tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83545670971862806832024-03-18T21:34:18.174-07:00TURNER FAMILY TIMESlesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-67023506654041708402012-01-21T13:08:00.001-08:002012-01-21T15:57:31.610-08:00The Iron Rod<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6TI80oiGPZ4VCm8N8FL1IEpZqpxYocsoyXF71BQOzlCaoYFJmEmMRxQrsUnrlYJ86_P_mP2ce7fybw5HxdSD-k7X_eoOEWexQLeaZKhO0mbaHbc1a_0AMgB0dD1jJ0P5ddSb5YfzJ7EI/s1600/iron+rod.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700220079133093682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6TI80oiGPZ4VCm8N8FL1IEpZqpxYocsoyXF71BQOzlCaoYFJmEmMRxQrsUnrlYJ86_P_mP2ce7fybw5HxdSD-k7X_eoOEWexQLeaZKhO0mbaHbc1a_0AMgB0dD1jJ0P5ddSb5YfzJ7EI/s320/iron+rod.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>This may (or may not) be made of iron but I have a story to tell.</div><div> </div><div>When I was young (and old--because we still make the annual expedition) my family--Grandparents and cousins included, would pack up all that we needed (and more!) for a week long "get-away" to Bear Lake, Idaho--more specifically, St. Charles Canyon. This week was dedicated to family time. It was spent hanging out at the beach, playing endless rounds of cards (victory was mine!--most of the time), hiking and exploring the beauty around us, sitting around a campfire and enjoying the presence of each other and a visit to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Minnetonka</span> Cave. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>I hold close these annual weeks away with my family and I believe they have contributed to the person I am today (and not just my mean carding skills). There are many different reasons for this--so many. But, this story is about one of those visits to the cave. It has been told before, many times. It will be told again...and again. <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 259px; height: 194px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700205108024763570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9d45YzHmAvgG4DquRAs8xNptXjW1LzNt1TrygU3rliB1npmzLCfDAJoOPbA4owNw53vcrZtZ3ftiKOFSDZ3k9fgyH5wYdAIhnaNBClfO2J7rDW1gclu_zvUlPGnzhijZdqgetFztKcMc/s320/open+to+cave.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>First, some details about <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Minnetonka</span> Cave. This cave is located at the top (via a very narrow, very winding road--with lots of loose gravel--just ask my bro Brian about that!) of St. Charles Canyon. It was discovered in 1907 by some bird (I think) hunters. It was opened to the public in 1947 with guided tours. The Forest Department added <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">improvements</span> like the above pictured railing and a lighted path as well as a tour guide. The tour guide (usually a youngster with his first summer job) leads your group about a 1/2 mile along a path. This path is not straight and easy to travel. It contains 890 stairs--some to climb, some to descend. In some places it is narrow with a drop off, and in some places you have to duck so as to not hit your head on the cave ceiling. Did I mention that the path is also slippery? It is a "live" cave, meaning, well, that is is alive--still changing--still wet. It is not uncommon to get dripped on from above and the path is wet--which means it is slippery. Thus, the reason for the railings. Oh, it is also cold--about 40 degrees <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Fahrenheit</span>. In other words--It is a blast! </div><div> </div><div>When I was of the very tender and impressionable age of 10<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">ish</span> we grabbed our jackets and jumped into our vehicles to make the trek up to the cave. We--for reasons I do not remember, were rushed to make it before the cave closed. (This is where memory is a weird animal because I can remember what time the caved closed--4:30.) We did however, make it--maybe not before the official closing time, but still the tour guide agreed to let us go. This made us the last group of the day going through the cave. This also made us a small group, made up of my family and just a few (2-4) others. </div><div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU0p1MMgMdpO3bz0PUoF1Lmba5l0RTs4rUOPOPkYZJDbDUmM4ijT84DhfJohYau6LGrmXYyA6lRbG-FwCkYde8CTUsW9aELEOzuhuhGwEpcr9qHurHF9DlM9czVCtTveUQTWrmGZJg1BY/s1600/formation.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px; height: 212px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700215550870514482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU0p1MMgMdpO3bz0PUoF1Lmba5l0RTs4rUOPOPkYZJDbDUmM4ijT84DhfJohYau6LGrmXYyA6lRbG-FwCkYde8CTUsW9aELEOzuhuhGwEpcr9qHurHF9DlM9czVCtTveUQTWrmGZJg1BY/s320/formation.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8QYVte8bH91_rHaUZp1NsSqTZYzfmoGXPGHkN_bjt_8DWJyCYMH2EzzBClU3PRkTnqwyenMwaT1M4mq__f-0J2m9Ze9nzthR6GKCNJpbKOffa-NwjZ2iXBBTsKxWhR0HnWDfG8xdckE/s1600/minnetonka-cave.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700215943731852962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8QYVte8bH91_rHaUZp1NsSqTZYzfmoGXPGHkN_bjt_8DWJyCYMH2EzzBClU3PRkTnqwyenMwaT1M4mq__f-0J2m9Ze9nzthR6GKCNJpbKOffa-NwjZ2iXBBTsKxWhR0HnWDfG8xdckE/s320/minnetonka-cave.jpg" /></a>Just a few of the many formations that can be seen while hiking through the cave. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 214px; height: 320px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700216434029383154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-rAIBMvvWFzkt5kmq8CUvtSzQn6SOamUYPNzX4M6s2KAw0TU80sDTi5SdIdTIOVueSDAW7K7rNMQqRKPVlaCbNaPPqe-1Xs0IyGvg32EweEM5zhZkUXTEXWWttfX48B0ldS-WXkAT0nc/s320/devils+office.jpg" /></div><div> One of the drop offs. This is called: the Devil's Office (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">ooww</span>, spooky--it was to a 10<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">ish</span> year old girl)</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtN5OdIrXQOBR4FINhLKERNoSe6sqBEO-rVhSaSSSIURXgsHU3mf2g6w_S5FPeHZce-xcmkhmnCxTh-KIc-p0vt_Ur8nsj30suv3Y0LeqGNr3fOIqjBm3KOr0k_KZeFKTKlRS8AZ2OG8/s1600/steps+and+rail+cave.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px; height: 212px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700217395027987426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtN5OdIrXQOBR4FINhLKERNoSe6sqBEO-rVhSaSSSIURXgsHU3mf2g6w_S5FPeHZce-xcmkhmnCxTh-KIc-p0vt_Ur8nsj30suv3Y0LeqGNr3fOIqjBm3KOr0k_KZeFKTKlRS8AZ2OG8/s320/steps+and+rail+cave.jpg" /></a>wet paths and low overhangs. railing. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidV-xnV2t8QBMkPgBgsox4-7hhjUtGysndIonCpjxIKAkk-VaVXwxyEk7d15PCzuIx10IRuwRdEcglspp_K8N6FFvaUEm7i-nvdAkzFB9WP7euDCb9w-sRx6oZ1N-xxPS7M_Jk4XEBKLQ/s1600/trail+and+mud.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px; height: 211px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700218321762350514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidV-xnV2t8QBMkPgBgsox4-7hhjUtGysndIonCpjxIKAkk-VaVXwxyEk7d15PCzuIx10IRuwRdEcglspp_K8N6FFvaUEm7i-nvdAkzFB9WP7euDCb9w-sRx6oZ1N-xxPS7M_Jk4XEBKLQ/s320/trail+and+mud.jpg" /></a></div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 231px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700217635836438322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF6XxAMyYuQx5pnKk3ZwVZNavWMjmnG0W1GVIu4-U4068nl5EvATzDUGRB14KwsNFK0a74g50Pz5F5HSAGt_iPQAX4xWH12bMbJNfwdo4yUO9mY3hp_By1lKNvt3vAUmgU08prT5IWSP8/s320/trail+and+steps.jpg" />Lots of stairs. Stairway to Heaven. </div><div> </div><div>After traversing the path and site seeing all that the cave had to offer (as well as having cold <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">slimmy</span> hands from using the hand rail) we made it to the back of the cave--the wedding room. (Named for the bride <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">stalgmite</span> waiting for her groom stalactite.) </div><div>In this room the tour guide told us that (s)he would turn off the lights and let us experience total darkness. I wasn't sure why we would want to experience total darkness but who was I to be contrary. And wow (!) was it dark!! I can vividly remember waving my hand in front of my face and not being able to see it at all. I can remember the feeling that I still get to this day when I am in the dark--a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">claustrophobic</span> type feeling. A panic to be able to see some light. But at this time I knew that the tour guide was going to turn the lights back on--I had been here before, I could last until she turned them back on. I waited for her to turn them back on. I waited some more, I started to anxious. I heard her 'flip the switch', but what I heard and what I saw (or more accurately didn't see) did not make sense. The lights did not turn back on. We were still in the dark. A couple of nervous giggles were heard--from my Mom? maybe my Dad? Again the tour guide flipped the switch--nothing. I think she used her '<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">walkie</span>-talkie' and no one responded. It was in that moment that I realized the lights were not going to come back on--at least not for a while. (What?!! No lights?!!) The tour guide then explained that she could not get the lights back on for some <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">unforeseen</span> reason. She gave our group 2 choices. 