<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544</id><updated>2012-02-15T23:06:33.725-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So, This One Time.....</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>41</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-7531249568214461538</id><published>2010-05-01T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-01T14:12:28.573-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gary is "Plum Crazy"</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;My husband + his &lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;favorite&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;COLOR &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;+ his love of usesless trivia &lt;/span&gt;= &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S9yZGO09qqI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/p8mJE8sb0-E/s1600/plum_crazy_with_black_rt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 202px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466412380059445922" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S9yZGO09qqI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/p8mJE8sb0-E/s320/plum_crazy_with_black_rt.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Should be interesting.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-7531249568214461538?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/7531249568214461538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=7531249568214461538' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7531249568214461538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7531249568214461538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2010/05/gary-is-plum-crazy.html' title='Gary is &quot;Plum Crazy&quot;'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S9yZGO09qqI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/p8mJE8sb0-E/s72-c/plum_crazy_with_black_rt.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-7733881667238274290</id><published>2010-01-27T08:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-27T09:01:14.508-08:00</updated><title type='text'>An Overused Phrase and it's Literal Translation.</title><content type='html'>So, Gary has this thing he likes to say. He says it when there is an empty seat at the table, food not eaten, or an extra serving of something. He likes to say those things are "for Jesus". No, he's not actually setting a place at the table for Jesus. He's being very tongue-in-cheek. Yeah, I know, Gary being cheeky. Who could believe that?! Anyway, the other night, it caught up to him. He was being quite naughty with himself. Craving Crown Burger and wondering just how far he could push his dietary limits. Crown Burger seemed to be okay, so he branched out to Irish Cream, that was okay too. Cream in his coffee, um....maybe not so okay. But how to be sure? Definitely not by using the better part of a pint in a weekend. Yeah, that's how he rolls. He thinks big and he goes for the gusto. If a little bit is good, a lot is better. He's that way with EVERYTHING! And, it's one of the things I love about him, it really is. But he quickly realized the error in judgement on the cream and coffee issue. Next, he tried leftover Bierocks...I never realized how much he truly liked them. They probably would have been okay, if he hadn't followed them with half a bag of chocolate chips! While he and Neil were sharing the chocolate chips, Neil surprised him by taking one chip and setting it on the table...and declaring it was "for Jesus". Now that I look at it, he just might have been trying to keep it away from Gary. But, Gary thought it was pretty funny, so he called me at work to tell me what happened. It was funny. I had to laugh. When I got home that night, Neil met me at the bottom of the stairs. We were going over the homework and talking about his day, when he saw the chocolate chip still on the table. He said "Jesus didn't eat his chocolate chip." I had to say, "And, he probably won't" to which he replied "Why?" .....um yes, why? The first thing into my head was that He's dead. But, that's not exactly true. So, I did the parental thing and changed the subject. The next morning I saw the chip still there. Surprised? I am a bit, it was sitting at Gary's place on the table...he had eaten breakfast right in that very spot. But, I guess he was feeling crappy enough from the previous night of indulgence that it didn't even look good. So, since it was there, I ate it. And felt guilty. I didn't want Neil to think that Jesus had stopped by in the middle of the night to eat the chocolate chip. He's not Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. He doesn't need to work under cover of darkness, while all are sleeping. I put another in it's place. When Neil came downstairs, he saw it. He gave it a look, then gave me a look. I said "Jesus still didn't eat the chocolate chip." So, Neil did. And he smiled big when he did it. I did have to point out to him that when some people set that extra place at the table, it is for Jesus. But, they know He won't actually be joining them. It's more of a reminder. A reminder to share what we have with those who have less. A reminder that there is always something we can share. Time, friendship, the warmth of our home, a meal, and maybe even a chocolate chip. He's a good kid, he got it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-7733881667238274290?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/7733881667238274290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=7733881667238274290' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7733881667238274290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7733881667238274290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2010/01/overused-parable-and-its-literal.html' title='An Overused Phrase and it&apos;s Literal Translation.'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-8837332549440947974</id><published>2010-01-06T09:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T11:06:37.458-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2009 the year in Review</title><content type='html'>Okay, so I know this is a bit late. And may seem less important, since it isn't the first post of the new year. To be honest, I'm terrible at uploading photos. But, since I've realized that I don't have to post photos, or very many, since the first half of the year is already taken care of... here it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January&lt;br /&gt;Walking with Dinosaurs and the first visit from Tooth Fairy. Since then, he's lost four more teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February&lt;br /&gt;The passing of my dad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March&lt;br /&gt;Spring violin recital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April&lt;br /&gt;Tour of the Depot bike race. A race for Gary, right in our very own neck of the woods. Not my favorite way to spend Easter. But, hey...it was some great outside time. And the weather on Sunday was sooo much nicer than the weather on Saturday...burr!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May&lt;br /&gt;A school field trip to the zoo, with Dad. Farewell to a small violin, and hello to a bigger one. Last day of Kindergarden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June&lt;br /&gt;State Road Race Championships in Clarkston. Intermountain Suzuki Strings Institute.&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TZWTITsRI/AAAAAAAAATg/slbmC2diyjY/s1600-h/IMG_0014.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July&lt;br /&gt;Swim Lessons!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August&lt;br /&gt;Camping and First Grade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TZeZuV-hI/AAAAAAAAATo/iLvf9plg7a8/s1600-h/IMG_0098.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September&lt;br /&gt;Soldier Hollow Classic sheepdog trials and Splash dogs. The third year up for Neil and me, fun stuff!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October&lt;br /&gt;That month long celebration of Halloween. School carnival, Benson Grist Mill Pumpkin Walk and party, Halloween HighJinks with the Utah Symphony, Halloween violin recital, Wheeler Farm cyclocross race, trick-or-treating, and the FLU...even swine flu, we think....we didn't actually go to the doctor for the diagnosis. What's up with folks that do that, anyway? You're sick, go to bed!&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TZsyMfb_I/AAAAAAAAATw/D2WA5LyiV-I/s1600-h/IMG_0042.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423699214672556018" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TZsyMfb_I/AAAAAAAAATw/D2WA5LyiV-I/s320/IMG_0042.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TaJDtNkgI/AAAAAAAAAUA/BSavTWvN9NQ/s1600-h/IMG_0083.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423699700409537026" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TaJDtNkgI/AAAAAAAAAUA/BSavTWvN9NQ/s320/IMG_0083.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TaJDtNkgI/AAAAAAAAAUA/BSavTWvN9NQ/s1600-h/IMG_0083.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TZ87_qZMI/AAAAAAAAAT4/tpAFAT60sHs/s1600-h/IMG_0059.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423699492181009602" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TZ87_qZMI/AAAAAAAAAT4/tpAFAT60sHs/s320/IMG_0059.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November.&lt;br /&gt;Quiet Thanksgiving at home. SCD friendly for Gary, and ultra yummy for everybody. The find of a pie that Neil loved...German Apple. Once again saying farewell to a small violin and hello to a larger one. And a son that thinks my cooking should be 'interviewed'. &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TaYw_WYqI/AAAAAAAAAUI/Jy8bgDxGE6Y/s1600-h/IMG_0125.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423699970263245474" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TaYw_WYqI/AAAAAAAAAUI/Jy8bgDxGE6Y/s320/IMG_0125.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December.&lt;br /&gt;Christmas violin performance at Tooelel City Hall, complete with visit with Santa.  Birthday lunch at Joe's Crabshack with Mom and Grandma. Thinking that would suffice for birthday dinner, only to hear a muttered..."today's not my birthday." A freshly turned 7 year old. A new Red Ryder BB gun and salmon and shrimp dinner for his birthday. Winter vacation from school...I never knew somebody that young could be so Excited to not have to go to school!! Christmas!!! And as Neil put it when asked: "Did you get a lot of presents for Christmas?" shoulder shrug..."no, not really. But it was good." And a really fun New Year's Eve. Second viewing of Avatar...took my mom this time, visit to Gary's mom, Gary's first Crown Burger in 3 years...and ta da! This time it DID NOT make him sick!! YAY!! Lots of New Year's Eve fun that lasted until New Year's morning with Kim, Paul, and Bryce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TbFzs0jGI/AAAAAAAAAUY/3YrfysiKTjA/s1600-h/IMG_0169.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423700744084950114" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TbFzs0jGI/AAAAAAAAAUY/3YrfysiKTjA/s320/IMG_0169.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0Ta55_gybI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/Cavre0Akprk/s1600-h/IMG_0175.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423700539615529394" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0Ta55_gybI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/Cavre0Akprk/s320/IMG_0175.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0Td1JMSwII/AAAAAAAAAUg/D1cX3tJPsgM/s1600-h/IMG_0191.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423703756331204738" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0Td1JMSwII/AAAAAAAAAUg/D1cX3tJPsgM/s320/IMG_0191.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back, I realize that I was able to do almost one small post monthly. I'm better than I thought I was.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-8837332549440947974?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/8837332549440947974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=8837332549440947974' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/8837332549440947974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/8837332549440947974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2010/01/2009-year-in-review.html' title='2009 the year in Review'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TZsyMfb_I/AAAAAAAAATw/D2WA5LyiV-I/s72-c/IMG_0042.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-3836085928817027208</id><published>2010-01-06T08:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T09:16:34.195-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Scones</title><content type='html'>I started a &lt;a href="http://more4lessofme.blogspot.com/"&gt;diet&lt;/a&gt; on Monday, but yesterday I had a crazy craving for scones. Anyway, it was more than a craving, it was a compulsion to bake something yummy. I was thinking raspberry, but opted for oatmeal with currants. One recipe makes eight scones. I took four to work to share with co-workers. Kept four at home, one for Neil, and freeze the other three. Not a bad way to indulge, right? The house smelled so good, I wish you had smelivision, as Gary is fond of saying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TBYEfMFcI/AAAAAAAAATQ/4Myz8YcvCLw/s1600-h/IMG_0209.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423672470526498242" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TBYEfMFcI/AAAAAAAAATQ/4Myz8YcvCLw/s320/IMG_0209.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And since Kim wants the recipe. Here it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oatmeal Currant Scones&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 and 1/2 C flour&lt;br /&gt;1 C old-fashioned rolled oats&lt;br /&gt;1/3 C firmly packed dark brown sugar&lt;br /&gt;2 and 1/2 teaspoons baking powder&lt;br /&gt;1/2 teaspoon salt&lt;br /&gt;1 Tablespoon cinnamon&lt;br /&gt;1/2 C unsalted butter, chilled&lt;br /&gt;1 large egg&lt;br /&gt;1/4 C milk&lt;br /&gt;2 Tablespoons molasses&lt;br /&gt;1 Tablespoon vanilla&lt;br /&gt;1 Cup currants&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Lightly butter a 10-inch-diameter circle in the center of a baking sheet.&lt;br /&gt;In a large bowl, combine flour, oats, brown sugar, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon. Cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add egg, milk, molasses and vanilla. Stir to combine. Add currants.&lt;br /&gt;Spread dough into an 8-inch-diameter circle in the center of the baking sheet. With a serated knife, cut into 8 wedges. Bake at 22 to 27 minutes, or until knife or toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Place baking sheet on wire rack and allow to cool for 10 minutes. Recut wedges, if necessary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-3836085928817027208?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/3836085928817027208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=3836085928817027208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3836085928817027208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3836085928817027208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2010/01/scones.html' title='Scones'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/S0TBYEfMFcI/AAAAAAAAATQ/4Myz8YcvCLw/s72-c/IMG_0209.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-4189295082408144164</id><published>2010-01-05T09:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-05T09:20:08.936-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Well??  How Good are You?</title><content type='html'>Gary sent me this poem yesterday, and I love it. If you know me very well, you can guess it brought tears to my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="main"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;Almost as Good&lt;br /&gt;As Your Dog&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can start the day without caffeine,&lt;br /&gt;If you can get going without pep pills,&lt;br /&gt;If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,&lt;br /&gt;If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,&lt;br /&gt;If you can eat the same food everyday and be grateful for it,&lt;br /&gt;If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time.&lt;br /&gt;If you can overlook it when those you love take it out on you,&lt;br /&gt;If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,&lt;br /&gt;If you can ignore a friend's limited education and never correct him,&lt;br /&gt;If you can resist treating a rich friend better than an poor friend,&lt;br /&gt;If you can face the world without lies and deceit,&lt;br /&gt;If you can conquer tension without medical help,&lt;br /&gt;If you can relax without liquor,&lt;br /&gt;If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,&lt;br /&gt;If you can say honestly that deep in your heart you have no prejudice against creed, color, religion or politics, THEN, my friend, you are almost as good as your dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Author Unknown &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-4189295082408144164?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/4189295082408144164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=4189295082408144164' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/4189295082408144164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/4189295082408144164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2010/01/well-how-good-are-you.html' title='Well??  How Good are You?'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-8359679073960058312</id><published>2010-01-01T12:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T12:18:25.751-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Laughter</title><content type='html'>It's good to know what people see in us.  Last night, as I listened to Gary and Kim talk about me, I was pleased with what they were saying. They were talking about the way I laugh.  And the things that make me laugh. For somebody who has never been overly fond of my own laugh, it was good to hear.  They never once mentioned that I cackle like a witch, they never brought up the Betty Rubble giggle.  They talked about the near to tears laughter.  That laugh that comes from somewhere deep inside and uses more energy that a good work-out.  