Pinky

 Pinky

My longest friendship started on a sunny Easter morning when I was about five years old.  Matthew and I were being led out into the backyard by mom, full of excitement, and I remember seeing two stuffed animal bunnies sitting on top of the fence, one pink and one yellow.  I instantly fell in love and I named mine Pinky.  The name didn’t come as quickly to Matthew and we decided that we would name Pinky’s brother Yellowy.

Pinky was an absolute sweetheart and loved me just as much as I loved her.  My new best friend went everywhere with me and has the scars to show it.  As I had lots of brothers to keep up with, she had lots of boys to put up with and I was constantly defending my little friend, which leads me to tell you about my beloved blankie.  See, my old best friend was a yellow yarn-tied blanket that great-grandma Webster made me and she met her terrible end being thrown into the back of a garbage truck while I struggled in the terrible grasp of my mean brothers as I watched her being gobbled up by the filthy stinky truck.  I was determined that nothing of this sort would happen to my Pinky and so my monstrous challenge began.

On one especially frightful camping trip, Pinky was snatched by those villainous boys, tossed around, and eventually tossed right out the back of the van window.  You can imagine my utter panic, sooooo, my hero dad rode on his Schwinn steed all the way down the HUGE mountain and all the way back up.  He rescued my bestest friend and brought her back to me…warm fuzzies, we were back together.  Oh yes, Pinky was certainly tortured.  Her head has been torn off along with one of her ears and luckily mom was an excellent surgeon, though, not a particularly good plastic surgeon.  Pinky has also been gutted several times, had both of her eyes sewn back on, and has had countless stitches.  My little friend has been all over the country with me.  She even up and joined the Army just to be a good friend.  As you can surely imagine, she’s now old and tired and not much for playing anymore but she’s still my best and oldest friend and now watches over my little girl.

The Haunted Hotel

The Haunted Hotel

It was a completely silent night. It was summer, but I was shivering. We were walking through the vineyard, the car long since abandoned. We tried to pretend that we weren’t afraid, as the night grew colder and darker. After an eternity we reached the end. In our path lay a river and I almost cried with relief. We would have to turn back. The leader of our company told us to follow the river, hoping to find a way to cross. My footsteps were mechanical. I was dreading the fate that lay ahead of us. As if things weren’t bad enough, we found a way across. I was the last to penetrate the iron-gate. Then, we found the road. The animals were all watching us, somehow knowing, knowing what we were planning. The trees surrounded us like sentries. As one, my company headed for higher ground. We tore through the trees, not knowing how many of us we would lose. Finally we made it to the hills, and we were all accounted for. Slowly we walked along, stopping at every sound. At last it was time to once again descend into the trees. Quickly we ran, hopping over barbed wire, avoiding the traps, and then, we saw it. We were all prepared to see our mission to the end, but then I saw them. My companions looked as if they were the undead. Their eyes were sunken in and their skin stretched tightly over their bones. I continued onward. We each fell to the ground silently and stealthily crept up to the abandoned building, gathering photographic evidence along the way.
The building was in ruin, but it seethed evil. We slowly explored every inch, gathering information. The roof had holes, and I almost fell into one of them. There were signs of war and evil painted on the walls. I wanted to leave, to run as fast as I could, but I had a mission, and I was going to see it to the end. We were on the second floor and I heard something move behind me. My companion and I were in the rear, and we both heard it. We looked back into the main hall, there was nothing, but the rocks continued to move. We hurried onward, but one of our companions was missing. We had left her in one of the rooms! Frantically I raced back to find her. Despite all of my training, I was in tears. If we lost her, no, we were not going to lose her. We found her walking along, white with fear. Nothing had prepared us for this, but we continued our search, documenting all that we saw. Finally, we found it, the place where he was killed. I saw the blood on the stones below. We were almost done, only a few more rooms to go. The top floor was in total disrepair. One of us even searched a closet, gathering evidence. At last, after investigating the elevator, we descended to the boiler room. More pictures were taken. The rubble was so thick that we could not enter; we could only observe it from the outside. After much pleading we raced out of that terrible place, after Emily grabbed a tangible item of evidence. We all had something. I had a piece of the wall. We ran for the cover of the trees, silently walking along the road. We had escaped the concentration camp. We had seen the place of many murders, and had proof. We laughed, I cried, and finally we reached the silent highway. The car was a hundred feet to our left. After hopping the cast Iron gate we left the Byron Hot Springs Hotel. The tires of our armored vehicle squealed on the asphalt and we left with the firm knowledge that we would return, but this time we will not only have better protection, we will have the master, our mentor, the first of our company to enter the cursed building, leading the way.



Whitney Julia Alise Nielsen

Little Willy Break Bone

Little Willy Break Bone
This is the true story of my broken bones. When I was eight years old I was climbing an old tree by the side of my home in Salina, Utah. I was probably 20 feet up into the tree when I grabbed a too small limb and it broke off and I fell to the ground. I got up and notice that my arm was twisted in an odd shape. I walked across the street to the hospital where my mother was working and she and the doctor set my arm without any anesthesia. It hurt a lot especially as he twisted the bones to try and get the arm straight again. He succeeded in part but my arm is still crooked. Good it was my right arm since I am left handed.
My next broken arm came when I was twelve. I was riding my bicycle down a steep rocky hill when a little kid ran across the road right in front of me. I slammed on my brakes and the bike flew out of control and I few off of it onto my face and skidded to a stop many feet down the hill. At least I didn’t hit the little kid who probably deserved to be hit for running right out in front of me. Anyway, I don’t remember how I got to the hospital that time, but again my mother and Dr. Noyes set the bones. This break was in a different place that the first one. Well, I got the cast off in 6 weeks and was riding horses out in the country with some friends. Two of the friends had very fast horses and both claimed to have the fastest horse in the county. A race was proposed but the rider of one of the horses did not dare race him , so I volunteered to ride him in the race.. We started to race and it was wildly fun and exciting and frightening. I had never ever been on a horse that could run nearly as fast as this one. Both horses raced like lightening down the road head to head . Finally my horse started to edge slowly into the lead and the other horse must have not liked it at all because he started to veer into my horse . I tried to stop my horse but he totally ignored me. I was pulling on the reins to stop him as hard as I could but it didn’t effect him in the least. Well in a few strides my horse was off the road and stepped into a ditch. Both horse and rider(poor little me) went head first down the graveled road. By ;the time we stopped skidding I was just a bloody mess from the gravel. My little metal boy scout match holder was shoved into my side and through my stomach wall. My arm was twisted and broken again and we were hours from anywhere. After what seemed like an eternity someone came. The only thing I remember as hurting was my little finger which had had the tip rubbed off a little by the gravel. The person that came took me to the hospital where the doctor could not be found. I was given a shot of morphine for the pain while they looked for the doctor. I remember lying there hoping they would never find the doctor because I was feeling so good from the shot. But he finally came and set my arm again.
About 5 weeks later I was playing baseball with my cast on and slid into home plate with my broken right arm down. ( I only broke my right arm every time, never my left) I still had my cast still on . I had modified the cast quite a bit by removing pieces so that I could play baseball and do everything else as normally as possible. Well, I broke it again in the cast and in a different place than any of the other times. So in to the hospital I went again where my mom and Dr Noyes again set it.
The last time I broke my poor little right arm was when I was riding on the back of a horse that a girl was riding. The horse reared up for some reason and off I went onto my arm and broke it again. All of these last four breaks were when I was twelve.
My last broken bone was when I was in a fight with a bigger guy and threw a wicked haymaker and missed his head and hit a locker in the band room. I only broke my hand bones this time so I didn’t even go to the doctor. By this time my mom and the doctor were tired of me anyway.
Old Man Willie

