Thursday, August 10, 2017

Family history

I've been reflecting on family history, which I love, and wanted to share a couple of experiences.

Several years ago, after my dad's stroke, I was at my parents' house and answered the phone. The person asked for Robert Bogle. She obviously didn't know my dad. Didn't know that he went by Bob or that he'd had a stroke and couldn't speak. I just said he wasn't available.
She replied, While I have you on the phone, do you happen to know if this is the same Robert Bogle who would have been searching for information on Inez Fay on
That is my great grandmother, so I knew the answer. YES! She proceeded to tell me that her name was Linda, she was the admin on the Fay family genealogy page! And she had been looking for us!

A little history on my g-gran, Inez Fay. Her father, Herbert Fay, was supposedly an engineer working for the railroad in Mexico, an American with a young wife, Elizabeth Barrow. Gran was born in Colonia Diaz, Mexico. She said her parents left her with the nuns. Small problem, in 1901, Colonia Diaz was a former Mormon polygamist colony, no Catholic nuns in sight!
When Pancho Villa started raiding the northern towns in Mexico, Gran said her Granny Jackson swooped her up and took her home to New Mexico.
Jackson was Granny's 3rd or 4th husband, her Herbert Fay having long since gone back to Ohio.

So, Gran knew very little about her own family, but she had 2 brothers, one older and one younger, and a lot of hope. She purchased the Fay Family genealogy book and made a few notes of her suspicions.

Time loop back to my phone conversation with Linda. She was able to fill in the blanks and answer questions. Yes, Herbert had headed west, married, had a child, and then gone back to Ohio alone. Yes, he was the son of Philip Fay, had served in the Civil War, and was a Mayflower descendant with deep Massachusetts roots. The family history book she had given to my dad had finally paid off!

Generation after generation of names were now available to us, along with fabulous stories and links to make to our visit to Boston, Plymouth, and Salem, MA! (Not to mention my brother Tom's mission there.)

Fast forward again to last year when I decided to have my DNA tested by Mom and Tom had already participated, but I wanted access to the same information! It was fun to see the few close relatives pop up, as confirmation that contrary to my older brother's insults, I was not adopted.

With the middle name Fay as my guide, I gravitated to the members of that family that I found, including a fairly close relative who turned out to be my grandfather's cousin, the daughter of Inez' younger brother. Inez had maintained a relationship, if somewhat distant, with the small family that she knew. My "new-found" cousin recalled a visit from Inez when she was very young.

Shirley and I began to correspond. She is getting on in years, but loves to travel! Her nephew does most of her family history, but focuses on her mom's side of the family. Eventually she mentioned a family Bible that had come into her possession. It was Granny Jackson's. She had brought it with her from Sweden. There was some writing in it, but it was in Swedish and she really hadn't had much luck finding a Swedish speaker to interpret. As "luck" would have it, my mother-in-law was 1st generation American. Her parents were Swedish. She had recently passed on, but her brother, who served 2 missions to Sweden is still with us.

Shirley decided that she would send me the Bible. When I suggested that she could just send photocopies, she replied that she had no children, and she would like me to keep the Bible in the family, just share any information with her!

Not long after she sent the Bible (from1801!), I took it to David's uncle to inspect. He translated the writing, but I'm still working on connecting my ggg-grandmother Anna Skoglund (Fay/Jackson) to the Frodig Family in the Bible.

Not long after this, Tom connected me to another cousin, the granddaughter of one of Inez' half siblings, who had contacted him. We have also shared many stories about this interesting and tangled Family.

I still haven't unraveled the mystery as to why Inez was left with the "nuns" or if they were really LDS "sisters" or why the Fay Family had such trouble staying married. Luckily, my parents and grandparents have broken that tradition!

That's what I love about Family history, there's always more to be done.

Sunday, April 30, 2017

A Woman without a Party

I like parties. Since it's my birthday tomorrow, I was thinking about parties. Don't all rush to throw together some last minute bash with grocery store cake! That's not actually the party I want to talk about. This time, I'm talking political parties.

I find myself without one. I have been a registered republican since I was 18 years old and voted for George H.W. Bush. Say what you want. Ok, now shut it. I like the man! I like his idea of the compassionate conservative. I liked his 1000 points of light, and I like the Randy Travis song that they used to promote it. And, I don't even like country music, but this one makes me cry. Ok, that's not hard, a lot of music makes me cry. Hymns, Housemartins songs, Format songs, yadda yada...

So, for almost 30 years, I was pretty squarely lined up with the conservative thought of the Republican Party. You mind your business, and I'll mind mine, but please don't kill the unborn babies. Less regulation is usually good, but let's not put our little ones down in the coal mines. No one loves taxes, but let's make sure that everyone who's willing to try and work hard has access to education and opportunity. The closer to home you can keep your politicians, the better.

