Childhood (for Heather).

First Prime....

... then paint ...

... each other.

Note to reality:  It takes a hardy constitution to watch kids paint:  

 Mine lasted about two sides of the shed-worth.

Also note:  Talmage spent a few hours with grandpa in the early construction stage of the shed, helping to fetch tools and nail things here and there.  Now that their training is done, they are ready for the big house.

Sunday Walks with Dad

Wherein Miles learns to identify a "fern";

And mushroom hunting goes down;

Breathing crisp fall air;

Embracing fall's foilage and generally enjoying each other's company.

But it all comes at the risk of getting skewered by an owl.

St. George Marathon

Well. We ran this little race.  Again.  This makes the 10th marathon for each of us.  The same number of years we've been married (for each of us).   Which seems poetic.  And also presents a math problem:  

500 to 800 miles per training schedule x 20 = plenty of pavement pounded.

We stayed with the MacDonald's; mom and dad also came down.  Good company.  Jeannie showed me what is now my most favorite breakfast: homemade granola with a Chobani plain yogurt/ unsweetened Silk soy mixture (sidenote:  she was also at GK's funeral last week and was all, like, "Psst.  Add pea-protein to the mix.  It'll knock your socks off.").

There is something sadistic about running.  St. George, that is.  The uphill destroys your (my) pace, the downhill kills your (our) quads, and the distance messes with your (my) mind.  On the Monday after the race, we spent the day in Zion National Park, with knees buckling at the slightest decline.  We used those handrails, I can tell you what.

Briton's knees are taped with this magic stuff that kept his knees pain-free.  Usually he uses a handkerchief ... or duct-tape if it's available.  But he got this tape from the expo and it not only saved him on those down-hills, it also aided and abetted a little "slot" canyoning, as you can see.

Can you believe this place?!?!?!?

Entrance to the narrows.

Despite the flash flood warnings, there we were.  But also, there were people walking clear up the river.  When we got back to the parking lot, the Park had placed a "Flash Flood Imminent" sign (as opposed to "Flash Flood Warning")  at the trail head.  So I hope those people didn't die.  For reals.

Because it started pouring.  Waterfalls appeared out of nowhere, plummeting off of the cliff faces.   It was beautiful.

We just couldn't get enough...

Anyway,  it was a great and an awful marathon, depending on who you talk to and at what point in time.  It's true what they say:  "The pain is temporary, but the satisfaction endures."  Briton BQ'd and I set another PR -- under 4 hours.  By seconds.  But what precious seconds they are.

We're home and running regular distances now.  Sometimes I even run without my Garmin.  Sometimes.  And there's all this extra time on Saturdays that we haven't had for most of the year.  Lesson learned: moderation!  (except as applied to ice cream).

Ruth Elaine Taylor Kartchner

Of the 37 grandkids, 34 were able to attend her funeral, coming from as far as Japan (Nathan) and the east coast (several).  This is a tribute to a grandmother who made each grandkid feel like they were her favorite.  I love her - very much and miss her; but recognize that she is now able to be with her own mother and father and siblings -- who she has missed for much longer.  

My dad wrote her obituary and John Paxman, a lifelong friend, modified one of his poems, which I cannot read without crying:

Felucca at Maadi

Along the Nile’s corniche, royal purple

jacaranda and flame red acacia petals

winnow down, flake the late May river path,

swirl and fluff about the ankles of the early

evening strollers, part like sparrows fluttering

to seed or crumb.  

None come underfoot.

Along the river, we move north in a felucca,

rhythmed about by music tinning from black-dog

whuffer boxes on the shore.  The west-leaning

breeze spreads itself flat across the water.

Cotton threads of clouds above struggle to compose

themselves into the calligraphy of a loose Arabic script.  

Read from the right, like texts inside those whirling

mosaic illuminations on a Koran’s page, it asks:

“And who will explain this steep path to you?”

The bland wind billows the sail edge into a

left-handed crescent, a cloth trace of the waxed

early moon above.  On coming about, the angle

line wavers, the wind lufts and teases the charity

of its blue border.

It whaps like a wet sheet hung to stop a Utah

canyon breeze near Wildwood, after noon,

when the air reverses on itself, valley bound along

the river, running to timidly kiss the cheek of

the rising desert heat of the plains below.

The diminishing Akhenaten sun gilds a path

on the river, as thin and golden as the leaf on

Tutankhamun’s masks.  It lays the way to sail

straight to those triangles at Giza, where Cheop’s

barge awaits, earth-bound, to companion us

into the after.  

We can keep on sailing with Ruth for eternity.

Asalaam aleikum

-- Cairo, May 2002

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming of back-posting ...

... to bring you Halloween.   This post comes to you with great effort as I awake from a sugar-induced coma to sift through pictures:

Ward Trunk or Treat stash:  organizing the candy ... it comes instinctively to every child.

Briton is crocheting his costume.

A lollipop bouquet por ti. 

How'd this sneak in here?  Wull ... amidst the Halloween parties during the week, Clara's first tooth fell out.  One tooth saved from decay.  She was soooo funny about her tooth.  First of all, she wouldn't let us wiggle it.   It was probably loose for weeks before she decided to let us in on her secret.  She was torn between wanting us to know, but not wanting us to pay her any mind.  If we tried to look, she'd clasp both hands over her mouth and protest. 

Then, it fell out at school.  She came home saying coy things in a sing-song voice, like, "Mom, I don't have my tooth in my backpack."  Which is code for: "my tooth's in my backpack, I want you to know, but don't you dare try and look at it or the hole it left behind.  And DON'T talk about it."