Lake Erie

Lake Erie
One fine day in Kindergarten my teacher was talking about something, I don’t remember what, but she was! All of a sudden I had this strong urge pushing against the wall of my bladder…. I had to PEE!! So, normally when someone has to pee they go to a toilet and take care of there business right? Not me... I raised my hand ever so nicely and asked my teacher if I could go, there was only 15 min left until recess, so she told me I had to wait. I waited for about two seconds and I asked again... I wasn’t too good at holding anything!! She got kind of annoyed that I asked again so quickly and said NO! About two more seconds later I couldn’t hold it anymore and I was afraid to ask my teacher if I could go again so I just let it all come out. I couldn’t help myself I tried to stop because I realized what I was doing but I was on a role and I no longer had control of it. I figured it would be fine and no one would notice, right? But all of a sudden I hear… umm, I don’t exactly know how to spell the sound, but…well you know what it sounds like when a big cow is takin a big pee? Well yeah, I tried to hide it but you just can’t hide something that loud. My teacher looked over, I watched as her eyes got bigger and bigger, she flipped out! She sent everyone to recess early and sent me straight to the bathroom. As if I still had to go! But she kinda made me so I just told myself that I was being a good girl and just cooperated. As I was in there, I tried to dry my pants by putting myself underneath the blow-dryer… buuuuut I couldn’t really get the position down right, I wasn’t as bendy as little Arwen, so it didn’t work to well. So I go back into the class room and watch my teacher spraying air freshener all over the room and when she saw that I had come back she sent me straight to my seat. I pulled my seat out and all I see is the big Lake Erie sitting in my chair. So even though my pants couldn’t get any wetter I just didn’t want to sit in it, would you? I didn’t think so! So I whipped up an ingenious plan and secretly switched my neighbors chair with mine. When everyone came back in side from recess she didn’t even look at her chair. Immediately I knew I was the smartest kid ever. She pulled her seat out and sat in that great lake that was sitting in her chair. All I remember happening next is a scream crying and lots of yelling. Of course I got sent to the office and as if it wasn’t embarrassing enough already, I had to walk in front of everyone with my pants still dripping!
Emily 2004

Slim Jim

Slim Jim
It was Thanksgiving holiday 2004, and Michael, Meghan and I were in the Los Angeles area visiting my family. We, along with my brother, Adam, and his girlfriend, Katie, decided to go and see some of the sites. Our first stop was downtown LA to check out the new Disney Opera House. Our trip started smoothly with no traffic into downtown, and a few lucky turns leading us right where we were headed. We parked the car in crazy expensive downtown parking and headed over to our destination. We quickly learned that to even enter the building, students had to pay $8, so we tried to make the best of the experience and started exploring the outside garden. After realizing this wouldn’t last long, Meghan and I ran back to the parking lot to retrieve the car before being charged for the next 20 minutes. Although we were a little late, the man was sympathetic and gave us a cheap rate. So, we found a meter spot and began waiting there for all of our party to gather so we could leave.
Once everyone arrived, we decided to put some quarters in the meter to take pictures of the fascinating building. Suddenly, Michael realized he had lost our camera. We searched the car, but Michael decided he had set it down somewhere and took off to find it. By this time, I was a little frustrated, and was doing my best to stay in a chipper mood. I was relaxing in the passenger seat, and Meghan had taken a seat in the back. When Michael got back with the camera, I was relieved. I got out of the car, and as an automatic reaction hit the lock button. After we all stood around the car for a few minutes deciding what we were going to do, Meghan got out of the backseat. I noticed a second too late that I didn’t have my keys, and yelled “NO” just as Meghan slammed the door shut. We were locked out. This is where the fun really begun.
Seeing I was a little flustered, Katie and Michael quickly went looking for help. A police officer and security guard pointed them toward the courthouse to see if we could get help there. Katie returned with no luck—they couldn’t use a slim jim on our car due to liability issues.
I was beginning to panic, and to make things worse, we were running out of change for the meter. Luckily, Michael talked to parking enforcement (who passed by about every 5 minutes), and after telling us they couldn’t help us either, they were understanding of our predicament and agreed to let our expired meter slide.
Katie remembered she had AAA, but had left her wallet at home. She called her mom for all the info, and AAA told her they’d be able to do it as long we could vouch that she was who she claimed to be. Although we all thought we were in the clear, everyone was still murmuring about the fact that those people who are supposed to “protect and serve” us, couldn’t! Michael got so fumed, he decided to go back to the courthouse to try to work his manipulating magic.
Michael returned with good news. He, along with some helpful security guards at the courthouse, had persuaded a sheriff, Officer Penna, to give him a slim jim if AAA didn’t work out for us. Michael threw out a few classic lines like “we’re poor college students” and “my wife’s pregnant” (he also used this one a month later to get out of a ticket) to sway the nice sheriff. Michael also convinced him that he knew how to use a slim jim because he had broken into cars with hangers before.
Well go figure, AAA didn’t work out. The lady on the phone apparently didn’t know what she was talking about. The tow truck man that came to help wouldn’t open our car unless Katie had a picture ID because of, of course, liability. So, Michael once again returned to the court house, hoping the sheriff was still willing to help.
After what Michael described as a rather shady slim jim exchange for his driver’s license, we were closer than ever at getting back into our car. Of course, Michael came to realize that he’s not an expert at breaking into cars like he had claimed to be. Once again, our hopes of getting back into the car began to dwindle. We were very successful at locking the doors over and over, but still hadn’t found the right spot or angle to unlock them. After about five minutes of trying (and strangely no one being suspicious of us trying to break into a car on a busy LA street), and I began asking passing pedestrians if they knew how to use a slim jim. That didn’t really work out either. Finally I heard a high pitched squeal from Michael—he had found the right angle, and unlocked our car at last! We were free!
We all got in the car and drove up the block to drop off the slim jim to our new best friend. Another funny twist—no one at the metal detectors questioned Michael as he handed them the slim jim in order to get past without beeping. Thank you Officer Penna!
Heidi 2004

