Christmas Day Passage

Duane Sanford Edmonds died at home December 25, 2007 after a short, courageous battle with cancer. He was born August 21, 1931, to Manford Wayne Edmonds and Lillian Vesta Carlson Edmonds. The eldest of identical twins, Duane grew up on a farm just outside Powell and attended Powell schools. Duane married Jo Ann Elizabeth Graham of Powell January 28, 1956.

(The Edmonds family wishes to express our deepest gratitude for the many wishes, thoughts and prayers sent our way during our dad’s illness.

He passed away peacefully early this Christmas morning (12:26 AM). Dad was not in pain. His grandchildren sat with him most all of Christmas Eve, rubbing his arms and feet, and scratching his head which he so enjoyed. They fed him ice chips, pipettes of water and Gatorade and told him stories of their recent accomplishments of school. Chad got to read him passages from the Bible, which he felt were important for Grandpa to hear, and he whispered, “You are saved.”

Mom took over the vigil at 11:30 PM as the grandkids readied themselves for bed and stayed by his side, reassuring him that many family members and friends were waiting for him as he passed to God’s hands.

Dad wanted so much for his own Christmas present to see and hear his grandchildren. He received his wish.

Today our family celebrated Christmas traditions as we always have, and we continue to be thankful for the many years we shared with Dad. Christmas will always hold a special place for this family.

With love and peace to you and your families this holiday season,

Jo Ann, Craig, Greg, Julie, Ana, Amanda, Chad, Meagan, Jackie, Rachel)

His father, mother, brother Dwight Manford Edmonds, and sister Janet Elaine Burnett Hale preceded Duane in death.

He is survived by his wife Jo Ann Edmonds of Powell, his brother; Alonzo John (Jack) Edmonds of Gillette (Dorothy Roper Edmonds); sons Craig Edmonds (Julie) of Puyallup, Washington, and Gregory Edmonds (Ana) of Phoenix, Arizona; grandchildren Amanda and Chad Edmonds (Craig), Megan, Jacqueline and Rachel Edmonds (Gregory); his sister in-law Myrna Dearcorn Edmonds of Crandall; and many nieces and nephews, all of whom he loved dearly.

The list of Duane's memberships, associations, contributions, accomplishments and awards is very long. Among those that were precious to him is the Future Farmer of America "Degree of American Farmer" he earned in 1951 shortly before enlisting in the service. Assigned to the United States Air Force Strategic Air Command, he proudly served his country at home and oversees during the Korean Conflict.

Duane attended Northwest College in Powell before transferring to the University of Wyoming where he earned degrees in chemistry and mathematics. Upon graduation, he moved to the Seattle, Wash., area where he raised his family and worked 30 years as an engineer for the Boeing Company. He was a member of design teams for the Space Shuttle, Lunar Rover and the Boeing Supersonic Transport. He retired in 1989 as the Director of Sales and Marketing for the Commercial Airplane Division.

Duane followed through on his dream to retire to the Edmonds' family homestead in Powell where he became a civic leader, volunteering many hours to education as a mentor, fundraiser, president and member of the Park County School District #1. He was also chairman and member of the Wyoming State Board of Education, and member of the National Association of School Board Education (NASBE). Duane served on the Board of Cooperative Education Services (BOCES) and the Northwest College Foundation. He was an active member of the Powell Rotary. Duane was the Worshipful Master of Absorakee Lodge of Masons.

Recently, Wyoming Gov. Dave Freudenthal issued a governor's proclamation honoring Duane for his service to education and Wyoming's youth.

Duane "walked the talk" of service to others. He led by example and was quick to roll up his sleeves and pitch in to solve a problem or get the job done. He loved working the concession stands and calling bingo for the American Legion. He was also their treasurer.

One of his greatest pleasures was speaking to students about the importance of education and judging local science fairs and forensics tournaments. Duane was an avid, lifelong supporter of the Boy Scouts of America and many other youth causes.

We are reminded of Duane's e-mail tagline, "Anyone can make a difference. Everyone should try!" His family, friends and community will miss him greatly.

A Celebration of Life Service for Duane will be held January 12, 2008, 2 PM at the Northwest College Nelson Auditorium, 231 W 6th St., Powell Wyoming 82435.

To honor their wishes, the family requests memorial contributions to the Absorakee Masonic Lodge #30, Powell Valley Hospice (777 Avenue H) or the Powell Schools Foundation (160 N. Evarts).

- Craig

Christmas

Craig, Amanda, Chad and Julie - 2005

"Christmas Time is Here Again" is an old Beach Boys song I really like. While this Christmas has been stressful for the family as a whole, I thought I would just say - we are trying to make it as normal as possible.

Julie, Amanda, Chad and I will be leaving tomorrow for Powell. We are driving a truckload of presents and should arrive Sunday afternoon. I'll be picking up Greg, Ana, Megan, Jackie, and Rachel at the Cody airport on Monday...

I know Mom is glad we are coming! Dad is hanging on for Christmas! We are all thankful for the time we will share together.

We are wishing you all a very Merry Christmas... and here are some pictures of our families over the years - doing what we like to do this time of year!

"With every Christmas card I write

May your days be merry and bright

And may all your Christmasses be white..."

(White Christmas)

- Craig

Christmas 1963

Christmas 2004

Duane and Jo Ann's Christmas Tree - 2003

Mom, Myrna, Rod, Eleanor, and Brandi

Tree Hunting 2003

Amanda, Chad - Christmas Tree Hunting 2005

Craig, Deep Snow 2005

Jackie, Susi, and Megan - 2003

The Love of Many

To Dad:

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Life does not accommodate you; it shatters you. Every seed destroys its container, or else there would be no fruition.
Florida Scott-Maxwell

A thankful person is thankful under all circumstances. A complaining soul complains even in paradise.
Baha'u'llah

…when one’s heart is breaking about losing a special loved one it’s pretty darn tough to manage those emotions, so I understand your mother’s concern. It’s important to remember to breathe and take the time you need to say exactly what you want in honor of your father. Courage and strength will come.

I send love,
Laurel

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Thanks for the update. We have been wondering how things were going for Duane. I'm sure he enjoyed the short trips to the atrium and to see the mountains from the window. Your folks have a beautiful home and some good views. We surprised them several years ago and stopped by for a short visit on our way to Michigan.

We will continue to keep you all in our prayers and thoughts.
- Bob & Jan

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I continue to pray for both your mother and father whom I haven’t known for very long. I was on a committee with your father a few years ago and was in a couple of meetings that he led. I admire him for his leadership skills. He is a great man – which I am sure you know. I told him about my admiration and made him cry, just a couple of weeks ago. I watched both my parents suffer through illnesses (and later die) so my prayers are also with you and your brother and your families at this time.
- Deb

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My dear hearts, it is the small pleasures that are woven into the tapestry of our life that keep it strong. You are such an amazing family. I can just see your Dad's face saying he wanted it to last. His voice rings in my ears, and love for you all lives in my heart.

This comes with pure hugs and blessings for all of you.
- Cinda

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When I visited yesterday, the washer and dryer were working full speed. It's so hard to see your Dad this way when even during the brief years I have known him, he was always been so vital and full of energy. But.....true to form, at the beginning of our visit, he asked how my husband was. (He, too, is battling cancer.) Your Mom seems to be pretty strong…

- Susan

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He is a very special man who I feel privileged to know and have worked with. I wish I was closer so that I could stop in and see him. We had some great discussions regarding the world's problems during my year in Powell. My thoughts and prayers are continually with your family. Your dad and mom are two very special people!

PS: I enjoy reading your Blog and learning more about your family.

