Also, during the same time of year the dogwoods are in bloom. Dogwood is a favorite in Virginia as it is both our state flower as well as our state tree (props to Jill for educating me on this).
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Azaela Festival at The National Arboretum
So I have decided to diversify my blog a bit and include other topics besides just random stories. This is the beginning of such posts. So one topic that I am going to do from time to time is different locations that I recommend. Usually these will be in the greater DC area, so those of you that don't live here will be able to see some of the sites without having to pay the enormous cost of an airline ticket. For those readers that do live in the DC area, I hope I will introduce you to at least a few places that you may have not been before.Thus we begin with the National Arboretum. The National Aboretum was established in 1927 by an act of Congress. The Arboretum sprawls over 446 acres and includes 9.5 miles of winding roadways. For more information about the arboretum, please visit http://www.usna.usda.gov/. Washington is well known worldwide for its annual Cherry Blossom festival, however, a bit less well known, but just as beautiful is the Azaela Festival at the Arboretum. Below I have included a few pictures of this year's blooms.
Also, during the same time of year the dogwoods are in bloom. Dogwood is a favorite in Virginia as it is both our state flower as well as our state tree (props to Jill for educating me on this).
Also, during the same time of year the dogwoods are in bloom. Dogwood is a favorite in Virginia as it is both our state flower as well as our state tree (props to Jill for educating me on this).
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Registering for school
Wow, here it was, I was finally 5 year old and I was going to be getting ready to register for kindergarten! A very exciting time for any five year old. My family lived about half of a mile from the elementary school, and thus it was only a short walk.
There is an asphalt path that connects my neighborhood to the neighborhood that the school is in. At the time, it was almost just as fast to walk the path as it was to drive in that the path was a direct route whereas driving you had to go around. Since that time, a road has been built alongside the path where horse fields used to be. However, this was long before construction in the horse fields was ever even thought of. I guess we were pretty practical as far as what we called things then, because the name of this path was, naturally, "the path." Everyone in the neighborhood called it that, where is so and so? oh he is on the path.
About half way down the path from the neighborhood there was an irrigation ditch that you had to cross over on a wooden bridge. Now this was no regular irregation ditch, though. In our mind , it was one of the central ditches in the area, and quite a large one at that. Thus, it's name was "The Big Ditch."
So there I was walking down the path with my mom and we suddenly got to the bridge over the big ditch. At this point I had a great idea! I was going to skip some rocks in one of the side ditches that came off of The Big Ditch. It was a new trick that I hadn't quite mastered yet, but I wanted to try. Well, you probably don't need me to explain this, but skipping rocks in a ditch....well it isn't something that works too well, especially if you are only 5. However....I was 5, and thus the logic of why it wouldn't work didn't really dawn on me.
After a couple of failed attempts, I decided I wasn't trying hard enough, and I really needed to go at it full strength, especially since my mom was ready to keep moving and I was holding up the purpose of the trip. It was decided that this would be the last rock I could throw. I threw that rock as hard as I possible could. So hard, in fact, that I actually followed that rock right into the ditch I had thrown it in. It was quite a shock to land in cold water, and suddenly realize that I was completely soaked through. While it made the delay even worse, I'm sure my mom found some humor in the whole situation as we hurried back home. I changed my clothes and sat at home wrapped in a blanket as my mom took the path back to the school and registered me for school without me even getting to be a part of it.
There is an asphalt path that connects my neighborhood to the neighborhood that the school is in. At the time, it was almost just as fast to walk the path as it was to drive in that the path was a direct route whereas driving you had to go around. Since that time, a road has been built alongside the path where horse fields used to be. However, this was long before construction in the horse fields was ever even thought of. I guess we were pretty practical as far as what we called things then, because the name of this path was, naturally, "the path." Everyone in the neighborhood called it that, where is so and so? oh he is on the path.
About half way down the path from the neighborhood there was an irrigation ditch that you had to cross over on a wooden bridge. Now this was no regular irregation ditch, though. In our mind , it was one of the central ditches in the area, and quite a large one at that. Thus, it's name was "The Big Ditch."
So there I was walking down the path with my mom and we suddenly got to the bridge over the big ditch. At this point I had a great idea! I was going to skip some rocks in one of the side ditches that came off of The Big Ditch. It was a new trick that I hadn't quite mastered yet, but I wanted to try. Well, you probably don't need me to explain this, but skipping rocks in a ditch....well it isn't something that works too well, especially if you are only 5. However....I was 5, and thus the logic of why it wouldn't work didn't really dawn on me.
