I then tried to ignore fb as much as possible. But our four kids are on it. And they are pretty spiffy with it. I occasionally click on their pages and post some fogy-sounding thing on their wall or send a personal message.

I now have about 95 friends, having accumulated friends through friends of friends and other friends who keep friending new friends and sending friend requests.

I share the computer with our daughter, Megan, who checks her facebook several times a day. One day recently she was on fb and it appeared that she needed to refriend most of her friends, that somehow they had dropped off her fb as friends, and were now lined up in front of her in a long row to “add as friend”(?). Which, of course, she did- she clicked down the row on every one of them. Except it was my fb page she was on – those ‘friends’ had been automatically generated to my page (compliments of fb) as suggested ‘friends’. Now, having sent out friend requests from me from my fb page to about thirty of her friends, the confirmations started coming back. “So-and-so (Megan’s ex music teacher from Middle School) has confirmed your friend request.” “Nooooo!!!” “So-and so (my son’s ex-girlfriend) has confirmed you….” “CRAP!” These friend confirmations came filtering back for several days. Because, hey! You don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings by NOT accepting their friend request, do you?, Even if you never met this person in your life.

I’m gradually weeding through my ‘friends’ and silently unfriending these various ‘friends’ I don’t even remotely know.

And I do look at Megan’s facebook. Except today, when something strange happened with facebook. I spent about an hour of my life trying to figure it out and finally sent the following private message to our son, Aaron:

“Something evil and weird has happened to our fb at home – Megan and I are both disappearing from fb – I see she is not one of your friends anymore, however, I’m pretty sure you didn’t unfriend her. I was going to just look at her page and discovered she has disappeared from my ‘friend’ list. If I search for her – fb cannot find her – so I thought I’d search for her on your fb and send her a message – but she’s not on your fb. I am not on her fb and she can’t find me if she does a fb search.(I tried) It’s annoying and infuriating – I can’t even send a custom message to fb to explain the problem – if you try to find me through search on fb then my page does not come up.(!!!!) Don’t know why I”m telling you this – see if you can find Megan and friend her again… She isn’t on your fb as a friend is she? (As far as I can tell…) I don’t know what the hell is going on….”

To which Aaron replied:

“Uh…..Megan is still my fb friend….”

Huh? I call Aaron. He’s at work. I’m apologetic. Okay, so maybe I need a day job. He suggests, “Mom, maybe she has blocked you.”

“Huh?”

“Megan, did you block me on facebook?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I think you know whether you did or didn’t”

Okay, so she did block me on facebook, and has subsequently disappeared from every friend’s fb page that I click on who has ‘friended’ her. Likewise, I have disappeared on any ‘friend’s’ page she clicks on that has me as a ‘friend’. But, she can call out to me from anywhere she is in the house. We hang out together half of every day. We take long walks together. I still tuck her in and kiss her at night.

“How about you unblock me? Do you know how?”

“Maybe.”

We go to the computer together. Sure enough. There’s her block list. There I am, along with a surprisingly long list of other ‘friends.’ (???)

I send her a ‘friend’ request. She accepts it.

Whew! We’re back online. Connected.

I do find it a comfort to know that you can literally snuff someone out of your facebook world.

And where social networking is concerned, all of my kids, even Megan, are at least five steps ahead of me.

My husband always remembers his mother, 98 years young now, and when I look to him for validation and special treatment on Mother’s Day, it feels awkward: “You’re not my mother.”

My mother passed away 13 years ago. I have to admit that I was always a little miffed at her for bestowing on us, what I considered to be, a chintzy wedding gift thirty years ago: an incomplete china set my parents had inherited from my dad’s aunt. “You might use this.” Yeah, mom.

I had grown up with that ancient decrepit box of incomplete china from my dad’s aunt, which remained forever unpacked, carted along with every move, always relegated to storage somewhere. My mother gave it to me, finally, and as far I was concerned, our wedding was her opportunity to rid herself of it.

Alas, we lugged the box of china from one storage place to another through our first twenty years of marriage. Then, ten years ago, we bought a house that had two built-in corner china cabinets in the dining room. I unpacked that delicate old china and displayed it in one of the cabinets. Hmmm. Nice to look at, but we’ll never use it! It only has 5 dinner plates! We have a creamer here, but no sugar bowl. Missing 3 coffee cups and saucers, two soup bowls, 3 dessert bowls, and several pieces are chipped, to boot.