Jerry

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I think of Duane quite often and miss visiting with him at Envita. He and your mother are both very wonderful people and I love them both dearly! Please let him and her know that I said Hi and LOVE them both.

He is a very strong man, and every day when i would ask him "How ya doin' today?" he would always reply "WELL I'VE NEVER HAD A BAD DAY AND THATS NOT GOING TO START NOW." - Raven

_________________

Duane and I went to Aerial Photo School together in Denver in 1952. After Graduation he went one way I went another. I was in Photo Mapping Squadron at West Palm Beach, Florida and was in another squadron in the same photo group.

We had a lot of good times together when we were in Denver. I remember especially the forth of July during the summer of 1952 when we hitchhiked from Denver to Powell. Duane went home and another buddy hitchhiked on to Great Falls, Mt. for the weekend.

My sister and here husband drove us back to Powell and we rode back to Denver in Duane's Plymouth.

I always wanted to see Duane again and we got in touch a couple of years ago by e-mail. I do have pictures of us from Denver if you think you would like them. He probably has the same ones.

Duane's Friend for Ever

Harvey

_________________

Please tell your dad and mom they are in our hearts and prayers and we wish you all a Merry Christmas. In spite of your family's situation, take comfort the Good Lord loves you all.

- Cork & Loretta

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The report today is encouraging and uplifting. Duane, it’s wonderful you could view the surroundings of your home and the glorious countryside from a different perspective than your bed. I’ve always been so envious of that magnificent view of Heart Mountain from your front windows.

I’ve just spent time reading the blogs and responses. Since I’m not very “geeky” when it comes to such matters, this method of communication is new to me. The comments about, and written by, my classmates are of great interest to me. After I married George in June, 1952, I left Powell and came home only for brief visits. Those visits were spent primarily with family so my contact with my classmates, who had also moved on to other places, were limited. Reading about your early family days, and theirs, is most interesting. Jim related some stories which I either didn’t know about or had completely forgotten. This is wonderful history of the ‘49ers and I hope it brings a smile to your lips and a twinkle to your eye.

You are in my thoughts and prayers!

- Dolores

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Thanks for the recent report. I am also so glad you contacted the Powell Tribune about the governor's proclamation since we had not been aware of it. … I went … to see Duane personally and offer congratulations. … I also met Greg there that day and was able to tell him how much your dad has meant to all of us, as well as the schools and community. Sincerely, -

- Dave

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Our prayers are with your Dad. I know it has to be very hard on your Mother too. Again thanks for the Info.

- John

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I tried a couple of times to call, but got just the voice mail. I'll try again. Our prayers are for all of you and keep us in touch. I hesitate to tell your Dad about Earl, and perhaps that is something you can share with him.

- John

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We wish we were closer so we could come and see him more often. He has a wonderful family looking after him and that has to be such a great comfort to him. We love Duane like a father. We are SO glad that you all were able to come over to the Ranch for their Anniversary. It was a great time and we enjoyed meeting all of you.

Our prayers and thoughts are with you constantly.

Take Care and give your Dad a big hug from both of us.

God Bless,

- Scott & Becky

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We feel so badly for Duane. Can he have company, even for a short period, or best if we don't come? Merlin was a school classmate and they had good memories of FFA and other things that they had recently reminisced about. We had heard that he couldn't have company so we've stayed away, but continue to think about him and keep him in our prayer. At least tell him, "hello" from us.

Love,

- Merlin and Elaine

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You are very fortunate to have such a great man in your life.

- Richard

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Both Bailey and I wish to express our deepest sympathy and condolences to the whole family on the situation with Duane. I had been in communication with Duane on a regular basis up until the time he returned to WY where I think I only heard maybe once since he returned home from Arizona. I was a close friend and a poker buddy with Duane for many years and even worked for Duane before he retired. I (we) often remember all of the wonderful times we had both here in 'Seattle' and even more the couple of times we visited in Powell. I will express later a couple of the great stories we had when Duane prepared one of his fabulous 'Pitch-fork' BBQ's when we last visited him in WY. Again, please know that we both hold you ALL in our thoughts and prayers.

- John and Bailey

Old Photos I

I've always wished I could have taken more pictures, but these were all taken with a $1.98 baby brownie and it cost money to have Lucier's develop them and print them. Now I have about 15,000 photos on my hard drive'; I never fail to be amazed at the miracles of modern technology.

Of course I was always just a tad jealous of Dwight since Elaine liked him better than me, and I had an intense crush on her all through high school only to have her go to the senior prom with Jim Garvin. I was just sort of a little nerd two years younger than she was so I didn't have a chance. Go figure!

I know Jim Elder took tons of pictures in high school since he had the wondrous Argus C3 which cost $30 in those days, but I've never been able to get him to see if he could come up with some of them.

We all did love that blue DeSoto. It made all of us feel a bit bigger and taller when we had a chance to ride in it. One time Dwight took me and Elaine up to the Cody bb game with Powell, and he took me clear to Penrose when we got back to Powell; you were both always generous with yourselves and your car.


Do you remember that the pictures taken in Cody were when you and I went to pay an official visit to the Cody FFA chapter on behalf of the state FFA? Keep working on your story. I'm anxious to read it.

Stay hopeful, cheerful, and prayerful.

- Dwight Blood

Priorities

Note from the blogger: Dad is no longer able to use a computer to get to the blog. I have been reading them to him when I am in Wyoming, but when I am not, probably no one does. I will however keep writing to the blog. Please send me emails of stories you have about Dad. My brother or I will read them to him, or keep them for posterity.

For those who have sent emails, or commented on the blog – I have read everyone of them to him. I did not change a word – and he laughed, and he cried. Dad has many wonderful friends and family – and as he has tried to tell me – a better memory than most of them
:-)

Thanks - Craig

On to the blog!

I hate it when some one tells me what my priorities are. It might be a managerial thing – it might be a parental thing. I don’t like my kids telling me “this is the way it is” anymore than my parents. When it comes to my boss I simply have to “eat it” with the words “works for me” – even if it doesn’t.

I don’t want someone working for me whose Number #1 priority is “work.” Invariably I can’t keep up with them and then I spend a lot of time “managing” them. It just sounds like “work” to me.

My top five priorities are my belief in and service to God, my wife and children, my other friends and family, my own health and well-being, and my country. While this is the order I always want them to be they are frequently scrambled toward “wife and kids first, family, God…, etc.” I think this happens a lot – to a lot of people.

Greg read a book once titled “I Am Third” by Gale Sayers (autobiography) in which Mr. Sayers introduced us to Brian Piccolo of “Brian’s Song” fame. In this book, Gale Sayers places God first, his family and friends second, and himself third. This was a reminder to me about where my priorities lay.

As readers of the blog know, I learned a lot from my father. Pertinent examples were general construction, vehicle maintenance, and of course my values. I learned to build decks, frame, roof, change the oil and brakes on cars etc. because of my dad’s priorities – not mine.

When I was little, Dad would get me up on Saturday to “work.” Work started about 8 o’clock. This means we got up earlier. Mom would fix us breakfast and I would tag along with Dad until lunch – which was about 2 o’clock. When my brother got old enough he tagged along too. When we got older work still started at 8, but we were responsible for getting up early enough for breakfast - else we waited until lunch. There were several mornings I worked while hungry. But I learned quickly another valuable lesson. These Saturdays, and Sunday's after church were when we learned everything we needed to know, and you can read some of that in previous blogs.

But today, I want to tell you the story of priorities. When I was in junior high, my friends had organized a flag football game for 10 AM Saturday at the high school football practice field. I wanted to play, and asked Dad if I could. He said “no, you have to work.”

I whined a little bit, and tried my keen negotiation skills – also learned from my dad…

“What if I work until just before ten, play flag football for a while, then come back and work until 4 PM rather than 2?”