After a couple of failed attempts, I decided I wasn't trying hard enough, and I really needed to go at it full strength, especially since my mom was ready to keep moving and I was holding up the purpose of the trip. It was decided that this would be the last rock I could throw. I threw that rock as hard as I possible could. So hard, in fact, that I actually followed that rock right into the ditch I had thrown it in. It was quite a shock to land in cold water, and suddenly realize that I was completely soaked through. While it made the delay even worse, I'm sure my mom found some humor in the whole situation as we hurried back home. I changed my clothes and sat at home wrapped in a blanket as my mom took the path back to the school and registered me for school without me even getting to be a part of it.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
My one trip to the hospital
So I've been kind of lucky throughout my life, I've never broken a bone and I have only been to a real hospital for myself once (while I have had other 'emergencies' only once did I go to an actual hospital)...and it was a long time ago....apparently the experience was traumatic enough that I haven't been for myself since.
I was about 4 or 5 I'd say, I really don't remember my specific age, but I was old enough that I wasn't always being watched constantly, but young enough to still get a whole heap of trouble without knowing it.
My family had gone to my grandparent's house in Payson, Utah. I don't remember what the occasion was, but it must have been either a holiday or a birthday because my cousins were all there as well.
It was a warm day, probably either in the spring or summer, and I remember that we were playing out in the yard. Most of my siblings were out in the front yard playing in the maple tree that grew right on the curb. Trees are always a great source of entertainment to kids whether you are climbing them or being chased around them. However, I was not quite tall enough to master the ability to climb the tree yet, and also was young enough that playing with the siblings and cousins meant me losing, and therefore my interest was drawn by something else entirely.
The week before the neighbors had been playing baseball and one of the balls had broken a basement window of my grandparent's house. I clearly remember my sister telling me...stay away from the broken window, glass is sharp. However, the interest was too great, I mean how often do you get to see a broken window as a child? Well, for me, it wasn't too often as a child.
I drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly I was there standing right by the window. All the adults were inside in the living room chatting away about this and that, and all the other children's attention is focused solely on the game that was taking place on the front lawn.
Now was my chance. This window didn't look that sharp to me. I stuck my hand in the hole. Slowly, I lifted my middle finger to the edge of a window only to discover that the glass had pierced my skin. I quickly pulled my hand away slicing my finger open from the middle to the tip.
Everyone's attention was suddenly changed as my screaming caught them off guard. I was rushed inside the house in the bathroom where a there was a quick venture with the sink and a washrag...which is actually where my memory ends, but not the story.
I was immediately rushed to the Payson Hospital, where, for a time, it was feared that I might lose my finger. Clearly the pain and trauma of the whole adventure was a bit much for me to handle and I refused to keep still enough for the doctor to attempt to stitch up my finger. Drastic measures had to be taken. Why exactly, or how it was done, I don't know, but the story goes that my finger had to be first stitched to the bed so that it could be kept still enough for the cut to be sewn up.
Luckily, I still have full use of the finger, however, I have a long scar down my left middle finger reminding me, that yes, glass is indeed sharp.
I was about 4 or 5 I'd say, I really don't remember my specific age, but I was old enough that I wasn't always being watched constantly, but young enough to still get a whole heap of trouble without knowing it.
My family had gone to my grandparent's house in Payson, Utah. I don't remember what the occasion was, but it must have been either a holiday or a birthday because my cousins were all there as well.
It was a warm day, probably either in the spring or summer, and I remember that we were playing out in the yard. Most of my siblings were out in the front yard playing in the maple tree that grew right on the curb. Trees are always a great source of entertainment to kids whether you are climbing them or being chased around them. However, I was not quite tall enough to master the ability to climb the tree yet, and also was young enough that playing with the siblings and cousins meant me losing, and therefore my interest was drawn by something else entirely.
The week before the neighbors had been playing baseball and one of the balls had broken a basement window of my grandparent's house. I clearly remember my sister telling me...stay away from the broken window, glass is sharp. However, the interest was too great, I mean how often do you get to see a broken window as a child? Well, for me, it wasn't too often as a child.
I drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly I was there standing right by the window. All the adults were inside in the living room chatting away about this and that, and all the other children's attention is focused solely on the game that was taking place on the front lawn.
Now was my chance. This window didn't look that sharp to me. I stuck my hand in the hole. Slowly, I lifted my middle finger to the edge of a window only to discover that the glass had pierced my skin. I quickly pulled my hand away slicing my finger open from the middle to the tip.
