A Stinky Adventure in a Big Van

(DISCLAIMER: I said that I would post this yesterday, but I didn't. It wasn't my fault. I had it all ready, but Andrew didn't see fit to add his comments till today. But he did, and they're good, so we're all glad we waited for Andy to be cool and witty with his commentary.)

While I may feel that the title of this post is pretty self-explanatory, others may not hold the same opinion. I shall therefore do my best to elucidate the situation. Read on.

While Andrew and I were in Tennessee visiting during the summer (see the previous post), we did a bit of helping out around the place. My family is building a house right now, and so it's great fun to be out there digging and pounding and shoveling and all sorts of cool stuff like that. I especially liked bashing bricks to pieces- I'm not sure why I got to do it, but it sure was fun.

(NOTE: I want to crush the bricks, not the house-builders.)

It helped that I was on a Thor movie high, and I was totally stoked to be using Mjolnir, that hammer forged by elves in the heart of a dying star..... or whatever it is he says. My brother Spud knows, but he's on a mission in Thailand right now. And no, I wasn't actually wearing a dress while doing this. Or a cape, sadly.

Anyway, back with the titular story. My family has a 15 passenger van to cart around our 12 member family. (Recap: Daddy and Mama, six girls and four boys.) When we need to cart stuff around, we take out enough of the seats so there is room in there. There are only seven kids at home now, anyways, so it's not like it's that big of a deal. It's a useful vehicle. We've had it since I was eight or something.

Apparently there is no trash service to my family's place. They live kind of in the country (though not too far away, since Daddy does teach at the university right there in town), and there is a trash dump-off place not far down the road. Basically, you just load up your trash, drive on down, chuck your trash in the giant dumpster, and then leave. I was never to know this joy, however. Life is not so simplistic for me.

There was a load of garbage to be taken down to the dump. The boys but it in the back of the van (this isn't as gross as it sounds- it wasn't free range trash, it was very well contained), and somehow I became the designated driver of the vehicle. Andy, Bug, and Fat Boy all came along for the ride and to help out. We were instructed to drop off the trash, and then fetch a large bag of ice from the Dollar General on the corner on our way home. So we all hopped in the van, and the screaming then began.

I hadn't driven that van in quite a while, and suddenly I'm driving down these little roads with hardly any shoulder at all! I was most intent on not hitting the other cars on the roads. Andy kept bothering me with trifling details, like mail boxes. What ended up happening was that I would scream and bellow loudly every time I saw a car coming, which would trigger Andy's warnings of minor obstacles.

(By Andy:  I would have to interject here and explain that by "minor obstacles," my dear and lovely wife means anything that would tear a fender off of even a van such as that one.  Which were usually NEXT to the road.  Though in response to this comment, my darling would like to point out that she--as can be seen from the picture-- was already more than busy bending the laws of physics to fit the van on the road in the first place.)

By the time that we finally made it to the dump, we were so relieved! However, we pulled up to the gate to see a horrendous sign that marked the peak of hopelessness of our journey.

Man, that was a disappointing sign, because, believe me, that sign knew what it was talking about. That van WAS a very stinky, smelly place. With a frustrated growl from EVERYONE in the van, we pulled out from the place and went back down that horridly tiny and twisted little road. We were all freaked out from being in a Big Van with Stinky Stuff, with a Crazy Driver. I don't know if Andrew or myself could be called the most stressed. We were both in a serious competition for that title.

When we got to Dollar General, Bug and I decided that we would wait in the van. We may or may not have been in a questionable state of appearance. Andy and Fat Boy went in to get the bag of ice. It should have taken a few minutes. Apparently, however, the checkout lady inside was gabbing away with someone and didn't feel like going faster than a bald man's hair growth.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch (aka, inside the van), Bug and I were dying.

