The Oscar Meyer Wienermobile Keeps On Moving

This photo was taken last weekend while on the San Bernardino CA mountain pass during a downpour. And what a joy it was to see the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile braving the storm! 

Honestly I can't remember exactly how many times I've seen the Oscar Mayer mobile, but only the first instance stands out clear. It was elementary school during recess, in Porterville CA, overlooking the field that led to the highway.  I use to just look out to the highway some mornings, wishing to travel the road, or just wanting to escape. The field that led to the All-American highway, sitting in front of the Sierra Nevada foothills. And one day, while daydreaming, the Oscar Meyer mobile coasted down the highway out of sight. Seeing the giant hot dog was magical. A wonderful departure from the mundane. 

That was many, many years ago. There was an article sometime back calling for hopeful drivers to apply, and it was cool knowing the Wienermobile was still a trucking. They must not drive in Utah, or maybe I'm never in the right place to see them.

Kinda Silly, but it was nice seeing the Oscar Meyer mobile. With all the change in the world. The craziness of the last two years. Everything we've been though. That hot dog truck of the past is still going. It's nice seeing that something so nostalgic is alive and well.

Sarah

 

Ghost in the Desert

Every now and then we experience something out of the ordinary. It tricks our brain, causing us to question reality, and after awhile we wonder if it was all a dream.

On October 2nd,  a Saturday,  such a thing happened to me. My Mom and I were driving home from Disneyland, past Las Vegas by at least a half hour. Not quite sure of the location, but we were in the middle of nowhere traveling on the I-15 towards Mesquite.

The light in the sky was growing dim. A little past dusk but still awhile till twilight, when I saw the figure.  There was a hill, and I saw a person clothed in complete black walking towards the highway.  Faced covered, head to feet, no color variation or striking features. Nothing. Just this person walking, alone, in the desert.

"Mom, look! There's a person walking!" I said.

"What?"

"A person! Right over there." I pointed, but she was driving, looking where I pointed but right back to the road.

"I don't see anything."

"The person's right there!" I said again, pointing.

And she repeated, "I don't see anything."

As we were about to pass this person stopped at the road, shifting weight from one leg to the other as we passed, appearing to look at me.  I couldn't see their face. Couldn't see any features. They seemed to wear a black skirt and had a black side bag to their right.  Once again, no color variation. No skin. No hair. Not sure of gender. A physical shadow.

After we passed I looked over my shoulder looking at them, stunned and questioning my sight. They stood by the road in silhouette. Over my shoulder, looking at the side mirror, over my shoulder, and the mirror again I stared until they were out of sight.

On Amazon I found a full body costume that would cover a person in black. Perhaps they were wearing this? But why were they walking in the middle of the desert? There was a hill, maybe there was a town on the other side? A road? Was this person trying to freak people out? It worked on me. Not so much that I couldn't sleep that night, but the image of this figure shifting weight from one leg to the other flashes in my brain from time to time.

Did I see something real? Someone playing a joke? A ghost? ... a demon? Steven suggested it could have been an alien. :\

It's crazy when the practical seems unrealistic to the fantastical.

But maybe there are those who like to cover themselves in black, hide themselves, and go on casual walks in the desert? Why not? Stranger things have happened this year.

It really was weird!!!

Have a good night.

Sarah

In Which Frank Sinatra Offers My Grandma a Ride...

My Grandmother is beautiful.  Five foot eight, dyed blonde hair in the latest short style (she was a natural strawberry blonde).  She would never admit to it, as she always saw herself as a country bumpkin.  After high school she went into cosmetology, and while in her young 20's, sometime in the mid-1950's, my Grandma apprenticed on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.

It was here where the fateful event occurred.

My grandmother was simple and modest, one for routine.  She would work and then go home.  One afternoon after working in the shop she left to walk to her car.  While approaching a parking lot exit a car pulled in front of her and stopped.  Frank Sinatra was driving, a blue car from my mother's retelling, and he asked my Grandma if she wanted a ride.  

Well, my Grandma didn't hesitate.  She showed him her left hand where sat her wedding ring, said she was married, and then continued on her way.

Heh, and that was that.  My grandma turned Frank Sinatra down.

For the longest time I wondered if my Grandmother was the only women who turned Sinatra down, when a gal I was talking to said her grandma did as well.  She was honeymooning in Las Vegas, and when Sinatra was flirting with her, she left as well.

And here we thought Ol' Blue Eyes had game...

Hope you're having a great day,

Sarah

 

(Happy Late Birthday in Heaven Grandma, hope it was a fun celebration). P.S. I really hope we have birthday parties in heaven.  "And now we celebrate the day you went to Earth!"  That would be fun.

Somber Thoughts

I was going to share a war sonnet I wrote in High School, circa March 3, 2000 while in ceramics.  Typed the whole thing out, after searching through folders and papers to find it, only to delete what was written.  During ceramics I didn't have to work on the potters wheel, as I had cut my finger the period before while making book covers as a library aid.  It's a sonnet of a fallen soldier dying on the battlefield.  After starring at the screen, reading over the lines, it didn't seem right to share it

Memorial Day is a day to honor the brave who have fallen in war.  Veterans Day is for those who once served, but are no longer in the armed forces.  Whereas Armed Forces Day are for those still serving.

