Football You Bet!

I feel somewhat blessed to be the youngest at times. Yes I didn't ever get to see mom and dad water ski or get into dirt claud fights with my siblings but I did get what a lot of them (meaning my siblings) didn't. And that is knowledge. I learned from Stephanie that your youngest sibling shouldn't be laying on your mothers lap while you are learning to drive stick shift. I promise, you'll get a face full of dashboard. I learned from Richelle that talking to yourself is completely fine as long as you don't get caught. I learned from Stan that Abba will never die. I learned from Roger not to throw the Nintendo controller at a developing boys junk. They get real mad and I am so glad he didn't catch me. But let me focus for a bit on my bigger brothers Stan and Roger. I owe you so much because you see, these two gents taught me about one of the most important things in life....Football. Falderah you say? NEIGH! Do you know who I am married to? If it weren't for my brothers and their willingness to teach me about football at such a young age (including running pass patterns in the back yard), I could possibly be in marital strife right now.

This last weekend was the first of the college football season. This last week was particularly intense because BSU was playing Oregon and it was basically a bowl game. With our orange and blue attire on and Tostitos chips (we only eat Tostitos since the Fiesta Bowl) we settled down to watch the game unfold. Of course as we all know we, meaning Boise State (I say we because I am pretty much on the team) well we creamed them. That was on Thursday and we spent the rest of the weekend flipping through college games. However, we did tune into the entire Oklahoma vs. BYU game. There are few times where you will see me cheer for BYU this being one of them. Yes Zac went there for a year and a half. Yes I have had many in-laws grace the bubble that is Provo and yes I CAN'T STAND BYU FANS! And yes Oklahoma can still eat it. Boise State will ALWAYS be better than BYU.

I do truly miss going to the Boise State football games. Zac and I lived right off campus for the first three years of our marriage and it became quite the tradition to trek over to the stadium together. We would hop on the green belt on our blue and orange bikes (no I am not kidding) and ride to the stadium with our cow bells dangling off of our handle bars. We would sit on the second level 50 yard line up for the most pristine viewing of the game....granted we sometimes had to get there three hours before the game started. I seriously get pumped thinking about yelling BOISE and the other side returning STATE right before all the players flew out onto the field. But one of my favorite things was not even necessarily the game. In every program there was a coupon to Chicago Connection pizza that gave you up to 35% off your bill depending on what BSU beat the other team by (meaning if they beat the other team by 35 we'd get 35% off our bill). So on game days like Idaho or Utah State a whole slew of us would book it over to Chicago Connection after the game because we were guaranteed the deal of a lifetime!

Zac and I have access to all the BSU football games this year thanks to the wonderful machine that is the world wide web. We do not have access to Chicago Connection which makes me choke up just a little bit. I guess Grimaldi's will have to do.

I pretty much carved that.

Small Town America

There is something about small town America that just screams my name. I know what you're thinking. Why isn't my name Charleene or Rosanne and quite frankly I ask myself that a lot especially when traveling to and through small town America. I think small towns in America are all completely unique while also being exact cookie cutters of each other. A paradox you ask? Why yes it is. Yes it is.

This past week I was lucky enough to accompany my buddy Gina on such an excursion to small town Arizona. She had the opportunity to play college volleyball at EAC (the Gila Monsters...and yes all you Idahoans the 'G' is silent. It sounds like Hila Monster...in fact I am thinking of silencing all "G's" from here on out.) So me and Hina took a road trip to Thatcher, Arizona so she could play in an Alumni game. Since Thatcher is about three hours away she invited me to be her comic relief for the trip. Plus she knows I am a sucker for small towns and she wanted to show me the ins and outs of Thatcher. No road trip is complete without the frosty beverage and what better place to get one but the beverage stop of the USA...that is right-Sonic.

So we were off after a lovely self portrait of course.

Half the fun of going somewhere is getting there if you ask me. I just sounded a bit like Confucius. The trip to Thatcher was actually quite scenic...I was going to say beautiful but that word has really been overused if you ask me. It was a nice overcast day making the drive divine. This is in Superior, AZ and the second I saw this sign I said "Oh Cooper!!" thinking in my head about the hound dog on Fox and the Hound. Well, we can all see it is Copper and I prove again how much I love still paying for my student loans.

