Sking at Seeley

We went Skiing yesterday at Seeley Lake. It was fun! The snowpack looks good for this year.

Scary

Here is my top ten scary list:

10) Being at the top of an extremely steep road that is on a side slope inside a boulder field. There is snow and ice. You husband is waiting at the bottom for you to follow him down. You wonder if he has insured your life for a lot of money

9) It is winter and night is falling. You have cross country skied all day long and are exhausted. You realize there is no way you can ski back to the trailhead.

8) The Bishop says, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” The nursery leader position is open.

7) You have to venture into your High School student’s room because there are no more clean towels in the house.

6) Flying over the ocean.

5) The Kirby vacuum salesman.

4) Your teenager says, “Will you love me no matter what I do?”

3) You are hiking. Down the trail you see several warning signs: Watch out for Rattlesnakes.

2) You are in the grocery store and can’t find your four-year-old.

1) The biggest gossip in the entire stake has discovered Facebook. She wants to friend you.

The Miracle of the Kitchen Cupboards

Tonight, I started to write about the miracle of the kitchen cupboards. But all the details of the story took up too much room for a blog post. I haven't thought about the miracle of the kitchen cupboards for years. How ridiculous that I allow myself to spend so much time dwelling on negative events, but let years go by and don't think about some of the wonderful miracles and blessings I've had in my life. Here are just a few of my miracles:

1) The kitchen cupboards on Diamond Springs
2) Eglantine's surgery
3) Getting out of debt
4) Miracle blessings from having missionaries on missions
5) Tender mercies associated with Stacy's death
6) Becoming friends with a woman my distant cousin converted while he was on his mission in our area. This ended up being quite a story.

This week I resolve to spend some time everyday writing down some of these stories and thinking about these miracles.

The Skiing WAS Great

My friend and I went cross country skiing Friday, just before the winds were scheduled to hit 30 or 40 mph. The skiing was wonderful. It was even more wonderful that I got new skis. When I took my old skis into be waxed, the technician told me I had worn all the edges off them. Actually, I don't think those skis ever had good edges. Anyway, no edges accounts for difficulty stopping. I learned an unorthodox way to control my speed: put all my weight on one ski while putting the other ski in front and using it like a plow to stop me. I will teach this technique to anyone with edgeless skis. Although, I recommend skis with edges over stopping this way. I love being able to do a normal snowplow to stop and slow down!

The Driving Is Slippery But the Skiing is Going to Be GREAT

Kids & Work

I spent three more hours today transcribing the old tape I found from July 4, 1985. Next time my kids feel picked on because I made them work as children, I want them to think about this:

Dad [Grandpa Robertson]: ...Then we had that big garden down below there which we had to irrigate. It came out o’ that same spring where we got the water. We run it around the hill and irrigated. We raised all our own potatoes and carrots and rutabagas and peas and beans.

And we always had corn, cucumbers and onions that we raised. And turnips. We’d all go down there, all four of us kids and Mom, and we’d weed it, we’d help plant it, we’d rake it after it was ploughed. Dad would plough it. He always had a horse and a plough.

Me: About how old were you?

Dad: That was about seven years old...

And we’d take and hoe the corn. We’d help plant the garden, help rake it. Our job was to help water it. Mom would be there to help us. Dad and John were generally out working on a ranch some place during the summer time or for the Forest Service, or in a mine. So it was up to Mom and us kids to take care of the garden and we did. Then we’d pick and shell peas and have peas and new potatoes and beans and a little bit of bacon on them. Always raised radishes. Mom always made our own homemade bread, of course. She’d bake a big batch and every time she’d bake bread, she’d bake a pan of cinnamon rolls. Sometimes, we’d run out of butter. We’ve used Crisco for butter more than once. A time or two when there wasn’t much else around to eat why I remember that we’d make sandwiches, spread Crisco on ‘em and cut up radishes and have radish sandwiches.

Me: That doesn’t sound very good.

Dad: Well, they were pretty good, actually.

Asian Vegetable-Beef Soup

This probably could be made meatless. It has a kick to it.