Everyone's attention was suddenly changed as my screaming caught them off guard. I was rushed inside the house in the bathroom where a there was a quick venture with the sink and a washrag...which is actually where my memory ends, but not the story.
I was immediately rushed to the Payson Hospital, where, for a time, it was feared that I might lose my finger. Clearly the pain and trauma of the whole adventure was a bit much for me to handle and I refused to keep still enough for the doctor to attempt to stitch up my finger. Drastic measures had to be taken. Why exactly, or how it was done, I don't know, but the story goes that my finger had to be first stitched to the bed so that it could be kept still enough for the cut to be sewn up.
Luckily, I still have full use of the finger, however, I have a long scar down my left middle finger reminding me, that yes, glass is indeed sharp.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Been tagged...
Well I guess I am it as far as the blog tag game goes and I have to write six unique things about me eh....? Well here goes...
1) Other than my mission and two study abroads, I have only lived at three addresses in my life (sad I know....)
2) In high school I dropped out of running for Student Body President the day before the first primary election (we had two because the choir was going to be gone during the main primary).
3) All of my immediate family has J names...I guess my name is only appropriate.
4) I used to completely clam up in interviews and other formal settings, even when it was just practicing.
5) At BYU I actually worked with tobacco plants that were growing on campus.....shhhhh!!!
6) I used to be in a steel drum ensemble.
Now as far as tagging people....let's say Holli, Cherie, and Ben....you're it!
1) Other than my mission and two study abroads, I have only lived at three addresses in my life (sad I know....)
2) In high school I dropped out of running for Student Body President the day before the first primary election (we had two because the choir was going to be gone during the main primary).
3) All of my immediate family has J names...I guess my name is only appropriate.
4) I used to completely clam up in interviews and other formal settings, even when it was just practicing.
5) At BYU I actually worked with tobacco plants that were growing on campus.....shhhhh!!!
6) I used to be in a steel drum ensemble.
Now as far as tagging people....let's say Holli, Cherie, and Ben....you're it!
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Swiss Chris Volume 3
It was December....a cold...snowy....Saturday morning, in December. I was just leaving the apartment to hit the gym, and Chris said he wanted to come along. Fine, okay. We arrived at the gym and I checked in and Chris, who wasn't a member started sweet talking the girl behind the counter. I'm not sure why women would react to him, to be honest I think his accent caught their attention. I left them and began my work out, only to run into Chris again when I was done.
"We should hit the tanning beds," Chris suggested.
"Errr....no. It is December, you aren't supposed to be tan in December. Plus I am not someone that wants to pay to lay against lights, sorry. Plus, look at your complexion, you are about as white as they come man, it would NOT be a good idea for you to go tanning."
He tried to argue, but he couldn't say much, he didn't own a car and I was leaving, so if he didn't come then, it was going to be a miserable cold walk home.
Throughout the fall I had been telling stories about Swiss Chris and my co-workers were dieing to meet him. I finally arranged a night for them to come over to "have dinner" but really it was just a pretense for them to run into him and see just how much he would hit on them. The night arrived....however, Swiss Chris was in his room, and not coming out. I wasn't exactly sure what had happened. It also turns out that only one of my co-workers showed up, the other being detained somewhere.
About 9:30 that night I was in my room doing something on my computer and there was a knock at the door. I hear Chris get up and answer the door, and then the door shuts as I hear him going back to his room and stating, "The door is for you." As I open my door, I think I see him shoot past and wearing little if anything, which make me wonder just how he answered the door....
I open the door and find my other co-worker. She is a bit confused at why the door had been shut on her, but I let her in and we talk for a bit. After about 15 minutes, Chris can't hold out any longer, and comes out dressed in his matching set of pajamas. And then we see saw him...except there was something a bit different....he was the exact color of a beet--it practically hurt us just to look at him, and partially hurt not to laugh.
Turns out Chris decided I didn't know what I was talking about and went to the tanning bed and stayed in for 15 minutes. He later said it hurt him to even wear clothes...I guess that explains why he didn't invite the coworker in....
"We should hit the tanning beds," Chris suggested.
"Errr....no. It is December, you aren't supposed to be tan in December. Plus I am not someone that wants to pay to lay against lights, sorry. Plus, look at your complexion, you are about as white as they come man, it would NOT be a good idea for you to go tanning."
He tried to argue, but he couldn't say much, he didn't own a car and I was leaving, so if he didn't come then, it was going to be a miserable cold walk home.
