Monday...wash

For much longer than one childhood, every Monday was the day Mother did the laundry. She would gather up all the clothes on a sheet on the living room floor, grab the edges and bundle it all up, Santa-like. If she had been a little kid with a gigantic nose and the sheet had been a huge handkerchief with a big stick through the bundle, she would have looked a lot like Snoopy running away from home, and it's possible she had those thoughts.

However, Mother didn't go too far. She trudged "across the yard" to Grandma Rice's basement to use her wringer washer. (It probably seemed a lot longer walk to her, since she was the one carrying the huge bundle.) She would transport the bundle down the stairs and start sorting the laundry into piles: white, lights, mediums, darks, then levis/coveralls.

Meanwhile, she filled up the washer with some Borax soap and water, then filled the two big metal sinks with clear water. The washer water was probably warm and the two rinse sinks cold. She would start with the all-white clothing, like blouses etc. She'd let them agitate a bit, then reach into the washer with a wooden stick and snare a piece of clothing, sort of like fishing, but without the fun.

There was a trick to shoving the clothes through the wringer part on top of the washer without causing it to come offline and mash a button, or your finger. In lieu of bleach, there was a liquid called "bluing" that you can still buy today, but nobody probably does, because a cup of it would "do" for probably thirty years minimum. It somehow either bleached a bit or just put a slight blue touch on the whites that made them look beyond normal white. I know Grandma used to use it in her hair as well, for that very white color.

After she ran a batch of clothes through the wringer, she put the clothes in the rinse tub, rinsed them around by hand and then ran them back through the washer to get out any soap left over. The whole thing is a bit confusing because we did not put ourselves out much by helping her do all this. (Pauline & Lorraine may recollect differently.) Then she started on the "lights" and finished on the "darks".

Sometime, after a batch or two was done, she dumped it all in the lined apple basket to carry over to hang out on the lines strung across the back of the yard for just that reason. Those wooden clothes pins were really used as clothes pins back then, so the laundry wouldn't blow away or fall off the line into the dirt. Sometimes we would hang out a load or two for her. In the winter, she did all the hanging out on the line. No need for us all to get our fingers all arthritic when she was so skilled at it.

Then she had to drain the washer, rinse down the sinks and make sure no water had escaped too far on the floor towards the water heater. All of this had to be done, of course, as fast as possible so as to be sure she had time to go prepare us a huge dinner.

In the winter the clothes would freeze-dry on the line before they were brought into the house to be put on racks or around the house to further dry. By the end of the day, the clothes were all cleaned and as dry as possible for tomorrow, TUESDAY...

Like Mother, Like Son

Kyle and I were sitting at the kitchen table a couple of nights ago. I was concentrating hard on making a birthday card for my granddaughter. Kyle was eating, or maybe texting.

Anyway, I asked him about something and he said, "Mom, you just asked me about that." I said, "No, I didn't." He said, "Yes, you did." I said, "No way, Jose."

In the next breath, he asked "Where's Swirl?" I said, "You just let her out a minute ago." He said, No, I didn't." I said "Yes, you did."

He opened the door and there she was ready to come back inside.

We were like Laurel and Hardy. It was a veritable human stalemate. Hopefully it's not too serious if we can laugh about it, right?

Maybe the new furnace is putting out too much carbon dioxide or something.

Speaking in Tongues

...or with tongues, or something...

Had a bit of computer trouble when I changed from one provider to another, such as the internet wouldn't connect, the DVD and CD drivers quit working, and the closed captioning on the tv didn't acknowledge off. Kyle was the more motivated of us two at the time, so I left it up to him to find a solution.

He gave it a few ineffectual tweeks, then called his computer-wise brother, Vince. He even bribed him with food. While Vince was working on it, one of Kyle's friends came over, Nick somebody. He's good at computers as well so pitched in to help. I'm not kidding about them speaking an entirely different language.

To me it sounded like: "Dude, have you tried hooking up the abcdkp245 cord to the modenality split? Google the website fix anything for the yada yada systems of the extreme sync connection gizmos and type in parallelay digitalis forum. Have you tried the variation on the easy tubular diagnostic phlanges? CD's are obsolete, no kiddin."

