Love From Aunt Clara

Grandma B's Caramel Marshmallows

The reluctant poser introduces famous holiday home cooking by Grandma B...

Josie, I put looooots of pictures so you can hang in there. These are a holiday requirement by Wade, all in a happy memory to his lovely grandmother who passed away in 2002. I hope you all will enjoy these too!

Here's the ingredients...

• stick of butter
• sweetened condensed milk
• caramel squares (80)
• marshmallows, big ones
• Rice Krispies
  
  
  

Insider tip:

You want those marshmallows to be soft, each one still holding their individual dusting. See how they naturally separate when I open up the bag. Use marshmallows like these, not the leftover bag from canyon s'mores four months ago.

Snip those suckers in half.

Melt the butter, milk, and caramels in a double boiler. If you don't have a double boiler (like me) no big deal! Boil water and put a pie plate or casserole dish above the water (but not immersed at all in the water).

sugar + fat = Christmas Delights and New Years Pains

Stir it together. When it look like this, you're ready to roll. Let's set up our assembly line. Right to left: 1) marshmallows 2) caramel 3) rice krispies 4) wax paper

Yum.

By the way, is this recipe a Grandma B original? What other holiday treats was Grandma B famous for?

Mailbox

Do you guys remember our old mailbox?

It kinda looked like a bird house, or a gingerbread house? I remember loving it as a kid, because it was so different than everyone elses.

I remember one Spring riding our bikes and "ghost riding" it off the residual snow banks at the curb. Ha, I forgot "ghost riding" entirely until I was writing this post...awesome.

Anyway, I launched my bike for the snowbank where it was supposed to sail through the air and crash into the front yard, but at the last minute, it veered off to the right. So after hitting the snow, it crashed straight up into the mailbox knocking it off entirely.

I dont think that was the only reason...(no, I am sure it was from other stuff too), but it became so wobbly, and loose. Eventually it had to be replaced with a boring mailbox.

Oh well...

Steal the Flag

In a previous post, I talked a bit about what I called “epic steal the flag” games.

I am serious about the perceived “epicness” of those games. For those of you who were there, I am sure you remember the gravity and importance of those night time struggles. Peter (Blair), my best friend, would march out of his house as the sun was setting, and the neighborhood could hear western-gun-slinging-music playing in the background. Children would put down their toys and look to the cul-de-sac. Perhaps a tumbleweed would blow across the street.

It was time.

Here is how it would work:

About 12 kids would gather in front of our house. Peter, and I would then pick teams. I liked to stack my teams with speed and stealth, and Holly was usually one of my first picks (I don’t know if you remember that Holly, but as a gymnast with a little frame, you were good at both stealth AND speed).

Once teams were picked, Peter and his evil imperial team would to back to his house at the end of the cul-de-sac. His flag would go on their mailbox. Our team would stay at our house, with our flag tucked into the door of OUR mailbox.

The boundaries were always the same. The whole block was legal, so I could send someone around the outside of the block where they would then infiltrate behind enemy lines. The Croft’s driveway was the midpoint.

Now the games could begin. I usually sent someone around to the back of the block where they could try to sneak through to the back side. This let them free prisoners if critical people were caught, or steal the actual flag if an opening arose. One person would be set to guard the flag, or two if we got a couple of high value prisoners.

Some other tactics included placing a couple of the slower/smaller kids on the boundary line, but close up to the Croft’s house so that they would not deter enemies from crossing the line in the middle. Someone fast would then push through the middle of the line as far as they could go before Peter’s team would take up the chase. The goal here was to run just fast enough away from them that they could not catch you, but not fast enough that they gave up. If they were really close as you got to the boundary line, then you just might be able to draw them over the line for a few steps, and then the kids stationed on the edges would run in behind them to cut them off.

The beauty of that one is that after a few successes, they would be a lot more cautions about chasing us, and we could get deeper into their territory for our flag assaults.

Of all my summer memories, those steal the flag games were probably my favorite. Now that I am a parent, I wonder if I am letting my kids play enough. I used to be pretty free when it was play time. I used to be able to go pretty much anywhere within a mile or so from my house…I am sure that I would feel nervous about letting Chloe (age 7) do the same.

I guess my first question to my family is this:

Are we TOO restrictive now?

And second, for my parents:

We had a lot of freedom to be “free range” as kids…How did you do that? Actually, when I remember stories about you when YOU were kids, I wonder if you were more restrictive with US than your parents were with you. In that case, are we getting more and more controlling of our kids as the generations go along?

"Is that ALL?"

First of all, in response to Jackson's glorious depiction of the Christmas-I-was-trampled, there are just no words. We'll find the footage one of these days from that giant beast of a camera we used to have that Dad would set up in the corner of the living room, and THAT will tell the true story.

December 20, '97
It's so soon until Christmas. 5 MORE DAYS! Holly got home the 18th And we had a sleepover last night. It was fun!
Holly and Kristen went skiing and so I have absolutely nothing to do. I just went shopping and got some Christmas presants and stickers.Grandma Bee really isn't doing well, she has a cold. (and if when I'm older and forget grandma just can't have a cold well she'll pretty much die if she gets one.) Grandpa Forri has canser in his neck and he's takiing cemo theropy (which I think won't make hime look any different anyway!). He has to stay by the bathroom a lot cause of this medicene he's taking. Grandpa Jack is just having a little problem with his back.Grandma Lillian is just fine. They keep working at the temple.
The iceskating rink is open for the fist time in four years!! I'm going to get ready to go any minute now. MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Josie Olsen

I think it's funny that I randomly gave an update on the grandparents. And isn't it interesting to look at Grandpa's cancer through a 10 year old's eyes. Now, 10 years later, it's back.

December 25, 1999
Today is Christmas... I can't believe it!!! We have talked with Holly for fieve hours!!! Cool, huh?!?! Charlene is here for Uncle Mike's wedding w/Sherrie on New Years Day.

(Notice I wasn't afraid to use punctuation liberally. I remember that I learned the "?!?!" move from Sunday comic strips... )

Now, I believe that was the year we remember the famous, "IS THAT ALL???" comment from Mom. Just to clarify, that comment was made because Mom was making a tape for Holly while we weren't talking to her so she wouldn't miss anything on her mission. When the tape ran out Mom felt it was too fast, I assume, which is why she asked the infamous question, which made Dad (sitting next to her), look around the tree and say something to the effect of, "Look, there are some more for you over here." The misunderstanding between cassette tape and Christmas presents for Mom has gone down in history as a favorite Christmas moment.

December 25, 2007
The end of another beautiful Christmas season. Definitely one of my all-time favorites. Everything was lovely. We kept up most of our traditions too. We went skiing on Christmas Eve, something we try to do every year but aren't always able to. We played fun family games all throughout the week (Kill Doctor Lucky, Celebrity, Chess with Bryan, etc).
The Christmas Eve feast was, as usual, my favorite meal of the year (inncluding Thanksgiving, mind you). Mom goes all out decorating. Dad passed around a bowl with slips of paper this year with job assignments on them and said no switching. I couldn't believe the luck: Pete, our only guest drew "prayer" (it didn't sound like he was accustomed to doing this, expecially when I believe he started quoting a famous prayer out of "Meet the Parents"), and Jackson drew "take care of the 3 infants (Isaac, Peter, and Ruby)-- INCLUDING DIAPERS"! What Dad didn't realize was that the real baby here would be Jackson, who doesn't change diapers or deal with the liquids that seem to ooze out of children.
I cleared the food, which is only worth noting because I managed to spill sweet potatoes an the table cloth in two places, drip salad dressing, AND knock a glass of water over. I have a serious problem to which I will likely need the assistance of professionals to conquer.
After the family left for the evening, and after watching "It's a Wonderful Life", a family favorite, Clay, Jackson, Celeste, and I set up camp in the basement family room where we played games before drifting off to sleep.
Christmas Eve was lovely. It was like a postcard for Logan. Thick snow covered tree branches, roofs, and the roads. The only thing that took away was when Jackson and I finished painting walls at Advent Creative (family business) and I dropped my phone in a bucket of white paint. Spilling isn't my only Achilles' heel.
Christmas morning was fun this year since the triplets, aka: Leif, Olivia, and Eliza, are old enough to understand presents but young enough to still say the most adorable things. Oh it was so cute, I never want to forget it!
This year all our gifts had reindeer names on them, not our names. It was a code. Mom is so cute like that. She always tries to go above and beyond.
We had our traditional Christmas morning breakfast. Grandma and Grandpa Kidd, Grandpa Fory, and Uncle Terry came. We had omelets, sausages, and strawberry crepes. Yum.
I love Olsen Christmas!
Josie

I think that entry captures a typical Olsen Christmas at its finest. Even as an adult I feel the magic of Christmas- and it's no surprise we owe that to our mother. The woman voluntarily teaches a Chistmas class for crying out loud.