The highlight for me on the trip down was the stop in Top of the World, AZ. No joke. That is the name of the town. I immediately loved it. The air is fresher, the climate cooler, and the people white trashier. In this picture I made Gina look up so now she can say I looked up at the top of the world. Then we had a Titanic moment until we realized that "Jack" says he is 'King of the World' not 'On Top of the World'. The mood was ruined so I let go of Gina after we were pretend flying on the locomotive you see in the picture below. It was a little awkward....not gonna lie.

Then we noticed this sign....

And the man inside the garage behind us saw us see the sign and whip out our camera. This man looked like Santa Claus after rehab and screams out to us "WE GOT T-SHIRTS FOR SALE!" in that hick accent (I will get to that) that so many small towners have. Of course we ask how much hoping for the best and when he replied "TWENTY BUCKS" we roger rabbitted right out of there. So the hick accent. How did this happen? Did the south somehow infiltrate every single small town in America? I have known quite a few people in the Northwest as well as the Southwest that have these crazy sounding southern accents. When I ask them where they are from expecting some answer like Alabama, Kentucky, or Georgia I am SHOCKED when they say something like-Rigby, Idaho-Snowflake, AZ-or Pendleton, OR. Why then pray tell are you speaking in a thick southern accent? I get that we all have some sort of regional dialect but I promise half of the south didn't move into these small towns in america. I have one thing to blame. Country music. Ponder.

Speaking of the South, I found this gem and had to get a pic. I didn't know that people from the Top of the World, AZ were Arkansas Razorback fans. Who woulda known?

So then we stopped to get some lunch at the burger barn Gilbert. I can't remember what the name of this place was but it was a Mexican joint that also made a killer burger. And that is when this happened.

And yes ladies and gents, that is a woman. HEYO!

I grew up in somewhat of an Enigma of a town. When we moved to Eagle, Idaho in 1986 the town had about 1,000 souls. It was a small town for sure. Here is the thing though...it is a suburb to Boise which is of course the capital of the state and the largest city. So I had the best of both worlds. I could still hop on my bike and go to the drug store and buy candy cigarettes and fire jolly rancher sticks but if my mom (or Teresa) wanted to take me to the zoo or museums it was only a 20 minute drive. So when I am traveling through these small towns that aren't very close to anything of a metropolis I ask myself a few questions. The first one that comes to my mind is what the heck do you do out here for fun? I am sure lighting the interstate on fire or sitting for an entire day in the apple tree eating unripened apples and then crapping your pants would be fun for a little bit (sorry Ross) but then what? Then I notice how everyone of these small towns have a high school and on that property is a football field. That is one thing I LOVE so much about small towns. The whole town comes out to football games, basketball games, and other high school functions. That stuff is golden.

So Thatcher is a lot like that. It reminds me a lot of Rexburg (back in the days of Ricks College) but not hilly, cold, windy, and way more black people on the football team. The whole town lives for EAC and it is wonderful. So Gina pretty much dominated in the Alumni game and I was thoroughly entertained. I have never seen college volleyball live so I had a rad time. After the game we went to the football scrimmage and then got fed by the college. I had a chili dog which got burped up the entire way back home. Sick.

To get to and from Thatcher you have to travel across a HUGE indian reservation or as we say from the last posting-the rez. A few years ago the government had to go and instal a chain link fence on both sides of the highway because drunk indians kept wandering out into the road and would get plowed over by cars. Needless to say the entire distance on the rez my eyes were wider than a ten year olds on christmas morning. I was getting ready to shriek if I saw anything that resembled a human. I accidently did scream when I saw a saguaro and thought it was a man holding two six shooters in his hand. My bad. We had so much fun in Thatcher that we forgot to take anymore pictures. But trust me...they would've been good.

In the end, I had a right good time with Gina and I loved Thatcher and all the towns in between. But I do have to say....I also love Target and the fact that it is two minutes from my house. How is that for a paradox. BURN!

The Rez

As some of you know I don't do much in my life. Don't get me wrong, I totally enjoy not doing much and basically getting to do what I want. I feel bad because I probably should be at a job that I make okay money at and sit in a cubical and get carpal tunnel from typing too much (for the record, I am a wicked fast typer) so I could contribute financially to lets say my still predominant student loans (hooray for Comm. majors!) and work an eight to five job with an hour lunch that would be spent day dreaming out my car window about not being in a parking lot eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a 100 calorie pack pudding at its side because I had to get out of my place of business and would rather brave 115 degree heat in a charcoal black car with black interior because I might puke from the breaths of recycled air that I had been breathing all day....okay, so I don't feel that bad.