“No. Work is from 8 till 2.” “But Dad,…” my pleading quickly cut short by his interruption: “You don’t tell your boss when you work – your boss tells you when you work. After you work, then you can do whatever you want.”

I could see I would not win this argument. I didn’t get to play flag football that day and I can’t tell what “work” was either. I do know though, I learned a variation on the adage “work before play” plus how to repair the lawn mower or some other valuable skill.

Thanks for the lesson Dad!

- Craig

Man vs. Wild

“Man vs. Wild” is a Discovery Channel program where a man, “Bear Grylls” and his film crew battle some element of the wild. A couple of weeks ago, my dad, Chad and I watched “Iceland.” In one episode “Sahara” Bear gutted a dead camel and crawled inside for shelter from the elements of the desert.

Dad is a great supporter of Boy Scouts of America. As an Eagle Scout I fancied myself as a “Bear Grylls.” Several of the older members of my troop were adept at “surviving” the wild. I have not eaten Sheep eyeballs or bugs. I have eaten Skunk Cabbage roots, raw meat, dandelions, numerous berries, slept in snow caves, boiled water more than 10 feet from a fire (flint and steel to start it), and spent rather cold nights under piles of fir branches and needles.

One time while elk hunting with Dad, Earl Patterson, and Darrell (I can’t remember his last name), I left camp before dawn with my survival backpack, ammo and 30-06. Within ten minutes I came across a single set of elk tracks and blood drops. Following them for the next several hours during a light snow I found myself in the middle of an entire herd, bedded down for the day. This was amazing! There were more than thirty I could count.

I stood still as they watched me turn slowly, looking for the “bleeder.” There was only one animal I could not see fully – the rest were cows. The herd rose quietly and began walking uphill. I was tired, hungry and it was now after lunchtime. I started to follow my tracks back the way I came and quickly discovered my trail had been snowed over.

However, I kept my bearings and headed straight toward the logging road due North. I slid down steep slopes toward frozen creeks, climbing over huge fallen trees only to climb the steep slope on the other side. Each time I thought I had to be close to the road, but then there was another ravine. I kept heading straight knowing that road was there. Finally, while climbing up a slope, I could go no further. I was exhausted. I lay there in the snow only to fall asleep.

When I awoke it was dark and I was covered by a couple of inches of snow. I could have died. Alarmed, I turned and scrambled up – only to find I was two feet from the edge of the logging road. I had found myself. While walking back toward camp, Dad, Earl and Darrell were in the truck heading my way.

I know Dad was definitely worried that day. We didn’t speak much about it after that. Somehow he probably knew I would end up “on my feet.”

Dad tells of a story where he shot an elk late in the day. It was snowing hard and he was cold. He was too far from camp. His only option was to gut the elk, and crawl inside. He claims to have spent the night in the hollowed out torso of a bull elk.

Man vs. Wild.

- Craig

Lessons from Dad - Part II

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but sometimes only a thousand words can paint the picture. Here are 699 words painting the picture of my dad.

My father was an avid “Scouter.” My brother and I are Eagle Scouts. Dad continued to volunteer for the Chief Seattle Council of the Boy Scouts of America long after my brother and I stopped active participation. He attended the monthly Roundtable meetings and served as a District Commissioner. At some point in the late seventies he received the Silver Beaver and District Awards of Merit. Both of these awards honor local service to the Scouting community.

Most everything you want to know about my father’s values can be easily summarized in the Scout Oath and Law.

THE BOY SCOUT OATH:
On my honor I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country
and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong,
mentally awake, and morally straight.

I want the reader to let these words sink in. “My duty to God and country” – honoring each life, active participation in church, serving as called in the community, state, and nation. Dad is a Korean War veteran.

“To help other people at all times” – All times, not some of the time or most of the time – but “at all times.”

“To keep myself physically strong” – Dad loves and enjoys the outdoors as much as anyone. While he no longer hunts or fishes it remains on his list of “things to do” and always will.

“Mentally awake, and morally straight” – Dad is aware of everything going on around him – with his family, in the community, the state, the nation and the world. I have never known my dad to be anything other than morally straight because he follows the Scout Law.

THE BOY SCOUT LAW:
Trustworthy
A Scout tells the truth. He keeps his promises. Honesty is part of his code of conduct. People can depend on him.
Loyal
A Scout is true to his family, Scout leaders, friends, school, and nation.
Helpful
A Scout is concerned about other people. He does things willingly for others without pay or reward.
Friendly
A Scout is a friend to all. He is a brother to other Scouts. He seeks to understand others. He respects those with ideas and customs other than his own.
Courteous
A Scout is polite to everyone regardless of age or position. He knows good manners make it easier for people to get along together.
Kind
A Scout understands there is strength in being gentle. He treats others as he wants to be treated. He does not hurt or kill harmless things without reason.
Obedient
A Scout follows the rules of his family, school, and troop. He obeys the laws of his community and country. If he thinks these rules and laws are unfair, he tries to have them changed in an orderly manner rather than disobey them.
Cheerful
A Scout looks for the bright side of things. He cheerfully does tasks that come his way. He tries to make others happy.
Thrifty
A Scout works to pay his way and to help others. He saves for unforeseen needs. He protects and conserves natural resources. He carefully uses time and property.
Brave
A Scout can face danger even if he is afraid. He has the courage to stand for what he thinks is right even if others laugh at or threaten him.
Clean
A Scout keeps his body and mind fit and clean. He goes around with those who believe in living by these same ideals. He helps keep his home and community clean.
Reverent
A Scout is reverent toward God. He is faithful in his religious duties. He respects the beliefs of others.

And – don’t forget the Scout Motto and Slogan:

THE BOY SCOUT MOTTO: Be Prepared.

THE BOY SCOUT SLOGAN: Do a Good Turn Daily.

This is my Dad. This is what makes him who he is. These values are so ingrained in him he never has to think “how he will live.” He simply does and acts in a manner which espouses these values.

- Craig

Lessons from Dad - Part I

Here are some things I have learned from Dad. They are not in any particular order.

Don’t Underestimate Anyone’s Value. Dad always says “Anyone can make a difference. Everyone should try.” Even small actions can have enormous impact.

Take the Initiative. There is no better way to gain a reputation as a person who makes things happen, then to be a person who makes things happen. My Dad is such a man.

Make the Most of First Impressions. Be confident and gracious. Shake hands firmly, smile, and listen actively. Dress appropriately and make eye contact. Dress for the position you want – not the one you have. However I don’t recommend wearing a suit to farm like Eddie Albert did in “Green Acres.”

Delegate – Especially when others talents in a particular area are stronger than yours. This also goes to the adage “many hands make light work.” With Dad being a manager (knowing how to delegate), I found I worked a lot.

Make a Habit of Saving. No one owes you a pension or retirement pay. Social Security was designed to be a supplement not the answer for Retirement.

Set a Higher Standard. Whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability. The worst thing we can do for others is lowering the standard because some people cannot meet it. It implies someone is not capable of growing. Work toward raising them up to the higher standard and they will achieve. At a minimum provide the tools and environment they need to succeed.

Have a Winning Attitude. Attitude is important. It is something you control and something you can chose – negative or positive. I choose to be positive, and so does my dad.

Realize Learning can be Costly. Education is expensive, but ignorance costs much more. Recognize you will pay the price, either for education or ignorance. Education is one thing no one can ever take away from you.

Give your kids a vision for their future – encourage them! Your words are the most powerful force in their lives. Praise your children in front of others. Let them know you are proud of them. I need to do this much more often. I have not been good at this in the past.

Commitment. When you make a commitment keep it. While this is not always possible because things do come up – try your hardest to keep your promise. My dad schedules his personal time around his commitment to others.

