:Family Matters

Do you guys remember going canoeing every year on Memorial Day? We used to go with the Harrison family and canoe on the Yahara and then that lake - was it Lake Mendota or Lake Menona? Anyway, those are some of my favorite memories. Actually, all the times we’ve gone canoeing as a family. I can remember a couple of times where it was just Dad and I; once when I was only like 7 - I remember there were lily pads - and then when I was 13 we had that overnight trip down the Wisconsin River. Then of course there’s the Boundary Waters that so many of us were able to go on - that was awesome. It was right before I got married. Even last year we went canoeing in Utah - Sherm and Brooks organized that one; cooked brats; tossed the football around with Vicki & Sherm; watched over the sleeping babies! Fun times. I don’t know what the kids and I will do this year. We don’t have anyone to go canoeing with! What are ya’lls plans? I’d love to hear (okay, read) about it! Love, Joy

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Hi Everyone!

This is to let you know that Hillary is giving her mission talk in our Sacrament Meeting this weekend, on 28 May at 9:00AM.
They don’t make a big deal anymore out of mission farewells, so we have nothing big planned. She will be speaking on “Joseph
Smith and the Restoration.” She and her sisters may sing, and Hillary and Merry may play a piano duet as prelude — it all depends on how well we can throw things together when the sisters arrive home.

Hillary spoke in her Montana Ward on 14 May — Mother’s Day. Dan and I traveled to be there and gave a small open house in the evening, since that is the Ward she is officially leaving from. She goes into the MTC on Wednesday, June 7, 2006, and her mission is the Dutch speaking Brussels Belgium/Netherlands Mission.

She and Jaret, her boyfriend, decided to leave on their missions from their singles ward because they have had such great experiences there, and so many mutual friends. Jaret is in Australia, almost exactly opposite her on the globe.

So that’s the scoop on Hillary’s mission plans. If you would like to come, we’ll figure out how to put you up.

We love all of you and wish you well.

Dan and Marie

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May 25, 2006

Today is the last day of school for the children in the Iron County School District. Summer vacation beckons with her wanton arms. Long lazy days, swimming lessons, sports, trips to the library, picnics, reunions all promise a welcoming break from nine months spent in the classroom. At least that’s what it meant to me. Well, okay, even taking sports out it’s still a fun time. Being athletically challenged I could never connect with any moving object such as a bat to a ball let alone my opponent in a pillow fight. I have always been so slow that my fastest pace was often described as ‘turtle-ish’. That being the case I must concede that summer sports were never a big issue for me or my sisters although Darlene was a cheerleader in high school and while I have never actually heard it called a sport it does require great athleticism.

Did you know that I went out for girls basketball in Jr. High? Neither did I It happened this way. The year we moved to Iowa, October of 1953, we attended four different schools, one of which was in Bonaparte, Iowa. We were staying with Marsh and Mel Flake while my parents were hunting for a farm after the fiasco at the Mt. Sterling place. As usual, I was terrified, as my naturally timid nature didn’t allow me to handle new experiences well. I still remember vividly how it felt to walk up to the front of the room that first day to hand my admission papers to the teacher, a kindly, white-haired man, feeling all the eyes in the room zeroed in on me as I proceeded to his desk. In the middle of the morning, not yet understanding the schedule, I remained at my desk as everyone else abruptly got up and left. The teacher looked at me and suggested that I might like to go down to the gym with the other girls. So, after finding out where the gym was, I did. They were running up and down the floor chasing each other, tossing basketballs back and forth and so on. I assumed it was a P.E. Class and as no one indicated that I shouldn’t be there, after taking off my shoes, I joined in. I do remember wondering why we were, on occasion, asked to run backwards down the length of the gym as forward seemed to me to be the more natural direction to be headed.

I must have joined my classmates for several weeks when I heard some of the girls talking about a basketball game they had played that past weekend. That’s when the light went on. Good grief, I had been practicing with the girls basketball team! I don’t know if any one would have said anything to me if I hadn’t figured it out but the fact that they didn’t ask me to play in any of the games was sufficient. I never went down to another ‘P.E.’ class. The whole thing became ‘moot’ as we moved not too long after that to the farm outside Keosauqua.