Throughout the fall I had been telling stories about Swiss Chris and my co-workers were dieing to meet him. I finally arranged a night for them to come over to "have dinner" but really it was just a pretense for them to run into him and see just how much he would hit on them. The night arrived....however, Swiss Chris was in his room, and not coming out. I wasn't exactly sure what had happened. It also turns out that only one of my co-workers showed up, the other being detained somewhere.
About 9:30 that night I was in my room doing something on my computer and there was a knock at the door. I hear Chris get up and answer the door, and then the door shuts as I hear him going back to his room and stating, "The door is for you." As I open my door, I think I see him shoot past and wearing little if anything, which make me wonder just how he answered the door....
I open the door and find my other co-worker. She is a bit confused at why the door had been shut on her, but I let her in and we talk for a bit. After about 15 minutes, Chris can't hold out any longer, and comes out dressed in his matching set of pajamas. And then we see saw him...except there was something a bit different....he was the exact color of a beet--it practically hurt us just to look at him, and partially hurt not to laugh.
Turns out Chris decided I didn't know what I was talking about and went to the tanning bed and stayed in for 15 minutes. He later said it hurt him to even wear clothes...I guess that explains why he didn't invite the coworker in....
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Horseshoes
So every year my family has a reunion near Navajo Lake in Cedar Canyon, Utah. Now, some of you may have read about Aunt Joy, she is from another side of the family, so this story does not include her. Now, ever year there are several things that are done at this reunion: the hike, the service project, spiritual night, the talent show, and the hotly contested Horshoe Tournament.
Now you may say to yourself...'hotly contested? horseshoes?....right...' Well you haven't met my family. We are pretty competitive and talk pretty big about our amazing skills, and if we don't actually prove them, then we put the blame on something that was clearly not our fault. Now enter in a competition that has gone on at least since I was born. The competition is literally huge. Every year the partnership that wins the tournament gets their names enterred in on a plaque to be remembered for all time--and when I say all time, we even joke that our deceased ancestors are watching the tournament and perhaps participating in their own tournament at the horseshoe pit up in the sky. Yeah...it's a little over the top. To give you just a little bit of an idea of the contention surrounding this tournament, one year one member of the partnership had to leave the reunion early, and was replaced by, arguably, a better player. Well, that team ended up winning and three names were enterred on the plaque--it is still contested as to whether this was actually fair for all three names to be on the plaque or not; it has been over ten years and it is still argued.
So, it is a certain right of passage that when you turn 12, you are finally allowed to enter the horseshoe tournament, and you guessed it, it was the summer after my 12th birthday. To really understand this story though, you might need a quick lesson in how horseshoes is played. It is played by having two partnerships with one member of each partnership standing at alternate pegs which are spaced roughly 50 feet away from each other. The goal is to throw the horseshoe so that it encircles the peg, known as a "ringer," which is worth three points. Alternatively, if you are within a horseshoe's distance of the peg, you get one point (hence why being close only counts in horseshoes and handgrenades). Each side takes turns with the team that scored the last point to go first. One player from the first team throws two horseshoes, and then a player from the other team throws his two shoes towards the same peg, if no one gets a ringer, than the person that is closest peg gets the point (if they are close enough for a point). Additionally, if team #1 throws a ringer, and then team #2 throws a ringer, it is considered a "capped ringer" and no one gets any points from those shoes (although the other shoes are still in play).
Now, clearly it is only fair that the teams are chosen at random, thus all eligible players are put into a hat and then drawn out to form teams. I wasn't really that excited to be in the horseshoe tournament...but enterred it nonetheless, hoping to have a partner that might just make up for my lack of skill. As luck would have it, my cousin and I ended up being teammates....which shocked everyone since we were both 12 (which was surprising considering there were maybe three twelve year olds playing that year out of probably 35 other players). Needless to say, everyone thought this was going to be quite the team.
Naturally, everyone in the family watches the final match, however, earlier matches are usually only watched by immediate family members and people that have not been able to find something else to do. However, my match was directly before dinner, and suddenly the whole camp was there to watch the twelve year olds play. Needless to say this is not how I imagined nor hoped how things would go.
So the match began. While I was not doing very well, I was somehow making it through (although not receiving any points). It was the other side's time to throw and the other team threw a ringer (which would have finished the game). At this point, I was all for ending the pain and getting on with dinner. However, to the shock of everyone, my cousin capped the ringer (the only ringer our partnership threw the entire game), and the game continued, as well as my cousin earning us a point with his other shoe.
