Pictures Worth A Thousand Words

This is Forrest. Elin posted this blog and I am going to edit a bit before anybody reads it. I just want to say that my pants being wet down to me knees is a result of sitting in the front of the "boat" on Splash Mountain, and getting soaked, with water. It is not a result of anything that might have happened due to any fear I might have felt from sitting in the front of the boat.

Lessons Learned

I know Forrest was planning to post some of his wittyative observations on life and all things concerning it, so I have held off writing anything. However, Forrest is a busy man with school and work and making my breakfast and lunch in the mornings and playing intramural and church basketball and keeping up with everything else. So, I suppose I will just go for it. And, I imagine that Andrea is tired of having the picture of her that I stole from her blog featured prominently on my own miniscule piece of the worldwide web.

At any rate, I would like to share with you a few of the lessons I have learned from life in the last few months:

Despite my tallness and my seemingly tough exterior (hey, I like to think I could throw some mean punches, some fatal blows if I was ever forced to), I recently learned by doing intervals in my “Cardioblast” evening class, that I have absolutely no upper body strength.

Taking voice lessons doesn’t necessarily mean that you will ever sound like Mariah Carey or Lea Salonga—nor does it mean that your voice will actually sound any better, even if you are using your air correctly.

I owe just about everything I am to my mother and my daddy.

There are not really twenty four hours in a day. It is a lie.

Guys have it tough. Being the “provider,” the “patriarch,” the “protector”—what pressure you men have on your shoulders. I hope that I can make that pressure seem lighter for my husband rather than adding to his load.

Reading my scriptures daily and saying focused sincere prayers is the difference between a good day and a not-so-good day for me. It is actually quite miraculous really, that such small things really make a difference.

And finally, I need to say that a dream of mine that has lived in my heart for years now will soon be made reality. What a joy that a place like this actually exists and that I get to go there in less than a month! Thank you dear Walt, for making the magic happen.

Ode to Andy-Ra

I have been working on a blog little by little for the last 3 weeks. I was finally going to post it today but I am not going to anymore. Instead, I am going to direct your attention to Andrea Forsyth's blog: http://ajforsyth.blogspot.com/
Please take a moment to read the last half of her October 28th entry and then her entire November 18th entry.

I haven’t been able to stop my mind for the last week or so. It just keeps running and running and thinking about everything, almost like it is weighed down, but I am not sure what it is weighed down with. I wish I could just turn it off for a few moments (but that would mean ceasing to exist, I suppose). You might be thinking that sleep gives the mind a break. Yes, usually that is the case, but for me, for the last 6 months, sleep is anything but liberating to my mind. You should see some of the things I dream—and not just one dream a night—SEVERAL! And I remember them when I wake up. Anywho, so my mind has been endlessly running over so many things, but then today, I read Andrea’s blog about her father-in-law, and I just felt….well, like some of the burden was lifted off my head. I am not quite sure why.

You really should read her blog all the time. It is extremely amusing (of course I just made you read the serious blogs she wrote).

But let me give you a little background. Andrea Miller is my hero and she has been ever since I met her after I moved to Allen, Texas 12 years ago. She is warm, funny, compassionate, and very, very smart. She introduced me to Eric Clapton, Collin Raye, Yesterday (by the Beatles of course), Bread (the band), George Strait, and countless other musicians and their music. To put it plainly, she vastly expanded my horizons when it comes to music.

When we were just 14, we decided who we were going to marry, that we were going to be next door neighbors on the France/Germany border, and that our children would call us Aunt Annie and Aunt Ellie (and speak both German and French, of course). She loves going on walks and she loves good food, so that’s what we did together. We walked, we talked, and we cooked and talked, and we ate and talked. We were in choir together in 9th grade and the teacher loved us and let us do whatever we wanted. So we wrote notes to each other and went to a practice room often in the middle of choir period to play the piano and sing songs from the Methodist hymnal that was randomly housed in that room. Our families went camping together and we’d walk outside and eat some more.

She is innovative and can do marvelous things with simple, raw materials—like duct tape, for instance. Her commentary on just the normal, everyday things going on around her is priceless. We were roommates our sophomore year of college and she made the most delicious foods and we would eat them and never gain weight…well, almost never. Homemade caramel popcorn, apple and cherry pastries, chocolate chip cookies, spice cakes—oh how I miss those days.