You Hit What You Aim For. If you are aiming for nothing, you’ll hit nothing. Set your goals high. Dream big. Even if you fall short, you will have achieved more than most.

-Craig

Brothers

“Brothers will be brothers” as much as “boys will be boys.” Duane and Dwight fit the adage as well as Greg and I. Sometimes brothers are the best of friends and at others the worst of enemies. Many times their relationship exists between the extremes. Generally there is a lot of “one-upmanship.”

Grandma Vesta told stories – lots of stories about the twins.

One story revolved around the time a vacuum cleaner salesman came to the door. The very young twin boys were left to their own devices – climbing to the top of the stairs where the day’s eggs were stored. Over the next few minutes they enjoyed throwing six dozen eggs to the bottom of the stairs. I never found out if there was a contest involved or who won.



Another time Great Grandma (the socialite she and her sister were) had some of the church society out to the house one Sunday afternoon. The twins were told strictly not to get their church clothes dirty while they were outside playing. As the guests arrived, they laughed and commented on how cute the twins were. Much to Great Grandma’s embarrassment and to the delight of Powell’s high society, the twins had stripped naked, folded their clothes neatly and were playing in a mud puddle - obeying their stern warning.


These were two of my favorites.

Dad says they received a daily “swat.” Grandpa Manford said something to the effect “either you did something to deserve it, or you will.” Dad agrees that usually a daily swat was deserved. I am sure these two stories illustrate the need for corporal punishment, but it also seems to show that it doesn’t always take root either.

My brother and I got swats too (reference: Laughter is the Best Medicine, posted Friday August 17, 2007). As brothers would be brothers we often found ourselves trying to avoid the swats by blaming someone else – particularly a sibling. Sometimes a smart older sibling will set up the younger one – knowing they would get the blame. There was always something enjoyable about watching your brother get in trouble – and then receive the swat!

Janet Smith reminded me of a time when we lived in Renton. Greg and I shared a room making the 3rd bedroom available as a “play room.” As she recalls it I was 5 or 6, fully capable of reading and writing. This means Greg was 2 or 3.

I had “hatched” a plan to get my younger brother in trouble. I used the word hatched because of the adage “the best laid plans…” sounds like something “hatched.”

I wrote his name with crayons on the walls of the play room. When Mom noticed, I said “Gregory did it” not fully comprehending he could neither read nor write. While I give myself credit for “hatching” the idea, it was not until much later I learned to fully think out the consequences of a plan.

I am sure I got a swat from Dad.

- Craig

Food

I like to watch the Food Network. I don't really care for Emeril Live!, but I enjoy Rachel Ray and Giada. I even fancy myself as a pretty good cook - a Chef wannabe.

I will eat pretty much anything, and try others. I am not a big fish fan. Sushi - raw seafood - is not on my list unless I am hungry. I love meat although I could easily go vegetarian - lacto-ova versus vegan. Julie said "no."

Mom says I used to like Mac 'n Cheese. Actually I loved it! But after a while you can only eat so much. Seldom do I eat the plate of beans and cornbread - but I bought 50 pounds of dried beans last week in Wyoming. Julie makes her own refried beans because a lot of the canned stuff has so much fat and salt - lard is a no-no at my house. Some if not most of the dried beans will be donated to the local Hispanic Mission to feed migrant farm workers in the spring.

Mom says we quit eating Mac 'n Cheese when one evening Dad said "yuck!" I don't remember that - but I guess it is another of the many valuable lessons I have learned from Dad.

I don't eat peanut butter because it seems peanut butter and jelly sandwiches is all I ever got for lunch - Welch's Grape Jelly to be specific. Dad loves peanut butter on his toast. So does my son Chad who taught Dad to put it on his waffles with a little maple syrup.

Lunch at Great Grandparents

Clockwise - Left to Right: Great Grandma, Mom, Uncle Jack, Great Grandpa,

Grandma Vesta's head, Grandma Irma, Aunt Martha and ME!

There are times when I felt too sick to eat - but it is a rarity. I simply love food. Dad does too. Since the Friday after Thanksgiving Dad hasn't eaten much. He says he isn't hungry. In fact - other than some Ensure he hadn't eaten anything for a week. I guess he wasn't a big fan of the mashed broccoli and tofu casserole he ate on his pH diet. I ate it, but it didn't look that good.

Food smells good, but there isn't much taste. Today he ate! He ate a couple bites of scrambled eggs, a couple of toast, a bite of a muffin and drank his juice for breakfast. For dinner he ate his pudding, and about a quarter of his sandwich and another juice. He told Greg he just wasn't hungry.

Thanks for the lesson on the Mac 'n Cheese Dad - and keep eating!


- Craig

Honors

Today is my mother's 74th Birthday. And, while this blog is about my memories of Dad - I just wanted to give a shout out to Mom - Happy Birthday! - You've made the Internet! Mom, Jackie(aunt), Norma (sister), and Donna (cousin) have a "girls lunch out" for Mom's Birthday. My Uncle John and my cousin John(ny) are staying with Dad. Have Fun!

Now - on to the blog.

Dad has received many honors and recognition over his lifetime. This week members of the Wyoming State Board of Education presented him with the Governor's Proclamation of November 16, 2007, honoring Dad's "life work."

http://governor.wy.gov/proclamations/duane-edmonds.html

I want to point out a couple of items of note. While my father has spent many hours related to "education" and "helping young people" this was not his life's work. I have thought about this a lot. His career was as an engineer, manager, executive. His life's work was helping people.

This shows through in the Proclamation, but I wanted to express it directly. Dad willing helps everyone and anyone.

As I stated earlier Dad has received many honors, awards, and recognition of thanks or a job well-done. Many are stacked or stored, and some may have been discarded for all I know.

I have never seen his high school or college diplomas. While they are important - and Dad is a strong believer in education - one award my Dad is proud of and he kept it for many many years. While it is not displayed on a wall, it is one he took the time to scan into his computer - to digitally capture for posterity. It is his Future Farmers of America "Degree of American Farmer" awarded on October 9, 1951.


One award I believe however is Dad's favorite. While I cannot remember exactly when he received it - he kept it for many many years also. The engraved plaque is proudly displayed on the wall of the atrium and is textually redisplayed here:

"World's Greatest Dad"

Craig          Gregory

April 3, 1957     October 14, 1959

- Craig

'73 Ford F250

Last week while I was at Dad's, he wanted Mom and I to drop the pickup off to be repaired. He hit a deer on July 3rd and while the grill was damaged pretty good, the bumper was only slightly bent. There was no other body damage.

However - as we prepared to leave, the truck wouldn't start. No click, no slow turn - nada. Dad taught me a lot about cars. This would be easy. The truck had been sitting for weeks - at least since before he went to Phoenix for treatments. The battery was dead.

I popped the hood. Sure enough, the battery was corroded, the negative cable was smashed and coming through the insulation. I tried to jump it, but nothing. The battery was more than dead.

I ran to the hardware store (Linton's Big R) and picked up a new battery. $71 with tax.

Nada.

It had to be the negative cable - probably shorting out. I took it off and headed the auto parts store - I needed weather stripping and Big R didn't have what I wanted. $15.

Nada.

The positive cable was trashed as well, but this time I got smart and bypassed the cable jumping directly to the solenoid. It didn't work either. The solenoid was shot. Back to the auto parts store. Cable $9. Solenoid $19. I have now spent $114.

Nada.

Call the towing company and billed the insurance. We towed it to the dealership and told them what I had tried. On Friday after Thanksgiving they called and said it was fixed.