This is where my wonderful husband comes in. See I did all the above mentioned plus more details I decided to exclude because I might relapse and curl up in the fetal position and start sucking my thumb again. Because I was a champion and braved those few years while Zac focused solely on school, I now get to do what I want. It was a deal I signed in blood. Well, I spit in my hand and then shook Zac's...he was asleep but I still count it. He is the best right?

So I do try to contribute somewhat to society and I coach youth sports for the city of Scottsdale. I really like my job and I work with fabulous people! So here is the great part. After this week I have about a month and a half until the volleyball season starts up. A bit of me time is what I like to call it.....because five hours of work a day is soooo demanding. I have been an avid runner for a while now until the dreaded March 12th day (see blog posting on that day for some sick pictures) when I bussssted my leg (say busted with a lisp...it is way more fun and funny). I have also done a couple triathlons and have thoroughly enjoyed them. I have made the decision that I am going to step it up and try doing an olympic distance triathlon. Now I really have to do it because I blogged about it....shoot. So I have begun to train and I am on my fourth week of training now. Since I have stepped it up, I now have to go double my bike distance which went from 12 miles to 25 miles.

There is a goofy thing around here in Scottsdale. I will be biking along on the road that has a huge bike lane when all of the sudden it just disappears. It drives me absolutely batty. Mostly because I was that person in high school that would drive real close to road bikers, roll down my window, slap the car side and scream HEY as I passed by to give them a harmless scare. I know that is going to happen to me and I feel like if I have a bike lane I might not go shooting off into the unknown. I have also always gone south for some reason when biking here in Scottsdale. I feel a little more at home here in the dirty south Scottsdale because it isn't pricy (is that the word I am looking for) and I am a little intimidated by streets paved in gold (at least that is what I heard north Scottsdale is like....they won't let me in because I drive a Ford). So I have been looping around ASU campus and weird side streets to try and get my 25 miles in. I will inevitably get home before I have hit 25 miles and so I will loop around the side streets like I am some kind of twilight criterium member.

Today I decided to map out a new bike route and convinced Michelle to accompany me. I dare say that I decided to head up to the north. I gave Gob (my car) a bath, cleaned him up all real nice, put my fake ray bans on, put a fake BMW emblem on Gob and gussied myself up so I could possibly be accepted into the north. Somehow we made it through....probably because Michelle knew all the secret hand signs and facial nods to get us in...she has been in Scottsdale longer than me. Might I say that it is absolutely beautiful and I think the streets were gold. Either that or the setting sun partially blinded me and everything looked gold. So we drove around for quite a while checking the streets and bike lanes to make sure they were sufficient. I have a nice route now locked in and I am pumped to give it a try.

The major problem with my other route is that there are TONS of stop lights that I have to sit and wait at. Just as I am in the zone on my bike ride I have to stop and try not to fall off my bike and look like an idiot in front of all the people in the cars who are looking at my good looking legs in my bike shorts. This new route has hardly any stop lights and I think will run smooth. However, could I stop at that?? Neigh I say. Cue the mystical indian reservation or as we around here like to call it "The Rez".

I have ALWAYS wanted to bike around on the Rez but I have been prone to stop myself for a few reasons. Number one-the bad blood between the white folk and indians in early America times. I totally blame the white folk for this one but I am not sure if it is over-or as the indians might say-that the hatchet is buried. I don't know if that hatchet is buried and I don't want to find out by biking on their land unwelcomed and have it come hurling after me. Number two-stories I have heard through people that are cousins of those people after marriage who owes that person a breakfast at Denny's (eh Victor). Meaning, I have heard stuff that could be bull but who knows. Number three- possible shape shifters (read the Twilight series people). Number four- not a lot of civilization...mostly open land so if I want a gatorade? Forget it. I do not mean this in any way to be insulting. Just things that go through my mind when I think it might be a good idea to bike on the Rez.

Now here are the reasons I REALLY want to bike on the Rez. It is chalk full of farmland. There are fields of green stuff growing EVERYWHERE. It is beautiful and reminds me a lot of Idaho. There aren't any stoplights that can be daunting in slowing my progression. Traffic is pretty slow so I don't have to worry as much that a high school me might be driving by looking for a good larf. The fastest way to bike to Michelle's new house in Utah....I mean Mesa is to go through the Rez to get there. All good reasons right? Plus the sunsets are STELLAR there...not to say I would be riding at dusk.