1) we could stay in the wedding room--in complete and total darkness, while she hiked back out and turned the lights back on from the outside, or 2) hike back out in the dark with only the railing to guide us. As a 10<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">ish</span> year old girl I was not asked what I thought was best, but the group did decide to hike back out--in the dark. </div><div> </div><div>In all fairness to the story the guide did have a flashlight, but it did not provide much light to the back of the pack. We were in the dark. Truth be told, we only had the railing. (of course I had my parents to help, but they were clinging tight to that railing.) We made it out. But we made it out because we never deviated from that rail. We didn't ever say: " I don't really need this rail--I know the way myself", or: "holding onto the railing is so boring--I will just jump off for a minute then come right back". Sometimes holding onto the railing was hard--it was cold. But I would have rather have had experienced that uncomfortableness for the moment then be lost for longer--in the dark. </div><div> </div><div>I think often of this adventure. It reminds me to keep holding onto the railing--the iron rod--the word of God. </div><div> ".....and they came forth and caught hold of the end of the rod of iron; and they did press forward through the mist of darkness, clinging to the rod of iron, even until they did come forth and partake of the fruit of the tree." 1 Ne. 8:24</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> <div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-60225189416735020402011-02-09T15:55:00.000-08:002011-02-09T16:11:36.124-08:00Yes, another blog regarding Elder TurnerI have heard very little from Elder Turner in the last little while....at least since he left the training center and got into the field. He did say that he felt like he was "camping in church clothes". Oh, to see those white shirts! I have seen Alec camping many times.....and he is anything BUT CLEAN...Maybe it is good that I can't see the shirts. <br /><br />New Address: <br /> <br />For Letters:<br /> <br />Elder Alec Turner<br />SDQ 4102<br />2250 NW 114th Ave. Unit 1A<br />Miami, Florida<br />33172-3652<br /><br /><br />For packages:<br /><br />AP-000914<br />Elder Alec Turner<br />8532 NW 66th Street<br />Miami, Florida<br />33166lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-19412222773825684392010-12-29T18:20:00.000-08:002010-12-29T18:27:18.584-08:00alec gets to use the internet one time a week for a total of 30 minutes--not much time, but right now this is the only communication we have with him due to the slowness of the mail system in the DR. i am copying the letter that i just sent him to this format in case he comes to the blog for his 30 minutes.<br /><br />(i actually recieved 2 christmas letters in this format and thought they were fun so i stole the idea) <br /><br />Well Alec,<br /><br />Last time you got after me for not writing about home. I have sent another letter (via pouch) detailing more of family/home life but I thought I would tell you about Christmas. <br /><br />TURNER FAMILY CHRISTMAS BY THE NUMBERS:<br /><br />10: NUMBER OF CHOCOLATE COUNT DOWN CALENDARS THAT WILL ATE (BEFORE THE 24TH)<br /><br />10: NUMBER OF CHOCOLATE COUNT DOWN CALENDARS THAT DAD BOUGHT FOR WILL<br /><br />4: NUMBER OF "12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS" PRESENTS THAT GRANDMA DID (THEN SHE GAVE UP)<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF CHRISTMAS PRESENTS THAT GRANDMA GAVE ALL OF US ON CHRISTMAS DAY<br /><br />8: NUMBER OF GINGERBREAD HOUSES THAT BELLA ATE BEFORE THE PARTY<br /><br />0: NUMBER OF GINGERBREAD HOUSES THAT BELLA LEFT FOR THE PARTY<br /><br />1: LOUD SCREAM WHEN MOM FOUND OUT THAT BELLA ATE THE GINGERBREAD HOUSES <br /><br />30: THE NUMBER OF MINUTES BEFORE THE PARTY THAT MOM FOUND OUT THAT BELLA ATE THE GINGERBREAD HOUSES<br /><br />1: THE NUMBER OF TIMES WE LISTENED TO "THE BEST CHRISTMAS PAGENT EVER" ON THE WAY TO GRANDMA AUSTIN'S HOUSE OF CHRISTMAS EVE<br /><br />26: NUMBER OF TIMES THAT WE WATCHED "HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS"<br /><br />72: NUMBER OF TIMES THAT WILLIAM ASKED TO WATCH "HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS"<br /><br />7: NUMBER OF TREES MOM REJECTED BEFORE THE PERFECT TREE WAS FOUND<br /><br />27: DEGREES F WHEN SAID CHRISTMAS TREE WAS FOUND....BRRRRR!<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF MORNINGS THAT WILLIAM THOUGHT IT WAS CHRISTMAS WHEN IT WASN'T (HE RUSHED UP STAIRS THINKING THERE WOULD BE PRESENTS.....SO SAD!)<br /><br />12: NUMBER OF TIMES MOM THREATENED THAT WILLIAM AND AUSTIN WOULD ONLY GET A BARBIE FOR CHRISTMAS<br /><br />0: NUMBER OF TIMES THAT WILLIAM THOUGHT THAT GETTING A BARBIE FOR CHRISTMAS WOULD BE BAD<br /><br />102: NUMBER OF TIMES WILL PRACTICED HIS LINE FOR THE CHRISTMAS PROGRAM (HE WAS JOSEPH, AND HIS LINE: "STAY IN A STABLE?!!")<br /><br />2: TEARS SHED FROM GRANDMA AUSTIN WHEN WILL SAID HIS ABOVE LINE IN THE CHRISTMAS PROGRAM<br /><br />A ROOM FULL: NUMBER OF LAUGHS HEARD WHEN WILLIAM SAID HIS LINE IN THE CHRISTMAS PAGENT (DUE TO THE CUTENESS IN HIS DELIVERY!)<br /><br />6: NUMBER OF PAINT COLORS REGAN GOT FOR CHRISTMAS FROM DAD<br /><br />4: NUMBER OF TEENAGE GIRLS IT TAKES TO PAINT REGAN'S ROOM 6 DIFFERENT COLORS<br /><br />4+: NUMBER OF DAYS IT TAKES SAID TEENAGERS TO PAINT REGAN'S ROOM 6 DIFFERENT COLORS<br /><br />5: NUMBER OF TIMES AUSTIN HAS GONE SNOWBOARDING (I AM SURE THIS NUMBER WILL INCREASE AS WE HAVE 4 MORE DAYS LEFT OF VACATION)<br /><br />3: NUMBER OF TIMES THAT GRANDMA AUSTIN MADE FUDGE FOR THE TURNER FAMILY<br /><br />4-5: NUMBER OF LOAVES OF BREAD INJESTED BY BELLA<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF CHOCOLATE SANTAS INJESTED BY BELLA<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF BAGS OF CARMEL POPCORN EATEN BY BELLA<br /><br />3: NUMBER OF CHOCOLATE MUFFINS EATEN BY BELLA<br /><br />4: NUMBER OF COUCHES BELLA INSISTS ON LAYING ON WHEN SHE IS HOME ALONE<br /><br />15: NUMBER OF TIMES MOM THREATENED TO KILL BELLA<br /><br />12: NUMBER OF TIMES DAD AGREED WITH MOM TO KILL BELLA<br /><br />3: NUMBER OF CHRISTMAS TREES DECORATED IN OUR HOUSE<br /><br />6: NUMBER OF DAYS IT SNOWED THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF DAYS IT RAINED, MELTING THE SNOW FOR CHRISTMAS DAY...TOO BAD!<br /><br />2: NUMBER OF FOUR WHEELERS IN GRANDMA AUSTIN'S FRONT YARD DECORATED WITH LIGHTS<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF TRAILERS ATTACHED TO FOUR WHEELERS DECORATED IN GRANDMA AUSTIN'S FRONT YARD<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF BLOW UP SANTAS IN TRAILER IN GRANDMA'S FRONT YARD<br /><br />4: NUMBER OF HAIR CUTS RECIEVED THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS (BELLA, DAD, AUSTIN, AND MOM)<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF TRIPS TO WILLARD BAY TO SEE THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS<br /><br />2: NUMBER OF TIMES AROUND WILLARD BAY SO THAT WILLIAM COULD SEE ALL THE LIGHTS<br /><br />66: NUMBER OF TIMES THAT WILLIAM WAS FOUND SINGING: "YOUR A MEAN ONE, MR. GRINCH, YOU REALLLY ARE A PIIIILLLL!!"<br /><br />3: NUMBER OF ALEC'S FRIENDS THAT CAME OVER TO MAKE CHRISTMAS CANDY WITH DAD<br /><br />1: NUMBER OF "BATMAN MEETS SCOOBYDOO" MOVIES THAT WILLIAM GOT FROM SANTA<br /><br />TOO MANY: NUMBER OF TIMES THAT WILLIAM, DAD AND AUSTIN WATCH THE ABOVE MOVIE. <br /><br />12: NUMBER OF TIMES A DAY THAT WILLIAM QUOTES THE ABOVE MOVIE: "HOLY TRADEMARKS IT IS A BAT, BATMAN!"<br /><br />57: NUMBER OF TIMES MOM ASKED DAD: "DO YOU THINK ALEC WILL GET HIS CHRISTMAS PACKAGE?"<br /><br />57: NUMBER OF TIMES DAD REPLIED: "I HOPE SO!"