Remember that?

-I remember laundry lockers, and how we weren't supposed to ever just get one thing out of them. We were supposed to empty our lockers the moment we saw it was full. I also remember never doing that.

-I remember the locked cupboard, and how the naughty boy down the street taught Jackson to pick it. We opened it drooling, only to find basic kitchen ingredients such as brown sugar, bullion cubes, and chocolate chips. THIS is what you've been hiding? We were imagining all assortments of ready-made gingerbread houses (with extra candy dumped inside as "furniture"), ice cream sundaes, and possibly the entire selection from the Shell Station). It was then that I took to eating large handfuls of straight, undiluted brown sugar. I still can to this day.

-I remember telling Jackson to "Smell my kibbies!" as a lowly attempt at defense. That brings up two side notes. First, that we used to say things like "kibbies" for toes, "winkies" for raisened fingers in the bathtub, "bubby" for blankies, "etc. Second, that my relationship with Jackson has changed very little. I still have no defense (except an occasional pinch, lick, or squeeze of his pinky), and I am still very much harassed, often unprovoked. South Carolina trip, anyone?

-I remember Dad working in the garage on Saturdays listening to a Boom box (they don't make those anymore. It was an electronic device that Dad used because it seemed to go undetected by the "Olsen-technology-curse". Even the technology ghosts wouldn't haunt over something so ghetto). Sometimes he would come in and make waffles after. We would put butter in practically every square. Oi.

- I remember garlic bread. I remember how for most of our lives (notice I said most. she's been much better these last few years) we had one kind of spaghetti dinner. The kind with burnt garlic bread. BLACK. Mom has this thing with the oven, see. I don't think she fully knew how to use it for a long time. The timer button must not have worked, because garlic bread and chocolate chip cookies always seemed to come out charred. Also the "off button" was really hard to find. Just ask Dad on a Sunday evening after dinner.

-I remember making tunnels in the snow when the church would plow all of the parkinglot into our back corner. We stayed out there for hours on end, only to be called back by hot chocolate and warm soup.

-I remember Grandma Bee's extensive efforts to make Christmas magical at her house too. She had a village set out that took half the front room. And her tree was covered in white frost with all sorts of decorations and treats about. And let's not forget the outside displays.

-I remember Olsen movie classics. "What About Bob", "To Kill a Mockingbird", "The Shawshank Redemption", "Harvey", "Sgt. Bilko", "Bim the Donkey" (although most of us have never seen it, we know the title by heart), "Muppet Christmas Carol", "Arsenic and Old Lace", "Big", etc.

-I remember making button people with mom's button collection. We'd also turn over raspberry crates and put plastic animal figurines inside to make a zoo. On some Sundays we'd play "Town", and there would be a movie theater, a restaurant, an insurance office (but we never knew what that was for), and sometimes a toy shop. I remember playing "Dead-man" on the trampoline. Sometimes when Wade would visit we would play a game called "Crab" on the tramp, where he would sit in the middle and just grab for us and we'd squeal with delight. He always won. Shocker.

-I remember our many vacations and how Dad would wake up so early and turn the tv on. Then he'd force us out the door, groggy eyed, only to find out that it was 4:26 am and that he "wants to get a good start on the day." I'm certain I'm not over exaggerating. :)
Also I remember Dad would ALWAYS drive, rarely getting a ticket. He'd drive for 15 hours straight, ever so often looking back through the rear-view-mirror to see if we were still awake. If we weren't (in a coma from the boring book on tape), he'd reach his hand back for us to grab it.
When Dad got tired he'd start slapping himself silly and then we'd all get concerned. He is a marathon driver. He wins the award for making us feel safe all the time.

-I remember craft time at Family Camp, and how I never won.

-I remember swimming at Dad's office! How we'd change in the bathrooms, swim till we wrinkled, and then swim some more. New tricks off the rock-hard diving board (mostly cannonball in nature), and the same five ways to ride down the slide. Man, just talking about it makes me miss it! It was always kept so hot- like a hot tub. Mmmm...

-I remember parties. Lots and lots of parties. Apparently Mom likes to host. I remember cleaning for parties, cleaning up after parties, and an occasional emergency clean-of-the-blue-bathroom DURING parties. I remember not liking parties.

-I remember the house before it was remodeled. I remember three rooms downstairs, the old kitchen, the old deck (that was scary underneath), the blue bathroom, and the old antique-decorated living room. I also remember lots of wallpaper.

-I remember our sweet dog Emily and the good companion she was to all of us. The way she'd play with her food, the way she barked like a maniac when the doorbell rang, and the way she wagged her tail.

-I remember our first computer. The Macintosh.

-I remember when Mandy got the nanny job and ran up and down the stairs screaming. I remember when Kristen came back from her travels with little braids in her hair. I remember how I used to steal candy bars from her and occasionally the high quality nails she'd get at 6-star with Natalie. I remember Clay coming home from the National Jamboree to no bedroom because of the flood nobody told him about. I remember Jackson's mullet in high school. I remember putting Styrofoam in his pillow. I remember how he put a black widow spider on my pillow. (*For the record: Styrofoam is not the equivalent of a black widow spider.) I remember Wade giving us holograms and having all the kids at school want one of my sticker-roll in the 3rd grade. I remember Holly always saying "thank-you" first after dinner and then how we'd all hurry and say it too, as if Mom wouldn't notice we didn't think of it ourselves. And I VIVIDLY remember the day she got her teeth knocked out at family camp when Danny threw the bat at her face by accident.

I know I remember my childhood better than most (thanks to avid journal keeping and a good imagination, as Clay would claim), and I have very positive feelings about it all. We came from a great home. The best. I'm grateful to call all you family.

The Masterminds.

Clay was without question a social guy. Before the days of cell phones, and shattered-glass-iphones, he had a lot of calls coming in at the Olsen home. I doubt anyone was really surprised when he ran for student government. I still remember a big party he had with all his friends to help him make his winning campaign for Student Body Executive. Top 10 Reasons you should vote for Clay Olsen (David Letterman style), Deep Thoughts with Jack Handey, a Grandma Bee in curlers poster (which she cursed and probably haunts him for), etc.
And who could forget the big inflated bunny that lived on Logan High's front lawn (that hung its head every night to rest only to be re-inflated to awake in the morning)? He ran another year, this time for Student Body President. Oh yeah- he also had braces. There were rollercoaster posters that turned into tracks on his teeth. There were Buzz Lightyear, molding clay, Gumby, Clay's potatoe chips, and Clay-doe themes. He won both campaigns.
Jackson followed step soon after. A Jack playing card, Cracker Jacks, Action Jackson... You get the idea. He ran two successful campaigns too.
I watched both of them in high school- never thinking I would follow in their footsteps. In fact, don't tell, but I thought I wanted to be a cheerleader of all things (yikes... just kidding Holly ;)!). When I filed for candidacy I wanted to die. Especially since I didn't have a cool name that could be morphed into a million different things like my preceeding two brothers. In fact, the only things I could think of were "Josie and the Pussycats", a cartoon that NOBODY in my grade had heard of from who knows when, and even worse: "JOSIE GROSSIE", from a popular tween movie. Grrr.
Mom and Dad to the rescue. The creativity from Mom plus the handyman skills (that's right, I said it- haha) of Dad made my election a success.

They thought they were done...

OH CONTRAIRE. Jackson ran for Executive Vice President his senior year at Utah State. Again, to be followed (it hasn't happened yet), by his kid sister.

Well, from the three of us, we'd like to acknowledge the real masterminds behind the campaigns Mom and Dad. And it wasn't just with student elections. Mom stayed up many nights with all of us helping make posters and projects throughout our schooling, while Dad wrote most of our papers! Ha ha.

THANK YOU.