As Gary calls it, me sharing my joy with those around me.  I love knowing that laughter is one of the memories I leave with people.  So, that said, here's to more living, more laughter, and more love in 2010.  Happy New Year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-8359679073960058312?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/8359679073960058312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=8359679073960058312' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/8359679073960058312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/8359679073960058312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2010/01/laughter.html' title='Laughter'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-3379429425111292554</id><published>2009-12-31T06:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-01T12:18:57.534-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bizarre World of the Sleeping</title><content type='html'>It's funny the things we do in our sleep. From time to time, Neil will walk into our room, in his sleep. I have been known to laugh to the point of hysteria in my sleep. Gary and I have woken ourselves up mid-conversation in our sleep. Punches have even been thrown in our sleep. Last night, Neil took a left turn out of his bedroom instead of a right. Making our room, not the bathroom, the destination point. Weren't we surprised awake by the sound of his mid-sleep whizzing. Gary was startled into full wakefulness, and turning on the light, witnessed the wee little event. This in turn brought on a bout of near-hysterical laughing from me. While I remember laughing myself into full wakefulness, I hope Neil does not remember his little mid-sleep piss-up....uh, I mean slip-up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH, and a big thank-you Gary, for being the one awake enough to clean it up. I knew I loved you for the right reasons.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-3379429425111292554?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/3379429425111292554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=3379429425111292554' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3379429425111292554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3379429425111292554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/12/bizarre-world-of-sleeping.html' title='The Bizarre World of the Sleeping'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-5838175816747848558</id><published>2009-12-29T18:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-29T21:27:42.070-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Geography Lesson Needed.....</title><content type='html'>For the month of December, leading up to Christmas, Macey's grocery store had an extremely nice man wandering around the store in a Santa Claus suit. I thought he was creepy. Not in a Billy Bob Thornton "Bad Santa" kind of way, but in an "I don't want my child sitting on his lap kind of way". Anyway, I was curious to see what Neil would think of him. He's usually pretty grounded in the fact that store Santas are just guys in Santa suits helping the Big Guy out. Not so with this one! Neil was certain that he was "one of the real Santas". Yup. Apparently there's more than one. In Neil's opinion, there are four or, "One for every continent", so he says.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-5838175816747848558?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/5838175816747848558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=5838175816747848558' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/5838175816747848558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/5838175816747848558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/12/geography-lesson-needed.html' title='Geography Lesson Needed.....'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-2857766441070608012</id><published>2009-12-22T06:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-22T06:18:34.285-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Moving Forward</title><content type='html'>Last night for dinner we had spaghetti and broccoli.  I thought this was no problem, Neil has always loved both, and though Gary can't eat the pasta or the sauce, he does his own thing with the meat.  Anyway, all was going well.  Until Gary told Neil he had to eat his broccoli.  That sparked a series of gagging and pained looking facial expressions from Neil.  Gary reminded him that he's always liked broccoli, to which Neil replied "I'm evolving here!"  Later he explained that his taste buds are evolving backward, and he no longer likes the broccoli "blossoms", and he did point out that he ate the "stumps".  Good to know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-2857766441070608012?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/2857766441070608012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=2857766441070608012' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2857766441070608012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2857766441070608012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/12/moving-forward.html' title='Moving Forward'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-3889240858632012926</id><published>2009-12-16T08:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-29T21:02:43.713-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe My Favorite Christmas Story.</title><content type='html'>There's a story from WWI about British troops and German troops calling an "informal armistice" on Christmas Eve of 1914. German troops began by decorating around their trenches and singing Christmas carols. Most notably "Silent Night" or "Stille Nacht". British troops responded by singing English carols. Greetings and gifts were exchanged. They gave proper burial to their dead and both sides mourned together. They played soccer. In many sectors, this truce lasted until Christmas Day and in some areas it lasted until New Year's Day. There would be other informal treaties during that war, but none of the same size.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;A Carol from Flanders&lt;br /&gt;by Frederick Niven&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Flanders on the Christmas morn&lt;br /&gt;The trenched foemen lay,&lt;br /&gt;the German and the Briton born,&lt;br /&gt;And it was Christmas Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The red sun rose on fields accurst,&lt;br /&gt;The gray fog fled away;&lt;br /&gt;But neither cared to fire the first,&lt;br /&gt;For it was Christmas Day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They called from each to each across&lt;br /&gt;The hideous disarray,&lt;br /&gt;For terrible has been their loss:&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, this is Christmas Day!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their rifles all they set aside,&lt;br /&gt;One impulse to obey;&lt;br /&gt;'Twas just the men on either side,&lt;br /&gt;Just men — and Christmas Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They dug the graves for all their dead&lt;br /&gt;And over them did pray:&lt;br /&gt;And Englishmen and Germans said:&lt;br /&gt;"How strange a Christmas Day!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the trenches then they met,&lt;br /&gt;Shook hands, and e'en did play&lt;br /&gt;At games on which their hearts were set&lt;br /&gt;On happy Christmas Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not all the emperors and kings,&lt;br /&gt;Financiers and they&lt;br /&gt;Who rule us could prevent these things —&lt;br /&gt;For it was Christmas Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh ye who read this truthful rime&lt;br /&gt;From Flanders, kneel and say:&lt;br /&gt;God speed the time when every day&lt;br /&gt;Shall be as Christmas Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-3889240858632012926?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/3889240858632012926/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=3889240858632012926' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3889240858632012926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3889240858632012926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/12/maybe-my-favorite-christmas-story.html' title='Maybe My Favorite Christmas Story.'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-5245480696136637697</id><published>2009-12-14T04:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T05:40:23.253-08:00</updated><title type='text'>WOW...Has it Really Been 7 Years?!!!</title><content type='html'>So, lunch with my mom went well. Expensive, but well. I managed to calm down and live in the moment. Kids are great reminders that we should do that. And, the weather stayed my version of drive-able.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY8jSWSoBI/AAAAAAAAAR4/Uh7qnH5C2qA/s1600-h/IMG_0138.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415082178878021650" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY8jSWSoBI/AAAAAAAAAR4/Uh7qnH5C2qA/s320/IMG_0138.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was Neil's seventh birthday, and I have a question. Does anybody have any hard and fast rules about when is the right time to open presents? Gary took the day off, I was already off, and Neil was out of school...since it was Sunday, and all. Anyway, he woke up early...and very excited. He did great getting through breakfast, his strange request was oatmeal. Then, he started asking if he could open his presents. Gary's so programmed that it should be after dinner, that he didn't quite know what to say. He's not used to everybody being home in the morning. So, he kept giving his famous "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Afta&lt;/span&gt;" answer. To which Neil would ask "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Afta&lt;/span&gt; what??" Which leads to "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Afta&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;afta&lt;/span&gt;..." not what the newly turned 7 year old was wanting to hear. We settled for "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;afta&lt;/span&gt; cake", which would be after lunch. So, we passed the time with television and polishing pennies. Neil has a special "log cabin" penny, that as he calls it is, one of his "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;luckies&lt;/span&gt;". And, he wanted to see how shiny it could be. Which gave Gary the idea that it would be fun to have a "lucky penny" from his &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;birthyear&lt;/span&gt;. 1973. He thought it would be a quest. He didn't &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;knw&lt;/span&gt; that we had 3 of them in a can of change. Sadly enough, I can't find a 1970 penny in any of that. Did they even make pennies in 1970? It's amazing how long a person can spend polishing change, if one lets oneself. Neil got bored after about an hour. And was back at it..."can I just open one?" Time to make lunch. "When can we have cake?", "You just said you were full...let's wait 45 minutes", "Is it 45 minutes yet?", "When this is over". Good call Gary, an hour long program about Russia's Ural mountain (which oddly enough, sucked Neil in just as well as Gary). And yes, it was time to open presents. He'd been guessing as to what they were all morning. And was pleased to find, not bath beads, but &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BBs&lt;/span&gt;. Not a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;paver&lt;/span&gt; stone, but a very large book about prehistoric life. Sadly not night vision goggles, but new shoes. And the box that could only be a stick, or maybe two sticks, was a Red Ryder BB gun. The mystery box, that wouldn't even get a guess, was that &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Screature&lt;/span&gt; that he's been asking for since April.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY8wYs_hkI/AAAAAAAAASA/93nv70zYDA4/s1600-h/IMG_0140.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 235px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415082403922150978" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY8wYs_hkI/AAAAAAAAASA/93nv70zYDA4/s320/IMG_0140.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY9ORmZ7XI/AAAAAAAAASQ/u4Ep2xkngTk/s1600-h/IMG_0144.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 243px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415082917411548530" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY9ORmZ7XI/AAAAAAAAASQ/u4Ep2xkngTk/s320/IMG_0144.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY9Dz7f2HI/AAAAAAAAASI/Ir-kB7rD-mQ/s1600-h/IMG_0146.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415082737648261234" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY9Dz7f2HI/AAAAAAAAASI/Ir-kB7rD-mQ/s320/IMG_0146.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told us several times that it was his best birthday EVER!! Good words to hear on a quiet day that didn't see company or a party. After some time checking out the new stuff, he went shooting with Dad, to make proper use of a shoe box and completely demolish a peanut butter jar. Apparently &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BBs&lt;/span&gt; will get trapped in a glass jar, until it's shot enough times that it completely shatters. Some more telling Dad that it was the best birthday ever, and they were home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY9YVTZYmI/AAAAAAAAASY/BTgScZjG3a8/s1600-h/IMG_0151.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415083090204254818" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY9YVTZYmI/AAAAAAAAASY/BTgScZjG3a8/s320/IMG_0151.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY9erBeQaI/AAAAAAAAASg/JiNOYsqsB7Y/s1600-h/IMG_0152.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415083199113871778" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY9erBeQaI/AAAAAAAAASg/JiNOYsqsB7Y/s320/IMG_0152.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was planning on lunch with my mom being his birthday meal, but after hearing an under his breath "today's not my birthday", I decided I had better come up with something on the actual day of. "What do you want for your birthday dinner?" went from a seafood medley to surprise me. Well, when he put it that way....It was baked salmon, shrimp scampi, and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;SCD&lt;/span&gt; friendly coleslaw. YUM! After dinner he watched what seemed like four back to back episodes of "Battle of the Dinosaurs" on Discovery Channel (&lt;em&gt;how did&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;they know&lt;/em&gt;?) with his dad, spent an hour looking at the new book, with &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Screature&lt;/span&gt; sitting next to him, and still wanted me to read about dinosaurs when it was time for bed. Yep, I think he had a great birthday. But wow, he's seven, already? Where does the time go?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-5245480696136637697?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/5245480696136637697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=5245480696136637697' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/5245480696136637697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/5245480696136637697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/12/wowhas-it-really-been-7-years.html' title='WOW...Has it Really Been 7 Years?!!!'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SyY8jSWSoBI/AAAAAAAAAR4/Uh7qnH5C2qA/s72-c/IMG_0138.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-2239381433462846708</id><published>2009-12-12T09:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-12T09:07:55.331-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seriously?!</title><content type='html'>Sometimes nobody pisses me off quite like my mom!!  When I say I don't like driving in the snow, I mean it.  And she knows it.&lt;br /&gt;  My idea of not wanting to drive into Salt Lake when it's snowing, is if I can't see the mountains from my kitchen window.  So, last night, I called to say that we're still on for lunch.  I mean the snow is supposed to be spotty until this evening, right?  Anyway, I get a call this morning asking if we're still going, because....it's windy.  I never said anything about driving in the wind....it's the snow!  Don't tell me you understand, then call me and be all sarcastic about 'the wind'.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Geez&lt;/span&gt;!!  Now, I just hope I can calm down enough to make lunch worth it.  It's supposed to be fun...taking Neil to Joe's Crab &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Shack&lt;/span&gt; for his birthday.  Her getting to see her grandson is a bonus.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-2239381433462846708?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/2239381433462846708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=2239381433462846708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2239381433462846708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2239381433462846708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/12/seriously.html' title='Seriously?!'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-146859889520949370</id><published>2009-11-26T20:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T21:07:32.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Food Blog??</title><content type='html'>Today, Neil told me it would be cool if somebody came to the house and interviewed my cooking, because he thinks it would be good to give me some "stars". I'm thinking he means that it would be cool if somebody reviewed my cooking. He likes to think of me as a chef...go figure! Well, this sparked conversation between him and Gary, about how I don't tell anybody that I cook. I mean, that seems the standard, doesn't it? I'm married and have a family, therefore, I cook...right? I'm guessing he means that I don't brag about what I do in the kitchen. So, let me just tell you. Food is a friend. And, believe me, the way I'm built, it must be a very good friend! But, all joking aside, when you prepare food, it's like you're giving breath to a living thing. The way yeast reacts to sugar and warm water. The way anything reacts to seasoning. You get instant results for the effort you put in, a lovely concept, in my mind. This all led to Gary suggesting a food blog. I honestly have no idea how to get started.