Ah well, that’s not really what I started to write about. What I was remembering, triggered by hearing the chimes that ring from the elementary school kitty corner across the road from us as I was out pulling weeds this morning, was my elementary school days in Mesa, Arizona when I attended Irving Elementary. Irving was a comfortable distance to walk, but as it has been so long ago I can no longer remember just how far that was. I remember doing a lot of skipping as I made my way back and forth. In those days little girls wore dresses to school or skirts and blouses. I don’t remember wearing pants or shorts and of course the now ubiquitous t-shirt was still a twinkle in someone’s eye as far as being a popular item of clothing.

My second grade year was closer to home but that one burned down about two weeks before the end of the school year. I can remember standing at the bus stop shuffling my shoe through the thick dust on the off hand chance that I might find change lost by some child before me. (I didn’t feel at all guilty as it was always change and never very much and had I inquired I risked the chance that someone would lie and say it was theirs. At any rate, the prevailing wisdom among school children at that time was expressed in the jingle, “Finders, keepers, losers, weepers”, which might be good for the finder but a little hard on the loser–but this is after many years experience of finding and losing and I was only eight years old then. I felt if it happened once it could happen again, so I always kept my eyes open and my feet shuffling. On the whole, though, I’ve probably lost as much or more money than I ever found so the scales are pretty well balanced in that regard. I might note here that I lost a whole months lunch money as a sixth grader for which my mother required me to come home for lunch as punishment. I can still remember chewing on a carrot stick as I rode back to school on my bike, trying to get the last pieces swallowed while standing hot and sweaty in line with my classmates in front of the big windows in our classroom waiting for my turn in the spelling bee that was part of the challenge we faced once a week as part of learning our spelling words.) I can’t think why we rode the bus because I can remember walking along the canal bank on the way to that school and it doesn’t seem like it was as far as Irving. Oh well, not that it really matters, I will have to confer with my sister and often, partner in crime, Barbara and see, what, if anything she remembers. Anyway, there I was and some children passing by yelled to me that I didn’t need to go to school that day as there had been a fire during the night. I didn’t believe them, of course but it turned out to be true. The school district was in a quandary as to what to do with us for the two weeks we had left in the year. They solved the problem by having us listen to the radio where each teacher would have something for her students. My teacher chose to use the time to finish the book she was reading to us after we came in from lunch break, which I really appreciated, others weren’t as lucky with their teachers giving them assignments in math etc.

The last day of school we had an assembly where awards were handed out. As I often had perfect attendance I would receive a certificate which I always found quite satisfying. After we had our desks cleaned out and the end of the years work placed in our carefully made and decorated envelopes we would run laughing and yelling out the door as the final bell of the year rang and our teacher bade us good-bye. We were all in such high good humor as we left the school grounds feeling quite daring as we sang together, “Schools, out, schools out, teacher let the fools out”. Or even better “No more pencils. no more books. No more teachers dirty looks”. It seems like there were several other ‘ditties’ as well but its been a long time since I even thought about any of this and not having MGH’s memory I will have to let it rest there.

.

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I was talking to my sister Barbara yesterday about her impending surgery for uterine cancer, which they have discovered in its earliest form. Her doctors feel that a hysterectomy where everything is removed will clear the problem up. She is quite cheerful about the whole thing while I am freaking out–probably an inheritance thing as I am the one who got the ‘worry’ gene which seems to have completely passed her by.

After the heavy stuff we started reminiscing about our past, which now goes back quite a few years. We continued on in this vein for awhile until I looked at the clock and realized that it was time to start supper which in our retirement home tends to slide quite a bit to the south from the fixed time of MGH’s working years.

“Yipes”, I squeaked “I’ve got to fix something quick or MGH and I will waste away!” I must add this disclaimer as I now measure 37/37/37 for my top middle and hip–when I walk down the street I look like a barrel! (It was hardly likely that I would expire from one missed meal. I am telling you this so you won’t be concerned for our health.)

“Quick, Barbara, give me an idea of something fast anddelicious to fix!” I pleaded into the phone. She chuckled then replied, “In my house when (HGH her good husband) comes home and asks “What’s for supper?” They have a code word “stew” which means she would like to eat out that night and he is agreeable as he doesn’t like stew.

Not having this, although I wish I did as it sounds like a clever soulution, arrangment with MGH I did the next best thing and fixed that great American Comfort Food–macaroni and cheese. Yes, it was from a mix! And they say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks!