Briton cajoled a photo by insisting the grandparents would want to see the gap.  As you can see, she really is proud about it.

In the morning, she refused to look under her pillow to see if the tooth fairy came.

Class parties.  Clara as Anna.

Miles and I went down the hall to Sydney's class party, next.  Sydney and Miles are wearing costumes from year's past.  Multiple wears=bonus!. The Dinosaur (c. 2009) has gotten a lot of mileage.  Almost as much as The Helmet of Salvation.

The second graders had popcorn and oranges.

The kinders had candy corn bingo, little debbie snacks, candy party favor baggies....

Halloween hadn't even arrived and, what with class parties and trunk or treat ... I was already getting sick of the sugar.

And I can hold my own with sugar ... believe you, me.

Someone has to do it.

"Hey, stop watching football and pretend you've been working hard de-gutting a pumpkin."

The costume box was disemboweled all week (er ... and still is ...)

Clara and Miles are playing Library.  Miles is the librarian, swiping Clara's lego library card.

Advanced Maternal Age.
Also,
what is Miles thinking?
  "Are you  my mother?", ... is my guess

The zombie mama also looks a little hung over.  Could also be the sugar-coma-thing.

The Claaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw.
(and the toooooooooooooooooonsils).

Briton spearheaded the jack-o-lantern carving.  A sampling.
The albino one is from our garden.

The costumes that made the cut for Halloween night.

The Octopi, Snickers, and the Dino Man.

 Syd was Snickers a couple years ago.  She wanted to be it again and what we learned is that in two years she had grown a C and I's-worth.  We patched up the hole in those letters and cut a new one into the "N".  So if you ever want to mark your kid's growth over time, making a Snickers bar costume is one way to do it.

Note:  Clara's cute, little kitty cat tongue.
Sydney's enduring expression.  The stuffing in that thing was difficult to manage.

But kids will go through a lot to reap the rewards of candy.

Even eating their minestrone soup, packed with veggies.

(served up because I console myself that mushy carrots and zucchini will somehow recompense/offset the damage of all the sugar our kids will ingest.  Ah, the lies we tell ourselves.).

Also note ... check out what people hand out these days.  Full-sized candy bars.   Love how Miles has them lined up, ready to go.   Oh, man.   Eat another bowl of soup, kid.

Road Trip

After getting the business of gymnastics over with at her meet in the Dalles, Sydney and I messed around in the Gorge on the way home.  Can you guess this waterfall?   It's a pleasure to have this one on one time with Sydney, scheduled right into the calendar.  Plus, I get a kick out of watching her do fancy tricks like popovers and cherry turnovers.

Fall Soccer

What are things that you like about practice?  I like doing sprints because I like running a lot.  I like dribbling the ball up the field and crossing it and scoring.

Have you made new friends on this team?  Cody, Colby, and Kale.  

What is different about this team than the team you were on during the spring?  I think we're more focused on drills.  

Why do you like to play soccer?  It's learning the new skills and doing exercises (the warm-ups). 

Are you going to play soccer when you're grown up?  I don't know!!!

Backpacking and Bees

Briton, Talmage and Sydney hiked to Elk Meadows for their annual backpacking trip.  It happened to be the same weekend the entire metro area was blanketed in smoke from Washington fires.  Nothing like getting out in nature for some fresh air.

 They found this abandoned cabin in the woods made out of gingerbread:

This scene may evoke a sense of calm, unhurried living.  Don't be fooled.  Word has it that this place was infested with bees.  The humans made a beeline (heh heh) for the tent and hung out there ... the rest of the weekend.  Good thing they had provisions.  Like astronaut ice cream (a tradition now), and cards ...

... A new generation learns how to play Golf.

[When they got home, Talmage and Sydney were still in Golf mode.  A lot of Golf went down over the next few days].

Mt. Hood 2015

A Hare Story

Trust me.  This is a horror story.

Talmage and I figured Julia was a girl because of what we learned on The Internet about how to tell (don't ask).  And then, when she escaped from her cage (again) we watched the wild bunny become rather friendly with her.   Julia was definitely a she.   As soon as she came of age, we asked the Fajardos if we could arrange a little wedding between their grandpa rabbit and Julia.

The kids decorated their honeymoon suite (above) and we stood by to witness bunny love.  To our utter amazement, no sooner had the last reverberations of church bells dissipated into the winds, then Julia took charge and started climbing on top of grandpa.  Confusion set in as we puzzled over whether this meant Julia was, in fact, a he.  Becky took a picture of her/his (? -- who knows at this point) particular parts and sent it to her husband who is an expert on being able to tell the difference between a boy and a girl rabbit.  "Male", he declared without hesitation.  Rats, I thought.  (I mean, I wasn't mistaking Julia as a rodent, I just mean, I was bummed my bunny-market, money-making scheme would not play out).

Fast forward a few more weeks and Julia(n) makes another escape.  She was found by a high schooler who, get this ... is crazy about rabbits.  She shows them for 4H and has a backyard, fence to fence, full of rabbit hutches.  She knew all about the proper ways to carry a rabbit (not to mention house them so they don't keep escaping) and told us, in no uncertain terms, that Julia was a ... ready ????  ...a SHE.  And also, that to be responsible, we should also wait another month or two before marrying her off, for health reasons.  Julia's health, that is.

We just got back from Utah (October) and Julia is missing again.  So I don't know if she is being sowed some wild oats, or if the rabbit neighbors took her in, or if she is dead in the collapsed hole she tried to sneak out of.

In all the confusion, one thing is certain ... I am not a responsible pet owner.