Shot through the foot and you’re to blame

Shot through the foot and you’re to blame

It was a cold winter night, the year was 1991. MC Hammer was number one on the radio with U cant tough this and the Utah Claw Hair-doo was still in style. A couple of guys on the floor had gotten together to watch a video. Our other floormates were gathered at the weekly floor meeting down the Hallway. Then a guy from Kansas and his friend came in the room to watch the movie with us. One of them was cleaning his colt 45 six shooter. He was making us a little nervous, click, file, look through the “empty” chamber, click, a little oil. I thought of asking him to stop but had a weird feeling that I’d get the gun pointed at me with a click showing me how silly I was, so I didn’t say anything. John, my friend told me later that he had the same vivid feeling as therefore also said nothing. His friend was lying on the floor putting the video in the TV vcr combo. Out of the corner of my eye I heard the loudest noise I’d ever heard, and saw a bright light. It was probably a split second but it seemed like forever before it registered what had happened. “I’ve been shot” were the first words I heard. I then noticed the guy on the floor grabbing his foot. Quick, dial the operator was the next thing I heard (Maybe they don’t have 911 in Kansas). I hit 0, thought for a second and dialed 911. The annoying lady tried to keep me on the line. I told them someone had been shot in the foot near the dorms. She kept tying to get more info and I wasn’t in the mood so I hung up on her. Someone ran down the hallway to tell the younger brother of the guy who’d been shot. “you’re brothers been shot” he said, loud enough for the guys parents to hear. “mom, dad, I’ve got to go, click.” Now the brain trust is in full swing. Let’s get him out of here and take him to the hospital. Just a sec, I thought the hall meeting is still in full swing. I walk up to the open door with a few hey Joe, what’s up, not much I say as I wait till I’m no longer in anyone’s attention and I close the door. I run back to the room, the shoe is removed not but he foot is still in shock and there is only a small circle of blood on his white sock. Where is the bullet, no one knows, is it still in the foot. His brother and I pick him out boy scout chair style and we head out the door hoping not to run into any authority figures. Our small pack heads down the hallway towards the elevator. Two scouts up ahead, the wounded with his carrying squad and someone guarding the rear. Push the elevator call button and luckily get into an empty elevator. Only to be stopped on the second floor. We get a weird look as no one notices the socked foot and the circle of blood. We carry him out through the lobby as the lounge lovers politely ignore us. “Take him to my truck” We walk through the heavy falling snow when a flashlight shines in our eyes, stop right there!, It was of course the man. Put him down right now says the highly intelligent police officer, so we put the coatless victim down in a small snow drift. As the interrogation starts, I ask the officer permission to give the guy my coat, who was shivering by now and still in slight shock. As the ambulance arrives a crowd of a couple hundred has gathered around in time to see me, now shivering I didn’t have a coat by now, being put into the back of a cop car. It was only to give my statement but I knew there would be explaining to do in the ward on Sunday. The next day on campus the rumors started, some guy was shot and is in critical condition, or was it gang related from the Samoan priests quorum from salt lake. The meeting down the hall thought we’d dropped a book really loud, while the dorm across the say said all the windows shook. Amazingly, the bullet passed all the way through his foot, hit solid concrete, bounced off and couldn’t penetrate the carpet again on the way out, not a bone in his foot was broken, and he was walking normally again three weeks later. His friend did have to check his gun in at the front desk. I was mentioned in police beat along with the others guys, as others were present.
Joseph 2004

Saddlebag

Saddlebag
This year I went up to Saddlebag twice. The first time was with mom, dad and Whitney. We took a boat up to the end of Saddlebag and then walked up to Steelhead lake. It was fun until Whitney decided to take off. She started walking really fast and left us. Mom was worried about Whitney. I didn’t worry about her and neither did dad cause it was easy to find the car – you just had to walk to the end of the Lake.
Well, we got back to the car and Whitney wasn’t there. We looked for Whitney for over 2 hours. I cried. Mom and I said a prayer. We were both very upset and worried. Mom and I reported her missing to the ranger station. Dad stayed up at the lake with a bunch of people and were searching for her. They found Whitney and all was well. It was a scary scary time for all of us.
The next time I went up to saddlebag was nicer cause we didn’t lose Whitney cause we didn’t take Whitney. Dad and I went fishing. The only fish I remember catching was a puny one. I had a good time there.
Joshua 2004

Capture the Bear??

Capture the Bear??
Our family was just finishing up dinner around the campfire when we heard hymns being sung in a campsite nearby. All us kids being interested in seeing who was serenading us with such beautiful music moseyed on over to find a bunch of LDS kid waiting to play whatever games we threw their way. J Somehow we all decided on capture the flag. The setting was perfect, two medium sized hills that formed a perfect little valley right in the middle. We divided the teams up and set out on our missions. I was so determined to win the game I staked out a perfect area right up near the flag and sat there for probably 10-15 minutes without moving an inch, if anyone came to take it I would be ready to tag them and bring their sorry selfs to jail. I heard the game being played down below me. Screams and laughs of excitement only made me more steadfast in my task to detain the enemy and win the game. All of a sudden I heard rustling in some bushes nearby, I bolted to the culprit, but surprisingly the perpetrator had been sly enough to pass by me. But how? How could the enemy out run me? ME? This must have pushed me over the edge and turned the crazy switch on in my head and I ran like a madman to protect that which I held so dearly. Nothing was going to stop me from preventing the capture of my precious flag. NOTHING. Running, filled with furry, I ran, ran, ran and then VICTORY WAS MINE! I tagged that who was heading straight to my beloved flag. Then, shouts from the distance turned that crazy switch back to off and I came back to reality. All of a sudden, “BEARS! Bears in the camp!” They must have been shouting this for hours, well, for at least a few minutes…hmmm, maybe seconds…because EVERYBODY except for myself was aware that this culprit that I was so eager to detain was in fact the “bear” that was in the camp…
Krista 2004

What a Coincidence!

What a Coincidence!
We were all laying in the living room on the floor. There was the mom and the dad and all the children. ALL the children would probably include down through Michael but perhaps could have included Krista and Amy as well. I’m pretty sure that the children from the Meghan on down escaped this plague. The WHY of why we were laying on the living room floor escapes me now except that perhaps it was easier to take care of everyone there and the closeness of each other was comforting to us. Were we on the living room floor because it was too hard for us to get out of bed when one of you children needed us? Whatever the reason our entire family was laying on the floor in the living room at Marble Drive – laying there extremely ill – sicker than dogs – at deaths door – plagued by the plague . . . I wish I could find better words to describe the agony. Everyone was vomiting. Everyone was nauseous. Some of us were writhing. And the sick sick parents had to take care of the sick sick children. It was almost last days apocalyptic. Someone viewing the scene might almost await our eye balls to fall from their sockets and for our hair to fall out and to see us with flaming baldness instead of a well kept hair style. Despite the devastating probable influenza which was wiping us out, dad and I had to clean up vomit and diarrhea and try and keep you children clean. I remember at times crawling to the bathroom or crawling over to one of you children to try and render assistance and reassurance.
As we laid there I remember commenting upon the coincidence of getting the flu every year right after Thanksgiving. We had come down with the flu three years ago right after Thanksgiving and the previous year at the very same time. Dad commented that he didn’t think we had the flu. The epiphany of awful truth came charging painfully into my awareness. This was NOT influenza. This was NOT a coincidence. This was salmonella poisoning from the Thanksgiving stuffing. This was salmonella from the raw egg that I always put into the stuffing for a bit of moisture. I’d watched my mother make stuffing. I learned to put in the egg from her – but she always stuffed the turkey with the mixture and cooked it to death. And our barely warmed, three-day-old, kept-in-the-oven stuffing was almost cooking US to death. The parents CAN BE TAUGHT! And it’s never happened again. The egg is gone and the stuffing (Thanksgiving dressing) now goes in to the fridge for safe keeping. I think we could have been at death’s door literally but I think a kind and loving God knowing our earth missions that we all had yet to accomplish wouldn’t let you children croak just because your parents were clueless. And so we writhed in nauseous agony on the living room floor vowing to eliminate the egg and void pseudo influenza in the future. There are no coincidences – things are all a part of a plan – and when it comes to cluelessness – well the Lord has his ways to around it. J
Marsha 2004

