Exhibit K: Summer School

The summers of your youth were filled with unfettered freedom, right?  You did a few chores, sure, but mostly you were playing baseball or at the pool or at some summer camp or water skiing.  I dreamed of water skiing.  Until I actually tried it when I was 24.  I couldn’t stand up, so I basically got a lake water enema.  Dreamy.  But most people dream of the idyllic liberty of their childhood summers.  Not me.                                   

Me, thrilled about summer.

                As soon as school let out for summer was when our lessons began.  Yep, school all summer long.  We were all taught an instrument.  A useful skill to be sure.  Slugweirta had a big black leather box of different random instruments.  Like maracas and tambourines.  She had several hand held drums and a few magnificent sets of xylophones.  And a random animal horn that we hit with a mallet.  I’m sure the noise we made could be heard for miles. 

                Next we practiced calligraphy.  That’s right, calligraphy.  Ink, quill, fancy flowers on letters, calligraphy.  In a world that largely communicates via text, this has become a lost art.

Standard Wedding Invite 2015

 

                We were required to memorize all our math facts up to twelve, we were tested with flash cards.  If we couldn’t do the whole deck in 3 minutes, we had to do extra worksheets.  Slugweirta also gave us math workbooks for the next grade, so we would be one grade level ahead at the start of the school year.  I’m not complaining, this has truly come in handy and is the one thing I wish I could pass on to my kids.   Well that and my astonishing cow bell skills.   However, they are very resistant.

                Lastly we had to give book reports.  One book a week.  When was the last time you read 12 books in a summer?  I love to read.  But required reading is something else.  Every Saturday we would go to the library and check out the books we were going to read.  The next Friday afternoon, we would get up and tell everyone about what we learned from our books.  If you couldn’t find an acceptable book, my mom or dad would assign you one.  Because of this, by the time I was thirteen, I had read Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings Series, Watership Down, Ender’s Game, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden, The Bell Jar, To Kill a Mockingbird, Dune, Wuthering Heights, A Tale of Two Cities, Asimov’s Foundation and A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.  I’ll let you guess which parent assigned which books.  As a side note, last week I took a Facebook quiz that claimed the BBC figures most Americans had read 6 books on their list of 100.  I have read 42 of them.  So at least I’m not an average American as defined by the BBC.  I guess my parents would be thrilled, not by the number of books, but by the fact that I can’t call myself normal.  One week, in an act of defiance (I was attempting to bore them into banning book reports (my fear of breaking the rules really thwarts my acts of rebellion)) I selected the A Encyclopedia.  Yes, I read the entire thing.  It took me two weeks.  No, they did not ban book reports.  It was worth a shot.

Exhibit J: Our Pets

The weirdest thing about our pets is the alarming number of them.  My parents probably spend more money on animal food than human food.  Mostly because they grow their human food.  Both my parents seem to have an uncontrollable urge to feed and house any living thing that needs it.  Luckily that includes humans.  If you need a roof over your head, they'll find space for you be you Homo Sapien or feline.  You may not care for your three roommates of various species, but you'll be warm and dry.  And dewormed.   
As long as I can recall we've had cats, a dog and a fish tank.  I think this started as an effort to teach the kids responsibility, but it soon became clear who was boss.  Grootie.  She belonged to my grandmother who lived with us.  Grandma K. had two cats, Faust and Grootie, both as black as midnight.  At that same time we also had a dog named Willie (a girl) and we acquired a cat which was named Arafel.  Yeah, I don't know where that name came from either.  I'm just glad they decided to name me after my grandmother.  And a tank full of goldfish.  4 kids + 3 adults + 3 cats + 1 dog + 5 fish.  16.  Easily the fewest number of creatures that have ever lived in my parents home at one time.  This is what I remember about those pets.  Grootie liked you if you pet her, otherwise she wanted nothing to do with you.  Willie had some puppies that she deserted somewhere and we never found (at least not that I know of).  One of the goldfish hopped out of the tank and dried to the wall while we were on a trip.  Arafel was the mother of many of our subsequent cats.  She had one litter under our shed where a skunk lived.  Bad choice.  She lost that fight and we had to wash baby kittens in tomato juice.  More than once I had to bottle feed baby kittens, it is not as cute as it sounds.

Ok, maybe it is.

