Roots

Jay and I are celebrating our fourteenth wedding anniversary today.  Well, we actually celebrated on Friday night with a scrumptious dinner and a movie.  Nothing says, "I love you," quite like steak and a viewing of Tron Legacy.

We chose to celebrate early because Jay was on call yesterday and when  he wasn't busy reading head CTs, he was busy clearing our driveway with our converted lawnmower now snowplow.   And today is the Lord's day and I've learned not to compete with that.

Still, I feel like I should write some words of wisdom so I can return and reflect in the future when I may want to remember what my wise fourteen-year-wedded-self thought.

What I believe is this:  like most things worth doing, marriage isn't easy.  All you need to do is read People Magazine at the hair salon or the recent results of a survey to realize that many in our society no longer value marriage.  Sure, a wedding might be fun to plan, and every girl wants to wear the dress and take the photos but the compromise and sacrifice that comes afterward?  Those aren't nearly as glamorous or fun.

I guess that's why this next quote resonated with me.  I recently finished reading Corelli's Mandolin by Louis De Bernieres and when I came across this passage, I smiled and thought, "I'm going to use that on a blog post for my anniversary!" It is said from a Greek father to his daughter who has fallen in love with an Italian captain when their island of Cephallonia was occupied during World War II.  He says:

"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides.  And when it subsides you have to make a decision.  You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.  Because this is what love is.  Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day or lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body...No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths.  That is just being 'in love', which any fool can do.  Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.  Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."

I think the reason I love that quote so much is because it is true but, also, because by the doctor's description, I know I am both "in love" and in "love."  I agree more with the description of it being an art form than a fortunate accident.   Perhaps the best description would be that love is fortunate art.  

Jay and I may no longer have the pretty blossoms on our individual trees (although I honestly think Jay looks better than ever) but we have roots.   

We are one tree.  

I Don't Want To Teach French Braiding

In seventh grade, part of an English assignment included giving an oral "how-to" presentation.  I'm not sure what this had to do with the English language, grammar, writing or anything at all.  Perhaps it was a major time killer.  I've blocked all of that out.  What I do remember is the project I chose: the French Braid.

Why I chose to demonstrate this particular task, I have no idea.  While I have a rudimentary idea about the steps involved in braiding (three strands of hair each taking turns crossing over on top to become the middle strand...picking up additional strands of hair as the braid moves along the scalp) I am not good at it.   More accurately,  I'm really, really bad at it.  I can just barely braid my own hair (and it wouldn't win any beauty contests) and while I can't think of the last time I even attempted braiding someone else's hair, I don't imagine I was any better at it all those many years ago.

In fact, I know I wasn't because the one image I have stuck in my memory of this presentation is using a classmate who was known for her beautiful long hair as my model.  She sat with her back facing the rest of the class and I awkwardly took the hair spilling down her back and created a sort-of braid that certainly didn't inspire anyone.  Then, I demonstrated securing the braid by wrapping an elastic band at the bottom, promptly tangling her hair into one giant knotted mess.

My point is: I had no business teaching anyone about French braiding because I didn't really know how to do it.  I can still see that poor girl struggling to get the elastic out of her own hair, her face wincing painfully as she pulled her hair with each tug.  Mostly, I remember feeling humiliated because it not only didn't go as planned, it went poorly.

Tomorrow night, I have all of the Young Women coming to my home for mutual.  I had originally panned on only having the Laurels, but with Christmas time busy-ness, it just worked out better to have all the girls come.  My plan for the Laurels was to teach them how to make Kung Pao Chicken, a dish I think works well for single girls because it's easy to adjust ingredients to make it for one or several.  Although I successfully navigated my first year living away from home eating Campbell's tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches on my snackmaster, I feel compelled to prepare these girls for adulthood and, like it or not, the need to eat never goes away.  So, I imagined these girls learning a few recipes...something to impress the beaus, if you will.

Now, less than twenty-four hours from my so-called instruction, I am filled with French-braiding anxiety.  You see, I am not Chinese and have only made this dish about a half a dozen times and although I think it tastes pretty good and each time I've made it I have gotten great feedback from my family, I suddenly know that I have no business teaching these girls anything about cooking.  What was I thinking?