Those who cry from the dust cannot hear our thanks.  I pray they are at peace now.  We celebrate them, but do they see?  I hope so.  My belief in an afterlife is strong, but we only get glimpses on this side of the veil.  Those who pass do see and love us still.  And I'd like to think our ancestors are aware of us and cheering us on.  Loving and giving us support, even when we can't see or feel them, during moments when we get too caught up in this world.

To those who have served and passed, I don't understand everything between heaven and Earth, but in this little prayer I give thanks.  Thank you for your bravery.  Thank you for your sacrifice.  For your courage.  Thank you for answering the call and standing up for what is right.  Thank you for the freedoms I now enjoy and pray will never die.  Thank you.

We have so much to be thankful for.  We take so much for granted.  Those who have lived short lives gave us far more than we can ever comprehend.  What are we doing?  What have we learned?

Sarah

Early Morning Sunrise

It's funny how strange certain things are when you've grown up living with other things.  For instance: Sunsets over the ocean.  That's what I grew up with.  Driving along the California coast, in various locations throughout my life, to catch the sunset.

Ocean sunsets are beautiful with sprayed pinks and purples coloring ocean and sky, the sun casually dipping below the waved horizon.

For some reason it never occurred to me that those living on the East coast of the United States didn't enjoy this pleasure (well, maybe Florida?).  Why had it never occurred to me?!!  I simply never thought of it.  But last March, completely spontaneously, my Mom and I drove the 6+ hours (which Google Maps said would take 4 hrs) to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina.

We found vacancy in an upper room hotel, facing the ocean, and that next morning I awoke before 6 am to watch the sunrise.  It was fun watching people casually stroll along the shoreline, family and friends huddled together.  

The sunrise itself was quite beautiful, and different than the ocean sunsets of my youth.  Morning light vs. evening light will always be a wonder.  The ocean and beach relaxing and calm, the surf calling for quiet simplicity.

Definitely a gift and joy I'll never forget,

Sarah

Dreaming of Someplace Warm

The majority of the United States is getting pummeled by snow and cold.  Up here in northern Utah it's a week full of snow storms with a tiny break on Thursday.  Next week it will be partly cloudy and in the 40's, so nice and toasty. :P

All this snow has me craving warmth.  It happens every Winter, and then in the Summer, when it's super hot, I think a little snow wouldn't be so bad.  :\

I've just been craving the beach so bad recently.  It wasn't until yesterday when I realized the last time I was at the beach was when I visited the Ring of Kerry in Ireland, May 2019!!!  That's the last time!!!!!!  And I visited California four times after that British Isles trip.  It just so happened that all four trips to Cali was to Disneyland.

On one of those Disney trips, July 2019, my Mom and Aunt decided to visit Newport Beach.  I could have gone with them but decided instead to stay at the Disney park and spend the day with my Dad running around California Adventure.  We did soooo much!  I got so soaked on Grizzly River Run I might as well jumped in a pool fully clothed.  That final geyser did me in.  It was so bad.  That was a good day.

But at that point my Mom and I booked a trip with Steven and Ty to do a Disney Cruise in the Caribbean for late February 2020, so I was planning on seeing the ocean then, then Steven lost his job in January, so we canceled the trip.  In hindsight my Mom and I regret the cancellation, but if we had gone we wouldn't have taken my two older nieces to Disneyland instead, and I'm glad we got to experience Disneyland in all its glory one last time before everything closed down.

This is the longest I've spent away from the beach.

I'm aching for the sound of the surf.

I close my eyes and imagine Cambria CA, walking along wooden paths.  That's my favorite place, my happy place, even more than Disneyland.  So many wonderful memories.  Thankfully my imagination is strong enough to whisk me away to those beautiful sights.  Every now and then I feel Cambria in my memories.  Hopefully I'll get to see the ocean again, sooner rather than later.

Sarah

 

A Spooky Night in York England, 2017

(Recollections are from a pre-pandemic world)

September 28, 2017

The morning was an early one, as is typical when on a tour.  Wake up super early to grab the continental breakfast, assigned by the hotel as to not interfere with other hotel guests.  We, my Mom and I, were in Chester, and we had to pack, eat, give the bus our luggage, and be in the meeting place for a tour of Chester, just at the crack of dawn, before all the shops were open.  The tour was nice, but that's not why I'm writing this blog post.

I'm writing in regards to what happened in York later that evening.

On the two hour bus ride from Chester to York a memory came to mind, one that I haven't thought of in well over a decade.  I was either a sophomore or junior in High School, and was sitting in early morning seminary at the church, 6:30 am.  The lesson itself is long forgotten, but what is clear in my mind was the sudden entry of a man.  No one knew who he was.  Disheveled.  Unkempt.  He swayed and wobbled as he walked.  Did he say anything?  I can't recall.  What I do remember was the way he paced back and forth in front of our class, charging forward in quick motions to scare us.  Our teacher hanging against the wall doing nothing.

