Taiwan, part 1

 In August Michael and I decided to jump on a great opportunity to tag along with my big younger brothers on a trip.  They were headed back to their second home to visit their dear friends from their missions (Pietr served in the northern Taiwan mission, Adam in the southern.  They were there at the same time and I believe they consider that a rare blessing.)  We thought it was high time to let Isaac see life outside our little garden village, so we brought him with.  Here the boys are looking peppy while we waited in Portland for our flight.

 Happy reunion with Adam, who was waiting for us in Taipei.  He and Pietr had just come from an exciting stay in Beijing where, being without hotel accommodations and finding the weather agreeable, they decided to smuggle a night's sleep in Tiananmen Square.  Here they dodged security and monstrous mosquitoes and got a great story to tell in exchange.  Let's just say, these boys needed a big sister around to keep them in line...

From Taipei we took a bus then rail to Zhanghua, where our adventures began....

Renting scooters, taking lives into own hands.  Isaac, confused and enamored by the Chinese soap opera and the talking cockatiel respectively.

Lost in translation...

Variety of Taiwanese breads we feasted on for breakfasts with the Chen family, who kindly hosted us the first few days.  Other breakfast favorites were warm soy milk, yellow watermelon, fresh guava, asian pears, sugarcane from the garden, and dumplings stuffed with bamboo and pork sausage.

Tai Chi in the park.  This is a regular and favorite form of relaxation and exercise.  I know I enjoyed it!

At the end of a hike uphill on a nature trail (where we saw what Isaac believed to be an indigenous viper eating a toad) we came to the largest Buddah on the island.  There was a beautiful view of the city where Adam spent a lot of time on his mission.  We spent the first week touring his area, the second week on Pietr's area (right).

Michael appreciating the spectacular architecture in this particular temple complex.

Outside the complex were native Taiwanese street vendors selling various curiosities.  Isaac stared at these dried squid for a moment before pulling out a few quay to purchase one.  We ate the whole thing.  It was gross.

 In order of size: goose eggs, chicken eggs, quail eggs, snails.  We saw this selection everywhere, including in every 7-11, though the eggs were usually peeled and floating in a mysterious brown liquid.  These vendors were native Taiwanese aborigines who speak Taiwanese (vs. Mandarin).  It is rare for outsiders to know this language, but Adam learned it while serving in the rural mountains in the south, and became pretty good at it.  He taught us, especially Isaac, some phrases.  People were tickled everywhere we went to see a little white American boy ordering food or wishing a pleasant day in a language that is all but extinct.

At one point, nature called.  So I excused myself to follow the pink signs with strange characters on them until I came to a nicely tiled room.  I went into a stall and found this.  If I hadn't seen other women in there I would have thought I had gotten the signs wrong.  (Unfortunately, I did that a couple times too...)

I found my brothers and asked them, "What in the world is it?  And how in the world do I use it?"  They looked at each other and said, "Did you warn her about the squatters?"  "No, didn't you?"  Then they handed me some tissues (if you don't bring it with you, you're stuck) and told me that I've been going camping my whole life.  Figure it out.

Lunch was a feast, as was almost every meal we ate.  No Chinese restaurant could have prepared us for the food we would be served that whole two weeks, but it was almost always delicious and Isaac was fearless and dug in with two chopsticks no matter what it was!

Gotta go.  More soon to come...

Happy Valentine's to My Very Own Cowboy

Merry Christmas from the Allens

 A very merry Christmas to all our beloved friends and family!

The gentle reader may want to click on this lovely original painting by Van Gallen to see it in a larger size (don't be creeped by the cherub on the far left--he's sneaky, but mostly harmless).

Mother/Daughter Bonding

Apparently, Audrey and I went on a date.  Apparently, I wore "leddle bear ears," so she said, and her eyelashes were "very beautiful!"...at least on her one good eye....  Mine were pretty too.  Apparently, I have three legs and a spider friend that Dad would hate, because everybody knows Dad HATES spiders.  And, apparently Audrey figured out how to spell Anna in her spare time (top left corner), and decided her's was spelled almost the same (tucked below her magenta body, bottom right).

Now Audrey is not much beyond her three-yr mark, and her powers of deduction never cease to amaze me.  What a treasure and delight her company always is, even when she makes me wear little bear ears.

True or False? You Be the Judge

Let's play a little game:  Guess which of the following articles are true or false.  You can find the answers in the comment section.

1. Coos Bay, OR.  Terry Vance Garner, 69, never returned from feeding his hogs last Wednesday, prompting a family member to check on him about 2:30 p.m. and call authorities.  “First time I’ve had a situation like this,” said Paul Frasier, Coos County district attorney. “Outside of television and reading Hannibal Lecter novels, I’ve never heard of anything like this.  They first found his dentures and his hat, a package of cigarettes, his pocket knife. Then they started collecting his pieces of clothing,” Frasier said. “We’ve heard that one [of the hogs] might have been aggressive.”  The Oregon farmer who went to bring his hogs breakfast instead became the meal himself.