<br /><br />0: NUMBER OF PACKAGES THAT ALEC RECIEVED FOR CHRISTMAS<br /><br />10: NUMBER OF MEASLY MINUTES THAT MOM AND FAMILY GOT TO TALK TO MISSIONARY SON ON CHRISTMAS DAY. <br /><br />0: NUMBER OF LETTERS RECIEVED BY MISSIONARY SON IN THE DR....SO SAD!<br /><br /><br />HOPE THIS GIVES YOU SOME IDEA OF OUR CHRISTMAS, WE MISSED YOU. LOVE MOMlesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-21009589141732869972010-12-26T20:16:00.001-08:002010-12-26T21:04:09.764-08:002010this year was exceptional. <br /><br />a lot can (and does) happen in a year. the Ryan Turner family on "Zenith Street" (as William likes to declare when asked where he lives) had some substantial changes. and i am reporting that we have survived and are still surviving and are (dare I say) thriving. <br /><br />to start the year Leslie changed job titles. with the new title came new responsibilities and more importantly new hours of operation. yes, I now work an 8-5 monday-friday job. i love it. i am still learning and making mistakes, but the work is challenging and the rewards are great. I cry almost everyday when leaving my baby, especially when he is crying, but we both soon feel better and the home coming is sweet. i have learned to rely (heavily) on others. of course the "working mom's guilt" is alive and well inside of me, but i am thankful i have a job i love and that it also includes a paycheck. <br /><br />Ryan has retired his cooking duties over to Leslie due to a new work schedule for him as well (we are hoping that this does not last long as the kids are all starving). he is working at real estate and doing some airline reservations on the side for additional income (or flight benefits--DR here we come!! just kidding, we are not going to the DR for another 22 months, 19 days and about 3 hours). <br /><br />Regan became the only Turner on campus--she loves that! she ran for and won the junior class secretary position (but I truly believe that she is running the whole school). her hair is long and unmanageable again, just how we love it. she is driving...and crashing...and losing the only set of keys--ah, teenage transportation. <br /><br />Austin is pleased that his pants no longer fit him. it used to be years that the same pair of pants would fit, now it is months, and i feel like we may be looking at days. he may outgrow his older brother. he is now as tall as his mother, regan is sure to be passed in the next few weeks and alec's altitude is in sight. his hair is long and unmanageable too.....<br /><br />William may be eating the same thing Austin is because he too is getting tall. he has become a professional student. he attends 2 preschools, one in english the other spanish. he has also accepted a call to the "minican buplic" mission. not sure about the date he reports.....(but he is already working on the language).<br /><br />Alec graduated from high school, pedaled his bike from Logan to Cedar City, earned his eagle scout award, attended the temple, and accepted the call and reported to his mission, he made it through the provo mtc and is currently in the Santo Domingo MCC--but that is all really. he did not gain altitude or hair length. <br /><br /><br />wow, what a year! we are very blessed. can't wait to see what 2011 brings.....<br /><br />Happy New Year to all our friends and family!lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-35698292388097715642010-12-14T19:00:00.000-08:002010-12-14T19:01:39.372-08:00Elder Alec Turner<br />Dominican Republic MTC<br />Av Bolivar #825<br />Los Robles<br />Dominican Republiclesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-76516239485349334182010-12-10T19:55:00.000-08:002010-12-10T19:58:40.097-08:00Elder Turner has arrived!!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG2FaBuBTIpjVaQLJYA5xKXHDjPHxLhF2ERkb9R_W_uuwEqRzMC5Jk9xIJaEeWcyiNqFzaro6X5ATdDYztpvTBIwuf5852mgJVkwcOIi-v-AQB43iY1DdWWN5B1RC_2kAFO1yPY2e7sC4/s1600/dr-lgflag.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG2FaBuBTIpjVaQLJYA5xKXHDjPHxLhF2ERkb9R_W_uuwEqRzMC5Jk9xIJaEeWcyiNqFzaro6X5ATdDYztpvTBIwuf5852mgJVkwcOIi-v-AQB43iY1DdWWN5B1RC_2kAFO1yPY2e7sC4/s200/dr-lgflag.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549269089392992850" /></a>lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-79350730434740091432010-11-24T17:29:00.000-08:002010-11-24T17:33:44.903-08:00Alec On A Roll<iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wHgaYaMWi5M?fs=1" frameborder="0"></iframe><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />to see alec's adventure from logan to cedar go to youtube and search "alec on a roll".lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-83290396485972947282010-11-22T11:44:00.000-08:002010-11-22T11:52:09.216-08:00Elder Alec TurnerPresent to approximately December 7, 2010 via snail mail:<br />MTC Mailbox #294<br />DOM-SDOE 0118 <br />2005 North 900 East<br />Provo, Utah 84604-1793<br /><br />OR<br /><br />www.dearelder.com<br />if you write him using this website, they will print it out and have it in his box same day (if before 12, next if not). make sure and put that he is in the Provo, MTC. this is free--you don't even have to pay for postage. <br /><br />He is headed to the MTC in the Dominican Republic the first week of December.lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-81384338341737391692010-11-21T18:38:00.000-08:002010-11-21T19:48:56.978-08:00blogs are a funny thing......for me. (mine especially) i love the idea of keeping a record--using it as a journal. but normally--or the old fashioned pen to paper way, people, not just loved ones or those with the same blood pumping through the system, read/analyze/judge... your written thoughts. i have not written for months. a lot has happened in those months. a lot. many times i have thought of things to brag, oops i mean blog about..but i wondered at the purpose. many times i have thought of things to (for lack of a better word) whine about. again, i wondered at the purpose. i do enjoy the comments from the brave reader who will actually admit that they have read your blog. i have good friends and family who support and offer words of support and advice. people who will laugh and cry with me (most time both at the same time). these family/friends know me better than anyone ever has--because they read my journal. that seems creepy in a way. that being said, i check my google reader multiple times a week to see who has updated their own blog--hardly ever writing a comment. <br /><br />alec is gone. i packed him, tried to jam all the advice/example/teachings of 19 years into a few precious weeks, and then dropped him off--yes literally dropped him at the curb and said good-bye. i was told that he did not look back, i could not see because of the tears i was holding back so he would not worry. i will not see him for two years, not on christmas, or mother's day, his birthday, or even groundhog's day. i hear he may call on mother's day and christmas--oh, but not this christmas because he will still be in the MTC. who does that?? well, i did (as has thousands of other mothers and fathers). and i would do it again....actually i hope to do it 3 more times in my life. how crazy is that? <br /><br />how is that for a blog (brag/whine) post?<br /><br />ADDENDUM:<br />approximately 4 minutes after posting this i decided to delete it. i again changed my mind but wanted to add:<br /><br />in said post, it sounds as if i sent alec off by myself. there is nothing further from the truth. sending alec off was a group effort. and this effort started years ago. he said himself (as we were eating our last meal together) he was a product of the imperial 1st ward. his ym leaders and bishopric created this missionary. to actually get him on the above mentioned curb took family, friends and ward members. i will never be able to express my gratitude to them....i only hope/pray that i am around when they are sending a missionary or in need of some service. they showed me what to do. thank you.lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-20189994278248408082010-04-15T11:46:00.000-07:002010-04-15T12:07:53.041-07:00hmmmm.....I woke up at 3:00 am, yes that is early. The entire house was asleep. I layed there in the dark quiet and thought, I remembered, I cried, I I wanted to shout--I wanted to wake up this tiny dark house and alert it--the occupants to what day it was. This was not just a normal, everyday kind of day. But I remained still.<br /><br />I said my good-byes to Ryan then dropped the kids to school. They were busy with their own agendas (school politics, track meets, lunches, and friends). I was still heaving around the weight of the day but chose not to burden.