Hobbit Garden!

Fairy Gardens and Pinterest...
I've been seeing a lot of Fairy Gardens on Pinterest and thought to myself  "I need to make one of those!"  Then my lazy self whispered back..."Too much work...besides, you have one already.  Remember the Hobbit Gardens you used to make?"
With the new Hobbit movie coming out in December, the dear little Hobbity creatures have been in my mind. 

I was a big fan of The Lord of the Rings.  I once turned all of my flower beds into Hobbit gardens...with Hobbit-sized everything.  One was "Bilbo's Tea Party" and another was called "Short Cut to Mushrooms."  "The Hill" garden had a miniature picket fence, a three-foot tall scarecrow guarding the miniature corn and sunflowers that grew inside the fence.  I wish I had taken pictures.

Tabletop Hobbit Garden...
It's been more than ten years since I made the little Hobbit garden.  It sat on a table in the hall.  Over the years, the moss has faded, but at least it's still in one piece.  I don't have much luck with living house plants...so I'm I am grateful for the invention of realistic silk flowers!  A birdhouse will have to make do for "Bag End."  But at least the door is round!

My poor little "Party Business" sign has seen better days.  Couldn't find a Middle Earth font...oh, well!  I'm sure it will discourage the Sackville-Bagginses from entering.

The dear little toad in the corner of the yard still waits for Bilbo's return.  Bilbo has gone to the Party Tree to supervise party preparations.  When the fireworks start...Toad will pop back into his hole.

Bilbo's Eleventy-First Birthday...
Bilbo is in fine form tonight.  He's wearing his best vest with his shiniest brass buttons.  He is very vain, you know.  Right now he is rehearsing for his big speech and finale.  "...Eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable Hobbits. I don't know half of you as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you as well as you deserve."  I am sure he meant it as a compliment.  One could probably say the same about fellow bloggers...LOL!

Time to go back to Pinterest and collect more ideas for things I am too lazy to make.

Summer Holiday Decor...Patriotic!

Red, White and Blue Days...
Summertime to me is made up of Red, White, and Blue Days...Memorial Day, Flag Day, Independence Day and Pioneer Day.  Pioneer Day is also known as "Days of '47" to commemorate the arrival of Brigham Young and the Mormon Pioneers to the Salt Lake Valley.  The date was July 24, 1847.  Pioneer Day is filled with parades, picnics and...of course...FIREWORKS!  In my childhood it was as much a part of my heritage as the Fourth of July.  I am here today because my pioneer grandparents made the long, and often dangerous journey to this Utah...this Deseret I call home.  Deseret means "honey bee" and many of the symbols of our state incorporate beehives.  The Mormon Pioneers were known to be an industrious people.

Patriotic Theme Projects...

An arrangement I made some years back.

The firecrackers are wooden dowels.

Closeup of detail.  Simple wood shapes and postcard image.

Lady Liberty rag doll and a new garland.

Detail of Garland.

I used a striped Christmas paper and postcard graphics...plus navy rick-rack. 

The "American" bunting is a repeated graphic I found online.

A wonderfully faded tray I found for 50 cents at D.I. thrift store.

The USA magnets are game pieces in bottlecaps.

Some hallway decor...ignore the woman in the mirror!

The card holder has vintage patriotic postcards and old photos

from American Fork's parades...which are also in July!

My Patriotic House!

It will never be "Divided..."

I've made one for each holiday so far this year...next is Halloween!

Front Detail.

Back Detail...forgive the glare.

Again I used Christmas paper for the stripes.

The stars on the roof were torn in strips and modge-podged.

A Cute Mother's Day Project...

This year I decided to make little Mother's Day gifts for my daughters and daughters-in-love (I've seen this phrase around the blogosphere).  This is another batch of homemade hand soap.  This time I made Orange Almond.

Closeup of tag...little orange canning jars.

I hope they liked them...I added gift cards as well to some favorite stores.

I also found time to torment Kitty Luna with a big bow.

I hope your Mother's Day was as lovely as mine was!

More Time Wasters!

