Memorial Day

When I was fourteen, in 2003... It seemed like everyone agreed with the war, that we ought to go to Afghanistan and Iraq to stop the terrorists.
Unfortunately, we went there and found no weapons of mass destruction. So the leaders changed their goal. Now we're there to "free Iraq."
That was a nice goal too.
Until we accomplished that.
Then why do we remain there?
Oh. Oil.
Ah.

I'm tired of hearing about soldiers who will never come home, of tragedies, of sadness.
I had a substitute teacher in High School who served in Iraq and was going to go back in a month. He told some pretty interesting stories. And he gave a good perspective. He was optimistic, though he did admit that the war seems...pointless.

Why did we even go there in the first place? Because our country is powerful and is obligated to defend the weak. BUT...there are times when you have to say enough's enough!
This war has a similar taste to Vietnam. There is no true way we can "win" the war. Once we withdraw our armies, the country will collapse on itself. I'm not sure if there's any solution.

I just wish that the long lists of soldier's names who have died in service would stop. Bring them home.

And, please, if we go to war again for some reason in the future, please let it be a solid reason. Not changing every time it's found convenient to do so...

Thirteen minutes

I came home for a little rest before work.
I checked on the chickens and found only two. The white one was missing. The white one's six months old, and can easily fly to the top of our wood fence, when pressured. I couldn't find it anywhere. I decided to give up and go downstairs where it's cool.
I entered my room and heard some really loud chirping. At first I thought mom put the chicks in my room as a joke. But then I realized where I've heard that sound before. It was a baby robin stranded in my window well!
I call daddy asking him what we fed the last baby robin we aided. He told me to just take it out and see if the parents take care of it. Sounded good to me. BUT...as I was talking to him on the phone, I discerned a white chicken silhouette strutting around in the yard behind ours. I run up to make sure, and an older man was outside watching it and trying to feed it...He said I could come over and try to catch it. He seemed reluctant, like he wanted to keep it.
I rode my bike over and caught it and threw it over the fence.
Then I rode home, jumped into the window well to free the little baby, who shrilly got mad at me, and before I knew it, I was being attacked by two adult robins. I go for a second attempt, because I dropped him because I was startled... Second attempt was successful! The baby can fly, but can't fly straight up, hence why he was stuck in the window well in the first place.
I go into the back yard to make sure the chicken survived.
It did.
And left a white warm present for me to put in the fridge.

Nameless Chickens

I have found that our white chicken is very good at posing in the perfect spot in the sunlight, and perfect postures. The others are very photo-phobic.

Here is the brown one. She's very kind. The wild black one sticks with her.

The elusive black one. We thought it escaped. It makes the most interesting squawking noises...

So...do any of you out there have any ideas for names?

I'm thinking "Big Betsy"...but I'm sure you guys have better ideas!

Detective

The name's Norman.
Abby Norman.

I can find 'em all. You just tell me what color. White, brown, black, or purple. I can find them even with the scantiest of clues.
Catching them, however, is a different story. They're flighty little buggers. Fortunately, they aren't very smart. They think that hiding behind a daisy or a tree stump will hide their bodies. Fortunately for us humans, we can outsmart them. And catch them. And dump 'em in the jail.

My mom and dad told me we got them. I was excited. Until I went out to find them, and there wasn't even a sign that they had been there. I searched for fifteen minutes, with the assistance of my dad. Not even a glimpse of them.
Then I figured that Ma and Pa were pullin' my leg. We didn't really get them. They're just pulling a prank on me today.
So I go rustle the dog house.
Lo! And behold! A flash of white sent me yelping, "thar's one! Thar's one!" It ran and showed the true glory of their species. Dad went after it.
I continued to look. I looked under the wood pile. A brown one. We successfully captured that one as well.

But the black one. Now that was an elusive bugger. She was a wild one. Not tamed yet. We never did find her. We thought that she escaped. However, an hour or so later, we hear panicked calls. And Fly is nowhere in sight. Fly must've cornered that criminal! I look through the raspberry bushes for the hundreth time. I part the bushy bush in front of the first row of raspberry bushes. I peer inside. I see a tree stump. But I also see a black hue hiding behind it. I holler at the master catcher, and Dad easily picked it up.
It let out throaty, ugly, hoarse calls.
Dad lowers it for Fly to look at and sniff. But before Fly can get too close, the black thing tried to attack her!

Yes, we finally got chickens.
I would take a picture of them, but I have no idea where my camera is!
Any ideas for names? There's a wild black one, a tame white one who is very intent on escaping, and a very nice brown one.