And then came the 2016 elections. They really threw me for a loop! People that I thought I understood were backing 2 of the worst political candidates I could possibly imagine. The days of Ronald Reagan and John F. Kennedy were long gone. Political power, drive, and deceit seemed to rule. My own party, that I had supported for years, nominated a man with morals I could never support to be President of the United States of America. I couldn't even have the necessary conversations, because I don't use the filthy language that I would have to describe. The pride, misogyny, racism, and ego were beyond belief.

In my opinion, the other candidate was equally distasteful, for different reasons. Mostly, I don't like her politics, but I also don't like her ethics. I finally decided that I would vote third party. The libertarian was not my ideal candidate either, but seemed the least harmful of the three.

I wanted to blame the Democrats and the press. If they hadn't threatened Ronald Reagan and both George Bushes as if they were Donald J. Trump, we wouldn't have Donald J. Trump! But, I always claimed to believe in personal responsibility, so if I didn't want to be a hypocrite, I had to lay the blame strictly on my own party. Why? How? You're freaking kidding me!!! I still don't understand it, so I won't try T explain it. I suppose the why is too much for me to comprehend.

Tomorrow is May 1. My birthday. I still haven't been able to say the words President Trump out loud, but somehow I cringe every time I hear a liberal say basically the same thing. How dare they ignore this monster they created! How dare I? Where is the love for our fellow man? Where is the decency that protects the man who leads this superpower of a nation? Where is my Party?

I tried to turn to the Libertarian party, but try as I might, it's not for me. I'm all for "Anything Peaceful",  but where is the platform? Are they for it or against it? I'm definitely pro-life, and I'm mostly anti-drug, and they haven't convinced me that drug violence is all based on its illegality. So, I just don't fit in.

I guess I don't need a party. I guess I'm fine on my own. But I sure do miss the red, white, and blue balloons and feeling represented by my government. I miss George Washington, and I didn't even know him. I miss Ron and George (btw, I was super excited to find out we're distant cousins!) I won't be back to the GOP, as long as it's ok to belittle people and demean others and act like naughty children.

I guess I'll paraphrase and adapt Ronald Reagan's famous quote. I didn't leave the Republican Party, the Republican Party left me.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

wedding plans

Well, it appears about 6 years ago I left a few people hanging in this relationship story. In my defense, I had a baby at 42. He is a handful.

Let's play a little catch up. The year was 1989. The music was good, the hair was big, we all thought we were so mature and had no idea what life had in store for us. Girl (me) meets boy at church dance, oh so cliche… Girl likes boy, boy finally asks out girl. A whole new decade! 1990! Strangely, boy keeps meeting more girls! Boy and girl date and break up repeatedly. Barriers get broken, walls come down, tears are shed. Boy and girl decide they want to be together forever! Of course, this takes a whole year. 1991!

So now that we are caught up, and all the tears have been shed, it's time to tie the bow on this love story. Or the knot, let’s tie the knot.

There is this crazy little mating dance that we humans do, and Mormons do it even a little more strangely than the rest of you. We know we want to be together, but it's hard to say, and can get very silly once said. So, David and I have been dancing like the most awkward emus ever known to man, and the dance floor just turned to mush, and we are swimming in it. (If you can follow that metaphor, you've probably been there.)

We want to be together constantly, when we’re not together, we’re on the phone. We go looking at diamond rings for no apparent reason. I'm old fashioned, so I let him know that he'll have to talk to my dad first, if he wants to marry me. My dad is old fashioned too, and huge. A 6’3” 250lb former farmer can be a little intimidating apparently. Dad has begun his new tradition with his oldest daughter of refusing to call their date be their actual name.

David was referred to as “Wart”. Dad assures me it is a compliment, the nickname bestowed by Merlin on King Arthur, but David is not so sure. David makes “secret” arrangements to meet my dad at his office. Dad draws up a contract. It's not super formal, but it did require a signature, and did address that where his daughters were concerned, there would be no returns! Not sure who was more insulted by that one.

I was still working at Radio Shack, and David had made arrangements to pick me up some could go walk around the Mesa Temple. Somehow (maybe the lack of drama or maybe I was panicking) I failed to realize this was it! As we got close to the Temple, I told David I was hungry, and I'd like to stop for some fries. Jack in the Box was right there, although across the street from where it is now. (Did I see that it actually closed?)

Meanwhile, David is panicking because he has friends waiting for us at the Temple.

We get my fries and head to the Temple. We meander around the west side toward the front. David “notices” a box on the bench north of the entrance. He suggests we go see what it is. I reply that it would be weird to just go over to some random box sitting on a bench at the Temple! What if it's someone’s pizza? (Eye roll, nerd glasses, lol face) He insists. I resist. I would be mortified to know that Scott and Jacque (remember them?) are watching from the bushes. Because seriously, who leaves a pizza box with a diamond ring sitting on a bench unattended?