1 lb. beef stew meat, cut into 1 inch cubes
1T. oil
2 c. water
1 1/4 c. beef broth
1/4 c. reduced sodium soy sauce
6 green onions
3 T. brown sugar
2 garlic cloves
1 T. minced fresh ginger root
2 t. sesame oil
1/4 t. cayenne pepper
1 1/2 c. fresh mushrooms
1 1/2 c. julienned carrots
1 c. sliced bok choy
1 1/2 c. uncooked long grain rice
Chive blossoms, optinal

Brown meat with oil. Pressure cook until tender. (Pressure cooker should have guide to tell you how long. I cook 35 minutes on high ring.) Cook the rice in rice cooker or separate pan. Add the remainder of the ingredients and simmer until carrots are done. (If carrots are done, everything else will be.) Divide rice among 6 soup bowls - 3/4 c. in each bowl. Top each bowl with soup. Garnish with chives.

Manners

We have a family that just moved in from California at church. The mother is complaining about how AWFUL the schools are here. According to her, her kids will not be academically challenged. I gather she is not pleased to be here generally. Would it be rude to advise her to contact all her friends and neighbors in California and tell them EVERYTHING she hates about being here?

Oh, all right. It would be rude. But she probably wouldn't get where I'm going anyway.

Washing Circa 1920

Not long a go I discovered at tape I made with my Mom and Dad on July 4, 1985. I had zero recollection of making this tape. But it was so wonderful to hear the voices of my parents again. I also heard the voices and piano music of my little kids. I am still not done transcribing it. Here is a section about washing in when my parents were kids:

WASHING

Dad: ....then the next year Dad built the log cabin down below in Kingsberry Gulch where we were there. And we had a lumber floor and so forth: one big room. Outdoor privy. We’d take and screen off the area right behind the stove and took our baths in a tin wash tub.

Mom: We used to do that too. My mother had a big black shawl that she used to put around so that we’d have a private place.

Dad: And we hung blankets and sheets and stuff off to screen it out. It was warm behind the stove!

Mom: And I can tell you that more than one kid took a bath in that water also.

Dad: That’s right. Because where you had to carry water for a hundred yards up in three gallon pails – carry two of ‘em at a time one in each hand.

Mom: Every kid had their hair washed with vinegar water as the last rinse to get the soap out.


AND NEXT TIME YOU FEEL BLUE ABOUT CATCHING UP ON LAUNDRY:

Dad: When it came to washing, we had a big copper boiler. Put all the clothes in that. Put it on the stove and put soap in it and boil ‘em. And then left ‘em out..”

Mom: That’s the way everybody did their clothes. They boiled all their whites.

Dad: And then they washed them on a rubbing board and put them in a little cooler water…” And rub ‘ em on a wash board. And then ring them out through two different rinses to get the soap out of them.

Mom: When I was sixteen years old, when I used to go out and see my sister in Velda(?)
Utah, we were still heatin’ the water outside in the summer over the fire outside and boiling the white clothes over the fire.

The Depression

Although I did not live through the depression, its influence was strong in the home where I grew up. My Mom sewed all the dresses I wore to church. The first time I remember having a store bought dress was an Easter dress purchased for me at the old McDonalds store downtown when I was thirteen. It was a pink, button down dress. I’m sure I looked hideous in it since pink has never been my color.

When sewing, Mom saved the scraps of material from sewing and stashed them in a plastic sack in the closet. Although, most of the material wasn’t the kind of material you can make quilts out of and my mother didn’t quilt anyway. It’s hard to believe now, but quilting was a lost art in the 1960’s and 70’s. Not wanting to waste, Mom cut buttons, which we never used, off old shirts. She strung the buttons together as a set and put them in a button box. If we ever used a button out of that box, it’s news to me. But it was a good lesson in using my noggin to find ways to conserve.

Dad had his own idiosyncrasies from the Depression. He bought canned rhubarb on sale and stockpiled them in the pantry. This choice of foot storage item here is interesting since we had a rhubarb plant in the backyard and years would go by before my Mom would make a rhubarb pie. Dad bought canned oysters occasionally. He would heat up milk on the stove and drop in the canned oysters and serve it with oyster crackers. He called it oyster stew. I’m sorry to say it was AWFUL.