Something like that, anyway. They kept that up for probably half an hour at least, while they kept interspersing comments about how really nice it was to talk to somebody who understood tech support issues without having to have everything explained. I suspect they were possibly referring to other people present in the room. I did my own support of the techs and stayed on the couch reading a book and not trying to "help" them; any comments I made caused them to start chuckling, anyway..

Until we can contact Comcast Monday about a glitch in the motorola box thingey and/or the 50-button remote, I'll get along with the closed captioning which is in huge letters that vary from the top of the screen to the bottom and back. It's quite distracting, but it's ok, because not having watched tv much at all for a year, the whole thing is so IN YOUR FACE!! that I had to turn it off after a bit, anyway. It felt like an assault, and that was just the Home & Garden Channel.

I'm a simple person and am just happy to have the internet again. We will aim for the CD player repair and the captioning issues another day...Monday. I'll have Kyle take care of that, too.

I'm too old to care to learn a foreign language.

"It was a Dark and Stormy Night..."

Thursday after work, I drove up to Clifton. The weather has been bad since before Christmas, so I have been waiting to take Mother her Christmas pajamas and the memorial book about Dad.

Now, I spent almost two decades living in a small country town and was always comfortable being there, but you forget stuff over time...like how really dark nights are without the lights of the city. I noticed it around Brigham, and it became directly obvious as I drove up Sardine Canyon. By the time I passed Richmond, it was stone cold black out there. Coming over the hill from Dayton into Clifton, there is a long lonely stretch as well, and my only thought was "I just wanna be home." Less than a mile later, there it was.

I've missed my Dad these last several weeks, but never more so than when I turned into the driveway about 8:00 p.m. Thursday. He wasn't there to tell me it had snowed some, like 2 or 3 inches. He hadn't turned the lights on in case I came. He hadn't cleared me a nice spot to park close to the house. He hadn't melted the ice off the steps. That's when reality hit; he would never have let there be ice on the steps.

It's no surprise that my car, Miss Charlotte, being a "Southern Lady", is not used to icky weather; she's told me so before. I could tell she wasn't happy to have her little feet in the cold snow, but I didn't know she was going to throw that tantrum! I tried talking nice to her, making all sorts of promises, even rocked her back and forth...to no avail. She was like one of those old stubborn mules, going not one inch further. Lorraine came down and tried to help, but it was ridiculously cold and we were getting nowhere, so we did the only thing we could do. She went home and I went inside and turned up the thermostat, which had been set at 50. It felt warm right after coming inside, but you seriously don't even want the air conditioning to go that low even in the middle of summer.

Anyway, I was unpacking a few things for the night when I heard a noise, actually several noises. Then I thought I heard some guy say something, like 3 words. It was a little spooky, but I got a grip and found some Calvin & Hobbes books to read. I realized the noises were from the house expanding here and there from the heat. I was up late looking at pictures and stuff, sitting on the couch where Dad always sat to read, covered in the blanket Mother made, so cozy and warm. It was comforting.

People living in the country like the quiet, but when you are all alone, it's almost an uncomfortable LOUD quiet. I thought how hard it must have been for my dad to endure all those nights alone, one after the other after the other after the other. What a very long, lonely, dark, cold night. I'm glad he doesn't have to spend another winter that way, that he is now free to learn and continue to do good, to realize his worth and be warm and safe and not have to worry about everything, including pulling weeds and pushing snow, though he'd be first in line to volunteer.

It was a dual lesson. I had returned home after a long drive, but so has he. If there's any snow in Heaven, I'm sure he'll have a place cleared for me to park when it's my turn. :o)

Mother is doing ok. We had a good visit. She sends her love to all.

This song is a lovely tribute, parent and child:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-V3jBzGh8Y

and ps, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO CARVER YESTERDAY! Hope you had a fun party today! Love, Grandma Kay.

Midnight pancakes...

Someone at work asked me what I do to celebrate New Year's Eve. For many years, when I had teenagers at home, they and their friends seemed to gather at our small but welcoming house. I learned to love the sound of happy chatter, competitive games and twenty people calling me Mom at the same time. 

For some reason, it became a tradition that at the stroke of midnight, I started cooking a huge batch of pancakes, smothered with real butter and luscious streams of maple syrup. Nobody ever objected. I started out with small ones, about the size of a silver dollar, so everybody could get a first taste. Then I made regular ones until everybody was stuffed. 