All of a sudden this man got closer to us, and then started to hover around the spot where I sat, my right arm table up supporting my books, attached to my seat.  All of a sudden he stopped right in front of me, dropped to his knees, and banged on my table as he met me at eye level.  How long did we hold that stare?  I don't know.  It felt like an eternity.  But I held his gaze.  I didn't quiver.  I didn't flinch.  And then all of a sudden he stood up, left, and we never saw him again.  Days later I heard rumor that he might have escaped from the state hospital.

That memory kept circling through my mind as our bus drove into York.  The same queasy feeling I felt as a teenager, the feeling of repressed fear bubbling under the surface, was thick and hard to shake, but I did as we toured York.  A walk down the shops, getting lost in the Shambles, dinner at Bettys cafe tea room.  After stopping in a couple shops it was dark, and the stores were beginning to close.

Ghost tours were starting to come upon the city.  Random groups gathering around men wearing top hats.  It was fascinating to watch from a distance, but I get spooked easily, and that feeling was back.  The feeling I had as a teenager with the swaying man.

I looked up the street and noticed a man watching me.  He was in shadow, hidden from lamp light, disheveled with a sway.  Not wanting to make much of it, thinking it was only coincidence, I put it to a test.  As my Mom and I walked up the street, he followed on the other side.  I purposely stopped and watched him out of the corner of my eye, avoiding ghost tours in the process.  When we stopped, he stopped.  When we walked, he walked.  After establishing the pattern I alerted my Mom to the situation, going through the walking and stopping movements to prove my point.  We were both scared by this point, and made it a point to continue where there were lots of people, and to delay heading to our hotel as not to be followed.

Finally, after quite awhile, he got impatient and just left.  And at that point, checking behind us several times, we fast paced it to our hotel.  Adrenaline going crazy.  We made it, felt safe, and then had a good laugh.  York is really quite charming in the daytime, but at night it's a different animal.  The city feels different.  Maybe it was seeing all the ghost tour groups moving up and down the streets that played with my imagination.  Not far fetched.  But I was so glad to be safe that night.  So glad to be away from the feeling of being spooked.

A Couple Random Thoughts: September Edition

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

I needed a little break.  Get off the net.  Think a little.  I didn't leave town or anything.  That hasn't happened since February.  To say I'm feeling restless in this isolation is an understatement.  I'm aching to get out of Dodge.

My workspace has been discombobulated as I've been rearranging and switching things up in my room, so my laptop got tucked away, and it was nice keeping it out of sight.  

Life has been life.  Found out a couple weeks ago what was wrong with my car: crack in the fuel pump.  I would have preferred a deadening battery or starter.  The repair would have been cheaper.  And a day after that was fixed I woke up early morning to find a large puddle in the middle of the kitchen floor emanating from the fridge.  The compressor went out.  A mad dash to save as much food as possible followed.  This last Monday the fridge was finally fixed.  

The weather has been strange around here.  It's fire season, a particularly bad fire season, and as the case is with fire season the valley in which I live is socked in with smoke.  Some years are better than others.  It's always nice when we get a little rain and wind to blow it out, and then it settles right back in.  Well, last week we had a nice little wind storm.  So nice that Salt Lake Valley and northwards reached Hurricane Level 2 winds.  One place got up to 112 miles per hour.  Where I live it only got up to about 30 mph, thanks to the mountain range, but northwards has been struggling.  Lots of damage mixed with days without power.  Though something weird happened.  Before the wind the air was smokey and hot with temps in the 90's.  The day after the weather was a chilly 46 at midday, flurries drifting from the sky.  The air was clean again.  It was nice getting a brake from the heat.

Oh, I saw "TENET" a few days ago.  So confusing!  I was like... :\ .  And even after reading an explanation of what happened in the movie I'm still like... :\ .  Honestly, I do get what was going on after replaying stuff through my mind, and I get what the director was trying to achieve, but overall it felt clunky.  Quick scene jumps.  Muddled explanations.  Unpleasant holes.  Time creating paradox problems, and not the good kind.  I probably need to see it again, if only I wanted to.

American Girl finally released their new historical doll: Courtney.  1986.  My childhood is now historic.  And the doll's accessories is a giant pile of nostalgic goodness.  I ordered the accessories and book, not the doll or clothes.  Should be here within a couple weeks.  And I'm kinda regretting spending all that money.  I'm kinda laughing at how ridiculous I feel for ordering them: mini boombox, mini Pac Man lunch box, Lisa Frank stationary, Care Bear sleeping bag.  Okay, writing all that out, huh.  I'm looking forward to reading her story.  She's eight years old in the book, whereas I was three at the time.  A spoiler hint that I've picked up from the website is that the Challenger space mission will be a plot point, and Courtney loves gaming, Star Wars, etc.  She's a nerd.  In short, she's my kind of gal.  It will be fun reading her story.