2.  The Washington Times reports that the mystery of President Obama's pallid performance during the last presidential debate has been solved: The high elevation of Denver, CO, to which the president had not yet acclimated, was affecting his performance and "diminished his capacity to perform complex mental tasks."  He is requesting that the next debate be held at a comfortable venue in Death Valley, CA.

3.  Local police beat:  10:26am--Sheep with plastic bag stuck on its head running around pasture and scaring the other sheep near Interstate 5 milepost 152.

4.  Local police beat:  1am--In the 600 block of Mill St., man arrested for spraying his wife with pepper spray after she allegedly got into his "personal zone."  Wife treated at the scene.

5.  The Allenburg Times:  Following Audrey's diagnosis, she was being treated per doctors' orders.  After leaving her for the night with straightjacket firmly in place in accordance with manufacturers instructions, she escaped and is now at large in the neighborhood.

 6.  Local police beat:  12:45am--A man called police to say he believes an alligator was eating his chickens in the 200 block of Jiggs Lane.  The man said he bought a foot-long alligator and flushed it down the toilet earlier this year.  He told a dispatcher he thinks the animal is living in his septic system.

For Beppy

Okay Bep,here are the color shots:

...Or with Enos, the praying mantis (get it?), if you prefer...

Hope these will work, Bev.  Thanks for doing this for Pug.  He's going to love it.  DF, A

Scripture Vocab

Sweet and pious Willy sat by me reading his scriptures during the sacrament meeting a few weeks ago.  Leaning toward me he whispered, "Mom, what does this say?"
"Concubine."
"What is that?"
"Let's talk about it later."
More reading.  "Mom, what does this say?"
"Harlot."
"What's that?"
"Later."
More reading.  "Mom, what does this say?"
"Abomination.  Later."
"Mom, what is this one?"
"Whoredom.  Will, let's stop reading for now."

Grandma was correct when she said it is a great tragedy that William should grow up.  By the way, if this cucumber slice was found at the scene of a crime, whose dental records do you think it would match?

Brer Momma and the Tar Baby (excerpt)

     Brer Momma said to Brer Audrey, "You must finish your peas."
     "Well, well, what have we here?" Brer Audrey thought, grinning an evil grin.
     Brer Momma gulped. She knew Brer Audrey didn't want to finish. She did some fast thinking while Brer Audrey rolled about on the bench, fussin' herself sick over them peas.
     "I've got you this time, Brer Momma," said Brer Audrey, jumping up and shaking off the food. "You've sassed me for the very last time. Now I wonder what I should do with you?"
     Brer Momma's eyes got very large. "Oh please Brer Audrey, whatever you do, please don't lie down and don't be quiet!"
     "Maybe I should kick and scream," mused Brer Audrey. "No, that's too much trouble. Maybe I'll throw something instead."
     "Kick!  Scream yo'self silly!  Do whatever you please," said Brer Momma. "Only please, Brer Audrey, please don't lie down and be silent like you's dead."
     "If I'm going to throw something, I'll get a swat," said Brer Audrey. "And I don't want a swat. But cryin' is handy, so maybe I'll do that instead."
     "Throw somethin'! Cry! Do whatever you please," said Brer Momma. "Only please, Brer Audrey, please don't act like you is dead."
     "Silent like I's dead, eh?" said Brer Audrey. "What a wonderful idea! Your heart'll be torn into little pieces!"
     So Brer Audrey swung herself around and around and then flung herself (gently) down onto the floor. Brer Momma let out such a scream as she fell that all of Brer Audrey's fur stood straight up.  Brer Audrey fell onto that floor with a crash and a little thump. Then there was silence.
 

Brer Momma cocked one ear toward the floor, listening. But she heard nothing. Brer Audrey cocked her ear toward the table, listening for Brer Momma's whimpers of pain. She heard nothing.  Then Brer Audrey heard someone calling her name. She turned around slowly and looked up with one little eye. Brer Momma was sitting on a bench enjoying her dinner and looking smug.

She laid there for a good 15 minutes as if dead, utterly unresponsive to anything.  Once she didn't want to get up for the morning, but we had to be somewhere.  I picked her up, changed her clothes and diaper, propped her up and fixed her hair, shoes on, snacks in a bag hooked onto her chubby little arm, and buckled in her car seat before she would open her eyes.  At that point I whispered the word yogurt into her ear and she suddenly came to life, "Oh yes!  That sounds nice, Mommy!"  This girl has some grit!  Frankly, I'm enjoying this tantrum phase.  My only question:  How can I make it last?... 

Obituaries

Henredon Sofa dies at age 45-ish

Today an era in the Mikkelsen family ended:  The old sofa, which was the obvious focal point of every decorating scheme, was taken to its final resting place at the local dump having lived a long and fulfilling life.