The Dog Ate My Homework...
When all else fails...blame it on the dog!  I am still procrastinating.  My pioneer ancestor report is due Thursday at 1:30 p.m.  Yesterday, I sat down and got a good portion of it written.  What discourages me the most, is that history seems to favor men.  Poor Grandma Sarah!  In all of my research, I found only one sentence that mentions her as a person rather than a statistic.  My story of her will be taken from what I could glean from her father's history and her husband's history.  She was too busy living in the background...cooking, washing, raising chickens and children.  I know she was there that hard winter when they camped at the base of a rocky hill and people were living in dug outs and wagon boxes.  She was there when spring came and the rattlesnakes woke up and invaded their beds and cupboards.  Somewhere between 300 and 500 snakes...depending on the account...were killed that first night.  No one was bitten...so I know Sarah wasn't bitten. 

Sarah was married to a jolly, popular man who loved to fish and play his fiddle for dances.  What did Sarah do?  She nagged the jolly man! In Grandpa Harrison's papers was found this single notation..."April 9, 1873 she got up jawing me because I spit on the floor and would not milk the cows."  One sentence!  Do you see now why I'm playing on my blog and taking pictures of Daisy Dog instead of finishing her story?  I'm still stuck on the rattlesnake adventure.  I couldn't even find a picture of her...just her headstone!  It's a very nice one...but I would like to know what she looked like.  Do I resemble her in any way?  When did she go from being Sarah to being "Sally?"  Was that Harrison's pet name for her?  Did she call him Harry?  These are questions that I have to wait until I meet her in Heaven to ask.

 Please Remember Me...

Sarah Shoemaker Fugate was Grandma Zetta's grandmother.  Zetta wrote a history of her jolly grandfather Harrison Perry Fugate for the Daughters of Utah Pioneers, but never got around to writing about Sarah.  It only takes a few generations before no one remembers what you were like.  I am making a promise to both my grandmothers that they will not be forgotten.  And I pray that my precious granddaughters remember me and how much I loved them.

Be sure and get a good picture taken...your decendants will need it!



Jurassic Trailer Park...Or How I Waste Time!

A Dinosaur ate my homework...
When you are in the process of doing something...some chore that has become tedious and you can't get out of it...do you find yourself distracted by other projects that are more fun?  I am supposed to be writing a report on my great-great grandmother for the May meeting of the Daughters of Utah Pioneers.  But I am having trouble finding enough information about her to do her justice.  So I sit down at my computer...and play on Pinterest...or Blogger...or Facebook...anything but what I am supposed to be doing.  Yesterday I wrote about my old school.  Today I found an old story I wrote some years back when I was bored watching my daughter's softball game.  Grandma Sarah will have to wait a few more days...today I want to take you on a trip to...

Jurassic Trailer Park...
The open hovercraft carrying the two visiting scientists sped silently over the cracked and unused highway outside the city dome.  Neither spoke as they passed the skeletal remains of the old "Tomahawk Drive-in" and "Joe's Junk Yard," where sand drifted through the rusting carcasses of old Buicks.  A pyramid of discarded tires had been smoldering for over a hundred years and would probably do so for a hundred more. The oily black smoke stung their eyes.

"I can't believe these places still exist," said Ellie at last.  She was a trim blonde woman who specialized in American Landfills.

"They were discovered at the end of the Five Year Sandstorm," Sam informed her.  "I hear they are close to unearthing a 7-11 that still has its original Slurpee Machine."

Sam, who had a Doctorate in Late 20th Century Pop Culture...Coke, Sprite, etc...leaned forward in anticipation.  He had prepared for this moment his entire adult life.  It was the proof that validated his years of research.  He wiped his sweat-streaked face with the bandanna he always wore.  A few more hot dusty miles to go.

No pictures are available of Sam and Ellie

But they probably looked like these two people.