After I left home, I dropped by the house one day, to find Dad repairing an iron tool that had broken. He was using my Mom’s vacuum cleaner as a bellows to get his “forge” hot enough to bend the iron. This event sticks out in my memory since my Dad just loved to buy tools. I don’t ever remember him fixing a tool before this incident. Although, he never threw anything away either. Unfortunately, organization was not his strong suit. He would misplace tools he bought and then find it easier to go out and buy another tool rather than find the misplaced one.

Mom was of an entirely different cut. If she bought something once, it was never to be lost, and if the family was taking appropriate care of the item, it should never, ever break. I mean never. Anything breaking around our place was a testament to what a pack of wasteful, white trash we were.

My parent’s generation was the generation that was forced to march off to war and face the armies of Hitler and Japan. I have wondered if their tough experiences in the Depression prepared them for the war.

Etiquette For Men

1) Never call another guy during the last two minutes of a close pro football game.

2) Never turn down a guy who got an elk and needs your help getting the elk to his truck.

Wilbur tells me there are really no other rules of etiquette for men. Only two rules of etiquette would make life much simpler.

Why Christmas Company Is Fun

Just Another Day in Paradise

Many times F & T meeting is uplifting and spiritual. Other times, I would like to crawl under the bench, borrow a trench coat, and sneak out through the back doors. Today was a bench day. A woman, not in our ward, who is mentally ill decided to use the microphone for ten minutes. She talked about the settlers taking the land from the Indians, college experiences with a Native American roommate that may or may not have happened, and complimented her sister-in-law on her outfit. In the spirit of the Native Americans, she favored us with three verses of Go My Son. I will say, however, she did sing on key.

Naturally, the nonmember who frequently visits our ward was in attendance for the entire discourse.

It is always so hard when you get robbed of an uplifting experience at F & T meeting.

Our Gifts

Below is a link to an article entitled "A Good and Perfect Gift" in Apostrophe magazine. One of the speakers at church read parts of the article in connection with a talk on thankfulness. He pointed out that all the gifts we have, we have done nothing to earn. Our gifts are just that: gifts. I thought of my gifted family and realized how blessed I am and how blessed they are. Still, it is easy to think we deserve our gifts and lose sight of the giver of those gifts. When you open the link, the article is on page 8 of the magazine. You click the top right hand corner of the magazine image to turn the pages. Here is the link:

http://apostrophe.journalgraphicsdigital.com/current/

My Personal Trainer

I wonder if other people have the same trouble with their personal trainer that I have with mine. My personal trainer is a chocolate lab mix who accepts no excuses, ever. It can be blizzarding, I can be sick, it can be pouring rain. He doesn't regard any of these circumstances as reasons to forgo a walk. Actually, he runs. I walk. And he wants me to walk for at least an hour.

We woke up to -12F this morning. The personal trainer doesn't care. He wants a walk and he wants it now. He has no respect for the Sabbath and thinks that is no excuse for not walking. If he doesn't get a walk, he pesters, he pants, and he annoys. But at least he doesn't send me a bill every month.

More on the Pilgrims

When we last left the Pilgrims, they were just leaving ship in the New World. According to notes from Frances Jean Jones-Lory, the first winter was NOT walk in the park:

During the first winter in America, the Pilgrims buried half their number leveling their graves and sowing grain over them in the spring in order to conceal their misfortunes from the Indians.

When William Brewster arrived at Plymouth, he was accompanied by his wife, Mary, and two sons, Love and Wrestling. (The Pilgrims purposely chose such names as peace, love, patience, for their children. They wanted to emphasize their separation from the established church which perpetuated the saints of the church calendar in naming children.) The rest of his children came over afterward.

According the above-referenced note-taker’s sources, William Brewster “…possessed that happy attitude of mind which could accustom itself to all circumstances…” Wilbur is a descendent of the Brewster also. I see the resemblance here.