It began its life stylishly in a prominent law office in Portland, Oregon where it dwelled happily for several years.  By '83, though still in its prime, it was thought to be outdated and out-lived.  A humble junior attorney recognized its value and rescued it from certain death, bringing it home to his own family room.  And it lived there as the veritable heart--or maybe a ventricle--of their home (and it matched nicely with the cinnamon carpet!).  It was on this sofa that many of their children learned to read, where gripping Little House on the Prairie episodes were absorbed, where guinea pigs romped with their tenders.

From house to house this sofa moved until the first of their 10 children was married.  The daughter and her new husband were bequeathed the sofa as a gift to furnish their first little home.  It became an integral fixture once again.  It served as a couch a time or two for the husband when the bed just wasn't big enough for the both of them, and there the young mother often nestled with her nursing babes in the twilight hours. Grandchildren learned to read there, and the little sofa, having gone full circle was showing signs of wear.  But what is a little wear when it is the wear of dear friends bouncing up and down when they've guessed the right answer in a rousing game of charades, or a faint stain from "Grandma, put your feet up and I'll bring you something warm to drink"?

But as with all living things, time catches up and nature inevitably takes its course.  Exposed upholstery nails began scratching innocent arms, and stray springs started poking.  Ever widening tears swallowed errant treasures causing angst and tears as little blind hands explored the gastric workings of the sofa in attempted reclamation.  Finally, the decision was made that practicality must at some point override sentiment.  It was time to bury our dead.  The sofa has left no genetic legacy that we know of, only that legacy of service and comfort which lives in our grateful hearts.

Knock Before Entering

An effective and necessary notice was posted on the bathroom door this morning, lest we forget the dangers of neglecting our manners.

Glory Bee

Jacob has hatched a plan to earn a little college and mission dough.  Local honey, wax and pollen are a valuable commodity around here.  And the lady nominated to head the project is called is Victoria...

Supposedly, Victoria is in here somewhere, but we hadn't painted the yellow dot on her thorax yet, and beats me to point her out!

You are looking at a transplanted wild hive rescued from a residential neighborhood.  This is shortly before we moved the hive out to the homestead.

"And even today, against overpowering odds and prohibitive costs, one does not have to go far in any part of the country to hear voiced the old hopes that stirred millions of immigrants, freed slaves, westward movers, young couples starting out: a little farm, a little shop, a little store--some kind of place and enterprise of one's own, within and by which one's family could achieve a proper measure of  independence, not only of economy, but of satisfaction, thought, and character."
-- Wendell Berry (one of my favorite authors)

"Our model citizen is a sophisticate who, before puberty, understands how to produce a baby, but who at the age of thirty will not know how to produce a potato."
-- Wendell Berry

Hopefully our children will know both by and by.  This picture was after several hours of pulling tansy from the south hill.  It is the second of many truckloads we'll be taking to the dump over the next couple of weeks.  The last project was pulling a dead cow out of the creek, and the week before that was chopping up two 50-ft oaks we had to knock down for the new driveway.  How glorious to work hard!  Makes a person feel alive.  I think we'll tackle potatoes next spring...

A Close Shave

Evening brushing as usual... or was it?

 Clara: "WILLIAM!  STOP!  That is not going to get your teeth very clean!"

Of course, this little mistake was an underhanded pitch for the siblings and spawned a slew of unsavory comments that earned more than one person a dishonorable dismissal to bed.

As I said, it was a close shave.

Littlest Sweatshop

Time for my boys to earn their keep around here.  Here they are mending sleeping bags just before a fun Memorial Day weekend campout.

And speaking of sewing, just to give an idea of the quality of sewing that happens around here, have a peek at Jake's and Isaac's Mother's Day gifts last year.

Cross-stitched to perfection!











And, speaking of Mother's Day, here I am, a real bona fide madre!  Kind of surprising to have six little people calling me mother when I stop to think of it, but oh so wonderful in every way.

...Or, if you prefer us in our natural state:

And speaking of natural state, a neighbor friend thought it would be nice to give my daughter some eyeshadow she didn't use.  Well, it gets used around here.  Now every time I turn around somebody is on the cusp of a "black eye."  My sense of humor failed me one Sunday morning when we were all rushing to get to church on time.  We piled into the car and as we zoomed off I happened to look in my mirror to see Megs primly sitting in the back looking lovely in her pretty dress and sweetly braided hair and black eye.  It's a good thing I've long since abandoned worrying about what people think of our family!

And speaking of Clara, she was suffering from a small stubbed toe not long ago.  I asked her to please put something on it so that blood wouldn't get on the carpet.

No blood got on the carpet.

What any of this has to do with my littlest sweatshop, I don't know.  I rarely know what my point is, so I will treat you all to a poem:

There was an old man of Blackheath,

Who sat on his set of false teeth;

     Said he, with a start,

     "O Lord, bless my heart!

I've bitten myself underneath!"