THE ANNUAL GINGERBREAD CASTLE PARTY!!!

This year our friends the Whites, Towlers and Taylors came over for a calorie-rich night of fun, laughter, sticky fingers, and creativity. I accidentally cut Mike Towler out of the picture on the left. Sorry Mike! As always it was a lot of fun. We love these guys!

I just walked through the dining room turning off lights and the whole room smelled of gingerbread, sugar and candy. It is a very aromatic centerpiece.

That is a lot of sugar my friends.

BOBCAT TRACKS AND AN OLD INDIAN CAVE

This morning the world dawned fresh and clear. The sun shined uninterrupted by clouds onto a shimmering white world. Every bush was brought low by mounded heaps of snow, and every branch and twig was etched in white. It was an extraordinarily beautiful morning by anyone's standards. I went for a walk through the grounds snapping a few snowy pictures for the camp's promotional materials and then I walked back home along the eastern stretch of the nature trail. As I neared a place we call coyote rock I found some very fresh bobcat tracks. I believe they were fresh because there was a lot of snow falling from the trees, but there was no snow in the tracks. They were very clear. I got down on one knee and examined them closely. You could even see the faint impression of fur around the edges of the tracks. No doubt, my labored breathing and crashing progress scared it away. I'm somewhat less than stealthy.

Here you can see where the bobcat slinked into a little cave to get out of the snow for a while. Can't you just picture it shaking the snow from its paws before settling down in there. I walked around to the back of the cave and sure enough the tracks ducked out a small opening in the rear. I have examined this little cave before and the ceiling of it is black from smoke. I am convinced that at one time the rock stood up leaning against the bigger boulder behind it. This made a cave where I think the indians used to camp. At some point the rock fell down to its present position, but the underside of the ceiling is still blackened from the old campfires. This picture doesn't illustrate the point very well, but I'm not trudging back up there to get better pictures of it. Maybe I'll do a future post on the old Indian cave. My own investigation has convinced me that this is the cave's story, but I could be wrong. I wonder who I could take up there to corroborate my suspicions. I wonder if the Idyllwild History museum could give me a name.

Aren't Bobcat tracks cute. I wish I had set a penny or something next to it to show scale. They were definitely bigger than a house cats, but slightly smaller then most dog tracks. You can tell a cat track, I have learned, by the shape of the track (canine tracks are longer then they are wide with the fifth pad less pronounced), the lack of claw imprints (cats retract their claws when walking along), and the shape of the base pad (canine's are pointed in front while as the pad of a cat has a slight indentation at the top). Mountain lion tracks are similar in appearance but larger- typically about the size of a CD. The tracks of a Mountain Lion's front paws are noticeably larger than the rear paws while as canine tracks are uniformly the same size front and back. I couldn't discern any difference in size between the Bobcat's front and rear paws so I wonder if that is a trait unique to Mountain Lion tracks. Maybe so.

SNOW CAVE

MY BROTHER JOEL KNIT ME THESE MITTENS.

I used to keep them in my cruiser in case I had to direct traffic or something. The department issued gloves would have allowed me to pull a trigger or apply handcuffs, but they did nothing to prevent frost bite. The other officers said the mittens looked unprofessional, but in my opinion comfort trumps pride in most cases (definitely not all). So they remained in my console right next to the accident forms. I love them, and although I don't get as much use out of them here in So. Cal. I still dig them out in inclement weather. They are the gift that keeps on giving.

Thanks Joel. They're amazing!

SNOW DAY!!!

It's still snowing! This morning as Sarah and I were still enjoying the tail end of a long winter's nap her phone rang with an automated message from the school saying that school would be canceled today. I remember when I was just a wee tyke those mornings when I would wake to newfallen snow, and immediately tune the radio to WJJR for the most recent school closings, and O' those magical mornings when the DJ would say, "and Rutland Regional School District is closed today." Those mornings were the best. I say, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!" The only sad thing in all of this is that I'm afraid we will have to cancel our small groups caroling party tonight. We were going to go around to the other small groups that meet at the same time and drop off some goodies and do some caroling, but I doubt they will be meeting so we probably won't be either. That would have been a fun surprise. It would have been nice to go caroling in the snow. Ah well!

In the early morning light,

Peering out through the window,

I noticed the lower field

Was made strangely uniform

By a broad expanse of white,

A foot or more of snow,

The ragged field concealed

By last night's winter storm.