Funny enough I remember the Challenger explosion, only I don't know how old I was when I saw it.  Was it live?  Was it a documentary?  But I have a vivid memory of the explosion and the way the smoke split.  I remember feeling shocked, regardless.  I do have a few memories from that time, so it's possible, and my earliest memory goes back to before I was one years old.  I only remember it because it's the first thing my Dad recorded.  That home video was played over and over, cementing the memory.  Christmas day.  My Dad pulling out his guitar and my parents singing Christmas songs.  I don't remember those details, those I get from the video.  What I remember was what I felt.  Music awoke my spirit.  And I knew, whatever it was my parents were doing, I needed that.  It was important to me.  I needed that music.  I wanted to be apart of the music.

Anywho, I talked with my brother Michael a couple nights ago to game plan and set goals for our podcast.  We're aiming for launching in mid-October.  That date looks good.  It's always possible we'll hit a couple bumps, but we've recorded quite a few episodes, so fingers crossed it all goes as planned.

Until next time,

Sarah

Keeping the Tooth Fairy Lie Alive... :\

This last weekend I watched the kiddos, and I learned something very interesting: My two oldest nieces still believe in the Tooth Fairy, and my Mom and I may have helped contribute to this belief.

Heh.

So...

My second oldest niece was telling me how her friend told her that the Tooth Fairy isn't real, and that it's the parents who put the money under the pillow.  But that can't be true because of  Disneyland.

See, back in February while waiting in line for Autopia my oldest niece suddenly got really quiet and tearful.  She then showed my Mom and I her tooth that just came out, and was worried something really bad happened.  Of course it's normal, and we told her so, and she felt better.  The first night my Mom forgot to put money under her pillow, and that next morning my oldest niece was a little sad.  Maybe the tooth fairy didn't know they were at Disneyland?  The second night my Mom remembered and gave her $5 for forgetting the first night, and because we were at Disneyland.  They typically only get a dollar, but Disneyland is magical, and souvenirs are expensive.

Fast forward to this last weekend.  My nieces were reminiscing about our time at Disneyland, and that the tooth fairy had to be real, because my oldest niece got tooth fairy money at Disneyland, and their parents weren't there, and if the tooth fairy is really the parents, and their parents weren't at Disneyland, therefore the tooth fairy is real.

They were being very methodical in their reasoning.  And I just smiled and nodded my head.  I wasn't going to be the bearer of bad news.  I'm leaving that to their parents when the time comes.

Ah man!!  

Also, it should be mentioned that my oldest niece told me that I could play Elsa because I have white in my hair.  I just smiled and nodded.  She was so positive and optimistic about it!   Guess it's time to color my hair again. :P

 

The Problem with Wasps...

Needless to say, with everything going on, my car has sat idle more often than not.

A couple days ago I took my car through the car wash.  No biggie.  Nothing dramatic.  Though, as I pulled my car into its typical spot back home, a couple wasps started dancing around the passenger side mirror.  One climbed inside.  The other wasp seemed confused, perhaps mistaking its reflection with another wasp as it hovered next to the mirror.

Now, mind, I'm terrified of wasps and bees.  Snakes are okay, as long as they're not poisonous.   Spiders are okay, too, sans poison as well.  But wasps?  Big nope.

I decided to try an experiment.  Wiggling the mirror did nothing.  The wasp inside the mirror didn't come out and the other wasp still flying in place didn't move.  At this point I decided to drive to the end of the street, hoping the wasps would leave.  As I made a three point turn back at the house a wasp did the most startling thing:  I watched in slow motion as it flew across the street towards my windshield, charging and then flying up as if in attack mode.

After parking two more wasps started hovering around the mirror.  One flew in again, peaking his head above the mirror while wiggling his antennae, waiting for his friend to enter.  At this point I made my escape.  Last night I peaked inside the mirror and saw a small nest, but no wasps, but it's still freaking me out quite a bit.

In all honestly I don't know if I'm allergic to those things.  Never been stung.  Back in high school my Mom and I were driving home from Paso Robles to Porterville after visiting my great-grandparents.  We were in the middle of no where, orange and cow farms scattered about here and there.  The sun roof was open and somehow a wasp or bee flew inside the car, immediately stinging my Mom on her ear.  It swelled!  My brother Michael got stung once and swelled pretty bad.  Allergies are genetic, right? 

When I was 15 my Mom and I were traveling to Ventura/Santa Barbara to visit my Grandpa.  He had a sailboat in the SB marina and we were going to spend the weekend living on it, which was a rare treat, so we were excited.  We had just left Porterville, just 10 or so minutes out of town, when a wasp flew into the car.  I freaked out!!  While trying to get it away from my head I accidentally flicked my glasses out the window!!  We pulled over, back tracked, but couldn't find them.  It was two weeks before I got another pair, spending that weekend in Santa Barbara blind, and when back in school I had to walk up to the dry erase board, only a foot away, so I was close enough to see and take notes.

I know wasps are important to our ecology, or whatever, but that doesn't mean I have to like them. :P

Nostalgic Over Cracker Jack

"Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd;
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
I don't care if I never get back.
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don't win, it's a shame.
For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
At the old ball game."