The Scissor Wizard

Our mom loved "picture day".  She really talked it up...as we were shopping for school clothes, she would often say things like, "And this would also be a great outfit for picture day!"  I came to think of it as a day to wear our Sunday-best.  Cut to the fifth grade.  I don't know if we were begging for perms or she came up with the idea, but I do know that the Scissor Wizard had printed a coupon in The Herald Journal and mom had snatched it up and made appointments. Holly, Krissy and I were in for a real treat-we were getting professional perms for picture day.  In fact, the very DAY before picture day: Picture Eve.  I guess we were too young to see the giant red flags going up all around us, but we should have figured we were in for trouble the moment we walked into smoke-filled The Scissor Wizard.  This was no contemporary, hip salon.  These ladies had LIVED.  Their eyes were glued to the soap on the TV in between hair snipping, they had never heard of "wisps" and I don't think they had any idea how to style hair that didn't belong to a woman over 60.

Krissy wanted these wisps.  Desperately.  My only knowledge of wisps came from our old babysitter Mert, who had a few wispy bangs and otherwise long hair.  It seemed sophisticated, and so of course, first-grader Krissy needed them.  And she spent a lot of time trying to explain them to the dowdy hairdressers, to no avail.  

Holly sported the side bangs for mom's sake, long after she liked them.  I guess someone told her she looked like George Washington, and she was horrified.  She was getting an all-over-perm.

My only goal was to look amazing for my fifth and final grade of elementary school.  And in 1986, a perm was definitely the answer.   I had already picked out my dress: a pale mint green shiny satin-y dress with a faint checker pattern.  All I needed was a perfectly coiffed perm to complete the look. 

And when the day was done, I still needed it.  My perm only took on one side.  Holly's took, but didn't impove the side-bangs look when the perm turned her hair into a lion's mane.  But neither of us had a word of complaint.  Krissy's hairdresser had managed to cut off all of her hair before perming it so she had extremely short, yet extremely curly hair.  She looked like Annie, if Annie had put her finger directly into the nearest light socket.  But where, oh where were the wisps?

I think that may have been my last perm.  

  

Olsen Technology Plan

I just found this clip from Advent Creative today. First, I can't believe Wade allowed himself to be on film. Way to go! Second, the first part is really funny when he is talking about the computer Herm and Normy bought for the family back in the day. Enjoy!

Monopoly

To say that Wade always won at Monopoly is an understatement.  Wade had a Monopoly on Monopoly.  (And yes, it took me hours to think of that).   I think that Wade is the primary reason I am now the conservative saver that I am.  And for that, I thank him.

For some background, we were limited in what were allowed to do on Sundays, though we were always looking for ways we could bend the rules!  Since we would never have played together by choice, we were forced to think of things we could do to make the hours go by.  In the early years, board games were often employed, and one of our favorite games to play was Monopoly, since it didn't seem to require that much strategy (not like Risk, anyway) and even Krissy could play (and lose) it with us.

This is how it went:  Wade was always the banker.  He wanted to be the banker, he had little patience with us counting and distributing and I think he generally enjoyed being close to the money.  He also had some "house rules" to just about every game that seemed to help him more than the rest of us.  One of the house rules for Monopoly was that you had the ability to go into debt.  Lots of debt.

If I didn't know better, I would think that one of the other house rules was that Wade always started out the game owning Boardwalk and Park Place.  But that was not a rule, that was manipulation and strategy on his part.  He was always able to get the properties he wanted from us...we wanted to please him, and he would explain to us in vivid detail why owning two of the light blue ones was SO much better than owning one of the purple ones, in the long run.  It was up to us, but that's what he would do.  Since he always won, (and was clearly better at this game than we were), we took his sage advice!

As it happened, we would play for hours, accumulating thousands and even tens of thousands of dollars in monopoly debt.  If we were lucky, Wade would land on our scraps of land and subtract a couple of hundred from the total.  More likely, though, he would land on "Free Parking" and collect the pile of money from the middle with a wicked grin. I always thought that this time around the board, maybe I would get lucky.  This time, I wouldn't land on the purples or the greens (he usually ended up with them both).  The whole last quadrant was murder, with only the community chest, chance or the railroad to save you.  By the end, he usually owned the railroads, too.  The games were endless.  We would play for days and days.  The board would sit, undisturbed, with the tablet of debt next to the bank.  We would play until we gave up.

That game taught me a lot about gambling and debt.  That feeling of treading water, of never being able to get a handle on your own game, of not seeing a bigger picture must be how many indebted people feel.  I know it may not have been your intention to teach me so much, but thank you, anyway, Wade!

Roller and Ice Skating

I have to admit, I really only remember this because there exists a photo, somewhere.  All I know is that I was playing at Natalie's house in the cul-de-sac, and it was time to come home.  I had roller skated there.  Usually mom would call her mom and tell me to go home, but this day was different.  Dad greeted me with his roller skates on-I didn't even know he had roller skates!-and escorted me home.  I never remember skating with my dad again.  How about next time I'm home, what do you say, Daddykins?

And speaking of roller skating, I have to remind you all (or at least the girls) of roller skating and ice-skating with mom. Wasn't it cool that she could skate backwards and help us work on our arabesques?  I felt like the Ice Capades might just snap her up any minute...

Preschool and babysitting Ramblings

When Mom and Dad moved to Logan, Mom didn't like the preschool selection available to us, so she started her own.  I guess I was in it, though I don't remember much about the day-to-day.  I remember some of the students.  I think Travis Rawlings was in it, and the Choate brothers...Sarah Anderson, though I think I remember most of these people from the few photos I've seen.  

Cut to:  Many years later when I started babysitting.  As a 11 or 12 year old overachiever, I wanted to be the most fun, creative, super-babysitter that ever was.  I created a "Babysitting Box" in Young Women's or somewhere, and though I had a few ideas of my own, I would beg mom for activities and crafts I could bring to entertain and wow the kids and out came the preschool supplies.  The thing I remember best was the shape story...about the city of shapes; circles, squares, rectangles, none of whom got along.  They all stayed with their own "kind".  'Til one day there was an accident of some sort and they began to work together to make all sorts of things with their shapes...it was basically a variation of the Sneetches.  I loved that story.  Mostly, though, that closet made me realize how creative our mom was.  She created a whole curriculum of learning activities.   I don't remember much about preschool but I'm pretty sure my mom was the best teacher ever.

Mom and Dad's anniversary

I don't remember mom and dad going out on dates all that much.  I mean, I wouldn't want to leave all seven of us with a poor babysitter, either...but as we got a little older, mom and dad would leave us with Wade in charge.  Somehow, that didn't always sit right with me.  Wade was a bully to me, and though I probably often deserved it by egging him on, he liked to pick on me and not in a fun, ends-in-a-ticklefight sort of way.  I remember mom specifically saying that Wade was the boss of the night and that if Wade asked me to physically drag my own bed into the middle of the street, I would have to do it.   What?!?

So I think it took me by surprise one year when Wade organized the troops to do a little presentation for mom and dad's anniversary.  I have no idea which one it was, though I'm sure Dad journaled about it, so it's probably not a fact lost in time.  It was silly, really.  We had nothing of note to give them.  Instead, we worked out who would say what.  As we presented our word and stepped to the side, one of us said "HAPPY", then "ANNIVERSARY", "TO MOM", "AND DAD!", after which Clay?  or was it Jackson? ran up from down the long hallway into their arms and repeated our brilliantly thought up words, "Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!" 

It may not seem like much, but it was memorable to me.

Childhood Play

When I remember my childhood, I often remember play.

I remember the red shag carpet in our basement that became deadly hot lava, and the couch cushion rafts that we would float on.

I remember playing “town”. And yes, I was a tease even there. I would usually end up the “robber” stealing the restaurant’s money and food, and daring them to do something about it…yikes!

I remember the dirt fields behind our house, and the bike riding and the “mountain climbing” and the wildlife safaris. I even remember one particularly exciting fort that we built after a builder left a deep hole out there. Some neighborhood kid brought some 4x8 boards over and we covered it over, and even put clumps of grass and weeds over it so that it blended in with the field. That was pretty cool, but it didn’t work very well in our war games because all it took is a few handfuls of dust down the hole, and it was an unbearable suffocating death trap.

