon expects to remove about two-thirds of the lymph nodes under the left arm. The surgery is planned for December 1. Probably chemo will follow – 4 weeks on, 3 weeks off, for 18 weeks total. Radiation ?? The most common places for the cancer to spread is to the lungs and liver, and the good news is that it has NOT spread there.
Today we had the cat scan of Ted’s carotids, saw Ted’s dermatologist and saw Harriet’s surgeon. The surgeon did not have good news. The lump in her left breast is very large, golf ball size, the removal of which would take up to 80% of her breast. Therefore, mastectomy is the surgery of choice. No reconstructive surgery will be done. Some of Harriet’s lymph nodes showed up on the MRI. The surgeon explained that if they show up on an MRI they are almost always cancerous. A lymph node biopsy will be done on the 17th. Another test which is better not thought about may be needed to determine the extent of the spread of the cancer. The surgeon expects to remove about two-thirds of the lymph nodes under the left arm. The surgery is planned for December 1. Probably chemo will follow – 4 weeks on, 3 weeks off, for 18 weeks total. Radiation ?? The most common places for the cancer to spread is to the lungs and liver, and the good news is that it has NOT spread there.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Sweet Adelines
In case you wonder what we look like in our "fancy faces" (Noelle especially), here is a picture from last night.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Sweet Adelines
Since the ladies will be too busy preparing for their family performance and their chorus' performance on Saturday, I thought I'd share the good news. Both Noelle's chorus, "Pride of Kentucky", and Faline's and Malauna's chorus, "Mountain Jubilee", are in the top 10 finalists to perform for the championship on Saturday. As it turns out, POKY will be performing first (they really wanted to perform last) and Mtn Jubilee will be performing last. I'm not sure what the times are, but if you wish to watch or listen, here is the link: http://www.sweetadelinesintl.org/webcast.cfm
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
After Thanksgiving Bateman Get Together
The Saturday after Thanksgiving (November 28th) is fast approaching and we are planning for the After Thanksgiving Bateman Get Together. We will probably meet at Brennan and Tammy’s home again at about 12:30 pm. Soup and bread and dessert will be our main fare. Please bring one of these items to share. We will provide a salad and drinks. Also, please let us know whether or not you are able to attend. Please try to be with us. We do not get to see each other often enough and this will be a good chance to visit with one another. With love, Dad, (Uncle) Ted and Harriet
This and That....
Well, Ted's appintment for a consultation with a heart doctor is November 10 to discuss having the hole in his heart closed. It is done by threading an umbrella-type apperatus through the artery that passes by the groin area into the heart and opening up the upbrella. It will adhere to the heart like velcro and plug up the opening. That will prevent any buildup on the edges of the hole that presumabely are letting loose and causing the TIAs.
Just to keep things interesting, Harriet has been diagnosed with breast cancer. But we have it on good authority that it is not. A biopsy will be done on Tuesday to make a final determination. We feel that alternative methods of treatment will be best here. Nothing is written in stone, though.
We will keep you informed of events as they occur. We would appreciate all of your prayers.
Just to keep things interesting, Harriet has been diagnosed with breast cancer. But we have it on good authority that it is not. A biopsy will be done on Tuesday to make a final determination. We feel that alternative methods of treatment will be best here. Nothing is written in stone, though.
We will keep you informed of events as they occur. We would appreciate all of your prayers.
Sweet Adelines
When I was in Utah about 2½ years ago, Faline introduced me to Barbershop singing. I went to her rehearsal for her chorus, then when I returned to Kentucky I joined the local chorus. Both Faline's and my chorus qualified to compete in the international competition in Nashville which is this weekend, so we will be able to see each other. Malauna is also competing with Faline's chorus, so it will be like a little Family Reunion.
Anyway, if you are able, you can watch us compete on the webcast. It is free. It is also live, so you have to be able to tune in when we are on stage. Coincidentally Faline competes just about 30 minutes before I do, so it shouldn't be too difficult to catch us both. Her chorus is on stage at approximately 3:30 Central Time, and mine is on at approximately 3:56 Central Time. (We are in Nashville, TN.)
You can click this link to go to the live webcast. Root for us!
--> LINK
Anyway, if you are able, you can watch us compete on the webcast. It is free. It is also live, so you have to be able to tune in when we are on stage. Coincidentally Faline competes just about 30 minutes before I do, so it shouldn't be too difficult to catch us both. Her chorus is on stage at approximately 3:30 Central Time, and mine is on at approximately 3:56 Central Time. (We are in Nashville, TN.)
You can click this link to go to the live webcast. Root for us!
--> LINK
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Speaking at the Lakeland Florida Tea Party
While millions of Americans converged on the nation's capital, I and a couple thousand brave souls ventured out into the rain to protest our current administrations policies and the lack of representation by our elected representatives. I thought you might enjoy my speech I gave there.
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