A couple of weeks before Mother’s Day I was chatting on the phone with my younger sister, Lisa, who collects dishes, and mentioned that china set. Did she want it? I described it to her, along with my gripe about how we ended up with the set in the first place.

She called me back:

“That was actually a nice wedding gift mom gave you, Jody”

“Huh?”

“I looked it up on the internet – it’s German, Tirschenreuth ‘The Eton’ from 1927. You could easily order the missing pieces and complete the set. You could USE the set and then pass it along to one of your kids as a family heirloom.”

“Huh?”

Lisa called me again.

“Jody, I have just emailed you three internet sites where you can order replacement pieces to your china set. Check it out!”

I did check it out and thought the idea ludicrous. But then I started thinking about my mother, and me, and how maybe her giving me that set represented a loving, special act that had been lost on me. After all, my parents had eight kids, I was their third daughter. Maybe I had been a totally unappreciative, spoiled, shallow, rotten brat about this, after all, it was me she had gifted that set to, and what the heck was I so miffed about?

So, of course, I did the only noble thing I could do at this juncture – in honor of myself and my mother on Mother’s Day!!

I embarked with unbridled fervor on a mission to complete the set. Pored over those internet sites. Only, I don’t know a thing about eBay. I have never ordered a thing off eBay, that I recall. So, I started clicking on those sites. I set up my eBay account, and … look here! Someone is selling four coffee cups, three bowls, three plates, plus a covered sugar bowl, in my set at a super bargain! Just for me! I know it! It’s a God thing! “Cha-ching!” Done! ‘Pay Pal’ is a swell pal of mine! Oh, an extra 20 bucks for shipping. Oh well. Just DO it! Order now so it gets here in time for Mother’s Day!

I found another great buy (relative to what, one might ask) from another seller – on a covered vegetable dish with my name on it. Click! Pay pal, enter password … done!

The covered vegetable dish arrived within 3 days. It was stunning! I set it on our dining room table and raised the lid on it, imagining steam rising up into my face from a heap of creamed brocolli at Easter dinner. I arranged it in the corner cabinet with my other dishes. Isn’t it beautiful!!!

The package containing the cups and saucers, plates, and bowls arrived. Uh… gees, the gold edge is worn clear off most of the dishes. And the saucers are literally stained from…. USE! Yuck! No wonder they were such a great buy. (Guess I should have read the fine print on these a little more closely??) I stacked the dishes up with the ones I had. You can’t really tell the three dessert bowls I just got from the ones I already had, right?

Of course you can! Crap! I could use those bowls as Easter cat dishes or something? That’s annoying!

Oh joy. And this plate arrived broken.

So now I deal with the seller on that? The lost $9.99 plus shipping to replace it?

Checking out the sites, it is clear that any piece of this china in good condition is going to start at 9.99. Plus shipping. Double crap!

After spending on myself for Mother’s Day, uh, the cost equivalent of a family meal out, two dozen red roses, a new spring outfit, and a pedicure, I have … well, okay so I still need three dinner plates, two soup bowls, replacements for those worn dessert bowls, four sandwich plates … and that’s just to complete service for eight.

Okay, so that’s 9.99 – 15.99 plus shipping times about … fifteen? That’s it!! This is nuts!

Ahhhh! Lookee here! A photo of the 37 pieces of 1927 German Tirschenreuth ‘The Eton’ china for sale on eBay!! 37 pieces in near-new condition! – at a mere price of 149.99! (do the math here – ahem, it’s an average of about 4 bucks a dish!) And a mere fifty bucks for shipping! That should cover it! I’m doing it. I’m totally springing for this purchase and getting this exercise over with!

The Mother lode of the German Tirschenreuth ‘The Eton’ china. Coming my way!

“Huh?”

The box arrived a couple of days ago. I’ve wrestled the monstrous thing into a corner of our living room. Can’t quite muster up the energy to deal with it. I gotta open it, unpack the dishes, you know, might want to see if all 37 pieces arrived intact and figure out how I’m going to shove them all in with the rest of the set in that corner cabinet.

But hey! You want to attend a formal dinner for twelve or sixteen or maybe twenty at my house? Got it covered!

Except, the gravy bowl is chipped. Whatever. I’m calling this project ‘done’. Meanwhile, the box containing the ‘mother lode’ could double as a card table or something in our living room until I feel like dealing with it.

I know. Let me just say, I treated myself grand for Mother’s Day. And I do believe my mother is smiling down on me from heaven. Or is she laughing…

Now, Do you suppose in about twenty years I should divide this set up so I can pass down two incomplete sets to my kids?