<br /><br />I went to the gym and glanced around at all the bodies getting in their daily exercises regime. The treadmills, ellipticals and stair climbers were all humming. I wanted to scream--"DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT DAMN DAY IT IS??" But I did not, I ran as fast and as hard as my own body would allow--thank goodness that it can run far and hard!<br /><br />A call came in from work--my favorite fragile patient had just taken a "ground level fall". They asked, "would you please come and check her out--see if she should go to the hospital". I went, I assessed, I advised. Not once did I mention what today meant to me. I chuckled to myself thinking of how I would bring it up in conversation. Something like: "Yeah, bad fall, bad bang up on the knee, she is anticoagulated so you should go get a picture of the knee to make sure she is not bleeding into the joint, and oh did you know today is my dead dad's birthday? That would have been awesome (as William loves to say). <br /><br />I came home from work. Asked all the questions a mother is supposed to ask about--only I am not sure I entirely cared about the answers. Nobody seemed to remember what day it was. Well, not nobody. My brothers, mother and SIL sent comforting texts. They knew what day it was. <br /><br />It is funny how the world continues on, no matter what is happening inside of me. <br /><br />It makes me look at the guy next to me in the line at the grocery store, or one of the other mothers picking up a child at school, or even one of the people I call friend and wonder what day it is for them.lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-56063874397466120922010-01-09T10:58:00.000-08:002010-01-09T12:35:25.991-08:00PuzzledMy dining room table (we call it this even though we don't actually use it to dine on) has been consumed by a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle. It has been for over a week now. Notice how the edge pieces have all been put together--that happened within 2 hours of dumping the pieces out onto the table, any other progress is barely noticeable.<br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UrxMTSX4XkoKYo1viXiith8j87PikU25ofbkkIBl3BRaZgLcODQ0eV34dSZR-TfLCkqRXn7cms2MrGyyksWF2mKc2ozE_ddxNwxtcGoAA3pgpiitxscVqKP88nobTZtDDmeQmVtKW5o/s1600-h/puzzle.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UrxMTSX4XkoKYo1viXiith8j87PikU25ofbkkIBl3BRaZgLcODQ0eV34dSZR-TfLCkqRXn7cms2MrGyyksWF2mKc2ozE_ddxNwxtcGoAA3pgpiitxscVqKP88nobTZtDDmeQmVtKW5o/s200/puzzle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424832957304770210" /></a><br />It is not this way due to lack of energy, effort and time. Believe me, I have spent many hours puzzling over this table. So have many of my family members. At one point I had my Mother, my Brother, my Sister (in law), Ryan, myself, Alec, Austin and Jayden working to make sense of this--to create the picture that is promised to come once every piece is in place. We used up hours trying to make sense of it. <br /><br />How can something that so many people have worked on still be such a jumble of separate confused little pieces? CRAZY!<br /><br />On a related topic, I am puzzled over many things of late. <br /><br />1. Why do I still get a killer headache after my long runs? I rehydrate, I replace protein but if I don't take a few hundred milligrams of ibuprofen I suffer with an annoying head splitting ache. <br /><br />2. Why does making health care available to more people mean that my diabetic patients get their services dropped? They once (and still are!) were productive members of society, they served in wars, they held jobs and paid taxes, they produced children that joined the workforce and served America. But yet medicare (with private insurances following suit) refuse to pay for a skilled caregiver to come and give them what their own pancreas refuses to deliver--life sustaining insulin. <br /><br />3. Why is my body so sore after X Country skiing for 45 minutes? I complete SPIN CLASS without the dreaded lactic acid overload--and it is hard and does not equal the amount of fun!<br /><br />4. Why can't I help the ones I love in the way they need help the most? Friends, family and former patients. <br /><br />5. Why does William have a love/hate relationship with escuela? He loves it one day. The next he hates it and cries when I leave him. Sad!<br /><br />6. Why do some receive while others get nothing--even after working so hard?<br /><br />7. Why does the dog insist on sitting on my couch? <br /><br />8. Why are my children slobs? I am not.<br /><br />9. Why can't I solve these puzzles? I try. <br /><br /><br />(Of course the majority of these listed are just silly--but still my mind spends too much time with them.) <br /><br />I will keep trying--as we all do. Maybe most of them don't need to be solved. Maybe the result is not a picture that is worthy of hanging. Maybe it is the act of trying to solve the puzzle where the value is found. <br /><br />On a encouraging note the puzzle on my dining room table will be solved. (I will post a picture.) To anyone who loves jigsaw puzzles and wants to help all I can say is: you know where I live!<br /><br />side note: Ryan and I don't "do" puzzles. We just had a wild idea for New Year's--it was the puzzle. Call us CRAZY! While most of you were out living it up, celebrating the new year, Ry and I were sitting home quietly putting the edges of our new puzzle together.lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-81544739795361028722009-12-13T06:45:00.000-08:002009-12-13T08:40:59.100-08:00The house is warm while outside is chilly with a layer of snow on the ground. My snowman dishes have been carefully unpacked and are being used for everything from "Holiday Crunch" to peppermint ice-cream. The tradition of arguing with the youngsters concerning the white lights or colored lights has been waged--and won. The Annual Holiday Bells have been polished and now adorn the beautiful evergreen standing in my front room (with white lights glowing I might add). The Nativity has been arranged and rearranged many times. Fragile decorations have been broken in excitement and super-glued back together to look as if new. Gingerbread Houses have been decorated and massive amounts of sugar has been consumed with close friends. The lines of "Santa Claus is coming to town" is being sung by everyone in the house in hopes of getting the 3 year old to behave--so much that the said 3 year old is now singing the song himself. And this list seems never ending, the Christmas Blankets are out, the Grinch, Frosty and Rudolph have been viewed,lists have been made, Holiday parties have been attended, the 12 Days of Christmas has arrived............ <br /><br />So where is my Holiday Spirit? I am afraid it will not be making an appearance this Holiday Season. I realize that this is a common dilemma, I have seen enough Hallmark Channel Movies to know, but still it festers inside me. <br /><br />I worry it has died along with the other loves in my life. <br /><br />While growing up (well into my late 20's and early 30's), I was surrounded by the people who made Christmas "Christmas"! My Grandparents would spend Christmas Eve at my childhood house so they could be there for the quiet reading of the nativity as well as the chaos of gift receiving the next morning. They would bring a cooler of goods with them for our feast--my Mom would complain that they would even bring butter. We would eat, sing Christmas Carols, visit the lights, some years my Granddad would lead us in calisthenics in hopes to get us to bed earlier. My Dad always threatened to catch Santa and tie him up so that we would not receive any gifts.<br /><br />Christmas morning I would wake and go to my parents room to count down the minutes until we could get up with my Dad. He always seemed just as excited about Christmas Morning as I was--but would try and pretend he was a Grinch. "Bah Humbug" was a phrase he used often. He always had batteries, his pocket knife (for stubborn packaging and little screws), and a garbage bag (to keep the garbage under control) at his disposal. Christmas Morning was a smooth operation under his management. <br /><br />Needless to say, traditions have changed. Some have fallen away completly. Some have just been altered. <br /><br />Today, Christmas 2009, I have found Christmas Spirit in some unlikely places. It is this that I will cling. <br /><br />While "decking the halls" a decoration was broken. It truly did not upset me all that much, I was not attatched to it--not until my son spent well over 6 hours painstakenly super-gluing it back together. He carefully picked every shard up off the floor and fit them back together. You can hardly see the deformity. I now LOVE the decoration. A spark of 'Spirit'. Everytime I look at that decoration it grows.