Monday Memory: I'm with the Band

I went to a middle school where participation in the band was compulsory, not optional. The school was small and all bodies were needed to field a full band, and I pretty much hated it and thought it was the worst thing ever. Because I didn't enjoy band, or being forced to be a part of it, I chose to play the drums, my thinking being that drums would be the easiest instrument to learn and thus require less effort than say a flute or trumpet.

Well, for all aspiring slackers out there, you should know that the drums are actually pretty tough to learn and I doubt any professional (or surly 7th grade) percussionist will say it's easy. It was a lot of work and required just as much outside-the-classroom practice time as any other instrument.

 

(That's me in the 7th grade beating a tom-tom drum in a local parade. If I look hot, tired, and grumpy, it's because I am hot, tired, and grumpy.)

My poor attitude and utter contempt for compulsory band came to a head a few days before the Christmas concert. The band teacher, Mr. W needed to spend some time working with the woodwinds on a particularly tricky part of a song and instructed the rest of us to sit quietly and study our music so we'd be ready for our parts. I was bored and mad and didn't want to be there, so I quickly organized an impromptu drum line of percussionists in the back and we got our groove on. Mr. W saw what was going on and shut down our fun and assigned me his favorite punishment, a 300 word essay. (Mr. W didn't usually send students to the office or give detention, but instead had his problem kids write 300 word essays, usually on a music-related topic of his choice, but in this case, he left the topic up to me.)

For many kids, being forced to write 300 words was a punishment worse than a woodshed beating, but I was happy to take it. Instead of writing 300 words about percussion instruments or the piece of music we were playing, I chose to write 300 words telling Mr. W how much I disliked him and his class. I gleefully crafted my paper to reflect my disdain for him and the entire class. I felt pretty clever hurling insults at my teacher and felt confident that I had "won" this quarrel.

Did I mention Mr. W and his family lived next door?
I don't think I did, did I?

That's right, Mr. W lived RIGHT NEXT DOOR. He could wave to my parents from his front porch when they parked in the driveway. We could smell their BBQ when they grilled in the backyard. We could hear voices when their kids would fight upstairs. Yup, Mr. W lived RIGHT NEXT DOOR.

Clearly I wasn't nearly as smart and clever as I thought I was.

The day I turned in my brilliant essay, Mr. W waited until he saw that both of my parents were home and walked over and gave them the paper. He briefly explained what had transpired and told them he wasn't planning on pursuing the matter further because he knew my mom and dad would take care of it. He let them keep my essay.

When Mr. W left, I got the tongue lashing of a lifetime. My parents took turns addressing topics such as respecting authority, what is and isn't appropriate to say to a teacher, my bad attitude about band, the need to buck up and deal, etc, etc.... And then they did something I'll never, ever forget. They laughed and laughed and laughed. They read pieces of my essay out loud and laughed. They told me that writing was a great outlet for my feelings and frustrations, but from here on out, I should just give these kinds of essays to them to enjoy and give the teachers something more bland and appropriate. Don't get me wrong, even though they liked my writing, my parents did not approve of my bad attitude or disrespectful essay, and I was suitably punished (I think I got grounded?) and I never did anything like that again. But who would have thought playing the drums in band would end up making me a better writer?

I didn't ever fall in love with band or Mr. W, but I did take my parents' strong words to heart and had a better attitude about the class. No teacher again ever received one of my seething letters, although I composed many that were never seen. I don't suppose a years-too-late apology would mean much to Mr. W now, but I really am sorry. It must be incredibly difficult dealing with moody and bratty middle schoolers and you deserved respect. I hope wherever you are now, the students love band, or at least fake it better than I did.

Monday Memory: High School Cross Country

Betcha didn't know I was a runner, did ya?

And yes, I am using the term "runner" quite loosely. But if it's defined as putting one foot in front of the other at a speed quicker than one's natural walk, then yes, I am a runner.

I ran a 5k over the weekend with friends and couldn't help but be reminded of my days as a runner on the Weston McEwen High School Cross Country Team. I wasn't fast (then or now, let's be clear) but because WM was a small school, the participants were needed to field a full team and I was a welcomed member.

 

(A picture from my junior year. I'm in the middle wearing red. I think Coach's wife snapped this shot during a meet. I actually sorta-kinda-maybe look like I'm running fast. It helps that you can see I'm in front of a few other runners. I also think this was the last time I was this tan, or this fit.)