Well, I’m pretty sure www.replacements.com will still be in business by then.

Although, my husband and I made a whirlwind trip to Vegas over Valentine’s weekend. That, I remember. Plus, I have photos from the trip on my i-Phone. I blogged about it in February. You didn’t see the blog? Huh. That might be because I didn’t actually write the blog. I just thought about what I would write if I happened to write it, which, it ended up, I didn’t. I’m blaming it on February.

But hey, it’s March! Why not share it now? I can spare you, o’ dearest reader, the travel, time, and stress, but mostly the beaucoup bucks it takes to spend a few days in Vegas yourself. Are you ready?…

We are there now, looking over Las Vegas Boulevard near the south end of the strip, crossing an elevated walkway

toward the ‘New York, New York’ Motel/Casino.

Home of the Statue of Liberty ‘Las Vegas”. We enter the casino and beyond, into the neighborhood streets of Manhattan, with its low-lying streetlamps, Irish pubs and deli’s. And expensive shops. And the erotic Zumanity show.

Back outside, heading north on Las Vegas Boulevard, we arrive at the newer ‘Cosmopolitan’. The interior is dripping with crystal lighting and shimmering liquid ceiling treatments that flow out from a 2-story crystal chandelier:

Nice place to pass through. Or check in, if, perchance, you are attending an all-expenses-paid conference or something.

Vegas is all abuzz in celebration over the Chinese New Year –

February 4, 2011 begins the Year of the Rabbit!

In Vegas’s case, GIANT Rabbits

Excessively large rabbits

Huge fuzzy organic rabbits – adorn the indoor conservatory at the Bellagio.

Vegas goes green!

But, hey. What are we doing looking at rabbits when we could be shopping!

Might as well check out the shops in the Bellagio while we’re here.

On someone else’s dime, obviously. Since these shops cater to, say, about 1 percent of the world’s population, economically speaking.

Maybe you’re independently extremely wealthy or find yourself sauntering by these shops on the arm of a filthy rich mama or sugar daddy who’s just itching to buy you something.

Looking for shoes?

Behold the mighty stiletto. Huh? What the … Whatever happened to Women’s Lib? Women burned their bras in the late seventies because, uh, bras could be a little snug in the front at times, or a tad itchy under the armpit, or something, and women back then flat out refused to put up with such physical bondage and abuse! So they threw off their bras and burned them in protest. Remember?? And the modern ‘savvy’ woman has been duped into wearing stilettos???

What the @#&$ happened?

Pink sport coats for men. A wardrobe staple.

Van Cleef and Arpels?

How about we shop for a $600,000.00 watch or maybe some new winter diamonds to wear until spring.

If I happen to have an extra half-million bucks sitting around – I might just venture in there. Let’s see. Let me check my pockets one more time…

We tromp back up the strip past Caesar’s Palace

to the Palazzo, where we are staying the three nights we are here.

Entering the lobby now. (Feeling a tad under-dressed, Jody? Yes, I was.)

We wander over to the Venetian which is connected to the Palazzo.

We ascend to the top floor and, uh, suddenly we’re in Venice in early evening under partly cloudy skies. Anyone up for a gondola ride?

Ah, but we’re leaving Las Vegas now.

Within an hour we are flying over the mountains in south central Idaho. The Pioneer Range, maybe?

We are descending now, over the farms just west of Idaho Falls. Coming in for a landing…

Yeah, we’ve been back home a few weeks now-

We’re still getting snow, but we’ve had rain too. The temperatures are gradually rising and the snow pack is melting

into puddles large enough to swallow trees.

March skies are mostly dreary

And filthy snow

litters the street sides.

The chaos of early spring

aggregates in corners, open fields, and parking lots.

Abstracts abound

to inspire dreamers and painters.

Be careful of the gaping pot holes

Or is it a black hole?

Exposed piles of rotting leaves, pot holes, filthy black snow … the first hopeful signs of spring!

Yeah, well, not so fast. I’m not running out in the garden looking for crocus. Spring in southeast Idaho ain’t here yet. Not even close.

I stepped out our front door this morning, and snapped this photo:

March sure looks an awful lot like February.

Hey! So what’s this ugly lit up piece of crap Christmas tree doing on your blog? (You might ask.) It’s nearly February!

It’s our Christmas tree, whatdoyathink?