A few years ago I found myself sitting at a long table in Bunratty Castle, Ireland, enjoying a classic medieval feast.  Far more classier than the Tournament of Kings at Excalibur Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas.  Clearly more authentic as this was a real Castle built in the 15th century.  We were entertained with music and jests, eating under candle light.  Truly a wonderful night.

At some point a man was invited to the front of the room to sing.  He didn't want to sing, so, very cheekily, he decided to lead everyone in a rousing rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game!"  The room was loud, full to the brim with two tour groups from America.  Ours from Utah and another from the East Coast.  New Jersey, I think.  We belted out the song, loudly punctuating "root, root, root!"  We were all surrounded by history in beautiful Ireland, and what got the room excited?  Baseball.  Nostalgia.  Classic Americana.  And in that song we mention Cracker Jack.

"Take Me Out to the Ballgame" was written in 1908.  Cracker Jack, the delicious American goodie filled with caramelized popcorn and peanuts, goes back to 1896.  But what I remember growing up were the toys.  The popcorn was fun and all, but I ate Cracker Jack for the prizes.

I have a distinct memory of visiting Angel Stadium in Anaheim as a kid.  No idea how many times I went, but my Grandpa A would get tickets for the game and once or twice, maybe more, gave them to my Mom.  The stadium was so big!  And we were at the top.  In my hands was a box of Cracker Jack.  

Toys in Cracker Jack boxes were always the best, the surprise fun, even though they were small.  At least once I got a ring!  And I remember enjoying the rub on tattoos when they were included.

I have fond memories of Baseball and Cracker Jack.  When I was a kid I remember seeing the Angel Stadium sign, the giant red A with a halo, and wanting to see a game as we drove by around town or visiting my Grandparents.  Angel Stadium is also just down the road from Disneyland.  It's just a happy little memory.

Now Cracker Jack doesn't have a toy.  Toys in Cracker Jack boxes started in 1912, but by 2016 the "toys" become digital codes for app games.  Not the same.

Still, I'll always remember those fun days in the sun watching baseball while eating Cracker Jack.  Such good times.

 

The Treasures of Family

Last week was one of my brother's birthday.  For reasons I don't have to mention we couldn't gather, so my Mom got nostalgic and took pictures of pictures and then texted them out.  It was a trip down memory lane.

 

She texted out these two pictures that brought all the feels.  We were adorable kids. :0) :P  But look at my hat!!  Ah man, loved that thing.  Wore it out proper.

 

With how crazy life is, unpredictable, reach out to loved ones.  We live in a remarkable time of technology.  How amazing it is that we can be so spread out, so isolated, and yet we can still communicate.  Share.  Be there for each other, even if it's not in person, we can still be there for one another.

 

We're being asked to social distance.  That's the wrong word.  We're physically distancing.  With the help of technology we can still be social.  Send virtual hugs.  Help people smile.   And as it stands we can still send snail mail.  Old fashion letters are cool.  That would be a good weekend project. :0)

“The most important thing in the world is family and love.”

 ~John Wooden

Shutterfly Has Taken Over My Life!!

Shutterfly has taken over my life!!  And it's not even a little bit, it's full on.

Some of these projects are for Christmas gifts.  And some of the books I'm making is simply because I can't keep putting off making travel and other family books.  Picture files get lost, damage, etc.  So for the last couple weeks I've been sorting through pictures and putting projects together.

My last UK trip alone had over 10,000 pictures I had to sort through.  A part of it is my fault!  I have very bad picture taking habits, which I inherited from my Mom because she does the same thing.  We take several shots of a single item or scene, the camera pointed in micro angles per shot, so I have to go through each micro angle shot to pick the right image with the right framing.  It's so annoying!  I spend most of my time going through pictures being irritated with myself. :P  Ah man.  But I've been reliving so many great times that it's worth it.

And I've just started going through April's Tokyo trip pictures.  When Steven and Ty got their photos to me they were nice enough to pre-sort them.  Very appreciated.  Then I found and transferred my and my Mom's photos . . . over 7,000. -_-;;

I still need to make the books even if I can't order them in the next few months.  Just make them and wait for when I can buy them.  Turn digital photos into physical reminders.  It will all be worth it.  And as a bonus I'm finally going through all the photos! Yay! Heh. I'm just "blah" right now about it.  I enjoy it, but it gets a little dull.  I've been listening to a lot of stuff, mainly working through the Harry Potter books.  I want to revisit the last book before I turn 38, so I can experience the scenes at the same age as Lupin and Snape.  I'm finishing up the 4th book and I'm older, and it's soooo weird.

So my Shutterfly projects is why I haven't blogged this week, but I'm also getting material to write about, so it's not all in vain.  Sorting through photos takes a lot of time.

I'm going to be so happy when I'm all caught up!!

 

Give Me a World and I Shall Live, an original poem, and other doodads

(15 yrs. old, The Fantasticks)

(Written nearly 2 decades ago, sometime when I was 17 or 18.)