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-146859889520949370?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/146859889520949370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=146859889520949370' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/146859889520949370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/146859889520949370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/11/food-blog.html' title='Food Blog??'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-5984625854155005217</id><published>2009-11-26T05:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T05:39:19.689-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday Grandma</title><content type='html'>Last night, I was looking at some family history stuff that my dad gave me.  And, I found out that today is my grandmother's birthday.  So....Happy Birthday Grandma.  Wherever you are.  I hope you know that I am thinking about you, and that I love you.   She would've been 94 today.  It's hard to believe she was so young when she left.  Yes, in my opinion 66 is young...too young. &lt;br /&gt;Miss you Grandma.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-5984625854155005217?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/5984625854155005217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=5984625854155005217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/5984625854155005217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/5984625854155005217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/11/happy-birthday-grandma.html' title='Happy Birthday Grandma'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-4963325351988101364</id><published>2009-09-28T09:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T09:42:51.301-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dog in the Sky on an Autumn Morning</title><content type='html'>I had a great opportunity this morning at 4:30, to get up early and sit on the patio with Gary. We had binoculars, star chart, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;laser&lt;/span&gt; pointer at hand. Our goal was to begin familiarizing ourselves with the sky. Constellations and brightest stars. It was fun. It was chilly and the coffee was good. I was moved beyond words by the first awareness of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Canis&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Major &lt;/span&gt;and Sirius. The faithful hunting companion of Orion. The trusted dog who will forever and infinity be mid-stride near his master's heel. What a wonderful thought. And if we truly stop to think, isn't that where our beloved pets who are gone but not forgotten, remain in our hearts? When we picture them in our minds, do we see them as they were when they lay old and infirm, or do we see them in some mental snapshot, running for a ball, soaking up the sun, or just sitting by our side?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-4963325351988101364?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/4963325351988101364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=4963325351988101364' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/4963325351988101364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/4963325351988101364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-had-great-opportunity-this-morning-at.html' title='Dog in the Sky on an Autumn Morning'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-1542883331636372675</id><published>2009-09-15T13:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T13:36:38.599-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Part Time Job</title><content type='html'>The food is great, but the hours are kind of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;suckish&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Saturday there was no cooking, or even experimenting in the kitchen.  Neil had a sleep over at his cousins, and Gary and I got to go on a date.  Anyway, we got to see a movie...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Inglourious&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Basterds&lt;/span&gt;.  And can I just say, it's my new favorite. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Sunday saw the Sauteed Chicken with brown &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;deglazing&lt;/span&gt; sauce, Braised Onions, and Stuffed tomatoes with mushrooms and Swiss cheese.  It all turned out okay, but I crowded the chicken...making it UGLY and burned the onions, making them taste rather onion-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;ey&lt;/span&gt;.  And, remembered that I'm not a big fan of sauteed mushrooms.  Oh well, Gary seemed quite pleased with it.  Neil turned up his nose and ate &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;PBandJ&lt;/span&gt;.  On wheat, then complained that the bread had nuts in it...he's the one who likes wheat bread...not me. &lt;br /&gt;Last night, I wanted something quick.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;HAHAHA&lt;/span&gt;!!!  It was raining and soup sounded good, so I thought a nice beef stew could work.   It was 8pm when we finally sat down to it.  I started it at 5:30.  Yeah...beef stew is not quick.  So, 3 hours of cooking, then sitting down to dinner, then another hour for clean-up.  I think I've found my part time job.  But, at least the soup was a hit.  Neil LOVED it!  Gary ate two bowls...surprised?  And I am learning that just that little bit of extra effort in the kitchen can have huge payoffs in the quality department.  But, if anybody asks me what I've been up to, then gives me that "you're really not that busy" look, I think I may have to smack them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-1542883331636372675?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/1542883331636372675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=1542883331636372675' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/1542883331636372675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/1542883331636372675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-think-i-have-part-time-job.html' title='My Part Time Job'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-6390243615429251222</id><published>2009-09-12T07:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T07:53:45.357-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cookin' Up Some YUM!</title><content type='html'>I got two cookbooks a couple of days ago.  Something to try to make cooking fun again.  The Joy of Cooking by Erma &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Rombauer&lt;/span&gt; and Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child.  Last night I tried a recipe from the Julia Child book.  It was just a recipe for hamburgers, YES!  Hamburgers...in a French cookbook.  Anyway, I figured they would be easy and not too strange for the little taste buds here and not to dangerous for the ultra-sensitive stomach that I sometimes cook for.  HOLY CROW!!! They were the BEST hamburgers I have ever eaten, much less made!!  So, if anybody ever wonders....'why would I want a cookbook like that?' Let me tell you, the recipe on page 301 and the butter recipe (yes, that's right, butter recipe) on 101 are well worth the fact that you're making hamburgers from a recipe!  Tonight, I'm trying a recipe for chicken in egg yolk and butter sauce with roasted tomatoes.  And then going for a VERY LONG walk!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-6390243615429251222?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/6390243615429251222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=6390243615429251222' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/6390243615429251222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/6390243615429251222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/09/cookin-up-some-yum.html' title='Cookin&apos; Up Some YUM!'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-810779543020272710</id><published>2009-09-08T08:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T07:54:35.971-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sheep dogs, and Splash dogs, and Bagpipes.</title><content type='html'>This past weekend was the Soldier Hollow Classic. It's becoming a family tradition at our house. Gary, Neil and I went up three years ago, Neil and I went up last year, and we all got to go up this year. Each year, we say that next year we're going to go for the whole thing, all four days of watching border collies herd sheep. Well, the past two years have seen us up there on only one day. This year saw us up there on two days. Maybe next year, if we don't make all four days, we'll at least manage one day of regular competition and Monday's grand championship finals. That would be nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each year also leaves me with a fascination for the sport and a huge desire to learn how to do it. I become next to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;obsessed&lt;/span&gt; with Border Collies for the following 9 months. And daydream about being born into a rural lifestyle of farming and animals. This year one of the competitors (she is also a photographer and painter who sells some of her artwork at the event) was talking to me while I was looking at some of the artwork she was selling. Anyway, when I told her that it looks so incredibly fun and amazing, and that I would love to do it. She asked me what was stopping me. My first response was that I didn't know how to get started. To that I was directed to a page in the event directory that gives phone numbers, e-mail addresses, and web-sites for just that kind of thing. I was also told to email her and she could answer questions that I may have. The next reason I gave was financial, to which I was told "It's cheaper than horses". The next reason I have, that I didn't find the voice for, was that I kind of always thought that was the kind of thing you had to be born into. And if not born into working stock dogs, at least born into farm life. Really, how does a person get started when they are stuck in the suburbs? Know next to nothing about sheep or cattle? And already have to terrific dogs in a community that will not allow a third? But, you can bet that I'm going to be reading and re-reading the web sites on the subject and buying a book or two....or twenty, as books seem to be a weakness of mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neil was a trooper hanging out in Saturdays wind and rain, and then again in Sunday's scorching sun. He got bored, and he let us know...very vocally. Saturday, he and I saw the sights. Wandered around finding 'lost sheep' for a give-away from Bank of the West. Free teddy bears for kids 12 and under. We also colored a picture for their coloring contest and free ice cream for the entrants. We ate some yummy Greek food, Neil got his first taste of lamb, and he loved it. Then when the herding was over, we watched the Splash Dogs. Neil's FAVORITE part of the weekend. He spent Sunday looking forward to when we could watch it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaEduKzWiI/AAAAAAAAARI/1oYaVVjqEZQ/s1600-h/IMG_0145.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 245px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379132451085048354" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaEduKzWiI/AAAAAAAAARI/1oYaVVjqEZQ/s320/IMG_0145.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday, I was determined to watch more of the herding that I was able to watch on Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaFYL-_93I/AAAAAAAAARQ/nG63WN-emzQ/s1600-h/IMG_0152.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379133455521019762" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaFYL-_93I/AAAAAAAAARQ/nG63WN-emzQ/s320/IMG_0152.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaFYL-_93I/AAAAAAAAARQ/nG63WN-emzQ/s1600-h/IMG_0152.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaGCrPUgWI/AAAAAAAAARg/I9_mwRyNZ2o/s1600-h/IMG_0166.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 243px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379134185465479522" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaGCrPUgWI/AAAAAAAAARg/I9_mwRyNZ2o/s320/IMG_0166.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neil let me know how he felt about this, but he was pretty good about it. He watched the sheep through Gary's binoculars, tried to nap on the seat next to me, looked for grasshoppers, and colored. We watched dogs together as a family for quite a while, then he'd had enough. Time for lunch, a bit more watching, and then some wandering. We saw the "Wild Wonders" an exotic animal rescue that had some animals there. A fox, a tortoise, skunk, hedgehog, birds, and lizards. That tortoise was amazing. I thought they were supposed to be slow. But, she moved out quite quickly with a small flock of children following closely petting her shell, her leg, or whatever they could reach. We looked at booths of wool, Navajo blankets, dog products, pet adoptions, watched the sheep &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;herding&lt;/span&gt; demonstration in the demonstration arena...complete with question and answer time. And saw the tail end of the "Ultimate Canines" dog show. That was fun. Neil got to pet a ginormous 1/2 standard poodle 1/2 great &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Pyrenees&lt;/span&gt;. The dog looked almost like one of the sheep being herded on the hill. We listened to bagpipes (one of Neil's very favorite instruments)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaHde6MZDI/AAAAAAAAARw/oRCc240JfPU/s1600-h/IMG_0142.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 236px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379135745523737650" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaHde6MZDI/AAAAAAAAARw/oRCc240JfPU/s320/IMG_0142.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it was time for something cold to drink and an &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;attempt&lt;/span&gt; at watching more herding. Gary and I decided to keep track of the scores as they were announced, and remember the names of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;handlers&lt;/span&gt; and dogs that really stood out in our minds. When all of the competing was over, we went back up to the Splash Dogs go vertical. We watched dogs jump from 6-7 feet in the air for a toy that was clipped to a bar over their heads. More often than not, they caught it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaGhsxRaMI/AAAAAAAAARo/ZMdIWK5C9x4/s1600-h/IMG_0168.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379134718452263106" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaGhsxRaMI/AAAAAAAAARo/ZMdIWK5C9x4/s320/IMG_0168.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a fun way to get a sun burn. And, we're thinking about taking a family vacation to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Ketchum&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, Idaho in October for the Trailing of the Sheep Festival.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-810779543020272710?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/810779543020272710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=810779543020272710' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/810779543020272710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/810779543020272710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/09/born-into-it.html' title='Sheep dogs, and Splash dogs, and Bagpipes.'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SqaEduKzWiI/AAAAAAAAARI/1oYaVVjqEZQ/s72-c/IMG_0145.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-8569486632894876166</id><published>2009-08-23T08:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-23T09:39:47.109-07:00</updated><title type='text'>UGH!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>Neil's first day of 1st Grade is tomorrow. TOMORROW!!! And, I am SO not ready. I feel like I could puke! Whatever happened to the little boy whos first word was "DOTT!", who called a spoon a "Moot", and who had to reach on tippy-toe to snatch the CamelBack's tube off of the counter? He looked so cute on his wee little toes getting a drink from that thing.&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, like it or not, Neil's ready. He's so excited!! He whoops with joy when I give the countdown every morning.&lt;br /&gt;--Is it always so difficult to show them excitement at the momentum in their life? When really, you just want to cry and hold them closer.--&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-8569486632894876166?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/8569486632894876166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=8569486632894876166' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/8569486632894876166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/8569486632894876166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/08/ugh.html' title='UGH!!!!!!'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-923771449464603332</id><published>2009-08-06T11:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T18:21:01.953-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Swim Lessons</title><content type='html'>I think I had a fish!! Neil absolutely LOVES water. And, daycare schedules a field trip to a swimming pool once a week for the entirety of summer vacation. This is a very frightening thing for me. So frightening, in fact, that it gave me nightmares. Strange nightmares. About poisonous snakes, not sure how that relates to my son in the water, but every time I'm worried about Neil, I have a dream about poisonous snakes. YUK!! So, I woke up with a firm conviction that Neil needed to be in swim lessons, and we, as a family needed to go swimming at least once a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as ISSI was over, I scheduled Neil for swim lessons. He spent the entire month of July in the water. I think between June 23 and July 30, he spent a total of 30 days in a swimming pool. 18 of those being lessons. I was prepared for another two weeks worth of lessons in August. But, after seeing the sheer exhaustion on my son's face, I bagged the idea. He can go back to lessons next summer. And, we can just make sure to get him to the pool once a week until then. &lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsesGguicI/AAAAAAAAAQo/l_CkR2bzFbA/s1600-h/IMG_0075.