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Was wondering about some family health questions. I was just diagnosed with gestational diabetes, and so I was wondering if there is any family history of diabetes. Thanks.

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Sunday, April 23, 2006
It is Franklin’s turn to tell us a joke for FHE (Family Home Evening). He decides to make up his own. “Why did the sock bite itself,” he asks us. He and Daddy have written down an answer that the rest of us try and guess. Mom gives up after two or three tries, but David and Bryan are willing to come up with silly stuff forever. “Okay,” says Dad, intervening. “Read us the answer.” Franklin giggles. “Because it wanted to bite other socks!”

Monday, April 24, 2006
Today is a beautiful spring day and Franklin’s leader day at school. The leader for the day also brings the two snacks for the kindergarten class. One can be sugary, but one should be healthy. Franklin has brought the same treats every time it is his turn: 20 pears packed in a basket and 20 snap-and-seal bags with two chocolate sandwich cookies each. When this is ready Mom has to get everything and Franklin out to the car. Franklin knows the routine, but counters Mom’s insistence with a complaint. “I don’t want to wear a jacket. It’s too warm!”
“Put it in your backpack just in case,” says Mom.
“But Mrs. Kitelinger checks our backpacks,” wails Frank.
Mom wins this one. Franklin carts his jacket to school in his book bag. When Mom picks him up he is all smiles. “We got to play outside all three recesses and we only had to wear our coats around our waists!”

Unfortunately, Grandma Andrus’ poetry notwithstanding, Mom is allergic to these beautiful spring days—or at least to the dust and pollen they bring. Last week she took Jenyne’s advice to use local honey to combat the itching and sneezing, purchasing a tub of honeycomb made by Beloit bees. Remembering the awe and excitement she felt as a child when her folks brought home real honeycomb she anticipates evoking similar emotions from her family when she presents her three-inch, five-dollar round at the table.
Dad shows mild interest. “Isn’t that bee poop?”
“Eew!” says Franklin.
“Yeah, Mom,” Dad pursues his point. “Why would you bring home bee poop.”
At this point Bryan clears his throat, adjusts the pencil behind his ear and announces in his most professorial tones, “Actually, it is bee spit.”
“Eew!” says Franklin. “I am never going to eat honey.”

[Comment from Syl: Hey, do any of my sibs remember that big metal can of honey that always had to be heated up on the stove before it would pour?]
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
“You had a partying cat?” asks Mom, who has been complaining of a bad ear for over a decade.
“No, no,” says Bryan. “A party in CAT, in math class.” (CAT = College Algebra and Trigonometry)
Mom’s eyes say, “And?”
“Some of the students planned this last week, and it just so happened that we were measuring the Tech Center East today. Or, rather, while I measured Tech East, other students set up refreshments. When I got done with the measurements everyone signed their name to my paper so we’d all get credit. Then we ate and went outside and played kickball.”
“When our class did that we split into five teams,” comments David. “The team with the most accurate measurements got a bag of Snickers.”
“Speaking of awards,” says Mom, “I was planning to give a bag of Snickers to the first person who noticed I’m wearing a new shirt and matching purple hair bow.”
“Is that a new combo you’re wearing?” asks Dad.
“Lovely shirt, Mom.”
“Nice shirt, Mom.”
“Since we all noticed at the same time, do we get to share the Snickers?”
“Hello,” says Dad. “She didn’t really buy any.”

“So, what did you learn in Driver’s Ed today?” Mom asks Bryan.
“Learn?”
“Okay.” Mom sometimes forgets that Bryan is a teenager and by definition already knows everything. She tries again. “What were the topics of discussion?”
“Road rage and steering.”
“Tell me what you know about steering.”
“Steering should be smooth, confident and done easily. Hands go at 9 o’clock and 3 o’clock.”
“Wait a second,” says Mom, who hands are resting and 9 and 5. “I thought hands went at 2 and 10?”
“That was before airbags,” says Bryan.
Mom thinks about this, realizing she often drives with her left hand at 9 o’clock, with her right hand on her knee, in easy reach of 5 o’clock. Or, if she is using both hands, they tend to slip to 7 and 5. When she does drive 10 and 2, Tom calls it her “white-knuckle driving” and finds an excuse to make it his turn to drive. Out loud she says, “There’s not even a place to put your hands at 9 and 3.”
Bryan uses his most patient voice. “As close to 9 and 3 as possible. It’s because of the airbags.”
[Comment from Dad: “We learned that when David went through Driver’s Ed.”]
[Comment from David: “I thought you knew that from when I went through Driver’s Ed.”]

