Fourth of July Dessert

I am loving this simple, aesthetically delightful dessert which bespeaks of patriotism, ice cream and fruit. That is a trio you can sink your teeth into (with a little help from Sensodyne toothpaste).


From Martha Stewart

One Week Ago it Was Father's Day

and we had a party....


RAH, PageStalker, Father Goose, JacSmak, Big KaTuna, Ms. Fish


Same cast o' characters except Big KaTuna turned into LL.

We had a great Father's Day weekend. My whole family was together except one sib, who has a boss and schedule from aaach eee double toothpicks. We had great food (mom's muy beuno potato salad, dad's perfectly seasoned burgers, & red velvet cake), laughter and a refreshing swim. And we played guitars and sang good music (and here I use the term WE quite liberally because what I played was spectator).



There is nothing quite like a dab of brother to quicken my soul and refresh my spirit.



Love you dad. Hope you had a great Father's Day!

Whatever You Do This Weekend

...see this movie.

Ode to MJ

Photo credit


Say, Say, Say!

I Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin.’ Because whether you or Billie Jean like him or not, he is a cultural icon. And I Can’t Help It. I feel a great loss now that He’s Out Of My Life.

Since hearing of his death, I feel Bad. In fact, I feel unbelievably sad. I can’t shake it. Sure, it is Human Nature to mourn the loss of someone you love. But why has his death affected me so passionately? Because so many high school memories are wrapped up in that Smooth Criminal.

I wish I had One More Chance to see him perform live again. Come on. Admit it P.Y.T (pretty young thing): it is a Thriller to watch him in concert. You just can’t Beat It. In fact, I bet if you took a good look at The Man in The Mirror, you might acquiesce that if given the chance, you would love him to Rock With You. And Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough.

Dirty Diana doesn’t care that he is gone. But I do. I tell myself, “Ms Fish: You Are Not Alone. There are others, like yourself, who can overlook his freakish nature and appreciate the musical genius that he is.”

He made the world a better place. For you. And for me. And the entire human race.

You see MJ: It’s the Way You Make Me Feel. You Rocked My World until the Break of Dawn. I Just Can’t Stop Loving You and your creamy voice and your smooth moonwalk.


I’m mourning alright.
Although the tears I shed are neither Black or White.

This is my Michael Jackson Earth Song.

Little Fishies Can Live Anywhere?

I am continuing the blirthday celebration of the Ms. Fish blog by posting some pictures of little fishies. Please don't send the PETOGs (people for the ethical treatment of orange goldfish). I am only the messenger. And BTW: I do support fishbowl peace for all.










All photos came from here.

The Animals are Back

Last October, I shared the heartbreaking news about Mother's Iced Animal Cookies going bye-bye due to bankruptcy. Guess who stepped in and saved the day? Kelloggs. They bought the rights and the recipe.

Yes, the cookies are back.



They are in supermarkets this very minute. On my last trip to the grocery store, somehow one of the bags jumped into my cart. Those sneaky animals.

Happy Birthday. I mean BLIRTHDAY!

photo credit

Congratulations to me. Forgive me for sounding pompous, but this really is exciting. My blog just had a birthday. Therefore I am cleverly (which is perhaps debatable) calling it a blirthday. Blog+birthday=blirthday. Get it?

Ms. Fish is one year old and chuck full with over 300 posts. For those who aren't mathematically challenged you will immediately know that turns out to be.....uh...well...let's just say about one per day. Which is quite shocking, really. That I could keep something up for a year. The only other thing I have done consistently for that long is BREATHE.

Like some one year olds, my blog isn't walking on it's own yet. Still requires a great deal of input from the mama fish. No mind, though. Most days I want to continue / quit blogging. And also like one year olds, my writing still has room to grow!

Since it is the birthday of my blog, I decided to give it a pixel present, a fish lift, a make-over. Besides the fact that I constantly like change, it was the least I could do for my blog. My baby.

I have added a poll to the left. Can you see it? I hope so. I spent five minutes on the bloomin' thing. Go ahead and give voting a whirl. I want to try out that spiffy new gadget.


Here's to another year of enduring Ms. Fish! Thanks for your support and dropping by the fishbowl.

PS: Has anyone ever told you that I LOVE to hear from you? There is a neat little place at the end called a comment section. Gosh it would be fun if you use it. Sean, that goes for YOU.

Addendum to Escalante

Here is what my friend Lori had to say about the pictures from Escalante:

Those rocks are like the weathered face of an old cowboy to me. Each crevice is a tell-tale sign of a story through time.

(BTW: you should know that Lori is a cross between Paige Hemmis and Annie Oakley in high heels. And is a walking Lexicon. And speaks real nice. Not to mention an incredibly bright and good person. And I love her!)

Escalante

One week ago, I went with my papa and son to Escalante, Utah, an area that echoes pioneer stories of incredible drive, determination and discipline. We drove on roads that twisted like a human intestine. Ate food from native diners (Escalante Outfitters, Ruby's Inn). Saw spectacular scenery. And learned from the locals. For me, the joy of traveling is as much about hearing the stories as it is seeing the sights. A story is the lens through which to view the land.