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsesGguicI/AAAAAAAAAQo/l_CkR2bzFbA/s1600-h/IMG_0075.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsesGguicI/AAAAAAAAAQo/l_CkR2bzFbA/s1600-h/IMG_0075.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366917123953035714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsesGguicI/AAAAAAAAAQo/l_CkR2bzFbA/s320/IMG_0075.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He passed his level one, fairly easily. But then came level two. He does great with almost everything. The backstroke is the true test of coordination for him. And, we need to do some extra work for him to move on to level three.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/Snse3qGBbsI/AAAAAAAAAQw/dGqpNnw1Yf8/s1600-h/IMG_0078.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366917322483265218" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/Snse3qGBbsI/AAAAAAAAAQw/dGqpNnw1Yf8/s320/IMG_0078.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(he's the splash)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/Snse-1b8h4I/AAAAAAAAAQ4/d8o5UC8fqKA/s1600-h/IMG_0079.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366917445787092866" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/Snse-1b8h4I/AAAAAAAAAQ4/d8o5UC8fqKA/s320/IMG_0079.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsfHFX5N6I/AAAAAAAAARA/wxglTjvnpF4/s1600-h/IMG_0081.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366917587504019362" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsfHFX5N6I/AAAAAAAAARA/wxglTjvnpF4/s320/IMG_0081.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He started the summer unsure of jumping into the pool, and the diving board was too scary to be contemplated. However, by the middle of July, that was no longer so daunting. He's even quite pleased with being able to stand on his hands under water.&lt;br /&gt;Not exactly what he was learning during lessons, but something he felt was important enough to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsfHFX5N6I/AAAAAAAAARA/wxglTjvnpF4/s1600-h/IMG_0081.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;work on when the teacher wasn't&lt;br /&gt;working with him directly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-923771449464603332?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/923771449464603332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=923771449464603332' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/923771449464603332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/923771449464603332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/08/swim-lessons.html' title='Swim Lessons'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsesGguicI/AAAAAAAAAQo/l_CkR2bzFbA/s72-c/IMG_0075.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-7740064765923330190</id><published>2009-08-06T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T11:08:36.030-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Intermountain Suzuki Strings Institute 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsbBb3lP3I/AAAAAAAAAQg/-67L-G7hD4s/s1600-h/IMG_0039.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366913092416782194" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsbBb3lP3I/AAAAAAAAAQg/-67L-G7hD4s/s320/IMG_0039.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Neil had kind of a summer camp violin thing in June. It's 6 days worth of violin related stuff. Four hours a day of classes, there was a technique class, a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;repertoire&lt;/span&gt; class, a master class, and then his favorite of all a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Dalcroze&lt;/span&gt; class (music and movement).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsZjw-NwDI/AAAAAAAAAQI/fwW9Yo3wMzs/s1600-h/IMG_0007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366911483174043698" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsZjw-NwDI/AAAAAAAAAQI/fwW9Yo3wMzs/s320/IMG_0007.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He enjoyed his technique class, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsYPgZtkgI/AAAAAAAAAPo/WdaVOXZKhxE/s1600-h/IMG_0059.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366910035616961026" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsYPgZtkgI/AAAAAAAAAPo/WdaVOXZKhxE/s320/IMG_0059.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsX0p4MuGI/AAAAAAAAAPg/3dHFuYE7tR4/s1600-h/IMG_0008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366909574304282722" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsX0p4MuGI/AAAAAAAAAPg/3dHFuYE7tR4/s320/IMG_0008.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;the teacher was very nice, though not his favorite of the summer. He verbally admitted to royally disliking his &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;repertoire&lt;/span&gt; class. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsYyhj7ULI/AAAAAAAAAP4/6mrIAV6Wbss/s1600-h/IMG_0032.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366910637223661746" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsYyhj7ULI/AAAAAAAAAP4/6mrIAV6Wbss/s320/IMG_0032.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought the teacher was great, full of wonderful ideas, and she treated the kids with respect as well as treating them like adults. His master class teacher was the favorite of his teachers, and she really does rock! He had been working on his very favorite song for this class. It's "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" and it's still his favorite song. But, other than some comments to help improve his posture, a new shoulder rest, and hearing him play it a few times. That's not what he spent the majority of the week working on. He went back in the book a piece to work on "Song of the Wind" a nice little song full of short bows and bow lifts (circle bows). He's not a big fan of the short sticky bows, so that's what we got to work on all week. She had a great suggestion of putting clothes pins on his bow, to encourage short bows.&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsZG-HL6lI/AAAAAAAAAQA/MElwvBKYiAc/s1600-h/IMG_0014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366910988485126738" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsZG-HL6lI/AAAAAAAAAQA/MElwvBKYiAc/s320/IMG_0014.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He went along with it, grudgingly. And for the time, the bows did get shorter. He still needs to be encouraged and reminded of the need and importance of short bows, and he will occasionally comply. At the end of the week there is a group recital. Where every kid at the institute plays the pieces that they know, on the stage with all of the other kids there. Sounds like fun. Unless yo&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsZ3Gv0m8I/AAAAAAAAAQQ/d8_voF6VRbo/s1600-h/IMG_0072.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366911815436770242" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsZ3Gv0m8I/AAAAAAAAAQQ/d8_voF6VRbo/s320/IMG_0072.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;u're&lt;/span&gt; Neil. He really does not like performing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsaMz9p5qI/AAAAAAAAAQY/_xDg6rLA0Cs/s1600-h/IMG_0067.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366912188351637154" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsaMz9p5qI/AAAAAAAAAQY/_xDg6rLA0Cs/s320/IMG_0067.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, this year, he didn't. He sat in the audience and watched, preparing for next year. During the week we got to see some wonderful &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;performances&lt;/span&gt; of guest artists. There was Jenny Oaks Baker, The Aaron Ashton Band (Neil's favorite), and The Frye Street Quartet. As well as hearing music come from just about every pore of Juan Diego High School. While violins, violas, cellos, and even a bass or two practiced pieces for masters classes in the halls, parking lots, empty rooms, and courtyards. It was an amazing and humbling experience. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-7740064765923330190?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/7740064765923330190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=7740064765923330190' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7740064765923330190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7740064765923330190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/08/intermountain-suzuki-strings-institute.html' title='Intermountain Suzuki Strings Institute 2009'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SnsbBb3lP3I/AAAAAAAAAQg/-67L-G7hD4s/s72-c/IMG_0039.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-2801742901071297586</id><published>2009-07-03T10:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T10:51:59.702-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning Slowly.</title><content type='html'>Some lessons are harder learned than others. And, last night, I learned a BIG one. Stay connected (in some way) to those people who make a difference in your life. Even if it is just that once a year holiday card. Someday, they won't be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to board a horse at a barn. I made a lot of friends while I was there. And, sadly, have kept in touch with none of them. Thanks to the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt; wonder of social networks, I have found two of them on &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;facebook&lt;/span&gt;. They were just young girls when I knew them. Now they are grown women with lives of their own. I adored their mother, she was one of those people I looked up to, and in small ways she had a huge impact on who I am. I found out last night, through too much time spent staring at the computer, that she passed away almost four years ago. It was quite a shocker. She will forever in my mind be young and healthy. Smiling and kind. A pattern to follow when things get a bit wild. She had a great sense of humor, and a love for her daughters that was unswayed by the phases that children are wired for. She seemed to have an ability for riding things out, knowing that things pass, but love remains. I have no idea what happened to take her from this world, it wasn't through &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;conversations&lt;/span&gt; with her daughters that I found out. It was a google search of her name, that lead to an obituary archive from the Salt Lake Tribune. I did learn, through my shock, a little bit about immortality. Because that's what I think memories are. The shock that death cannot be real, because in your mind, you hear their words, see their smile, remember that last &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, to all of my family and friends. I think of you all often, and I adore you all in the memories that I have.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-2801742901071297586?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/2801742901071297586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=2801742901071297586' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2801742901071297586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2801742901071297586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/07/learning-slowly.html' title='Learning Slowly.'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-3421701348795835349</id><published>2009-06-14T09:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-14T15:08:20.824-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Enjoying The Moment.</title><content type='html'>Some of the best accomplishments are not your own. Rather, they are those we are fortunate enough to witness. On May 28, Gary and I got to be there for Neil's Kindergarten graduation. Afterward, there was an open-house in his classroom so the parents could see what the children had been up to all year. Though it was sad to see him aging before my eyes, it was a beautiful day. He was so pleased with himself, and so thoroughly living in the moment. Another great reminder of how children have a better view of things than we, the not&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVwhP7Y3OI/AAAAAAAAAPY/H922eQEAJlo/s1600-h/IMG_0009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347303849085951202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVwhP7Y3OI/AAAAAAAAAPY/H922eQEAJlo/s320/IMG_0009.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; so knowing parents! &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVtx_of3iI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/bw21LxoOvqg/s1600-h/IMG_0004.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVt6sWhJnI/AAAAAAAAAOY/DOOHRrirwL8/s1600-h/IMG_0006.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVuOGzMlgI/AAAAAAAAAOg/Cz04d2WiYMk/s1600-h/IMG_0006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347301321194903042" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVuOGzMlgI/AAAAAAAAAOg/Cz04d2WiYMk/s320/IMG_0006.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVudCckPfI/AAAAAAAAAOo/iUUm4xud96I/s1600-h/IMG_0004.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another of those amazing days full of watching accomplishments, came yesterday. At a bike race of all places! I was lucky enough to be able to watch the State Road Race Championships in Clarkston. The original reason for dragging myself and Neil out of bed in the pre-dawn hours, was selfish and simple. I love that area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347302051997939458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVu4pQN9wI/AAAAAAAAAO4/Y0gy_Fjx6Hg/s320/IMG_0019.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gary capitalized completely on that fact and thought it would be a fun day trip for the family. The trip almost didn't happen, as Gary was feeling some serious discouragement in the preceding week. A few too many nights of 3-4 hours of sleep can do that to a person. But, come Wednesday, he was feeling good and decided to register. I'm so glad he did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a beautiful day. Neil was pleasant and feeling adventurous. There were kind people who indulged him in conversation. There were hills for exploring, and dinosaur games for playing. He only asked me once when would it be over. And only said twice th&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVvP9NW4gI/AAAAAAAAAPI/jTfCYjogvmc/s1600-h/IMG_0020.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347302452491641346" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVvP9NW4gI/AAAAAAAAAPI/jTfCYjogvmc/s320/IMG_0020.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;at he wanted his dad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVvDQSjt3I/AAAAAAAAAPA/BeAV_uDV9Ho/s1600-h/IMG_0016.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347302234275428210" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVvDQSjt3I/AAAAAAAAAPA/BeAV_uDV9Ho/s320/IMG_0016.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I was able to watch the winning finish of a friend. He so deserved the victory. His enthusiasm at his accomplishment alone was worth the trip. I wish that as an adult. everyone could have that kind of excitement for something at least once, and then be able to pull out that memory when things get tough. He made me happier just by watching him. His joy in the moment was contagious. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Gary proved to me, once again, that even personal accomplishments are victories in their own right. He did not do well in the traditional sense of the word, he came in second to last. He did however relish in the energy he had for the remainder of the day. He did not come crawling across the finish line, he did not need me to drive him home, and he was pleasant and up for conversation and even took Neil to a movie later in the evening. That's something that wasn't always possible. In the past, when he would get home from a race, he was in the prone position drooling in front of the t.v as soon as he was cleaned up. I know that people look at him a little strange when he starts to talk about food restrictions. But, really if what he is doing works for him, GREAT! Lay off and go eat cake!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347302686732547346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVvdl0vdRI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/ilsFMoZi9fU/s320/IMG_0033.jpg" border="0" /&gt; Later in the evening my mom and her girlfriend took me to a wine-tasting class (I'm sorry, I know they are married, but calling her my mom's wife does not come easily. It's just a personal flaw on my part). I get the feeling this was probably something my mom has wanted to do with me ever since I was the little girl who would beg for tastes from her glass. It was so much fun. Do you know that wine can honestly taste like Asiago cheese? Or smell so good, you would rather smell it than taste it? But, make sure you taste it...you will not be disappointed! Some wine can smell like menthol (but not in a yucky medicine way). Or, did you know that if you drink apple ale really fast, you can truly taste the apples?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway! Yesterday was one of the fun, perfectly balanced kind of days, when it really pays to keep your eyes open and your heart soft. Just letting everything around you soak in. Some days it's good to be a sponge.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-3421701348795835349?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/3421701348795835349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=3421701348795835349' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3421701348795835349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3421701348795835349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/06/sometimes-best-accomplishments.html' title='Enjoying The Moment.'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SjVwhP7Y3OI/AAAAAAAAAPY/H922eQEAJlo/s72-c/IMG_0009.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-7056936394984787895</id><published>2009-05-25T11:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T13:42:26.396-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I've Got A Trot For That!