<br /><br />Our trip to see Santa was typical--magical. The youngest was overcome with excitement about seeing the big guy while the older ones did their traditional protests of being too old. All of this while I knew that the younger would not actually like Santa and that the older group was excited about this annual ritual. Here is where the sweet feeling of Christmas was once again felt. We battled the crowds, waited in line for over an hour, but we also ate yummy cookies and enjoyed each others company. We joked about what the kids would ask santa for and if he would actually bring it. The excitement sparked in the kids. They BELIEVE in Santa, or the idea of Santa. To this I cling. <br /><br />(As I read this, I too am thinking what you are thinking: Form traditions within your family now, be grateful for what you had and NOW HAVE, stop whimpering! I am very grateful for the goodness in my life--I just want it ALL.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCX1uEWBybBV6U_tmtw7H6pAkMNWffEPFrlhPGp9IVGUhM_Fb9O5EY63tFkfxo7cnGNYmVV4Q7Wp4-ypPQA1b2CnSZ45v4pOn9c5F5Lcs2ryc4LLwUSkNdmNnTlV75W5kYsJY_97SmAA/s1600-h/christmas+2009+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCX1uEWBybBV6U_tmtw7H6pAkMNWffEPFrlhPGp9IVGUhM_Fb9O5EY63tFkfxo7cnGNYmVV4Q7Wp4-ypPQA1b2CnSZ45v4pOn9c5F5Lcs2ryc4LLwUSkNdmNnTlV75W5kYsJY_97SmAA/s200/christmas+2009+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414760530648034258" /></a>lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-79725332279212715252009-11-17T12:31:00.000-08:002009-11-17T12:55:13.336-08:00What's in a Name?Mom: What are you doing William?<br /><br />Will: Thank-you Mama.<br /><br />Mom: For what?<br /><br />Will: Thank-you for saying William--that is my NAME, not Will. Why people say Will?<br /><br /><br />I was not able to explain that Will was a shortened version of his name--at least so that he was satisfied. <br /><br />I still catch myself using Will as opposed to his given name. But now I know. Since this conversation with my young master, I have noticed that when he refers to himself he uses his given name, William. <br /><br />Hmmm..<br /><br />William Cole Turner. <br />He was named after my Granddad. William was his Father's name (William Austin), Cole was his Mother's maiden name (Ida Kaziah Cole Austin). <br /><br />Obviously this name means a great deal to me. I loved my Granddad--I was his "fav-o-rite granddaughter" none the less. <br /><br />I should use his name more often and not keep it locked up for those special times--like when he is in trouble.lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-13351732034612570782009-10-23T09:29:00.000-07:002009-10-23T09:48:59.684-07:00Priceless......3 gallons of Lemonade<br /><br />One gigantic Veggie Salad<br /><br />4 pans of Lasagna<br /><br />3 loaves of Garlic Bread<br /><br />One large bowl of Steamed Veggies<br /><br />1 oven heated ALL day + the awesome neighbor's oven<br /><br />4 pans of Brownies<br /><br />28 hungry Highland High X-Country Runners<br /><br />=<br /><br />1 Team Dinner before the STATE CROSS COUNTRY MEET<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidtFKWfCv5asyf70GgzNmc6L_t_gmRzrpAtzRKhE2EaCDSLhYvDzoYrwmwUQ9VXHWgy1VDpJsSA4xOUU75oCfVf5pqD9wLCyPbYGcPedbyBz2Tk5_3HKTn5nRiPP_VoYUvxZSqbmIyoVk/s1600-h/state+xc+005.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidtFKWfCv5asyf70GgzNmc6L_t_gmRzrpAtzRKhE2EaCDSLhYvDzoYrwmwUQ9VXHWgy1VDpJsSA4xOUU75oCfVf5pqD9wLCyPbYGcPedbyBz2Tk5_3HKTn5nRiPP_VoYUvxZSqbmIyoVk/s200/state+xc+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395837154191290194" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJAgX4eVJ0MhhFnWA3XtWMfQhfcoVtMdDRka60ZfwnIFDZjo-Fd9xmcZftpH-X_YeyGnjrfwq73gSIurlPmgeh3VQ2ByMe-qn2XEoEviIBrVRqOUKWbA1Et3Vcg9WKA9BsmmR7F93OlY/s1600-h/state+xc+006.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJAgX4eVJ0MhhFnWA3XtWMfQhfcoVtMdDRka60ZfwnIFDZjo-Fd9xmcZftpH-X_YeyGnjrfwq73gSIurlPmgeh3VQ2ByMe-qn2XEoEviIBrVRqOUKWbA1Et3Vcg9WKA9BsmmR7F93OlY/s200/state+xc+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395837148837312146" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzSC_ozNh37Sh6rNksZmjIu1uDr4EXIx2Ir6cfv6tX-PlRlHRt1tsx77YFasj3C0ekWdEhnfkb-Af65dBbK-2xqlqs3nZjGJOvFSiU16ikNFgrCuFJr5hWL-JOgo9r3tmgKtILEmfAcs/s1600-h/state+xc+001.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTzSC_ozNh37Sh6rNksZmjIu1uDr4EXIx2Ir6cfv6tX-PlRlHRt1tsx77YFasj3C0ekWdEhnfkb-Af65dBbK-2xqlqs3nZjGJOvFSiU16ikNFgrCuFJr5hWL-JOgo9r3tmgKtILEmfAcs/s200/state+xc+001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395837141801706738" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />RUN RAMS RUN!!!!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPEXFaLEyp5z9pHFl3uUylMmu0oSzNQRIArgE3iIQXmWhuiphEPKnTS6aDO2L21ZMgzn8ETB5bLUONfNtX9E0NztdXwfVuU-0Mjkko1x43uFP7k1EdTmAm6Vh1yxadNKtV1cCTJl068o/s1600-h/state+xc+025.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPEXFaLEyp5z9pHFl3uUylMmu0oSzNQRIArgE3iIQXmWhuiphEPKnTS6aDO2L21ZMgzn8ETB5bLUONfNtX9E0NztdXwfVuU-0Mjkko1x43uFP7k1EdTmAm6Vh1yxadNKtV1cCTJl068o/s200/state+xc+025.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395837854114808754" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKejW__2MnkomQvkYBj0sjo32I4XTnJq1pOR19KowKQnxBIHnkDOCHFXOmqA4kemjEYSCgZ78I3o4hQgkbbqGHAXdi9pv7ZDmps1U8FANHtA8AM0sOtHmDXzpI1aIn7jYF-pAE5S3_u8/s1600-h/state+xc+015.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKejW__2MnkomQvkYBj0sjo32I4XTnJq1pOR19KowKQnxBIHnkDOCHFXOmqA4kemjEYSCgZ78I3o4hQgkbbqGHAXdi9pv7ZDmps1U8FANHtA8AM0sOtHmDXzpI1aIn7jYF-pAE5S3_u8/s200/state+xc+015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395837851248030290" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1CPm4QmzZESXoUr4ydosrX8o0pMsnTi1y1EAL87LbFOIiWXwWptaiGE8YwbVZPXJR_iuJYThetgdsPmYMackbi_qi0hdCSg14tJGBtm91FGkU49YnNGST3PdpsTA8jfYucqOZ0ykcZY/s1600-h/state+xc+008.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1CPm4QmzZESXoUr4ydosrX8o0pMsnTi1y1EAL87LbFOIiWXwWptaiGE8YwbVZPXJR_iuJYThetgdsPmYMackbi_qi0hdCSg14tJGBtm91FGkU49YnNGST3PdpsTA8jfYucqOZ0ykcZY/s200/state+xc+008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395837841310685506" /></a><br /><br /><br />Congrats to Alec and Regan on an AWESOME SEASON.lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-63832359328715899912009-10-16T09:39:00.000-07:002009-10-16T10:03:56.626-07:00Carbon CopyWhen I woke up this morning Will was already showered and dressed (Ryan is a saint!). This isn't typical. Usually Will, Austin and I wait until the other half of the Turner Family has left the house before we make an effort to get out of bed. <br /><br />I dressed as usual, then continued on with the rest of my morning ritual--getting Austin out of bed and ready for school. <br /><br />Austin definately has a routine. He has been getting ready for school the exact same way since he was going to school. Going to Carden makes this less of a hassle then I think it would if he was going somewhere else--due to the fact that he already knows what he is going to wear--a uniform. He has been wearing this uniform--with little to no variation, since he was in Kindergarten. Dress pants, blue socks, white button down shirt, tie and blazer. <br /><br />For back-ground: Will is a keen observer. He seems to notice everything that his older sibs do and say. I am sure that comes with being so much younger than the rest of them. <br /><br />As Austin was getting dressed, Will was in his room--I thought playing. Of course not! He was going through his dresser, pulling out clothes. When he couldn't find what he wanted he yelled: "Mom, where is my blanco (side note: I don't know if I will ever hear the words white, red, green, or blue voiced by Will again--he prefers the spanish version)shirt?<br /><br />Me: What shirt? You have a great shirt on now--see the trucks.<br /><br />Will: I need my blanco shirt! Finally he found his white, button down, collared shirt. I need this on!<br /><br />I couldn't talk him out of it. I put the (blanco) dress shirt on over his other (normal) shirt. I thought that he would feel the unease of the shirt and want it off in a few minutes. Nope! He went to school like that. Just like his older, much looked up to brother, Austin. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJmKY9JGFGE8Y9nx-LssuyCQGrCkLlVSBHtZor0oFQR-eSQDQwg1xaqt5ab3-ODMFoVpT-O8DpI0spv3-vHCEch874eg8ZoJh7GUWVuXA45urQIq9RxiXuumiygtRpWiH24yeycm3_Bc/s1600-h/uniform.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJmKY9JGFGE8Y9nx-LssuyCQGrCkLlVSBHtZor0oFQR-eSQDQwg1xaqt5ab3-ODMFoVpT-O8DpI0spv3-vHCEch874eg8ZoJh7GUWVuXA45urQIq9RxiXuumiygtRpWiH24yeycm3_Bc/s200/uniform.