Our high school team had a few members who were state-caliber runners (at least one went on to earn a running scholarship to college) and they were sweet enough to tolerate me. I wasn't fast, but I never gave up and I really did learn a lot and enjoy our time together. Hill repeats, sprint drills, long runs, and team building/encouraging exercises were a part of what we did at practice every day. And team sing-alongs, hair braiding sessions, and spaghetti dinners kept us bonded and in good spirits before meets.

Practicing for the recent 5k with friends reminded me of how fun it can be to train with others. There was no hair braiding or singing (maybe next time?) but there was a sense of team comradery that I've missed. I'm definitely hoping we can keep on running together.

 

(Thanks Ladies! You made me feel like I was in high school again!)

Easter Weekend

Whew.

A weekend full of fun times and perfect weather.

 

Egg hunts, my 5k, soccer practice, cookie projects and more.

Yup, you could say we were more than a little busy.


Of course, in the light of the sole reason for Easter, it is all meaningless.


He is Risen.

Christ is Risen Indeed.

Monday Memory: Prom!

In most high schools across the country, it's Prom season! Girls are busy dress shopping and guys are figuring out how best to ask out their favorite girl, or trying to get up the guts to ask any girl. When Dan and I were out at dinner last week, we saw a group of formally dressed Prom-goers and it reminded me so much of attending Prom my junior and senior years.

In my high school, the junior class was traditionally responsible for putting on the Prom. I was, of course, on the Prom committee and we chose the theme, An Evening in Paris. It should be noted that none of us had actually been to Paris, but the pictures in our minds looked lovely, so we went with it.

 

(Yes, this is the original Prom ticket from my junior year. Thanks sis Jen for finding this and scrapbooking it years later for me!)

My date that year was a guy from a rival high school who I'd been crushing on for quite some time. He was nice and polite and my parents liked his parents, and it turned out that he in no way, shape, or form was crushing on me. He was a good dancer though, and I wasn't bad on the dance floor myself, so we really did have a great time.

(Another side note: I made this dress for Prom as well as my 4-H sewing project. It still is one of my all-time favorite dresses.)

Prom my senior year was a different story. With two weeks before the big event, I had no date an there were no underground rumors of a shy guy still building up the courage to ask me. I was a bit disappointed that I wouldn't be going, especially when my friends spoke about new dresses and fancy dinner plans. My girlfriends encouraged me to go by myself or with other single ladies. This was no big deal at my school, but most certainly not encouraged by my parents and not something I would be allowed to do had I wanted to.

Right after convincing myself a girl only needed to go to Prom once in her life, a guy friend who I'd known for years asked me. He actually had wanted to ask my little sister, but she wasn't old enough to go to Prom yet (my parent's rules, not the school's), so I guess he figured the older sister wasn't a bad second place.

Here's the thing though, for as sad and sorry as that story is, Prom senior year really was a lot of fun. It was less about does-he-or-doesn't-he-like-me and was more about spending time with my friends before we graduated and headed off in different directions. We were mere weeks away from graduation and even though we lived in a small town, we knew we'd rarely, if ever, all be in the same place again.

(Some of the senior ladies of Prom '97. That's me on the bottom left. I'm currently facebook friends with four of these gals, and met one for an extremely enjoyable 2-hour coffee about a year ago, but really have no idea what's going on with most of them. For that one night though, didn't we all look like a million bucks?)

Did you go to Prom? What memories stand out for you years later?

Coeur d' Alene Getaway

Did I ever tell you about the time Dan was awesome and told me we were taking off for the weekend to stay at a fancy-schmancy resort, eat delicious food, and get massages?

No?

Well, I should have. So, there was this time (last weekend) when Dan the Awesome Husband Man (I make up cheesy nicknames) did just that. We stayed at the beautiful and luxurious Coeur d' Alene Resort:

 

(All these pictures came from the resort's website as it was raining/sleeting/snowing during our tenure and resulted in less-than-lovely pictures.)

Dan told me later that his true not-so-secret reason for this weekend away was to eat here:

 

Wolf Lodge Inn is a hole-in-the-wall restaurant outside of Coeur d' Alene that serves the best steaks you'll find in the area. Dan and I spit a 40-ounce, 2 steak platter (sirloin and porterhouse) and can't recommend it enough. If you ever find yourself in that area around dinner time, stop in. It will probably be the best decision you make all day.

Because we were stuffed with steak, we declined dessert at Wolf Lodge, and instead had dessert over an hour later back at the resort.

 

Yes, Dan's sundae is huge, about the size of his head, and my lemon layer cake came complete with a scoop of ice cream and french macaroon. It was sugared bliss on a plate and I want another and another and another.

If you need a quick weekend getaway, I highly recommend Coeur d' Alene - the resort, the steakhouse, the everything!