I finally realize that the box is a plant (but not that we are being watched). We approach the bench, and as I open the box, he gets down on one knee (I can see it In my mind, and we are so young!). I open the box, and it's not a pizza, but a giant cookie printed with, “Will you be my eternal queen?” And a diamond ring (that fit perfectly) in a crystal box. Neither one of us could talk. As my eyes welled up, I could swear his did too, and I croaked out “yes” in response to the cookie. And then we kissed, me and the boy.

Monday, February 29, 2016

And years later

As I grew up, it's harder for me to tell Bobby’s story. I think humans are naturally self absorbed, at least I hope it's not just me. I always looked up to both of my older brothers, but I started to have a life of my own and not depend quite as much on them.
Mom and Dad were still very good friends with the Davis family. Bobby and Von were tight friends and suitably reckless. The Hall family moved into the house behind the Davis’s, and Bobby had a crush on their fun-loving, pretty daughter Linda. I'm not sure if he had a “type” other than pretty, maybe long feathered hair…
As our family had grown, so had our car. Bobby and Jamie would take the green and white striped van (was it 10 passenger.) up to Mesa to cruise Main with the other teenage kids. But, in that car, they decided that paper bags over their heads would be the best accessory. Bobby was naturally trim and compact. He didn't like his younger brother getting bigger than him, so he got a set of weights and worked out religiously. He also had some run ins at school with kids taking his money and wanted to defend himself.
I would say, from my perspective, Bobby was a nice guy hanging out with a rebel crowd. They were the thrill seekers, but not at others’ expense. If you didn't mess with them, they wouldn't mess with you. They certainly weren't above toilet papering a cute girl’s house or egging the car of some jerk. I can't remember how old he was when dad realized that the little plant growing in the 7up bottle in his closet was marijuana, or if it was before or after he went away to school. Lol.
Bobby had an innate sense of order. He liked his room relatively clean, but also didn't like being told what to do. (that last part seems to be a family trait.) he had an entrepreneurial spirit and was always trying to get Jamie to start a business with him. They had both grown up working the chopping crew on the farm and driving tractors, but he had other plans. At one point, they started a Tidy Car service which was like a detailed car wash that came to you. Either car paint was not as strong or people kept their cars longer, because lots of cars had oxidized paint back then! This process would buff that out and restore the shine. They did that for a while, until it fizzled out. Also back in the day, lots of kids would jack their trucks up really high. This would mess with the factory speedometer, and none of them knew how fast they were driving. Bobby worked out a formula that used the height of the lift on the truck to adjust the speedometer. He had bunches of sticky backed inserts made to market to these people. Unfortunately for him, this fad passed rather quickly and he still had stacks of speedometer stickers.
Bobby’s first attempt at private school was a joint decision with our parents. They wanted him to get away from his drug-using friends and he wanted to get away from some kids he thought were bullies. I'm sure there were plenty of discussions that I was not privy to. He went to school in Tucson, but it wasn't the greatest fit. They didn't like when he almost burnt down the school, and he didn't like how upset they got just because he wanted to experiment with a lighter and some hairspray!
For some reason, they all thought that military school might be the answer. Dad had gone to New Mexico Military Institute, and so had Grandpa, Uncle Pete, and Roger Staubach. Bobby decided to give it a try. Some time later (c’mon, I was a kid) the school called to say that Bobby had gone AWOL. Not too much later, he called from Tucson and said he had hitched a ride that far with a trucker, but needed a ride the rest of the way home. Dad was always a very strict disciplinarian, but he wasn't one to leave his child stranded, so they figured out a way to get Bobby back to Chandler. I think it was about this time that he decided that high school really wasn't his thing and just took the test to get his GED.
Throughout this time, Bobby was always very mechanical. He worked on cars and worked at Tim Bland’s machine shop. He and Tim became quite close. Tim was also a close friend of Dad’s.
Bobby loved outdoorsy stuff. He loved to go shooting at the dump, camping, boating, skiing. He didn't let his severe asthma get in the way of life. He always carried an inhaler with him and often needed a puff. His evening was usually spent (or part of it) attached to his asthma machine. But, he had boundless energy for getting out and going.
He also loved music. The record player kept spinning. I think The Beatles were his first love, but The Who, Rush, Styx, Pink Floyd, Queen, and many others made the playlist. He loved to quiz me when we were in the car together. “Monique, who sings this song?” If I didn't know, he was so disappointed. He always knew. I better know if it was The Beatles!
I really can't remember when he started to fly and to jump out of airplanes. I thought he was crazy. Airplanes made me sick, but why on earth would you jump out of one?
One final story, when Bobby was high school age, he was at the park one day and saw a girl he knew with one of their teachers. The couple were obviously together, he saw them kiss. He was torn apart! He really looked up to that teacher and thought he was great. He also believed that it was highly inappropriate. He finally decided that he had to tell mom. Of course, as she was in the school board, he knew she would have to turn him in. He told her how much it pained him to tell her about it, but he knew he had to. That was the kind of guy he was. He was fun loving, literally crazy ;) and a bit of a prankster, but also extremely ethical, fair, and good hearted.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Memories of my brother