From her first batch of kittens we all picked a kitten of our own.  Mine was a yellow tabby named Mustard.  The last cat I voluntarily owned.  Nana picked a black one with white paws named Mittens, who would claw your feet through the crack under her bedroom door if you got too close.  Beadle got two gray tabbies, Melanie and Stripes.  And Pooker got the calico, I can't remember its name.  After Willie we had a dog named Katrina.  She was part wolf.  We got the educational hamsters that I was meant to learn about the birds and the bees (and cannibalism) from.  Incidentally, we once left one in an exercise ball overnight, my mom woke up to weird sounds and assumed it was an intruder, she attacked it with a handy fencing foil she had nearby.
I decided I loved parakeets, I went through several.  Including one, a bright yellow bird named Goldenrod (in retrospect that's a bad name for anything, even a flower) that I took the phrase "if you love something let it go..etc"  to heart and freed him.  He never came back.  And it is unlikely he survived the Utah snows.  My favorite parakeet, Marbles, was eaten by an unnamed cat while we were in Payson one summer.  One parakeet got shut in the door, my mom tried to resuscitate him with CPR.  It didn't work.  Around this time Pooker had a turtle.  That Katrina tried to eat.  Unsuccessfully.  Still, he was never himself again after the attack.  The hamsters multiplied, the cats multiplied, the fish multiplied, and I remained blissfully oblivious to their methods. 
When Katrina died, after my dad took her off in the woods to return the earth (he always felt and still does that that is where they feel the most at home, and where they belong when they die (I'm not entirely sure about the legality of this, but he's never let that stop him.))  He has also, more than once, expressed a desire to be handled the same way when his time comes (I AM pretty sure about the legality of that.) We got two dogs, Jessie and Kaio.  I foolishly named Jessie after a girl at school who I really wanted to be friends with.  Somehow naming a dog after her did not have the flattering impact on her that I had imagined.  Weird.
Mika was my dad's first service dog, followed by Songka, who is still pretty new. 
About the time we got Mika we had many cats (probably more than 20) which my parents actively vaccinated and medicated and fed and fixed.  By this time I knew that meant they shouldn't still be multiplying.  We had a rescued iguana who was the meanest lizard I've ever met.  He was also five feet long.  And countless fish. 
Now there are fewer cats.  Like fifteen.  Most of them are half wild and will hiss if you come near.   Many are missing tails or are otherwise too mangy to be loveable.  Two dogs.  And an unnumbered amount of fish.  And six humans. 

This is what happens when your heart is too big to say no.  You end up deworming wild cats when you meet your son-in-law to be for the first time.   Also, some people may begin to suspect that you may be too mangy to be loveable. 

Exhibit I: My Dad

I meant to do this for Father's Day, but here I am writing this two weeks too late when I should be doing the dishes.  My Dad is a bizarre human being.  He says he's sort of a redneck hippie.  Which is such an incongruent phrase I can't quite wrap my brain around it.  I thought I'd list his top five eccentricities, so I can save the rest for later.  We'll see how I do.
Number One:  Ha, ha, I'm sitting here blankly trying to decide which is the most unusual.  These are in no particular order then, to make it easier for me. The way he greets and responds to greetings.  Often he will just say "greetings"  I always think "earthling" in my head afterwards.  Occasionally "salutations".  He has various amusing responses to "how are you?" like "fair to middlin'"  or "sixes" or the more literal "you'd have to ask my parents" (Um. No.) or "13.8 billion years ago there was a singularity".  If you ask how he feels it's often "slightly squashy".  I can't remember even once saying, "how are you?" and him saying "fine".   He almost never responds to a question in the way you'd expect.  I guess I can respect that level of non-conformity to social norms.  I just wish that it only went as far as how he says hello.  Instead of permeating every layer of his social, emotional and cultural behavior.
Number Two: Conspiracies.  I don't really have a place to begin with this and he will probably read this and go "what conspiracies?" that's because they are all fact to him.  But he once told me that the government puts trans-fats in everything to keep us unhealthy.  Or he'll get irked if I wear a shirt with a logo on it because that's free advertising, I suppose that's not really a conspiracy.  Don't get him started on George W. Bush, or organic food or oil conspiracies.  It's always a lively conversation. 
Number Three:  And this one is totally involuntary, but still unusual.  My dad has sensitivities to anything with synthetic fragrances.  He coughs like crazy around perfume, deodorant, cleaners you name it.  Before he comes to visit I launder all my towels and sheets in fragrance free detergent.  But I always miss something.  As a result of these sensitivities, he often wears a mask in public.  When he has to remove it, he stores it conveniently on his elbow.  Fortunately, the man-made fragrance of human body odor doesn't make him cough, so if I go for days deodorant free he's the only person I won't be offending.   If you're coming for a visit, please check your lotions, soaps, perfumes and household cleaners at the door. 
Number Four:  This is less of an eccentricity, but still an unusual part of who he is.  I can't honestly talk about who my dad without mentioning that he has a service animal.  She is his constant companion.  What she does and why he needs her is a little harder to explain.  About twenty years ago he had a TIA (transient ischemic attack) on his way to work.  It's like a mini-stroke.  He never fully recovered.  Later he was involved in a car accident which caused further damage.  He hasn't been fully functional since then.  He likes to say he lost his marble.  He forgets a lot.  He wanders aimlessly around grocery stores.  He falls asleep unless otherwise occupied.  The dog is there to remind him to go home.  To wake him up.  To keep him active and alert.  Basically like a wife only hairier and less busy.  So Songka goes everywhere with him.  Once my parents brought her to my house for the weekend.  They vehemently assured me she didn't shed. 