Physically, she is absolutely stunning. She is beautiful, but if she knows, she never lets it show. Honestly, when we were 14 and at EFY together (the only one we ever went to, in fact) our male counselor, Lane, couldn’t take his eyes off of her and always talked about how gorgeous her big, brown eyes were. Yeah, a little awkward seeing as she was 14 or 15 years old and he was at least 21! But that’s just to give you an idea….(And the boys all thought she was beautiful despite the fact that we were just beginning to experiment with make-up and we look like apparitions.) Basically, Andrea is Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping but even better than that!

But you know what, when I think of Andrea, I think of a girl that we knew in our ward at the Riv. Standing in a crowd with the rest of the girls in that ward, this young woman was instantly noticeable. She stuck out. She was very different and it was obvious to me and everyone else. In a room crowded with people, Andrea is the one who finds this girl, the wallflower, and draws her outside of herself and makes her feel worthwhile. Though I sure wouldn’t mind looking like Andrea, having her wit, having her culinary skills, and having countless other attributes that belong to her, I think above all, I wish I had her ability to walk into a room, see someone’s need and then take care of it without drawing any unnecessary attention. I wish all of you knew her.

It's what's for dinner...

There was a smiling cow here, but now this stupid blogger won't read it.

This cow wouldn't be smiling so much if he saw what I saw last week. Our ward was asked to fill 24 spots for working at the Church meat-packing plant in Spanish Fork. It is the only one that the Church has, if I am not mistaken, and therefore provides all the meat for all the Bishop's Storehouses. Anyway, a sign-up sheet was passed around in our ward a couple of weeks ago, and all the times were pretty inconvenient for me, so I didn't bother with it. Then the next Sunday it was passed around again because only four of the 24 slots had been filled. So I signed up for the only shift I could really make--the 6:00-9:00 am shift. As the day loomed closer and closer, I regretted my decision to serve more and more. But this blog isn't about that, it is about the process I witnessed. Read on (be warned, this entry is pretty lengthy).

When I arrived, I signed in to a service log, and then was shepherded to a little room where I was given a white butcher's coat, a hairnet (you wouldn't think I would need one of those), knit gloves, rubber gloves, and earplugs. I was about to take off my own jacket when I was reminded that the meat floor was a balmy 40 degrees. We were then moved out to the floor, after stepping into some kind of solution to clean our shoes. It turned out that there were almost too many volunteers, so we were putting three people on a job one person could normally do. Because there were so many people, there was plenty of time for a tour, and one of the full-time guys led us around. In order of entering the room, this is what we saw:

1. Right when you walk in, there are 8 or so butchers going to work. They are working on both sides of a 20 foot counter, that has a conveyor belt running down the middle. There is also a conveyor belt above their heads, and one below the counter. To the left, quarters of beef are hanging on hooks, waiting to be taken apart by the butchers. The butchers cut out the different cuts, and throw them on the middle, main conveyor belt, that takes them into a room where three guys are bagging them. The conveyor belt above their heads is for bones, so they just throw them up there and the bones are carted off to a truck or something. The conveyor belt below the counter is for scraps that will become hamburger and hotdogs.

2. The main conveyor belt takes the cuts to be bagged. The bagged meat is then grabbed by another couple of guys who line up the bags on a little conveyor belt that rolls under what looks like a heating hood, but is actually a vacuum sealer. The hood closes on them, and sucks out all the air, lifts back up, and the conveyor belt then dumps the sealed cuts into hot water (100 degrees C). I suppose that is to sanitize, but I don't know for sure. Or maybe to shrink the plastic bag. After awhile, the bags are grabbed and boxed by a guy, who hands them to another guy. He binds the box in this machine that wraps one of those things that came around the newspaper bundles around it. He slides it down to be weighed, and that is where I come in. I was the weigher/sticker putter onner. When it was weighed, a computer would print out a sticker with all the info on it, and I slapped it on the box. And did a dang good job, too. I then handed the box to a guy right next to me, who stacked the box on a pallet that was also right next to me. After 45 boxes were stacked, the pallet was taken somewhere else, and we started again. During my shift we were stacking roasts.