It needed a new battery and battery cables - total with labor - $168. "What? I already replaced those!" "Oh yeah," said the dealership, "the ones you replaced were for the trailer towing package back to the camper - not the starter. It is on the other side of the engine compartment."

Sorry Dad - a new battery costs 71 bucks - but this truck is gonna be like new since I spent nearly $300!

- Craig

It Happened Again!!!

Today is Wednesday November 21st. I have been in Wyoming for a few days visiting Dad (and Mom) and have brought the whole family. It has been cold the last couple of days and we had snow in the flatlands. I imagine my Aunt Myrna has had snow "measured in feet" up in the mountains.

Monday however was a beautiful day. It was in the forties meaning it was perfect for working outside. Dad wanted some gnarly log rounds split and stacked for firewood (reference: "Cutting Wood," posted August 26, 2007). We rented a power log splitter - something I don't ever remember having as a kid. I used one once when Julie and I lived in Kent... If I cut my own wood I would own one of these - so much easier than a splitting maul and wedge!

Chad, Julie, and Mom all helped while Amanda made lunch for everyone. At one point a particularly tough log won the battle, snapping a pin on the hydraulic cylinder. I ran into Linton's Big R and got a tractor pin to replace it. Yea! We were back to work.

But the pin snapped again. This time it did not shear cleanly so it did not fall out. I had purchased one a little longer than the original. I rummaged in the garage for a metal chisel and a big hammer. I hit the chisel several times and the pin started to bend. Then it happened. I hit my hand – actually my thumb knuckle closest to the hand – full force. I threw the hammer and proceeded to dance around using choice words from my extended vocabulary (reference: “Hammers and Nails,” posted November 15, 2007).

Dad said “I’ll bet that hurt.” No kidding.

- Craig

Hammers and Nails

Dad taught me to nail. Nailing the old fashion way – with a hammer – as opposed to those fancy air-compression nail guns – a person learns the hard way. You bend nails. Nails shoot out of the board – sometimes they hit you – some times it is inconvenient. You might have to climb down the ladder, or out from under a deck to get another nail. Sometimes you hit a thumb. Actually that occurs more than once. I hit the side of my hand once. That hurt too.

Dad taught me to hold the nails in my mouth. He didn’t specifically say to hold extra nails in your mouth, but when I was young I didn’t have a carpenter’s belt. Reaching into your jeans to pull out nails became problematic.

After a while you get pretty good. I couldn’t make a living nailing like a good roofer or a framer but I don’t bend many in the overall scheme of things – maybe one in 50. I can drive a ten-penny in 3 or 4 hits including the starter tap. Toe-nailing is easy after the first few hundred tries.

Dad was patient. He was frustrated, but he watched, he coached, he demonstrated and he let me learn – the hard way – as a slave.

I worked on the cabin from the foundation to the roof. I helped expand the deck, build a roof over the top. I helped build the shed and I roofed – 3 tab after 3 tab.

By the time I was 12 or 14, I was fairly independent with a hammer and nails. Dad helped me build the 3 decks at my current home, our shed, and the tower and swing set for Amanda and Chad. He helped me take it apart as well – and now my niece Amber and her friends enjoy it.

One time I cut a hole in the wall of our house – framed it for French doors, and installed them. When Julie saw the hole in the wall she asked if I had ever done this before. I said "nope." But, I learned this from my dad. Thanks for the gift Dad!

- Craig

Sick Leave

Many companies provide a benefit called “Sick Leave.” Sometimes it is combined with another benefit labeled “Vacation” creating the newly termed benefit “Personal Days.” Mathematically, Sick Leave + Vacation > Personal Days. Companies which recombine the benefits in themselves have created a benefit for the company.

There was a time when Sick Leave accrued forever. Now companies limit the accrual to 10 days after which accrual stops until an employee takes a sick day.

When Dad and I worked at Boeing, the benefit was unlimited. Accrual never stopped. You received 10 days per year, and if you did not take a “Sick Day” it rolled over into following years. Rolled over Sick Leave was divided into two categories – reserved and unreserved. When you left the company – regardless of circumstance you were given your reserved Sick Leave and if you retired you also received a portion of your unreserved sick time. I don’t think this benefit exists any more – but it was nice when we had it.

Some times I take a “mental illness” day and charge it to Sick Leave. Mental Illness is a confirmed sickness so I think this is okay. However, if a person calls in and says “I am not feeling well” I don’t interpret that as being sick. Am I wrong about that? There are lots of days I come to work “not feeling well.”

One philosophy of managers is to say “if you are not feeling well, stay home – we don’t want you to get everyone sick.” I think, if you are sick, stay home – if you are not feeling well – come in – 4 hours of productivity is better than none… If someone gets sick because of that – they will stay home… Maybe it is not a good philosophy on my part, but I have noted over the many years of management many of the same people “don’t feel well” until their Sick Leave is used up – then they seem to “feel fine” or come into work “sick.” I have also seen many people who never get sick – and generally that in itself is a sickness so I make them take a mental illness day.

My Dad claims he only took one day of Sick Leave in 30 years at Boeing. He had a big “unreserved” and “reserved” check to show for it. Mom, Greg and I all know though that Dad actually took two days of Sick Leave. It had almost no impact on the checks he received upon retirement. This means he went to work “Sick” if for no other reason than being “Mentally Ill” for not taking Sick Leave.

I wonder how many people he infected going to work sick. How do you spell Bubonic Plague?

- Craig

Playing “Army”

Dad watched several “war” shows when I was a kid. “Combat!” was probably his favorite. Years later I watched “The Rat Patrol.”

Greg got an “army” outfit when he was three or four. It consisted of a plastic World War II style helmet, a rubber knife and a green plastic canteen and belt. He wore the helmet cocked to one side like one of the characters on the show. Greg wouldn’t go anywhere without his helmet and canteen – including to the Bon Marche shopping with Mom. I am sure he embarrassed the hell out of Mom, but when push comes to shove a mother sometimes lives with the embarrassment of her children.

Our backyard was mostly grass, but as with any good farmer, he carved out a nice sunny area for a vegetable garden. I mostly only remember the rectangular shape and the location, but I also remember we grew a lot of different things.

Our “army” adventures traversed the neighborhood. As with most boys when we didn’t have a toy gun we used a stick. Rocks made great grenades when pine cones were not available – plus there was little doubt when the grenade struck the target – usually with crying and running home as the key indicator. Greg showed promise as a baseball player when he skillfully placed one grenade between Randy B’s eyes and the blood poured from his nose.

As often happens with boys, we did not keep good track of “our stuff.” Moms know that even adult “boys” can’t find what they are looking for – half or more of the time. Our army gear was frequently scattered about the yard.

One day Leo Montague, my dad’s friend and boss at Boeing at the time, was looking for a new International pickup. Dad dragged his two young boys with Leo to car dealers looking for the right deal.

That summer day was particularly hot. Cars generally did not come with air conditioning beyond a good crank window and the hot air blowing on our faces was little relief from the trudging from dealership to dealership.

Fortunately early that Saturday morning, Greg had thought to grab his canteen. While I don’t recall the exact search tactics he used – a crisscross grid pattern or “where were you when you last had it?” (Also known as the Mother Shortcut – Moms usually know where you left something because they’ve bugged you to pick it up). But Greg found his green plastic canteen lying in our vegetable garden, quickly filling it up with the outdoor faucet before we left on our adventure.

The kid was obviously smarter than he looked because the canteen of water was a lifesaver that day. We strolled the hot parking lots of cars, all four of us drinking sips, quenching our parched throats. We toughed out the desert heat of North Africa – rationing our water supply to the last drop – until the small banana slug made it to the canteen opening. We looked at each other with shock, knowing full well we all had consumed from the canteen. I don’t recall who won the prize that day, I am sure my brother does.

