July 2009

What an awesome month. The 4th of July kept us busy. My boss at the law office was gone on vacation and left me in charge of providing the parade volunteers with wagons and shovels for the pooper scoopers. So glad that I didn't have to walk the parade scooping poop. In exchange my boss gave us the concert tickets and goodies that he received from the parade organizers. These we turned around and sold for $700 and took ourselves to Las Vegas the next weekend (to celebrate my birthday). We had a blast in Vegas, and Jeff got hooked on fried Twinkies... I'm not a fan.
We took a break and stayed home the next weekend and I made my first loaf of sour dough bread (a 7 day process since I had to make my starter first). It turned out yummy. I've also made waffles from the sour dough starter, they were unbelievable! I don' usually like waffles, but these were great.

On the weekend of the 24th Jeff and I went backpacking. It was my first time backpacking, and being as lazy and out of shape as I am, it was better and worse than I expected. We hiked up to the top of a mountain and camped for two nights near a glacial lake. The lake and view were breathtaking. The water was a beautiful green/blue, surrounded by granite rocks and tall pine trees. There was a gorgeous waterfall and meadow on the hike up. I felt like I was in some exotic country! Jeff decided he was a hunter and shot a GIANT gopher. He wanted to eat it, but I told him that was out of the question and we cremated him a la Darth Vader style. The bad part was the actually hiking. It was only a 4 to 5 mile hike up, but I was tired a quarter mile in. Jeff unfortunately, but luckily for me, got blisters, and was slow and kept me company. Four hours later (most hikers sans backpacks said they hiked it in 2.5 hours) we finally go to the top and I collapsed. The next morning I woke up and couldn't move, I've never been more sore. It took a week to walk normally again! Going down wasn't much better. The backpacks were still heavy and a different muscle in my legs got sore!

On the 29th of July my two younger sisters, age 11 and 13, came and stayed with Jeff and me until the 2nd. We tubed the Provo River, went mini golfing (Jeff won of course), shopping, boating (which included wake boarding and tubing), had a BBQ and watched a few movies and Lost. Up until May of this year I hadn't seen my sisters in three years except for once, but since May I saw them at my brother's wedding, we went to a cabin in Island Park and went to Yellowstone together, and then this past weekend. I can't believe how much they have grown, but it was great to hang out with them. They make me feel really old, especially when I mention some pop culture from the late 90's early 2000's (I'm not THAT old) and they have no idea who or what I'm talking about.

Another Farm Poem

Dust

White powder clung
to my fingers and corners of my mouth,
red jelly filling painted my lips,
making my smile, bottom tooth missing,
more ridiculous- dad laughed.
I sat in the corner of the tractor, clinging to my box of donuts.
My small body bounced easily.
The window latch was broken,
and my seat was the foam covered ledge,
squeezed between dad’s seat and the back window.
My feet rested on dad’s lunch box
wedged to his side.

The swinging window let the dust and heat in-
dirt clung to dad’s neck like the powder on my fingers.
His red plaid shirt revealed large sweat stains.
The radio played old country songs,
barely audible over the chugging engine.
We always rode silently.

These forty acres were
dad’s passion, mom’s pain,
and their money’s burying ground.
Dad took second jobs to keep the land,
but slowly, his 120 acres had been
severed piece by piece down to forty.
Pieces of his heart had been severed too,
I saw him look for them while we tilled the dirt.

He had once been a little boy
riding on his father’s lap
bouncing in the tractor.
On the straight long rows he would get to steer,
two young hands clinging to the wheel,
and his wide smile revealed a toothy grin.

A Farm Poem

The Night Count

The flickering iridescent bulb casts
dancing shadows off the snow covered
shed and nearby pile of hay bails.
Ice has already scicled around my nose
and on the small blonde hairs underneath,
clinging to my upper lip.
My breath forms a small cloud
before quickly disappearing into the ones
that land just below the stars.
The stinging smell of spilt iodine
and after birth permeates
my oversize brown overalls,
rolled twice at the feet to reveal
the too big rubber boots
with straw stuck to the lining,
rubbing against my skin.
Below the tin roof
pairs of large eyes reflect back at me.
The old woolly ewes merely watch me,
content to stay in the comfort of their self
heated bed of straw.
But the young, nappy lambs risk the cold
to jump at my arrival.
One ventures close enough
to touch his black nose to the worn
wooden fence where I’m standing
before bounding back to his mother.
A quick count and no tell-tale signs
reveals no new births since last check.

I break the layer of ice in the water
trough before heading back.
A few thick flakes start to fall
as I flick the fluttering light off.
My long shadow follows slowly
behind as the
scrunches- scrunches
scrunches- scrunches
of my boots in the snow
lead to home- till the next count.

A poem for my little brother

J.J.

Five short years of endlessness,
He lay now in her arms-
No more needles, no tubes, no cures.
His pale bruised skin still soft,
The smile of his lips flat and broken.
His baseball arm slips to his side,
And bicycle feet fall limp.
Heat escapes his body
Like his last breath,
Barely a whisper.

She cannot be
Comforted. She cries alone;
We all do.

A little thing I wrote...

I Named My Couch Frank

The green couch looked tan
When we bought it,
But either way it doesn't match
The black velvet scroll drapes
Or the navy blue sea trunk
Filled with mismatched blankets.
Frank looks like a plain green whale
Flopped in the middle of the floor,
Which we must walk past
With an unconscious homage
As we slightly bend our body
To shimmy into the other room.
We pretend that the couch is real
Leather, with plush cushions
Instead of thick canvas.
We cover the large water stain
On the right armrest
With a blanket from
The blue sea trunk.

Quotes I'm Fond Of...

"I am not one, but part of two."

"Et in Arcadia ego", meaning, I am in heaven.

"Be the change you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi

"Justice is the end of government." Federalist #51

"The chief cause of failures and unhappiness is trading what we want most for what we want at the moment."

Saying 'I love you' means nothing. "What you feel only matters to you. It's how you treat those that you love that matters. It's the only thing that matters.
~The Last Kiss

Not Untitled

I want to explain the title of my blog "Hamburger Gravy Over Toast." My mom is a very good cook, and I was fortunate as a child to have her stay at home. But on those certain nights when my mom was unavailable to make dinner the duty would fall upon my father or one of the kids as we got older. My dad isn't as great in the kitchen as his wife, but he did have the claim to fame of having taught her how to make gravy from scratch when they first met in college. Unfortunately gravy is about all that my dad could make reasonably well from scratch years later after marriage and several kids. I don't know if he used this gravy skill to try many possibilities, but somehow, by the time us kids came into the picture he had create "Hamburger Gravy Over Toast." Which is exactly that, a piece of toast with white gravy mixed with ground hamburger poured on the top. As delicious as it might sound, I have yet to introduce this dish to my husband. While I hope to have more cooking skills than my father, I love the memory of hamburger gravy over toast nights with my dad and dedicate the title to him, and all the other crazy food concoction he developed, of which I hope the "secret recipes" are carried to the grave.