Dear Dad

I know I'm a day or two late on this, but I wanted to write down some of my favorite memories of my Dad for Father's day:

• This past Sunday the speaker told a story about her dad making her a play house. This had me thinking about when my dad built a play house for my sister and me. This wasn't just any play house. No, this was a matching miniature house of own house. I remember my dad and his friend Sparky or Sporty or something like that would measure and cut and drill this house. It was painted such a pretty pale peach color that matched our big house's siding. It came complete with a white porch, a mailbox with our names on it and even a sliding window! We had desks, a table and chairs, a mini kitchenette, plastic food and even a broom and dustpan. I remember playing in this house in the heat of summer when I sticky sheen of sweat would cling to our skin inside the house, but it was a small price to pay for such a magnificent house. Today it functions more as a storage shed since my sisters and I have grown old, and I don't know if my dad knows how much I loved that house he built for us just because he loved us. 
• It seems that a lot of my favorite memories consists of building things. One late fall we stated building "the facilities." We remodeled the squeeze chute, alley way, watering hole and other corrals around. It was and is still to this day one of the better alley ways every built in the Bear Lake valley. It has a side walk on the side so you can easily walk on it above the cows' backs and have easy access to hot shots and such. There's gates behind the shiny, red chute that inter lock to make it easy to get behind cows. They corrals or funneled to make it easy to herd the cows, the gates are all perfectly hung a foot or so off the ground so they don't drag but calves don't get out. There's gates that have solid wood panels on the front with a hole to dead bolt it from the other side; there's horseshoe hooks that make it easy to shut the big wooden gate that it is handmade. Everything is made with solid wood that's backed by railroad ties and lag bolts. These lags I remember the most. It was during an early snowfall that I was huddled down in the bucket of the skid steer as I threaded washers onto lags. One after another until I finished the boxes. But it didn't matter, because I was so proud (and still am today) of "the facilities" I helped my dad build. 
• I was so not happy with my little brother's appearence into my life. When my mom told us she was pregnant I cried and cried. I locked myself in my bedroom and wouldn't come out all Sunday afternoon. This wasn't just because I didn't want to surrender my last child baby status, but because he was a boy. I just knew my dad would love him more because he was a boy. With a family of 4 girls I'm sure my dad wished for some manly relief from all the pigtails and pink, but, to me, a new baby brother meant I wasn't going to be my dad's little buddy anymore. I remember my dad coming into my room and telling me that it didn't matter if we had a little boy, I would always be his favorite, and I am pretty sure that still stands. :) 
• Along with the torment of having a brother, there was the torment of naming him. My mom kept a list of names like Cade and Kyle and others on the fridge, but nothing seemed to fit. My sister, Dayna, my dad and I were lying on my bed talking about what it would be like to have a baby brother when my dad suggested the name Theron. He explained how Theron Godfrey was, and why he wanted to name my baby brother after him. It just seemed to fit, and I'll always remember my dad explaining why he picked this name. 

These are just a few of some of my favorite memories with my dad. We worked hard together for most of my time at home. Honestly, most all my memories with my dad are about the farm, but I wouldn't change it for a thing. In fact, after spending a week on the east coast I only miss my little Idaho farm more, and in this city heat I would be happy to go move pipe in the cool mud with my dad any day. Love you very much, Dad.


Love, your favorite daughter

Roots

It's rather late as I am sitting here in the Denver airport waiting to catch a red-eye flight out to the east coast in a couple hours. Steven and I are moving to Boston for the summer; he has a really great internship with PWC until the end of August, so this small-town, country girl is headed to live in the big city for a couple months. This summer hiatus will most likely turn into a more permanent position come next years fall as Steve will hopefully be continuing with PWC as a full time accountant. This means adios to my beloved west mountains and open fields with the neat and tidy rows of hay lying freshly swathed across the fields. Those same sweet rows of hay fill the air with a beautiful smell of fresh cut grass mixed with the subtle sound of tractors chugging somewhere in the background.
I know I've lived in Provo for the last 5 years, but I have always loved my beautiful, little Bear Lake. And the fact are that I am going to miss both Provo and Bear Lake. 5 years ago when I moved to Provo I was so scared. I was too terrified of University Parkway that I wouldn't drive past the Dollar Theater because that road has 3 lanes--3!! I thought that the Kimball Tower was a sky scraper, and I was fascinated that I could get a Diet Coke any time I wanted through one of the many drive-thrus littering Bulldog Boulevard. I was living in a city!
Don't get me wrong, I've been to a couple big cities: London, Paris, New York City and Washington D.C. I stood next to the 100+ story sky scraper that stood next to the Twin Towers and was only half the size of those giants. I've stopped at french crepe shops at all hours of the night. I've weaved through the insane freeways throughout D.C. The difference is that those places were all a sight-seeing, vacationing, wonderland that you go visit and oh-and-awe at and then leave. Emphasis on the leave part. Which is what I think has me so frightened.
My town where cows and dogs out number the residents to big-city Provo where I discovered Red Hot Chili Peppers and 3 lane roads and now onto a city that has 5 million residents in the greater area and subways instead of 3 lane highways.
I'll be honest, I am very scared to go do this. In fact, I would not be able to do it without Steven with me. However, I a little birdie told me some good advice as I left work last Friday

"Don't become a big city girl. Remember your roots."

  

As I walked out to my car I thought about that parting, and I realized that's what I was afraid of: becoming a big city girl. It isn't the serpentine roads or the roads that no doubt have more than 1 lane; it's change. I love my life as is. I love where I came from and who that has made me, and I am afraid that moving to a city where I am pretty sure they won't have a Broulim's Grocery or a PCS that you can ride your dirt bike to will change me somehow. However, even knowing why I am scared to move to Boston has somehow lessened the fear, because I know what I have to do now: remember my roots. 

So, here's to some summer plans of living in the city and remaining in the country.

All Grown Up

Today was Clara's blessing day, and she was so beautiful. She has the sweetest duck tail hair, such big eyes and the most delicate hands ever. She wore a lovely white, knitted dress, and her daddy gave her a wonderful blessing. All eyes were on her beautiful, little face as she was lifted high up like Simba after her blessing; however, not many noticed the handsome boy on the second to front row with the cute smile and short, buzz-cut hair. He looked like a little man as he folded his arms and closed his eyes without being prompted. He's a good little man.