Wednesday, April 26, 2006 Devin’s weekly e-mail is unusually short, though no less cryptic: “I trust everyone is doing well,” he says. And that’s all, folks.

Franklin stops mid-way up the steep hill leading to the north sidewalk at Roosevelt school, stooping over to scoop up a handful of dandelions. “For you, Mom,” he says. “Why thank you. They’re lovely,” replies Mom. “So do I a get a treat for giving you those? Like McDonald’s French Fries? Please? Pretty please?”
[Comment from Dad: “Rascal!”]
[Comment from Mom: “Just like his father!”]

Thursday, April 27, 2006
“Mom, tell Charlie we are really, really sorry and we’ll explain the whole story when we see him, but we are going to be late,” says Kristi. “We’re in Salt Lake City now but we were supposed to meet Char an hour ago.” Mom calls Charlie. Charlie is doing fine, did well in all of his classes but one and has a dinner-date tonight. “Just a friend,” says Charlie.

David is not home yet, so Franklin accompanies Mom and Bryan to the DMV. There is a 20- to 25-minute wait in line before Bryan can take his test, get his vision checked, pay his dues and get his picture taken. He cracks a genuine smile as he walks out of the building, permit in hand. “So,” he asks Mom. “Technically speaking you could sit on the passenger side and I could drive?”
“Technically,” says Mom, taking the wheel.

After giving Mom some great advice on how to use her multi-balls in DX-Ball, David reports that he and Bryan received 123 out of 125 points on their Charon (Pluto’s Moon) Expedition. “Apparently, we slept too long. The only teacher writing said, ‘You sleep for 12 hours!’ It’s the end of life as we know it. We’ll need a lot of sleep.”
Char calls. “Kristi wants someone to call Grandma Andrus to let her know she and Jonas are going to be late.”
“So have you called?”
“No. I can’t find the number. Say, I got some mail here ‘for the parents of David Doman.’ Something about post prom.”
“Let me call Grandma, then I’ll put you on with David.”
A few minutes later David tells Mom, “Char has a date tonight.”
“Yeah. I know. A girl named Faith who has been in his ward as long as he has. He’s been in that ward two years now.”
David adds, “He says they’re just friends.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Char is not Kristi, Mom.”

Once again Mom asks about topic when picking Bryan up from Driver’s Education. “Well, my neighbor and I were talking religion, but I think we were supposed to be talking defensive driving,” says Bryan. “I get it,” says Mom. “The best defense for driving is to pray; pray really hard.”

Friday, April 28, 2006
Mom and Franklin drive up to Madison with Dad, intending to bum around for the day, waiting to enjoy the afternoon and supper with Anna and Zoë Zander and parents. Mom and Franklin test drive a 2002 Chevy Prism, which Mom puts an offer on. Hopefully financing will be wrapped up by Monday, although the salesperson was adamant that the deal needed to be completed by this weekend for end-of-the-month type reasons. (To be continued.) After a lovely chicken dinner with Joel, Sandy and the girls, and a visit to Anna’s Elementary school to look at artwork, Dad/Mom/Frank continue the drive to Marshfield, staying overnight at the Super 8.
Mom looks wryly at her 44-year-old body in a swimsuit while putting her hair into a ponytail. Franklin is in a hurry, anxious to go swimming. “Mom, c’mon! You already look beautiful.” Dad whispers, “I told him to say that.”
The pool has basketball hoops and floating rubber balls, so Dad and Franklin challenge Mom to a game, boys against girl. The first team to make 5 shots wins. Dad tries to help Franklin out by guarding Mom, grabbing her wrists so she can’t block 6-year-old Franklin’s shots. Franklin observes this behavior and imitates it, also holding Mom’s wrists when it’s Dad’s turn to take a shot. Mom doesn’t have a chance. The boys win it, 5 to 4.
Bryan camps out at Token Creek Park, a camp-out organized by the Madison Stake Boy Scouts. He enjoys playing capture-the-flag, wearing his dark cloak, of course. He approaches the enemy flag slowly and carefully and is mistaken for a tree until 100 yards in when someone shines a flashlight on him for the fiftieth time. He is discovered, and makes the 300-foot (100-yard) sprint back to his home base.
David helps Brother and Sister Jordan with the boxes in their garage. Night time finds him alone with Topaz and Skittles at the BAD Residence. He dreams a vivid and perplexing dream about a flying couch that shatters our living room window, which must somehow be paid for.