Sonnet VIII

Give me a World and I shall live.  Wrap me

up in the land of fantasy.  Beyond

the words and stage are my dreams, and I long

for this reality.  Please, let me see

where imagination has no borders.

Where I have no limits.  Where I am free.

Give me this World, let me escape to be

all that I could wish to be, forever.

Illuminated saw dust tickles my

nose as I stare beyond lights.  Sweet voices

of laughter and love surrounds and rejoice.

And I stand, waiting, breathing, as I fly.

Excitement lingers through all of my soul.

All of my heart sings as I lose control.

~ Sarah Stufflebeam

(I did tweak the words a little.)

I went through a Sonnet writing phase when I was in High School.  Since then I haven't written any, but I found this one and a few others, not all sadly, while sorting through old papers.  It brings back memories.  I haven't performed in a play since college.  Mainly all of my performances have been through chorus, some vocal solos, and the handful of videos online.  Honestly I miss it.  This was my passion when I was younger.  I craved the stage.  Begged my parents to do community theater.  Tried out whenever I could.  Kinda miss the hunger.

 (Kindergarten)

 One of my first performances was when I was in Kindergarten.  I don't remember it, though my Mom said I had the lead, memorized all the lines, and told the kids their lines when they forgot.  Totally was that kind of kid.

I do remember the Christmas performance when I was in Kindergarten, mainly because it was performed in the auditorium.  I memorized all those parts as well and would get my brothers and friends to perform the play in the backyard as I directed.

The very first time I was on stage was when I was four, a dance recital, and I remember every detail. It was a series of moments that woke my spirit. Totally electrifying.

(7th Grade)

The last dance recital I was in was the 7th grade.

Honestly, I haven't been to dance in a year.  I've talked with my dance teacher and even pre-paid several months for the Fall, so I'm committed to get back into it.  I also want to get back into music and doing videos.  That's more of an early next year thing.  I'm going to start learning the guitar, got a video program I'm going to work through, and buckle down on understanding the music software.

Oh, and the VR game my brothers and I have worked on is close to an update.  I'm waiting for the game to get to a certain point, and for other projects to get going, before I talk about it in full. It's a process.

It's good to remember our past and past dreams.

Blast From the Past! Babes in Toyland, 1990, Or, In Other Words, Realizing My Dad Wasn't As Old As I Thought He Was . . .

Today I spent some time going through folders in my file cabinet, organizing, when I stumbled upon this photo of my Dad, brother Michael and I.  We were posing for a photo for Babes in Toyland, a musical we three were in at Porterville College in 1990.  I was between the third and fourth grade.

Then I did the math . . .

If this was 1990, then my Dad was 34 years old in this photo!!!

34!!!!

That's how old I am now!!

Ah man!!

And I freaked out a little, or a lot.

It's just weird.

I don't feel nearly as old as my Dad seemed when I was eight.

This was the very first community theater I had ever been in.  My brother's first as well.  My Dad did a school play or two when he was at Buena High School, really need to get more information on that, but I don't think he had done community theater.  Anyhoo!  Ah man . . .

I remember so much about this experience.  A flier was passed around at school, which is how I found out.  My Dad took us to the audition, signed us up, and we left.  I didn't even get to audition, didn't really know what that was about, but when we left I saw kids getting up to sing solos and I wanted to stay and sing.  My Dad wanted to get out of there and not deal with the hassle, I guess.  Assuming.  So I got cast as a French Doll.  Because there weren't a lot of boys my brother got to be one of the Piper children.  In short, more scenes.

Back stage, in the long hallway, there were a whole lot of chairs.  Most of the time we were asked to sit quietly on the chairs as we waited for our scenes.  Since I weren't in many I spent a lot of time in that hallway, and somehow I got to avoid sitting in those seats.  I spent a lot of time in the makeup room with the adults trying on wigs.

Fun times.

The next year my Dad and I did Show Boat.  And for that, oddly enough, my fondest memory was going to the cafeteria on campus and getting pieces of Red Vines for a nickle or two.

When I Met James C. Christensen and Saw His Art Studio

Around a decade ago my Mom, brother Steven, and I had the opportunity to visit James C. Christensen in his home.  It was thanks to a family friend who had been Christensen's home teacher for a few years that helped make this happen.  When we went I thought it was just to chat with him, and that would be it, but thankfully it wasn't.

He was so generous with his time.  Gracious.  Humble.  For those who don't know James C. Christensen, he's a painter known for his whimsical fantasy art, inspired by the renaissance.  Honestly, I don't own any of his pieces, though I wish I could.  I first learned about him when I was much younger, visiting my favorite beach town in Central California named Cambria.  There were a few art galleries down its quaint main road, one of which housed several of Christensen's art.  At first I didn't even know he was LDS, I was just in awe of his imagination, and every time we would visit I always went to look at his new pieces on display.