All right, so I’m behind. I was going to write a Christmas blog. I don’t know what happened. I didn’t write it. Then it was January. January. Who wants to write a freakin’ blog about January? I tried to get inspired with some topic to write about.

Like, BLUE MONDAY. January 17, 2011. I’m serious. Some psychologist in England dubbed it the saddest day of the year 2011. This link will tell you all about it. You don’t want to read the link? No? Uh-huh. January.

January 17 was dubbed the saddest day of the year because it was a Monday (Blaahhhahhhh), and you likely had to drive on snowy roads, and probably shovel snow, and freeze your touche, and the dog doesn’t want to poo poo outside (I added that one), or else the dog jumps on your bed and pukes on your pillow (which actually happened to me on Sad Tuesday, the day after Blue Monday). Then there’s the unpaid Holiday bills and failed New Year’s resolutions.

It sucks!

Anyway, that about wraps up January. It’s been snowing here about every day. So it’s pretty. And it still looks like Christmas.

Okay, so I had to slip a couple of pictures in that I was going to use on my Christmas blog.

This is one of my personal favorites:

David and Rudy, after Christmas dinner. Sated.

And this one was taken of Rudy in January, after he’d gotten his hair cut.

He was supposed come home as our skinny, fru-fru, bunny boy, poodle dog after his visit to the groomer’s, but he had turned into a little ‘fatso’.

My pants don’t fit right either. Thank goodness for low rise jeans with spandex.

January.

I backed out of our garage this morning. Then I parked the car, climbed out, and took this picture.

Because it looked like Christmas.

I turned around and took a photo of the trees behind me:

The glittery lights are gone, but I’m pretty sure if you were to walk really quietly to those giant spruce trees, and peer up into the tops of them, you would spot some tiny little Tomtes with long white beards and red stocking caps resting up there, looking out over the neighborhood.

And if I let it, today might just be the happiest day of the year.

Here he is yesterday after Thanksgiving dinner, resting his sated tummy, stuffed with the fruits of his finely-tuned begging skills, coupled with his uncanny ability to pluck food scraps out of thin air with acrobatic feat.

Yeah, well he’s back on his diet today, like the rest of us.

So, let’s see, where did I leave off with my last blog, uh, ten days ago, was it? Oh yeah, we had some serious raking to do.

Which, we did. We raked like mad devils on Friday, November 19, because a storm was moving in by Saturday.

And sure enough, Saturday, November 20, it started snowing. And kept snowing. David started shoveling. I snapped this picture out our front door Saturday afternoon.

It kept snowing, and snowing, And blowing.

By Tuesday, Nov. 23, the storm became known as the “Blizzard of 2010.”

I snapped a picture of our infamous plum tree from inside looking out through our front kitchen window.

And I, too, was out there shoveling and scooping snow to the scraping and whirring of neighbors’ shovels and snow blowers. Cash registers were ka-ching-ing all over town, as stores sold out of anything and everything related to snow.

Our driveway and walk is clear for the moment! We’ve cut a path out through our twelve inches of snow.

And I can hurry out to shop for food and supplies. Before the stores close down from the blizzard.

Back home again. The snow has stopped but the wind is relentless. I creep out of the house with Rudy to snap a picture of our front walk. Rudy is racing to get back into the house…

his ears blowing sideways. No, our roof isn’t caving from the snow. I just can’t keep my iphone steady to take a pic for all my shivering.

The wind ushers in a cold front that drops the temperatures by 25 degrees. Just in time for Thanksgiving.

We wake up Wednesday with temperatures hovering at ‘minus’ 12 degrees. It does creep up to a whopping ‘plus’ 8 on Wednesday and Thanksgiving. ‘Plus’ is the new bliss!

Idaho winter. I knew after that first snowfall that it would return with a vengeance. I just didn’t expect to be socked in and nearly froze to death by Thanksgiving.

I’m hunkering. Today, Black Friday, is good day to write a blog. I’m sitting at the breakfast table with my feet hanging over the heater vent. Here. I just snapped a pic from where I’m sitting of our back yard.

It’s one of the whitest Black Fridays on record. But, yeah. I might go shopping. Buy us a snowblower. That is, if there’s any left in this town after the blizzard.

Oh, and maybe some snowshoes and some kind of space suit or some other such outerwear suitable for winter in the tundra.

Where some of the trees are a century old.

And giant Maples abound!

This year the colors were incredible.