We also have five chicks, although one has an infection and will probably die soon. Ack!

Shh. Don't tell anyone. We never looked to see if it's legal to have a couple of hens.

Grass

Sorry. My last post was kind of depressing, and I wanted to get it off the top of the page.

On a happier note, we are supposed to get chickens soon! (Though, that's what they said last year...Maybe it means we'll actually get chickens within the year...)


Grass is very interesting. It's the standard for many Americans to put it in their yard. Often, that's all their yard has...grass. And they seem intent to prove that their grass is by far the greenest in the 'hood. They go so far as to water their grass every other day about ten hours at a stretch.

Nothing's wrong with that! We only live in Utah. Where droughts are likely to occur. Plus, many third world countries would do anything to get that quality of sanitary water to live off of...


My favorite type of grass is buffalo grass:

It's kind of messy and loose and scruffy. If I planted this stuff in my yard, many neighbors probably would be disgusted. Neat, tidy, green grass is the fashion. This grass imitates the grass on the prarie, only on a smaller scale. Also, you don't have to mow it. Ever. This grass is my favorite because of the reasons above, plus it's super comfy! It's rather soft.

One of my pet peeves is that some people get ornery when you walk on their grass. Then what is the grass there for, then? In my opinion, it's an outdoor carpet. You are allowed to walk on it! If they don't want you on their grass, they should plant the species the Stapleys have. That species could kill you if it wanted.

These scratches are much more intidmidating in person. The camera likes to wash them out. I have these scratches all over both feet and my legs from an ordinary shuffle in the grass! It didn't help when I learned that the very grass I was romping around on had recently been sprayed with poison...no wonder why everything stings like billy-oh! If you don't want your kids to enjoy playing outside, and would rather play outdoor neighborhood games on their stupid x-box or whatever they're called these days, then this is the grass candidate for you... But if you have awesome kids like the Stapleys...nothing is going to stop them from having fun outside!

The last day that she's living?

I believe Dax is dying.
Let me clarify: Dax is a dog. Dax is the family's dog. She is sweet and tender and kind. (not to rabbits, though.) I think the only other time I've talked about her was when she ate my rabbit. That was a sad, gruesome day...

Why I think that Dax is dying is this: She was running about yesterday having fun...but today? Mom said that she can't even get up.
Being curious like all humans are, I ran outside to see.
Looking at her made my heart break. Her body is positioned like she just fell over, she doesn't have her left rear leg tucked under her body as she always did... And she is weezing with every breath, trying so desperately to live...
I regret the grudge I held towards her for eating my rabbit.
Her eyes are slightly hazy and glazy, but there's a glint and a glow of some determination to fight to the last breath.
Why fight? Why not just accept it? Is there anything else that dog wishes to live for?
Hmmm....



THE LAST night that she lived,
It was a common night,
Except the dying; this to us
Made nature different.

We noticed smallest things,—
Things overlooked before,
By this great light upon our minds
Italicized, as ’t were.

That others could exist
While she must finish quite,
A jealousy for her arose
So nearly infinite.

We waited while she passed;
It was a narrow time,
Too jostled were our souls to speak,
At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot;
Then lightly as a reed
Bent to the water, shivered scarce,
Consented, and was dead.

And we, we placed the hair,
And drew the head erect;
And then an awful leisure was,
Our faith to regulate.
-Emily Dickinson



Update: 15 minutes after I originally published this...Dax said goodbye to this world.
I hope she's havin' fun!

H20

For the past while, I've been wondering why there's so much drama and stupid things that happen around the pool.
My close friends and I joke that it's hormones, the boys and the girls...they just have to act up, and overanalyze everything.
If you don't speak for a day, rumors spread that you're very mad at someone.
If you're too "loud" for a day, someone believes you're trying to steal their boyfriend that they claim they don't have.
If you're too honest and blunt, you are automatically a jerk and not worth speaking to.
If you lie and brown-nose, the previous statement applies.
If you...

I couldn't figure it out. Then I realized it's all due to water. H20.
Only H20 doesn't necessarily mean Hydrogen and Oxygen.
It means something else. Something quite significant.
The H stands for Hormones.
The O has many names.