Some of the stories came from Jerry Roundy, a local historian and dad's friend. We stopped in for a visit at his large picturesque home with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed views to forever. I'm pretty sure with binoculars, I could have seen Mount Rushmore. We purchased Dr. Roundy's book which tells stories of brave and heroic exploits of those who tamed the land.

The best part of the trip was that we enjoyed each other's company. I won't always have my dad or my son around. So, I am glad we spent this time together.


God's Gallery of Rock Art


Stopping for a scenic break


Looking over Death Hollow


Mountain Goat Leap (known to the locals as Hell's Backbone Bridge)
You can read about building the bridge in this book.


Hoodoos and the Bloomin' Cactus (that would make a good name for a band)


God's Gallery of Rock Art






Dad's shooting...but it's not a gun. He got some great pictures which you can view in a slideshow here.






Hoodoo finger pointing in the direction of where we get our greatest strength


RAH and the Hoodoo


Kiss


Random cows in honor of the Pioneer Woman




A lone little flower on the shoulder of the road




Terrific Trees
All photography by Sean

Traveling gives meaning to the mundane. And it has a funny way of helping me appreciate both what I have and what I don't have.

Take the time
Muster the energy
Garner the resources
Explore
Especially your "own backyard"

Winning the Champs

Last weekend (6/5 and 6/6/09) I watched great soccer. Andy played on the Southern Utah Olympic Development Team who played three games at the ODP Friendlies in Orem, Utah. SUSA (that's us!) won every game, including the Utah State Champions, La Roca in a nailbiting 3-2 match. I was so busy cheering and talking, I forgot to take pictures.

What mother does that?

Petunia Pickle Bottom

Speaking of petunias...check out this company called Petunia Pickle Bottom. They sell Baby Chic. With a name like that, who wouldn't love them?

The Demise of Petunia

I did it again. I learned another gardening lesson the hard way.

Two days ago my flower pots were chuck full of vibrant Purple Wave petunias. They were thriving. They were reproducing like rats. Quite frankly, it appeared that I was master gardener of the neighborhood. Now you might be thinking "Uh....Ms. Fish...petunias are the choice of gardening imbeciles...ANYONE can grow petunias for pete's sake!" Well, sure it isn't as tough as growing orchids, but believe me, it is quite a thrill when my petunias survive beyond one month.

Yesterday, I began to notice big chunks of petunia missing. Holes and chunks. Gone. Suddenly my flowers looked more like a piece of eyelet lace than a flower. I like lace. I am not a lace racist. I just don't want it in my flower pots.


The holes are caused by the voracious tobacco budworm. Once this critter starts eating, it doesn't stop. Sorta like me with Junior Mints. And so I declared war against the little buggers.





I got my killing gun full of bithamucideian and calcidentracide and cackled. Caterpillars, you are going down! Then I sprayed with all the fervor of a 5'9" human trying to kill a 1.5 inch larva. I sprayed all over the flowers.

I did. You gasp.
Here is a picture to prove it.




Learn from me. Do NOT spray insecticide on the tender flower itself. It bleaches. It shrivels. It turns into a tie-dyed funnel.



I guess "master gardener of the neighborhood" eludes me for yet another year.

You can read more about the tobacco budworm and how to control it here.

Prepositions

My mom is so hip. She keeps up on all the latest gizmos and technology. She learned how to post to You Tube.

From One Hurricane to Another

It is sort of like Russian Roulette. Only there is no death. And the decision isn't by chance. Okay, nevermind. It isn't anything like Russian Roulette.

I am referring to a mission call.

Because of my faith, I felt peaceful waiting for my oldest son's call, but the "natural man" in me still felt bubbling nerves. Wondering where my son will be permanently camping for the next two years brought an edgy, jittery thrill.

Right before Sean opened his call with the location and departure date, my tummy felt like when you just crest the peak of Space Mountain and are zooming down the first vertical drop. It wasn't like small, delicate butterflies had invaded my innards, but a flock of peacocks with their flumes tickling every crook and crevice in the abdominal vault, including the backside of my heart.



I felt all kinds of things: comfort, anxiety, excitement. But as I reflect on that moment, I realize that fear was not (and still is not) part of the emotional equation. I know that wherever Sean goes, he will adapt. He will serve well. He will love the people he meets and they will love him. And we'll have EMAIL!!

The letter sat unopened for two days waiting for Daisy to get home from Girls State, and Andy & me to get home from a soccer tournament in Orem. Finally on Saturday, June 6 at 9:00 pm. friends gathered both in person and by telephone/Ichat to hear Sean read the official call: "You are hereby called to labor in the Florida Tampa Mission...speaking Spanish." Sean leaves 9/09/09 (on my mom and dad's anniversary).

That gives us three more months to (1) enjoy his pleasant presence, (2) come to grips with missing him.


Tampa Florida by day


Florida by night


Looking through the information.
Sean's face shows true joy at the opportunity to serve, and
relief at knowing where that will be.










Our friend Celeste


Sean looks up at his mother



Thank heavens my dad kept his head about him and thought to capture the fleeting moment in pixels. Thanks dad.

The many facets of parenting continue to provide me with wonder.