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/Shrh2KldghI/AAAAAAAAANw/MPHv5HQ_g_s/s1600-h/IMG_0002.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been lucky enough to be able to ride my horse 3 out of the last 6 days. Y&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShrlG9HMSsI/AAAAAAAAAOI/f-NoPqJCt_4/s1600-h/IMG_0011_edited.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339832215847848642" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 247px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShrlG9HMSsI/AAAAAAAAAOI/f-NoPqJCt_4/s320/IMG_0011_edited.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;eah, that's like every other day. It's been good, the only bad thing I can say, is She's a BRAT. Her favorite thing right now seems to be the trot. I will admit, that's usually her favorite, but lately she's taking it to a whole new level. Multi-speeds, and one for every occasion. Yep, She's definitely got a trot for that. Walk... "oh, oh, I've got a trot for that". Trot....."yep, I got a trot for that". Lope, "oh, goody, I've got a trot for that". The only thing she doesn't seem to have a trot for is going in a really small figure eights over walkovers that are two feet high. Now, you can bet if I let the figure eight get a bit bigger, she'd have a trot for that. But, to be completely fair, I enjoy that slow little shuffle of a trot that she saves for special occasions. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let's see if this riding streak can continue. Maybe I'll see that shuffle more often if I can give her the attention she deserves.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-7056936394984787895?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/7056936394984787895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=7056936394984787895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7056936394984787895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7056936394984787895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/05/ive-got-trot-for-that.html' title='I&apos;ve Got A Trot For That!!'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShrlG9HMSsI/AAAAAAAAAOI/f-NoPqJCt_4/s72-c/IMG_0011_edited.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-4266418002114288054</id><published>2009-05-24T09:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-24T09:26:33.311-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids Know how to Put it all in Perspective</title><content type='html'>This week was a bit of a sad one for my son. He found out on Wednesday that a classmates father had passed away Tuesday evening while mowing his lawn. Now, I'd never met the man, but he did make an impression. You see, Gary had the terrific opportunity of volunteering for a kindergarten field trip to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hogle&lt;/span&gt; Zoo a couple of weeks ago. He got to spend the day hanging out with Neil and one of his classmates. At the last minute, this other boy's dad was able to go. He originally didn't know if he would be able to trade anybody for the day off, so he didn't volunteer. He rode up to the zoo with my husband, and the two men were able to spend the day enjoying their sons enjoying the zoo. This was the kind of man who took a video camera on a field trip, and ran with every idea the two boys had of what to film. The boys ended up playing " 'Hooligan' and '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Galute&lt;/span&gt;' on the island of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Madagascar&lt;/span&gt;". And this wonderful man caught it all on film. Why can't more parents be so willing to run with the wild ideas of their children? This man also treated my husband like he was spending the day at the zoo with an old friend, not somebody he just met earlier that morning. Why can't more people show such kindness and warmth to everybody? How much happier would this world be? If we were to just leave our insecurities on our pillows every morning and truly enjoy the day that is before us? Love everybody and try to make a positive mark on those we meet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw the note from the school, telling the parents of the class, on Thursday morning. With the rush of activity in our house on Wednesday, I had neglected to even look in Neil's backpack. I talked to Neil about it that morning, and asked him how he was doing. He said that he missed his friend (classmate), and re-told in brief the adventures of " 'Hooligan' and '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Galute&lt;/span&gt;' on the island of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Madagascar&lt;/span&gt;".  I told him to remember to be extra nice to his friend when he returns to school next week, and he said "I already am". Good point, we should be kind enough to people before something world shattering happens, that they know they have a friend in us, when a friend is needed. I asked my son if he needed a hug, and he said "No, I've already handled it". And he has, he looks a bit sad when I ask him if he's doing okay. He remembers a fun day at the zoo with his friend and their dads. And he goes back to being a boy. Isn't that the best way to remember those we've lost? Reflect on the fun we've had and go back to living our lives?&lt;br /&gt;I understand that my son is only 6 and loss at that age is far different from a loss at an older age...but why?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-4266418002114288054?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/4266418002114288054/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=4266418002114288054' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/4266418002114288054'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/4266418002114288054'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/05/kids-know-how-to-put-it-all-in.html' title='Kids Know how to Put it all in Perspective'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-7029104032219004397</id><published>2009-05-17T07:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T13:37:01.417-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Saying Good Bye to an Old Friend.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShB1Xwaa90I/AAAAAAAAANg/Pw37o-WUmYg/s1600-h/IMG_0002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336894609427199810" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShB1Xwaa90I/AAAAAAAAANg/Pw37o-WUmYg/s320/IMG_0002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neil got a new violin yesterday. He didn't want to do it, but it was time. Little arms just don't stay little for too long, and he had outgrown last years fiddle. He &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;desperately&lt;/span&gt; wanted to keep him, he gets so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;attached&lt;/span&gt;. But, after lots of conversations about how we just can't keep every violin he grows out of. And lots of picture taking. He did it. Once we got to the shop (&lt;a href="http://finestringinstruments.com/"&gt;Charles W. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Liu's&lt;/span&gt; Fine Violins&lt;/a&gt;), it was pretty easy. Mr &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Liu&lt;/span&gt; grabbed a 1/4 size violin, tuned it up, and started to play. At which time, Neil's eyes got HUGE..."oh, I like that one" he said. Mr. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Liu&lt;/span&gt; told him to give it a try. And he immediately set out to try "Go Tell Aunt Rhody", he got about a line into it, felt the difference in size, and was a bit out of his comfort zone, to keep going in public. Mr. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Liu&lt;/span&gt; came back and started tuning and playing a second violin, switched back to the first, and we made our decision. It was hands down the first. So, after much to-do, we made the switch. It's so easy to forget that every time he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;up sizes&lt;/span&gt;, it's like switching from violin to viola, for a time being. He'll get used to the feel, after a bit, but right now his arms and fingers are used to adapting to a violin that was a size too small. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336894214087279586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShB1AvqCg-I/AAAAAAAAANQ/dnKK1bi1SL8/s320/IMG_0004.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This picture looks just creepy to me, but...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neil wanted a picture of him packed up and&lt;br /&gt;ready to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, to date, we've had Little Neil (we still have that one, it just seemed okay to keep his first wee little fiddle), &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Rockstar&lt;/span&gt; (a.k.a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Squawky&lt;/span&gt;) and now we have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Squawky&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;McBocky&lt;/span&gt; ( "It's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Squawky&lt;/span&gt;, but you can call him &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Squawky&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;McBocky&lt;/span&gt; if you want to, Mom") And I will, but only because Neil said it first. Neil &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShB0g8ayaPI/AAAAAAAAANA/2VPeflWT59g/s1600-h/IMG_0006.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;names t&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShB1Iz0yhrI/AAAAAAAAANY/-zVIdia5QOE/s1600-h/IMG_0006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336894352645064370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShB1Iz0yhrI/AAAAAAAAANY/-zVIdia5QOE/s320/IMG_0006.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;hem all, no help from me, and I love hearing with what he comes up with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here's the newest addition "Squawky &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShBysTnHnpI/AAAAAAAAAMo/j7XfOYC6KYA/s1600-h/IMG_0006.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;McBocky"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-7029104032219004397?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/7029104032219004397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=7029104032219004397' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7029104032219004397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7029104032219004397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/05/neil-got-new-violin-yesterday.html' title='Saying Good Bye to an Old Friend.'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/ShB1Xwaa90I/AAAAAAAAANg/Pw37o-WUmYg/s72-c/IMG_0002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-1215573016533877103</id><published>2009-05-07T08:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T04:45:56.719-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreams...they're not always what you think they are..</title><content type='html'>I've been giving a lot of thought lately, to why am I here? You know, what's my purpose? What's that thing that I've always wanted to do, more than anything else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had always thought the answer would have something to do with horses. You see, for as long as I can remember I've been completely horse crazy. All I ever wanted when I was a young girl was a horse, then I got a horse and I just wanted to ride, I got a little older and the horse started to become a vehicle. A means of moving toward a dream, where could the horse take me? The obvious answer was horse shows. I did some of those, I won some stuff. Ribbons and a reserve champion jacket (that's like a second place overall kind of thing) It was in trail ( kind of like an obstacle course...my horse was super good at those)...That was Esprit, she was a lease horse for a summer. That summer would become a time I look back at as the best summer of my life. I was 26. In a strange way she introduced me to my husband. Who later would introduce me to our son. Who would make me start really questioning things. And we all know that without questions there can be no answers. I stopped showing horses at the end of that summer, and bought a weanling (baby) for an incredibly high price...what can I say? The guy saw me coming. That horse would be the source of some surprising dates when Gary and I were still getting to know each other. She still recognizes him as the guy who should hold the treat bucket, and that was almost 13 years ago. The plan had been to put her in training and show her when she was older....oh the glory of dreams. Training a horse is expensive stuff, showing one is even more. The horse got training, with a huge error in judgement on my part that led me to a trainer who was pretty much a swindler. Then, with the help of some wonderful friends, Audrey became a pretty sweet pony. She's great on trails (the mountain kind) even pretty fun on the obstacle course kind in the pen where she lives. But, there is no show ring in our lives. She's amazing and trustworthy and I've put Neil on her back more than once...there's something to be said for a horse trustworthy enough for your child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333416808683188578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgQaVHCosWI/AAAAAAAAAME/zJTIOJSs4NU/s320/IMG_0070_edited.jpg" border="0" /&gt; Found It!! Don't they make the most perfect pair?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've regretted and mourned the loss of the show days, and at times felt like that was what I was supposed to be doing with my life. I've been angry at the finances and the place in life that won't let it happen. I've done a hundred 'what if's and 'if only's. I've beaten my head on the wall and shed many tears. I've ignored my horse for what has felt like entire summers, just because I didn't know where this dream was leading me anymore. You see there's a huge shift in things when you have to redefine your dreams. And for somebody who has never been good at change, it's left me reeling. So, I've been questioning lately, just what is it that I'm supposed to be doing? The answer is really quite as clear as the nose on my face. I'm a mother and a wife, and that's really what I've wanted all along. The first horse that touched my heart (Stormy) and made me long for a horse of my very own someday. That first horse that was my very own (Moonshine), the horse that gave me hours upon hours of rides and smiles (Toe) and became the vehicle to move toward my dream. The horse that introduced me to that dream and gave me the confidence to chase after it (Esprit) and now the horse that is a part of that dream (Audrey). Horses have very much been central to the dream and at the very core of who I am, but they have not been the answer. I need to remember that. They have given my life meaning and they have given my life grace. They have given me the power to dream and the smiles that come with dreaming, but they have not been the dream. Gary and Neil, that dream is you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMM4nL7oAI/AAAAAAAAALs/U-N1ndzedis/s1600-h/2009-05-07-1017-49_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333120550468034562" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 230px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMM4nL7oAI/AAAAAAAAALs/U-N1ndzedis/s320/2009-05-07-1017-49_edited.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Moonshine (too much horse for a 1st horse..lesson learned).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMMv2mpy-I/AAAAAAAAALc/5ULuBLOYOLc/s1600-h/2009-05-07-1015-55_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333120399987821538" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 211px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMMv2mpy-I/AAAAAAAAALc/5ULuBLOYOLc/s320/2009-05-07-1015-55_edited.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toe. What every first horse should be. Showed me the power of dreams, the road home, and saved my sanity during it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMMrdWUc9I/AAAAAAAAALU/oGl8iSaC2ds/s1600-h/2009-05-07-0920-33_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333120324488950738" style="WIDTH: 261px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMMrdWUc9I/AAAAAAAAALU/oGl8iSaC2ds/s320/2009-05-07-0920-33_edited.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esprit..(She held my hand and babysat me so I could have the best summer of my life).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMNBX95egI/AAAAAAAAAL8/UhrUYdb8sJg/s1600-h/2009-05-07-1019-16_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333120701001464322" style="WIDTH: 254px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMNBX95egI/AAAAAAAAAL8/UhrUYdb8sJg/s320/2009-05-07-1019-16_edited.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMM8w1pTdI/AAAAAAAAAL0/egHDA1YLBy0/s1600-h/2009-05-07-1018-39_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333120621778390482" style="WIDTH: 247px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgMM8w1pTdI/AAAAAAAAAL0/egHDA1YLBy0/s320/2009-05-07-1018-39_edited.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without Esprit there never would have been THIS.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-1215573016533877103?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/1215573016533877103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=1215573016533877103' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/1215573016533877103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/1215573016533877103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/05/ive-been-giving-lot-of-thought-lately.html' title='Dreams...they&apos;re not always what you think they are..'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SgQaVHCosWI/AAAAAAAAAME/zJTIOJSs4NU/s72-c/IMG_0070_edited.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-1889838828091284949</id><published>2009-04-23T04:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T13:04:27.