I remember night games, and the epic steal the flag battles between Peter Blair and his hand picked army against me mine. Our boundaries were the entire block, and there were times when it felt like our tactical genius would have rivaled that of Napoleon. Looking back, I am guessing that for the most part, our steal the flag tactics were more like “run over there and try to get that flag…and don’t get touched”…but it really did feel like we were generals planning the invasion of Normandy.

I remember on day in particular:

I was playing with Star Wars action figures in some trees in front of our house (yes, trees used to be a major part of our yard before the great “tree holocaust” of recent years. I remember realizing in that perfect moment of play, that grown ups never played, and they didn’t have toys. I remember thinking that if there was ever a time when I didn’t want to sit under some trees and play with action figures…Well, frankly, if that ever happened, I wouldn’t want to live anymore.

Little did I realize at that time, that a riding lawn mower could be a toy for grown ups. DVD players, and computers, and iphones, and little HD video cameras…those were ALL toys. Thank goodness. Because without toys, who WOULD want to live any more?

A Christmas Memory

Okay, so I am writing this around Christmas time, so what kind of write-down-childhood-memories blog would be complete without a Christmas memory?

One of my earliest memories is absolutely obsessing about every day/hour/minute/second as Christmas approached. This was a default of a whole tapestry of Christmas that mom created in our house. I mean lets face it…our little kid brains were in excitement overload back then. I would sit at the advent calendar, counting the days left until Christmas every hour or so, as if in denial that it was “still 8 long days away”. I had back-up time keeping devices too…like the paper chains. Each day I would tear off a link. 8 links left on that too. So I made a chain with 5 links per day, so that I could see more progress per day. But then even that was not enough, so I started to cheat. I opened an extra window on the advent calendar, and I tore an extra few links off my chain, and then I innocently approached mom:

“So how many days is it until Christmas” I asked with all the dispassion I could muster.

“8 days left Wade” she replied with a smug confidence.

“Really,” come on! You can sell this buddy, “I think it is 7, that is what the calendar says.”

Anyway, you get the picture. I threw a desperate hail Mary to try to get her to hold Christmas a day early. I argued for a while, hoping that my feigned innocence would cause her to wonder if, in fact, she could be wrong. But alas, no luck, I had to close that dumb calendar window, and glue some junky replacement links on my dumb-bound-by-the-real-rotation-of-the-earth chain…and I had to wait….*sigh*. Maybe my sisters would like to eat some bullion cu—I mean “chocolate”. That should keep me busy for a while!

Labor Day

According to every source I could find, Labor Day is a holiday. Specifically, it is a day off for working citizens. For all of my class mates, Labor Day was a day of 4 wheeling, and boating. For me, it was a day of labor, literally. I don’t know why our beloved parents, in their infinite wisdom, decided to destroy a perfectly good holiday with back breaking labor, but that was the bleak world I knew as an oppressed 8 year old.

Now I was a very competent (and devious) 8 year old, so I decided to do something about it! I hatched a plan so perfect, that it HAD to work.

My dad had been a scout master for years. I knew he had a passion for backpacking, camping and hiking. I thought that if I could think of some truly epic hike…he might, just might be willing to make an exception for me (like I said, devious).

So there I was, in desperate need for inspiration, and I turned my eyes skyward to the mountains by our house. Cue the angelic choir! The mountain near our house has reflectors on it. I don’t know what kind. I think they are for TV signals, but the reflectors are huge, bigger than a house. Not only that, but the mountain seemed pretty huge too. If only I could convince them to let me go and hike up there. That would take me all day! But how? I was only 8! They would never let me go alone, and without their permission, my friends would not be able to go either…

So here is how it went down. I went to a dark room and called my friend Ben Wright.
“Hey Ben, do you want to go hike to the reflectors to day? My parents said it was okay as long as your parents said it was okay…okay, ask them, I will call you back” *click*
“Hey John (Kemp), do you want to go hike the reflectors today? My parents said it was okay as long as your parents said it was okay…okay, ask them, I will call you back” *click*
“Hey dad, is it okay if me and Ben and John (me, not I…I was only 8) hike up to the reflectors today? Ben and John’s parents both said it was okay with them as long as it was okay with you.”

And it worked perfectly. So here were three 8 year old kids, hiking straight up a really steep mountain, to climb on HUGE metal reflectors all alone, and hours away from medical help if one of us got hurt...

And it was wonderful. It took us hours to hike up, and we ate lunch at the top of the mountain, and it took us hours to get back…and we felt like we had begun the day as boys, but returned as men! Little 8 year old men!

My daughter is 7. I try to imagine her a year from now, and frankly, she could ask to walk around the block and I would have heartburn about it. WHAT WERE OUR PARENTS THINKING!

Whatever they were thinking, it made me a better person. Thanks for that.

A Christmas Tragedy

While we all enjoy the warm memories that the Christmas season inevitably produces, I'd like to call everyone's attention to a not-so-sweet memory that was born out of greed and selfishness one gloomy Christmas morn.

As is tradition in the Olsen household, the children of the house were quarantined either up or downstairs on Christmas Eve to prevent any interference with Santa Claus and his help. That evening produced little sleep and probably unhealthy amounts of anxiety for us kids as we prepared for what would undoubtedly be the greatest day of the year. We would play board games, harass the few party-poopers who were pretending to be asleep, and watch the clock with desperation as the moment of redemption - the Christmas present rush - crept slowly closer.

After literally hours of waiting, mom and dad finally woke up (they were such slackers on Christmas morning). Dad would set up the video camera, mom would ready the Christmas music (usually John Denver and the Muppets), and the grandparents would sit comfortably on the couch, never complaining about having to accommodate our ridiculously early morning schedule. We children would line up at the top (or bottom) of the stairs in order of age, the youngest being at the front of the line. We were literally shaking with anxiety. Christmas had finally come, and after 11 months and 29 days and 23 hours of waiting, we were on the brink of imploding.

Now, I was always a cool-headed fellow about these things. Cool-hand Jack, that's what they used to call me. But my siblings were a gaggle of uncontrollable Christmas zealots. On this particular Christmas morning, I remember Clay was especially eratic. As my mother yelled "GO!" I immediately felt the push of five older and stronger siblings at my back, all surging with adrenaline and hopped up on eggnog and the candy they had snuck from their gingerbread houses. While Clay foamed at the mouth, practically speaking in tongues, I tried with all the strength I could muster to prevent this hoard from consuming my poor younger sister who was at the edge of the stairs. But alas, my strength was insufficient, and I gave way to the running of the bulls. This in turn knocked my poor sister from her feet, causing her to tumble down the length of those unforgiving wooden stairs. The antique iron set that lined those stairs didn't help any as she fell like a ragdoll onto the hard floor of the entryway. As her brutal descent came to an end, I rushed to her, and cradling her head in my arms, cried out, "Why?! Gods of Christmas, whyyyyy?!"

Her fall was a tragic one, but perhaps the biggest tragedy of the day is that I - yes, Cool-hand Jack - was blamed for her bruises. My heart was already torn from my chest at the sight of my dear sister being victimized by the insanity of my siblings. And then, by placing fault on my head, my family stamped on my barely beating heart.

It was a dark cloud in the history books of Christmas, and from henceforth, we shall never speak of it again.

The Office

I always thought I was pretty cool when I could invite my friends to a pool party at dad's office! There was a slide, a diving board, soda, candy, and a jellybean-shaped pool. What more could a bunch of kids ask for? Even if it was just a family party, it was awesome. We would yell for mom or dad to watch as we did some amazing trick for the bazillionth time, and our voiced would echo loudly. I remember taking one day of swimming lessons there with Larry Jone's wife as the teacher. She had us blow bubbles through our noses with our faces in the water. That was enough for me. I wouldn't take another lesson (I didn't learn to swim until I was forced to in after school classes with Ms. Painter in the Municipool in the 6th or 7th grade...brutal). I much preferred getting around with a life jacket. Then, there was the time we all remember when mom jumped into the pool with her clothes on because of a dare/bet. It was awesome. It was really fun to swim there in the winter time because you could open the doors and the whole room would fog up until you could hardly see a thing.