I kept taking photos through late October, thinking, Oh, now, this is it! This is the peak! The snow is coming! Maybe next week! But sixty degree temps prevailed throughout October.

I snapped a photo of our plum tree out our kitchen window on Oct 23.

And our back yard on October 28.

Halloween is coming!

Our black cat, Tee-Box even posed for this picture.

On Friday, October 29, Megan was a witch by day

and ‘Lady Gaga’ for her party in the evening.

On Halloween I snapped another photo of our old plum tree out front through our kitchen window.

It’s knarly looking, with half its leaves gone. There’s our vibrant Canadian Maple standing in contrast in the front yard.

The weather stayed nice. Really nice. David and I hiked Rainy Creek on Thursday, November 4th. It was 65 degrees, a near record high.

The sky was a crystalline cloudless blue.

Ah, but the weather was changing. We knew it. Storms were moving in, but we had one last weekend of warm weather to enjoy. On Sunday, Nov. 7, we enjoyed one more balmy walk through Tautphaus.

The trees were as stunning as ever.

On Sunday, Nov 7, I took what I knew was the last photo of the flowers blooming in our back yard.

The wind was already howling before we went to bed on Sunday night, Nov. 7. And the next morning we woke up to … uh … well, suffice it to say that as you entered about any hardware or dept store on Monday you were met straight away with a stack of shiny new snow shovels. Luckily we have a large snow scoop, which David is very adept with. He shoveled Monday evening, Nov. 8, and I stepped out the front door and captured a picture.

The light wet snow continued throughout the night and we woke up Tuesday to a winter wonderland, with scenes you’d find on Christmas Cards.

Snow was clinging to every accessible tree branch

and piled up an inch high on even the tiniest branches.

Here we are taking our down-right-invigorating walk at noon on Tuesday. A stark and bitter contrast to our walk in Tautphaus, just two days before!

Some trees seemed more jolted by the snow, and unprepared, than we were.

And unwilling to give up the orange. Although admittedly, that tree clinging to its orange glory faces some stiff competition for beauty next to it’s shimmering flocked neighbor.

And here’s our knarly old plum tree again – on Nov. 10.

Yeah, well, it’s the weekend again now – a week after those last balmy walks through Tautphaus. The trees in our yard are stark naked, the flowers all froze. Here’s a picture of our back yard.

Care to sit down?

Yeah, well, me neither. I took this photo of our deck furniture from inside the house. I suppose the snow has receded enough so as to run me out of excuses as to why I can’t rake.

Turning again to our front yard, here’s a picture of that stunning Canadian Maple.

Well, it was a stunning gold up to about three days ago, when the leaves dropped off en masse.

A stark naked May tree adorns the west side of our front lawn.

Okay, so we’ve got some serious raking to do.

Get out there, quick! Rake like maniacs!

Yeah, before Old Man Winter returns with a vengeance.

Not to worry. GEORGIA fans were descending on Folsom Field like fire ants, filling the stands…

Meanwhile “Ralphie,” the mascot for the Buffaloes, waits in her pen (barely discernable in the buzz of activity in the front right corner of the field). To set off the game she will be set loose, ushered by a group of strapping young cowboys, to run along the perimeter of the field. (Hopefully, well, that’s the plan, anyway.) (See the link here, to learn more about Ralphie, who is, by the way, always a female bison. Yeah, like, what male would put up with that kind of abuse with even the slightest measure of compliance?)

We take our seats and watch as the fans keep filing in.

“GO DAWGS!”

Oh! There goes Ralphie down the sidelines! …

It happens so quickly – she is out, she is running, she is … at the far end of the field, running down the other side now … gone! In about 20 seconds. The crowd is in a complete roar now … time for the kickoff …

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH….OOO! OOO! OOO! OOO! OOO! OOO! OOO! OOO! OOO!” scream the GA fans, pounding the air with their fists. KICK OFF!

Well, from here, I try to keep my eye on the ball and my mindset into following the game. I’m not a seasoned football fan. Colorado scores the first touchdown. But before the first quarter is over, the Bulldogs score a field goal. It’s 7-3 (Buffs) going into second quarter … where Georgia lets loose with two touchdowns to Colorado’s one. At half-time the score is 17-14, – Georgia! -“GO DAWGS!” Georgia Fans are pumped! Some of our group heads to concessions for food, some stay and watch the half-time show featuring the CU Marching Band…

Georgia is entering the field for the second half!

“GO DAWGS”!

Here we are in the stands.

Georgia scores again!