Baloney

She is a purebred malamute.  In the New Mexican desert.  Of course she sheds.  It is my opinion that her services would be better rendered if she were...


Hairless?

Smaller?



Both?
 

Ok.  I guess we'll keep her.  It could definitely be weirder.
Number Five:  This goes along pretty well with my last one.  My dad LOVES canines.  Not just dogs.  When asked to go anywhere formal he wears a tie with a wolf howling at the moon.  Like to my wedding.  (I'd like to add here that he also wore his favorite footwear, Teva sandals with black socks, it went well with his suit. Luckily he left his booney hat at home.)  One of his favorite pastimes is tracking coyotes, so he can observe them in their natural habitat.  I'm fairly certain he spends more times with canines than humans (even if we excluded Songka from the canine category).  If he was told that he could take either my mom or the dog on a luxury vacation for two.....I'm not 100% positive he would pick my mom. 


Okay, It's not howling





SO that's just the top five.  I'm sure my siblings will throw some in there that I've forgotten that they think are weirder.  Although my dad is undoubtedly odd, he has some redeeming qualities too.  He gave me a deep and enduring love for nature.  He is someone I can call on no matter what the trouble is.  He has more patience than anyone I know.  He never swears.  Probably the best lesson is that he taught me that how you look isn't important.   It's how you think and what you do that matters.
Oh, and he taught us to love Tolkien.

"The lizard wept onto his horse." 

Camping

I would truly be remiss in my duty of chronicling my family's weirdness if I left out camping.  This was basically our entire summer vacation.  That and driving two hours to visit the only other family that could stand us for more than a day at a time.  Every weekend, while my friends were off at space camp, we would pack up the pickup and go camping.  This is because camping (with my family) is inexpensive and because if he could figure out how to do it, my dad would camp on a permanent basis.  Usually we would go to the mountains, but a fair number of times we camped in the desert.  My mom almost never went.  I assumed this was because she hated camping  but I now suspect that she enjoyed having the house to herself for the weekend.  When she did go, what I remember most is the drive up.  Mountain roads = certain death in my mom's mind.  Whenever we'd go around a corner, she brace herself, slam her foot against an imaginary brake and go, "jim, jim, jim, jim, JIM!" in a frantic crescendo. 

Here are a few necessities for camping in my family:
1.  Desert juice: my dad's own recipe for optimal outdoors hydration.  It's basically super dilute frozen oj with some mashed up bananas, if you're lucky.  I hate bananas.
2.  Shovel:  For digging the toilet.  Yeah, it was that kind of camping.  I'm a real expert at not peeing on my legs whilst squatting.  Also the shovel handle doubles as a toilet paper holder.  If Dad happened to remember to pack some. 
3.  Tent:  This was an old canvas army tent that took an engineering degree (or the patience of a giant tortoise) to erect successfully.
4.  Pocket knife:  For whittling our cooking sticks.  We all made our own.  No fancy premade marshmallow sticks for us.
5.  Kerosene lantern:  Any extra fire hazard is a fantastic idea.
Some memorable experiences include: fashioning caveman style clothes out of some curtains we found in an abandoned camper trailer.  Collecting cans on our hikes to turn in for cash later.  Skinny dipping in what was basically a giant mud puddle.  Applying my sister's sunscreen in polka dots because I was mad at her.  And Learning the hard way what poison ivy and stinging nettle look like.
A camping trip was not complete unless we caught a small animal.  Usually a snake.  We subsisted on a diet of hot dogs and marshmallows.  My dad would tell us bear stories from when he was a kid (I'm not sure if this is related, but I have sincere arcotophobia.  I have nightmares about bears, and when I'm out riding my bike in Durango I'm always worried one will come out of the woods and chase me down)

 We always had to check for ticks.  We never found any.


 



But there is a lot of good stuff I learned while camping too. 
1. Leave it as clean as you found it, or cleaner.  This was our cardinal camping rule.
2. I know by sight lots of edible plants.  Thanks dad, that has come in handy so often.  I'm going to be the girl version of Darryl when the zombie apocalypse hits.
3.  I can start a fire with batteries, flint and steel and a magnifying glass.  Another skill I have never used once. 
4.  You can get $155/ton of aluminum cans.
5.  An actual ton is A LOT of aluminum cans.
6.  The Wooly Lamb's Ear plant is supposedly a cure for poison ivy, also it is edible, so if you're starving and just got tangled up in poison ivy and you happen upon some wooly lamb's ear, it's your lucky day.
7.  Always apply sunscreen to your behind.
8.  Wild animals are NOT as afraid of me as I am of them.
9.  Always check your sleeping bag.  There's a good bet your brother put that garter snake he caught in yours.
My family still enjoys camping.  We met up a few weeks ago to camp.  It was great to watch my dad try to teach my kids the Rule of the Mountain and get them to eat lamb's ear.  My sister brought her cat. 

Why not?