Cleaning the office was such an ordeal for me! I remember going and "helping" mom do it back in the day. I think I mostly read magazines. Slowly, I was given more and more responsibility. Finally mom stopped coming all together. Us kids had to clean it all by ourselves. The task was enormous and took hours. Often we would sit in the kitchen and think of how we would divide up the cleaning. One proposal would get rejected after another until an hour had gone by and we had done nothing to show for it except drink a soda and eat crackers. It was pathetic. Somehow we managed to get it done, even with garbage juice in most of the bins from all the half empty soda cans that would get tossed in them. YUCK!

Grandparents

I've known from a very young age that my parent made the decision to move back to Logan so that their kids could develop relationship with their grandparents. I have always been grateful for that. Mom and dad succeeded, we all have good relationships with them. We have wonderful grandparents, and we know that because we grew up visiting them almost every single Sunday.

Sunday visits at grandparents were a lot of fun. They also exposed us to two very different ways of life. Grandma and Grandpa Kidd's house always had a quiet and calm type of atmosphere. They always spoke softly and lovingly. There was often classical music playing. There were games we could play (like checkers, Chinese checkers, Boggle, and Scrabble). There was the basement, too, where we could ride on that old exercise bike (oldest one in history) and jump on the mini trampoline. Grandma would usually make popcorn for us - buttered, with no salt (we could add that if we wanted to), and we would eat it out of those wooden bowls. Those of us who played the piano were often asked to play our latest pieces for everyone. When the weather was nice, we sit on the front porch. We loved to jump off of the cement on either side on the stairs and climb around the tiny cement ledge of her porch. We also loved to play in the backyard. There was a really fun swing-set that we had a great time on. There were always cats around as well. We loved going there!

Grandma B's house has changed a lot over the years. I remember when there were all kinds of cake-decorating things in the room just off of the kitchen (now a bathroom), and you used to be able to exit out of a side door there. I remember when there was a bedroom on the main floor on the southeast corner of the house. Then it was moved to include the fireplace on the southwest side of the house. Finally it was moved upstairs. No matter where it was, the home was always filled with sparkly and shiny things that made noise. It was an incredible place for a child to be. You could spend hours examining all of the trinkets. There were always plenty of sweets there. We used to eat peanuts on small wooden discs. There were usually crayons and coloring books there on the bookshelf to keep us busy. We loved going there, especially to spend the night. It was so fun to watch TV there and eat sugar cereal in the morning. I also loved going there to get warm with hot chocolate after skating at the park. Grandma had such spunk! She was a fighter. She loved to make crafts. And I'll always be grateful to her for paying our way in the American Legion Auxiliary for so many years.

Grandpa Webb died when I was 5. I only have a handful of memories of him. He would sit in his green velvet recliner with a TV tray nearby while he watched sports. He would often have to give himself shots, which was fascinating to me. I didn't mind because he'd let us play with the plastic parts (without the needle) afterward which made great squirt guns. He like to joke, and I can still distinctly remember feeling something on my head while I was standing in the kitchen and looking up to see Grandpa. He told me that it was a fly, but I knew better. I remember going to visit him in the hospital. It was pretty traumatic for me because he was shaking so much. I had drawn a picture for him, and when he reached for it, he shook badly. I felt very sorry for him. After he died we had the opportunity to go to the viewing. I remember being in the back of Linus, the blue station wagon parked on the south side of the tabernacle and I was incredibly tired. Mom and dad told me that this would be the last chance I would have to see Grandpa. I made the decision to stay and sleep, so I did. A few years later, I felt serious regret for having missed that opportunity. I felt like I had hurt Grandpa's feelings. I was so concerned about it that I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to tell him that I was sorry, and I immediately felt overwhelmed with love and knew that I was forgiven, if there was anything to forgive.

When Grandma remarried, I don't think any of us had any trouble warming up to Fory. They traveled a lot and always told us of their dancing trips together. They seemed like a great match for each other. I remember meeting him for the first time. He hugged us and pointed us in the direction of the cookie jar, and that's all we really needed to know! I always remember him being so good to Grandma. He was good to us, too. One time he said to one of us with a wink (I can't remember to whom, I just remember hearing about it), "Be good, and if you can't be good, be careful."

Pets

I really don't remember Freckles, although I've heard of her (her?). My pet memories really started with Jeffy. I remember being excited when Jeffy came home with mom and dad from the Jefferson Jackson Dinner. Jeffy was a cute dog at first. He grew and so did his hair. I'm sure that mom tried to get it cut often, but it always seemed to be hanging in front of his eyes (poor thing). I always liked it after he got a hair cut. He was a wild dog. As a child I was scared of him. I really tried not to be. I tried to take him on walks (but he ended up walking me). I hated it when he got loose because we all had to go looking for him. The only way to catch him was to get him by the collar and guide him home. But grabbing that collar was difficult and scary! I was nipped at on many occasions trying to do so. I remember sprinting from our backdoor to the back fence to get to church so that Jeffy wouldn't get me or escape. Even though I was scared of him and he was wild, I missed him when he died.

I remember other animals like turtles (stinky!) and frogs (that escaped), and a hamster, etc. Those animals were in and out of our lives quite quickly. It was Alexandia, the farm cat, that left a long lasting mark on the family during my younger years. She was always leaving us "gifts" on our porches from the dirt hills such as dead mice and birds. When she had her babies, Wade gave them cool names: DeVille (who was given to Scott Croft down the street), Jaguar, and Misha (who had an "M" on her forehead). Misha became the next family cat. She was a great cat. She was calm and would sit on your lap and purr as she gently (and not-so-gently) clawed at your leg. I think is was her baby that was my favorite cat of all time, Topaz. I loved Topaz, a beautiful kitten that loved car rides. I remember her curled up inside my jean jacket whenever we'd get in the car. Topaz disappeared one day, and we think it was because of a car.

I won't blog about Emily or Saige because I recently wrote them when Emily died.

Snow Mountain

There was a time when the snow plow in the church parking lot behind our house would put all of the snow into one corner. It would accumulate there into such a giant hill that was winter bliss for children. We would get bundled up and head out there for what seemed like hours. There were endless hills and slides just naturally occurring on it. Then we would add our own touches by building forts and actual tunnels to climb through. It was fabulous.

brothers and sisters

Sure, we all look innocent enough, now, but there was a time when...

Wade was a cool older brother. Despite all of his teasing and abuse, I always looked up to him. He was his own person. I credit him for my love of Simon and Garfunkel, The Doors, and hippy ways (like loving the earth and peace). He was mysterious. I mean, he played the tuba, for heaven's sake. No one could tell him what to do. Instead, he told us what to do. At his hand, I ate cocoa powder thinking it would be sweet, tasted crate paper expecting something yummy, bullion cubes (on more than one occasion) thinking it was chocolate, and I bit into tinfoil which sent me soaring because of the cavity in my mouth. I was so gullible, and Wade knew it. He also had names for all of his torture techniques like "poison breath" (he would hold you down and blow slowly in your face - mind you - he rarely brushed his teeth - and you would hold your breath as long as you could until finally gasping for air that reeked like nothing I can describe), "The calf-calfer" (where he would dig his fingers into your calf), and many more. He was also know to cut his finger nails to a point so that they could do more damage when they dug into your skin. Through these techniques, and just plain manipulative logic, he had us wrapped around his finger. While watching TV he would say things like: "who ever brings me a drink of water first won't get hit." This would send who ever was in the room racing to the kitchen. We all knew that he wanted one peice of ice with that, so it was a mad dash from the sink to the freezer, water flying everywhere as we rushed the drink back downstairs. Sure enough, who ever wasn't fast enough would get a dead arm. Yes, this is the guy in whose hands mom and dad left us sometimes. They gave him full power over us. "If he tells you to move you mattress into the street and sleep on it, you do it." Great. One time Wade had sent me to my room for some incredibly unjust (in my mind) reason. I was so upset that I climbed out my 2nd window for the 1st time (I say 1st because I became pretty good at it later on) and walked to the church where my mom was to tell her all about it. Years later, I remember Wade sincerely apoligizing for not always being the good big brother that he thought he should have been. He has certainly redeemed himself.