GO DAWGS!!!

Here we are again!

What a great game! Note the, uh, untethered enthusiam maybe? in David’s expression …

Okay, I admit, we’re all just a little nervous here, too, because, uh, the Buffs have also been scoring. (Why would I photograph THAT?) Like, 15 points in the third quarter to Georgia’s 7. Going into the 4th quarter the score is Bulldogs – 24, Buffaloes – 29.

During the fourth quarter Georgia makes a field goal. Then, Colorado misses their field goal attempt! Score 27-29.

OKAY! Georgia is heading down the field for their final drive, trailing by 2 points, with 3:37 minutes left in the game! They are within field goal range -on the 27 yard line! They’ve got time, they’ve got the downs – they are going to make the field goal and win!!

You can read all about it in this CBS Sports News link to glean more details here.

Bulldogs run the ball. Bulldogs … fumble the ball. BULLDOGS FUMBLE THE BALL? Colorado jumps on it to capture the turnover. We stand there frozen as we watch Colorado run the clock out. First down, second down, third down, game over. GAME OVER??

We stand there stunned while Colorado fans break through the sidelines and storm the field. A mass exodus upward and out from the stands ensues. I feel a tug at my sleeve and pressure against my body to move! “Go!” Exit!” as I attempt to shoot a photo with my iphone of the scene on the field.

I try again:

But the crush and frenzy of the situation is too much – I just can’t steady my hand to take a decent photo. Or is it my nerves? My devastation? Too Bad! AARGH!

Well it was just a football game. The Bulldogs lost. In fact, this game marks the first time the Bulldogs have lost four games in a row in twenty years.

But they do play again this Saturday … And it’s only October.

Oh, and come to find out David caught the photo on his iphone that I was trying to capture:

The absolute mayhem on the field.

Our son Aaron, the UGA Alumnus who got us all tickets to the game to begin with, sent me this link – to a great commentary about how storming Folsom Field cheapens the CU Buffs’ win, which, I bet, is how many of the Georgia fans feel about it, too.

You know, I just thought I’d throw that last link in there to provide additional commentary for all of you avid sports fans who can’t stop thinking about, reading about, talking about, watching, interpreting, and attending college football games.

‘GO DAWGS!’ Actually, if I were a serious college football fan, I’d probably be rooting for the University of Idaho Vandals.

That is, if I thought my heart and nervous system could take it.

Which, now why would they post such a sign? To cover their butts, perhaps, in case we were having an absolutely horrible time at their resort during our getaway weekend, and were devising ways to get ourselves out of our misery? So, in such circumstances, they could tell the authorities they cued us not to shut ourselves in their garage with the car running?

I need visual cues in my home environment to keep myself sane, focused, and prioritized. Our home is plastered with cues, in the form of signs and fridge magnets. Here’s what’s posted above the mirror in our kitchen:

So as to remind me and other members of our household, that, although it’s a great weekend fantasy to imagine that we have escaped to a Bed and Breakfast, I’m not going to be the staff of five that transforms our home environment into the experience.

As you enter our house from the garage you pass this sign:

Which reminds me every day to imagine the potential for happiness if I could just live relaxedly in a mess. Because the HyperPhysics law of entropy (the measure of disorder) applies to nothing in the universe if not to a clean house, that is, quite simply, by the law of entropy, a clean house spontaneously turns dirty. You can literally stand and watch the mess drop and grow before your eyes. And if you expect your house to be clean, then, uh, you (or someone!) have to clean it, continually. And if your housekeeper has quit (dammit!) then, ‘clean’ becomes the new ‘ugly’ with your nagging and gnashing of teeth at the ones you love, rising to new heights: “Off with your shoes, NOW!” – “Hey! Brush that off outside!” “Put your crap away!” “Who made that spill and just left it there?” “WHAT WERE YOU, BORN IN A BARN?” “OUT YOU GO!” You’re a witch now, trolling the house, conspiring to capture and euthanize the pets to be rid of their incessant messes, and every living creature around you is hiding from you because you “JUST CLEANED THE HOUSE AND AIM TO KEEP IT THAT WAY!”, which is, as I said, impossible. Contemplate the wonders of living in a hovel, I say. Messiness is bliss.

Uh … so, where was I? Oh! This little magnet is posted at eye level beside the fridge handle, cueing us

to back off! – making us feel like porkys as we cozy up to the fridge, poised to ransack its contents in the unfettered act of pigging out. Only, typically, each sideways glance at that fridge magnet elicits not one whit of restraint or shamefulness. Should probably toss that magnet out.