Seriously, dying. (Note: The putrid green lines signify the putrescent odor, the rancid red lines denote the oppressive heat, and the other lines... well, just all around general unhappiness with the situation. I mean, seriously, look at our faces. Can't you just tell that we're massively upset?)

Not only was it very, very stinky inside of that van, it was also very, very hot outside of that van. Very warm. Quite warm. Extremely warm. SO, we faced a choice. We could either sit in that stinky van with the windows rolled up, and therefore enjoy the air conditioning OR we could roll down the windows have some breathable air. And, yes, this was an EITHER/OR situation. We did a little bit of both, alternating between the two whenever either the heat or the smell became too unbearable. The only thing we did throughout was seriously get confuzzled in a frustrated way about what was taking those boys so darn long. And then they did come back! And then Andy found out that Talkative Cashier had shortchanged him by quite a bit, and had to go back in, so we were stuck there for even LONGER!

(The poor checkout lady was more than a bit flustered.  She gave me $5 too little in change.  Then when I went back to bring it to her attention she gave me 3 or 4 too much.  It wasn't her day.  But Tashya doesn't quite feel as sorry for her as I do.)

By the time they were finally done, we girls had decided not to dawdle for a second longer than necessary. We sped home, screaming the entire five minutes, parked on the grass, and jumped out of the van. We avoided garbage and Big White Vans for a while following this ordeal. Fortunately, Bug and I have both recovered from the horrors of garbage warfare. Barely.

YES! WE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! And a Story or Two About Tennessee As Well

Hello, dear folk! How are you all? I know that it's been forever and a day since I last put ANYTHING up here, but I do have some reasons. None of them are extremely valid, but I'll say that they count anyway. The first and foremost of the group involves the fact that a little devil in the form of an overactive computer program snuck into my laptop and made it so that nothing would run. At all. But guess what? My favorite engineer fixed everything! He's so good at that!

As I put it, "He fixes what I break and eats what I bake!"

Pretty accurate statement.

Fun Fact: Before I ever really met Andrew, he came over to my apartment to pick up my roommate for the ward Halloween activity. Our water heater had broken, but I really needed to shower. I took the most freezing shower of my life, and pretty much almost died. My roommates mentioned the freezing water to Andrew, who said, "Let me see something." Then he did something, and our water heater was fixed. There was warm water once again! SALVATION from the COLD! I'm pretty sure that I fell in love with him right then. No romance sparked, however, since I didn't know who he was until a good while later. I was in my room for all of this. My mysterious hero!

Speaking of fixing stuff, I have a few stories about Andrew. Did you know that my handsome husband is also quite the mechanical miracle worker? True story. I shall confer evidences upon you at this point.

Way back in June, Andrew and I went out to visit my family in Tennessee. I never lived there, they moved there after Andy and I got married. And just so you know, Tennessee and Texas are a lot closer than Tennessee and Utah. Much better for visiting. But when we showed up, we found out that quite a few things were experiencing technical difficulties. Several people (related to me) grabbed Andy and expressed an interest in his ability to fix things. Like the lawn mower, and the fan, and the potato gun that we had brought out with us. And the fact that the bathroom door didn't have a lock- a fact that led to more than one embarrassing situation during our stay.

And Andy went to work and fixed that stuff. He couldn't fix everything (like the chainsaw and the internet thing), but that was in part because he didn't have the right parts. I feel very proud of him. He's pretty darn awesome.

In fact, I think that the only thing that rivaled Andy's awesomeness that week was Bug's ability to give directions.

During the week we were visiting, Andy and I went to get our hair done. We took Bug and Baby with us (Reminder: Bug is 18 (during the story she was 17) and Baby is 9, and they are two of my five sisters). We were going to to meet up with Mama and Daddy afterwards to go food shopping and then go home together. Mama and Daddy were out doing other errands while we were getting hair cuts. Food shopping is great because you get to help pick out the tasty edible stuffs to be consumed during the week. And you can usually ask Daddy for an Almond Joy. He's very loving and good like that.

