I know I haven’t written in a long time. I haven’t had the motivation. I haven’t had anything to say. I feel like I’ve been in a spring time funk with bad weather, bad health, and a perpetual bad mood. But I thought I’d catch up via some pictures of the past few weeks.
I took pictures of the littles in the Provo Orchard. I do think they are lovelies.
Awww . . .
I really like this one. I think it’s magical.
That red stuff: nailpolish. For as much as is on his leg, there was just as much on the carpet. Text to Wyatt read: “What ever you think you’re going to do to Calvin, I’ve already done it. Just remember, this is why we chose the cheap carpet!”
We went to Manti over memorial day weekend for some VERY MUCH needed R&R. We went on “be-ventures” in the field, Cal needed to be carried of course.
Olivia looked for treasure.
And with every treasure she found, suggested with great enthusiasm that we call the museum.
I spy with my little eye . . .
Even Everett got into the spirit of it! (Of course, he wanted to put all the treasures in his mouth).
I went to St. George for a day to help my sister with her wedding plans. I returned with bird houses for the kids to paint.
We had a summer treat night under our tree . . . the light positively GLOWED as a storm threatened for hours over head. Finally it exploded upon us, complete with lightening and theatricals. We moved to the porch where more treats and conversation were consumed beneath the drama.
They are a great family. Kirsten was in my primary class last year. This year I have her sister, Whitnee. Eric (the pappa) can be seen giving his kids rides (without helmets, tisk tisk) on his motorcycle up and down our street on warm summer evenings.
Below the Reimanns: Drew
Who works on cars and motor homes, and is always up for pleasant conversation in the street. His two dogs wander the street, giving great delight to all the kids.
Across from Drew: The Smith family.
How does one even talk about the Smith family? We have so much fun with them. Just search in my website for “Smith” and see what adventures come up.
Below the Smiths live the Neilsons.
He’s a contractor and she’s a sweet heart. I don’t know them well, but he did offer to help Wyatt on a home improvement project once.
Across from the Neilsons live Bob & Dot.
I just like saying it. Over and over again. Try it: Bob & Dot, Bob & Dot, Bob&Dot, Bob&Dot.
Their little house is impeccable. Dot is out sweeping the gutters every time the wind blows. Their house is trimmed with bright, cheery, yellow shutters. I asked Wyatt if we could have yellow shutters. He said not until we’re old. They go to church. I like church goers. It gives a sense of community. And even though it’s not my church, it’s always a little warming to know they are faithful to God in their own way. In the summer their grandkids are seen riding up and down the street on their bikes, and Bob and Dot sit on their porch in their painted aluminum lawn chairs, giving warm salutations to the kids as we pass by.
Below Bob & Dot (say it again):
Live the Forgetts (For Shay). The house is actually a rental, but all the renters have been uber nice. The Forgetts are no exception. Linda even picked up my sister’s wedding invitations last week in Springville, as she was already down there. The owner of the house, Ryan, and his dad, are really great too. They come by once a week in the summer to mow the lawn. Quite often Wyatt and Ryan and his dad get to talking and hours pass by with little or no yard work accomplished.
Across from the Forgetts:
The widow. The widow who actually doesn’t live there anymore. But no one knows that so shhh . . . Her family moved her into assisted living maybe two years ago now. But still, the snow is shoveled, the leaves are raked, the lawn is mowed. Dot gets the mail and moves the trash can in and out (what’s in the trash can? That’s what I want to know).
And then below the widow are Chris and Darrah:
They remind me alot of Chris and Cheryl. He’s a ski patrolee and she’s a librarian. They have a dog, Ella. In the winter months we meet in the street to exchange the latest news, while the kids play happily with the dog. In the summer months we lounge on the lawn and let the afternoon pass by with nothing interesting to talk about.
Across from Chris and Darrah:
is US! We love our little house, with our view of the mountain over Chris and Darrah’s lovely artistically trimmed pine. And our porch with it’s benches that we sit on all summer long. And our tree. We do love our tree.
Below us live:
Carl & his wife (whom I’ve only met maybe three times in the three plus years that I’ve lived here).
Carl is kinda a hippy. It’s a neighborhood joke that he grows pot in his basement. But I tend to not believe it. He is a great gardener though, and grows giant sunflowers (though not as big as mine ) And in the evenings in the summer you can hear a soft guitar and the sweet smell of a pipe wafting over the fence. (Wyatt does not like this).
Across from Carl:
Live the Vinings. They live in Kathe Hollingshaus’s old house {Sigh} I guess it’s not their fault they live in her house. But often when I look across the street I wish it was Kathe that was there. The Vinings are nice enough though. John helped me jump the Jeep a couple months ago (with Rick Smith too).
Below the Vinings:
lives CrazyMan Claire and his wife, Clara.
I call Claire a “crazy old man” because about two weeks after we moved in, he showed up at our house and yelled at us about our dogs. I’ve never cared for the man since. You can see him out and about on walks in the neighborhood carrying a five iron. He says it’s to hit any dogs that come near him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took a swipe at a person that got in his way too. I’ve heard from other neighbors that he’s always been onery. I’ve never talked to him beyond that initial exchange. Wyatt has talked to him, even got him swapping stories and laughing. But that’s Wyatt for you.
Across from CrazyMan Claire:
Carl’s parents. I’ve only talked to them briefly two or three times when they’ve been out doing yard work, and we’ve passed by. But I don’t see them often.
It is nice to live on a street where you know everyone, and everyone knows you. It is nice to have a sense of community, and people to rely on. Hurray for Meadow Downs Way!
) And in the evenings in the summer you can hear a soft guitar and the sweet smell of a pipe wafting over the fence. (Wyatt does not like this).
