Category: About us

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Family

“There is no other organization that can so completely satisfy our need for belonging and happiness like the family. Why do we yearn for home and loved ones? I believe this yearning is a universal, God-given instinct that all people in all cultures are blessed with. I also believe that a loving Heavenly Father gives it to us because within the family we experience most of life’s greatest joys. The sights, sounds, and associations of family and home are among our most treasured memories and provide our fondest anticipations.”

Marlin K. Jensen

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Orange Sherbet Smash

That One Chick #10

Warning: This is not a recipe. Repeat. This is not a recipe.

What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? It fluctuates around here depending on my mood. But when I was little–before I was old enough to think straight, up until I was about 12, my very favorite–the only flavor I’d eat, in fact–was Orange Sherbet. That’s it.

Back in those days–the coolest place on earth–for ice cream lovers was Sears because they had an ice cream parlor out back. My brother Andy would get Pistachio, my sister Laurie would get Chocolate or Rocky Road, and I of course, chose Orange Sherbet. Always and forever.

So picture this—

One day, when I was about 5,  Laurie and I went with dad to Sears and even though he was in a huge hurry–we held out hope that there would still be time for a quick trip to the ice cream shop. At first he said there was no way but then he changed his mind. The second the ice cream was handed to us he said we really had to run or he’d be late to an appointment. So he grabbed a hold of us–one on either side of him–and started running through the store to the other side parking lot where our car was parked.

Oh, now–please understand–we were hauling. Dad had us each by the hand and we really had to run to keep up with him. I hadn’t even had a lick of my ice cream, in fact, the harder I tried to taste the darn thing, the more my poor cone hand flailed out to my side…uncontrollably.

Now, see the sweet little old couple coming towards us. Smiling, happy, serene, unsuspecting.

dun. dun. dun.

Feel it coming?

Yeah. Here we go.

The couple approaches on the right side…my side…the side with my arm flailing around…you know…the cone side.

As the couple passed us, suddenly…my cone was miraculously…um…lighter somehow…almost…empty feeling.

We were tearing through the place at quite a clip but I managed to turn my head just in time to see the old lady shrieking her head off in the aisle. All she could say was, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

There, smashed on the skirt of her dress was the entire top scoop of my perfect Orange Sherbet cone.

I imagine we should have offered to help, or found her a napkin, or called the authorities or something. But Daddy-O never knew it even happened–and I was just a kid.

By the time we got to the car he looked down at me and said, “Hey…How’d you ever finish that ice cream so fast?”

I think I may have started giggling. Can’t quite remember.

I just hope she enjoyed the most perfect ice cream cone on earth. Heaven knows, I never even got a lick.

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*Remember to comment on all the “That One Chick” facts posts during the month of February to be entered in to win our March 1, 2010 giveaway–for some of my favorite things!

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Anti-Camel Fan Club

That One Chick #9

Ever wonder what the world looks like from the back of a camel? Well my friends–mystery solved…and now you know. This is the view from the top of a real live Egyptian camel. Now this particular dromedary has most likely gone the way of the dinosaur by now–since this picture is about 30 years old…the average life span of your typical camel–but the smelly memories live on…and on.

We paid exactly $2.50 for a camel ride to the base of the pyramids back in 1980–quite a bargain. But the tour guides warned us that the little herders who led the camels up the trail would ask us for more money–and be sure not to give it to them. Not sure what that was about, but I’m an obedient soul.  So sure enough, when the little man said, “I need more money for camel food,” I said, “We aren’t allowed to give you more.”  Sadly, this was no ordinary Egyptian camel man. Oh no. This clever fellow just smiled a funny toothy smile and said, “OK.”

Then, without a warning, he slapped the camel…

hard.

Of course the previously slow, calm creature now discovered his new purpose in life and torn up the hill like there was a bazooka at his back. In case you think that riding a camel should be about like riding a horse–let me clue you. Whoever put the running mechanism of the camel together didn’t actually think this through. At first step they pitch forward nearly sending the rider into orbit, but then when the back legs engage, that motion gives you a mighty yank backwards. So instead of a pleasant jaunt up the hill, it turns out to be a strange exercise in 12 forms of whiplash. But I haven’t actually gotten to the good part.