- Craig

Crossing the Bar

My brother reminded me of (via a comment to August 21, 2007 posting: Birthdays) a special event I remember as “Crossing the Bar.” While I have gone to great pains to carefully title this posting, some people may believe it is related to “21st” birthdays. This simply is not so. Such a posting would have been titled “Waking Up Under the Bar,” or “The Birthday I Can’t Remember.” This story does contain “puking” as Greg aptly stated – however it does not include “porcelain gods,” bathtubs, cold showers or bathroom floors – all of which relate to the “other” stories.

For my twelfth birthday I wanted to go salmon fishing. My dad would leave on an adventure and return with huge fish. In western Washington, the trout we caught would be considered bait for the salmon. On a side note, the minimum “keeper” size for salmon is about the size of a good-size trout in Wyoming. Some times you need to stretch the salmon to meet the 20 inch minimum. This is accomplished with a small wooden club to flatten the salmon, gaining that extra quarter to one-half inch. (Dad taught me that I think!)

The big day arrived in 1969 when I got my gift – to fish for the big one. This particular day my dad, Chuck W., Gail B., and I went to Illwaco. West Port where we generally left for salmon was solidly booked. Illwaco is much further south, on the north shore of the mouth of the Columbia River. The confluence of a river and an ocean creates a maelstrom of water (big words even for me!). The pushing of two bodies of water can create huge swells. This occurs at the “bar” – the point where silt from the river is deposited into the ocean, creating a shallow area and turbulent waters – particularly at high tide.

The day was gloomy but not raining. The four of us and two others, plus the captain and deck hand filled out the forty foot fishing boat. While I had been fishing for many years (about ten by this time) I was a little unprepared for this day.

My dad taught me to bet on fishing – first, most, and biggest… We bet a quarter on each – 75 cents were at risk! I had to perform!

Salmon fishing is a circle – least that day was. Watch the deck hand bait the hook, let the line out, puke, sleep, reel in a fish, watch the deck hand bait the hook, let the line out, puke…

Fishing was particularly bad that day. Only four fish were caught on the entire boat. I netted $2.25. Every fish landed – were landed by me. I overcame severe seasickness, 7-UP, beer, sleep, huge swells, WD-40 and anise on the bait… everything, and we never crossed the bar.

- Craig

Topless

(Reprinted here with permission from Jim E.)

Duane was dating one of the Samsel girls, who was in nurses training in Billings. Her roommate came down to Powell for the weekend, or her sister was going back to Billings with her. Cannot remember the girl details. So Duane talked me into taking the girls to Billings topless, via Yellowstone and Beartooth Pass. The car topless, that is. And with Duane and one of the girls enjoying the sun and scenery from the rumble seat.


The night before we left, I decided to replace the dried-up and cracked original steering wheel with a big beautiful wheel from a Buick Roadmaster. The splines fit fine, but the hub was thicker. I could barely get the post nut started. No time to trim the wheel hub on the lathe, but shucks, the splines were plenty tight.

With a late start (women!) and too many stops along the trip up the North Fork (men— telling women where we had shot an elk or skied or caught a fish!), dusk was dusking before we even started up the pass. So we put up the top, closed the rumble seat, and squeezed the four of us into the front seat. There was no "back seat" in a 1937 Buick Roadster. And the front seat was narrow. Nicely narrow, if shared with soft young nurses. And of course no room to steer with both hands. But we made it safely up and over and down the Beartooth pass—rather rapidly because there was a Sunday night curfew for student nurses—and began to pull out of the Deaconess parking lot, headed for a coffee and pie and thence to Powell.

As we pulled out, the steering wheel came off in my hands. Got stopped safely. Decided we wanted a more brightly lit place to work on the project, so I clamped a pair of vice grips on the steering post, used that to steer, gave the wheel to Duane, and started driving downtown to find a well-lit gas station, preferably one with a good brass hammer we could borrow.

As we drove along, people started honking, blinking lights, pointing, and laughing. I looked over at Duane. He was leaning out the window with the steering wheel, pretending to steer and sometimes waving it. I wonder what he would have said to a cop, had we met one?

And just out of curiosity, Duane, didn't your Chevy coupe have a rumble seat?


- Jim

There’s No Such Thing as a Free Lunch

The adage holds true most of the time. What I have found is the statement is rather “light.” Lunch is “not free,” and is usually quite expensive.

When dad bought the property at May Creek Estates near Gold Bar, Washington he planned to build a mountain getaway for his family. Today the area is primary single family homes rather than weekend retreats.

I haven’t driven by there for many years. I imagine the cabin is still there, but it could just have easily been replaced with something else. Someday when I am heading east of the mountains I will swing through.

I have mentioned in earlier writings on the “frugalness” of my father (reference: “Saturday Morning Haircuts,” “I Remember…” [Cleaning Wally Weiger’s chicken coop just to get the fertilizer] or [Making our own lawn fertilizer by buying the ingredients at Burdic Feed in Kent]).

If I have learned anything from my father, it can be boiled down to a few things: “Stuff is expensive,” and “Measure once, measure again, think about it, remark the board, measure one more time and then cut – wood is expensive!" (Apparently so is fertilizer).

In the interest of saving a buck or two, my dad got this “wild hair” in the very early sixties. I am not sure what the advertisement said “Free Wood” or “Very Nearly Free Wood (BYOS)." BYOS means “bring your own slaves.”

I had mentioned earlier about the “green movement.” My dad had the opportunity to “recycle” a cabin as the basis for ours… simply tear apart this cabin – scavenge the wood, using small laborers related to you – Hint: you can even teach them to “pull a nail or two.”

I don’t recall how long we worked tearing down that cabin, but dad had solicited friends to help – maybe I should say “former friends.” We probably paid more for the wood then if we had bought new at a lumber yard. We spent hours, and I remember at least one day it poured buckets – no free lunch!

In the end we built a wonderful cabin, and used some recycled boards from that original one. For some time you could see the difference between the wood “purchased through the ad” and that purchased at the lumber yard… And I learned to pull nails.

- Craig

Church

We attended the First Methodist Church of Renton. When the church merged with the Evangelical United Brethren Church in 1967, we became the “First United Methodist Church of Renton.”

Church was a family. We dressed up in our “Sunday best,” Dad in a suit and tie, Mom in a dress. It was never acceptable to wear jeans, shorts, or for that matter, anything you might wear to the beach. We have gotten away from that, and I like it. Some people’s “Sunday best” is a clean pair of jeans. Beach wear is still in appropriate however.

We went to church regularly. The only acceptable reasons to skip were around our cabin or vacations. Weekends were focused on building and with the drive up after work on Friday we generally skipped church on Sunday in order to make headway. Later we used Scout outings, or the occasional ski days. For the most part we were regular irregular attendees. I continue that role even to this day – even the excuses are the same with one addition – Seahawks games – when we have tickets of course.

We met many of our close friends at church, and while we have moved, grown, married, and moved again, we still send Christmas cards and in some cases such as Dad and Mom – vacation together.

I remember many of their names, the Lee’s, Stark’s, Westpfahl’s, Abrahamson’s, Holm’s and Wieman’s (sic).

I remember Steve, Karen, and Sandra; Sue, Carol, and Lesa; Carol and Linda; Tim and Tom; Nancy and her sister; Larry and his… Also Sandi and Matt from youth group!

Church was a safe place. When I was in Kindergarten, I had a friend from class I wanted to have over at the house to play. His name was Jonathon. We would meet at the Church to play in the sand while his father and my Mom chatted. You see, it was 1962, and it simply wouldn’t be right for a black boy to be at a white boy’s house – and his father certainly couldn’t come over. I never understood why at the time.

