house

My parents have lived in the same house since 1957. It is a great old house, built in 1913, with so much character. It's even on the state's historic registry. I grew up in this house and so it holds so many memories for me. My brothers and I have tried to talk my parents into moving into something smaller and more manageable for them, but my mom refuses to leave. She raised her children in this home. She grew old with my dad in this home. She knows it would be much too difficult for her to leave it. So there they stay, in this historical home full of solid wood doors, leaded glass windows, and workmanship that is now almost impossible to find.

My mom loves Christmas. She has so many decorations and her Christmas village could easily fill two rooms. She loves her Christmas tree, full of Victorian doll heads that she painted herself. The heads hang on little motors that turn in circles so that the viewer can see all sides of the head. We sometimes make fun of the "spinning heads" on the tree, but we can't imagine it any other way. Those spinning doll heads are SO my mom!

Here are my mom and dad in front of their tree. You can also see the tole-painted (by my mom, of course) piano. I spent many hours on that piano from the age of 8 to 18. Her two rocking chairs sit across from each other, covered in needlepoint that she stitched herself. On one side of the room you can see the framed embroidery hanging on the wall that she, again, made and entered in the Utah State Fair so many years ago. On the other side of the room, her framed needlepoint roses hang by the piano. You can also see (to the left of my mom) her tole-painted carousel horse sticking out from behind her. A large Victorian doll sits atop that horse. The wooden file cabinet (bottom right corner) sits next to my dad's organ and is filled with all of his organ music, most of it from the Big Band era. My mom loves to listen to my dad play the organ. And he's good. Really good.

You can see the love my parents have for each other.

This picture tells a thousand stories. I love this picture.

thank you, mr. clause

As usual, the jolly ol' man was kind to me this year. . . he brought me this. I think it took me 2 hours to stop shaking after I opened it. And then I had a horrible night's sleep that night. I lay awake. . . thinking about my new camera.

Then I slept. . . and dreamed about my new camera.

Silly, I know.

Actually, a little pathetic.

Nonetheless, here are a couple of first shots.

I didn't realize how dry Matthew's lips were until I was editing this pic. He told me they are always like that. I guess I need to look at my kids more often.

This is the face of a boy who does not want his picture taken. Adam is never one to hide how he feels.

the polar express

The train was wrapped in an apron of steam. Snowflakes fell lightly around it. A conductor stood at the open door of one of the cars. He took a large pocket watch from his vest. "All aboard!" the conductor cried out. "Well," he said, "are you coming?" "Where?" we asked. "Why, to the North Pole of course," was his answer. "This is the Polar Express." We took his outstretched hand and he pulled us aboard.

Waiting for our 5:30 p.m. departure to The North Pole.

Complete with elves and all. This elf, Peanut, asked us all what we wanted for Christmas, jotted it down, and promised to pass it along to Santa.

The conductor punches our tickets.

The train was filled with other children, most in their pajamas and nightgowns. We sang Christmas carols and ate chocolate chip cookies. We drank hot chocolate as thick and rich as melted chocolate bars.

Outside, the lights of towns and villages flickered in the distance as the Polar Express raced Northward. We traveled through cold, dark forests, where lean wolves roamed and white tailed rabbits hid from our train as it thundered through the quiet wilderness.

As we climbed mountains so high it seemed as if we would scrape the moon, we read one of our favorite Christmastime stories - The Polar Express.

Finally arriving at The North Pole, Santa boarded our train. He marched over to us, and pointing to Adam said, "Let's have this little fellow here. Now what would you like for Christmas?"

Adam knew he could have any gift he could imagine. But the thing he wanted most was not inside Santa's giant bag. What he wanted more than anything was one silver bell from Santa's sleigh. He gave Adam a hug and told the elf to cut a bell from a reindeer's harness. Santa stood, holding it above him, and called out, "The first gift of Christmas!" then he handed it to Adam.

Soon the train gave a sudden lurch and started moving again. We were on our way home.

Our journey had come to an end. When the train reached the station, we sadly left the other children. We stood and waved good-bye. The conductor cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "MERRY CHRISTMAS!" The Polar Express let out a loud blast from its whistle and sped away into the dark polar night.

He's baaack!

Wow, two years went by fast. Click here.

(BTW - the sign means "Welcome, my little cabbage." Apparently, it was a joke between Brooke and Brady in 9th grade!)

Dutch Christmas

In our house, my kids have it pretty dang good - they get not one but TWO Christmases (kind of), thanks to their grandpa (Opa, as he is affectionately known) being born in Rotterdam, Holland. Thus we celebrate "Sinterklaas Day" every December 6th.

Sinterklaas lives in Spain during the year. I have no clue as to why he lives in Spain and not Holland-seems like a bit of a traitor to me.

Anyway.

In December, he arrives in Holland by ship along with his helper Zwarte Piet (Black Pete) who is Sinterklaas' helper (Black Pete has a dark and creepy history but we won't get into that here - my kids could be reading this!). Sinterklaas and Zwarte Pete travel on a white horse to all the children's houses on the eve of December 5th where the children have set out their klompen (wooden shoes), either outside or by the fireplace, filled with hay and carrots for Sinterklaas' horse. If the children have been "good" that year then Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet fill the children's shoes with goodies. If they've been bad, they get sticks and coal.