Just your average childhood

Just your average childhood
I suppose that I have led a relatively boring life. I suppose this for two reasons really, first, I constantly find myself escaping it to much more interesting worlds created in my head and second because I can’t think of a single interesting story for this years beloved Christmas eve story extravaganza bonanza extraordinaire. So I will tell many. I’m going to attempt to recount the myriad experiences that I had growing up in a sort of random free association format. Consider this a pretty rough draft, (it is Christmas Eve for crying out loud.) Here we go.
Our house itself was an epicenter of activity, from the labyrinth of bush tunnels in the front yard to the secret forest behind our pool. And the back path leading from there to the grass and the climbing tree, which was very near to the hole in the sandbox and just around the corner from there were the feared woodpile full of spiders and beehive full of, well, bees of course. All these things added up to endless hours of imagining and playing. Mike and I were particularly fond of climbing up on the roof and throwing our cabbage patch kids off and jumping after them. Aaron introduced me to his secret club of sorts under the house where our clay creations (mined from the sandbox area) could exist in silent solitude. We also explored the attic at great lengths.
Inside the house I spent much of my time creating lego masterpieces and other pieces of art. And let’s not forget the ever popular sport of balcony diving. I was never too good at that though.
Just up the street were the Joneses. I spent a lot of my time there playing with Richard. He came along on a lot of my adventures. Including muscle men in his sandbox and power rings made of Barry’s bakery white bread. Our last great adventure together was us staying up late popping caps across the street and both thinking that we were going to get into so much trouble for being out so late. That was actually the end of all these adventures because that was my last night in that house.
In the near vicinity were the new houses. Which afforded us with many exploration runs finding knotholes and for me the incredible little foam sticky things on new windows. There was also a tree house in that area that we worked on and around which I seem to have found a very old penny. There were also dirt mounds to ride our bikes on. That was fun until I managed to fly through the air and land underneath my bike.
That was all east of the house, just to the west was a little trail that served as a shortcut to 7-eleven and all the treasures therein. Fun-dip, big league chew, cherry-clan, Alexander the grape, lemon-heads, and who could forget garbage pail kids gum.
A little further west was hiking at black diamond mines, also known in my world as the shire and other parts of middle earth, I never saw a hobbit but I just knew they were there. After all, treebeard was there and so were many mineshafts that must have lead to a flaming balrog eventually. The Manhattan canyon trails, ridge trail, star mine loop were all good trails. It was also quite fun roasting our dinner at the swallows’ nests.
These are just the memories of home growing up. All the camping trips to MacKerriker and Saddlebag and Red’s will have to wait for another reminiscing session.
Matthew 2004