I think Mandy can agree with me that - sadly - we weren't very close growing up. When we were very young, I remember following her lead in house and that sort of thing, but as we got older, we grew apart. We had personalities that just clashed. I didn't feel I could confide in her. We fought a lot. I feel like we missed out on a lot together. I wish we could have been close. I remember quietly taking fashion and music tips from her. I really didn't know what to like or what was cool, so I watched her. I loved borrowing her clothes (even though she charged me $1 for every item), I loved listening to her music. I loved learning how to babysit from her, and becoming old enough to take some of her clients when she couldn't go. I loved getting her hand-me-downs. I loved her friends. They seemed so cool. I remember once when we were sitting down with our primary classes in sharing time, I looked at her class and thought about how cool it would be when I got old enough to be in that class with those friends. I figured out later - to my dismay - that I would be stuck with my same class for the long haul, never reaching the cool, older class of girls. I loved learning to sing by her side while mom played the piano. I loved pretending to be "Victoria Davenport" with her on a vacation. I have to give credit to Mandy who unexpectedly encouraged my to try our for cheerleader. I still don't know why she did that. She was the reason I decided to do it - against all logic I had in me. She even took she shopping to buy an outfit to try out in. I was very grateful to her. I remember that when mom heard I was going to try out, she responded by saying with a surprised voice, "Can you even yell?". The whole experience really helped me come out of my really very shy and insecure world. And although I am not particularly proud of the fact that I was a cheerleader now, I am grateful because I learned a lot from it all. I am SO glad that Mandy and I are close now. We really connected and built a meaningful relationship in Maryland. I felt like I was gaining a sister out there! It was wonderful.

Kristen was my shadow growing up. Most of the time I think I loved that (I didn't have a lot of friends), but sometimes she got on my nerves! I remember yelling at her to stop copy-catting me. I rememer runnung away from her and slamming the chain-link fence behind me, not knowing that it would smakc her in the face and make her mouth bleed. I felt pretty bad about that. We were pretty tight, but that meant that we knew how to push each other's buttons, too. She was a great little sister, very loyal. Even when I gave her "snake bites" (a torture technique of Wade's) and then begged her not to tell mom and dad because I was sorry. We did everything together. One of our favorite past-times was rearranging our bedroom. We would spend hours drawing out possible floor plans, discussing them, and then making one of them happen. Some of them were pretty ridiculous. We'd tape up the room into "my side" and "her side". One time I had to literally jump over her "side" to get in and out of the room because it was right in front of the door. We looked so much alike, too. Everyone got us confused, including dad. We were often mistaken for twins, and we didn't mind. On vacations we'd often say that we were twins. This is a side note, but I remember how closterphobic she was - and Wade loved that. I remember learning not to be closterphobic by watching her and the way that Wade took advantage of that. He loved to drive her to tears in sleeping bags, and his tuba case. I actually liked being in the tuba case. Another thing about Kristen was that she developed a habit of licking her fingers - all the time - because they were dry. They became chapped and red. We all remember the awesome finger-licking good performace that Kristen did in the Sunshine Generation. It was hilarious!

Clay was a funny little brother. I remember his contageous smile - which he wore all the time. Before he could smile, though, I remember going to see him in the hospital. I was only 5, but I remember because we were also there to see Grandpa Webb, after whom Clay got his middle name. Later on, Clay was always running around in a cowboy hat, a diaper, and cowboy boots. His curly yellow hair was so different from the rest of us. When he got older we would tease him that he must have been adpoted. He loved G.I. Joes. He loved playing. I remember that he had to use "Hooked on Phonics" because he just didn't care to learn how to read or anything. He was busy playing. He did have a serious side, though. When we would play "town*" together on Sunday after chuch, he would always want to be a businessman. He would set up his keyboard (that wasn't attached to anything, stay in his church clothes, and ... be a businessman. Now, in "town" each person did something - offered some sort of service for the others in the town. You could go to the restaurant and order food, or to the bank to get money, etc. So, we asked Clay, "What do you do?" and he would respond simply that he was a business man. "But what do you DO?" There was no real answer... just "business". I remember Clay always being totally normal sized for being such a premie. He did, however have to have a few operations, which were a pretty big deal in my mind.

Jackson was such a little man. He was born following the footsteps of his old man. He looked like him. I remember him being a pretty chubby baby, too. He was serious, but not too serious. He wanted to do things right, and often used a cute gruff voice. He worked hard and he played hard. He like wearing the same uniform as Clay did when he was young (cowboy hat and boots and a diaper). One memory I have of Jackson is him shoving his hand deep into Grandma B's cookie jar (after Grandpa Fory encouraged him), only to fill it so full that he couldn't get it out of the jar. Grandpa just told him to put some in his pockets, then get more. Jackson always seemed to be willing to try new things. I remember he used to let us older girls paint his fingernails and do his hair. He got a kick out of the silliness of it all. I would say that he was a good sport, but I also remember going to some of his baseball games where he was not as good of a sport as one might hope. He had a tendency to take sports very seriously and become very competitive. His competitive nature (often with his older brother, Clay) got him a long way. Another thing about Jackson was that he was really good at teasing Wade. I witnessed and learned through much experience the trickle-down effect of teasing.

Josie came into to this world doomed to be spoiled by 6 older sibling who would later resent her for it. Poor thing, she didn't have a chance. We really all did spoil her in the beginning. She was a sparkly child with bright eyes and curly hair. Everyone adored her! She was born with terrible teeth and had to have a lot of work on them. Mandy didn't care, though, she just loaded on the candy in order to maintain her "favorite sister" status that Josie would tell us all about with some frequency. I can remember Josie staggering around the livingroom walking like a drunk and running into walls after being drugged for the dentist one time. It was entertaining. Josie seemed to be just what mom ordered. A girl that loved to sew and all of the things that us other girls had failed to do. We were glad that Josie could fill that void for mom. We knew that she and mom had a special bond, unique from the rest of us, and that was okay. After a while I felt bad that Josie got picked on by us older siblings, and could see that she just wanted to belong (not like an annoying little sister) for real. She used to ask Kristen and I to talk with her like grown-ups - like we talked with each other. She wanted to be taken seriously so badly. But then she would also pull stunts like "annoying night", an evening of uncontrolled annoying energy that would be directed to tired me in frenzied fits of laughter and weirdness. It was pretty funny... and annoying :).

I LOVE YOU GUYS!

*Town was a big deal at out house just about every Sunday. We would rearrange and basically take over the entire house. It was a lot of work to set up an actual town in a livingroom. The usual options for occupation were banker (responsible for making and giving out money - and alway the richest one...hmmm), photographer (responsible for setting up photo shoots and then drawing them for the customer), and the restaurant owner (who had to hit mom up for some snacks to then serve as gormet dishes). And let's not forget the businessman! In my mind, Town was so much fun, a wonderful thing that we all did together.

Ahhh, the open road...

I don't know how mom and dad managed to haul a bunch of kids across the country (or state) year after year. It must have been stressful and difficult, but we wouldn't have known it (except, perhaps, for dad's bad mood that would creep up when it was time to leave - yikes!). We went to Tijuana where I smelled people and places that smelled like urine for the first time. I remember feeling sorry for them and buying chiclets from the children (who were very persistent). We went to Las Vegas where I was wowed by an actual place called Circus Circus! It sounded like heaven and smelled like cigarettes. We went to Nauvoo - barely, because Shamu struggled. I got introduced to KOAs, which I loved, on that trip. We went to Sea World, visited Aunt Charlene, and other distant relatives, Disneland, and so many places, but this entry is more about the journey...

I remember packing up my backpack with essentials, and helping bring things to the car. At first we were in Linus, the blue station wagon. Later on, we would switch to Shamu, the giant SUV. It was then that we used a car top carrier, the front of which was always disgustingly covered with dead bugs from the drive. Dad would swing one of us up onto the car so that could unlatch the carrier, and help pack everyone's stuff inside. This was often done at very early hours of the morning so that we could make good time on the drive.

Mom and dad kept things interesting in the car. One of my favorite things was getting into the car and looking inside my "pocket". This was an ingenious invention of moms that was made of a bath towel. She sewed large pockets onto the towel and hung from the backs of the rows of seats in the car. Each child had their name on a pocket (this not only said which pocket was yours, but also helped us not fight over where to sit - you just sat in front of your pocket). The pockets were filled with treats, snacks, and fun things to do (notepads, little travel games, stickers, etc.) They were often restocked along the way, too! They provided hours of fun.