Church is where my Dad and Mom first taught me about volunteering. Mom counted money on Monday mornings in the church office with lady’s from church – Mary I specifically remember. In the summer we hung out in the church exploring or outside playing.

Dad would sign us up to be ushers. The head usher would get the sanctuary ready before service so we always arrived early when Dad was the head usher. We carefully placed the offering plates at the front pew (we kept them in a closet during the week), filled up the baptismal font (never knew if someone would be baptized), straightened the hymnals, the attendance sheets, sharpened pencils and replaced if necessary and stood at the doors – and ushered people to the pew of their choice. I still usher today, and have tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to get Chad to usher too.

Being Methodists meant lots of food. Fellowship hours were always full – and the opportunity to be the family servers was an honor. There were never empty signup slots for any jobs – at least not that I remember.

We had potlucks – and still do at Sumner. At Renton it seemed like once a month we had a Church Dinner. Everyone was there because church was the family.

Dad also gave lots of presentations at work over the years – he would practice his toastmaster speeches at home. I wanted to emulate his comfort of speaking in front of audiences. Church was the perfect place. It was where I first spoke in front of a couple hundred people. I read Bible Verses and made announcements about youth activities.

Like I said before, church was a safe place – here I could even sing with very few people cringing or plugging their ears.

- Craig

Snowshoes and Toboggans

My dad and I built snowshoes. I only used them a few of times, but I saw them in my garage today. They have to be 38 years old. We had a pattern someone in Scouts had given the troop, and jig. They are made from gray PVC pipe and green nylon rope. I think we bought the leather toe slips at the Army / Navy surplus store on 2nd Avenue just north of Michigan in south Seattle. That was one of my favorite stores!

We drilled the holes, and gently heated the PVC with Dad’s torch, bending around the jig. The pattern included the weave of the nylon rope. I even loaned them to someone once (although I can’t remember who) – they said they worked great except the shoes needed the crampons – the person slipped and slid - but the snowshoes are very light. They were impressed however that we made them!

My brother wanted a toboggan – not a snow sled but a big, wooden toboggan. Dad and Mom bought it for him for Christmas one year. We used to lash it onto the red ’64 Dodge Dart wagon and head for the hills – usually Stevens Pass because it was close to the cabin. The Dart had studded snow tires. One time when there wasn’t much snow, Dad tied a rope to the back of the wagon, and dragged us behind the car on logging roads. Today, common sense tells me it wasn’t a good idea, but Greg and I had fun!

The toboggan was a six-seater made with alternating natural wood – honey oak, and walnut in color. The very thin pad was green, with yellow nylon rope handles woven down each side lengthwise, were your only chance at “safety.”

It might have been the second or third run on the first day, but we finally figured out how to steer. The toboggan pilot (coxswain in rowing, driver in NASCAR) would yell the steering commands. The majority of the participants on a toboggan are idiots. They cannot see where they are going, and they put their trust in a person with no “piloting experience.”

Don S., a close family friend from church, and our neighbor was the pilot on that run…

“Lean to the left!” Everyone one hung on and leaned. The toboggan started it’s “oil supertanker turn.”

“Lean to the right!” Don had a slight panic to his voice, but everyone arched to the right, and the toboggan came upright and started a very slow turn to the right.

We were slaloming just like on skis! However, the actual toboggan run was not that long, and long slow turns were not optimum.

“JUMP!” came the anxious shout as the toboggan smashed into a tree. No injuries to the toboggan or otherwise!

- Craig

I Remember...

• Going to Children’s Shoe Land for shoes
• Your favorite store was Sears in Renton, followed closely by McLendon’s
• Elk hunting with a Cow tag and not getting anything
• Deer hunting with a Doe tag and not getting anything
• Pheasants, geese and ducks
• Making shot gun shells
• My first bicycle and showing you Mom had taught me to ride – I stopped by running into the Oldsmobile because I hadn’t learned to use the brakes
• Teasing Vern and Ronnie Hall, Mike Moss, Randy Butterfield, Geoff, Paul and Janice Broomhead
• Learning to put new pads on drum brakes
• Changing the oil
• Mowing the lawn
• Building the cabin
• Cleaning Wally Weger’s chicken coop just to get the fertilizer
• Making our own lawn fertilizer by buying the ingredients at Burdic Feed in Kent
• The 50 miler
• Numerous Scout Camps – Brinkley, Omache, Shepard, Parsons
• Wetting the bed
• Pulling the box spring handle off, and promptly stepping on the tacks
• Cutting Christmas trees
• Driving the boat – towing a trailer
• Building the fiberglass cover for our deck in SeaTac – and expanding the deck
• Chain link fencing
• Pouring concrete – cabin foundation; slab for my current dog kennel (not used); curbs around the grass and under the fences; widening my driveway – all under your guidance
• Growing potatoes, tomatoes, rhubarb, zucchini, and pumpkins
• Creating the rock garden landscape so I didn’t have to mow as much
• Making a bedroom for Greg downstairs – moving the door to the garage to the workshop
• Insulating, wiring, dry walling, framing, roofing, siding, painting
• Working on my car in Pullman after school got out one summer – you had to get the parts in Seattle
• Our rabbits
• Turtles
• Geronimo getting his ear clipped by the barbed-wire fence chasing a pheasant
• Not coming back for breakfast after trailing elk, eventually falling asleep in the snow – how worried you, Earl, and Darrell were when I didn’t make it back when it got dark either
• Our family train ride to Missoula
• Camping and fishing up the North Fork
• When you learned to downhill ski again with your two boys
• The family reunion for your 50th wedding anniversary
• Our trip to the East coast with Grandma Vesta
• Disneyland, Tijuana
• Getting the dry-heaves at Norma & John’s in Hanford
  
  (To be continued…)

- Craig

$15 – New Tires

Back in the early sixties, my father bought a new used car. It was a 1950 Oldsmobile – faded light blue and in reasonably good working order. He paid a lot in those days – 50 bucks. We had a single car garage, with a single car driveway – which was probably pretty fancy then. Dad had to park his work car on the street.

I have driven by the old house on occasion, but the last time was probably ten years ago. Instead of parking on the street those occupants parked on what used to be the front lawn. The old white split rail fence was long gone, and there were only remnants of the three Douglas fir trees in the corner of the yard.

We had an old blue Renault to compliment the new old Oldsmobile. The Renault had two features I remember – beyond the similarity to a modified VW bug – red interior and an unshielded fan attached to the dashboard for air conditioning. Dad – did you put that in? I would stick my fingers in the blades while it was on – but the soft rubber fan blades prevented a catastrophe. No one in their right mind would have put something like that in their car today – but in those days everyone – even small children had common sense – only soft rubber blades should be used on fans without a guard – or any other safety feature for that matter.

The Renault was the first car I drove – riding in my father’s lap down the long straight road. Today they call it Union Ave. Our address was 13225 SE 238th PL – now I don’t know what it is, but 238th is now SE 3rd PL. I would sit on Dad’s lap and steer the car toward home, listening to him complain gas prices had jumped from 22.9 cents a gallon to 24.9! If you do the math – that is significant.

The Oldsmobile probably got 12 miles to the gallon, and Dad worked in downtown Renton – a good 5 miles away – may be more “as the crow flies.” At some point Mom convinced Dad she needed a station wagon. We bought the red ’64 Dodge Dart mentioned in Parallel Parking. We had three cars and only two legal drivers. One had to go – the “gas hog.”

I don’t know what Dad advertised the car for - $25? Hell – he paid 50 dollars for it and put four new tires on it – but no takers. Everyone could tell where gas prices were going, and having a big blue Oldsmobile didn’t make sense (although I wish I had it now). This might have even been an early sign of the “Green Revolution.”