3. Across the way was the room that made sausage and hamburger. The little conveyor belt from the butcher's room went there, and there was one large machine for grinding, another for making those little rows you see in packaged ground beef, and one for putting it in little tubes. I didn't get a real good look at this room. Our guide told us that the hamburger they produce is 85/15 (lean/fat), and it turns out that they have to mix bull and cow meat, because the bull meat doesn't provide enough fat. The other rooms were not so busy, and they were processing some ham. We saw the hotdog room, but they weren't currently producing them. He said they are produced about once a month. He also said that, although one hears things about the gross things that go into hotdogs, they only put beef in theirs, and it is the same meat that goes into the hamburgers--no cow cheek or forehead meat. The difference is the hotdogs are 60/40 lean/fat. 60% lean+40% fat=100% deliciousness. All the hotdogs that are consumed by BYU come from this place.

4. Next was the killing floor. It actually wasn't where they killed the cows. I didn't see that. It was where the cows went right after they were killed, though. I questioned whether it was wise for me to venture into this room, considering my sensitivity to blood, but I decided to risk it. This is how it was: when you step into the room, the cows closest to you looked like meat. As you looked farther down through the room, the cows more resembled, well, cows. Starting at the back of the room, I saw two cows hanging there upside down. Besides that fact, they just looked like any cow, except they were clean. Moving closer to the front of the room, the cows were being skinned. The hides were cut/pulled off until they were hanging down over the cow's head (kind of like what a little kid looks like when he is hanging upside down and his shirt has fallen down around the head). The hides were then hooked to a machine that JERKED the hide off around the head. So now there is this big piece of meat, with no hair. A guy comes along and cuts off the head (I watched it) and then starts to cut the cow open so the guts can be pulled out. The head goes to a government inspector for checking over. After the guts are gone, the cow is cut in half, down the spine, with a giant chainsaw that hangs from the ceiling. It then passes through a lactic acid shower, evidently to kill any bacteria, and is ready to be moved to the butchers. While waiting for the shower, I saw one cow-half where the muscles were still twitching. I reckon the thing had been dead for maybe 15 minutes. Wild.

That is basically all, I guess. I helped move around some cow-halves that were hanging from the ceiling, too. Got a little bloody.

Birthdays and Halloween...among other things

This post is principally about my (Forrest's) birthday, but I decided to throw in some other pictures that were on the camera too. I had a wonderful birthday, and want to thank all those who contributed to the day to make it so. I especially appreciated the letters from family. And of course my greatest thanks goes to Elin, for arranging everything and working so hard on a perfect birthday dinner. The rest of this post will just be photo captions.

Some of the fruits of my (garden) labors. I wanted to take a picture of the garden itself, but never remembered.

Gross. If you can't tell, this is a blackwidow. The red hour glass is slightly blurred, but definitely there. Elin saw it as she was exercising, and I caught it in this jar. I then was sent on an errand to Smith's to buy some spider killer spray (at 9:30 PM). When I came home, I took the jar outside and tried to flick the spider out of it. As it fell out it made a web, which essentially turned the spider and web into a pendulum. Which meant that it swung away from me, and then right back at me. Some might know that I do not like spiders. I dodged the attack however, and managed to get the spider on the sidewalk. I then soaked it in spider killer spray. It staggered around for a second, and then just started to walk back towards our open door. I was then forced to step on it. See the big back part, where the hourglass is? Thing popped like a giant pimple. Gross.

As far as picture posting goes, I am retarded. I couldn't figure out how to make it flip right side up. Anyway, this is the birthday spread. It was delicious. Thanks to Tim for helping with the steaks. I had the Special plate (first time), Elin had seating cards for everyone (the little reddish card on my plate), and an "about Forrest" questionaire at each plate. I got all the questions right.

This is me sporting some birthday presents. The sunglasses are from Dad and Mom, and are specially made for sports, particularly fishing. I am a fisherman. They also gave me a creel, so I am basically outfitted. Too bad it's freezing outside. There was also a coupon in the box for a free pair of aviator sunglasses, which I sent for. I was going to post a picture of them, but forgot to take a picture. When they arrived, there was ANOTHER coupon for aviators, so I might end up with a lot of sunglasses. The jacket is courtesy of the siblings, and is much appreciated.

Birthday party guests. It is good to have family close by. I don't have pictures, but Laurel gave me the Scarlet Pimpernel music book, which is fantastic. Seth hooked me up with some delicious treats.

I don't think I need to explain this picture to anyone. I just want to give my heartfelt thanks to Momma J for a wonderful gift.

Elin made this beautiful (and delicious) German chocolate cake. It really was really good. She is such a sweetheart. She doesn't even like German chocolate cake.