There was also the lottery-type game where mom and dad would write numbers that were assigned to each child on the wheel of the car, and whenever we stopped, who ever's name was on top got a candy bar. Can you believe that mom and dad were teaching us to gamble!? Also, when we had to stop at a gas station, dad would usually spring for everyone to pick out one treat. Heaven.

While we were driving we would often listen to a book (either read by mom, or on tape). When that wasn't happening, we were painfully (then) flooded with the old fashion sounds of John Denver and the like (Neil Diamond, etc.). It was brutal! We whined and complained and teased our parents about their poor taste in music. Things got rough when we started playing games like "slug bug". We would inevitably end up with a dead arm because Wade had a way of changing the rules in his favor, plus, he hit a lot harder than any of us.

There were also many hours spent sleeping. Mom would sleep in the passenger seat with mouth hanging open. Dad would dose while driving, and who ever sat behind him had to massage his neck or pull his hair...anything to keep his eyes open. Others in the car would cram jackets against doors, or just sleep on the shoulder of the person next to them. Back in the day (before seatbelts were mandated by law), we would actually make little beds on the floors of the car with a pillow and a blanket. It was never incredible comfortable, but it worked. There was something magical about being cramped in a car with the anticipation of a cool destination in mind.

Sweets for the...not-so sweet (and sneaky!)

Candy. I have such an addiction to it. I love it - always have. As a child, it was such a luxury to get candy, because we just didn't get it very often (or at least, not as often as we wanted, nay, NEEDED it, which was all the time). Mom fought an impressive battle trying to keep us away from sugar (spraying the holiday candy dishes with hairspray, etc.). She was pretty good at hiding all things sweet, but we were insane for sugar, and developed a type of sugar-radar (a radar that I now see, to a much for powerful, acute, and crazy degree in my own 3 year old daughter, go figure). We learned to scour the house for sugar. We learned all of the usually hiding places: above the mirror on mom's dresser, in mom and dad's closet, in dad's sock drawer, mom's underwear drawer, behind things in the highest shelf of the tallest cupboards, etc. Then there was the freezer. Heh, heh, there wasn't much mom could do about ice cream in the freezer. We became pretty fast at grabbing a spoon, digging out a quick but scrumptious spoonful of ice cream, and gobbling it up before anyone could notice. I remember seeing Wade do it once, and I was amazed. My first instinct was to tell on him, but it was so brilliant, that I just followed suit.

When mom had the locked cupboard installed for the candy, we immediately worked on picking the lock, just lick we did with the lock that mom and dad put on the TV. That was was easy to pick. When mom and dad were out, we'd pick the lock, and we'd take turns standing guard to watch for their car. When we heard it coming, we'd quickly replace the lock and look like we were cleaning up the house or something. Anyway, back to the candy. The locked cupboard was harder to pick, but not impossible. I know Wade figured it out. When we couldn't get actual, conventional candy, we would get creative. We sprinkled straight sugar onto buttered toast (cinnamon sugar was preferred, but we weren't picky), we'd shovel spoonfuls of dry hot cocoa mix into our mouths (something I've been caught doing as an adult. Adam thinks it's disgusting, but sugar is sugar), and do just about anything to get a sugar fix.

Looking back I'm sure we were the kids who other parents had to worry about when we came over. I remember once going over to my friends Sally Steven's house. Right there in the living room was a bowl of candy. I was fixated with it. I couldn't believe that we didn't just sit down and devour it. I was only holding myself back because she might think I was weird if I ate some. How was it possible that she didn't want any - or even seem to notice that it was there?!? I know I managed to sneak some of the candy without her knowing it. Later on at her house we decided ice cream sounded yummy (I don't remember whose idea it was, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I put us up to it). So, with no hesitation, she just went to the freezer and got some, bowls and all, no sneaking! I was nervous. We could get in serious trouble. When her mom came in the room, however, it was no big deal. Smiles all around. I felt like I was in some kind of alternative reality. Wow!

I remember us Olsen kids would go nuts eating cookies and other sweets at missionary homecomings or farewells. I admit that I would eat more than normal amounts of sugar when I babysat at other people's houses whose pantries were loaded with good stuff. We also LOVED visiting grandparents because it usually meant that we would get something sweet, especially at Grandma B's house - what a fabulous cookie jar she had!
Now if you'll excuse me...I need to feed my sweet teeth.

Lessons (2, that is)

The rule for lessons, as I recall, was that we could take two at a time. There were times when I thought my parents were limiting my options by only letting me choose two lessons to take. Now that I know how expensive they are, and think about the amount of kids there were paying for, I think that two lessons was generous! Also, it helped up narrow our focus and learn to stick to things.

Soccer didn't count as one of the two, thankfully! I loved playing soccer, even though I was never great at it. I almost always played defender and could often be caught doing handstands near the goal. I can still hear dad yelling "atta girl, Hol!" from the sidelines. I loved the yellow and blue uniforms, traveling to play against places like Lewiston and Paradise (that seemed to be hours away), and the half time food (usually orange slices and water, and sometimes hot chocolate when it got really cold... and it could get cold). There was one time when, for some reason, I was playing midfield, and the ball came to me. I dribbled to the goal, and was getting too fast to control the ball. My dad was watching. This was my big chance to score a goal (I never had...or did). I gave it my all and kicked it hard, only to have it shot back in my face (more specifically my nose) by the other player. The blood came quick, and I was subbed out. Never again would I come so close to a long-shot dream of scoring.

My official two lessons were piano and gymnastics. Through the years I grew to hate the one and love the other. I am still the only person I know who was fired by their piano teacher. I didn't mind piano at first, but the strict half hour practice a day rule really wore me down. I would stall and stall and piddle, and whine, and do backbends over the piano bench, and pretty much anything else I could think of to avoid practicing. It was rough, and there was no getting around it. At first, I thought there was a way out, but mom kept changing the rules (I could quit after: I had taken for four years, or I reached middle school and chose a different instrument, or after I could play hymns - all of them???,...). The bottom line it that I never was allowed to quit... which is probably why I got fired. It was a tender mercy on the part of Mrs. Harding, I'm sure, but on the way home from her house I cried. I was torn. On the one hand, what a relief! On the other hand, it was humiliating. She was a little mean about firing me (I'm sure she was really fed up with my lack of progress week after week). And what would mom say? I know she was very disappointed, and to this day feels cheated for pushing me and paying for years and years of piano lessons on my behalf with very little to show for it. What can I say? I'm sorry. It was just not my thing.

Gymnastics on the other hand, was my thing. Even though I can admit that I wasn't incredibly good that that either. I was always the oldest and biggest in my classes (all of the girls my age moved up a lot fasted that I did). I wasn't in denial about that. The important thing is that I really loved it. I loved being in shape and having a six-pack. I loved my teachers and classmates. I was painfully shy in middle school, and gymnastics was my safe haven, my refuge from the social nightmare that was middle school. I felt good about myself there (at all of the places around town that I took). It made me very disciplined, and required a good grade point average at school. I liked going to meets for competition, but I never really liked competition itself. I almost always cracked under pressure, especially on the beam. As puberty hit (or didn't hit, depending on how you looked at it), I liked leotards less and less, but that is another story. :) For a long time I really dreamed of being in the olymics. When I realized that I was way too old, and way not talented enough, I dreamed of being on the Aggie gymnastics team... oh well. You all know where my gymnastics ultimately led me... *sigh* ... GO GRIZZLIES!!! WOO-HOOOO!!!

Dirt hills, night games, and sleepovers...

We grew up in an awesome neighborhood. What kids could ask for more than a nearby tree-hut, the dirt hills in our backyard, a trampoline that all the other kids wanted to jump on (and the rules were that they always could, but not with shoes on, 5 kids at a time, and not on Sundays), and a ritual of amazing night-games? It was fabulous!

I really appreciated being able to roam the streets as I pleased. Most of my friends live within walking distance - I just needed to be home for meals. Mom and dad were also amazingly cool about letting my walk long distances (to granparents houses, home from Logana, etc.). As a mom, I have mixed feeling about letting my daughters do that... we'll see.