Saturday, April 29, 2006
Happy First Anniversary to Kristi and Jonas.

Dad and Mom and Franklin have a nice visit with Grandpa and Grandma Breu. They drive around looking at both houses where Daddy lived when he was growing up, McMillan Road, north city-limits by the railroad tracks and 602 South Birch Street. It is a grey and gusty day, hinting but never quite delivering a cold splattering rain—at least not for the duration of the Loyalty Parade conducted by Wisconsin’s Veteran’s of Foreign Wars. There are 40 VFW chapters marching in the cold weather, demonstrating once again their love for country.
When we return to the apartment on Ives Street, Grandma feeds us cake and Grandpa tells us stories about those days when he was in The War. It took 5 days to ship over to Europe and 20 to come back. “I had four miserable Christmases during the war,” says Grandpa. “The fourth was on your way home, wasn’t it?” says Grandma. “That’s right,” says Grandpa, nodding. “We left Antwerp, Belgium on December 12. We went over so fast, we were sure we’d be home for Christmas. And there it was New Year’s Day when we sailed past New York and saw the Statue of Liberty there in the harbor. And it was two more weeks before I got home.”
“The nuns let me off work as soon as I heard,” says Grandma. “The were pretty good about that. Pop wrote to me quite a bit. Of course, the letters usually came in a bunch, all at once. One of the nuns would say, ‘You’ve got some mail down there.’ They didn’t read it, of course, but they watched pretty close. They knew when I got it. We were all praying for Pop to get home. I think that’s one of the reasons he made it home.”
“I think so too, Mom,” says Syl. “I think about that now and then, about how you and the nuns prayed Dad home.”
“We used to keep that stuff in a chest.”
Tom jumps in the conversation. “I remember that chest. Chuck and Jeff—I tried to stop them—but they were always getting into that. It was full of your old love letters, and sabers and stuff.”
“I think it’s still out in the garage somewhere,” says Mom.

Char e-mails that he has moved safely to his new apartment and Kristi e-mails that she and Jonas have done the same. Mom calls Wendell Joe. He and Jenyne are doing well, busy with work and school. Today is the first day in a while that they’ve had time to relax. No, Joe has not been playing his trumpet much these days, no time. But yes, he and Jenyne have planted a 4 x 4 garden with tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, squash and the lettuce seeds Mom sent in lieu of a bow for Jenyne’s birthday gift.
While Bryan continues his camping experiences, David deals with a dental appointment (this makes #2 filling with no Novocain or other numbing stuff) and Skittles medicine. “She was meowing at me all day,” says David. (Mom has been feeding her less than usual to encourage a great appetite for the pills she splits and hides in the wet gourmet cat food she has purchased specifically for the occasion.) “She knows what the pill tastes like now and she just spits it out. When she left it in her food, I tried to feed half of it to her, and she spit it out into the sink.”
“Rotten cat,” says Dad. “We need to cook that thing up.”

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Mother’s posting about experiencing two springs on our trip out to Virginia reminded me of and experience I had with the coming of spring many years ago. When I was a young missionary touring the six states of Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Ohio and Wisconsin, in the Missionary Orchestra we happened to have an engagement at Marquette, on the shore of Lake Superior in the Upper Penisula of Michigan followed by one three days later In Cincinnati, Ohio on the Ohio River. It was nearly 1000 miles from north to south and we took a couple of days to make the journey.

This was in the month of April and just a few willows were starting to green up in Marquette when we left there. As we traveled we were able to see the season advancing mile by mile as we journeyed to the south. When we arrived in Cincinnati, everything was in full leaf and a lot of flowers were in bloom. It was like compressing three or four weeks of time into two days. A truly heady experience for a 20 year old.

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When Sylvia was a little girl she had a thin purple backed book of poems that I used to read to her. One of her favorites was: The Tickle Rhyme by Ian Serraillier, Who’s that tickling my back? said the wall. “Me! said a small caterpillar. I’m learning to crawl!”

Another of her favorites was the nursery rhyme “How Many Miles to Babylon?” (nursery rhyme) How many miles to Babylon? Three score and ten. Can I get there by candlelight? Aye, and back again.