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393244577563147026" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Notice the pocket. He has his cell phone in that pocket--just like his Dad does. I couldn't talk Austin into putting his phone in that pocket--he didn't want to look "geeky". (The uniform doesn't do that already?)lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-49033267494937904302009-10-12T10:18:00.000-07:002009-10-12T17:34:27.920-07:00Quotables from Ragnar LVThese are how I remember them--maybe not 100% accurate, but darn close. <br /> <br /><br /><br />"WTH?" Jim. In context with the mileage difference between Van 1 and Van Also. <br /><br /><br /><br />"I want to kill myself." Eric. This was a text he sent his wife at 5:30 Saturday AM.<br /><br /><br />"Instead of counting 'roadkills', lets keep track of how many times I go to the bathroom." Catherine. We all needed to pee.<br /><br /><br />"I have popsicles!" Ryan. He left us for a short few minutes and returned with this treasure. It was heaven--never have I loved popsicles more, or Ryan for that matter. <br /><br /><br />"(slurred) I just love all you guys so much!" Jim. After he conquered his first leg--it was a killer--he was a little off to say the least. Slurred word vomit mostly. He just kept talking and talking and talking. <br /><br /><br />"Maybe you should stop talking now." Eric. Directed to Jim--see above. <br /><br /><br />"It goes so much faster when you are not the one running!" Catherine. We all thought it though. <br /><br />"It is harder to watch the carnage then to be the one running." Leslie. She was lying. Although it was hard to watch Jim and Marie do their incredible legs she never would have never taken their place. <br /><br /><br />"Now that Jim is out of the car we can listen to GOOD music." Marie. Seriously--nothing more needs to be said. <br /><br /><br />"I grew CANKLES!!" Jim. In response to wondering where all his blood went after his first leg. <br /><br /><br />"We need to start thinking about......" Marie. Marie started any touchy subject like this. She knows how to communicate!<br /><br /><br />"I didn't know I was lost." Catherine. After she got lost doing a trail run in the middle of the night. <br /><br /><br />"Lets egg Van 1." Catherine. She voiced again what we were all feeling towards van <br />1's shorter mileage.<br /><br />"(whining) Am I going to have to wear that reflective vest and butt light belt?" Leslie. She kept it in place for 2 miles then had a "clausterphobic panic" and stripped it all off--all while trying to make forward motion. <br /><br />"I am He-Man and can feel NO pain!" Jim. While running. <br /><br /><br />"I am bald." Runner running by. <br /><br />"And beautiful". Catherine. In response to the above runner. <br /><br />"You are almost there! It is all down hill from here." Marie. She was cheering on a runner from another team--the problem was she lied. She felt so bad that she caught up with the runner and gave her some water. <br /><br />"I just wanna be ok, be ok, be ok. I just wanna be ok!" Listened to and sung by Van Also. Our theme song. <br /><br />Many, many more. But the best one:<br /><br />"Runner 107. 107." Ragnar volunteer. As runner 12(me) came into the finish line. I was never so relieved to have finished something.lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-12849677055018655262009-10-12T07:58:00.000-07:002009-10-12T13:05:09.560-07:00Ragnarly in LV! Hmm....Why Is It FUN?"WHAT is FUN about this?"<br /><br />I train for the Ragnar Relay experience because I know that the more prepared my body is for the abuse the less miserable it will be. <br /><br />That is my motivation--to make it "less miserable". <br /><br />I ask: "WHAT is FUN about that?"<br /><br />As a consequence of the passing days the miles pounded accumulate and the time of the carnage is palpable. At this time I get nervous. Sick to my stomach nervous. Can't eat, sleep, or be productive nervous. If I am not running the only thought going through my head is: "I should be running, #*@*" (yes, that last part is an expletive). And to top it off my body is constantly sore. Either a muscle, a knee, a blister, the list goes on and on. <br /><br /><br />Once again, "WHAT is FUN about that?" <br /><br />During the Race I push past any limits my body has already set. I run and it is not that exhilarating, renewing type of run that I love. Somehow it is different. More of a panic--a panic "can I finish this" run. I ride in a car for a crazy amount of time. I ride in a car with 5 other runners whose bodies are like mine: sore, exhausted, stinky and sick. I drink an unusually high volume of fluid--some of which I have to choke down because of taste and texture. As a result of the previous statement I am continually looking for a bathroom so I can pee clear. I force feed myself--knowing that I need the calories for my upcoming run, but also feeling a complete tightness in my stomach that begs to be left alone. I close my eyes (this does not count for sleep) for 1-2 hours at a time as I am laying in a parking lot or on a field of a elementary school. <br /><br />I Run. Drive. Sleep? REPEAT X3.<br /><br />All of this last for about 30 hours. 30 straight hours. No breaks. <br /><br />"What is FUN about that?"<br /><br /><br />After the race I can walk--barely. It is more of a hobble. Sitting down to eliminate all the fluid I drank is almost untolerable. All of my leg muscles are screaming and unforgiving for my past behavior. I am unable to stomach food. I am exhausted. My head is literally too heavy. I am so sleepy that it is hard to go to sleep. Once I fall asleep--I pass out. There is no reviving me--unless of course I have to pee again. Which is a huge pain! I won't even comment on how emotionally tired I am and the consequence of that. Okay--one word: Unstable!<br /><br />I beg: "What is FUN about that?"<br /><br />Maybe the answer is that it is NOT FUN. It is different than FUN. <br /><br />It is sweet. I am unable to describe the high I get from accomplishing this goal. And to be able to do it with the 5 other members of your van makes it even more wonderful. It multiplies the experience. <br /><br />I am proud of my showing at this Ragnar Relay. I ran harded and faster than I ever have. I am even more proud of my van-mates showing. They did the impossible in my eyes and they did it with great courage. <br /><br />What an experience! It may not have been fun, but it was so worth it!lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-33537441514862483652009-10-06T15:33:00.000-07:002009-10-07T10:06:24.107-07:00Mane EventWhat is it about humans--I believe mostly of the female variety, that place such importance on the outward appearance? Why must the value of a woman be measured by the size of the dress, shape of the eyebrows, length of the legs, or beauty of her hair? <br /><br />And, a more important question might be--do we as women do this to each other, or do we just do it to ourselves? I hear many a female complain about this or that in relation to their appearance that I too have noticed on them, but unlike them, have not seen it as an imperfection but just a difference--and this difference makes them simply different--beautiful even.<br /><br />Regan has beautiful hair. It is long, thick, and blonde. She is known for this long, thick mane. She hears all the time how beautiful her hair is--it is uncommon for her to show up anywhere when someone does not comment on it. It has become an important part of her outward appearance--I dare say even her inward value. Did her peers/friends place this perception on her, did I do it as her mother, or did she do it herself?<br /><br />Today Regan cried over her hair. <br /><br />As she was weeping the words were muttered: "Isn't this silly, it is just hair, it will grow back!" <br /><br />Yesterday Regan went to school with this hair:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3Gv7hOD38mS9_0AxiQUffnEWjXzySPZcF1BvAMnsmpreK9WBnkWwN8WPsgR8RMPqPJJ576uBRS812W9wbef5wxEQ_QDodI8DxMCLe96UE_wBpmxGVep78hG4AyKDvIVkq1AL7oesQoM/s1600-h/regans+haircut+001.