Sometimes we got to have sleepovers! Oh, these were coveted events. There were only certain weekends that qualified for friend sleepovers, and then you have to wait your turn with all of the siblings. Sleepovers at our house, for each child, were few and far between (although I'm sure my parents felt like we had them ALL the time). Unlucky enough for me, it seemed like whenever my sleepover turn finally rolled around, my friend (Jamie John, in this case) would decide around 11:00pm that she wanted to go home for some reason. When that happened, I knew I was doomed. There was no way I could convey to this poor forlorn and homesick friend that by leaving, she was selling me short of my long-awaited sleepover fun which was supposed to last until at least 10am the next morning, and that the opportunity wouldn't come around again for another eternity!!! She as ruining everything!!! (Sigh) Oh well.

I remember at night we would take turns asking the neighbors if we could play night games in their yard. No one liked asking them, but we sure like using their yard because it had a small hill in the front yard that was ideal for "King of Bunker Hill" and "Kick the Can". And then there was "Steal the Flag", everyone's game of choice, so long as both Wade and Peter Blair were around to be team captains. I had every square foot of the block memorized. I could be so sneaky, army-crawling across the road in front of our house to get near the enemy flag. I liked going for the flag so much bettr than being a decoy ot the front line. Ahhh, those were good times. Then the bell would ring - literally - and the Olsen kids knew it was time to some in.

I have so many memories in the dirt hills, I can't possibly list them all. I will say that I recall watching glorious sunsets from our house before the church was built. I remember sledding in the hills, walking through them to get to school (while being attacked my millions of grasshoppers!), buryung dead animals that we found there, biking, and discovering dinosaur bones (I swear, they were real, but when we told Joseph Kemp about them, he "put them to the test" by hitting them with a hammer" I was annoyed because I was pretty sure that real bones would break if you hit them with a hammer, so Joe didn't prove anything. All he did was shatter my dreams of making a famous discovery!). Sometimes we moved on to where the big guys played - the gravel pit. I was certain that there were magical powers to be tapped there. I would spend hours and hours there, exploring, imagining, playing, thinking. It was wonderful.

Reaching out to the Community

One of the things that I am most grateful for from my childhood is that I learned the value and importance of community involvement. Mom made it a point in her life to volunteer at a variety of places - WITH her children! I love that. I have numerous fond memories of playing at the Historical Farm and the Sunshine Terrace. I also remember being involved in the March of Dimes, and the Daffodil drive for Cancer.

Whenever if was time to go to the Historical Farm, we would go choose the time-appropriate clothing that we wanted to wear that day (mom had a large collection of pioneer-type clothes from bonnets to shoes). I seem to remember it taking a while to get ready to go. Mom would put her hair in a bun, we would get braids. When we were ready we drove out there to the familiar faces of other volunteer friends like Connie and Sven. Connie was always making rugs and Sven looked after the animals (at least that's what I remember). I had so much fun on the farm. I liked walking from one building to the next. I liked when visitors asked to take my picture. I loved the smells of molasses cookies that came from the old fashioned kitchen where mom was. I LOVED climbing up to the straw bed and imaging sleeping there (I'd also sing John Denver's, "Grandma's Feather Bed"). I loved looking at the pigs, geese, and other animals there. It was amazing.

I learned a lot from our days at the Sunshine Terrace (there is such irony in that name). I learned tolerance. I never liked the smell of that place. It was always pretty strong at first, but I knew that if I just tried to ignore it, I would get used to it. When I did, I would be surrounded by wrinkly faces of other peoples grandparents. I think that the experiences were so valuable because as a young child, I didn't mind doing it. I learned to care for and feel sorry for the old and the lonely. Some of those old and lonely didn't like us very much. We knew which ones to avoid (Like the lade who told me to leave the piano alone if I didn't know what to do with it after I played my much-practiced recital piece for everyone... I think it was during a little Christmas performance that we put on with the Nativity and everything). But there were others who were glad to see us. I remember Luisa, a cheerful and kind woman. She would always tell me that she was 90, or 92, or whichever age she felt like being at that time. I knew she had lost track. When she died I was not traumatized. I knew it was coming - for all of them. But I missed her because I had grown to love her. I also remember Wally, and when he died. Alzheimer's is a terrible affliction. I'm glad that I had the chance to learn and grow there.

There was always that time of year when mom would become consumed with daffodils. She made many phone calls, kept logs of requests, sales, and whatever else. Then when they came, we would be smothered in almost-blooming flowers until we made the many deliveries to people who had purchased them. I know it was stressful for mom. I was always aware and impressed that she seemed to increase the sales and money for the cancer organization each year. I know she was good at what she did.

Camping and hiking

Between the unique camp-outs with dad, and mom's ingenious camping ideas, I really don't know where to being. I don't remember the first time I ever went camping, because we were camping as a family before my memories began. It was just something we always did, and I loved it! I loved the freedom, as a child, of roaming and exploring the seemingly vast expanses of wilderness near our campgrounds. I loved making huts in the brush. I loved listening to the nearby river, especially at night in my tent or under the stars (perhaps because during the day the river was drowned out by the sounds of John Denver from dad's battery powered tape player). I didn't mind the bug spray (it has always been better than the alternative), and I actually like the campfire smoke smell. I remember having french braids so that I woundn't have to worry about doing or washing my hair. I loved lying in the hammock, collecting treasures, and letting my imagination run wild in the mountains. What a gift it was to grow up near the canyon in a family that took advantage of that!
I remember the lengths that mom would go to to make our experiences there fun. She always brought games and crafts if we ever got bored or exploring. She thought of everything. She was an expert camper. The meals were always delicious. Her kitchen was baffling. It seemed like she really did bring everything but the kitchen sink. It was impressive. I love that she was such a camper, and I remember that it made her think about being a pioneer. She would have been an excellent pioneer.
I remember always wanting to be tough for dad. He was tough, and (in my mind) expected the rest of us to be tough, too, especially in situations like camping. This means that I tried not to complain too much, I tried to help out where I could, I tried not to be too tired on a hike, etc. Although I may not have fooled him, I at least made efforts in the general direction of toughness.
I loved going camping with just dad and sometimes with one or two sibling. I actually only have vivid memories of one such occasion in Green Canyon near a cave with a tiny opening at the top. It was on that trip that dad taught me that peeing would actually help me be warm.
I can't finish this blog without mention of our annual hikes to the reflectors. I always looked forward to that hike! It was steep and treacherous, but awesome! None of my friends could say that they had stood on top of the reflectors! I was cool for having gone there, and for knowing the way all by myself: up, naturally. I love that mom and dad let us get on top of them. How dangerous! But we were so experienced (ahem) that our parent didn't doubt our skills.
Ahhh, good times. They really solidified my love for mountains, nature, family, camping, hiking, and the environment in general.

"Democrat born..."

"Democrat born, democrat bred, and when I die, I'll be democrat dead." That is what the old cross-stitch said. I remember reading it on the wall of our living room wall when I was young and wondering about it.
A couple of years ago, one of my professors asked me to write about my "personal culture". I quote from that assignment: "Being raised in this country I was taught to place my hand over my heart for the flag, pledge of allegiance, and the Star Spangled Banner. I vividly recall attending assemblies in grade school where I was taught that the United States was a great nation (the best), and that I should be very proud to be a part of it, that I should have great respect for it. [...] I grew up very accustomed to a bipartisan democracy. [...] Growing up in this country has helped me to see the value of freedom, individuality, hard work, and many other ideals. [...] On the 4th of July, my parents would decorate their backyard in red, white, and blue all over the place. One could hear my dad's collection of national music (songs like I'm proud to be an American) blasting from the outdoor speakers. My family and invited guests would all gather for an old fashion barbecue as we waited for the sun to go down and for the fireworks at the stadium to begin. We used to have a great view of the fireworks from my backyard, but new houses and trees have gone up, so they are hard to see now. We used to climb onto the roof of the nearby church to get a better look."
I have many fond memories of riding on lonely (though I didn't know they were lonely at the time) democrat floats. I would practice my wave, try to eat more candy than I would throw, and look forward to Popsicles at the end. Those were good times. I didn't know any other kids who got to be IN the parades!
I remember becoming acutely aware of how strange it was to be a democrat in Logan. It was in the 5th grade when the presidential elections were upon us. The school decided to have an election. I was one of only 2 (TWO) children in the school to vote democrat. One of my friends came up to me... for her sake I'll just call her M. Poole ;)... and said something to the effect that I only voted democrat because of my dad. While that was true, I'm sure, I recall thinking that she was doing the same thing by voting republican... and so it began... my life as a liberal.