Unwelcome visitors

Somehow we have gotten back on the javelina circuit. For many years they have avoided us, remembering the unpleasant shock of the encounter with our electric fence. But the fence appears to have grounded out because they now visit two or three evenings a week. They like to dig up the roots of the asparagus fern and wallow in the mud left by the drip system and the rain. One night I watched from the study window as one rolled around in the mud, as if the rain had washed him too clean and he needed a recharge.

We found them at our front door when we returned from our date at Eclectic Cafe. I grabbed the camera and Bruce grabbed a pitcher and filled it with water. He discovered several years ago that water is the only thing that javelina despise. One night we had javelina on our back porch where they had gotten into some bird seed. In an effort to frighten them away, he started the lawn mower...they continued to feed, undeterred. He poked at them with a sharp stick (through the kitchen window)...no reaction. Finally, he got one of the kids' Super Soakers and sent a jet of water their way. That did it!


When we opened the door to throw the water on them, they thought we were inviting them in for treats.


But no, Bruce chucked the water at them and they ran away grunting, leaving a trail of dirt on our front sidewalk. That's our clue in the mornings that they have stopped by again.


They actually can be quite dangerous. Recently we met a young woman who was attacked as she stepped out her front door. So if I happened to meet them on my morning walk, I wait from far away until they cross the road--a rare occurrence, fortunately.

Leather-clad Trio Frequents Local Cafe

Craig had a great approach to planning his date for me: Use the cash to pay for dinner, then guide the conversation over dinner to pick up as many remaining points as possible!

Since my favorite restaurant, Sandolo, where Dad proposed to me, is a two-and-a-half hour drive away (in Scottsdale) and also beyond our budget (likely another reason we have never been back), Craig asked me for another idea. I suggested Eclectic Cafe, which is close by and has become a favorite as of late. Craig picked up a few points when I ordered some of my favorite foods: salmon (though not as tasty as Dad's barbecued version, my real favorite) with pineapple salsa (my favorite fruit).

Craig set the standard for packing the most points into the conversation:
He asked why "When I Fall in Love" is my favorite song. I explained that it was because Dad sang it to me while we were dating, and then he sang it at a ward Valentine's party a year after we were married. We discussed my favorite sport to play, skiing, and how I used to arrange my schedule at BYU so that I could take classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and ski on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. I said I was glad I had decided to go on a mission instead of going pro on the ski patrol at Sundance like my friend did. (Okay, so maybe I shouldn't admit all that in print.)

I told Craig about how Grandpa and I got to see an ice dancing event (favorite sport to watch) at the 2002 Winter Games. Craig asked what I liked about Cry the Beloved Country (favorite book) and I explained that I was touched by the hardships and faith of the black pastor who is the main character. Craig also discovered that I like Superman because as a child I used wish that I had been adopted so that there would be a possibility that I was really from another planet and would some day develop super powers.

Every time I answered a question, Craig took great satisfaction in checking the item off his list, racking up yet more points. Finally, towards the end, I was beginning to wonder if he was even listening. "Why is Cranium your favorite game?" "I like it because there are lots of different activities, like word puzzles, and--" But before I could finish, he exclaimed, "Check! Next question...."


Dad and Craig discuss plans for our next date....

My Favorite Date

Nothing like a hot date with someone who knows your favorite things. Well, I was the lucky beneficiary of such an evening of fun and frivolity as part of a great christmas present. (Even if I do say so myself.) I mean, how else could literaly everything be my favorite? Favorite main dish, side dish, vegetable, dessert, color, you name it--it was just great.



Just think of New York cut strip steak with baked Idaho potato, butter and sour cream, fresh green beans, Fontina cheese, and homemade fresh peach pie with whipped cream while listening to soft rock music in the background. Perfect! To top it off we went to a movie (at home) and saw The Bourne Ultimatum (not my absolute favorite, but a favorite none the less).