Reading to your children is such a choice experience. Take advantage of the time you have with them while they are little–it is gone so soon.

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So how many times a day do you check your email?
I have been checking mine a minimum of three, and sometimes a lot more than that!
We’ve settled into a routine here with Justin gone. It only took us 3 weeks to do! Ha ha. The mornings are still a scramble - but actually not as bad as I thought they would be. Jordan has been a great helper by generally getting himself up when I ask him to without complaining, and helping me with Kendra. He’s funny because the kids usually start down the stairs from our apartment before me while I stand in the living room running the mental checklist down to make sure I have everything for the day; when I come out and lock the door they are usually half way down the stairs and Jordan will say to Kendra, “Hurry! Hurry! Before Mom catches us!” It’s sweet.
Anyways - the kids get dropped off and I head to work. When chow time comes around I take Justin’s letter to the post office where the post office gentleman gives me an understanding smile as he stamps my letter. “Thank-you, Sir,” I say.
After PT in the afternoon I get the kids. Jordan likes to play outside and Kendra likes to get snacks from the fridge. She’ll grab my fingers and say, “C’mawn” and lead me to the fridge. Also, we can’t forget the all important moment as we walk past our mailbox - will there be a letter or won’t there?
For me… I check all of my online places to include this website, my email and the Parris Island ezboard. Then I check them again. And again. When I have some time to myself after the kids are in bed, I check them again! I do eventually pull myself away, write Justin a new letter and go to bed.
Is there any hope for my online junkieness? LOL.
Have a nice Sunday. I love you all.

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The soil here in Fiddler’s Canyon leaves much to be desired consisting, as it does, of rocks of varying shapes and sizes with a little dirt thrown in for camouflage. (MGH in his better days could and did move the most amazing boulders single handedly with the aid of his trusty lever and this after his heart attack. He would opine to me, “Archimedes said, if you give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum to rest it on I can move the earth,” as he sat resting on one of the rocks he had hoisted out of the ground and maneuvered to provide seating in our back yard close to the, then quite small, cottonwood tree with the idea that someday there would be shade, getting his ‘wind’ back.

This was because, in my role as doubter I would look at what he was attempting and then say, “you can’t do that–it’s impossible–why are you even trying to move that boulder!”

Honestly, the male half of the human race seems to think that if there is a mountain you climb it an ocean you swim it, a rock you move it. (with women its more like if it sits there- dust it, if it moves-feed it, if it rings-answer it). There seems to be something in their nature that thrills to near death experiences which might be the reason why the women in their lives have such gnawed off stumps on the end of their hands.

I have become intimately aware of the smaller bits and pieces that make up 95% of the ’soil’ in our xeriscaped landscape because I regularly bang my fingers and scrape my nails over their unrelenting surface as I slowly make my way among the weed fields of our backyard. I have no one to blame but myself for the lack of grass (MGH offered to put in a sprinkling system). Steadfastly I ignore the lawns on either side of me beckoning with their siren song of lush greeness, their lack of stickers, weeds, rocks and I ask myself again if this is what I really had in mind when I chose ‘au naturel’.

Actually, I was thinking what a neat thing it would be to have a back yard full of plants that could survive with little or no water and no, I didn’t have weeds in mind. . . .Okay, if you must know, I was hoping to save on the water bill, truth to tell I would rather have my air conditioner with its energy guzzling compressor keeping me in delicious coolness on even the hottest of days.) Now I’ve said it. My true reason is hanging out in the open for everyone to see (nothing noble like save the planet-walk to work or slow the flow-flush twice a day. No, no, nothing reputable like that–just plain and simple creature comfort.) My father used to say, “honest confession is good for the soul but hard on the reputation, which, after this many years pretty well leaves mine in tatters.

I did have something neat happen Wednesday morning while taking my morning stab at quelling the weeds that pop up behind me almot faster than I can pull those in front. I found a genuine fossil! True, it’s just a tiny sea shell embedded in a small rock but it’s something I’ve always wanted to find ever since I was a little girl and learned about them in school. MGH pointed out that it probably was from when Lake Bonneville, which at one time stretched as far south as Kanarraville, which is about twenty miles south of us. Who says dreams don’t come true. Certainly not me.(-:

p.s. I’ve always wanted to find an arrowhead. What do you think my chances are?

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