What do I do now?  Carry on hoping to avoid a repeat of the Giant Knot of '87?  I'm pretty good at soup.  Should I demonstrate that instead?  It's not nearly as....va-voom-y (watching a pot simmer for a half hour isn't exactly as exciting as a sizzling wok) but safer.  I also thought about making fudge and peanut brittle and wrapping it in pretty packages to hand out to the widows and widowers on Sunday.  Fudge is a no brainer but I have a pretty spotty record with the peanut brittle, last winter being the first time I attempted to make it.

Basically, I want our mutual evenings to have a purpose.  I want to prepare these girls for their future world.  I want to arm them with confidence and knowledge and the ability to bless the lives of others. And, since I've already changed the location from the church to my home, I feel like I need to have a real reason for it being here (i.e. using a kitchen).  But, maybe I should just scrap all those plans and pull out the Karaoke machine instead.

Now, there's something I feel comfortable teaching.  The art of karaoke.

That surely gives them a skill while blessing the lives of others, don't you think?

Book Review - The Things They Carried

My expectations for this book were way too high.  At my local bookstore, favorites of the employees are marked with a special bookmark filled with signatures of all who loved the book.  This had at least ten signatures on it.  In addition, a trusted friend on Goodreads hinted that it was one of her favorite books, reminding her of a book we had both read and loved, City of Thieves.   With that kind of fanfare, it's no wonder all I could say after I finished reading, "Well, that was disappointing."

The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien is part fiction, part non-fiction, part personal memoir and part Intro to Writing about the Vietnam War.  O'Brien served in Vietnam and claims the story as his as well as those he served with but by the book's end, I wasn't sure how much of the story was true and how much he thought would make an interesting book.  He spends the first chapter outlining his characters, detailing what gear the soldiers were required to carry as well as the few individual tokens each chose to bring along and for what reasons and I suppose by leading with a chapter like that, I expected to form a connection of sorts with these men.  Most are reintroduced during various later chapters, but I was never sure who was who or what happened when to which soldier, mostly due to the author being unclear about what was the truth. For instance, in once chapter, a character is home after the war, driving around a lake in his truck wishing he could tell someone, his father, his old girlfriend, a stranger at a restaurant, about how he didn't earn the Silver Star because he couldn't save his friend from drowning in a sinkhole of sewage because it smelled too bad only to be told in another chapter that none of it actually happened.  He hadn't actually let his friend die.  Or he hadn't actually almost earned the Silver Star.  Or that particular character wasn't actually a real person.  The truth comes from that it could have and probably did happen.  To someone.  At some time.  Somewhere.   O'Brien uses an entire chapter to boast about this method of writing and what he considers the most honest way to tell the truth about what happens during a war where there is no such thing as truth.   He explains that much of what he writes actually happened but is probably not true and the stuff that he makes up probably happened.  Wait.  So you're telling me....what the...?

While the quirky mixture of fiction and memoir and how-to-be-a-writer is probably what makes it such a darling of reading circles, I found the combination of short stories, modern day confessions and chapters to explain why he included the chapters preceding them all tinged with a certain self-importance.  Almost as if he believes he is the first author to have figured out that war is hell and morally ambiguous.   It's his version of the truth.  Even if he had to make some of it up.

I get that the war probably traumatized him for life.  I don't see how becoming friends with people, only to see them blown to bits or drowned in a sludge of sewage could be anything but traumatizing.  Furthermore, I see how this book might be considered intelligent, even artsy.  The writing is unusual for a war story in that its circular and poetic, tangled up without any sense of chronology.  But, for a book about a group of men who served together in Vietnam and what they carried and why, I should care more about these men and what happened to them.  The writing, however pretty, shouldn't get in the way of that.   The unpredictable and incongruent format O'Brien uses prevented me from forming any real intimacies with any of the characters, real or not.