Apparently my kids were okay this year as they ended up with lots of Dutch treats and NO STICKS! *woot* Thank you Mr. Sinterklaas and (creepy) Black Pete for filling my kids with more sugar!

The children always get a "chocolate letter" in their shoes. Adam checks out his "A".

"M" for Matthew :o)

Thanksgiving is next week and I'm just now posting Halloween pics. Lame, I know.

official bed-head poster child

The results are in. Announcing the winner of the highly competitive "bed-head contest." Congratulations Adam, this morning you officially took the prize!

zion's canyoneering

One of my favorite movies of all time is "Cast Away." I especially like when Tom Hanks' character finally is able to build a fire for himself on the beach of his lonely little island. I love his reaction to his amazing accomplishment when he jumps all around beating his chest and pointing to the fire and saying, "Yaaa, look what I have created! I have made fire. I. Have. Made. Fire!"

Love it.

So....I recently experienced a similar feeling of accomplishment. I, yes ME, Maryanne, went to Zion's National Park and I, yes ME, Maryanne, went rappelling! Down cliffs. Steep gangly cliffs.

It's true. It happened.

So here, look what I have done! I went rappelling.

I. Went. Rappelling!

My practice run. We stopped just outside of Zion's to have our lesson given by my expert-canyoneering-brothers-in-law, Jim and Bryson.

John dangling on his practice run.

The beginning of Keyhole slot canyon where we would spend the next two hours dropping, climbing, sliding, crawling, sloshing.

Our pre-descention salute.

First official rappel into the canyon. I must say that I was NOT prepared for that first step backwards. The human mind was just not meant to be "okay" with stepping backwards off the edge of a cliff!

At the bottom of most of the rappels was a pool of ice-cold water, thus the wet-suit attire. Some are so deep you have to swim through them.

Me and my beau in the narrows.

Looking upward. Ya gotta love the beauty of Zion's, the true definition of awesome.

Hurrah! We made it out! Alive and happy and wet and with my fair share of a few scrapes and bruises (and sore muscles in places I didn't even know I had muscles!).

gunpowder, treason, and plot....

....is what was on Guy Fawkes' mind when he tried to blow up Parliament in London back in 1605. Fortunately he was caught before King James 1 was annihilated. Parliament was saved and Mr. Fawkes was subsequently chopped into 4 pieces whilst his head hung in the town square. I bet no one tried that one again!

What has come out of this twisted conspiracy is an odd little yearly celebration in England called "Bonfire Night" or "Guy Fawkes Night." Since we had the privilege of living in the jolly ol' place for three years, we have continued with this fun, yet extremely odd, tradition which goes like this....

On or around the anniversary of the plot, November 5th, people gather around a big bonfire for a rather macabre celebration. With them they have brought homemade "Guys" which are stuffed dummies (or drawn versions on cardboard, or made out of anything you want, really) of Guy Fawkes. Jacket potatoes are served and a feast ensues.

A contest is often held for who made the best "Guy," and then, with the fire roaring, the guests one by one hurl their "Guy" onto the fire while cheering and laughing. Sometimes a chant will be heard amongst the crowd as the "Guys" are thrown to their death....

Guy, guy, guy
Poke him in the eye,
Put him on the bonfire,
And there let him die.

Weird, I know.

So this brings me to last night. Our very dear friends who lived in England with us have carried on this yearly tradition. So here we are, celebrating this rather bizarre, but somehow really fun, holiday....

Everyone lines up with their "Guys" for judging. There were probably about 10 entries.

Adam and his guy...."locked in jail, with chains on him, missiles hitting his head, a bomb in his hand, and a skull on his shirt and foot." (Should I be worried as to what this celebration is doing to my child?)

The competition is steep. Who knew guy Fawkes was a "Y" fan?!

Haylie drew a picture (free-hand!) of his real likeness which gave her the prize for "Best over-all Guy."

The prizes were, well, shall we say, a little Deseret Industries-ish? Haylie tries to act like she likes her beautiful new woman statue.

This one is painful for me. There was also a pie baking contest. Mine is the luscious-looking coconut cream pie you see here (left, third from bottom). I know, your mouth is watering. It should be, it was The. Best. Pie. EVER and, in my very humble opinion, should have won. However, I believe that, somehow, bribery was involved here.

Haylie, Raegan, and Adam by the bonfire, watching the poor Guys being flung to their demise.

Poor guy.

my life.....where are you?!

Lately, I have been facing cruel mocking from people whom I thought were my friends. All because my blog has lay idle for apparently "way too long!" I want to take this opportunity to publicly announce to you all that......my life lately does not belong to me! It has involved Primary, Primary, and a bit of, well, yes, Primary.

And to top it off I am now I am painstakingly pouring over 1700 plus photos from India trying to decide which ones to show at the Fireside that John and I are doing for our ward next week. THEN once I have chosen my photos, I must edit them. THEN once I've edited I need to somehow figure out how to put them in a PowerPoint presentation. THEN I must figure out how to put my video clips into the aforementioned PowerPoint. THEN I need to experiment with making Mango ice cream (as they LOVE anything Mango in India and we must serve something with Indian flair for the "after-fireside" treat).

I guess I'll end now and go ask my 8-year-old to show me how to do PowerPoint.

My computer skills are so pathetic.