Anyway, since Andy and I had never been to Tennessee before, we didn't know how to get around. Bug said that she knew how to get to the hair place. She was pretty darn certain. We just needed to get to that one big road, and then stay there until we turned right at Ross, which was right past the Waffle House. Sounds easy enough, right?

WRONG.

Under Bug's command, we drove up that one big road, over that bridge-hill type thing, back down again, and started looking for that one street by Ross. We never saw Ross. We looked for a Waffle House, and found out that Waffle House is the Murfreesboro, TN version of Starbucks- there is one on EVERY CORNER. So Bug told us to just keep going... keep going... a little further... keep going... So we did. And then we noticed that there weren't very many stores around any more. In fact....

Yup. Cool directions, right? I told Bug to stop giving directions and called Mama. We got some more solid directions, and turned around. As soon as we turned around, Bug took over again and told us to "Turn left here" like she knew where we were. And then as we were driving back the way we came, we saw this sign:

Bug had "kept us going" right on out of the city. She is a pretty darn awesome girl. But that's not the only story with Bug in it. Check back tomorrow for that one.

PS. My awesome friend is so much better at her blog than I am with this one. And she's cute about it, too. Michele, you are an inspiration (if you want to read her blog, you can with this link---> This is a link to Michele's cute blog!).

Don't Panic

Austin. It's a nice enough place. A little humid for my taste, but a nice place. The people are very friendly. We live in a suburb called Cedar Park. When we moved into our apartment, it was blindly done. We had no idea what it would be like. It turned out to be like this:

Hey, look! A cute apartment!

It's squarish and clean, with high ceilings, tall windows, new paint and new carpet. I like it. Except it took a while to get rid of that iggish new carpet smell, which has a way of lingering FAR longer than necessary in your abode. Especially since you can't just open the windows to air the place out, because it would negate the fact that you're blasting the air conditioning so that you aren't murdered in your beds by the marauding monkeys of humidity that are roaming at large about the land.

(Brief Side Note: The definition of Humidity. The feeling of humidity is most accurately compared to the sensation that a bunch of evil monkeys who had been previously swimming in a giant vat of molasses and honey have crawled out of said vat and are now clinging to you, draping themselves on your till their weight becomes unbearable, and it begins to become a chore to breathe. Sweating then occurs.

It's really not that humid in Austin. I just wanted to tell what humidity feels like. End Brief Side Note.)

Anyway, other than the smell, the place was lovely. And then the people with our stuff came and delivered it all. There were boxes of various sizes all over the place in tall stacks. It looked like the New York City skyline had moved into our new place with us- I told you that we had high ceilings! We got to work unpacking, and were chugging along just fine until I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

It was a CRICKET! I got startled and made some kind of wHeLP?!!!! noise while pointing in its general direction, indicating to Andrew that he was to play the part of Knight in Shining Armor, and remove the cricket from the premises. Andrew performed his job admirably, grabbing a large plastic goblet we happened to have sitting on the counter, and running about after the cricket until he got the goblet over its creepy little cricky body. He then took it outside and set it free. There's no point in just killing the things, that's not very nice! The cricket probably just took the wrong exit off of the Insect Interstate, and was trying to find a way back on the highway, and wound up in our place instead. Why kill the thing for taking the wrong turn? I get lost all the time! I don't want to be killed for it!

We got back to work after that, laughing at the encounter. A few minutes later, I saw something out of the OTHER corner of my eye. ANOTHER CRICKET! Sheesh! Another noise and arm flail notified Andrew of the location of the next cricket. No sooner had that cricket been disposed of- we saw another! We jokingly started a tally that reached a serious count of 14 crickets caught by that evening. We tried to figure out where they might be coming from- how could 14 crickets get in while the movers were carrying in boxes? Could there be a cricket infestation at one of the warehouses, and they got into our couch???