Are we there yet?...
It seemed to Ellie that she only blinked and the gate appeared before them.  She was puzzled by the height of the heavy electrified fence surrounding the compound.  But it was the sign over the gate that made her heart beat fast within her rib cage.  In garish flashing neon the sign read:

"JURASSIC TRAILER PARK"

They were met at the gate by a white-haired gentleman who dressed like Colonel Sanders.  His smile was pleasant as he greeted them.

"Welcome to Jurassic Trailer Park!  I really don't think your inspection is necessary, but the investors insisted.  I'm already behind schedule.  If you pass us off, we could be open to the public by Memorial Day.  My name is Hammond.  Shall we begin the tour?

"Let's pop in first at the Manager's Office.  We find it to be typical of the sites we have uncovered across the former United States."

They entered through a torn screen door into a dim stuffy room.  An ancient electic fan strove valiantly to create a breeze...to no avail.  Sam took a few steps and stopped, looking at his feet.

"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed.  "This is the largest intact specimen of linoleum I've ever come across."

"Yes.  We're very proud of it.  There was enough to do the entire Manager's Office and part of the men's restroom.  It's been dated 20 years B.C...Before Congoleum!" Hammond bragged.

A wood-grained plastic box with a moving picture screen buzzed fitfully in one corner.  On the screen, a red-headed woman was whining to a Latino man wearing a Toreador costume.

"Please, Ricky!  Please let me be in the show!" she cried, clinging desperately to his pant leg while he tried to make a break for the door.

"That's a recorded broadcast, of course.  We were able to piece together an entire working television from various sites throughout the dig.  But without the primitive signals..."  Hammond sighed, "You know how it is.  This is an example of the sophisticated programming enjoyed by this culture."

They left the office and began walking through the avenues of portable housing units the Old Ones called "Mobile Homes."  The variety of dwellings was amazing.  They ranged from little pink and cream breadboxes...common in the 1950s...to magnificent Double Wides, complete with decks and hot tubs.  They all sat proudly on their postage stamp-sized lots, roofs bristling with TV antennas.

No matter the size of the home, each seemed to have the requisite allotment of pink plastic flamingos, gnomes and hanging pots of artificial flowers.

"We think the flamingos were required by law," Hammond informed them.  They explored inside some of the restored models.

The interiors were typified by green or orange shag carpeting and "harvest gold" Frigidaires covered with magnets shaped like pigs, fruit, and cartoon characters.  Many homes sported velvet paintings of a long dead "King."

"How they must have loved him," Ellie whispered reverently.  Also popular were framed antique prints of dogs playing poker...copies available for sale in the Gift Shoppe...Hammond reminded them.

"The male members of this ancient society used to sit in reclining chairs and observe warfare carried out on 100 yard battlefields...between redskins and pirates," Hammond began his lecture.  "In between skirmishes, the female would bring him intoxicating beverages and crisp vegetable chips fried in hot oil.  Let's move on, shall we?"

"Mr. Hammond," Sam interupted.  "I've been meaning to ask you about the electrified fence.  Are you trying to keep something out...or something in?"

"Why, keep something in, of course" Hammond said cryptically. 

"The Disney Millennium Park doesn't use electric fencing." Ellie added.

"Well," Hammond replied. "When the Pirates of the Caribbean Galaxy breaks down...the pirates don't bore the tourists.  I don't want the little dickens to escape without visiting the Park Museum and Gift Shoppe.  Why, we have a genuine push lawn mower on display...the only one of its kind on the planet.

"The kiddies will enjoy the Jurassic Trailer Park souvenirs.  We have whoopi cushions, squirt guns, slinkys and those x-ray specs that see through women's clothing.  Sam...Ellie...let me give you one of these t-shirts to take home.  It says 'My parents went to Jurassic Trailer Park and all I got was this  lousy t-shirt'.   Clever...eh?"

Sam and Ellie exchanged looks.  "Run!" she cried.  They ran for the gate, leaving a puzzled old man choking on their dust.

Ignoring his pleas to stay and finish the tour, they took one last look back at Jurassic Trailer Park.  As they watched, the neon letters J, I, and C went dark.

One more afternoon wasted!

To gnome me is to love me!

Moments in Time...The Old Alpine School!