Unfortunately, I think that's exactly what the author was hoping to do with this book. I think he wanted me to care about these individuals and their varied backgrounds, the reasons they served and the manner in which some died.  More importantly, he seemed to want me to understand that war isn't really about valiance or honor by sharing stories about heroes who were neither valiant nor honorable.  On a certain level, both of those things happened.  I saw the gritty reality, the heartbreak and the inhumanity.  But, I believe I needed to really know these men and not just their caricatures as O'Brien painted them, for that to happen and so I'm left disappointed and wondering if I missed some different and greater purpose of the book that other readers noticed.

Book Review - Ride The Wind

I still can't decide if I actually like this book.  On one hand, it was completely captivating.  The conflict between settlers and Indians, the differences in standards of living, travel, family life and honor as well as the inevitable similarities.  On the other, I was repulsed by the description of horror and violence, which I felt, at times, bent towards gratuitous.  Back to the first hand, I learned so much about the Comanche Indians, their history and motives, and was impressed at the author's meticulous research that allowed me to feel connected to a people who were wiped out and who were also notoriously known as some of the "bad" Indians.  However, my other hand is shaking its finger at the jolty story-telling St. Clair Robson uses to include all her research, abandoning major characters' narratives at times to include a minuscule point of view from an unintroduced and impossible to remember character.  But, I loved the real life romance between Cynthia Ann Parker, who was kidnapped by the Comanche as a girl, and Wanderer, who later became a powerful chief and leader of his tribe.  That love does not include the infrequent but present inclusion of Harlequin style romance writing as flashes of skin and color and texture of pubic hair was described.

As it often happens after reading historical fiction, I wanted to know what parts of the book were real and which parts were made up for dramatic effect.   A lot of it is actually true.  Kudos to the author for that.  While some license is taken with the timeline of events, particularly toward the end of the book when facts and points-of-views start to contradict each other, much of what happened to Cynthia Ann, or Nadua, as she is known to the Comanche, can be verified by eye-witnesses.  Obviously, not her day to day life while living with the Comanche Indians, but the author uses other sources to fill in that story line.

I guess I liked it.  Sometimes I can't tell if I like or dislike something until I start writing and determine what my own bias is.  I appreciate a glimpse into the Comanche way of life.  I don't think the author diminishes their viciousness at all and it's still hard to understand how any human being could do some of the things that particular tribe of Indians were known to do, but, like any people, they had relationships and traditions and values, albeit different from those I know and have.   Recognizing our differences, and understanding the whys and hows they exist, is the key to learning from our history, I think.  And, for what its worth, this book helped me understand the ways of a very different people.

Book Review - Persuading Annie

I love humor.  I find myself constantly wearing its lens which always produces the better seat and more colorful picture.   I guess that's why I'm always surprised by my disappointment when I read a "funny" book and I don't think it is nearly as funny as it could or should be.

Persuading Annie is one of those books.  A supposed modern take on Jane Austen's not funny but wonderfully intelligent Persuasion, Melissa Nathan desecrates everything that makes Persuasion great (real consequences, missed opportunities, changed lives and broken trust.  Great comedic material, yes?) and minimizes it so that she can concentrate on not-so-witty one liners and description of clothes and hair.  It's got all the makings of one of those stories that eventually becomes a romantic comedy with a funny actress playing the lead, like Isla Fisher or Kathryn Hiegl, and you know what?  I would probably enjoy the movie.  I'm much easier to please on the big screen  but in a book?  No.  You're going to have to do better than that.

I just don't understand why the two, humor and good writing, seem so diabolically opposed in fiction.   I think it works great in non-fiction, particularly memoirs, but I really want to read a well crafted, character driven, funny book with a realistic plot.  Am I asking for the impossible?  

I Am A Seven Cow Wife

That title will only make sense if you are familiar with the movie "Johnny Lingo," a church movie I grew up watching several times, probably due to my Sunday School teachers being unprepared to teach a lesson.  It's a good movie in that totally politically incorrect in an outdated  feminist way but I can remember thinking as a young girl that I'd like to marry the kind of man who thought as Johnny Lingo did.