Okay, I know I haven't been on here forever, and now, I'm not even going back to my story yet. This post is really for my nephew, Mike. Mike asked for some memories of his dad, who was killed in an airplane crash about 12 years ago. A few other people wanted to read it and this is what I came up with as the best medium to share. If you don't want to read about my brother, Bobby, stop now. This is the first 6 pages, I didn't want to make you wait forever while I finish. It's only sort of in order. And it's just my memories, some of them may be wrong.

My Memories of My Brother, Bobby
First, a note to you Mike, since you asked for this. I’m going to tell you what I can remember, since of course, everything I say will be tainted by my perspective. I’m not going to write it to you, though, because there may be things in here that you won’t want to know, but you asked for them, and you’re an adult. There may be things that your dad wouldn’t want you to know, but he’s not here, and so he doesn’t get a say.
Bobby Bogle was born on January 17, 1964. His parents lived in Tucson and were attending the University of Arizona. They were young, his mom had just graduated high school the year before. I wasn’t born for this, so I can only tell a few stories that I’ve heard.
He was actually named Robert Laurence  Bogle, Robert after his dad. His dad’s name was John Robert Bogle, people called him Bob. He said that if his wife wanted to name their son after him, she had to pick his first name and call him that, no more going by middle names. Betty Jean Pickering had grown up in Chandler, Arizona with Bob and they married soon after high school. She was a pom-pom girl (captain of the team) at Chandler High, and he was the son of a successful farmer who attended military school in New Mexico (NMMI).
Bobby was full of energy as a little boy, despite or maybe because he was diagnosed with severe asthma at a very young age. His mom had to give him shots for a while and she remembers the doctor telling her that the drugs he needed were such powerful stimulants that they would take ten years off the end of his life, but without them, he would die.
Bobby’s parents had a dog named Squirt. Bobby loved to chase him around their house in his walker shouting, “Squee, Squee” and running over his tail as often as possible. (A walker was a little contraption that they used to put babies in before they could walk to keep them occupied. It was kind of like a bouncer on wheels and the baby could pretend to walk all over the place. It had a little tray for toys or cereal, as well.)
In October, 1966, Bobby’s brother, Jamie was born. Bobby adored his new little brother and, at the tender age of three, would comment on his energy with, “He’s so rambunctious!”
Several things happened in 1970, including me. Dad had finished his Bachelor degree in business and was working at a bank when he was called by his family to come home to Chandler to help run the farm. His dad, who was Adjutant General of the Arizona National Guard, had been in a car accident. It became evident that he needed some help to overcome his alcohol addiction. He had entered into a program in Minnesota and would be gone for a while.
The small family, two young boys, dad, and pregnant mom, moved back to Chandler. They first moved into a small house in town and while they were there, a couple of young men knocked on the door and asked them what they knew about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Always curious, the parents invited the young men in and they began to talk. The family soon moved to a house on the farm, a community known as Ocotillo, about 4 miles south of town. The missionaries asked if they could come again after they moved. Knowing that they rode bikes everywhere, Dad told them they could, but didn’t really expect them to.
Imagine their surprise when the missionaries really did set up an appointment and ride their bikes, repeatedly, all the way to Ocotillo. They kept coming and having conversations for about 8 months. By this time, a baby girl had been born in May. Mom and Dad named me Monique Fay, but the boys, now 6 and 3 wanted to call me Rocket so they could send me to the moon or Football so they could kick me. Apparently, I was in the way of their fun. In August, around the time of their 7th wedding anniversary, Mom and Dad were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and we started to go to church. I vaguely remember that we went to Sacrament meeting, came home to eat and went back to church for Sunday School. Primary was held on a weekday afternoon.
My memory is a little spotty here, but I know we loved living out in the country. We had two dogs now, Lovey and Shadow. Lovey was a black lab and Shadow was some sort of black and white sheep dog. Lovey was the best dog in the world and I think all of us who knew her hold all black labs in a special place in our hearts. We had some random cats here and there as well, but Lovey was the true family pet. Shadow was hit by a car when I was still pretty young.
