Skip to main content

Bear Lake 2012


The object of the boat driver is to create waves enough to knock them off.
The object of the riders is to hang on for dear life and have the best time.
The object of the photographer is to laugh until it hurts. 

Believe it or not, I am tan.
The point is that I can still ski.
Celebrate with me.
("Yay" moment)
 This year we started a new hobby - exploring old houses. We went inside this one and a shack behind it. We found the possibility of Hantavirus.

This year we gave up a new hobby - exploring old houses.

Paparazzi follow them everywhere.

Paris
It just isn't how I remember it.

Bear Lake 

I haven't the foggiest idea.

Cows on the road

Missing? 
My Jacob who chose scout camp over following cows and seeking Hantavirus.

Weird kid.

Comments

  1. toko baju muslim pria layaliJuly 29, 2012 at 3:54 AM

    This is a great posting I have read. I like your article. Thank you

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Braces!

13 year old got braces today! She also had a little helper on her.
Post a Comment
Read more

Christmas Gifts

Jill is the slice of home baked pie you long for. Her dad was a farmer. His dad was a farmer. On a hot summer day Jill would call me up to go floating down the canal or ride the slick rocks with the stream into a barely thawed pool of water. She's also the girl I called one day when I was bored and offered to drive two hours and try out this new thing called "Bungee Jumping." We did although I can't remember why . The first year after my college graduation I found myself particularly low on pride.  First of all, I was a college graduate working as a sales clerk.  Too late I discovered that a bachelors degree in sociology is equal to a high school diploma and, in some cases, a G.E.D. and got you hired at JC Penney trying to upsale with a colorful scarf.  On top of it, I'd been dumped.  It wasn't that he was the love of my life.  In fact, it was quite the opposite.  He started planning the wedding aloud and I freaked out, pointing out that we'd only bee...
17 comments
Read more

They Call Me Grace

I was nearly 8 years old when my baby sister was born. This was quite fortunate since I was well adept at reading. I was tired of my name. Nancy. So plain. The Sunday comics included a comic strip called Nancy. She hung out with her stupid little boyfriend named Russell, was very boring and cried all the time. Why would parents who love their child name her such a boring name? I assumed they had run out of originality by this point. I was, after all, their third child. There was Mike, then Suzy, after me they had Joey (short for Joanne) and finally Jene Marie. The "j" a soft French slur. It was fitting. We had a French surname. But clearly Jene Marie was their crowning glory. Do I hate for taking all the love from my parents and hogging it for herself? Of course not. She's my sister. She's my baby sister. But if I happen to feel the need to speak to her when she's at work, I always ask for her by using both names; Jene Marie (with the schwa). I don't want her...
22 comments
Read more