Brewster taught twice every Sunday when the fledgling colony found itself bereft of a minister. He took a prominent part in the affairs of the colony and served in the Indian Wars under Miles Standish. Brewster loved books. Jones –Lory states, “Nearly every ship which came from England brought books to Brewster, and at his death his library inventoried 400 volumes, 62 of which were in Latin. There were 98 commentaries or translations of the Bible.” The acquisition and enjoyment of books is definitely a Robertson trait, although the Robertson men in my past seemed to prefer Louis L’Amour and Zane Grey to the Bible.

I am awestruck by the kind of people our ancestors were. The idea that someone could put me in jail because I don’t want to worship in a mode established by the government is bizarre to me. It is so easy to be complacent about the blessings afforded U.S. citizens in the Bill of Rights. I don’t even want to think about enduring living conditions so deplorable that I could lose half of my friends and family. Since the Pilgrims came to this country for religious reasons, it seems logical that they might have expected God to rescue them from all hardships and trials. I’m sure there were those who became bitter and angry. But it seems like many of our ancestors were so filled with faith they were able to get through and go on, even when things didn’t turn out the way they expected. On this line, we come from good stock.

The Pilgrims and Me

I always think about my Robertson ancestors this time of year. Several years ago I was at a dead end on the Robertson line my father’s genealogy. I had always wondered about my great grandfather Robertson’s origins. Because of my mother’s opinion of my father’s family, I was wondering if his family members were hillbillies from the Appalachian Mountains or pirates off the coast of the Carolinas. Near Thanksgiving of 1998, October 26 to be precise, I discovered my great grandfather’s line tied into Mayflower. I found the Robertsons were descendants of William Brewster and Isaac Allerton, both Mayflower passengers. I don’t know much about Isaac Allerton, but I do know a little something William Brewster, who is also Wilbur’s ancestor.


The following are notes I condensed from Frances Jean Jones-Lory:
William Brewster was postmaster for many years in Scrooby, England. Now a Postmaster deals with packages and letters. Three hundred years ago a Postmaster dealt mostly with horses. Letters posted then were mostly governmental correspondence. He was responsible for relays of horses along the post road. Brewster did not live in little house on a side street but had a grand mansion called Scrooby manor. He was appointed by the government and had what was considered a handsome salary 300 years ago.


About 1602 his neighbors to assemble at the manor house for worship and Brewster “…did much good in promoting and furthering religion.” Brewster and his friends organized a branch of Separatists. In the face of persecution, he and his friends chartered a Dutch boat in 1607 to take them to Holland. Through the treachery of the captain, he and his friends were seized and imprisoned. A year later he reached The Hague. At Leyden in 1609 he was chosen to be ruling Elder of the Congregation. Brewster and his family stayed in Holland for 12 years. He supported himself and his family by teaching English. He also was engaged in printing secretly religious books banned by the English government. In 1619 the types of Brewster and his cohorts were seized and he and others involved were arrested. Brewster, however, escaped the same year with Robert Cushman. Cushman obtained a land patent from the Virginia Company.

In 1620 Brewster was selected to sail with the advance guard to the New World. The Pilgrims sailed from Delftshaven in late July of 1620, then from Southampton on the 5th of August and finally from Plymouth on the 6th of September 1620. After a stormy voyage of 10 weeks, they anchored in Plymouth Harbor, November 21, 1620. In the “…cabin of the Mayflower Elder William Brewster drafted the first written constitution in the history of the world –a marvel of clearness, brevity, and strength..”
This is getting long. I want to tell you a little more about William Brewster later. But so far, I am not finding anything to be ashamed about in this line of my Dad’s family. I am only glad they got out of the Old World just as soon as they could.

Voting Day

It's a beautiful fall morning of 44 degrees. I get dressed, have breakfast and then run down to vote at the school where all five of my children spent their elementary years.

I walk in the door and run into Bonnie who is working at the election. Bonnie's youngest child went to school with Petunia and one of her grandsons is the same age as Orville. "Tell me about Heather," I invite.

"She's teaching down in Texas," Bonnie responds. "She just loves her job! We see her about once a year at Christmas. She is active in her church there and seems to be happy. How about Petunia?"