As the final kicker, we had chocolate covered nuts, and teal colored canister shaving cream as a Happy Valentine's Day surprise. Is that wild or what? It was a continuation of our family motto: TBTI.

UGLI! (U Gotta Luv It).

I'm Dreaming of a . . .

The temperature was in the seventies and the sun was shining brightly. Obviously it was time to pursue a colder clime, and just in case Salt Lake's freezing snowy weather was not cold enough we decided to go further north to the frozen tundra of southeastern Idaho where the wind chill whipped through the Snake River Valley and drove the temperatures well below zero. Of course it was Christmas time. You would think that after 23 years in Tucson we would have learned to stay south for the winter, but as you all know I am a bit hard headed so lessons are hard learned (or perhaps hardly learned). So off we went to Salt Lake and then Idaho Falls even though Camille and Bryan were in Logan with Bryan's family and Michelle and Josh were in Cancun with Josh's family. Tradition rules. Plus there were great attractions such as Grandma Faux, Grandpa Scott, and Grandma and Grandpa Call. Therefore, we dressed for the occasion.



We booked our flight in advance from home, drove to the airport in our air conditioned car, boarded our air conditioned airplane, complained about the lay-over in the air conditioned Las Vegas airport, and made the grueling 775 mile journey to Salt Lake City in about 5 hours. Although it was cold when we arrived, we had warm clothing and plenty to eat, a nice place to stay and warm beds to sleep in. Obviously we could relate to a journey over 2000 years ago when a young expectant couple traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem on foot and by donkey. Because it was only about 70 miles but probably took at least 3 days, we figured that they also must have had a lay-over.



(Our ward had an activity at which we re-enacted a Bethlehem marketplace. Since we were all dressed up in our traveling clothes we decided to stop in and found that we fit right in with the locals.)

It Doesn't Get Any Better--It's TBTI!

Sages through the ages have wondered what exactly TBTI is all about. Some have supposed that it is a secret chant that has mystical powers, others have just thought it sounded cool. Nevertheless the debate continues:

The philosopher might say it stands for "the beauty that's inside." Dancers take a more practical approach and suggest it means "these black tights itch." Psychiatrists recognize it as a common diagnosis: "Tranquil, but totally insane." And children say it means "this broccoli tastes icky!" Some maintain that it describes their situation "trapped between two idiots." While the dyslexic think it is a reminder to "bring the trashcans in," the hypochondriac sees it as advice: "Tender back? Take ibuprofen." The self conscious yell it out: "take back that insult," and of course the academician contends that "truth brings transformational independence!"



As time passes I am sure that it will take on even more meaning and its realm of influence will increase globally. However, we all know that it describes our family. TBTI!

Thanksgiving in Tucson: Great people. Great food. Great country.

It was such a treat to have everyone home for those days of fun and frivolity: Knockout was a real winner. Badmitton was a hit. Swimming was chilling. Boggle was humbling (especially when playing with Megan and Craig).

We loved it. Just like I said: "Our family is TBTI!"

The Brotherhood of the Box

(Because of the confidential nature of this blog, please whisper.)

It is not often that it becomes possible to join the Brotherhood. In fact there have been but a few who have attempted and even fewer who have succeeded in joining in the last decade. Not just anyone has what it takes–the skill, the intellect and of course the endurance to pain required to achieve such heights. You will not hear much of the Brotherhood. There are no advertisements, no banners, no TV spots. You will not read about it in the news nor see it mentioned in a resume'. Nevertheless it is very real and you never know who might be a member.

When the sun was sinking behind the Tucson Mountains and the shadows were long, the ordeal began around a solid maple table with only one insert in place. Curious implements adorned the table top which was partially covered with a recent edition of the Wall Street Journal to protect it from the harsh process. Wires, transformers, switches, copper foil, alligator clips, a single 1.5 volt C battery and of course the solid black colored box were placed in a random array within easy reach. Craig was not quite sure if he wanted to proceed. He suspected that the introduction to the Brotherhood would be fraught with trials and challenges. Little did he know. . .