Nik's Traditions

My son, Nik, is unique, creative, sentimental, fun, mustauched, and a real traditionalist.

For more years than I can remember, he has given punching ballons to each of his nieces and nephews (like Thomas in this picture) for Christmas. In fact, they've come to expect it. (I'll bet Blickenstaff's has some.)

The adults have come to expect something else. He didn't create the recipe, but has made it his. What recipe, you say?

Christmas Honey Taffy, Nik-style:

(Use a good-sized pan:)
2 cups honey
2 cups sugar
1 T apple cider vinegar

Stir occasionally and heat just to hard ball stage, then pour into buttered glass pan.

As soon as it’s barely cool enough to handle, spread butter on both your hands, stretching it like taffy and doubling it back to pull again. (If it doesn't burn your hands, you started too late.) The more you can pull it before it gets too hard, the lighter the candy will be, literally. When you can't pull it anymore, whether because it's almost setting up or because your arms feel like they're going to fall off, stretch it out on the area described below.

Have a countertop or table already prepared. Lay out some waxed paper with powdered sugar spread around on it. Stretch the pulled candy into a snake-like shape and score with a butter knife every inch or so. It sets up fast. When it hardens, turn it over and crack it in your hands with a table knife handle; it’ll break apart. You can wrap it individually in waxed paper to keep it from sticking together or just chip off a bit with the knife handle when you want some.

Wonderful stuff, supposedly good for your throat, too. Medicine that tastes good.

Bring it on, Nik! (and p.s. to the other kids, I'll write about you, too, if you bring me stuff :o) Love, Mom

Stop by on your way from the North Pole, please.

I called to talk to my daughter in Cardston yesterday and my little granddaughter answered the phone. She turns 4 tomorrow and she talks really well. She told me lots of stuff about the cat and dog and her baby sister.

A friend of their family was going to make a trip down here last weekend and offered to take back all the toys, but for some reason, she decided not to come. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I bought a whole bunch of stuff, thinking this was the chance, no international shipping. I had told Taylor and Carver that I was sending them presents!

Little Taylor said, "Grandma, did you send the presents?" I said it was too far and that I couldn't send them now but would save them for when they came to visit. She's a great problem solver. She said, "I'll just have Santa bring me." How rational. I said, "That's a good idea, Tay, but maybe it will be a little too cold."

Anybody know the number to the North Pole? Or somebody who is driving from Utah or Idaho to Alberta around the holidays, besides Santa, I mean? I'll buy them a tank of gas if they'll get the box to my sweet little ones.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3AcpJuN1aA

Dad

I haven't been able to get my hands on a newspaper obituary for Dad, so this will be minus the two great pictures of him. If anybody has thoughts or stories or comments, you can email them to me at jjvsnk@hotmail.com or just post something on this blog that we can make into a scrapbook for later. This is the written part:


Edward (Ted) Rice, Clifton, Idaho, beloved husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, brother and friend, took his final walk on Sunday, Nov 21st 2010, at the age of 93. He was born June 3, 1917 in Farmington, Utah to Ira Quince and Myra Winegar Rice.

His were a farmer’s hands, ever-working and always-serving. Whipstrong and smart. Honest in every dealing. Glad he had daughters instead of sons because “Boys just go to football practice and work on junky cars all the time. Girls work!“

Dad and Mom worked the farm side by side and were a great example to us all on the value of hard work. Mom and dad loved to travel. The day they sold the milk cows, they drove out of the yard at milking time. After that they decided to leave no back road untraveled, many times on their bicycles. One summer while in their seventies, they put on over 1000 miles on their bicycles. We will miss him dearly but are full of gratitude for the life he lived, the example he was for so many and for the wonderful memories he left for each person whose life he touched.

He is survived by his wife, Helen; four daughters, Pauline, Lorraine, Kay and Betty; two wonderful sisters, LaMar Bingham and Jane Wood, as well as 8 grandchildren and
14 great-grandchildren.

Peace

We will so miss our dear dad.

For my dear Mother and Sisters:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMy_oSeK5JE&feature=related

Last Kren in the Box, Big Iz

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaY2VyANSrg