In this picture I am getting a closer look at the candles (as well as trying to rid myself of a few pesky nose hairs) because the candles on the outside were special. See, the flame of the candle burned the same color as the candle. You can kind of see some variation on the ones closest to my face.

Master artisans at work.

For those who have carved pumpkins with me in the past, please note that I am not going with the standard jack-o'-lantern face.

Yeah, look at those bad boys! We didn't have candles, so I put two little flashlights in there. If you can't tell, mine is a witch's pot on a fire. The flames look a little like flower petals, but that was the best I could do. Maybe the flicker of a candle inside will make them look more like flames. Turns out we carved them a little early. To my dismay, I found my pot sagging into the pumpkin last night. I was able to secure it with some toothpicks, though.

A beautiful picture. Tim and Rach aren't looking too bad either.

Potty Ponderings

So yesterday I was doing some deep thinking, on a toilet in the Eyring Science Center. Usually I spend my time reading anything I can in that situation, but as I had already finished the paper, I started thinking. What sparked my thinking were the shorts that were laying on the feet of the person in the stall next to me. I actually had pondered on this subject before, but as I thought about it this time, I decided I should write a blog about it and see what everybody else has to say on the matter. Take a good look at some of the shorts below. Notice how they are all, at this time, considered fashionable. For myself, I don't really think I would want to wear them, but to each his own.

I couldn't get the little picture to disappear.

Now the question I was pondering is this: why is it ok to wear something like this, when you couldn't wear full-length pants of the same design? Picture, if you can (and you probably can't) the model above wearing those same shorts as PANTS. Think about it for a second. Pants with these designs would be RIDICULOUS, and nobody in their right mind would wear them. Am I right? Yes. But if they work as shorts, then why not pants? To me this then begs the question, is it ok to wear pants like this, or should people NOT be wearing shorts like this? Given the answer options, I think everybody would have to agree that people should not be wearing shorts that look like this. I'm not anti plaid shorts, either. Just a curious observer of human behavior.

Some might argue that it is similar with all shorts. I disagree. I have 3 kinds of shorts: jeans, khaki/cargo, and athletic. All have full-length pants that look the same, and all are normal. The one exception could be the athletic shorts, but yes, those also have full-length versions that are normal, and you wear them when you do sporty things (much like the shorts).

So that is what I was pondering. What do all my faithful reader's think?

Flogging is Never Fun

Guess what I did for my 24th birthday? I played golf for the first time. And on a scale from 1 to 10 (10 being the best) guess how naturally talented I am when it comes to the game of golf. The answer is 0...maybe 0.2 if your generous. That smile I have on my face in the picture above--it is forced. In fact, I actually like to call the game "flog," as in Elin's very soul is flogged every time she swings and can't hit the stupid miniscule ball more than 3 inches or entirely misses the stupid miniscule ball. (Laurel had a natural swing.) I'd also like to mention, mainly for the ears of my sister Rachell who mistakenly believes I win every game I play, that on my birthday Saturday, I lost every single game I played. I didn't come in second, I didn't come in third. I came in last, every single time. We played golf...I lost. We played scrabble and speed scrabble, I came in dead last. I think we played a few more games but I have blocked them entirely from my memory. Happy birthday to me. I am not liking what this might be foreshadowing about the 24th year of my life.

On a more positive note, I don't know what good form in flog is, but whatever it is Forrest has got it. Forrest is quite a champ when it comes to flog. In fact, every time he swung that club, I couldn't help but compare him with Tiger. Their game is practically the same. I mean, look at the images below, they practically are the same person. You may not know this but Tiger is actually married to a Swedish model name Elin. It is like Tiger and Forrest have the same life.








Forrest was really quite good at flog, actually, which shouldn't be a surprise because he plays most sports well. (In the picture above, he is standing kinda far away from the ball though. It must be a practice swing.)

Apart from my soul being flogged, my birthday was wonderful. I spent the entire weekend with my family and received generous gifts from all. The best thing, in all honesty was just being with the people I love. Sappy, I know, but true. Thank you mum, and Ian, and Seth, and Lola, and Forrest, and Rachell, and Tim for being there in Provo with me and making my weekend so wonderful. Thank you Logan & Paula, Daddy, Mom and Dad Roberts, Emily & Kaylee & Alli for and Delys for calling me. Delys, I missed you! (Ian, I am still waiting on my kindle...)

Go Cougs!!! (Naturally, I have to throw that in there.)