Once I got the hang of holding on I thought, “Well, at least I’ll be first up the hill. So that’s not so bad. I’ll just be up here all cool and act like, ‘what took you guys so long?'”

Yeah, that’s what I thought. But these smelly, nasty things are creatures of habit, no matter what speed they are traveling. So, the minute we got to the base of the pyramids–this sucker skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees–sending the cockly little rider flying clear over his head.

Oh, yeah.

When the rest of the happy caravan showed up,  they found the frugal American, laying in a sad, crumpled heap, spitting wads of sand off her tongue.

Of course the pyramids were incredible…beautiful…breathtaking…spectacular.

But if you’d like a tip–from the seasoned adventurer…

Give the herder guy the extra 20 bucks.

It’s much cheaper than spending two weeks scrubbing half the Sahara desert out of your ears.

Nope.

Not a big fan of camels.

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Monkey House

That One Chick #8

Before the day of the digital camera–you had to point and shoot and cross your fingers hoping that when you got your film back your children wouldn’t look…like…this. It was always a crap shoot with no do overs.

Check out the little monkey on the left.

Speaking of monkeys…

When I was about this age–6 or 7ish we had a neighbor in Los Angeles that kept all kinds of monkeys. No lie. She had chimpanzees and spider monkeys and kept them in a huge playroom-pen at the front of the yard that she called the Monkey House. We could see them swinging on rings and jumping around from our kitchen window. Pretty sure there would be something illegal about that these days. Anyway, one day we came home to find the biggest and baddest grandaddy monkey of all time sitting on top of our fridge. His name was Beatnick and he apparently came in through our open kitchen window. When we came in the kitchen, he stood up and started screeching and throwing fruit down on us. My brother had a potato growing in a jar with toothpicks and water–the little dope threw that too.

My dad yelled, “Everybody stand still,” so we stood still.  Too bad the chimp didn’t listen.

That creepy guy jumped right down and landed…

on my head.

So, try to picture it–two big old monkey feet clutching the top of my head–his toes were poking me in the eyes.  Not to mention the fact that a monkey the size of a toddler weighs about as much as a 10 year old child. Before I could yell or bawl or help myself in any way, he sprung from my head to the kitchen table–knocking me to the floor. My dad picked me up and tossed me out of the kitchen. Pretty scary–I must say.

I have no idea how my dad got the monkey out of our house, but for years–any time he’d see a chimpanzee on T.V.  he’d say, “Those little devils are as strong as a grown man.”

All I know is that they are as heavy as a sack of bricks…

when they land on your head.

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*Remember to comment on all the “That One Chick” facts posts during the month of February to be entered in to win our March 1, 2010 giveaway–for some of my favorite things!

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“Parlez vous Francais?”

“That One Chick” #7

When I was sixteen our family took a trip to Scotland, England and France to pick up my brother from his mission in London. We didn’t spend much time–a day actually–in France because, well, I don’t know why…poor planning perhaps. At any rate, we had jet lag so badly that when we took a tour bus to the Eiffel Tower, we opted to stay on the bus and sleep instead of going out and seeing the thing. I’ve regretted that a few times in my life.

We ate at a French restaurant–well, of course we did since that’s what every restaurant would be…in France. But this one had a really crabby waiter who didn’t like Americans–at all. I asked for a drink of water and he smacked the menu and said, “Where you see water on this menu?” It scared the heck out of me and I got a stomachache. I wasn’t hungry anymore so I didn’t order any food. That made him really mad and he started yelling a bunch of stuff in French. My dad finally just said, “Let’s get out of here.” So we left. Which probably made him even madder…if that’s possible.

I’d like to go back there someday and try that whole thing again…well, differently. I’ll try to behave myself…

and not ask for water.

Sheesh.

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*Remember to comment on all the “That One Chick” facts posts during the month of February to be entered in to win our March 1, 2010 giveaway!