There was a ditch across the dirt road from our house and early on winter mornings on the way to catch the bus, we’d check it for ice and see if we could stand on it, sure that we could skate the ditch to the bus stop. It never worked. Along Alma School rd (now Basha rd) where the bus stop was, ran a big canal, all the way up to about Germann rd. Some of those mornings the fog would rise off the canal and it looked like we lived in a fairy land. This canal was the source of many adventures as we grew. We fished in it for crawdads, collected the tiny shells that littered the banks, and of course the best, Bobby and Jamie would blow up Bobby’s raft (a 2 seater with oars) and try to ride the rapids. The bridges over the canal were a definite obstacle and decisions had to be made about whether the water was low enough to make it under the bridge (laying down, of course) or the bridge had to be grabbed and climbed over. It was high excitement!
The pasture between our house and Uncle Pete’s house held various animals over the years. My earliest memory is of Aunt Karen’s Shetland pony. After he passed, sometimes that pasture would be full of yearling thoroughbreds, for a while it held a big bull that we bred with our milk cow. Either way, it was a source of entertainment. The horses would somehow find a way to open the gate, and we’d have a stampede on our hands. (Megan admitted later that she occasionally opened the gate for them, just for the thrill.) It was awesome to watch Mom hop in the station wagon or van, Dad would show up in the truck, and they would chase those horses back to the pasture. Often a farm guy would come along to help so they could block all of the exits and get them turned around. We would watch from as close as we were allowed to without getting in the way. The bull was more of a dare kind of thing. Which of the boys would go into the pasture with him? Or, who was going to get the cattle prod and chase him out of the cow pen when he would jump the fence?
The boys had bunk beds in their room and loved to pull the mattresses off and jump or roll off the top bunk onto them. Jumping off the roof was at least as fun. Anything and everything was a possible tool for fun. Including the time that we had been making political signs for Mom’s run for the school board. We cleaned up all the paint with gasoline and Dad told Bobby to take care of it. We had a barrel for burning garbage across the road by the ditch. Bobby dumped the gas on top of the garbage and told me to get back. I went to the middle of the road. He backed up as far as he could and tossed in a match. A tower of flame shot up. His face and hair were burned pretty good and I swear that’s why I’ve never had full eyebrows since. Mom actually had to take him to the doctor for the burns on his face and Dad had a chat with him about fire safety. It didn’t stick.
There were a few neighbor kids whose parents worked for the farm around. Jamie liked to play football with them, but that was sometimes too much running for Bobby’s asthma. He liked to play spies and would sometimes let me help him, if I was really quiet. There was a weird bush in the front yard (where that pistachio tree is now) that grew so that it was really shaggy and bushy, but hollow underneath. It was also pretty scratchy, but there was one spot where it grew up a little around the bottom and you could crawl under then you could almost sit up, once you were in the bush. We would climb under there and spy on the other kids, pretending they were criminals or some sort of bad guys.
Another game the boys would play in the front yard was (completely politically incorrect) Smear the Queer. This was usually a game to play when lots of friends were over. They usually played with a football and one person would throw the ball up into the air for everyone else to try to catch. You would think that nobody would want to catch it, but it showed how tough you were if you did. Who ever caught the ball was the queer and all the other kids would then try to tackle them before they crossed a random line. Once you crossed the line, you were safe and got to be the one to throw the ball up for the crowd. Kick the Can was a game that the girls could play too. Eventually, the boys even wanted the girls to play with them, cute neighbor girls and friends anyway.  Kick the Can was like hide and seek, but the hiders tried to sneak back out and kick over a can that stood in the middle of the yard. If the seeker found you you were out, but if you kicked the can you would win the round and be the new seeker.
We never ran out of things to do, even though I’m sure we told Mom that we were bored so often she wanted to strangle us. We rarely walked to the Gonzales’s to see them. We would go in the backyard and climb the side of the play house, over the roof of the Gonzales’s shed, down through a hole in the roof and out the door. If we weren’t going to look for someone to play with, we were going to beg a butter tortilla from Frances. She made the best tortillas in the world and she made them every Friday for her family for the week. She eventually told us we had to pay a dime each for them, it was essentially like we were eating all their bread for the week. We saved our dimes as much as we saved money for the ice cream man.