As it turns out, I did marry a man who deals in cows.  In fact, should the custom have been present, I'm sure Jay would have made a grand gesture with said cows to woo me.  Instead of offering them to my father in exchange for my hand in marriage, however, he used profits earned from his 4-H steers to buy my engagement ring.  And since we've been married, he's kept anywhere between three to eight cows of his own at his dad's ranch. Truthfully, those cows have never impressed me much.  We are not cowboys.  We are not ranchers.  It's just something I felt was between him and his dad and didn't have much to do with me.

Until recently, that is.  This year, having what I believe is currently seven cows (or six.  Maybe five.  Like I said, I don't really know but in true Mahana spirit I'm going with the bigger number because I'm worth it) has directly blessed my life.  You see....it means I finally got my heart's desire: an upright freezer.

I don't know how a simple appliance became so coveted and elusive for so many years.  In Spokane, we didn't have the money and then we didn't have the room.  In SLC, we didn't have the room or the longevity required to need that kind of storage.  Then, here in D-town, we were renting and unsure about future space (chest or upright).  Also, after waiting for so long, I didn't want to rush into anything.  I wanted my future freezer to be perfect.

Every fall, Jay's dad selects which calves he's going to keep and which calves will be sold.  Boy calves, or steers, are almost all sold (although we did keep one for Seth to use as a 4-H steer.  We're hoping he'll have some cow money for his own Mahana one day) but some of the girl calves, or heifers (horrible word, in my opinion.  I don't know why.  Probably because it sounds too close to "hefty" and I just don't think girls should ever be called hefty, even if they are cows), are kept to become future mama cows.   I don't know why I wrote all of that out except to explain that instead of selling or keeping one of the cows that normally would have been sold or kept, we had it butchered for meat.  Thus my need for a freezer.

I ordered the size I wanted from Home Depot (the big one!  I figure you get about one shot in a lifetime for a new freezer and I was getting one that would last for thirty years) and it was delivered last week.  Sadly, it was too big for the space.  But not by much.  I had horrible flashbacks to the last time I ordered an appliance that was too big for its space but this turned out to be a much less painful fix.  Jay has better tools than he had four years ago and a little jigsaw cut along the top got my freezer in its space in no time.

Jay measures the refrigerator's height to determine how much off from the bottom lip of the cupboards he needs to cut.  Probably something I should have originally done.  It just seemed like such a big space for a freezer that anything I picked should have fit (sheepish grin).  

Using a planer to even out the wood. 

I helped him move this freezer holding over three-hundred pounds of beef just as soon as I took this picture.

A beautiful sight.

I don't think I have ever had more than six or seven pounds of meat in my freezer at one time (the one attached to my refrigerator.  Not my new glorious upright.  Perhaps the parenthetical detail isn't necessary since I have already explained how I had never previously owned a separate freezer or butchered a cow but it did allow me to describe my upright as glorious, which is true and qualifies as new information so I'm going to keep it in) so I really didn't know how much meat to expect from an entire cow.  I knew it would be a lot.  I just wasn't quite prepared for how much.  

Laaaaaaa (musical note)!  It fills the entire freezer!  

The top shelf is roasts.  The second shelf is filled with various kinds of steaks.  The third shelf contains the two briskets, stew meat and ribs.  And the bottom two shelves and door are filled with ground beef.  Yes, we are carnivores.  Look away, PETA.

So, there you have it.   How I became a seven cow wife as well as the proud owner of a freezer.  Much credit must be given to my own personal Johnny Lingo who says I'm worth it ;-)

Walking In Memphis

Remember this post? When I gnashed my teeth about the conflict between going to Memphis and my choir concert? Well, I stopped gnashing and wrote an email to the choir director saying I'd be unable to sing for the Christmas concert but I'd love to rejoin the group in January if it was alright with her. Her response? Sure! So much drama for nothing. That director sure plans to keep me on my toes with her unpredictable reactions.

Jay spent the week leading up to his marathon in Chicago for RSNA (Radiological Society of North America) conference and flew to Memphis from there so when I made the decision to go to Memphis, I planned on keeping it a secret and surprising him.

