With short hair, there is little to do on Funky Hair Day except a little dye job. This is what mom came up with using a bit of concentrated grape Kool-aid and a tad bit of water.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Father's Day is for fishing -- memoir Monday
Father’s Day is about fishing.
Growing up, the day the men get to choose what to do, you could bet it would involve fishing poles and a picnic near a lake somewhere. Sometimes it included a fishing boat, but not always.
The day would start early, with my step-dad John waking us up to get ready. Mom would be working on the lunch as my three brothers would gather their fishing gear. The girls would be packing things to keep us busy, seeing how we weren’t the big fisherman the brothers were. Sometimes we brought friends along to keep us company.
We’d load up in two vehicles, meet up with grandma and Uncle Bill and then carpool to wherever the men decided to go that day -- Big Lake, one of the reservoirs near Greer, Scot’s Reservoir or Show Low Lake.
Launch the boat. Find the perfect spot with a mix of sun and shade. Put on sunblock. Watch the men disperse across the lake to find just the right fishing hole.
Mom and grandma would sit in folding chairs reading romance novels and tabloids and chat while us girls would find something to fill the time.
Lunch came with sandwiches and potato salad, chips and cookies. Sometimes soda if the budget allowed. Then back to fishing or naps. The sun would pass in the sky, clouds rolling past with period yells and conversation drifting across the lake.
The fish would stop biting and the boys would wander back to the main camp, having a snack and sharing stories while waiting for the others to come in. We’d begin to pack it up as the men loaded the boats and we’d all take our seats for the trip home.
The fish would never see the frying pan -- my mom didn’t cook fish so the freezers filled with frozen fish-cicles. When we eventually moved out of that house, there were two shelves worth in the stand-up freezer, probably 80 or more.
Growing up, the day the men get to choose what to do, you could bet it would involve fishing poles and a picnic near a lake somewhere. Sometimes it included a fishing boat, but not always.
The day would start early, with my step-dad John waking us up to get ready. Mom would be working on the lunch as my three brothers would gather their fishing gear. The girls would be packing things to keep us busy, seeing how we weren’t the big fisherman the brothers were. Sometimes we brought friends along to keep us company.
We’d load up in two vehicles, meet up with grandma and Uncle Bill and then carpool to wherever the men decided to go that day -- Big Lake, one of the reservoirs near Greer, Scot’s Reservoir or Show Low Lake.
Launch the boat. Find the perfect spot with a mix of sun and shade. Put on sunblock. Watch the men disperse across the lake to find just the right fishing hole.
Mom and grandma would sit in folding chairs reading romance novels and tabloids and chat while us girls would find something to fill the time.
Lunch came with sandwiches and potato salad, chips and cookies. Sometimes soda if the budget allowed. Then back to fishing or naps. The sun would pass in the sky, clouds rolling past with period yells and conversation drifting across the lake.
The fish would stop biting and the boys would wander back to the main camp, having a snack and sharing stories while waiting for the others to come in. We’d begin to pack it up as the men loaded the boats and we’d all take our seats for the trip home.
The fish would never see the frying pan -- my mom didn’t cook fish so the freezers filled with frozen fish-cicles. When we eventually moved out of that house, there were two shelves worth in the stand-up freezer, probably 80 or more.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Ander in action
Ander was standing on his rocking chair to reach the light switch. I thought I'd catch him, but when he saw the camera, he got distracted.
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