"Petunia and her family live in Outer Slobovia. Petunia's husband works for a firm that manufactures whiz bangs. Petunia spends most of her times chasing her kids around. When she has a minute, she provides professional advice to a hot air balloon delivery service. They seem to like Outer Slobovia. Nice to run into you. Guess I'd better vote."

"Right," says Bonnie. "Could I see some ID?"

Some of the laws that make sense in other places seem absurd here.

Kids Dressed Up

Here are pictures of this kids in costume. Not all the costumes are Halloween costumes, but they all could have been Halloween costumes.

Orville the Kid

I was randomly thinking about Orville the other day and giggling at his antics as a little boy. I remember that he loved the Disney Movie Flight of the Navigator. He thought the line, "See you later, Navigator!" was hysterical.

Orville was the only one of the children that was a biter. As a two-year-old, if something wasn't going his way, lookout! He would bite and then sit there innocently with an expression that said, "What's this all about?I'm just sitting here minding my own business."

He was about five months old when Prudence and Petunia went back to school after summer vacation. He became really fussy every morning when they left for school. I would venture to guess he was wondering where his entertainment committee went.

When we moved into Leisure Village while we built our house, Orville loved it! There were kids everywhere to play with. He thought Laser (as he said) Village rocked. One of the kids there was devastated that Orville had to go with our family when we moved.

Orville's uncle gave us an animated video of some raisins singing a certain kind of music which Orville watched every morning. Later we were at the mall when one of the songs from the video came on. He turned to me and said, "That's raisin music!"

I wouldn't have missed out on having Orville in our family.

Horses

This week Pippi will have a birthday. Since she likes horses so much, I thought I would share some horse stories. Past members of our family had a lot of dealings with horses. Here are some of the stories I remember:

THE HORSE WHO REFUSED TO MOVE
My Mom was born on a farm near Sugarville, Utah. They had a mare who was a special horse. Mom’s family was forced to sell the farm when the government or some other entity began pumping water out of the ground to drain a swamp or something. Then, the well on the family farm went dry. They sold their mare to the neighbors. Later the neighbors moved too. Years later, some of Mom’s family went back to the farm where the found the mare still living on the abandoned farm.

RACE HORSES
My Great grandfather Oscar A. Robertson came to Montana in 1864. Believe it or not, at one time in his life he had race horses. Here is the story in my father’s words:
Q. Didn’t you say he [O.A. Robertson] gambled a lot of his money away too?
A. Well, he really wasn’t a gambler. He had race horses. He spent a lot of money on race horses. Now, he really didn’t gamble any money away because from what my Dad [O.D. Robertson] told me anyway, and what George Cooney said (who used to ride for him as a jockey when he was a young fellow), that he never knew him [O.A. Robertson] to lose a race. He bet quite heavily on them. They’d put up a $50,000 purse - winner take all. And instead of running just one race, they’d run heats. And he’d [O.A. Robertson] bet on each heat. Generally, they’d let the opposition win the first heat. And they’d really bet on the second heat. They’d just nip ‘em on the second heat. And on the last heat, they’d whop ‘em good!
George Cooney said he never knew of O.A. Robertson to lose any of those match races , and they put up a $50,000 purse. Of course, they used to have a lot of money. And they spent a lot of money on horses because he sent some of his brood mares back to Kentucky after the railroad came through and had them bred at $5,000 a piece to raise colts. So you know, he had the best there were in those days. He had good blooded stock.

In addition, my Uncle Les owned race horses and spent quite a few years on the race horse circuit. My Uncle Gene also owned race horses.


BREAKING HORSES
My grandfather, O.D. Robertson used to break horses so they could be ridden. He said it took two weeks. Once he spent two weeks breaking horses for a man, and the man never paid him. Years later when the man passed away, Grandpa submitted a claim against the estate for his money. He got the money he was owed.

BRANDS AND HORSES
My grandfather had a brand, but I can’t remember what it was. I know it had an R in it. To use it on horses, he had to brand his horses on their jaws. That wasn’t a good place to brand horses, so he used my grandma’s brand, the lazy B K to brand the horses on their hip, which was a better place.