Meghan and Emily

Meghan and Emily
Being a part of this family we all know that Emily and I had our rough beginnings, but eventually they turned into a valued friendship. When I got home this year Emily and I began reminiscing on a few choice memories of our adventures together, so I decided for this year, to write a few of them down.
One, two, three….fifty-seven. One, two, three….fifty-eight. One, two, three…fifty-seven. After counting the stars on my ceiling for a half hour, I decided that it was time to do something else. It was just a normal school night and I was very bored. I moseyed around the house looking for something to entertain myself with. I saw Emily doing nothing like myself, so with a flare of adventure in my eye, I recommended we go jogging together. Mom and Dad were headed off to a church meeting, so we made sure to wait until they were gone. We started out all well and good, getting a pretty good workout, jogging down creek road. We went through Pulte homes and took a left on Balfour so we could jog home up Fairview. Well, as we rounded the corner onto Fairview, we saw some houses in the making and decided to go explore. We went to a partially finished house and walked around on the wood floors and through the wood walls. We then discovered the construction workers stash of beer bottles and Juaritos. We stacked them up and had a good bowling game with them.
After messing around in the house for some time, we chilled on its roof for a bit and then walked out to the construction sites. There we found some very tall piles of saw dust and climbed on top of them. We had a good ole time surfing and rolling down them. After this lost its savor we went back out to Fairview and continued to jog home. After a bit of that we stumbled upon an overflowing sprinkler. It was in a little valley surrounded by hills of grass. It had flooded so much that there was now a little pool about four feet high. It looked too fun to resist…Em and I stripped off our socks and shoes and took a little swim. It was so fun having nice soft grass under our toes, so we played there for a good while. We stumbled out of our little pool after some time and continued to walk home.
We now had our shoes in hand and thought it would be fun to sing at the top of our lungs and loose our voices. We busted out with Joy to the world and took turns singing, “If I was the king of the world, tell you what I’d do” Then we’d fill it in with whatever we’d do. We then heard some lady yelling at us from her porch. We looked up the hill and she just kept yelling but we just kept singing. We then saw a little guard winding his way down the hill after us. We got a bit scared and took off running. We slipped through a gate of the golf course and continued running. We then thought it best to hide out in a sand trap. As we were laying there another guard in a golf cart was driving right by us and we heard a radio saying that two young girls had disturbed the peace and had then escaped by running onto the golf course, a few more things were said and it turned out that now this guard was searching for us! Once he had passed and was out of site Emily and I thought it would be fun to make sand castles! We molded and crafted some sweet little mounds, Emily’s turned out rather phallic so we had a good laugh about it. We then made our mark by drawing our names in the sand with a huge rake. Now we decided it was time to make a break for it. As we were sneaking around James Bond style the same guard started to roll up and over his loud speaker told us to stop, we weren’t about to do that, so we took off running. As we were running I swiped a CARTS sign and Emily yoinked a huge flag. Both of which still reside in her room. The guard continued to chase us down but we jumped the fence and high tailed it out of there. When we got to our road we slowed down and smiled to ourselves hoping mom and dad weren’t home to see our new treasures. As it turned out they were still at their meeting….sigh, Safe! A few weeks latter Emily, mom, and I were hanging out in Em’s room and mom inquired about the 7 foot flag. Emily and I just smiled at each other and told her it was nothing.
Cows
Over the past years Emily and I have driven around our fair share, and being a nature fan, I always gaze out at the rolling hills around Brentwood. One day I noticed a very cute little baby cow, “Emily, look at the whittle cow!” Emily turned to look, “AHHHHHHH, SICK!” Turns our as soon as she looked she saw a big bull mount the cute momma cow right next to the baby cow. This wasn’t a one time occurrence folks. It happened quite often to Emily! I’d always see a cute little cow and soon as Emily looked, she’s see it being mounted by a not so cute bull! In fact, she saw this happen on our trip to the light house the other day! Lucky girl!
Wind Mill
Yet again, Emily and I were bored and decided to go mosh around on the Four-Wheeler. It was raining and perfect for having a good time. We drove it over to creek road and were going through the orchards and having a jolly old time. Well, we stumbled upon a field that had a huge Wind Mill in the middle of it. It was very dreary looking with the gray stormy clouds and the wind thrashing it back and forth, so of course we decided to climb it! We walked to the base of it and stared up and this 50 foot edifice with wide eyes, as lightning shot across the sky. I looked at Emily and dared her to go first. She said only if came right after, so we began the journey. The way to the top was this teeny tiny latter measuring less than a foot wide. Shaking with fear Emma made it to the top. Once there she freaked out and clung tightly onto the middle of the not so sturdy wind mill. I decided to go up and help her out, only to freak out myself! We were on the top of a huge chunk of rusted metal that was oscillating due to the wind while lightning flashed all around us. We decided it best that we live past our very young ages, and slowly climbed down the latter. We hopped back on the four-wheeler and headed back home.
Sleepovers
Emily has the power like no one else to make me laugh, especially when we should be sleeping! This one time Em, whit, and I were having a sleep over in the library. I had started to doze off, but Em and Whit were still chatting. Whitney randomly said, “I think Simba is a very attractive lion, don’t you?” Emily replied, “I think he looks like a Gerbil!” I found it somewhat funny so being half asleep I merely laughed a bit through my nose, more like a loud exhale, but apparently it was the funniest thing that had ever happened and Emily spazmed into laughter. She was laughing so hard that Whitney and I couldn’t help but join in. We then continued to laugh for hours. We calm down for a bit, but then Emily’s sweet laugh would strike up again and we would all join in. This has happened to Emily and me a number of times, over the simplest things, we get going, and we can’t stop!
Telepathy
I was sleeping in Emily’s room on a Saturday night and was wondering when that little girl was going to get home from her church dance. Well, she moseyed in around 12 and got into bed. I asked her how her night went and she proceeded to tell me how much fun she’d had, especially dancing with a certain boy. We stopped chatting, and as I was half asleep I started randomly singing a song. I thought it very odd due to the fact that I hadn’t heard this particular song since 7^th grade, and I had no clue why I had started singing in the first place! I then noticed a wide eyed Emily staring at me. “What?” I inquired…Emily cautiously said, “Why did you start singing that song?” I replied, “I have no clue, I haven’t heard it forever, weird huh?” She then continued to tell me that she was still wide awake thinking about this boy, and was just then reviewing the song they had danced to, and it was the very song I had randomly started to sing, and furthermore, I had picked up the song at exactly the place she was at! We flipped out and then proceeded to try and read each other’s minds for the next couple hours, and with no success finally dozed off to sleep.
Well, I hoped you enjoyed Emily and my silly little mishaps, there are a million more, but I’m sure you’re attention spans are tiring, and so is mine while typing this, so Merry Christmas and I love you all!
Meghan 2004

Summer 2004

Summer 2004
For all of you that have ever sold anything door-to-door you understand how fun it can be. The only up side of door-to-door sales is sometimes you meet some interesting people. This summer I met some winners but I would have to say that the most interesting person I met was super patriotic man. Or super anti-terrorist man.
It was afternoon and I was ready for a lunch break. My co-worker was still smoothing a deal over with this soccer mom so I headed towards the care. On my way I came up on a man in his driveway working on one of those bikes you ride in the reclining position. Since I like bicycling and have always wanted to try out one of those bikes I asked the guy why he liked this type of bike opposed to the conventional upright bikes. In a tone that sounded like he wanted me to die a horrible death for bothering him he said that every time you get in a car you are funding the Gosh Darn terrorists and that he has been riding bikes since the 70’ s and is a true patriot and doesn’t want to fund the Gosh Darn terrorists. I told that he was probably right, but I still wanted to know the benefits of that type of bike so I rephrased my question so that he couldn’t mistake it. Once again he went off on terrorists and couldn’t understand why I would drive a car anywhere, unless I absolutely love terrorists. I was a bit confused at his replies but decided to walk away instead of press the issue. Super anti-terrorist man had won that battle and hopefully he wins the war.
So if any of you see a person riding one of these weird looking reclined bikes you don’t need to ask them why they prefer those bikes. It’s simply because they hate terrorist.
Michael 2004

San Francisco

San Francisco
When I was about 10-years-old, yep, my teacher’s at Turner-Highlands school asked me if I wanted to go on a field trip. I said, “yes”. But the reason that I said yes, was that on one of my other field trips earlier on, I played on a swing and had fun on a swing and I thought that this new field trip would be the same and that I’d get to swing on a swing. And I thought it might happen again. But when I found out that I was really was going to go to San Francisco on a field trip – well I hated being at San Francisco so much that I freaked out when I learned that the field trip was going to be there. I got frustrated and so on. The reason that I didn’t like being at San Francisco was that I didn’t like looking back and seeing a little kid at the time like at the old school that I attended at San Francisco for instance. But then later on when we went as a family to San Francisco, I was unhappy at the time. I just wish I would have stayed home by myself instead of going. I just wanted to move on with my life to something new – like being at Marble Drive and at Turner Highlands school even better, I wished I was at Sutter School with my brother Joseph. Yep. And besides that it would have been closer to home than Turner Highlands school. But then later on I didn’t mind being at San Francisco so much and by the time I was twelve, I didn’t mind being at San Francisco at all. I just didn’t feel a bit bad. I just didn’t want to look back and remember being at the old school in San Francisco when I was little. One thing bad about being at school in San Francisco was that I wanted to stay home and be with my family, especially with my dad when I was four. When I was ten I didn’t like looking back and being reminded of being at school in San Francisco is all. But then later on when I was twelve I didn’t mind it a bit or feel upset in the least when we would go to San Francisco. One thing that I did like about San Francisco was all of the tall buildings.
And that’s my story.
David 2004