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3Gv7hOD38mS9_0AxiQUffnEWjXzySPZcF1BvAMnsmpreK9WBnkWwN8WPsgR8RMPqPJJ576uBRS812W9wbef5wxEQ_QDodI8DxMCLe96UE_wBpmxGVep78hG4AyKDvIVkq1AL7oesQoM/s200/regans+haircut+001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389895819346351458" /></a><br /><br /><br />Today after school she looked like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCA3vpZ29mXDGIruUTHCfgdj9Ii9uQbGoFosqNS_FwwtjtQB0RSTfm4QQyBAUGbUVj42k2Kt8xN4qc7bNzD9FzctWFgW6soAqEv3buu4S5EARAdzddd08O7oUk3QpRdZul57MpNjMExxw/s1600-h/regans+haircut+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCA3vpZ29mXDGIruUTHCfgdj9Ii9uQbGoFosqNS_FwwtjtQB0RSTfm4QQyBAUGbUVj42k2Kt8xN4qc7bNzD9FzctWFgW6soAqEv3buu4S5EARAdzddd08O7oUk3QpRdZul57MpNjMExxw/s200/regans+haircut+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389896147008570386" /></a><br /><br /><br /> Then she did this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8blKKEHCbo_xYzI__7U5OWBwQvFBSLx5qozoFvqjVtqd1CDAIYFfbSTpDAQFCoeMhME4S7Trr5gTiX94vmam1BoIGDTaaxKvHk6L1hSVGdQR3jbwzFilI4n5dzjrsRsUETNe88ilH_c/s1600-h/regans+haircut+006.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8blKKEHCbo_xYzI__7U5OWBwQvFBSLx5qozoFvqjVtqd1CDAIYFfbSTpDAQFCoeMhME4S7Trr5gTiX94vmam1BoIGDTaaxKvHk6L1hSVGdQR3jbwzFilI4n5dzjrsRsUETNe88ilH_c/s200/regans+haircut+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389896412242628226" /></a><br /><br /><br />Now her hair looks like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6obIJW61E-1HeRMcWgYljSvOY9kJpS16Q50xmLf2FiWYuN6oQbIlN5thFz8T2VJgK0vRKMzktqpxuJ-A2GjLBDt3gLo8XiYlpCV4jX9J-8KenOENSKTGfXye1kA1Kk67JfO6Ym2ZazU/s1600-h/regans+haircut+008.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6obIJW61E-1HeRMcWgYljSvOY9kJpS16Q50xmLf2FiWYuN6oQbIlN5thFz8T2VJgK0vRKMzktqpxuJ-A2GjLBDt3gLo8XiYlpCV4jX9J-8KenOENSKTGfXye1kA1Kk67JfO6Ym2ZazU/s200/regans+haircut+008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389897284995143314" /></a><br /><br />Regan was brave and cut off her beautiful mane. Brave in the fact that so much of her identity was confused with her hair. <br /><br />Even with the shorter "do" Regan is still sweet and fiery, smart and innocent, loving and sassy--she is still Regan!<br /><br />Wouldn't it be a great if we valued our differences--or imperfections as much as we value the optimal? <br /><br />I love Regan's hair even more now, but that is how a mother is--my favorite "do" will be the one she is sporting in the present time--short or long, straight or curly--the one she has when I see her first thing in the morning, or the one she has when she is loving her brothers, or the one she has when she crosses the finish line of her races, or the one she has when she is sitting across from me at the dinner table retracing her day for me. <br /><br />Why can't we all look through our Mother's eyes and value ourselves--not our appearance?<br /><br />For the record, her disappointment in her hair was short lasted. She stated to me right before I dropped her off at XC practice after the cut: "Mom, this wasn't about the hair, it is all about running, that is why I did it." Then she trotted off to join her team. <br /><br />To follow tradition the girls on the XC team cut their hair before Regionals that they run today. The boys shaved their legs--funny that Alec is not missing his leg hair as much as Regan is missing her blonde locks. <br /><br />On the plus side: Locks For Love will recieve a substantial donation from Regan. Maybe her hair can help some other girl feel better about herself. Hmmm....<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoXoWsVVJ5LQYOUTVdaYU_lvpzaMw9pa-RqGrrFppzt2rtdA8oMGeLZ732m7LxB-ZnXWZnW_lX00Ps2pf67yCXMmDOLjlbtItXgHyzkuOEdHxLpEL6RSVQgsthMAPwBZ2lg62XuZFvI0/s1600-h/regans+haircut+007.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoXoWsVVJ5LQYOUTVdaYU_lvpzaMw9pa-RqGrrFppzt2rtdA8oMGeLZ732m7LxB-ZnXWZnW_lX00Ps2pf67yCXMmDOLjlbtItXgHyzkuOEdHxLpEL6RSVQgsthMAPwBZ2lg62XuZFvI0/s200/regans+haircut+007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389899172984390930" /></a>lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-48293120673614274582009-09-01T21:38:00.000-07:002009-09-01T21:39:20.003-07:00What a DAY!Alec turned 18! Yes, 18!<br /><br />Will went to Preschool! Yes Preschool!lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-39989579672422959282009-08-27T08:46:00.000-07:002009-08-27T09:32:27.690-07:00Killer Conversation OR Conversation KillerWilliam is just shy of being 3.5 years old. He started doing this right around the time he turned 3--so almost 6 months now. <br /><br />Mom: "William, its time to go get something for breakfast."<br /><br />Will: "Why, why, why?" (He seems to stutter when he asks why--as a matter of fact one time Austin counted up to 15 "why"s before Will actually asked the question.)<br /><br />Mom: "Because you haven't had anything to eat since last night and I bet your tummy is hungry."<br /><br />Will: "Why?"<br /><br />Mom: "Because your body used up all the food you ate last night so it could grow strong."<br /><br />Will: "Why?"<br /><br />Mom: (at this point I figure I can either delve into the Kreb's Cycle with him and explore how the body uses calories....OR I can resort to the old standby, which is what I do this time--with my fingers crossed) "BECAUSE! Now lets go upstairs and eat."<br /><br />Will: (This is the word I have been waiting for) "Alright." (Not only is the tone of the word priceless as well as the body language that comes with it, but it finally means that THAT conversation can end.)<br /><br />Sometimes the "Why, why, why" can go on until it cycles itself around again--where the answer actually becomes the question. Sometimes the "whys" just have to end in the "Because" statement, follow up by "Arghh! BECAUSE I SAID SO!". Sometimes he NEVER--no matter how many times a answer has been given, will voice the "alright", but SOMETIMES--in a truly rare, delicious moment, after only asking "why" once will he utter the end: "ALRIGHT". <br /><br />Before I hear how this is how he learns and that being curious is such a "good thing", I ask you: Have you been asked "WHY?" you do everything and anything ALL day long? <br /><br />Tell me again when we hit that "girl crazy, car crashing, no homework doing" phase--the one where they don't ask "Why?" (because they already know the answer). I am READY for it!<br /><br />**I am mostly just kidding, I love (no, not really love--um...find amusing) this phase. It is great to see him learn and explore everything. It is even more fun to see Alec, Regan, and Austin answer his constant questioning. They spend a lot of time and effort to satisfy his curious nature. **<br /><br />(Yes Leslie, you do have it recorded--it is labled: William July 2009. You just don't want to take the time to upload it.)lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-49532230088433705052009-08-03T06:57:00.000-07:002009-08-03T09:14:59.445-07:00While some things remain the SAME......Bear Lake 2009 happened without pictures taken this year (our camera was lost--until we came home and Ryan remembered where he had "put it away"). In a way, it seems as if I could just use pictures from the last time we were there (2008), or even the time before that (2007), or really any other year. It seems as if not much has changed. <br /><br />I (and now we) have been camping in the same little canyon for 30 years with little variation to the original camping trip. <br /><br />After my little brother died (Cody, 2 years old), and we had dealt with all the tangible things you have to deal with, my Dad packed us up and took us camping. He took us to St. Charles Canyon where we would return year after year. (We would be camping on the anniversary of Cody's Birthday/day he died/my Birthday--but as a child I never put this together, I think this was a good way for my parents to deal with this day). <br /><br />And now we return year after year. We still take rice krispie treats, graham cracker cookies and homemade strawberry jam. We still play hours and hours of card games. We still make a daily voyage down to the lake with blow up toys. We still wash our hair in the freezing cold mountain water. We still use the same red table cloths (that my Mom made to fit the picnic tables at the campground). We still sit around the campfire and talk for hours into the night while watching the stars. We still hike. <br /><br />My Granddad would often take me for a hike. I loved hiking with him, he would sing some crazy songs and tell me some even crazier stories and we would just enjoy each others company and our surroundings. In 1981 we reached the top of the mountain that we spent so much time hiking. I don't know what Gramps reasoning was, but he gathered a bunch of rocks and started to make a big solid rock pile. Gramps had picked up an old plastic soda bottle (Coke to be exact) off the trail on our way up. He tore the wrapper off of it and on the backside wrote:<br /> July 9-1981<br /> Leslie Austin<br /> Les Austin<br />Then he rolled it up, tied a piece of grass around it and put it in the bottle. He buried this bottle in the rock pile. Then we started down the mountain. I don't remember if I told anyone of that at the time, but the next year we returned to the same spot and dug out the bottle, as we would do year after year. <br /><br />Of course the hikers would change, in 1982 Brian's (brother) and Eric's (cousin) names appeared next to mine and Gramp's. My Dad's first trek up there was in 1983. Sometime we used scraps of paper found on the trail or out of someone's pocket, once we used a comic strip, another year is a wedding invitation (Eric and Stephanie's), my favorite is a piece of paper out of the notebook that we were keeping score of a Rook game on (yes, Gramps and I won!). <br /><br />A few years ago, instead of leaving the names in the bottle on top of the mountain, I carried them back. I have them in my drawer now, with the intent to return them to the bottle once I had photo copied them. <br /><br />This year we took the hike up the mountain. (By the way, this is an awful hike, straight up--never a break, fallen trees over the so called trail, and lots of nasty bugs. When I was a teenager I called it a Rambo Run, NOT a hike.)