When I transferred to BYU in the early 2000's there was a collection of his latest paintings featuring woman of the medieval/renaissance, encased in the most gorgeous frames.  It was on the main ground level of the Harris Fine Arts building, H-FAC for short, where rotating art displays are shown year around.  My Mom and I marveled over thirty minutes looking at each piece, wondering who the artist was, until we discovered it was James C. Christensen.  We were both amazed.  They were all so beautiful.

When we visited with Christensen we got to sit in his living room, and he just let us ask all these questions.  My Mom and Steven asked him several questions about art and its process.  I spent most of the time just listening.  But there was one thing he talked about that has stayed with me.  He talked about when he was younger he always feared that once he used up his good ideas there wouldn't be any more.  But he has found that as he's created, more ideas would come, and after he used those ideas, even more came after that.  If you're afraid to use ideas and keep just those to yourself, that's all you'll ever have.  You have to be willing to create.  Don't be afraid of running out of ideas.  This is a fear I have now as I've started writing fiction and working on stories, so this advice from someone so creative is very inspiring.

I can't remember how long we talked with him, but it seemed like over an hour, after which he took us to his art studio in the attic.  It was a large space, much larger than I thought it would be, with work tables and art scattered about in various stages and trails.  Large windows letting in delicate light, perfect for painting.  He was working on a painting similar to The Yellow Rose; I just remember him working on a piece with a woman, face in profile, holding a flower.

I'm very thankful for that day and what I learned.

James C. Christensen passed away a couple weeks ago, which has brought all this forward in my memory.  I pray his family is doing okay with his passing.  In heaven I bet he's creating the most wonderful art.

It Can Happen in a Porta-Potty or, In Other Words, How to Feel a Sonic Blast

 A few years ago my parents celebrated their 30th anniversary, and as a gift I put together two scrapbooks filled with stories, kind messages, and pictures.  Below is one of the stories I shared; it's one of those stories that routinely gets brought up, constantly getting a huge chuckle and a lot of embarrassment.

 It was October 14, 1997, and Edward Air Force base in the California Mojave Dessert was celebrating both the 50th anniversary of the Air Force and Chuck Yeager breaking the sound barrier.  Two huge occasions, and the air show was rumored to be epic.  It was!  And thousands came from all over to see the grand show and feel/hear Chuck Yeager officially break the sound barrier for the last time with the U.S. Air Force.

I've seen a lot of programs about the breaking of the sound barrier.  My Dad is a lover of planes, space, NASA, etc.  I couldn't wait to finally be in the presence of one, let alone a sonic blast created by Yeager himself!

(Image Source)

The crowds were insane, and it was hard finding a place to sit before the start of the show.  My Mom and I didn't want to miss a thing, so we went off to find the porta-potties. Dad told us the show started at 10:00 a.m., so we had some time.  There were two long rows of porta-potties, front and back, and still there was a wait.  At 10:00 a.m. sharp we were both in neighboring porta-potties.  Well, right at that moment there was an explosion of sound and this great shaking.  Suddenly there was, around us, a chorus of voices saying "Did we miss it?" "Was that it?" "What Happened?"  Mom and I couldn't believe it!

When we made it back to the boys we found out what had happened.  Chuck Yeager was scheduled to break the sound barrier at 10:00 a.m., signaling the start of the show.  Dad insisted he told us that, but he didn't!  

That little bit of information went amiss!

     When later talking with my brothers they told me they could hear the breaking of the sound barrier and see a little dot in the sky, but they couldn't feel it.  I got to hear, and feel, the sonic blast!

(What I originally wrote in the scrapbook)

The I-15 Car Trap

 This is what happened last Saturday to my Dad and I coming home from Ventura.

There's a 50 mile stretch in the middle of Utah that's cursed.  Three times I've broken down with my family: last weekend at mile marker 100, a few years ago Memorial weekend near midnight at marker 150, and several years ago at 141, which is now around 139 because the numbers shifted a few years ago.  And I've talked to other people who have broken down around that area as well, though I believe I have the best stories.

 The first time was in 2004.  My Grandpa A was still alive, and my Grandma, Grandpa, Mom and I were coming up from Porterville.  That trip already had a feeling of the surreal, because my Mom and I flew into the Bakersfield airport and had an emergency landing.  We were helping my Grandparents move and look at places here in Utah Valley, but of course we hit a bump while coming back.

It was coming towards the end of the day and we had just past Cove Fort.  My Grandma was driving when we felt something and pulled over, discovering the tire blown.  That piece of land is hilly, where those used to driving 80 mph must slow down for the curves.  Not the safest bit to sit and wait.

Thankfully my Grandparents had AAA, only we needed the mile marker, but we were far from one.  I'm pretty obedient, straight laced, practical, but every now and then this rebellious streak strikes.  Rare, but I did something completely illogical.

I decided I would find the mile marker so the tow truck new where to find us.  Without telling anyone I started walking south, and was too far away when my family noticed.  I heard the yells, but ignored them.  It felt foolish.  I starting believing I couldn't find it.  Reality struck and I started getting scared.  Car, after van, after truck whipped by at 80 miles an hour, the air shocking me with each pass.  Then I realized anyone could pull over and I'd be defenseless.