It was my first throw of the round. The horseshoe thrown towards the opposite peg landing about halfway there and then rolling across the ground to stop about five feet from the opposite peg. It was my second throw, I knew my last throw didn't go so well, I'd have to get more height on this throw. I threw the shoe up....up....I looked for it near the other peg...why couldn't I see it? Suddenly, falling through the air, the horsehoe landed...hitting the ground just three feet in front of me, much to the delight of the entire extended family. It may not surprise you to know that my name isn't on the plaque.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Swiss Chris Part 2
It was a crisp October afternoon when Swiss Chris burst through the apartment door, "I met a girl from Switzerland today!" He was so excited to finally meet someone from his home country even though he was thousands of miles from there. Well, we all naturally thought, he's Swiss, she's Swiss, it must be a match made in heaven.
"So did you ask her out?"
"Of course! We are going Friday night," Chris replied.
The days seemed to drag awaiting the big night, Swiss Chris couldn't stop talking about it, but finally Friday arrived. After emptying half a bottle of cologne, Chris was off to the rental agency to pick up his car (since he didn't own one himself). I'm sure they smelled him coming from three blocks.
Although not always a big fan of hearing Swiss Chris's lectures/stories, I was somewhat curious to hear how this big date went. However, by the time 1am arrived, I gave up, and figured I would hear about it for weeks afterwards.
I woke up late on Saturday and decided to run a bit of errands. I was in and out of the house, but each time I passed Chris's room, his door remained shut. Finally, at 6PM that night, the door opened.
"Are you just getting up?"
"Yeah, it was a pretty late night, I didn't even get home until 2:30AM."
"230?! Wow that must have been some date eh?"
"No, it was BAD date!"
"A bad date?" I questioned, "But I thought you had never been on a bad date before." I said with a slight bit of mockery. "So, do tell, if it was such a bad date, what were you doing until 230AM this morning, just making out?"
"Well....."
"You are kidding me!! You were having a bad date and then you just made out with her all night?!"
"Well we weren't really talking much, and it was the only way we could communicate " Swiss Chris explained.
"Couldn't you at least talk about both being from Switzerland? Or people that you knew in common? You must have had SOME things in common."
"Let me start from the beginning. You see, we went out to dinner, and that wasn't going so well." Swiss Chris continued, "So we get back in the car, and she suggests we go to the cemetery. I thought was stranged, but ... okay, so we drove over to the cemetery. So ... we were just sitting there, and we were not really saying much, so we just started making out."
"Wait...hold on, you are telling me that you drove to a cemetery and made out all night? Are you serious?!?! Please tell me you are kidding."
At this point another roommate who had been listening walked up and said, "So what was the problem, you two didn't speak the same language?"
"So did you ask her out?"
"Of course! We are going Friday night," Chris replied.
The days seemed to drag awaiting the big night, Swiss Chris couldn't stop talking about it, but finally Friday arrived. After emptying half a bottle of cologne, Chris was off to the rental agency to pick up his car (since he didn't own one himself). I'm sure they smelled him coming from three blocks.
Although not always a big fan of hearing Swiss Chris's lectures/stories, I was somewhat curious to hear how this big date went. However, by the time 1am arrived, I gave up, and figured I would hear about it for weeks afterwards.
I woke up late on Saturday and decided to run a bit of errands. I was in and out of the house, but each time I passed Chris's room, his door remained shut. Finally, at 6PM that night, the door opened.
"Are you just getting up?"
"Yeah, it was a pretty late night, I didn't even get home until 2:30AM."
"230?! Wow that must have been some date eh?"
"No, it was BAD date!"
"A bad date?" I questioned, "But I thought you had never been on a bad date before." I said with a slight bit of mockery. "So, do tell, if it was such a bad date, what were you doing until 230AM this morning, just making out?"
"Well....."
"You are kidding me!! You were having a bad date and then you just made out with her all night?!"
"Well we weren't really talking much, and it was the only way we could communicate " Swiss Chris explained.
"Couldn't you at least talk about both being from Switzerland? Or people that you knew in common? You must have had SOME things in common."
"Let me start from the beginning. You see, we went out to dinner, and that wasn't going so well." Swiss Chris continued, "So we get back in the car, and she suggests we go to the cemetery. I thought was stranged, but ... okay, so we drove over to the cemetery. So ... we were just sitting there, and we were not really saying much, so we just started making out."
"Wait...hold on, you are telling me that you drove to a cemetery and made out all night? Are you serious?!?! Please tell me you are kidding."
At this point another roommate who had been listening walked up and said, "So what was the problem, you two didn't speak the same language?"
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