<br /><br />This is where the picture would have to be a new one. The rock pile no longer stands. It seems as if nature has finally triumphed over Gramp's monument. We found the fallen tree that it was built next to, we even found some of the rocks, but it was clear that the rock pile had slid down the mountain. <br /><br />In the immediate years following my Father's and Grandad's deaths I was worried that I would be crushed if nature took my "bottle". But I am glad to report no such thing. It was an amazing time with amazing memories. And luckily I have the bottle and all the year's messages (except for maybe a 1 or 2 of the most recent years) tucked away safe and sound at home. <br /><br />Life changes. <br /><br />We have added to the fun up St. Charles Canyon. We have an all day beach day and go like crazy on the wave-runners. We hike to the "mossy place". We play hide and seek when it gets dark (and scary). We eat chili and scones and make bad jokes about eating beans. We play Hearts. We have added new people to the family (I hope Tim had fun!). We eat smores, and more smores, and more smores. <br /><br />We left a new bottle this year--a plastic water bottle. Maybe next year we will add our names.lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-53178463159605255522009-07-15T11:07:00.000-07:002009-07-15T11:18:24.895-07:00My bro THINKS he is funnyIt was my birthday yesterday. And like usual this kind of event inspires my brother.<br /><br />He is a bit like my mother with his dramatic writing flare and then mixed in with that is the same sense of humor that my Dad and his Dad (my gramps)had--he just doesn't have the years experience they had to fine tune it--but he is getting there--he is OLD for his age! NICE TRY BRIAN.<br /><br />http://briansmisadventures.blogspot.com/lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-58315420218715890972009-07-11T21:08:00.001-07:002009-07-11T21:16:18.244-07:00Loving This:<object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0v3d6SFcDys&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0v3d6SFcDys&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />I love the switch frow T. Swift to Coldplay.....lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-24085194507789781922009-06-26T14:01:00.000-07:002009-06-26T17:10:48.269-07:00Life Lessons Learned from the Wasatch Back1.Do all you can to BE PREPARED—then realize there are just some situations that you can NEVER be fully prepared for. <br /><br />2.When you have questions—refer to the BIBLE, it tells ALL. Also, it is a bonus when you or someone around you has read it a number of times and can quote it verbatim. <br /> <br />3.Seize The Moment: Sleep when you can, Eat when you can, Drink when it is offered and Visit a Honey Bucket when available--these opportunities may become few and far between. <br /><br />4. Laugh, Cry, then Laugh some more!<br /><br />5. Realize that sometimes there are just more important things than personal hygeine, although deoderant is always required. <br /><br />6. You will always feel a little better about the tasks in front of you after a little food, a little rest, and a trip to the Honey Bucket. If all of that fails--try a Coke slurpee!<br /><br />7. Surround yourself with the BEST people. Teamwork is REQUIRED! Include in your team: An ORGANIZATIONAL WIZARD--someone who knows where you are, where you need to be and how to get you there; a CHEERLEADER--someone who will cheer you on and tell you how great you are doing (even when you are sucking wind); a HERO--someone that makes YOU want to become better just by watching them perform; a TRASH TALKER--someone that can get you psyched to PUNISH your next trial; a COACH--someone who can navigate you through the rough spots; a BEST FRIEND--someone who knows exactly what you are feeling (most likely because they are/have been feeling it too) and knows exactly what to say/do to help you get through it (even if those words go something like: "you really don't have a choice--you have to finish" or "do you want me to give you something to cry about?") . The ABSOLUTE BEST TEAM MEMBERS rotate through ALL these roles effortlessly depending on the needs of their team.<br /><br />8. Appreciate your SUPPORT SYSTEM. The race is not worth running without these people. <br /><br />9. Make the best of a bad situation-- this is more than making the Honey Buckets like your HOME AWAY FROM HOME--it is also cheerfully(?) conquering the muddy, wet, muscle crushing mountain that stands in your way. <br /><br />10. ENJOY your surroundings. Even if the surroundings come to you at 3:00 am.<br /><br />11. PUsh yourself--you will be suprised how far/long/hard you can go. <br /><br />12. Celebrate the small things--even those can be challenging.<br /><br />13. Some of the VERY best "fill-ins" are right in front of your eyes.<br /><br />14. Endure to the end. The finish line is SO WORTH IT!<br /><br /><br />Ragnar was an experience, one that I cannot fully give justice to. It was harder than I thought it would be--but having said that it was also so much sweeter than I thought it would be. So many details that I hope not to forget, but at the same time so impossible to write about. <br /><br /><br />Fun Memories: "Hey Janet, YOu are doing AWESOME.", Jollie Ranchers, Immodium, Spaghetti, sleeping bags on trimmed lawn, "Dig Deep and when you find it--dig deeper", "I have to go to the Honey Bucket", "I made that mountain my *itch!", "Ride that donkey", "Runner 571....571....where are you 571?!" "I am soo over this!" Pancakes, changing sports bra in gas station parking lot, 3 freakin hours AHEAD of our schedule, "Water or Gaterade?", heave/hurl then run, never catching that girl, makin whoopy.....<br /><br />Would I do it again?..........OF COURSE!!!lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8354567097186280683.post-61625984565240930832009-05-12T16:59:00.001-07:002009-05-12T17:16:32.695-07:00SO? What would YOU do?What would you do if your "best friend" aka Alec was pacing around the house...preparing HIS sacrament meeting talk?<br /><br />What would you do if your "fav-o-rite sister" had locked herself away in her bedroom preparing HER sacrament meeting talk?<br /><br />What would you do if your "most rough-n-tumble friend" aka Austin was made to sit on the couch and not move until he had read HIS sacrament meeting talk over 10 times without interruption?<br /><br />What would you do if your momma was uptight and kept shouting..."just let me have a few minutes peace to write MY sacrament meeting talk"?<br /><br />What would you do if your dad was sitting in front of the computer ignoring you while he wrote HIS sacrament meeting talk?<br /><br />Well this is what I did:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSzMvMLwOArCTn_7IkXgiPo4_gBSnWFxAwItbuLZ3QhdvydScIxFZUoMV3MA2xXxMAb7EdVtlSZcvsRsFIeX7Wedq9xIR_iLj2zp6O6BuTSE5M4Z-xeB-yjBpYoVKrYpyNVUlw8gCGHc/s1600-h/wiil+sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSzMvMLwOArCTn_7IkXgiPo4_gBSnWFxAwItbuLZ3QhdvydScIxFZUoMV3MA2xXxMAb7EdVtlSZcvsRsFIeX7Wedq9xIR_iLj2zp6O6BuTSE5M4Z-xeB-yjBpYoVKrYpyNVUlw8gCGHc/s200/wiil+sm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335095510304890658" /></a><br /><br /><br />I got MYSELF ready for sacrament meeting....using my blue marker.<br /><br /><br /><br />My family had 20 minutes to clean me up before we had to go to sacrament meeting. <br /><br />SO?!?lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06097941420485381536noreply@blogger.com10