Well, that plan lasted all of two days when I blurted out my change of plans to a fellow choir member right in front of him. With the surprise botched, we made our plans for the weekend together. Obviously...the marathon was a big part of the weekend but we got tickets to see Graceland, the home of Elvis Presley, as well.

Thanks to the kindness of my friend, Michelle, and in-laws, Vaughn and Patty, who graciously watched my boys, I left for Tennessee early Friday morning. Jay and I flew into Memphis within a half hour of each other and picked up our rental car. It is the second time we were given a Chevrolet HHR.

I'm sorry, but that is one ugly car. If you have one, I have one question for you: How do you stand the little windows? I felt like I was driving around in a clown car. Still, it was nice to have the freedom that comes with having access to your own means of transportation.

That evening we went to the marathon expo, found a PEI WEI to eat at so Jay could carbo load, and figured out where the best spots might be for me to cheer on the marathon course.  I also finished Crow Lake by Mary Lawson.  I love flying because I almost always get to read a ton with all that uninterrupted boredom.  Great book!

Jay jogged down to the start line early Saturday morning and I slept for an extra hour because our hotel was right next to mile four and all I had to do was walk a few blocks to see him run by there around 8:30.  Right on schedule, the runners started coming.  First, I saw these elite runners:

They finished almost exactly like this too.  The finish was neck and neck.

I was right across the street from what is known as The Pyramid.  Memphis's name comes from a city in Egypt along the Nile.  Thus...the pyramid, I guess.

Not much long after, I spied Jay and his easy-to-spot-turquoise shorts.  As a near professional running spectator, I have learned to appreciate any effort made that makes my job of finding him easier.  These shorts do exactly that.  

After Jay ran by, I headed downtown to where I could see him at mile 13.  As I walked along some of the race course, I saw the hoards of marathoners and half-marathoners who were making their way along.  This was at about mile 3 and I was a little shocked to see so many participants already walking.  

Jay chose the Memphis marathon for a variety of reasons (timing, Saturday schedule, different state, positive reviews), but one was that it was a supposed flat and fast course.   He had a soft goal of breaking three hours and knew that he had a chance on this course.   He said he wouldn't consider it a very hilly course but every time I saw him, he was running up a hill.  At least, this is a hill in my book.

He made a turn into downtown and I walked two blocks to where I could see him at mile 14 and a half.  Again, another hill.  But, clearly, he's feeling good at this point.

Then it was wait time.   The finish line was in the city's minor league baseball stadium so I found a spot around first base close to the finish line.  At the 2:50 mark, I started to feel really nervous.   This was Jay's fifth marathon and you never know what's going to happen.  If he's going to hit a wall, or get hurt, or....whatever else can happen, you just don't know.  It's a frustrating sport to cheer for because they need your cheers (I think having me there helped) but you don't actually get to see them to cheer for them that much.  When the three hour mark came and passed, I felt bummed for him but also less anxious because now I wasn't willing him around that corner every passing second.

Only a few minutes later, those turquoise shorts appeared and he made his triumphant entry into the park.  I was so happy for him because he ran a great race.

His official time is 3:03:43.  He finished eighth in his age group and thirty-fourth over all.  Seriously proud of him!  And, for good or for bad, there will be other marathons to try and beat that three-hour barrier.  

Doesn't he look like he's having fun?

We walked the mile back to our hotel and I was impressed with how well he was doing physically.  He was less than impressed.  He said, more than once, "Shoot.  I feel too good.  That means I didn't run hard enough."  Whatever.  I was just happy that he felt good enough to spend the rest of the day out and about.  I know if I had just run 26.2 miles, I would not be saying, "O.K.  Let's go!" at anytime.  I'd be more likely to demand that someone carry me and rub my feet.

Once he was showered, we hopped in the rental box and drove to Graceland.  Yes, we did sing Paul Simon's song the entire way.  In fact, it's still stuck in my head. "Graceland, Graceland in Memphis, Tennessee, I'm going to Graceland.  Poor boys and pilgrims with families and we are going to Graceland."

I've never been a big Elvis fan but found a tour of his life and home fascinating.  Really fascinating.  You should definitely go should you ever been in the Mississippi Delta, that shines like a national guitar.  There I go again.