This next fridge magnet, the one with the bit about hard work, provides continual comfort and justification for me in my quest to avoid hurting myself:

Which … partly explains why there has been a huge mound of soil sitting atop the vegetable garden for six weeks, that I was supposed to work into the existing soil. Now it’s a huge mound of soil sprouting vibrant thistles and tall weeds.

But, Hey! Success at not hurting myself explains away the weedy mound. That, combined with, I suppose, some measure of … laziness?

My hubby posted a few signs of his own. Like this one by the ping pong table in the basement rec room:

Ha ha. Uhhhhh … Who more interesting? Me?? Awwwww. Okay, I give. I mean, I’m gonna give into the urge right now to lay down, until the feeling that I might could do something to improve my personality passes.

Girls Rule!

This is a pretty dumb blog. But at least at this juncture I can proudly state that, generally, I’m not at a point to where I’m devising ways to get myself out of my misery. In other words, I don’t need to post that sign above my car in our garage to cue me not to shut myself in the garage while sitting in the car with the engine idling.

So … so far, so good. So long as I don’t hurt my back, or shoulder, or pinky finger, or something.

Or let the freakin’ housework make me ugly.

Megan demurs on the invitation (can’t imagine why) and she and the dog stay in town with a friend.

After one full day of preparations David and I are ready to roll:

We head west out of Idaho Falls through Arco, and Mackay, Idaho, to a remote campsite off Trail Creek Road. My brother Eric is following us in his camper. We love having him along. He knows the central Idaho wilderness as well as any person on earth.

I capture the view of the Lost River Range from my car window:

and the reflection of Eric’s camper in our extended rear view mirror.

It’s about a 2 1/2-hour drive to our campsite. It’s cloudy and rainy. But that’s okay. We need to rest up for the rigorous hike Eric has planned for tomorrow …

It’s Monday, now, and the only full day we have. It’s sunny! And cool. Perfect for a long hike. We drive in on a dirt road alongside Mt. Borah.

At 12,662 feet, it’s Idaho’s tallest peak.

Eric has suggested a hike up a remote trail he had taken 25 years ago. Although, to get to the trailhead you have to drive over 16 miles of dirt road that takes you behind Mt. Borah and its neighboring peaks in the Lost River Range.

No problem!

Through the first mile, that is. Then we get a flat tire.

But, Hey! Those two fine strapping men are right on, uh… under it!

We head onward.

We’re on the right road, Eric says.

The road to Upper Pahsim..io? 12 more miles?

Sign ahead…

Cattle guard? What’s that supposed to mean?

Oh! That must be the cattle guard. Cattle are guarding us from all directions.

Hey! Back up! What does that sign say?

“Not advised for trailers or cars?” … Hmmm. Should we just turn around?

No way!

We thrash, bump, and break, at about 5 mph for the next two hours.

“The road is much more weathered and worn than I remembered it being” says Eric.

Oh. Oh.

Yeah, like we don’t know.

Are you sure we aren’t driving down some dirt road in Afghanistan?

That’s Corruption Mountain in the distance.

“Take the West Fork” says Eric. I just wish we had cell phone coverage and a couple more spare tires. At what point would we be missed at home? How many days before we’d hope to see helicopters searching for us overhead? How would they know where to search for us? Did we even think to inform anyone of where we were going? Are we going to die?

But, finally, Thank God, we do arrive safely at the trailhead –

2 miles to Merriam Lake!

And over a thousand vertical feet, we find out.

That last half-mile of the hike is particularly gruelling.

As I claw my way up this rock face, the trek starts to feel like a death march in Afghanistan.

But David and I make it to the lake,

a good twenty minutes behind Eric, who we see sitting on that log down there. Yeah, well, he’s half man, half mountain goat.

We flop. And snack. And skip rocks.

And fish. Here is Eric fishing:

Here is David fishing:

David barely gets his line untangled and in the water, when it’s time to head back.

“On top of the world, Ma!”

We’re surrounded by rugged peaks:

As we head down, down. Don’t lose your footing over that rock face!

My knees and ankles hurt.

We’re most of the way down now …

Yay! Ain’t life grand!

We have to drive back the way we came, over that same 16 miles of dirt road.

And leave the magnificent view of Mt. Corruption behind us.

Back across the creek … (had I mentioned that?)