The worst part for my nerves came in the evening, when I was jumpy from a bunch of crickets appearing in the corners of my eyes all day. Andrew and I had made progress in the living room, and we now had a place to sit in the middle of the floor and play a game or two. As we were lounging on the floor, relaxing, Andrew managed to get my mind off of marauding crickets and get me to call down- until, that is, he looked right behind me and said, "Don't panic."

Of course, I seized up in complete fear and started squirming about. I mean, honestly, what the heck kind of reaction are you expecting when you look over someone's shoulder, find a terror-inducing creature, and then say "Don't panic"? I mean, really! By this time, Andy could catch a cricket with hardly any effort at all. As soon as he did, I sat up and said something to the effect of "IF THERE ARE ANY MORE CRICKETS, I'M GOING TO FIND SOMETHING TO PROTECT MY HEAD WHILE SLEEPING!" During my declaration and decidedly pathetic meltdown, Andy looked behind me at the arm of the couch and said once again in his unconcerned tone, "Don't panic." 

I flipped.

I ran into our room and threw myself on the bed. There hadn't been very many crickets in our room, mostly out in the other rooms. But then there was one in our bedroom. Andy ran in and got that one while I was having an emotional breakdown on the bed. I grabbed the thing nearest to me, which happened to be a pair of Valentine's Day boxers (clean, mind you), and stuffed it on my head. I stayed like that for the rest of the night.

I just needed to last another day or two, when we would be driving out to Tennessee to visit my family for a week or so before Andy's job started and vacation days became a thing of theory, kind of like recess. Fortunately, the next day we found out that there was a hole in our living room floor behind the couch. We plugged it up, the bug killer dude came by and sprayed around the building, and our cricket problem was cut into a fourth of what it was before. We were very grateful. Of course, that meant that by the time we got home from our trip we had loads of dead crickets to clean up. And dried up cricket carcasses explode if you try to sweep them up. Just so you know.

A Reason for Not Posting- Dear Grandpa

So, one of the many reasons that I have not posted for over two months is that my very beloved grandfather, Gary James Chelson, Sr., passed away on July 2. I flew from Austin to Portland to be with my family for the funeral service and the celebration of Grandpa's life. Rejoicing in conversation and song with a whole herd of extended family is a great way to recognize the wonderful posterity and legacy that Grandpa left behind.

The whole family was able to be there except for the two kids on missions, and Andy, who couldn't get out of work. It was great to have everyone together again. The last time that we had all been together was for a very different occasion- my wedding. That's when the family was last together, and we were all laughing and happy and rejoicing in the forging of a new family. Once again we were celebrating the bands of familyhood as we remembered Grandpa and his influence on our of our lives.

I, being one of the oldest grandchildren, remember a lot more about Grandpa than a lot of the younger children. Grandpa is very tall, a giant! And he has very, very large hands. His hands are strong, but very loving. Grandpa loves to serve, and he loves the gospel. He loves his Savior.

Grandpa played lots of games with the kids before his diabetes got worse. He would bounce us on his knees, and tickle us. He'd stick his thumb in your armpit and wiggle it around while demanding the return of his finger, while you were begging for the cessation of tickles. He would drop a dollar from up high, and you could keep it if you could catch it before it hit the ground. He would give shoulder rides. As his diabetes got worse, he lost one of his legs, his vision became poor, and he was not always lucid. But he would always say, "Hello, pretty girl!" when I came to visit him.

Grandpa has a wonderful bass voice. He sings very low! I think of him when I hear beautiful songs like "Shenandoah," which is one of his favorites. I'm sure he's back to singing again up in Paradise, meeting with all of his loved ones who passed on before him, including my aunt who died when she was four. It must be nice to see her again.

Though it is strange to think that Grandpa is not over there in Portland anymore, it is comforting to know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is a true gospel, and that families can be together forever. God be thanked for the gift of his Beloved Son, and the wondrous Plan of Salvation and Happiness.