“FRENCH” KISS

“FRENCH” KISS
I had never been out of the country before and had only been on an airplane twice (from Boise to Denver and back), so when my parents told me they were taking a trip to Europe with my little sister I snuck into one of their suitcases and got myself a free ride.
The first stop was Paris, France. Ah Paris, the city of love and romance. At least that is what all the books and movies tell you. You just can’t leave Paris without getting a little lovin’ from a frenchy Frenchman (as Matthew likes to call them). There were plenty to choose from but I wanted to make sure it was the right one. I wanted it to be perfect, an unforgettable. (Do you honestly believe that’s what I was thinking?)
Our journey began and I was keeping a good eye out for my Frenchman. I searched for him at Notre Dame’, but decided that the gargoyles just didn’t provide the right ambiance. The Eiffel Tower was really putting the vibes out but my parents caught them before I could (ewhh gross). The Arc de Triomphe was surrounded by little Asians, not a Frenchman to be seen. At least I couldn’t see one with all of the flashes from their cameras. I even went out in the country to Versailles hoping to find some royal frenchy, but the only ones I could find were dead or statues. So, it was back to the city. I checked the Louvre, the Colonne de Vendôme, Le Sacre Coeur, La Sainte Chepelle, Invalides, and the Pompidou but to no avail. I was on the prowl every time we walked through a park, got on the métro and in every café we stopped to eat in. We were nearing the end of our stay in the city of Love and I had not yet fulfilled my dream. I was pretty down in the dumps when our taxi came to pick us up and take us to the airport (for the 2^nd time). I stared out the window as we passed all the sights where I had hoped to find my “French” kiss, and a single tear slid down my cheek (was it from sadness or the strong smell of our taxi driver, who knows). Little did I know that my dream would yet come true.
The Charles de Gaulle International Airport was probably the filthiest place I had ever been and it was full of people who had not bathed in months and had probably never owned a toothbrush. (I may be exaggerating a little, but it still gives me the shivers just thinking about it. This is how 99% of all Europeans are so you shouldn’t have been so surprised.) We were stuck on the outskirts with all the bums for a couple of hours until we could go through the gate to board our flight. We had too much luggage to wander around so we tried to find ourselves a place to crash. As we walked past this one guy I was so surprised by him that I got nervous and smiled at him. He was a big black man with dirty dread locks and about ten 12oz. cans of beer at his feet. I was about 9 feet away from him and I could smell his cologne. It smelled a lot like urine and beer (Why do you think they call it eau de’ toilette?) We didn’t have any luck finding a seat in the direction we were headed so we turned around and went back the way we had come. There he was again, this time he was smiling at me with his ten teeth. I just kept my eyes forward and held my breath.
We finally found an empty table where we could sit for a bit and kill time. My dad and little sister went for a walk to get out of the smoke laden air and I tried to escape the filth around me with John Grisham. My mom was keeping an eye on all of our stuff because she was convinced that someone was going to try and steal it. She called me back to reality for a moment so that I could move our stuff behind us. She had spotted a suspicious character who seemed to be eyeing our belongings. When she pointed him out I had the feeling he wasn’t ogling the luggage as much as he was me. It was that stinky Frenchman again. After some dry heaves I delved back into my John Grisham to evade his stare.
My mom was mumbling something about my dad and sister when I noticed a pair of cowboy boots sauntering towards me. Oh, the deaf guy must be coming to pick up the trinket he left on our table for us to buy. (This is why some European nations claim to have near 100% employment). This story is gripping. Why is my dad breathing on my cheek? Did he just kiss me?

“Go AWAY you! GO AWAY,” yelled my mom.
Aaaaagh it’s the scary man! I just stared in horror as he licked his lips, touched my face and gave me his bedroom eyes.
My mom grabbed the old man at the next table. “Tell him to go away. He’s touching my daughter. I want him to go away!” But everyone just stared at us wondering what the two crazy American ladies were doing.
As soon as the strength came back into my body I managed to push him away and tell him to GO!
Confused and heart broken (probably very drunk) he left with his tail between his legs, confused as to why I had not fallen for his dashing good looks and charm.
We were still in shock and shaking with adrenalin when my dad and sister finally showed up. My mother recounted the story and made my Dad promise he would never leave us alone again. We took refuge in the corner of the cafeteria from all the weirdoes and the smoke as we continued to wait for our plane. After I finished my dinner I went to put away my tray and who do you think I saw when I turned the corner. Yep, you guessed it! My handsome Frenchman was passed out on a table. I dropped the tray and ran.
Finally, it was time for us to board our flight and finish the rest of our vacation in the enchanting hills of Ireland. As the plane took off I stared out the window and watched the city of love and romance vanish along with the hope of ever forgetting my “French” kiss. The movies and books are right when they say you’ll never forget your time in Paris. I never will!
Bethany 2004

CRAZY CRAZY

CRAZY CRAZY
All right, so I am pretty sure most of you have heard this story, but not much happens to me that is really out of the ordinary, so here it goes again:
It happened a year ago, June 2003. It was my last night working at Gottschalk’s before going home for the summer to help dad out while Cheryl was on yet another vacation… Most of you probably don’t know, but Gottschalk’s is a horrible company to work for. If you aren’t underpaid, you are overworked, etc. Well, I was both. And on this particular evening I was closing the Juniors Dept. by myself… as usual. And me, being the good little employee that I was, really wanted to leave the department organized for my last day in that hellhole. So I was running around like crazy cleaning up after all the lazy pigs that shopped there. Anyway, while I was folding some clothes on the cash register desk, I noticed some awkward looking guy just kinda standing around in the department. At first I thought he was a little odd, but what was I thinking? This was Gottschalk’s and weird people were all over… and besides, there were two obnoxious women, too large for our clothes but in denial, in the fitting room, and one, I thought, may be his wife. So back to work. Being the observant person that I am, I was always pretty aware of the goings on of the department and noticed this guy was still hanging around and every time that I would turn around, he would make it a point to get behind me. So I thought I would call security and tell them to keep an eye out. BUT THIS IS GOTTSCHALK’S and security was on a break. You like that? On a break. So whatever, back to work. Anyway, 15 minutes prior to closing the operator makes an announcement that we will be closing, and to grab your crap and please leave, or something to that effect. So I busied myself with closing procedures. I began to fold the tables right by the register and noticed a figure out of the corner of my eye. I turned to ask this person if I could help them in any way. Haha, it turns out it was the crazy guy… and in fact this pervert did think I could help him with something as he grabbed my left arm a hung on for dear life while in his right hand…..hmmmm, how shall I put this will younger listeners…. He was doing naughty things with himself. His pants and all were around his ankles and he had a CRAZY CRAZY, like I am WAY on drugs and nuts look in his eye. Anyway, I sorta froze at this point because I didn’t want to go kickin’ his junk and causing him to get really angry. You see, I heard people on hard core drugs don’t feel much in the way of pain. And I stupidly assumed that at this point security would be off their break and would see through the cameras what was going down. They ALWAYS have a camera facing our registers so I figured they would be there in any minute. So I just kinda stood there in shock. Well, I guess this dude thought better of all of this in the MIDDLE of a freaking retail store, and so he decided it would be better to continue outside. So he started pulling me through the jeans in route to the door that leads to the dark, narrow ally between the two shopping centers. Now I was not about to let this happen so I wrenched my arm from his grip and ran to the phone to call 911. Which did not work, because you have to dial a 9, then 911 to get out. So dumb. And I was a little freaked so my Amy brain was not functioning properly. Anyway, while I am finally on the phone with security, this guy runs out the ally door with his pants around his ankles and disappears. So security calls the cops and I was impressed, they actually got there within 20 minutes or so! Wow, lazy pigs. Anyhow, So three of these retards come in to question me and get an ID of this guy. So I give them a very accurate description of this dude. Tall, dark longer hair, surfer look, about 35…etc. They then wanted me to describe EXACTLY what happened. What they guy said, etc. THEN! Then the cop asks… “Well, what were you doing?” Like I provoked the pervert. I was livid but remained cooperative…because they wanted to get my contact information so in case they found him, I could ID him. At this point I was more than irritated that they were taking so freaking long to get all this information rather than actually being cops and trying to go find this guy who was probably finishing what he started somewhere nearby. Anyway, so the cop asks my name… I tell him “Amy Nielsen”… and then he asked for my middle name. I told him I don’t have a middle name. And the turd looks at me like I am stupid and says, “You don’t have a middle name?” And I said “No.” So STUPID. And then he asks for my phone numbers, etc, and then wants my cell phone number. Well, at that point I didn’t have one. So, I told him “I Don’t Have ONE!” And then this IDIOT replies, “You are telling me a girl your age doesn’t have a cell phone?” And I said….”YES” He then says, “You understand that it is a crime to withhold information from a questioning officer?” Holy crap, are you kidding me? Who is the criminal? Protect and serve right? Anyway, so finally they were done, and I got to leave. And no, they never called me to say they caught him, they were probably too busy making arrangements to go to Starbucks to even do anything about it
Amy 2004