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Just Silly Nonsense</title><content type='html'>I've about decided to end this silly nonsense that is blogging. It started out as a way to keep family up to date. But, to be honest, my mom never checks, dad's dead, and I don't really want the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;step mom&lt;/span&gt; to know what's up. Other than that, I don't really have a lot of time and when I do have the time, I don't have much to say. Oh, I've probably got a lot to say, but as is my way, I won't say it. Nevertheless, it is fun, so I will continue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else." ---Emily Dickinson.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-1889838828091284949?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/1889838828091284949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=1889838828091284949' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/1889838828091284949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/1889838828091284949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-just-silliness.html' title='It&apos;s Just Silly Nonsense'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-6157287250244414269</id><published>2009-03-20T06:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T11:26:51.004-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good for me...</title><content type='html'>So, I finally got to ride my horse yesterday. YAY!!!! It's about freakin' time, too. I was planning on doing it Wednesday, while I had the entire day off. But, found myself cleaning the kitchen instead. How screwed up is that?! Oh well, had to be done, and it gave me enormous piece of mind to have it taken care of (the clean kitchen, I mean. The horse is a more soulful matter). So, yesterday, I got Neil to daycare and took a bit of time for myself. Funny how I'll tell myself that I can just ride for a few minutes...15 is better than nothing, right? But, when I check the clock when I get back in the car, it's always right at about an hour. Seems like I enjoy myself so much, I lose track of time. At least I tell myself to keep it short, so I'm not there all afternoon. I was thinking about taking a week long trip with Audrey and a friend to Nebraska in September. But, I don't think that's going to happen. Neil starts 1st grade the week before that, and I'd like to keep myself at least geographically available. Maybe next year????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neil has a violin recital tomorrow. And, my friend Kim, sweetheart that she is, is letting us borrow a camcorder to record the event. Now, who's smarter? Me or a video recorder? Could be scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found a couple more really great poems. e.e. cummings this time. He's not Frost, but he's still REALLY good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;since feeling is first&lt;br /&gt;e.e. cummings&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;since feeling is first&lt;br /&gt;who pays any attention&lt;br /&gt;to the syntax of things&lt;br /&gt;will never wholly kiss you.&lt;br /&gt;wholly to be a fool&lt;br /&gt;while Spring is in the world&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my blood approves,&lt;br /&gt;and kisses are a better fate&lt;br /&gt;than wisdom.&lt;br /&gt;lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry&lt;br /&gt;-the best gesture of my brain is less than&lt;br /&gt;you eyelids' flutter which says&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we are for each other: then&lt;br /&gt;laugh, leaning back in my arms&lt;br /&gt;for life's not a paragraph&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And death i think is no parenthesis&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good Stuff. I think, anyway. Gary's not much for poetry. But, isn't that just a great thought?wholly to be a fool&lt;br /&gt;while Spring is in the world&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-6157287250244414269?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/6157287250244414269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=6157287250244414269' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/6157287250244414269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/6157287250244414269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/03/good-for-me.html' title='Good for me...'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-645107281520306829</id><published>2009-02-19T16:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-19T17:20:35.180-08:00</updated><title type='text'>the Power of Words</title><content type='html'>So, there's this poem that I remember from my childhood. I can't find it anywhere, but I do (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;fortunately&lt;/span&gt;) remember the poet's name. Eugenia Paul. I found it in a book of collected high school works that were published entrants to a creative writing contest. I can't remember what year, sometime early last century (maybe 1925) I am thinking, but not sure. I think she was from New York, but again, not sure. I can't even remember the title, just the words, and I'm pretty sure they are in the right order, with exception of missing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;punctuation&lt;/span&gt;. If anybody knows where I can find a copy, let me know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Age speaks wisdom Age speaks truth&lt;br /&gt;And the seasoned tongues are keen&lt;br /&gt;But give me the honeyed-lies of youth&lt;br /&gt;And keep my wisdom green&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flame may burn and the burning teach&lt;br /&gt;The moth what candles are&lt;br /&gt;But let me clutch what is out of reach&lt;br /&gt;And die en route to a star.&lt;br /&gt;--&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;eugenia&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;paul&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's another favorite from childhood. See if you can guess who wrote it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing Gold Can Stay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nature's first green is gold,&lt;br /&gt;Her hardest hue to hold.&lt;br /&gt;Her early leaf's a flower;&lt;br /&gt;But only so an hour.&lt;br /&gt;Then leaf subsides to leaf.&lt;br /&gt;So Eden sank to grief,&lt;br /&gt;So dawn goes down to day.&lt;br /&gt;Nothing gold can stay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you guessed Robert Frost, you're on it! If you guessed you heard it or read it in "the Outsiders" you're at the top of the class. Written by Robert Frost in 1923 maybe it helped him win the Pulitzer, but no matter, it was one of his best and most famous. Eight powerful little lines written in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Iambic&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Trimeter&lt;/span&gt;, that so sweetly say that no mortal person can maintain their innocence.  Do you agree?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-645107281520306829?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/645107281520306829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=645107281520306829' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/645107281520306829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/645107281520306829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/02/power-of-words.html' title='the Power of Words'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-957153554735585848</id><published>2009-01-29T10:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T13:05:08.844-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a funny Facebook world</title><content type='html'>Wow! How much smaller facebook can make the world. I got an itch to look for an old friend AND I FOUND HER!!!!!! 17 years later! That's us if you can believe it.&lt;br /&gt;Me, Leslynn, and Doogie. October of 1991 at Ft. Jackson, South Carolina. It's a small small world. Thank goodness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SYH3iMmajNI/AAAAAAAAAKE/0biPrUBu9aM/s1600-h/many+years+ago.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296786803634375890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 144px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 194px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SYH3iMmajNI/AAAAAAAAAKE/0biPrUBu9aM/s200/many+years+ago.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SYH3iMmajNI/AAAAAAAAAKE/0biPrUBu9aM/s1600-h/many+years+ago.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I just hope she doesn't mind if I copied the picture.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-957153554735585848?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/957153554735585848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=957153554735585848' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/957153554735585848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/957153554735585848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/01/its-funny-facebook-world.html' title='It&apos;s a funny Facebook world'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SYH3iMmajNI/AAAAAAAAAKE/0biPrUBu9aM/s72-c/many+years+ago.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-7385432134048267547</id><published>2009-01-29T06:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T06:57:33.132-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tooth Fairy and Dinosaurs...what a natural combination.</title><content type='html'>So, it's been a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had our first ever visit from the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tooth fairy&lt;/span&gt; about a week ago. I've been wanting to take a picture of the now vacant spot in Neil's mouth, but that hasn't happened. He was so excited when he showed me the hole in his mouth. Apparently the tooth just fell out when he was sleeping;) I don't think it was quite ready to, but thanks to something about chewing on his pant leg and losing his balance, the tooth became loose and about 3 weeks later fell out. Wow. Not sure if I was ready for that bit of childhood yet. Oh well, can't stop progress. And you don't want to let them know that you're not just completely thrilled that the little one that you brought home from the hospital and couldn't take you eyes off of, because you knew if you did they'd be 20 and you'd be asking yourself where it all went, is growing into that 20 year old WAYYY to quickly for your comfort. Nope, can't do that. It's happening way too fast, but I'm glad it's happening. Life with him is better than the best of days without him. I adore him, and wouldn't change a minute of it. Thank you Neil for letting me have the best seat in the house for watching you become a boy who will become a man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neil entered a contest for the Walking with Dinosaurs that we went to. It was a create-a-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;dino&lt;/span&gt; art contest. The contestants&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SYG9IxF8Y4I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/uApqb2T5l0A/s1600-h/IMG_0005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296722595079283586" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SYG9IxF8Y4I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/uApqb2T5l0A/s320/IMG_0005.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; drew their own &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;dino&lt;/span&gt; then sent it to the newspaper for the judging. Well, I never heard back or saw anything about it on the newspaper web site when I checked. I knew when we weren't contacted that Neil did not win, but I wanted to know what the winning pictures did look like. So, I went searching, and found nothing. I sent an email to the contact person on the entry form. When she emailed me back, she sent pictures of the winning entries (which I would love to be able to show you, but can't) and said that the nice folks at Walking with Dinosaurs were sending Neil a gift pack to thank him for entering the contest. As if he didn't make enough of a haul the night of the show! They sent him another T-shirt and a very special hat that he can wear when we go on our dinosaur adventures. And we know there will be many. We still have most of the stops on the &lt;a href="http://www.byways.org/explore/byways/2474/"&gt;Dinosaur Diamond&lt;/a&gt; to visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-7385432134048267547?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/7385432134048267547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=7385432134048267547' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7385432134048267547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7385432134048267547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/01/so-its-been-while.html' title='Tooth Fairy and Dinosaurs...what a natural combination.'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SYG9IxF8Y4I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/uApqb2T5l0A/s72-c/IMG_0005.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-1083477524239818577</id><published>2009-01-18T07:57:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T16:33:38.715-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let the Spoiling Begin.</title><content type='html'>Sometimes you just need to spoil your child more than they expect. Last night was the time for that. My mom's sweetheart got us tickets for Walking with Dinosaurs the arena spectacular. Unfortunately, my mom called in the afternoon to say that she was sick, did Neil have a friend he wanted to invite. So, Neil and I started thinking of who to invite, all of the parents that we know well enough to take their child out for the night. One of the friends had already been earlier in the week, another is afraid of dinosaurs, and the other wasn't home. So there was one wasted ticket. The family sitting next to us didn't seem to mind, apparently coats deserve their own seats. Anyway, we went out to my mom's to get the tickets, went to dinner at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;JB's&lt;/span&gt; downtown, and then headed over to Energy Solutions Arena. Neil was so excited we had to keep a very tight rein on him, he tried leaving the restaurant on his own, and we were nervous he wasn't going to have patience for the traffic lights to change before crossing the street, but we arrived safely. There were lots of "are we close to Walking with Dinosaurs" "I wish we could go &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;nows&lt;/span&gt;" and "Is it time &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;yets&lt;/span&gt;". The excitement was well rewarded. We got there before the crowds, and Neil and I decided to check out the souvenirs. He said he wanted a toy, but when I looked at all of the cool stuff, just begging to go home with my son, I couldn't stop there. He ended up with a T-shirt, a toy, a stuffed raptor, and a plastic Tyrannosaurus. Quite the load for a little man. Gary was a good enough sport to hold the majority of the booty in his lap throughout the program. During intermission it was time for cotton candy and soda. My poor hungry son who hardly ate any of his shrimp and fries devoured almost an entire bag of the spun sugary goodness.&lt;br /&gt;The show was very cool. We were guided through each period by an actor playing a paleontologist. Starting out on Pangaea with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Liliensternus&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Plateosaurs&lt;/span&gt; during the Triassic. Then, Jurassic with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Bracheosaurs&lt;/span&gt;, Stegosaurus, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;UtahRaptor&lt;/span&gt;, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Allosaurus&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Ornithocherius&lt;/span&gt;. And then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Torosuarus&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Ankylosuarus&lt;/span&gt;, and T-Rex in the Cretaceous period. The ending conflict was between a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Torosaur&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Ankylosaur&lt;/span&gt;, and a mother T-Rex protecting her baby. The T-Rex roared loud enough to make roar loving little boys cover their ears. It was awesome. Neil asked if we could go back, and maybe we could have, if I wouldn't have spent so much on the extras. But, I truly had intended for it to be a once in a lifetime experience.&lt;br /&gt;Thank you Mom and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Chyrl&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-1083477524239818577?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/1083477524239818577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=1083477524239818577' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/1083477524239818577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/1083477524239818577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/01/sometimes-you-just-need-to-spoil-your.html' title='Let the Spoiling Begin.'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-2456300906132580450</id><published>2009-01-17T08:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T08:44:00.473-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Change</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Gary likes to say "No one can keep doing the same thing over and over again and get a different result even if there was lots of faith and hope put into it." Webster says, among other things, change is to undergo transformation, transition, or substitution. And it's synonyms are: alter, vary, and modify. To make or become different. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SXIKFAR76qI/AAAAAAAAAIk/uMSS67VkPNo/s1600-h/mixed+seasons.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292303593204607650" style="WIDTH: 216px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SXIKFAR76qI/AAAAAAAAAIk/uMSS67VkPNo/s320/mixed+seasons.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; I need to put forth the actions for change, not just the thoughts. No more looking at things and wishing they were different and being surprised by how they stay the same, because that's not working. It won't work for anybody. Change is necessary, but do I have the courage?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-2456300906132580450?