A

B

C

D

A

B

C

D

"IS THAT SNOW ON YOUR CAR? WHERE YOU FROM?"

Today, we made an unplanned trip to the pediatrician's office in Palm Springs for Jack who has a mild ear infection. As we zipped along the 10, huge chunks were whipping off the top of the van, and Sarah and I both speculated that there wouldn't be any left by the time we got to the doctor's office, but we were wrong. Idyllwild has experienced its first snow of the year. I haven't heard any official word on how much snow we recieved, but by my own estimates it looks to be just shy of a foot in places. It was a pretty healthy snowfall, and I think we would have gotten more if it hadn't turned to rain Monday afternoon. There saying we could get even more before the week is over. I'm enjoying it.

KICK- INSTALLMENT #11

Kick woke to the sound of someone pounding on the front door. He glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed. It was six in the morning. It had been two weeks since his encounter with the little man who called himself Ilvie, and during those two weeks he hadn’t slept well. He had tried to convince himself that the whole thing had been a dream or a hallucination or something. “Maybe,” he reasoned “I got some bad weed,” but he felt constantly as though he was being watched, and this made him paranoid.

Kick, got out of bed and, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, he walked across the unadorned wood floor of the shop. He made his way towards the front door with a bleary-eyed annoyed look on his face. Someone was still pounding on it, and as he neared the door Kick bellowed, “I’m coming! I’m coming!” Modesty required that Kick open the door just a crack, but as he did, the door was violently pushed open so that Kick fell back against a display case. Filling the doorway was a big Trooper who he recognized as John Irwack. He had met Irwack before. Behind him stood two more troopers who Kick didn’t recognize, and behind them, out in the parking lot, stood two men in suits. “Hi Kick,” Irwack said with a forced air of civility, “We have a search warrant.” Kick looked blankly at the paper that was forced into his hands “Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” said one of the other troopers. Kick did as he was told. A trooper, tall and lanky with a pockmarked face, handcuffed him and directed him to sit Indian style in front of the open door. "C'mon! At least let me get dressed," said Kick, but nobody seemed to care. The tall lanky trooper guarded Kick while the two detectives, Trooper Irwack and the third Trooper began searching the shop as well as his living area in the back.

Kick watched as one of the detectives methodically searched the area behind the cash register. When he came to the locked drawer where Kick kept his dope he looked at Kick and said, “Mr. Tomwright, do you have a key for this drawer.”

“No.” said Kick.

“Then I’m going to have to bust it open.”

Kick shrugged as if to say, “So what.”

“Joe, bring me the pry tool please. It’s in the trunk of my car,” said the detective.

The third Trooper, who was apparently named Joe, stepped past Kick and soon returned with a long metal pry tool which he handed across the counter to the detective. The detective set to work prying open the drawer while "Joe" watched. With a horrible wrenching-splintering sound the drawer popped open. Kick knew he was busted. He could picture the gallon ziplock bag full of marijuana, the odd assortment of paraphernalia, and the dog-eared envelope full of cash which he knew were there. With a glassy expression he stared out the open door. Maggie Zeller was jogging past on the road in front of the shop. At the sight of the Cruisers out front she stopped and jogged in place, soaking up the drama. Kick, dressed only in his boxers, and sitting Indian style with his hands behind his back, glared at her above his shaggy beard. He looked like a mix between a Buddha and an angry troll framed by the open door. Maggie moved on. Kick expected the detective to say something about the dope, but when he finally spoke he said, “Sorry, about the drawer Mr. Tomwright.”

Kick looked in his direction and saw that he was now searching behind a display case. He hadn’t found anything! Impossible! The other detective came out of the back bedroom holding a book in one hand and a roll of evidence bags in the other. “Did you find anything, Al?” he asked the detective behind the counter.

“No.”

“Not even in the drawer?”

“Nah. Nothing. You?”

“Nothing. I did find this book on Mr. Tomwright’s night stand.”

Kick didn’t recognize the book which had a picture of a soaring eagle on its cover.

“It’s entitled, Living Drug and Alcohol Free.”

Now Kick was sure that the book wasn’t his.

“Drug and alcohol free, eh? That’s not what we heard, Kick. Do you wanna tell us where you keep your marijuana? We know you’ve been selling out of your shop here. If we have to call in a dog we will. We're gonna find it. You’re just making things harder. It’ll look better for you if you work with us. You know?”

