Let's put it in today's terms. . .

My dad was telling my nephews Josef, Lasse, and Troy the story of David and Goliath. He asked them if they knew what a slingshot was. 

After thinking for a second, Lasse says, "Is it like a Angry Birds thing?"

Yes, Lasse. That's exactly what it is. 

(And apparently Lasse isn't the first to think of this connection.)

A little book review about a little story about words

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


World War II is one of my favorite time periods to read about. Combine that with my love of books, words, and the power they possess, mix in a sensible little girl, a father who always knows what to say, and a best friend whose antics and triumphs remind me too much of my brothers, and I really enjoyed this book. It felt like a book I would have read in 4th grade, and had it been around I no doubt would have, but I still enjoyed it as a 21-year-old, despite the education in German swearing (I learned some words even my nephews hadn't taught me). It was cleverly crafted and nicely narrated, and it made some profound points about humans, words, and the nature of life and death.



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The Bike Ride

The familiar smell of freshly cut hay, pungent sagebrush, and the occasional bovine is mingled with the tarry odor of recently poured blacktop. The melodious chirping of a sparrow watching from his wire perch complements the subtle click-click of the chain wrapping continuously around the gears and the rhythmic hum of the tires as the rubber meets the road.

The ticking thrum is interrupted every once in a while as you glide past a field of sprinkler pipe and hear the pst-pst-pst of the rain birds as if they are whispering thousands of secrets. You forgive the little birds for not sharing their confidences because the breeze cooled by the mist they emit is the only reprieve you'll get on this ride until the sun drops behind the mountain. As the zephyr hits the sweat pouring from your pores, the way it chills your feverish skin distracts momentarily from the lactic acid burning in every muscle and pushes from your mind how sore those muscles and your coccyx will be tomorrow.

You're pumping the pedals with strength you didn't realize you had. You tell yourself that there are as many downhills on the way home as there are uphills on the way out. It almost works as consolation until you realize that there are also as many uphills on the way home as there are downhills on the way there. Somehow breaking even just doesn't seem fair. If you can just crest this hill you can coast for a bit.

Despite your new-found strength, you can't seem to pull your own weight without heightened effort. No matter how hard you pedal, every vehicle that approaches easily overtakes your momentum, effortlessly pulling their full load of ton bales. The forceful gust and the hay that flies into your face does little to bolster your confidence that you will ever return home tonight.

Finally, after 13.2 miles, you reach the last impediment, the steep incline of your gravel driveway. Somehow you make it up to the house and collapse on the living room floor. Your energy is completely exhausted. And you've never felt better.

Nothing says summer . . .

like a bicycle modified for two.

Peter and I wanted to continue our routine of a daily bike ride,
but Austin was visiting and we didn't have a bike his size.

So, Peter, ever resourceful, rigged up a new apparatus to
attach to his new bike that would allow Austin to come along.

Sometimes I think Peter is just a little too creative.

The hardcore tandem bikers who passed us, accompanied by a rescue van, told Austin he was brave. I think they were jealous of Peter's homemade version of their bicycles built for two.

Chores

Dad is always leaving the lawn mower out.

English Blunder of the Day

Foiled by phonetic proximity of spelling!

Sunny Florida

I spent a week with Joe, Heidi, Henry, and Amelia in Ormond Beach. Here are some highlights:Joe and Amelia and drip castle #1.

Joe and Henry and drip castle #2.
Me and Amelia enjoying the beach.

This lovely picture is in the jungle that we floated through at the Springs. It was gorgeous and way better than the flume in Dayton. There were tons of fish just swimming right under us in the clear water. We had a lot of stick races under the bridges after we floated down until the sticks, including a red ant-covered tree limb chosen by Henry, became so big we were afraid they would be a hazard to the other patrons of the Springs.
The Ponce de Leon lighthouse.
The view from the top of the lighthouse.
Inside . . .
Outside . . .
And in case you are incompetent, but by some miracle can read or interpret diagrams, or your first stop once you got out of the jungle you grew up in was the Ponce de Leon lighthouse . . .

Racing at the Daytona Boardwalk Speedway. Joe lapped us three times.
A little luck at Aunt Catfish. This is where I ate Alligator and my first real Hush Puppy.

Henry's Graduation from Preschool. All day, he told everyone we saw, "I'm graduating." Earlier he had told me, "Now I go to Noah's Ark School. When we lived in the brown house, I went to Challenger School. And before that, when we lived in the white house, I was home schooled." I had never realized the pre-preschool was considered home school. Congratulations to Henry and Good Luck to him as he goes on to kind-er-gar-ten at Pine Trails Elementary!
Henry only looks like he's training to become an alter boy because Noah's Ark is run by a Lutheran church. Really, he was graduating!

On the weekend, we took a little road trip up through Jacksonville, St. Augustine--the oldest town in Florida--and Amelia Island, finally ending up in St. Mary's, Georgia.
Henry and a shrimp in Amelia Island. That ain't no cocktail shrimp.
From St. Mary's, we took a ferry over to Cumberland Island, Georgia. Thomas Carnegie (Andrew's brother) and his wife Lucy built mansions on this island for his family, and while a few of them still stand as inns and private residences, the main attraction open to the public is the ruins of Lucy's mansion, Dungeness. After the Tycoon Age ended, and her husband died, Lucy stopped using the mansion very frequently, and it eventually caught on fire and was never rebuilt.
Now the island is basically home to wild horses that are everywhere, rangers who maintain the National Park, and some vacation homes of the people who own Coca Cola.
Some romantics choose to be married on the island, usually at the Grayfield Inn that was once the mansion of Thomas and Lucy's daughter Margaret. As I was waiting for the Ferry to take us to Cumberland Island, I struck up a conversation with a man who pastors a church in St. Mary's. I asked him why he was dressed in a suit and tie when most ferry goers were in swimming suits or hiking boots. Turns out he was performing an intimate marriage ceremony on the island.

After we got to the Island I couldn't help but take a picture of the intimate ceremony. Just the couple, the pastor, and the photographer, right in front of the ruins of Dungeness, with only the tourists and wild horses as witnesses.

I hate the Fail Quail.

I was just trying to access the OED. I think alumni should get some benefits.

Handbag anyone?

Nothing says "redneck" like camouflage, pink pleather, rhinestones, and crosses.

I definitely live in Idaho.

Three things that have recently reminded me that I live on a Ranch:

1. Last week I was chatting with Amy and Camille and I told them, "A donkey just walked past my door."

2. My dad asked if I wanted to go for a long walk "just around the yard."


3. I'm looking forward to my mission so I can sleep in until 6:30.