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/2456300906132580450/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=2456300906132580450' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2456300906132580450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2456300906132580450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/01/change.html' title='Change'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SXIKFAR76qI/AAAAAAAAAIk/uMSS67VkPNo/s72-c/mixed+seasons.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-9150493657783316771</id><published>2009-01-16T05:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T09:24:19.774-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dinosaur Day</title><content type='html'>I am &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;SOOO&lt;/span&gt; excited. As a family gift, my mom's girlfriend &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Chyrl&lt;/span&gt;, got us tickets to&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.dinosaurlive.com/"&gt;THIS.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291888300453320738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 239px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SXCQXyOQ2CI/AAAAAAAAAIc/E8I7sIdc0Fw/s320/dino-eye.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I need to say how excited Neil is? It should be a BLAST. So, we're taking my mom to dinner and then the four of us are going to the show. Should be FUN!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in honor of the events, I think I'm making it Dinosaur Day at our house. I wonder if I can make &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;dino&lt;/span&gt; pancakes.......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-9150493657783316771?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/9150493657783316771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=9150493657783316771' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/9150493657783316771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/9150493657783316771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/01/dinosaur-day.html' title='Dinosaur Day'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SXCQXyOQ2CI/AAAAAAAAAIc/E8I7sIdc0Fw/s72-c/dino-eye.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-3877049042653346606</id><published>2009-01-15T07:02:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T08:35:31.900-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How We Spent Neil's Christmas Vacation</title><content type='html'>I like to joke that Neil can take a holiday and give it an extra two weeks (as with Halloween). However, he also does this with his birthday and Christmas. And, since both are in December, that month is one big festival. And, no....I don't do anything to encourage it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9dl11KIrI/AAAAAAAAAHE/mSSrD6HssnQ/s1600-h/IMG_0002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291550991870206642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9dl11KIrI/AAAAAAAAAHE/mSSrD6HssnQ/s320/IMG_0002.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The festivities started on the 6th with a violin performance with his teacher and fellow Suzuki students at Macey's grocery store...hey, I work there. It was GREAT! And my little man was so grown up about it all. He originally didn't want to do it. I think the task of performing where I work was maybe a bit daunting. He &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;knows &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;people there. But, after a lot of preparation at home, some really good lessons, a fairly firm knowledge of "Jingle Bells", and numerous pep talks of how this was going to be just for fun, he was willing. He even said we could take ONE pic&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9d72ATOMI/AAAAAAAAAHM/UW4xvwdSuWo/s1600-h/IMG_0006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291551369874061506" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9d72ATOMI/AAAAAAAAAHM/UW4xvwdSuWo/s320/IMG_0006.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;ture of him playing his violin. One turned into a few, and I got the warning looks that I'd better knock it off. Neil only played one song out of several. But he conducted himself so impressively afterward. He put his violin in rest position and stood very respectfully while the performance went on. I was truly impressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For his birthday he wanted a Wii, a Bolt cake, and some time to party with the cousins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9efdalB8I/AAAAAAAAAHU/flPW0FK-PBY/s1600-h/IMG_0023.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291551981748684738" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9efdalB8I/AAAAAAAAAHU/flPW0FK-PBY/s320/IMG_0023.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Howard liked the idea &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9gTyyefQI/AAAAAAAAAHk/yXhCjd1jpxc/s1600-h/IMG_0019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291553980350889218" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9gTyyefQI/AAAAAAAAAHk/yXhCjd1jpxc/s320/IMG_0019.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;of the Bolt cake too&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the birthday some Christmas decorating. Tradition says we have to make a gingerbread house, this year we tried something a bit different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9heW3KyuI/AAAAAAAAAH0/IlxZidpzfdE/s1600-h/IMG_0031.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291555261344565986" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9heW3KyuI/AAAAAAAAAH0/IlxZidpzfdE/s320/IMG_0031.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9hND4nFZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/45ubPFaUKeQ/s1600-h/IMG_0036.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291554964192564626" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9hND4nFZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/45ubPFaUKeQ/s320/IMG_0036.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the 20th we went to a lollipops concert at Abravanel Hall "Here Comes Santa Claus" is the Utah Symphony's Christmas concert for families. They played Christmas music and even had a visit from Santa. Who informed us that there should be no nuts in the cookies on Christmas Eve, and his favorites are chocolate chip. After the concert we went to lunch at JBs where the little shark filled up on sea food then it was off to the Joseph Smith Memorial Building for another group performance. We walked in and Neil's eyes were huge, just taking in the place. He looked down from the mezzanine and said "I'll remember this forever". After a bit of time to take in the atmosphere it was time to play. Miss Melodies violins, some of her mom's, some of her sister's, and even some cellos. It sounded incredible. We took a very fast elevator to the top floor and looked at the city through all of those windows. And, I got the idea that next year this little outing should be planned for just a bit better with lunch at the Garden and maybe even a carriage ride downtown to top it all off. Gary did suggest I start saving if that's what I really want. Good idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After downtown we took Neil to his cousins for his first EVER sleep over, away from home. It sounds like there was very little sleeping. We met up with him again at Stacy's family Christmas party, where again the little night owl indulged in another late night. It was worth it to watch him play with Carter. Have I ever mentioned how Neil would make a great big brother?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas Eve we went to see the movie "the Tale of Despereaux" nothing like the book, but still enjoyable. Neil said he liked it better. When I asked him why, he said he liked the part with the cat and that was not in the book. And, I have to admit that part was pretty good. The book was a bit sadder than the movie, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas day was another opportunity for me to be amazed at how grown up Neil is. Gary worked and it was explained to Neil that we would not open presents until he was home. So, that morning Neil crawled into bed and asked when Dad would get home. I told him after lunch and we talked for a minute, then I said that Santa doesn't wrap his presents. His eyes were HUGE at the idea. I asked him if he would like to go see what was under the tree, and he was already on his way. After playing with what was there, scattering stocking contents from Hell to Breakfast, watching Jurassic Park and starting on Kung Fu Panda Dad got home. Neil was very patient the entire morning. And that patience would be tested further with a Merry Christmas telephone call from my mom. Once off the phone it was time to pick up where we left off and get the unwrapping finished. Convince Neil to get dressed and then go see "Marley and Me". We left in a wind storm and drove home in a blizzard. Stopped by to wish Diane a Merry Christmas and say hi to my horse. Then home. Merry Christmas call from Dad and Becky. Gary getting Neil ready for bed with Neil's protest "Mom's still downstairs". And the end of a great day. A day to recover and shovel snow and try to reclaim the house while still enjoying time with Neil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some sledding for father and son that Saturday while I worked. A New Year's Eve party with friends, another movie to watch ("Bedtime Stories") and I have to say the holiday was pretty well spent. Neil was excited to get to school and violin lessons. Now it's another long weekend. It never felt like there were that many when I was in school.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-3877049042653346606?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/3877049042653346606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=3877049042653346606' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3877049042653346606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/3877049042653346606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-like-to-joke-that-neil-can-take.html' title='How We Spent Neil&apos;s Christmas Vacation'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9dl11KIrI/AAAAAAAAAHE/mSSrD6HssnQ/s72-c/IMG_0002.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-353168066875395646</id><published>2008-12-29T07:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T07:50:04.312-08:00</updated><title type='text'>my favorite fanatic</title><content type='html'>according to &lt;a title="Winston Churchill" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winston_Churchill"&gt;Winston Churchill&lt;/a&gt;, "A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry to Gary, but this pretty much sums him up.  It's not just about one subject.  God love him, it's pretty much anything bright and shiny that catches his eye.  Fortunately for him, he can admire several bright and shiny things at the same time, with equal fervor.  And, also I must give credit, that this is a trait I have noticed elsewhere in his family.  In all things from religious views to politics, and in Gary's very special case, health concerns and hobbies.  In some ways it is fascinating and fun to watch.  Like a child with a special new toy on Christmas morning.  But it is also frustrating for those on the outside.  Like the friend that wants to play with said child, or anyone who wishes to see that special toy, and is met with an enthusiastic slap and whine.   It elicits many responses, such as the sibling who suddenly smells burning onions when you walk into the room, futile attempts to cut the conversation short, bold attempts to change the subject (HA! HA! HA!), smiling and nodding politely (my favorite), or just flat-out walking away (that's NOT his favorite).  But, to all of these responses, I have to say that if you're family, you 've known him (and yourselves) all your lives, so quit with the nasty looks and deal with it.  If you're friends, you've invited him into your lives, so either uninvite yourselves or shut up and take him for what he is....a pretty nice guy.  Or if you're me, love him and cherish his enthusiasm and accept him for all of the ways he has made my life better.  And while we may all be busy thinking "there he goes again" stop and listen for the sake of listening and realize that somewhere in something (or even everything) he says, there is something we need to hear, and maybe even something that we can learn. &lt;br /&gt;Nope Gary, I'm really not too excited about doing a juice fast in the new year.  Just as much as I love you for who you are.  Love me for who I am.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-353168066875395646?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/353168066875395646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=353168066875395646' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/353168066875395646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/353168066875395646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-opinion-for-what-its-worth.html' title='my favorite fanatic'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-5200614049063689475</id><published>2008-12-10T10:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T18:27:45.452-08:00</updated><title type='text'>'Tis the Season for some Readin'</title><content type='html'>We've always read to Neil before bed. But, now with Kindergarten, we've started reading chapter books. We started out with Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I picked that because he wanted something with a dragon. And he's seen the movie, and we could watch it again when the book was over. Next was Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, again we could watch the movie when we were done with the book. Same thing with Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Then we were done with that and I didn't want to go on to Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire, because it makes me cry and Neil gets really upset about that. So, the search was on for the next book. I was looking at Barnes and Noble and had the decision down to one of three books: Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, A Wrinkle in Time, or The Tale of Despereaux. I went with Despereaux, because there will soon be a movie, and the lady at the bookstore said it was the most age appropiate for my 5 year old reader. I knew as soon as we opened it that it was the right choice. Neil was sooo excited and trying to read over my shoulder, spotting and shouting out words that he recognized. Stopping me mid-story to talk about what just happened. Those were some fun nights. And I know I am looking forward to reading it again. Definately looking forward to the day that he can read it himself. It took us maybe two weeks of sporadic reading to get it finished. We would stay up reading for an hour most nights. And we LOVED it! Search on for another book. Neil went to the bookstore with me on that quest, and we could not agree on ANYTHING. Tears were shed. He kept picking books that were the middle of a series. I wanted to start at the beginning of a series. So, better judgement won out and we chose How To Train Your Dragon (Heroic Misadventures of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III) by Cressida Cowell. It was the right choice. The rest of the series will be read. Again we made it through in under two weeks. Search on...again... Being close to Christmas, I had seasonal books in mind. So, he went with me to the bookstore, and right away we spotted Dinosaurs Night Before Christmas. Yea...that was a quick read, but it was fun and the illustrations are incredible. We also got The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. I remember that one from my childhood, and wanted to share it with Neil. It took three nights. He had a nightmare about the Herdmans. Something about being chased by dinosaurs and Gladys Herdman not making it across the bridge to safety. The rest of his class survived. And now that the book is over, maybe he has changed his mind on the fate of Gladys. I'll need to remember to ask. So, last night was a book of Nursery Rhymes that he found on my dresser. Leaving tonight to start.... A Christmas Carol. Never having read it, I am crossing my fingers that it will be a hit. Previewed pages have looked promising......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-5200614049063689475?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/5200614049063689475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=5200614049063689475' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/5200614049063689475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/5200614049063689475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2008/12/weve-been-readin-some-books.html' title='&apos;Tis the Season for some Readin&apos;'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-7170612020229234721</id><published>2008-11-04T07:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T08:13:38.848-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween season 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;If anybody were to ask my son what his favorite holiday is, they would get a VERY emphatic "HALLOWEEN"!! To be honest, it's never been mine, but thanks to the miracle of parenting, I'm seeing it in a completely different light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Neil starts planning the decorating and the partying in June/July. So this year I had to tell him early that we were probably not going to host a Halloween party for him. Maybe just have "the cousins" come over to go to the Pumpkin Walk at the Benson Grist Mill. He was okay with that, since it would still mean a gathering and time with "the Cousins". We have to say it that way, because he adores them all: Sophie, Xavier, Xanna, and Jessa, and "cousins" is MUCH easier to get out of the mouth. But, we had a pleasant, though be it, later than we planned get together. We had quite the full house (our house is small, so that's not saying too much). Emails started fairly early that day. "Would it be okay if we bring a couple more?" "SURE" "Be there around 6ish" "Okay" then one I did not see, but was told about "We're bringing two more" All I could say to that was, glad I got extra hot dogs. It turned out that Xavier has two friends Alex and Tony, who also enjoy Neil. And that's not a problem, because they are fun kids. S&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRByXh8Fh8I/AAAAAAAAAGE/XnX04x1Bw6Q/s1600-h/sm_pumpkin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264833712969058242" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 205px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 113px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRByXh8Fh8I/AAAAAAAAAGE/XnX04x1Bw6Q/s320/sm_pumpkin.