One time, I remember we were going to Legend City with the Davis’s. Bobby and Von, always the jokers, emptied out some mustard containers and filled them with yellow yarn. They scared us all to death that they were going to squirt us with mustard and out shoots yellow yarn. Mom and Dad were in the front of the station wagon and Br. and Sr. Davis were in the middle seat, all of us kids piled into the back with Bobby and Von squirting us with fake mustard the whole way. I remember the log ride, but I think the car ride was even more fun. I’m pretty sure Bobby got Jamie later with some real mustard after he’d faked him out so many times.
I followed Bobby all around the farm. He and Jamie would tell me all kinds of stories. There were peacocks that wandered around when we were young. They told me that the wings of a peacock were so strong, they could kill a man. This may have something to do with my bird phobia. We would hunt for and collect the peacock feathers all over the place. Bobby once offered the little kids $5 apiece if they could bring him a little feather off the top of a peacock’s head.
We would head over to the camp (the other side of Alma School rd. Our side was the park.) to play in the cotton piles. We were not supposed to play in the whole cotton, it messed up the long staple that our cotton was known for, but of course we did. We would make tunnels in the cotton trailers that were probably about 10x10x20ft. Once the seeds were removed, no one cared if we played in the piles of seed. It wasn’t as soft, but it was still fun. They did tell us to be sure that no one got trapped under piles or bales of cotton.
We also headed for the barn for some activities. The horses were for racing, not riding, so we just petted them. The haystack at the back of the barn was the perfect place to play pretend, though. It was about 15 feet high and jumping off of it was the ultimate proof of coolness. This was probably exactly where our parents intended us to go when Bobby got ahold of a brick of firecrackers. We didn’t want them to hear us setting them off, so he headed to the back of the barn. We are so lucky that we didn’t catch the whole thing on fire.
Behind the barn was a treasure trove of scariness. The chute for loading horses (or giving them shots, or whatever) had a pole across the top where a lady had hung herself, not really of course, but “never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” There was a really old pontoon boat, haunted of course, and a haunted house, that once it was torn down, became the haunted foundation. Tractors were for climbing on and hoping that you could convince someone to take you for a ride. In the Fall, hay rides were the best. The boys would jump off the back of the trailer and “ski” behind it. Eventually, Bobby was the one driving the tractor.
Bobby always wanted spy sets or radios or something he could put together for his birthday or Christmas. When he didn’t have them, he’d find something else to take apart, just to see if he could put it back together again. He was so excited the year he got his telescope for Christmas. Of course, he was excited every Christmas. Every year, Mom would tell us that Christmas was going to be a little tight and not to get our hopes up too much for all of the things we wanted. Every year, one of the grandparents would slip Mom some extra money and we would at least get the big thing that we had asked for.
Every year, we would go to Grandma and Grandpa Bogle’s for Christmas Eve for chalupa and tamales. Grandma made the chalupa (with a little help usually) and she would buy tamales from one of the farm workers. We always got to open a present at her house, and it was usually pajamas to wear home. We always got one toy and pajamas from Grandma and Grandpa. We would play there with our cousins. Bobby was the oldest cousin and so he really preferred to play with Uncle Jacky (JC) or Dad’s cousin Bill.
On the way home, it felt like it was so late. We would search the skies for any sign of Santa Claus. Any airplane or helicopter was fair game. We were sure that we had seen Santa and that we had better hurry home and rush to bed so that he wouldn’t skip our house. We would all rush to bed and try to sleep, or not sleep, but listen for Santa. Bobby would usually wake up about 4:30 and come wake me up to go check out our stockings. He had tried to wake up Jamie first, but he was too tired. Jamie would hear us giggling and come out rubbing his eyes and asking if anything good was in our stockings. There was always a navel orange in the toe, some pecans or walnuts, chocolate, and some little toys or money. Our present from Santa was never wrapped, so we could obviously see it. Our stocking was usually next to it. We would dump them out, then refill them, so that Mom and Dad wouldn’t know what we’d done. We had to wait until at least 6:30 to wake them up. As they got older, it became 7, but I can’t remember a year that Bobby was at home that he didn’t wake up at 4:30. A couple more of the presents he loved were the raft that traveled the canal and a big Styrofoam remote control airplane.