HORSE RANCH
In Grandpa’s [O.D. Robertson] own words:
I took up a ranch and filed a Quit claim Deed. You could prove up in five years, see, but it proved to be on railroad land. After I lived on it for three years, the railroad took it away from me. And then I bought from the railroad company. I run horses there. I had a regular (?) horse ranch. I bought a bunch of horses at an administrative sale and took them down there. Those horses wasn’t worth nothing then. Four dollars a head I paid for them, borrowing money from the Union Bank and Trust Company to buy them with. Then I brought these horses and shipped some of them to Sioux City, Iowa – a hundred head of them; a hundred head of them to St. Louis, Missouri. Got eighty dollars a head for them. Then, I shipped the rest to Canada and sold them up there.
When they had this boom in Alaska, I sold out my ranch there and went to the Dawson City Stampede.

MY MOM & HORSES
My Mom was very leery of horses. I gather, she'd seen some terrible accidents and deaths that involved horses. I remember both her and my Dad saying, "You never can tell what a horse is going to do."

Pumpkins

This year I grew a pumpkin for each of my grandchildren. When are you coming to pick them up?

Stacy's Garden

The garden I planted in memory of Stacy is doing the best it has ever done. Max has only dug it up once this summer. And he only dug up a few white carnations.

Another plus is that the deer don't seem to like the flowers I planted.

Cars that Go Fast

Wilbur knows how to make cars go fast.

Being Charlene

I’ll never forget the “Charlene” argument between Petunia and Prudence. We were living in Jefferson Hills at time. Petunia was probably eight and Prudence was six. Both girls were setting up for a game of imaginary play. But one issue of great moment had to be resolved before the play-story got underway: should Petunia be graced with the play-name of Charlene, or should this honor rest upon Prudence? Both girls discovered that currently they both had Charlene as their favorite name.

Petunia is an oldest sister, a leader, a red personality, and as a eight year old was used to having her own way. She could be unscrupulous in getting her own way too. Prudence never has liked contention and learned the art of compromise at an early age. Although, Prudence will only push so far before she digs here heels in and refuses to budge. Dynamite won’t move her when that happens. I was interested to find out who would get to be Charlene, or if play would completely break down because the question could not be resolved amicably.

Memory is hazy as to who ended up being named Charlene. I think it was Petunia for half the play and then Prudence became another sort of Charlene after a while. But play went on. Evidently, having some play time was more important than winning over the name.

It tickled my funny bone that both girls liked the name Charlene at that age. Sometimes, Kids are so funny about what they like. Did the girls like the name Charlene because we used to watch The Barbara Mandrell Show and one of the three Mandrell sisters was Charlene? What was it about that name that made it seem so pretty? The fascination with the name Charlene wore off years ago. I don’t have any granddaughter so named. I glad about that since I don’t care for the name much. But for a little while, it was fun to watch the girls have a distinct name preference. And it was fun watching them resolve the earth-shaking question of who got to be Charlene.

Mom's Influence

Because of my Mom's influence:

1) I always wash my hands after petting the dog.

2) I firmly believe in the value of education.

3) I don't automatically assume that the doctor is right.

4) I like to save money making my own clothes.

5) I value good nutrition.

6) I don't have a subservient bone in my body.

7) I learned to pick my friends on the basis of what kind of people they are, not what religion they are. When I had a church calling serving with a woman from Utah who fussed and fumed about her kid's lack opportunity to make friends with other church members here, I have to admit to a certain amount of disgust. Growing up, I knew kids who were members that I wouldn't want to be friends with and kids who were nonmembers that were great friends. I found that this observation held true for my kids also.

Influences

Because of my Dad's influence:

1) I frequently preface my statements with the words, "Actually,...." or, "Well, actually..."

2) I love rocks: all kinds of rocks and fossils too.

3) I sometimes correct Wilbur. For example, Wilbur will say, "Last February 12." I will say,"Actually, it was the 11th of February at 4:27 p.m..." Wilbur will then say, "Thank you, Sid."