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;o, around 7:30, when everybody arrived we headed over to the Pumpkin Walk for about an hour. Got in a dress rehearsal for the trick or treating to come the following Friday. Ran through a straw maze, a few times, and followed the spooky light, that turned out to be not really very spooky...at all. And viewed the pumpkins decorated by kids at the Kids Park (Neil's daycare). Then, it was home for some social time, dinner, and goodies. I had bought little pumpkins to decorate, but we ran out of time. The night was a BLAST!! And, honestly the more the merrier on a night like that!! So, Neil got that Halloween party afterall.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRBxGZulD4I/AAAAAAAAAF0/25ZWr-pHUAQ/s1600-h/IMG_0085_edited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264832319195516802" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 237px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRBxGZulD4I/AAAAAAAAAF0/25ZWr-pHUAQ/s320/IMG_0085_edited.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The following night the three of us got dressed up and went to Abravanel Hall for the annual Utah Symphony "Halloween Hi-Jinks". They joined up with the Utah Opera for some music from Act III of Humperdinck's "Hansel and Gretel". It was Incredible!!! I was a bit nervous about Neil when it came to the singing, but I think it made it that much more magical. He grabbed my hand as the lights when down and asked me in an excited whisper "Are you scared? I'm scared". It was the first concert that he sat absolutely completely still for, no wanting to go shortly after intermission, no squirming in his seat, just a boy completely rivetted by the story being played out for him. Wonderful. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRBxxvSC5YI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ZO4OP5Ml8sM/s1600-h/oct-25-bg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264833063715792258" style="WIDTH: 244px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 166px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRBxxvSC5YI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ZO4OP5Ml8sM/s320/oct-25-bg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The rest of the week brought Monday and Tuesday out of school, excitement to be going back to school on Wednesday, as well as a violin lesson that he was actually looking forward to and he enjoyed. Then on Friday "the BIG day" dressing up for the Kid's Park Halloween party, dressing down for the kindergarten Halloween party, and dressing back up for trick or treating with Dad (it was his turn this year). About an hour later, they were home, and watching Hocus Pocus and Casper with me. With Neil handing out the candy to the late coming trick or treaters. He's so good about taking only one piece while he's going door to door, that he's just as good at only giving one piece. So, we have tons of the stuff left over. Hiding somewhere in the house, so I don't eat the rest of it. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264834526080902818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRBzG3BDpqI/AAAAAAAAAGM/pE8gSJiEb4I/s320/IMG_0001.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then on Saturday it was the Halloween recital for violin. Another chance to wear a cape and vampire teeth! I got a picture of Neil before we left the house, and I remembered to take my camera to the recital hall, but when it was his turn to play, I couldn't take the picture. I got the camera out and looked through the window, but didn't take it. I'm telling myself it's because the chandelier was directly over his head. But, I could've had Gary take the picture, I don't know why I didn't. Nerves I guess. I think that was a night that I was more nervous than Neil was. Neil did great. No stage fright, right down the aisle and up on the stage for "Old McDonald arranged by Hall" Very well done.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRBzbz3EhfI/AAAAAAAAAGU/zkQwIBLzHVg/s1600-h/IMG_0002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264834886010963442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRBzbz3EhfI/AAAAAAAAAGU/zkQwIBLzHVg/s320/IMG_0002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264835284693123554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRBzzBETgeI/AAAAAAAAAGc/ZfBEwY6va0I/s200/IMG_0064.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, I just need to finish cleaning up the Halloween decorations, and find some way to either ration or get rid of the rest of Neil's trick or treat candy. He had a full scale sugar induced tantrum last night during violin practice. Tears, screaming, "I didn't have too much sugar" the works! A big hug, and a there's nothing wrong with you, you just ate more candy than usual talk and things were fine. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-7170612020229234721?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/7170612020229234721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=7170612020229234721' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7170612020229234721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/7170612020229234721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2008/11/halloween-season-2008.html' title='Halloween season 2008'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SRByXh8Fh8I/AAAAAAAAAGE/XnX04x1Bw6Q/s72-c/sm_pumpkin.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-2212984102843181666</id><published>2008-10-01T04:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T06:09:39.587-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes Plans Change</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONordwc9XI/AAAAAAAAAC8/d6SuLorrPw8/s1600-h/IMG_0026.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252156686375646578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONordwc9XI/AAAAAAAAAC8/d6SuLorrPw8/s200/IMG_0026.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SON01cSu6mI/AAAAAAAAAEk/Zpm68Cu2wZM/s1600-h/IMG_0027.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252170051920783970" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SON01cSu6mI/AAAAAAAAAEk/Zpm68Cu2wZM/s200/IMG_0027.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The original plan for the weekend was to go to Moab and see some dinosaur tracks down there and do a little hiking. That's what Neil wanted to do, that's what we all wanted to do. But, that didn't happen. For a lot of reasons. Mainly, we got started too late. I had looked up all sorts of dinosaur "hot spots" on line and found a few in Moab, as well as some more information about the Cleveland-Lloyd Dinosaur Quarry. It's outside of Price and one of the stops on the "Dinosaur Diamond". We had talked about going there on the way home from Moab. Their hours during September are 10:00-5:00, so the later we left, we knew we'd need to go there first. And also, the later we left, the farther away Moab was really looking. So, at a rest stop on the way to Price, we decided to scratch the Moab trip and give it the minimum 2 days that it would deserve. Some other time. It turned out to be a &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONoMn8SHrI/AAAAAAAAAC0/Ikw_saaOrg8/s1600-h/IMG_0029.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252156156533677746" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="151" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONoMn8SHrI/AAAAAAAAAC0/Ikw_saaOrg8/s200/IMG_0029.jpg" width="200" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;good idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We got to the quarry about lunch time, and by some great stroke of luck and a day I'd never heard of (National Public Lands Day), the usual $5 admission was waived. Kind of nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Right away Neil wanted to see what was there and he was pleasantly greeted by this guy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONqUFPRIwI/AAAAAAAAADE/HvCRw7gBFoo/s1600-h/IMG_0057.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252158483680273154" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONqUFPRIwI/AAAAAAAAADE/HvCRw7gBFoo/s200/IMG_0057.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, No Gary, it's &lt;em&gt;not &lt;/em&gt;"Alice" it's Allosaurus. And it's not a &lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;GIRL&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;, &lt;/em&gt;at least not if you ask Neil. I guess so far in his mind, girls can't be that scary. I hope it can keep that thought for a long time. Anyway, we looked around, talked to the man at the desk (would that make him a docent?) And marveled at the percentage of carnivores to herbivores found in the quarry and the mystery of why they're there in the first place. No one has a concrete answer for that, there are several hypotheses, but no actual theories. I favor alien abduction and dismemberment, then being dropped out of the spaceship (how else to explain sooooo many bones in such a small space). Only, I was told, they couldn't have eaten them, because there are very few teeth marks. Interesting. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next, we walked down to the quarry where two butler buildings have been put up to protect the site from the weather, and allow visitors to see an actual "dig".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONtP5VdzYI/AAAAAAAAADM/om636eEmqmk/s1600-h/IMG_0030.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252161710300450178" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONtP5VdzYI/AAAAAAAAADM/om636eEmqmk/s200/IMG_0030.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252161897377103570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONtayQA_tI/AAAAAAAAADU/im7MCAgIQic/s200/IMG_0031.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We couldn't decide which of the three hikes around the quarry we were up for, unfortunately, at that time Neil wasn't up for &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;ANY!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; So, we decided to break out the picnic, and see how he felt after lunch. Which as it turned out he still wasn't up for any. We started off, anyway, with the reason that Mommies need to get taken for walks. He really still didn't care. Gary ended up putting him on his shoulders for a time, because I was a bit nervous that he was going to throw himself off a rock and get hurt. We wanted to see how fast we could hike the 1.4 mile Rock Walk, to see if we could make it to the CEU Museum in Price before they closed at 6:00. And, we did it. Here are some pictures along the hike:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONvSea_k3I/AAAAAAAAADc/fXLGhpzDg1c/s1600-h/IMG_0043.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252163953638740850" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONvSea_k3I/AAAAAAAAADc/fXLGhpzDg1c/s200/IMG_0043.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; the black on the rocks is called "desert varnish" don't know why, but I thought that was interesting. &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONvhbflibI/AAAAAAAAADk/ETlLAS2n9aE/s1600-h/IMG_0044.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252164210550737330" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONvhbflibI/AAAAAAAAADk/ETlLAS2n9aE/s200/IMG_0044.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONvuYxaJ7I/AAAAAAAAADs/0olkIUOcVrA/s1600-h/IMG_0045.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252164433158481842" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONvuYxaJ7I/AAAAAAAAADs/0olkIUOcVrA/s200/IMG_0045.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And, you can's see this guy too well, but it's the creepiest looking spider I've ever seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONwkNAWrZI/AAAAAAAAAD0/DuWtg-xxT7M/s1600-h/IMG_0047.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252165357712878994" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONwkNAWrZI/AAAAAAAAAD0/DuWtg-xxT7M/s200/IMG_0047.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONwvSMJUdI/AAAAAAAAAD8/4rSpcVm9VmA/s1600-h/IMG_0050.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252165548083073490" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONwvSMJUdI/AAAAAAAAAD8/4rSpcVm9VmA/s200/IMG_0050.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252165699586039858" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONw4GlRIDI/AAAAAAAAAEE/mk3vIh8G6PY/s200/IMG_0052.jpg" border="0" /&gt; okay so this is really the only way to get all three of us in a photo together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONxFMBApvI/AAAAAAAAAEM/QcLmR71Rnwc/s1600-h/IMG_0053.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252165924382877426" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONxFMBApvI/AAAAAAAAAEM/QcLmR71Rnwc/s200/IMG_0053.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Neil likes the lizards. He was even brave enough to sneak a touch of this one, then of course it showed us how fast they move, and found shelter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONxQfzTWWI/AAAAAAAAAEU/gmJILbWM0TU/s1600-h/IMG_0054.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252166118672652642" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONxQfzTWWI/AAAAAAAAAEU/gmJILbWM0TU/s200/IMG_0054.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Neil LOVES rocks. He wanted to bring at least one home with him, but we kept telling him no, when he asked why I said they were protected by the federal government and had to stay there. I did ask if he wanted a picture of the rock (it would be almost like bringing it home) from the look on his face it's not even close!&lt;br /&gt;After the hike, it was a very dusty drive back to Price, and we made it in time to see the museum. It's a nice museum, but very small. Considering that Neil is used to the Museum of Ancient Life at Thanksgiving Point. But, an hour was really all that was needed for the museum in Price.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONzophoZ8I/AAAAAAAAAEc/5UvH1-m5pQQ/s1600-h/IMG_0058.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252168732623005634" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONzophoZ8I/AAAAAAAAAEc/5UvH1-m5pQQ/s200/IMG_0058.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; If all of the fossils, and skeletons aren't enough to remind us of how very small we are and how very large they were...try the old your hand in theirs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, that was our Saturday September 27, 2008. Not exactly what we had set out for, but so much better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-2212984102843181666?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/2212984102843181666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=2212984102843181666' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2212984102843181666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/2212984102843181666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2008/10/sometimes-plans-change.html' title='Sometimes Plans Change'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SONordwc9XI/AAAAAAAAAC8/d6SuLorrPw8/s72-c/IMG_0026.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232095330410175544.post-724631414032421940</id><published>2008-09-25T07:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T08:00:28.486-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This Weekend Moab</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SNunNEWvFEI/AAAAAAAAACk/ByyfyLzMmcM/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249973633579684930" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SNunNEWvFEI/AAAAAAAAACk/ByyfyLzMmcM/s200/images.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, we're planning a quick trip to Moab this Saturday. It's not really a mountain bike trip for the cyclist, but more of a paleontology expedition for the dinosaur obsessed. We've been watching "Dinosaur Fight Club" on the history channel and Neil heard that Moab is a hot spot for dinosaur tracks. Soooo, that's where he wants to go. ( A lot closer than the Canadian Badlands, which is vacation choice.) And I am sure that Gary will get a quick ride in on Porcupine Rim (a bit leary of the word quick, because sometimes he is, but... Oh well, he's feeling go&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SNunVYRW4wI/AAAAAAAAACs/kKAd3KMRy9U/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249973776364790530" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SNunVYRW4wI/AAAAAAAAACs/kKAd3KMRy9U/s200/images.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;od and it's his favorite mountain bike trail). The dogs have to stay home, I've been wanting to take them with us. But, I think an all day trip in the car with them might be more than some nerves can handle...like theirs. And since it should just be a quick trip down and back, with a couple of stops in the middle, they should be fine at home. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/232095330410175544-724631414032421940?l=whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/feeds/724631414032421940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=232095330410175544&amp;postID=724631414032421940' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/724631414032421940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/232095330410175544/posts/default/724631414032421940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whosurhuckleberry.blogspot.com/2008/09/this-weekend-moab.html' title='This Weekend Moab'/><author><name>bobbie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16263461049065626512</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SW9k83sWdGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/-nzT0vp7LDs/S220/IMG_0001_edited.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WCI2JqlLhIE/SNunNEWvFEI/AAAAAAAAACk/ByyfyLzMmcM/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