The front of the mansion, which is surprisingly kind of...well...modest.  I mean, it's a mansion and totally gaudily decorated as befits someone who is a star and can do whatever he wants with the place, but it also had a definite "home" feel to it.  Like it was obvious he enjoyed actually being there.

The living room. The entire home is permanently stuck in 1977.   Probably not the most fortunate year in terms of color and style to be remembered but Elvis certainly had fun with the trends of the time.

The kitchen.

The family room aka Jungle Room.  The ceiling is also carpeted in green shag.  

In the basement is his mirrored TV room.  He was so fancy he had three TV installed so he could watch the three networks all at once.

And this pretty room had the same fabric from the couches on the walls AND ceiling.

The stairs from the basement back to the jungle room.  Elvis really loved carpet and mirrors.  Or somebody who was a real smooth talker did.

The backyard of Graceland.

In the trophy room are all of his Gold Records.  He really had a lot of hits.

Priscilla and Elvis's wedding clothes.  

He got really into raquetball and had a court built that has since been converted to another museum of sorts.  It housed several of his (in)famous jumpsuits.  The suits are all cut exactly the same with the different embellishments setting them apart.  Replicas could be bought in the gift shop for a mere $1500, in case you were interested.

He is buried outside next to his parents, stillborn twin, and grandmother.

After our Graceland and surrounding grounds tour, we went and ate some of the best barbecue food I've ever had.   It was at a little hole in the wall called The Barbecue Shop and I'd never have gone in had I not read great reviews online.  Jay got their famous ribs but since I typically avoid eating meat that comes attached to bones, I ordered the pulled pork sandwich.  Yummo!

The we drove and drove and drove trying to find some University of Memphis basketball shirts or mementos for the boys.  I have found that when I have a specific thing in my mind that I want to buy, it is almost impossible to find.  We jokingly called it Our Quest.  We finally found some.  In a suburban strip mall that had a Sports Authority.  But we did get to see a lot of Memphis with all our driving!

T-shirts purchased, we headed back downtown to walk through a famous hotel next called The Peabody (think Davenport for you Spokane folks) and then walked down to famous Beale Street, where many famous musicians have come to hang out and play.  It also happened to be Drunk Santa night which wasn't really our scene.  So, we stepped into the Hard Rock Cafe and ordered dessert.

Self portrait on Beale Street.

A little Bob Dylan display that caught Jay's eye.  To the left of his head is the drum head used by Larry Mullen Jr. when U2 recorded several of the songs for their Rattle and Hum album at Sun Studios in Memphis, where Elvis, Johnny Cash, BB King and others recorded albums.  

I was so tired that night.  I was a little embarrassed to admit to Jay that my feet hurt since they had covered about 25 less miles than his but we made it back to the hotel and both crashed.  

Did you know that Memphis is right next to the Arkansas AND Mississippi state lines?  Well...I didn't but once I did, I was determined to include all three states in my weekend stop.  So, over the Mississippi river we went!

Such a magnificent river.

Now, we drove through West Memphis in Arkansas and stopped to buy a soda to legitimize our visit and that is one sad little town.  Wow.  That is poverty USA.

Next, we headed on over to Mississippi!

We filled our rental car up with Gas in this state to make it official and then headed back up to Tennessee and the airport.



It was a great, great trip.  Definitely the right decision to go and be with Jay instead of running around singing, "You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch."  I think I had a smile on my face the entire weekend.  It was that fun.

Something's Missing

 Can you tell what it is?

This just may be the most anticlimactic first tooth loss in history.  We went out to eat on Saturday and as I was putting his seat belt around his booster seat, I noticed the gap on his bottom row.

"Where's your tooth?" I asked him.

He immediately felt for his tooth and then started giggling.  He said, "I guess it's in my hamburger!"  I didn't even know it was loose.  His other bottom tooth isn't.  Weird.

Isn't four WAY too young to lose a tooth?  He is almost five, but....but....well...he's Henry.  He's supposed to be delayed.  I guess his teeth are ahead of the curve.