O is for...Opera: Yes, in the pool, the hormones cause lots of drama. It plays out quite like an Opera. There is tragedy, romance, and horror.
O is for...Ovaries: (Brad our coach came up with this one...) 'Nuff said.
O is for...Ornery: Girls become quite ornery when hormones act up. Especially if you somehow annoy them. Even without knowing it...you intended to make them mad.
O is for...Overexaggerate: Usually happens with gossip and rumors.
O is for...Obnoxious: I'm sorry, but swimmers really are this.
O is for...Outrageous: Yes, this whole thing is beyond outrageous.

So, there you have it. Water is two parts Hormones, one part of any of the O options I gave (or something better you've come up with...[post it please!]) and a fraction part Cl...clobberheads.


And I'll finish a quote from my good friend Tantor:
"Are you sure this water is sanitary? It looks questionable to me."

Eyes

Well, well, well.
I did my second shift of lifeguarding in a long time yesterday.
And guess what?

I jumped in to do yet another rescue.

Am I cursed with drowning people, or blessed to be a hero in some little kid's eyes?

I think the first.

There are many guards on the staffs who are yet older than I, worked longer than I, but have never rescued anyone. I seem to be forced to do it every time on the stand.

I think I overanticipate. I've learned to look at the eyes of the patrons I'm watching. There's something unique about eyes. They just can't lie when it comes to mortal fear.
Everyone that I watch and scan over have different expressions on their faces. Except for the occasional person struggling to swim.
At first their eyes give a look like, "this isn't happening!"
Then they try to appear like they're just fine....
just wait for it...
The terrified gasp arrives, and thrashing happens, and the eyes tell all.
Don't be distracted by the embarassed smile...trying to cover it all up. The lips lie! The eyes tell all!

That's when I come in.
And yank 'em out.
Woo hoo.

Watah Polo State

Well...state came and went.

We beat Skyline for the first place trophy! The final score was 4-3. We were tied up 3-3, and I thought we were headed for overtime, but Shandi scored an awesome goal at about :46 seconds left of the game! Yay!

(Imagine Queen singing "We Are the Champions")

The boys also had an intense game, but won the gold as well.

After that? I went home. And rested.

Then I hung out with the team at some pizza place. They wanted to go inside and watch a movie afterwards, but the weather was lookin' so nice! So I ordered two jamba juices and said "I have to go somewhere." All the gals' eyes went wide, and began guessing who I was going on a date with.

Perfect escape plan.

But where should I go? My friends from Bingham have Senior dinner/dance that night...so...hmmm...I won't bother them, then...

I hung out with the Stapleys, watched a clip from "Wayne's World," explored the field behind their house, talked to the turkeys, "owwww"-ed at the peacock, and strutted like the emu. It was rather fun. Then I swang on the swings for a long time.

So nice to be free.

Terror.

I was driving along my merry way home.
I noticed a fancy silverish-blue car swerving all over, making sudden stops and starts, and almost colliding with many other cars.
Being a biker, this annoyed me, being a human, this made me ornery, because this stupid driver is endangering people's lives with his inconsiderate driving. I timidly pass him. Unfortunately, the light ahead is red. And red means stop.
I glance over. He is a latino, smiling and enjoying coming to a jerking stop.His adolescent son is in the seat next to him. Adorned in lots of loverly gangsta stuff. The driver turns and notices me looking at them, and I have an appalled and disgusted face on. What kind of person enjoys being an idiot driver???
Now, everyone knows I'm deaf. And listens to the radio pretty loud. My windows are rolled up. But even I can hear him clearly. He's screaming at me, calling for attention that I refuse to give. Then my stupid imagination takes flight! I imagine this same man, if I turned and looked, I imagined he had a gun in his hand...and he was just waiting for me to look...
The long red light finally turns green. I take my time in getting going. He zooms off, swerving all over the place. I get ready to turn onto bangerter. Thank goodness he's going straight!
Then.
Out of the blue, he swerves right onto Bangerter almost hitting cars once again. And he keeps changing lanes to be right in front of me. Once in front of me, he slows down suddenly.
Frustrated and flabbergasted and frightened, I slow down until a bunch of bigger and more impatient cars swerve around me and go in front of me. I successfully increase the amount of space-and cars-between me and this crazy driver.
I successfully made it home in one piece. Without a single dent to my name.

But...I seriously wished I had a police phone number on my cell.

Now that I'm eighteen...I might just obtain a concealed weapon permit. Why not? What if things turned out worse? What if...?

I don't even want to think about it.

I'm going to enroll in a gun safety course. I wish fists could stop bullets, but they don't.

Or maybe I'm just overreacting. Maybe all the myths that people spread about Kearns is getting to my head.