We had chores too. Each of the kids had a night to clean the kitchen. That meant wash the dishes, including the pans, clean the counters, clean out the sink, and sweep the floor. Clean the kitchen meant clean the kitchen. Of course, we tried whatever we could to get out of it or put it off, but a dirty kitchen in the morning probably meant a swat with the belt. The boys had to keep their room and bathroom clean, but as they got older, their chores were more often outside. While I was inside whining about dusting or sweeping or mopping, they were out mowing the lawn or chopping weeds. Weeds had to be chopped from the garden, the yard, and the sides of the pastures across the street. Taking out the garbage was usually the boys’ job as well. One of our favorite (not) chores was milking the cow. She needed to be milked in the morning and at night and no one wanted the morning run before school. When she was in the pasture across the road, it was less of a deal, but then she was moved over to the barn. The boys would drive the station wagon over to the barn. Jamie decided he should teach me how to drive it too. I was about 8 and couldn’t reach the pedals, so he gave up.
Of course, during this time, the other kids were coming along. Elise in 1973, Merilee 1975, Emily 1977, Tom 1979, Chris 1982, Megan 1984, and Ty 1987.
I think about the time Bobby was 12, he got a job working on the cotton crew. This meant being out in the cotton field about the time the sun came up to chop weeds out of the cotton. Bobby would leave with Dad in the morning (during the summer). I think they usually got home a little after lunch and then showered and slept. Of course, whatever Bobby did, Jamie wanted to do too, so it wasn’t long before he was on the chopping crew as well. We were all taught to check the irrigation lines and restart any that had stopped. These were just curved, black plastic pipe that hung over the bank from the ditch to the field. With the right technique, they would draw the water from the ditch to the field. Probably around 14, Bobby started driving a tractor. He’d been driving a truck for a while, but the tractor was a big deal, plowed rows had to be straight, cotton that was being picked could not be wasted.
I’m honestly not sure what Bobby learned first, to drive a truck or a tractor, or to fly a plane. D-daddy had a cool flight simulator at the office that we loved to play with. The boys could drive the truck or car, as long as they avoided the paved roads. They sometimes had to run Dad out something that he’d forgotten, or a lunch if he couldn’t make it home. Dad had a phone in his truck long before normal people did. The first one actually looked like the old tan office phones. He was always out on the farm and it was helpful to be able to get ahold of him.
Bobby took his scout training very seriously. He learned to shoot, what knot to tie in what situation, how to survive in the wild, and he valued it all. I think he liked to watch the old show MacGyver and try to decide if he could have done the same things MacGyver did, or if he would have done them differently. We used to have a tether ball pole that was used to swing on when the tether ball went flat. The pole broke off near the base and just a little jagged bit stuck up from the ground. One day, when Mom and Dad were gone, I ran into it and cut my toe pretty badly. Bobby cleaned the wound, bandaged it up, elevated it (with about 8 pillows, I think) and when it still seemed to be bleeding, called Mom and Dad on the car phone. I think they were at the movies. The phone was set to honk the horn when it rang, and so they came out of the theater to a horn blaring across the parking lot. They rushed home, but Bobby had taken care of everything.
As Bobby got older, his adventurous spirit did not die, it expanded. He loved to emulate what he’d seen on tv. He may be the very reason for the phrase, “Do not try this at home.” Because he would. Dukes of Hazzard taught many great driving lessons and there were plenty of country roads to experiment on. The railroad tracks made the perfect ramp for jumping whether in town, or out. The 6-million Dollar Man jumped off many a building. Luckily, Chandler didn’t have many buildings that could cause too much damage. The guest house to the swimming pool at Grandma’s and the house to the trampoline worked as substitutes. I believe that fire ran a close second to the excitement of flying through the air.
Bobby was well ahead of me in school. I remember when the boys were going to John Hancock academy in Mesa, I was so sad and wanted to go to school too. It was 1974 and I was too young. Mom tried signing me up for preschool, but it wasn’t good enough. Eventually, she let me start kindergarten and I remember the song the boys would sing about the principal, to the tune of the Army song. “Over land, over sea, over Mr. Gaddy’s knee, there’s a wuppin a waitin for me. Might be red, might be blue, might be Mr. Gaddy’s shoe, there’s a wuppin a waitin for you.”
Soon we transferred to Erie school. Bobby was probably in 5th or 6th grade when I started. I remember they were just opening Willis Jr. High. Although we always rode the bus, I remember we used to be part of a car pool for seminary. We always wanted to go to Elmer’s for a rocket pop (the conical tri-color suckers). We would go downtown for the CHS homecoming parade, Maxwell Street days, eating at Serrano’s or Ortega’s, a 5 cent ice cream at Thrifty was a great treat. (That was even cheap for back then.) We loved to go to Dudding’s drug store, which we did a lot for Bobby’s meds, or anyone else’s. There were awesome gumball machines and a fortune telling scale. A night out to Bob’s Big Boy was pretty special. 