Thanksgiving With The In-Laws

My sister-in-law, Peggy, said as she headed home after our Thanksgiving Break family reunion, "Be kind to us on your blog!"

I had no intention to be anything but kind.  After all, I happen to have some fabulous in-laws.  Not perfect in-laws.  As Peggy, the organizer of the event can attest to, getting them all together is no easy task and once together, coming up with a group plan has to be at least as challenging as designing those ever-mysterious traffic signal algorithms.  I'll take their quirks any day, however, because each of them also happens to be wonderful.  Good, kind, fun, helpful, dedicated people who make the world a better, brighter place with their efforts.  Lucky me.

Jay's younger sister, Kelly, was the first to arrive and we had the pleasure to have them stay with us.  Jay's other two sisters, Molly and Peggy, and their families arrived on Wednesday and we had a delicious dinner of bbq pork sandwiches prepared by my mother-in-law.

Thanksgiving morning included a five mile Turkey Trot.  It was a bitter cold morning with temperatures in the tens and only the bravest and fittest dared the run.

Adam was a baby when I started dating Jay.  Now he is a star runner who treated those five miles like they were child's play.

Kelly is not to be messed with.  She is fast and competitive and it's fun to watch her run.

Karin, my oldest niece, got married to Ben this summer and he is a delightful addition to the family.  I think he had a smile on his face the entire time he was surrounded by the other 38 of us and is just a good, good guy.  He also managed to smile when he was running even when he said there was no air to breath at our bruising 7,000 ft altitude.

Here's my favorite runner and his new turquoise shorts so that I can spot him while he runs the memphis marathon this weekend. 

All of Peggy's boys ran, but I missed their finish.  I got their mom's brilliant finish, however.

The brave runners.

The equally brave cheerers.  Sadly, cheering while freezing doesn't burn that many calories.

Jay's two other brothers arrived in time for Thanksgiving Dinner and we got all the cousins in order of oldest to youngest.

Here they are in one single line (minus Caden who is being held by Doug).

Another format.  From left to right:  Ben, Karin, Scott, Derek, Michael, Jacob, Adam, Delanie, Doug, Reese
Thomas, Seth, Erin, Creed, Sam, Matt, Brooke, Emily, Kate, Henry, Sara, Ethan and Caden

It isn't a get together with Grandpa unless a pinata is involved.

The boy cousins

And the much fewer girl cousins

Grandpa Vaughn, who is currently serving as President of the Monticello Temple, shares some of the history of the temple, as well as some of the miracles associated with it, one in particular known as "The Miracle of the Green Windows."

We joke about being the out-laws but we are all lucky women to have married such fine men.  From left to right:  (Stephanie (holding Caden  married to Clark), Patty (Vaughn Jr.), Bekki (Rex) and me with my new brunette locks.

Table 1

Table 2

Table 3

And Table 4 where Jay and I sat.

On Friday, we headed to the Monticello Temple for a meaningful moment to gather at the temple where Jay's parent's serve.  It was really something to see all of Jay's siblings and spouses in the same session, as well as Karin and Ben.  Later, all the youth twelve and older did baptisms with their father's as ordinance workers.

Jay's lovely sisters, Molly, Kelly and Peggy

The boys:  Vaughn, Rex, Clark and Jay

Here's all the kids and spouses in order of age.  We stood in order of age of sibling with Clark, the youngest, on the left and Vaughn, the oldest, on the right.  I was totally bending my knees so that I wouldn't be huge Lucy in the middle.

My in-laws.

Here, I attempted some photo merging.  Obviously, Jay is facing the wrong direction in this picture.

And Vaughn's eyes are closed in this one.

So, I did a photo merge on Vaughn and Molly's side.  It's not perfect but it's not bad.  I had to do some extra cropping because Vaughn ended up with three legs but it'd do in a pinch.

It was a great week and a nice break from school for the boys.  Now, it's time to gear up for Christmas.  I guess I better start shopping.  And decorating.  And getting Christmas cards ready.

Wait...let's go back and do this week again instead.  Yup.  I like my in-laws so much I'd do it all again.  How's that for kind, Peggy? ;-)