Kick looked at the detective with a bewildered expression on his face. “I want a lawyer,” he said, “now.”

For the next several hours they tore the place apart. They finally called in a dog, which barked and scratched everywhere behind the counter indicating the presence of drug residue, but they never found anything. They finally admitted defeat at around noon, and with angry expressions on their faces, they removed Kick’s handcuffs, got back in their cruisers, and drove away. The shop was a mess. Kick staggered behind the counter and looked inside the shattered remnants of his dope drawer. “Nothing,” he muttered out loud. “Huh.” Picking up the book the detective had found on his night stand he opened the front cover. Inside was written, "To Kick from Ilvie."

WHERE HAVE YOU SEEN THIS...

"Home Showcase at the Ice Box"

ADVENTURE SLEEPING.

On Saturday I moved all of the furniture from the lower floor of our house onto the porch in advance of the big carpet/flooring job. The last thing I hefted out the door was our couch. I was tired from muscling all that stuff out there so I lay down on the couch for a second. Then I thought to myself, "How cool would it be to sleep out here on the porch tonight." So Saturday night found me snoring out on the porch. Sleeping in a bed is so lame. I actually slept really well. I think I'm going to try and talk Sarah into moving our bed out onto the porch. It was so crisp and refreshing. The only thing that would make sleeping on the porch better is if I had to sleep on the porch. Doing it recreationally takes aways from the experience a little.

THANKS, KEITH!!!

I should have done a better job photo-documenting this week's project. Some before and after shots would have been nice. The entire lower floor of the Log House was redone. Keith gave up two days to help me lay some vinyl wood flooring through much of the lower floor. I appreciated his help very much. I always think these types of prjects will be no problem, but then Keith starts doing stuff that i would never have thought of or even considered. The flooring was actually kind of fun to install, but I was definitely slower than Keith who ended up putting in the lion's share of the flooring. "Are you still doing that closet, Josh." Like most projects it ended up being a bigger job than we had expected, but Keith good naturedly guided me through it. We had pretty much all of the flooring in by the end of Tuesday. On Thursday the carpet guys came and installed new carpet in the living room, down the hallway to the base of the stairs, as well as up the stairs and a small landing at the top. Sarah was thrilled to come home to her spruced up digs. All that's left to do is put in some base board around the edges of the wood flooring. I'll get to that soon I hope.

Low calories, Marden observed, were not of high importance in Tonga. “Sauntering youths call out to a passing beauty, ‘Foi’atelolo, ta o mu’a mata mahina hopo! (O fat liver full of oil, let us go and watch the moonrise!),” he wrote. “The liver of a baked pig is the choice morsel reserved for chiefs, and so fond are the Tongans of fat and oily food that any right minded Tongan girl is enormously pleased at such flattery.”
–Margaret G. Zackowitz

KICK- INSTALLMENT #10

While the little man bathed in one of Kick’s cereal bowls, Kick retrieved three large bait minnows from a live tank in the shop and brought them back into the kitchen as the little man had directed. Then he fried them in olive oil, lightly salted them, and spilled them out onto a plate. Kick had never cooked minnows before, but he reasoned that it shouldn't be much harder than a normal pan fish. The trouble had been gutting them. The little man made his dismount from the cereal bowl with some difficulty and gingerly made his way over to the fried minnows. As he walked he left tiny little puddles across the kitchen counter. Still naked, he crouched next to the fish and started eating them like a wild animal-ripping and tearing into the meat. Kick would learn later that this was customary for the little people. Pausing for a moment, the little man looked up at Kick and said, “A little privacy.” It was more a command than a request, and Kick resented his tone. He was about to say something, but then he thought better of it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, and was about to walk away when the little man demanded imperiously that he wash his clothes in the same cereal bowl he had just bathed in. “Just swish them around a bit,” he ordered. "That should get some of the fishy smell out of 'em."

Kick took the bowl and the strange little clothes and walked to the other side of the kitchen where he did as requested. Dunking the clothes in the tepid soapy water he swished them around with his forefinger, and then removing them one by one he wrung them out and stretched them out on a napkin to dry.

“What’s your name?” Kick asked.

“My parents named me Ilverbottum, but most everybody calls me Ilvie.”