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


Hmmm, wow, this is really personal. I'm not at all sure that I should be putting this out there. Of course, if you've known me for more than 20 years you may or may not already know the basics. Obviously it has taken me a while to get here. I kept telling myself that I just didn't feel like blogging. Seriously, I just didn't feel like blogging this. Also, I only have about a quarter page after this written. It really does get better from here. This is just the biggest molehill we had hit so far and I've struggled with writing the rest. Really, (spoiler alert) this is the climax and from here the falling action is just a bunch of lovey dovey, let's get married crap.

Well, apparently I'm willing to sacrifice dignity for...wait, what is this for? Fame, fortune, no. My "craft", perhaps. Attention, maybe, but as I cringe, I'm guessing that's not it in this case anyway. I guess I just don't care all that much about my dignity. If you could not mention to my husband that I've thrown him under the bus as well, that would be great. So, here goes...

We’d come full circle, back to New Year’s Eve, although this time I was pretty sure I would have a date. I just had no idea how that date would end.
The big dance was to be held at Fiesta Mall in Mesa. The church, the institute, someone… had rented Fiesta Mall in order to keep our precious young adults off the streets on NYE. Of course, they’d gone to the best to dj the dance and our buddy Dennis performed admirably as always. He was there with his adorable wife, Alisa. They had been pretty wrapped up in each other and hadn’t really been on the single scene anymore, so we hadn’t seen them for a while. When we went up to say hi, David and I were holding hands. Dennis was in shock. I honestly don’t know how this could have slipped past him, but he really was surprised that we were dating. I’ll leave that to him to explain.
We hung out with our friends, danced, and wandered the open areas of the mall. Finally, a year later, I got that midnight kiss from the one person with whom I had hoped to share it.
We had a lovely evening and played and had fun. We seemed to be getting closer to each other with each passing minute, which is probably why now suddenly seemed like the time to talk about our feelings.
Oh, feelings. Why do they always have to get in the way? In my mind, we were getting pretty serious. I did now possess a ring that had “I love you, David ‘90” inscribed in it. I thought there was no way I could have a secret from this guy. I decided now was the time to tell him that I had kissed his friend while he was away. It wasn’t really a big deal, after all to quote a famous dork, “We were on a break!” However, I didn’t want that guy to know something that David didn’t.
We got to my house after the dance and sat in the car “talking” for a while. I finally mustered up the courage to tell him. He was upset and I was upset and then we laughed about it and kissed and made up.
Then he told me that he had something he wanted to tell me as well. Deep Breath! Did I remember back when that girl came to visit from Alaska? Um, well yes, I did. It was only a few months ago. Well, apparently there was a little more to the story that didn’t really seem all that relevant at the time. Apparently he may have sort of underestimated the time that they spent kissing. He felt really bad about it and was so sorry, and I cried.
Now what was I supposed to do? I had just told him that I had kissed one of his best friends, but it was when we weren’t even really dating. But of course, we broke up pretty much every other week. But we weren’t broken up when he kissed this girl. What did this mean for our relationship? Top all this info exchange with the fact that it is somewhere dark thirty in the am on New Year’s Day. What drama!

I am about to press enter and put this onto the interwebs like a crazy person. Here goes... 

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Dental disaster

I read once (on another blog, whose writer was probably jealous of certain blogs that we all know and love) that "Mormon" blogs are so lame because they only show one side of life. They are always positive and never let the reader see that their lives are not perfect. (If you never read "Seriously, So Blessed" you should look and see if it's still up. I heard the writer stopped. It is a hilarious spoof on the Mormon blog)
I think I'm somewhere in the middle. I'm definitely far from perfect and don't try to appear so. However, I also think, who wants to listen to Debbie Downer all of the time? So I sometimes vent here and sometimes not.
Today was more frustrating than life.
A little history, when we moved to So Pho, we continued to go to our family dentist that we had for years. Things were fine. After moving to Chandler, we decided that Phoenix was a little far to drive to go to the dentist, especially considering the plethora of dentists here.
There is an awesome dentist in our ward. If anyone needs a dentist, go see Marshall Hanson at Fountains Family Dental. He rocks! David went to Dr. Hanson and had fabulous work done to repair some old dental work. He bought their firm insurance and paid about the same that our insurance would have required. It was a big job.
Anyway, I took the girls to Dr. Hanson. They love him just like everyone else does. He is very gentle and kind. Unfortunately, the insurance didn't make nearly the same dent in the cost of Lauren's 6 cavities and Emma's sealant that she needs. So, we had to find someone different.
I searched the listings on the insurance website. The few reviews that I could find for dentists on the list were not good. Most, I couldn't find anything about. The several dentists that I know where not on the list. Frustration! Finally, I found a pediatric dentist that had good reviews and called them to set up an appointment. During the phone call the receptionist pointed out that since they specialized, instead of the insurance paying 80%, they would pay 20%. This wouldn't work for me.
I started looking again. I finally found a dentist that I hadn't noticed before, right down the street. I made the appt. We waited 2 weeks for Lauren to get home from Utah.
This morning we got up and went to the dentist. I sat filling out sheet after sheet of paper work. I talked to the receptionist about the insurance that we have. We had discussed it on the phone. SRP uses Delta and EDS. We have EDS. I'm not sure how this became confusing. Lauren is now in the chair, getting xrays and finding out that in the past 3 months, even more cavities have developed.
The receptionist calls EDS and while they are partners with the parent company, this dentist is not in their network. Somehow, I managed to get their address and phone number from my insurance web site, but they will not pay for the dental work. I pay for the work they have done so far on Lauren, but she still has a mouth full of cavities, Emma still doesn't have sealants, and I still have to go home and find ANOTHER different dentist for them to go to, all in the 2 weeks before school starts. I really wanted to punch someone in the face!