4) I always carry matches in my backpack, even for a day hike. This probably saved my life once.

5) Hunting something for its rack or horns just does not compute for me. When you hunt, it's because you need meat. You don't want the meat, you don't hunt. Period. Only a scumbag kills something if he doesn't need the meat.

6) I love to read.

7) I love high school football and basketball.

The Line

TV has finally crossed the line. Last night I watched an episode of Psych on USA, a program I enjoy watching for the laughs. In last night's episode a character in the show swore, saying the word “Christ.” I won’t be watching Psych again. Period. I haven’t watched NBC, ABC, or CBS for years. In my youth, during the Cretaceous Period, these were only three networks available. These networks plotted a determined march to the sewer decades ago. Their gradual but steady normalization of casual, perverted sex, crudity, filthy language, blood, and violence left me queasy, so I pulled the plug on the big three networks. Now it seems that USA has joined the lemmings' marching to the latrine.

Every year or two, the networks introduce a few more filthy words and deeds. Apparently, networks can’t introduce too much of their repulsive agenda to their viewers too quickly. Like an offensive odor, the networks’ introduction of the crude,vulgar, and violent starts with a small whiff. As the viewing public becomes accustomed to the stink, the entertainment industry imperceptibly adds more and more filth to its programs. The stench increases so gradually that many people don’t realized how disgusting it has become. In the past couple of years, USA introduced “ass” to the mainstream viewer. I guess using the Savior’s title as a curse is this year’s step further into the septic tank. I predict the f-bomb will be introduced within the next couple of years and Heaven, or maybe Hell, only knows where TV will go from there. I won’t know because I won’t be watching.

I see clearly what the entertainment industry is doing. What puzzles me is WHY it does it. I’m fairly certain there is no positive correlation between how crude, crass, violent and disgusting a program is and its rating. WHY is the entertainment industry so determined to pursue its repulsive course? Here are two of my thoughts on the reasons:

1) The entertainment industry is so full of filthy acting scumbags and low-lifes that it believes it is portraying the ordinary world.

2) The industry wants to sink the nation to its level. I’ve noticed slime-balls feel much more justified in their behavior the more they can get others to participate in the behavior too.

***NOTE TO THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY****

Most people in this country are relatively decent. I know this fact is disappointing for you, and you are working on changing it. If you succeed, the results will not be as fortuitous for you as you think. Have fun swimming in the cess pool. See where it gets you and your families. I’m grabbing some good old homemade soap, a clean towel that was dried in the sun on my clothesline, and hitting the showers.

Fiasco

I couldn't resist telling this story that my friend Eloise shared with me. A few weeks ago Eloise went to the wedding of her husband's relative. The bride and groom had been shacking up for a while and then decided to get married.

The wedding was supposed to begin at 7:00 p.m., but by 7:30 the guests were still waiting. The flowers, which had been ordered the morning of the wedding, had not yet arrived.

The mother of the groom put the time everyone spent waiting to good use though. She had a hurried and whispered conference with each member of her side of the family adjuring them NOT to eat any of the wedding cake because the woman who made it lived in a filthy house with over 20 animals.

The cake wasn't too appetizing anyway because it had been made the morning of the wedding. Like the florist, the baker must have got her order at the last minute. The cake was supposed a be an ornate one with multiple tiers. But the cake maker had not frozen the cake for the decorating job. So the frosting was smeared all over the cake and littered with cake crumbs. Their were little blobs all over the cake that were supposed to be flowers.

Since the wedding started late, it ended late. It was raining and the sun was setting. The bride and groom wanted pictures. Guests were hungry and freezing in the dark and the rain. Every so often, the guests went into the building to warm up. Most of the guests left before the reception started.

The next morning Eloise got word that the groom was furious with his family for not staying to help with the clean-up after the reception. The groom's mother asked him, "Did you ask anyone to help you clean up?" "Well, no." he replied, "I just thought they would!"

Don't you want to be a mouse in a corner to see what their first Thanksgiving Dinner is like?

Hike to Cabin Lake