FLASHBACK FRIDAY--The Sandpile!

When we moved into our new home on South Main in 1957, one of the first things built was a sandbox, known by all as the sandpile. There was a fence on one side, cinderblocks on the next, a board on another, and finally the driveway edging the last side.

My dad took the old Chevy pick-up every spring to an area in St. John called Sand Ridge, and loaded it with sand from side of the road. This stuff was great to mound into hills and dig tunnels throughout. It packed really well and was different than any sand I have ever seen. It was as much clay as it was sand.

We spent hours playing. We had Matchbox cars, tractors and apparently airplanes that went from the top of the mountain to the bottom, in and out of tunnels and over bumps and valleys. This picture is of Marvin, our next-door neighbor Kim Crowther, and me. I have no idea whose dog is taking a nap in the middle of our play area. It is not ours.

Every spring we would buy new plastic buckets and shovels along with my favorite, a sifter. I could make that sand feel like soft flour. I can still feel and see that brown sand in my fingernails. I NEVER had clean fingernails growing up.

Once in a great while, mom would give us permission to flood the sandpile with the hose. This was a treat beyond words. We spent the day preparing the sand by creating flood gates, ditches, canals and a large reservoir. What a treat to watch it all work perfectly. Mom hated the mess we tracked into the back door and into her kitchen.The water also ruined the sand, so this great day was usually in the fall just before the snow fell. The sand would be ruined anyway.

One of the more memorable memories is the cat doo doo we would bump into as we dug or made tunnels. All of a sudden a hand or shovel would hit a sandy lump that was stinky. We simply threw it over the fence, kept on playing, and didn't think a thing of it. It happened often. YUK! We didn't even use Purell.

When Marvin went to first grade (there was no kindergarten in those days), I was home alone. Mom had the baby (Tim) and I had the sandpile. It became my best friend. About 2 days after school started mom received a panicked phone call from the elementary. They had lost Donny Chivers, a neighbor Marvin's age. They asked if mom had seen him. Of course, she answered "No." Then the idea hit. She looked and asked me to go look in the sandpile to see if anyone was there. I was four years old. Donny had been found. He had walked the mile and half from the school straight to the sandpile. Heck, that was more fun than sitting in school any day.

A Historical Day--Mondays with Jack, Part 1

Jack gets to be with Grandma and PopPop every Monday. All three of us look forward to Monday as our favorite day of the week. Today is one of the most important days in Jack's life—the first day of school.

I pick him up in the morning from Jaker's where Kristin is managing. First on the agenda is a haircut. Angie at the Hair Company cuts his hair.

Wow, the kid looks great!

Then off to Linden Park Elementary at 11:30 am.

We are the first ones to arrive at Mrs. Page's room. Jack finds his name and takes his seat.

Then Kristin arrives.

I am ready to leave when I notice three grandmas sitting in the back of the room. Grateful for small miracles, I join the grandma section. One can recognize the "grandmas" because we do not have nervous smiles as we pull cameras from huge ugly purses and begin taking gadzillions of pictures.

This is Mrs. Page. She has taught kindergarten for 12 years. My first impression: Impressive, professional, no-nonsense, organized, warm, disciplinarian, enjoys kids, and Jack is going to have the most fantastic experience ever. Phew!

IT'S A SMALL WORLD

I love coincidences.

• The principal, Mr. Wagner, was Kristin's principal in fifth grade when we moved into our new home. Of course, he remembers her and they have a nice reunion.


• The teacher next door to the right is Kristin's favorite ISU professor, Mrs. Lowinski. They have a warm, friendly reunion.


• The teacher next door to the left is Annette Scott. Annette is married to Neal Scott (Jon and I went to Malad High with him). He was our bishop in Cloverdale. Annette gives Kristin a big hug.
  
• Jack's teacher is married to one of my favorite principals that I worked with for 12 years.

Jack will be watched over, I'm sure.

After a few rules and introductions, Jack joins four others at his first learning center. Today was Play dough. What a blast.

Finally it is story time. As Mrs. Page introduces the book "The Three Billy Goats Gruff," Jack's hand flies up. I am happy for two things: First, he knows not to talk out loud, but to raise his hand. Second, he is not afraid to speak.

What did he say: "I've already heard this story."

Oh man, this is on the list of 10 least favorite things teachers want to hear. But Jack said it so cutely that I'm sure no one cared. Of course, the next time his hand goes up, the teacher wisely ignores him. The right hand goes up, and then the left. I smile.

Kindergarten is looking to be a wonderful year!

And the best part of the day? When we drive over the river and through the woods to McDonald's on the way home to Grandma's where we play Star Wars and light sabers the rest of the day.

FLASHBACK FRIDAY-- Before kids!!!

Jon and I lived on the ranch outside of Snowville, Utah when we first got married. I loved it!

This picture was taken a year after we were married. The hat is Jon's. If he was on the old crawler tractor he needed it to keep the sun off his neck.

I would take a cooked meal to him in the fields. His dad would drive me up and jump on the tractor or combine while Jon ate. Then it was back to work. Jon stayed on the tractor while his dad did other things around the ranch or in another field on a different tractor. It was amazing how much two men could accomplish in one day.

On this particular day we stopped for his dad to take our picture. While going back to the truck a rattlesnake slithered by. Jon's dad finally shovel-killed it under the tire of the truck--right by MY DOOR. That is not a good memory. I never had to kill a rattlesnake, but I saw my fair share of them.

And if you ever sawed it, you would say IT BLOWS

YES, Christmas in August.

I have been transfering my videos from my camera phone to the computer. This is my favorite one(s) that I captured taken last Christmas time(2007).

Sorry it is in four sections but the old camera phone only takes short clips. I lost a few of Jack's words each time I reclicked the phone.

Enjoy:

FIRST Friday Flashback 8/8/08

My favorite blog readings are Lydia's Flashback Fridays. They make me smile, laugh, and sometimes relieved that I didn't know what she was up to while growing up. All in all, it is something I look forward to every week.

With that, I think I shall begin my own Friday Flashback. There is no significance with starting with this picture. I found it easily so here goes:

I have no idea how old I was here. I had the same hairdo from age 3 when I got hair to 5th grade when I got a "new do." I still have this same haircut. But back to the fish...

My brothers caught these. When they went back to work after their fishing lunch hour, mom grabbed them and the camera and took my picture. I think it is funny.

All the Thomas kids fished. My first memory was at 4 years old. My parents had just built the new house on South Main in 1957. Having hardwood floors throughout, my mom bought a huge rug for the living room. It came rolled up on a bamboo pole. My dad simply cut it in half and that was mine and Marvin's first fishing poles.

We headed to Weston Reservoir (up Deep Creek Canyon). My dad, David and Dennis all had real poles with real reels. Our bamboo pole was tied with string of fishing line and a hook complete with a worm.

Being four and five years old, my dad simply told Marv and I if we caught a fish we should run up the hill. We must have been in a hole of perch because we ran up that hill a lot. I remember my dad not being able to cast his own pole into the water. He was too busy taking fish off our lines and re-worming my hook.

Our favorite fishing holes were Crowther's (until Danny K Evans drown while swimming with my cousin Griff Davis--then it was off limits), Deep Creek (until someone saw a rattlesnake up there) and Kid's Pond in St. John, especially the back waters. I learned to kill and clean my own fish. Never did like to eat them, however. My Grandma Peterson ate all the fish I caught and brought home during my fishing career (about 2).