The room was silent except for the occasional click of the alligator clips as they clamped their jagged jaws to the transformer connection points and the battery holder leads. He paused.

"You've got to try it to be sure that you know what goes where," I said as he squirmed uncertainly. "The transformer has 5 connection points. What wire do you think goes where?"

Craig examined the markings on the transformer–120 v, 6.3 v.

"What does it mean?" I questioned him.

It was just a small cube shaped contraption which was heavier than it appeared. He had seen my box before and he knew its awesome effect, but he was still not sure if he wanted to proceed.


"Okay, okay. Just give me a second" he said boldly as he held a bare wire in each hand. The wires were connected to the transformer and thence to the 1.5 volt battery. He had handled batteries like this hundreds of times and he had never felt anything alarming before. "Why should this time be any different?" he thought to himself. He held his breath. "Okay."

I touched one wire to the battery. A tiny spark was barely visible and the sound was not much more than a brief whisper, but the sensation was unmistakable. Craig winced as he let go of the wires in a hurry. "Uuh" he muttered as if he had not intended to say anything.

"Well, does it work?" I queried. "Which connection point is best?"

We laughed as we contemplated trying again.

"How could such a little thing do what it did?" Craig wondered. "Yes it works. It works well," he continued out loud.

He knew that he had the right combination of parts and connections. He had to figure out how to make everything fit into that little black box. Carefully he began soldering and assembling the delicate parts. The switch had to be placed just so. Craig was becoming a master at soldering. It only took a fraction of a second to make the connection secure. Only a daub of solder does the trick.

"Okay, let's try again." I pronounced.

"You do it," Craig said.

"It is not my box," I responded. "You will be the owner. You must be the one to verify that it works." I said as I held onto the bare wire contacts and he gave me a charge.


"Uuh, wo!" he said this time half smiling and half grimacing.

He opened the black box carefully, placing the screws together near the cover. I explained that the copper foil needed to be secured to the sides of the box and the tabs needed to be connected to the wires and the switch. We got out the Dremel tool with the fine grinding wheel and marked the best place for the slots. Steadily he guided the grinder as it cut through the black plastic. At last he glued the foil and attached the wires. Everything was ready.

"Uh oh. Time to test it again before screwing the lid on." I said with a grin.

"It works. We have both tried it already," Craig protested.

"But we don't know if there is some glitch or if something short circuited," I commented. "You'll just have to test it again."

"I don't like it," Craig continued. "I shouldn't have to." After collecting his resolve and taking a deep breath again he held the box. Nothing. Then he moved it again slightly. "Wooah. Yup, it works," he pronounced proudly.



Upon inserting the final screw and tightening it just gently, the box was finished. It looked great. It looked so harmless. It looked just right. The ordeal was over. Craig had succeeded more than his wildest imagination. He had weathered the storm. Only those who make one are ever admitted to this elite fraternity. Only those who complete the task are members and now Craig is one of the elite. Congratulations and welcome to the Brotherhood of the Box.

On the other hand, while Craig was jubilant at his success, I suffered one of the most horrendous experiences the box can inflict--it was at Craig's hand and the effects did not pass until late the next day. (Imagine that, my own son.) Yes indeed, I had the worst hair day of my life that night and all the next day. It was devastating!

Master dessert chef strikes again

Craig has become good friends with the missionaries in our ward, Elder Johnson and Elder Brownfield. He loves to join them for zone conferences, sports, and gospel discussions in their apartment on his way home from his Chinese and Old Testament classes.

This is Elder Johnson's last week in the mission field, so today Craig made him a four-layer chocolate cake with chocolate truffle frosting, topped with chocolate curls and special designs that he had created and frozen.



You can tell from the smiles, the elders were thrilled! (Elder Brownfield on the left; Elder Johnson on the right.)


And yes, it did taste as good as it looks.