Gone, but not forgotten...
In the misty landscapes of my dreams, the old Alpine School still waits at the top of crumbling steps.  Rough grass has sprung up through the cracks in the surface of the deserted tennis court and the merry-go-round has rusted in place. On the old flag pole, where we lined up at the bell, a tattered flag flutters like fingers waving goodbye.

A wild October breeze whistles and dances through the bones of the rickety fire escape as if laughing spirts have flown down from Cemetery Hill to play hide-and-go-seek.


Hide and Seek...
My friends, Kim and Cathy Pam, are inside the school somewhere, but I cannot find them.  I search for them through dark and dusty hallways.  Maybe they are hiding in Miss Greenwood's cloak room.  No...I must have just missed them.  The kindergarten room looks the way I remember it...as if the children have only just gone out to recess.

The playhouse still sits in the corner near the Story Time Rug.  Empty milk bottles line up like little glass soldiers on Miss Greenwood's desk, next to the Magic Wand used to waken us from nap time.  I so wanted to wave that wand over the other children, but I was too noisy to be the Naptime Fairy.


The Stairs...and Mr. Nicholes...

Echoed giggles drift down the stairs.  How I hate those stairs when I dream.  No matter how badly I need to reach the top...they keep growing steeper and STEEPER.  I am so afraid I am going to fall that I crawl up them on my hands and knees.

If I fall and hurt myself, will someone take me to Mr. Nicholes' office and bandage my knee?  Little kids were taught (by the big kids) to be afraid of the principal.  But he was the nicest man in the world, I thought.  He always had a kind word for shy little girls.

In the picture on the left, Mr. Nicholes and some of his students bid the old school goodbye.  Alpine was growing and there were only four classrooms...for grades K through 3.  The older grades took a bus to school in American Fork.

An old photo of children playing Maypole.

The dream shifts...and I find myself in the old gymnasium, where the corners are hidden in shadows.  My imagination is working overtime because I see little boys in dungarees and little girls in shirtwaist dresses holding the tattered ribbons of a long-faded Maypole.  They skip gracefully in and out to silent music...never getting tangled in the ribbons like I used to.

The children disappear and I'm all alone in the gymnasium...where it's been festively decorated for my Aunt Jane's wedding reception.  It's a western theme...with wagon wheels and driftwood as part of the decor.  I'm wearing my flower girl dress, twirling around and around in the middle of the floor singing "Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah" at the top of my lungs.  I only know one verse...but it's repeated ad nauseum.  It's a good dream.  I dread waking...because when I do the school will be gone.

A trip down Memory Lane...

The building was of red brick with a granite foundation.  The sign over the arched entry read "Public School 1899."  More than 100 years have passed since it was built with such high hopes for the children who would grace its halls.  A school may be only boards and bricks and mortar, but it is the caretaker of our childhood.  We spent more hours within its walls than any place other than home...and it's forever gone!  It breaks my heart every time one more landmark of my life is reduced to rubble.

The Monument...

One day, feeling nostalgic...I drove slowly down the street where the school used to stand and pulled into the parking lot at Kencraft...a candy factory that used to make candy canes and fancy suckers.  In a park-like setting stands a sandstone and bronze monument created by sculptor Dennis Smith to commemorate the old school and the children who attended it.

Running my finger down the list of names on the plaque, I'm pleased to find my Father's name and well as my own and my brother Mike's.  It feels rather strange, because people who have their names on monuments are usually dead historical figures...not middle-aged housewives.  Still...it's comforting to know that there is a little piece of Alpine history with my name on it.

I hope you have enjoyed this trip through the past.

Where do your treasured memories lie?

Note:  Before I start on my Father's school days stories I wanted to repost my story on the old Alpine School that both my father and I attended. The first four photos were taken from the book "Alpine Yestedays" by Jennie Adams Wilde, one of Grandma Zetta's oldest and dearest friends.



Telephobia...A Love/Hate Affair!