“And your people, what are they called?”

“Widjiwats,” the little man answered between bights.

“Are there many of you?”

The little man looked annoyed, “Kick, we’ll have time for question and answer later. I don’t feel up to it right now. As soon as my clothes are dry I’ll be leaving for a while to seek instructions about what do with you.”

Kick wanted answers to the dozens of questions swirling in his brain like a day's catch in the live-well, but sensed from the man’s demeanor that they would have to wait. “How are the fish?” he asked.

“Excellent! They truly are. From the mouth of a fish to fish in my mouth- what a day!!!”

Kick brought over the little man’s clothes, and laid them neatly next to the half eaten minnow meal. Then he left him to finish his meal in private and puttered around the shop for a while. When he came back all evidence that the little man had been there was gone and he wondered if he had been hallucinating.

WIDJIWAT LULLABY- THE THROWING UP SONG

This song was born late one night next to Lucy's bed side. She had been throwing up, and I was doing my best to keep her mind off of her angry tummy when somehow this song just came out. As soon as she had been succesfully ushered off to dreamland I shuffled into my room and scribbled down the words. Lucy still really likes it and a couple of times she has attempted to feign an illness just so I would sing it. For those newcomers to my blog I am aware that my voice is less than melodic, but until someone with a sweeter voice volunteers to sing all my lullabies you are stuck with me.

I thought this song was appropriate for this installment because for the past couple of days everyone in our home, save yours truly, has been doubled over a toilet (or in Jack's case the couch and highchair. Ughhhhh.) We have raised the black flag of pestilence. I credit my resistance to this plague to a stready diet of phenylalanine. Poor Sarah hasn't been feeling well at all. I think her condition is exacerbated by the pregnancy. I hope she sleeps well tonight. Maybe she would if she would allow me to sing her this song. I am investigating the possibility that it may have healing properties. Lucy seems convinced that it does- "Daddy, my tummy is better! The song made it better!"

Little Jack (or Lucy or Bowden) you're not feeling very good

'Cause your tummy isn't acting like it should

I will tell you a story

And sing you a song

And maybe by morning

You'll be better along.

(repeat)

ON OUR WAY HOME WE STOPPED TO SEE THE IRVINGS

How could we go to AZ without stopping to see Chad and Tricia- two of our favorite people on planet earth. I know I'm a little generous with such descriptions, but I feel great joy in the presence of my God every time I think of the Irvings. It was all too brief. After eating some pizza we had to scram, but I am confident that if Christ should tarry we will have more quality time with them before we call this orb quits.

If we all look kind of surprised in this photo, it is because I asked Bowden to take the picture, and he was struggling with the mechanics of the camera when it suddenly went off. "That'll have to do," I said. "Thanks, Bowden."

If only Tricia was wearing a striped shirt. That would have been perfect.

"One of these things is not like the others. One of these things is not quite the same." Remeber that song?

SEDONA, AZ

I can say without hesitation that the drive through Sedona was the most stunning I have ever had the pleasure to traverse. If I had stopped to photograph all the sights between Flagstaff and Sedona and between Sedona and Highway 17 it would have taken forever to get where we were going. The town itself was a funky collection of western themed shops and restaurants. Justin and Rosie guided us to one with an outdoor patio overlooking the surrounding mountains. I took these pictures from the patio while we were eating. I hope to go back to that area some day and explore a little. It was just stunning! My camera could not do it justice. If you ever have the opportunity you should check it out.

This was the only picture I took of our hosts which I now regret. I just didn't want to be that guy who is always pulling out the camera and ruining everything.

Sarah and I were lamenting the fact that we hadn't seen an elk despite numerous elk crossing signs next to the highway when we pulled alongside of this truck driving south on the 17. Does this count as seeing an elk? I think so.

SKUNKS AGAIN!!!

It wasn't until I returned home and went through my pictures that I discovered that I hadn't taken many pictures of our gracious hosts, Justin and Rosie. I did photograph these skunks though, which we saw every night while we were there. Apparently their apartment complex has some sort of a skunk infestation. They were quite a bit bigger than the one we caught at Camp Maranatha, and not nearly as cute. I didn't have opportunity to see if they smelled the same when they spray, but I wan't sad about that either.

SOME SUN-BLASTED DESERT VISTAS FROM OUR DRIVE OUT TO FLAGSTAFF