Finally Dad buckled to a young girl buying her first car - $15 – New Tires.

- Craig

All That Jazz

I have always loved music. Not all kinds – but definitely most. Some things I don’t call music – early “rap” for instance is not really music. Hip Hop can be music but I don’t like a lot of it. “White and Nerdy” by Weird Al Yankovic is my favorite – is that Hip Hop? I also like “My Humps” by the Black Eyed Peas.

Most of my young adult years consisted of Rock – Tom Petty, Styx, REO Speed Wagon, Benatar, Doobie Brothers, Elton John, Deep Purple, Nugent, The Cars, Knack, Stray Cats, and many more. Sometime there was the occasional country rock band like Charlie Daniels, Marshall Tucker, or Lynyrd Skynrd. Oldies include Elvis, Beach Boys, Louis Armstrong, and Frank Sinatra.

I even have light stuff like Little River Band, Mammas and the Pappas, Peter, Paul and Mary. There is really only one band I hate: The Rolling Stones. I have one vinyl – and yes, it is pretty good – but the majority I just don’t like.

Pink Floyd, Blue Oyster Cult, Bob Marley, Moody Blues, McCartney and Wings, Lennon are all in my collection. Did I mention Enya or Norah Jones?

One time when we still lived in Renton (we moved when I was 9) I made the comment “I like Jazz!” Dad said “You don’t even know what Jazz is.” “Yes I do!” I ran through some of my parents’ favorites like Benny Goodman (with his licorice stick) or Glenn Miller. I couldn’t decide which one to reply with – so I chose my favorite: The Beatles.

Dad said “that’s not Jazz.” It was to me!

- Craig

Making Puppies

(Craig with Buck and Smokey)

When I was three, Grandpa Kenny sent us a purebred English Bulldog puppy (as opposed to the Old English Bulldog breed like my brother’s dog Susi).

(Rachel with Susi)

Smokey was white with some brown patches. She was not considered a show dog, although I don’t know the specifics of her “defects.” While some people considered Smokey ugly with the wrinkled face and huge pug-like nose, she was quite beautiful. The fact Bulldog tongues are generally sticking out doesn’t hurt either. With Bulldogs, the eyes truly are windows to their souls.

One time the milk man looked through the screen door with Smokey looking back. He said “My, what an ugly dog you are,” in a patronizing sort of way. She went through a closed screen door and nipped at his leg. She knew exactly what he said and I think she also knew retribution was sweet. His eyes were very large when the door came open!

Smokey snored. She snored loud for hours a day when she got older. Grandpa Kenny raised purebred Boston Terriers and English Bulldogs. I remember “Taffy” was Smokey’s mom.

(Craig with Taffy)

I think her registered name was Angel’s Taffy. The Boston Terrier bitch was “Lady.” I don’t think I ever knew her registered name, but I remember she bit me on the cheek after I kept head butting in the rear end.

Grandpa Kenny brought out a litter of pups one time for Dad to sell. He sold them all. I am not sure of the amounts, but I remember the conversation Dad had with Grandpa Kenny to the effect that Dad had sold them too cheaply. Apparently the prices in a very small town in Wyoming (because of the simple economic equation of Supply and Demand) were much lower than the national average. All of the puppies sold but Grandpa didn’t send any more.

Smokey had a corkscrew tail. This was probably one of the defects. It almost looked like a hairy pigtail, thicker, and mostly internal. It didn’t stick out more than an inch.

I don’t think Smokey ever wanted to be a mother. She did however get knocked up by a lab or so we think. The puppies were cute, but essentially worthless in the market. Smokey used to run to the back of our property which abutted an undeveloped area. I remember Dad or Mom saying Smokey was trying to lose them… a litter of puppies CAN BE ANNOYING to the mom.

Smokey also farted - bad sometimes. She’d pass gas - waking her from a deep sleep. She would make this “Scooby Doo” type sound of surprise, and she would mosey quickly to another area of the room.

- Craig

Learning to Cuss

Two young brothers age 6 and 4 are talking one night in their bedroom. The older brother says “You know, I think we are old enough to cuss.” The four year old says “I think you are right,” nodding his head in approval. The older brother says “tomorrow at breakfast I am going to say ‘Hell,’ and you should say ‘Ass.’” The younger brother agreed with enthusiasm.

The next morning the two brothers came to the breakfast table. The mother asked the older one what he wanted for breakfast. He replied, “Aw, Hell Mom, I think I’ll have Cheerios.” WHACK! He flies out of his chair, tumbles across the kitchen floor, gets up, and runs upstairs crying his eyes out with his mother in hot pursuit, slapping his rear with every step. You could hear the wailing all the way to the kitchen.

In a matter of seconds, the mother returned and said to the younger brother, “And, exactly what do YOU want for breakfast?” The younger brother being a little sharper than his brother "I don't know," he blubbers, “but you can bet your FAT ASS I not gonna ask for Cheerios!”

The story isn’t true as far as I know. I received this joke in an email. But the story is strikingly similar to one which occurred when my brother and I were exactly the same age – six and four.

On Friday nights, Dad and Mom played bridge with Denny and Janet. I am not sure it was every Friday night, but at least it was once a month. One night we would be at their house, and every other time we would all be at our house. It was a great, cheap evening of entertainment with friends – family. It was regular – you could count on that evening being roughly the same every week.

I was a smart young lad. I learned to read and write (even in cursive) before first grade. And, I know many of you won’t believe this, but at the time I felt pretty “high on myself.” At six my ego was rather big.

The first day of first grade I rode the bus home, sitting directly in front of two third-graders. One of them tapped me on the shoulder and asked what grade I was in. “First.” “Can you read?” I replied, “of course!”

“What is this word?” as he unfolded a scrap of paper. "F#&ker.” “What? Say it louder.” “F#&KER.” They both laughed and I knew I had been had. I didn’t know exactly what I said, but all the kids around me were laughing – and I knew it was bad.

One Friday night, right after dinner, Dad said “you have to go to bed, and you can’t get up once I close the door.” He continued, “go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. You can’t have any water, or get up to go to the bathroom once you are in bed. Someone is coming over.”

Greg and I, being the obedient – yet somewhat curious, mischievous imps we are – proceeded to get ready for bed. We certainly weren’t tired – it was only 7 o’clock.

Lights were out and we were in our bunk beds. Our bedroom wall abutted the couch in the living room, 3 feet from the front door. Greg and I discussed who could possibly be coming over. It couldn’t be Denny, Janet, Kurt and Kathryn. We knew them. We would have gotten to stay up and play! It had to be someone else and we had to find out who it was!



The door bell rang, and we heard Dad answer the door. WHO IS IT? What could we do to find out? We knew we couldn’t get out of bed – but – maybe, just maybe, we could get one of us out to see who it was. I shouted “Daaaad, I have to go to the baaathroooom.” “No, I told you had to stay in bed,” came Dad’s reply.

I told Greg I didn’t know if this would work, but he should ask for some water. “Daaaad, can I have some waaaterrr?” “I said NO, you have already gone to the bathroom, and you have already had water. You need to stay in bed and be quiet.”

Greg said to me he didn’t think there was anything we could do. But – being the older brother, I knew different. I knew I could get that door open. I told my four year old brother, “Dad will let us get up if you yell F#&KER.” “Really?” “Yep,” I said with the confidence of an older brother.

“F#&KER!!!” Greg yelled.

My father isn’t the tallest man in the world, but when the door slammed open, I saw the silhouette of “The Hulk” – a monster of a man – green eyes piercing the darkness like lasers. Greg and I disagree over who got spanked – whether it was me, him or both of us. I only remember three distinct things: the light never came on; we were both crying, and we never found out who came over that night.

- Craig