I Hate Telephones!
I don't know just when it happened.  One day I was a  care-free kid chatting with my BFF Charlotte, who was in the hospital recovering from pneumonia...then all of a sudden...it was like I couldn't summon up the courage to make a phone call.  Not all phone calls filled me with anxiety...I could call my grandmas or phone home for a ride.   My self-diagnosis (I also hate doctors) has proclaimed it a severe case of "Telephobia."  Family and well-meaning friends are baffled by this...they think I should just snap out it. One friend, a Captain in my DUP group, assigned me to be a Reminder Caller for meetings.  She assured me it would be a helpful cure for my problem.  After a full day spent staring at the phone with sweating palms and a stomach painfully knotted...I finally made the calls... pathetically grateful for every answering machine that picked up!  I refused to accept any more such assignments.  Please tell me I am not alone in this!

Skyline 6-4758...
That was our telephone number when we moved to American Fork in the early 60's.  Remember when Ma Bell was a monopoly and we didn't even own our telephones?  The phone company sent a guy to install a telephone...that probably looked like this one...

Colors?  We had a choice of black...or black!

...or this one on the left. 

The Party Line...
I still remember the day I discovered we were on a party line.  I was blissfully chatting away about "who knows what" when a shrill voice broke into our conversation.  "Get off the phone!" she demanded.  "I have to make an important call!"  All I knew about party lines I learned from "The Andy Griffith Show." Were we living in Mayberry now?  It sure wasn't Aunt Bea on the line.  One day to get even I picked up the phone when she was busy gossiping about something or other. "Blah, blah, blah!" I mocked...assuming she was just some stranger.  "Shirley Devey!" she squawked, "Get off the phone right now or I'm telling your mother!"   Yikes!  I dropped the phone and hid.  I don't know if this was the inciting incident for my Telephobia...but it certainly didn't help matters.

The Princess Phone...
My friend Carrie had a pink princess phone.  She also had her own room with white shag carpeting, canopy bed and white French Provincial vanity with matching seat.  I shared a room with a little sister who sucked her fingers and wet the bed.  No princess bedrooms in our house!  To be fair...Carrie was generous with her toys and we spent many happy hours prank calling cute boys in our fourth grade class.  I still remember Robbie's number...SK 6-4757.  It was almost my number, which is why I haven't forgotten. Of course...when it was my turn to call, the boy's mother picked up the phone and chastised me.  "Nice girls don't call boys!" she informed me.  Could this be the reason I hate phones?
I don't know.

Phones and Me Today...My Quirks
After many cell-phone free years, George finally convinced me  I needed to have one...for emergencies.  It would have to be an emergency...like the "End of the World"... for me to make more than one call a month.  I have used it once or twice...to call him.  My Blackberry is mostly used for email and reading Facebook.  I once mentioned to a friend that Blackberries should only be used to make jam....or maybe pie.

My Quirks and Unwritten rules:

• I use my answering machine to "Screen Calls" from names and numbers I don't recognize.
• Any phone call to our house will only be answered by me...because the other members of the household can't hear a ringing phone...even if it's right next to them! Sheesh!
• I never answer Toll-Free Number calls...or political "Robo Calls."
• I won't accept any Church calling that requires me to make phone calls...emails are okay, but texting gives me a headache.
• If a friend says "call me back"...I will.
• If a stranger or someone I don't care for says "call me back"...I most likely won't.
• If you text me...I may not see it for a few days because my phone is in my purse in the car.
• I always enjoy talking to my family...but I seldom call just to chat.
• I don't know anyone's current phone number...not even the one on my own mobile.

In Conclusion...
This is my sad, sad story...of an illness that has no known cure or support groups.  There is no telethon to raise money for my treatment...no operators are standing by.  I can never pick up the phone when the announcer says "Be one of the next 10 callers and get an extra Snuggie for your dog...just add additional postage and handling."

There, there!  Don't weep for me.  Use one of these adorable polk-dot tissues to dry your tears.   On a more serious note...they may not have telephones in Heaven per se, but God doesn't have a party line.  I can call Him any time...no unlimited talk and text required.

Have a Lovely Day!