A small SUV pulled over, my heart racing as the door opened.  Inside sat an elderly couple, missionaries serving at Cove Fort on their way to Fillmore.  A feeling of protection came over me then, and I looked to the sky as we drove back.  Instead of rebuke I felt love, and a feeling of gratitude overwhelmed.  After I was dropped off the couple called shortly after, giving us the mile number.

 A few years ago my Mom, brother Steven, Robbie, and I got a super late start coming back home from Ventura.  Once again that trip had a strange feel about it.  On the way down in the beginning of the trip I was driving, getting the first shift, everyone asleep, when I rounded a corner.  Standing on the side of the road was a deer, just waiting.  The first time I'd ever seen a deer on I-15.  As I passed I looked in the rear view mirror; the deer started walking immediately across the highway.

 A week trip later we came back Memorial weekend.  After passing those hills I mentioned in the previous story, nearing midnight, I breathed a sigh of release as my Mom continued to drive, a habit I developed during the first incident.  When we passed St. George earlier there was a coyote lying dead, blocking the right lane.  That was on my mind as we increased our speed to 80 mph.  Quite immediately we felt something shift under the car, and as my Mom pulled the car over we saw the tire roll behind us, stopping close to where we stopped.  The rubber of the tire was a shredded complete circle.  The metal rim remained on the car, miraculously unscathed.  

What was amazing is that our car stopped right next to the mile marker.

It wasn't until 1:00 am when the tow truck came, all the while howls of coyotes could be heard in the distance.  In Fillmore the couple towing the car put on the spare, and Mom and I drove the final length at 50 mph, grey blurs of coyotes shooting across the highway the whole way.

When we got home my Dad was amazed the car didn't flip, and I'm still amazed we were able to pull over.  Technically we shouldn't have been able to.  It was the front left wheel we lost.  It was like we were being carried.

 Last weekend I was the one driving when the van started getting slower and slower: 70 mph to 60 to 50 to 40 when I pulled over.  It was the transmission.  And we were just 9 miles from Beaver.

The Van stopped right in front of the mile marker.

So many stresses and worries going through our minds.  It was just Dad and I, and after some thought it made sense to pay the tow truck to take us home.  Everything was set up and paid for, when the shop we were towed to suddenly got busy.  We were there for some time when the head guy, the one who towed us, wanted to stay and get some work done.  But instead of having us wait, he called his daughter to bring his car for us to use, in case he couldn't tow us that day, and we wouldn't end up stranded.  He completely trusted us with his families car.  Sure enough when we got home Rick was on the road with our van.

One thing I forgot to mention was that right before the tow truck came, there was an older man who pulled over to see if we were all right.  He went all the way to Beaver then came around again to make sure we were okay.  That was so nice.

The World is full of great people.

Learning to play a Hyundai . . .

Did you know Hyundai made pianos?

I've known since I was eight, back when my family bought the above pictured upright 23 years ago.  It's the piano I learned to play on, and it honestly sounds great, though I read a review somewhere that Hyundai full grands are not that good.  

I've known about Hyundai being in the musical instrument business long before I heard about their cars, which are fantastic.  Several members of my family own one, though I've got a Chevrolet.   Someday I'm destined to own a Hyundai, simply because I grew up playing one.  We'll see.  It would be classic if I ended up with a Sonata! (Another music connection.) 

My ultimate dream is to one day own a full grand Yamaha.  They're amazing!  Back at BYU I would go down to the piano rooms and play the Yamaha's . . . and then drool a little.  Steinway's are amazing, don't get me wrong.  They've earned the reputation they deserve.  My Grandpa R. used to own a Steinway full grand.  When I was a kid I played on it several times, but not understanding the King of Piano legend the Steinway has, I didn't appreciate it.

The Steinway piano was promised to one day go to me, but when my Grandpa moved back to Ventura he sold it for an electric piano.  I cried that day!  And even now, 13 years after he sold it, I'll bring up the fact that he made a bad investment choice in selling the instrument.  Acoustic pianos, if well maintained, maintain or appreciate in value, especially a Steinway Full Grand!!  Anything electronic, especially instruments with old technology, depreciate in value.  Logic.  I've explained this to him many times, but he still insists that his electronic piano is worth a lot of money.  The keys aren't even weighted.   -_-;;  He'll never get it. 

Remembering Our Heroes

When I was in High School I had the great fortune to volunteer a few times at a convalescent hospital.  It seemed, really, that I didn't do much; mainly making crafts and talking to the patients. Though the service was small I did pat myself on the back a few times for doing charity.

I was humbled real fast that Summer of 1999.

The weather was hot, and July 4th was soon upon us.  My friend and I were asked to bring all those sitting in wheel chairs to the pavilion for a patriot ceremony.  The flag was raised, the words sweet, then something happened that I will never, never forget.

The person leading the ceremony asked all those who had served during World War II to stand.  Suddenly most of the men stood, and I was quickly humbled, tears running down my face.  Those men who I thought I was serving had given me the greatest service of all.

  We are the Land of the Free because of the Brave.