First Grade

First Grade
First grade. I was so excited. No more half days of school. No more sitting on the ground in a circle. I finally got a chair of my own. I got to put my own pencils, crayons, and glue in my own desk. Hot lunch! What could be a better time in a kid’s life? I waited all summer before first grade for the day when that little paper would come in the mail and tell me who my new teacher would be. And finally, one day, it did. Mrs. Sweet. Didn’t the name sound great? I was so excited to meet her! She was a new teacher at my school that year. I just knew she would be just like her name.
I had butterflies in my stomach all morning as I got ready for school that first day. I wanted to look my best so Mrs. Sweet would like me. My mom drove me to school and walked me to my new classroom. I gazed around the room, and there she was. Mrs. Sweet! Well, to be honest, she wasn’t quite what I had pictured. She was not pretty at all and wore glasses. I was sort of disappointed. But, being the mature first grader that I was, I would wait till I had met and got to know her to make any final judgments.
School was almost as great as I thought it would be. I loved my desk and everything in it. Did you know that if you stuck a crayon in your Elmer’s glue and shook it up everyday, and then put it back in your desk till the next day, it would change the color of the crayon? I learned that in the first grade. I also learned how important it was to have all those cool folders my mom let me pick out. We would build a sort of wall around our own desks to ensure that no one would copy off our homework. There were cheaters back then too, you know. And just about the best part of the day was lunchtime. I loved it! My favorite meal was taco salad. It was the best. I loved how we all got our own carton of milk and we could choose if we wanted regular or chocolate. I always chose chocolate you know. I also really liked lunch time because we had to sit in alphabetical order. I got to sit by Jamie Hageman, which was great because I had a big crush on him.
Well, I think my problems in the first grade all began because of Jamie Hageman. Every month or so, Mrs. Sweet would change the seating chart. I was pleased when I finally got put next to Jamie. I was a pretty shy kid, but I wanted Jamie to like me, and in order to do that, I had to talk. So talk I did, until one day my name was spoken loudly. “Sarah.” Uh oh. That was Mrs. Sweet talking and she didn’t sound pleased. “You are supposed to be working and not talking.” Then she walked over to the chalk board and put my name on it. She had the gall to put my name up next to all the bad kids’ names. I was so humiliated. How could she do this to me? Maybe Mrs. Sweet wasn’t quite as sweet as I had expected.
Time went on and I mostly got over having my name on the board. I was a happy little kid and still loved everything about first grade. I especially liked when we had work sheets to do at home. I remember a particular time when I had homework and the girl up the street, Maggie was babysitting me. I looked everywhere for something to write with to do my homework. To this very day, you can still not find a writing utensil in that home! Well, I finally found one of those old school yellow pens that writes in yellow ink. I wrote my name on my homework and began. Maggie, who was in the fifth grade, came over to me and asked if she could help. I told her no, that I could do it. She continued to pester me until I finally gave in and let her do my work. I thought nothing of it until the next day when I turned it in. Mrs. Sweet called me to her desk. Uh oh. What now? She somehow knew that I had not done my own work and called me on it. Great, now Mrs. Sweet thought I was a trouble maker and that I was dumb. This year was not turning out how I had planned.
Every winter in Aurora is so cold and snowy. As a kid, I loved it. I loved to get out of school and walk home in the snow. One particular afternoon, I walked around the corner of my school to head for home and POW! a snowball with a rock in it hit me right in the eye. It started to swell even as I ran back to tell Mrs. Sweet. I knocked on the door till she answered it. I told her what had happened and was waiting for her to feel so bad for me. Instead, she told me to go home and my mom would take care of it. I was so crushed. I cried the whole way home; not only from the pain in my eye, but the pain of being rejected by Mrs. Sweet. I hope she felt guilty every time she looked into my huge black eye!
It was always funny. Every time I brought paper work home for my mom to fill out, and it asked for the name of my teacher, she always put, “Mrs. S W E A T.” That’s right, Mrs. Sweat. She’s not the best speller. Luckily she or my dad would always catch it and they would laugh. I didn’t think it was funny though. That was my teacher they were laughing about, and for some odd reason, I was still loyal to her. Until one day. From the very beginning of school that day, I wasn’t feeling very well. I told Mrs. Sweet and asked if I could go see the nurse. She said, “No, not right now. Wait till after math time.” So I did. Well, math time came and went and I was feeling sicker. I asked again. And again I was rejected and told to wait till after lunch time. I did. Lunch came, I drank my chocolate milk, and then we got back to class. I was feeling even sicker now. I told Mrs. Sweet and again she told me I was fine and to wait till after reading time in the library. I did. I was so sick I couldn’t even listen to Mrs. Hadden, the librarian, (who was not a nice lady herself) read us a story. When we got back to our classroom, I didn’t even sit in my chair. I ran over to Mrs. Sweet who standing in the doorway, and I shouted, “I’m gonna be sick!” And I was. I threw up chocolate milk all over Mrs. Sweet’s ugly shoes. She looked like she was ready to throw up herself. She ran me to the nurse. Along the way, I threw up three more times. Take that Mrs. Sweet. Maybe if you had let me go to the nurse when I asked first, you’d still have clean shoes!
On the last day of school, we all got to take a picture with Mrs. Sweet to always remember her. I didn’t think I would have problems forgetting Mrs. Sweet. Anyways she pasted the picture on a piece of construction paper and wrote a little note to each of us. On my card, she wrote, “Remember the happy times.” Remember the happy times? What the heck was that supposed to mean. It’s like she thought I was some depressed old lady. Hello, I was six, and up till then, I had never had a bad day in my life, nor met someone I didn’t like! What psycho teacher!
First grade was mostly what I expected. Overall it was great; I had green glue, my own, private desk, and yummy lunch every day. Mrs. Sweat was the bummer of the first grade. Sadly, I think she didn’t end up teaching at Dartmouth Elementary for very many years.
Sarah 2004