The sun is dropping over the mountains now:

And disappearing:

We’re almost out now – back to where we got the flat tire.

The sun is still shimmering over Mt. Borah:

There you see the ‘Chicken Out Ridge’ on one face, that leads to the top.

Magnificent Borah:

It’s 9PM now, and, starving and exhausted, we decide to drive into Mackay for dinner.

There you see Mt. Leatherman – that peak in the middle. We were hiking just behind it just hours ago!

The full moon is rising!

Dark is descending as we approach Mackay:

We stuff ourselves with hamburgers and onion rings at Ken’s Club in Mackay and then drive back to the campsite. We stay up to watch the full moon rise above our heads and light up the landscape around our campfire.

On Tuesday we jump up and head home. We are driving out now on Trail Creek Road, with the Lost River Range sprawled out in its glory in front of us …

That peak on the left is Mount Borah.

We turn onto highway 93 toward Mackay.

And make it back home by 1 pm, Tuesday.

The camper is parked in our driveway.

Now we have to clean up the mess.

And in my mind I keep wondering if, during that 50-hour camping trip, we sneaked in a trek across Afghanistan.

Here is a link that tells you all about the show.

The Blue Angels have been putting on air shows across the country since 1946. The last time they put on a show in Idaho Falls was 35 years ago (which I didn’t attend).

We enjoyed the air show immensely. I snapped a few photos with my iphone – which, I admit, are a tad lame compared to all the zoom photos and video footage being taken by spectators all around us. Oh well, these photos are all I’ve got.

It’s noon and we are seated in our folding chairs near the six Blue Angel F/A -18 Hornets – parked almost in front of us:

For the next three and a half hours in the scorching sun we watch several other air show pilot performances. Here you see stunt pilot Matt Younkin performing feats in his Daytime Twin Beech 18 Aerobatic:

And Megan trying to keep from baking to death under the mid-90-degree sun, demonstrating the feat of holding the umbrella while managing her $4.50 puff of cotton candy:

The U.S. Air Force F-16 Fighting Falcon soars overhead like a continuous explosion – it can reach speeds up to Mach 2 at altitude, or about 1500 miles per hour:

… which feels like it could blow your eardrums apart. Megan is wearing earplugs with her hands over her ears.

It’s 3:30 PM now – time for the Blue Angels! The first four F/A-18 Hornets have taken off, simultaneously, side by side:

Followed by the other two:

They perform all kinds of aerial maneuvers,

passing over the runway in front of us, inches apart, upside down:

They soar off into the deep blue sky,

circle the perimeter of the city, soar back in front of us again, and charge upward:

Wow!

All six are soaring skyward in a diamond formation now.

They climb thousands of feet, and then roll and drop simultaneously, ejecting smokey white streamers that lay a giant firework formation against the crystalline blue sky:

The show leaves me awestruck and inspired – not to become a Navy pilot, mind you, although those Blue Angel pilots are incredibly skilled.

Megan and I have to make our way home now through the foaming crowds and terminably stalled traffic. But it’s okay. We had fun.

That was Sunday.

On Monday I get a gum graft. No kidding. As I’m lying there in the dentist’s chair waiting for the novocaine to take effect I’m thinking about the last time I went through this. It was 35 years ago. Believe you me, I remember it vividly. I had to have gum sliced off the roof of my mouth and grafted in front of my lower front teeth. And treat my sore mouth very gingerly for a while. Boy! Not my idea of the ideal weight-loss plan.

Well, I guess that gum graft took a beating through those 35 years, because gum had to be grafted again on Monday in the same spot.

Yeah, so, as I was lying in that dentist chair I was thinking about how this week I experienced two distinct once-every-35-years-events in the space of two days: a local Blue Angels Air Show and a gum graft. Hmmm.

And since I had strict instructions from the dentist not to talk for one whole day following the surgery (can you believe it? Not even on my cell phone – it was torture), or laugh (why would I laugh? Like gum grafts are funny-), or walk (the vibrations could also dislodge the graft, apparently), I’ve had no recourse but to write on my blog.

Oh, and I can’t pull down my lip and look at it either, not for at least a week, the doc says. So, sorry, dear readers, I can’t take a picture of my gum graft and post it for you on my blog. (Awwwww…) At least yet. Hmmm. Maybe in this case it’s a good thing my iphone camera doesn’t have a zoom.

Gum graft?

Yeah, gum graft. Which, if you need one, that link will tell you how. Although, I figure I should make it past ninety before I’ll need another one.