(And big thanks to Dan! You knew exactly what I needed. You're the best.)

Monday Memory: Billy Bob Teeth

Remember about 10 years ago when those ridiculous fake redneck teeth were all the rage? Yeah, they were dirty, broken, obnoxiously crooked and good for a laugh or two amongst friends and family. Well, my family is usually fairly easily amused and hopped right on this trend. I think all the guys got a set in their Christmas stocking, because there's no Christmas like a Billy Bob Christmas!

 

Yup, that's my dad, uncle and cousin sporting the sophisticated look at a family Christmas gathering 10 years ago. Oh, and to add to the classiness, they even put them in a couple days later at my sister's wedding. (Looking back, I guess it was fair to show her new husband's family exactly what kind of stock she came from.)

Fortunately, I think the redneck teeth craze is long past, but I will fondly look back at that time as one of the few trends my family fully embraced.

Monday Memory: I Used to Play Basketball

Poorly, I should add I used to play basketball poorly.

Growing up I was always a tall kid; usually taller than all the girls and most of the boys in my class. I also was pretty energetic and liked to participate in team sports, unfortunately this combination did not magically create a great basketball player.

I think I peaked the first year I played. In the 4th grade I scored 10 points in our 5-game season. Ten points was exactly half of the total points our team scored that year. (Side note: I can't imagine how awful it must have been for parents to watch a game where the final score was typically something like 6-4. I guess we'll find out when Lana Jean starts playing in a few years.)

My junior high years were full of effort (I did work hard at practice and could run line drills and do the three-man-weave like nobody's business) but lacked talent, skill, and natural ability. Our team wasn't particularly good and my being a part of it didn't make it any better. However, because the school was so small, they needed the players to field a team and I got lot of playing time.

 

(That's me on the left. Number 41 with the skinny legs, messy pony tail and zero natural ability.)

I stopped playing in the 9th grade. I wasn't getting any better, didn't love playing the sport, and thought the merciful thing to do was retire. It also saved my parents an extra trip into town to pick me up after practice.

I often hear stories from 30- or 40-somethings who speak nostalgically about their sport-playing days. Some swear they'd have had a college scholarship if it weren't for an ill-timed broken ankle or jammed finger. Not me. Nope, I know how it really was an how bad I really was.

So, what about you? Did you play sports? Were you especially bad? Good?

Lana's memes

 

 

 

Monday Memory: Sausage Makin'

Most families can say they like meat well enough. Maybe they have steaks or roasts on special occasions, or for a favorite meal. But my family likes meat so much that we actually have a tradition of making it exactly the way we want it. While most families decide between Jimmy Dean Maple or Country Style sausage, we just go ahead and do our own sausage makin'.

My first memories of making sausage began when I was probably 5 or 6. All the aunts and uncles and grandparents on my Dad's side of the family would assemble and my Great-Grandpa Louie would reign over the entire operation. The men would be out in the garage or shop, mixing batches of ground pork and beef and the perfect blend of spices, known only to the very most senior members of the family. Women were inside weighing and packaging bulk sausage or working the casings machine to make breakfast links. All the kids were usually assigned jobs that included staying out of the way. We ended those days with a plate of fresh sausage, scrambled eggs, and toast.

As we got older, the roles previously divided by age and gender were blurred; partially because my Great-Grandpa Louie was no longer there to enforce them, and partially because the labor was needed. Women and children were welcomed to the mixing table, and men did weighing and packaging as well. We enjoyed great talks around the mixing and packing tables, including the occasional dirty joke (as dirty as you'd dare tell your grandparents, or as dirty as they'd dare tell their grand kids). There would be light-hearted, yet momentarily heart-stopping pranks about missing band-aids, lost in the sausage abyss.

I don't have any pictures of sausage making with my cousins or extended family (maybe a cousin or aunt does and would like to share?), but I did find a few more recent ones of my immediate family carrying on the ritual in Oregon.

 

(The hairnets were a safety precaution. At that time, both Jen and I had super-long hair.) 

In future years, even spouses got in on the action too.

 

 

(This post was inspired by the fact that I wanted some of our family's delicious sausage for breakfast on Sunday morning. Alas, there is none in our freezer. We didn't make any last year, and are sadder for it. This is a problem that needs to be remedied and we WILL be doing some sausage makin' this year.)

Congratulations Bill and Sue!

Two weeks ago we were thrilled to attend Dan's mom's wedding. The day was lovely and everyone had a great time. I only snapped a few pictures, but think they show off the day well.

 

Congrats Bill and Sue! We're so happy for you!