Scrawny Chicken Wreck

Scrawny Chicken Wreck

It took a while for my muddled mind to filter all the information. I guess it’s quite a handy thing you know, when everything goes into slow motion in times like these, or else you’d never know what’s happened. You’re going too fast! – This is how my subconscious mind interpreted the jumble of signals thrown at it. My eyes registered images of big rocks ahead on the old dirt road getting bigger and closer and much too quickly. Tactile signals came from the millions of nerve endings that were registering an increase in the rate of sweat evaporation causing a slight cooling sensation on my sweaty skin. My ears registered the increasing velocity of the wind whistling by. My equilibrium sent word that it was not exactly level and that the situation was getting worse. It took a while to filter the danger signals from the others being crammed up into my brain, hunger from my empty stomach, a head ache, thirst, a very dry mouth, pain from a hard bike seat, fatigue from legs that had been peddling all day, and some horrid itch under my collar, shredded from one too many washings. Despite all the signals I was oblivious to my subconscious minds dilemma, its frantic filtering of danger signals from the standard fast Sunday on a bumpy dirt road in 100° humid heat. My conscious mind was currently wondering what we would do with such a scrawny chicken...
The nepa-hut was built on stilts due to the frequent flooding of the river. In an old rattan chair under the house in the shade sat an old nearly toothless man surrounded by a few boxes, chicken cages, and odds and ends. The river was a good hundred yards away but the land was flat with little to no levies to hold in the river. The Warding meeting house was still a few miles down the road about the same distance from the river; actually the building was just an unfinished cement home, with a big name tag on it, that we were using for branch meetings. It was a good area, though far away from town, but that’s probably one of the reasons I liked it. We only made it out there once a week on Sunday’s to conduct the church services. I liked to make a whole day of it, leaving early and meeting people along the road and giving a discussion or two when we could. So that’s how we found this old man one day, hiding from the sun, eating a big bag of raw peanuts that must have been dug up earlier that morning. We sat ourselves on our haunches and began to talk to him. He offered his peanuts; and we ate and talked. We were able to teach him the first discussion and scheduled the second for the next Sunday when we’d be back. As we were about to leave he asked us to wait while he ran back behind some boxes and filled us a big bag of peanuts and wished us well. A week had gone by but you wouldn’t’ve known it, we found the man just where we’d left him eating peanuts in the shade under his nepa-hut. Again he offered some to us though I declined as it was Fast-Sunday but my companion, not wanting to offend the man, gladly accepted and began filling his chubby cheeks. We didn’t get to the second discussion but instead read some sections from the Book of Mormon, asking him to pray about it and said we’d talk with him again the following Sunday. As we were about to leave he asked us once again to wait as he ran behind the house. I remember thinking he was making quite a ruckus for bagging peanuts, there was the sound of clutter being dropped to the ground as he rummaged through a box or two. When he came back around the corner he didn’t have a bag of peanuts at all but a scrawny chicken dangling upside-down, its legs tied together with some plastic twine. As scrawny as the chicken was I’d known it was his very best one. We told him it wasn’t necessary, we taught discussions for free, he insisted, we accepted, and I, being the better bike rider, found myself bumping down the rocky dirt trail with one hand on my handlebars and the other dangling the chicken by its feet. There wasn’t much meat on the bird and I was thinking that maybe we could fatten it up a little before we ate it. My companion was thinking that if we got home a little before nine that evening he could have a little ihaw-ihaw (barbeque) chicken before bed. First a bag of peanuts now a chicken, I wonder what the old man had hidden it the boxes for the next discussion. My companion was drooling over thoughts of marinade, the skinny little chicken becoming a splendid feast to his imagination. We left Warding early as the chicken make it hard to tract. The dirt road intercepted a paved highway in a few miles, which would make the ride a little easier. But first we had to peddle through a shallow stream that leads to the river. I was coasting down the hill toward the water, when the you’re going to fast! warning intruded into my conscious mind. I dint pay much attention, I had a chicken to worry about.
Do Something! – This is what my subconscious concluded was necessary and since I was busy with chicken thoughts it had to act on its own. My hands instinctively tightened the right hand on the brake lever, the left angering the chicken that began flapping its wings wildly. Good! It’s working, you’re slowing down. – My subconscious was happy with it’s self for the split second it took for the front tire to lock against one of those big rocks and the rear tire to lift up into the air. This is when things began to slow down; I used this time to wonder what we’d do with the chicken. My equilibrium was sending all kinds of signals that were interpreted as Wow, this is odd and Up is the other way BuckO, as I slid off the seat and straddled the cross bar with a thud on my way to the ground. Wow, you really do see stars, and then everything went black…
We had one baptism in the area while I was there, which was fun. There was no font so the baptisms were done in the river. Well, the river decided to flood on the day of the baptism so we waded toward the river until we were waist deep in water. We made a small clearing in the rice field and conducted the baptism, by the next week it was dry ground again.
…and then things still black I began to hear distant splashing of water and desperate shouts… my mouth was full of dirt and I could taste blood… my ears were ringing… it started to get brighter and something began to come into focus…it was my bike tire, still spinning... I was on my stomach my back arched and tangled in the bike…there was my shoe over in the reeds by the stream…the distant splashing grew louder and I saw my companion dart past me in a panic thinking his dinner was going to get away…he was wet and muddy from head to toe…I was quite comfortable and didn’t try to move until the pain started to kick in. By the time I untangled myself and was lying on my back collecting strength to stand up, my companion had caught the chicken and was coming back toward me with a relieved grin on his face. He waited for me to get up put on my shoe and brush my self off before he handed back the chicken. We made it to the highway and the ride was smoother though the black pavement reflected a lot more heat than the dirt road. The paved road also added the necessity to weave in and out of patches of rice being dried here and there. I rode most of the way back with no hands, the one being used to hold the chicken the other to wipe the sweat off my brow. We tied the chicken to a tree in our yard, took some quick showers, and went back out to work. When we finally got home for the evening we went out to get our chicken but to our dismay it was gone. I was quiet sure that it pecked through the plastic twine we used to tie it up but my companion was convinced that one of our neighbors stole it and was eating it at that very moment. We opened a can of sardines and ate it over cold rice for dinner.
The next week we found the old man eating peanuts under his house sheltered from the rain. He asked how we liked the chicken and we both looked at each other smiled and said it was masarap talaga! (really delicious).  And I'm sure it was for whoever or whatever ate it.

~Aaron 2004