Anyway, after hitting up the north we took Gob and ventured out into the painted desert to check out the Rez. The whole place is simply square miles of open road. A road bikers dream...well, I am not sure. I don't really consider myself a road biker because I don't have a discovery jersey and I don't wear a live strong bracelet. Plus I don't have clip in peddles which screams rookie. I hate those things. It's like the bike wants you to fall and then has a laugh as it smothers you to the ground because you can't get your foot out. Blek! Then as you try to stand up and unlock your feet some 'real' road biker bikes on by and stops to give you a tutorial on how to use clip peddles. Then I would make up some excuse and try to use big biking mechanical words like shocks (even though road bikes don't have shocks), and kick stand. At least that is what I think would happen.

Anyway, we finished the round on the Rez and watched a picturesque sunset amid the greening cotton fields. Then we talked in wisconsin/middle american accents for a while. Then we went to Ross and picked out dresses if we were to go to Tennessee tomorrow.

So thus begs the question: Do I bike on the Rez or do I not? What say you?

Meticulous Me

I have always known that I have been a bit meticulous which according to the online dictionary is-taking or showing extreme care about minute details; precise; thorough; finicky, fussy. I am only meticulous about certain things though. Take, for example, my hair. I am not meticulous about my hair. I hope I look presentable and what not and I really hope I am not getting stuck in a decade (at least not the 80's...man those were some beastly times). And it is not that I don't care, it is that I just don't have to have my hair perfectly placed, necessarily washed all the time, and every strand just right. Plus I am getting grey hair and I am plucking them. But then the buggers grow back all spindly like and I just keep on plucking. Forget coloring (at least right now) I am cheap! Plus I love wearing hats because then I don't really have to do my hair. See what I mean?

Now I am meticulous about my house. I think I have almost driven Zac to the brink. Here is the thing-we have closets and drawers for a reason. You put your stuff in them. You hide that crap. So when papers and pencils and phones and mail is strewn about all over the counter top, I get a little nutty. The one thing that sends me over the edge is shoes out in the open. And here is why. When I was in high school, I was the only kid left at home. I had the entire upstairs to myself and I settled in quite nice. I had been living my basically bachelorette life up in my pad for a few years when the dreaded call came. Roger my older brother was moving back home. Now I love my brother Roger don't even get me wrong there people...the thing about it was that Roger was moving to the upstairs which to this point had been my own place. I kept a tidy upstairs and I was already aware of my older brothers' 'habits'. So upon the first week of his arrival I was already plagued by the constant shoes and socks in the middle of the room. Every single day. Even when he was barefoot those freaking things showed up in the middle of the room. All he had to do was take 10 steps (I did count) and put them in his room. I don't care what happened in there but when the dang things are sitting in the main room staring me in the face as I watch a movie or play the guitar? No. NO! Anyway, I have a major deal now with shoes being out. Don't even get me started on the bathroom. How do guys miss is what I want to know. Are you balancing the checkbook or doing statistics homework? Seriously. Pay attention!

Anyway-I blame my mom for the way I am. She has brain washed me even though she will never admit it. It gets a bit crazy when you have limited space too. Man what I could do with one more drawer or one more closet. Why am I fantasizing about this? What the crap is going on with my life when I dream about having another drawer. Oh man....

Camp LoMia 2009

There is a beautiful thing in this world known as girls camp and I had the joy of being able to go as a leader this past weekend. I do have many a story involving this event plus some earlier years girls camp stories but instead of wooing you all with my words, I figured I'd just post a bunch of pictures....with a short explanation. This year I was in charge of the YCL's (which are the 16+ year olds so my job was pretty cake). Not to mention I had the best partner in the world-cough-Michelle. So without further ramblings-I present the camp pictures.

We wore our shower caps to brush our teeth the first night. These two gems are Lizzy and Jessica and they are my favs! I am going to miss them like the dickens because they are leaving to the college life.

Oh the hike. This years hike pretty much ruled and kicked a lot of the girls butts. Seriously. The hike was 3.5 miles down and then 3.5 back up. At the bottom was a swimmin' hole dubiously named Fossil Springs. It was a BLAST! Here are my faithfuls Michelle, Gina, and Lindsey truckin' it down. Nice pose Bev.

We mean business.

I love this picture. And I love Michelle's finger toes.

What is girls camp without a good bout of Most Ferocious Gorilla or MFG for you rookies out there. I almost peed my pants because of Gina. Man she is one of the funniest people around and I loved every second with her! I am so ferocious right there.

So hot right now....so hot. (Me, Gina and Michelle)

These are my girls. Man I love our church girls. This was bishop's night when we meet as a ward rather than in cabins. We had a good lesson and then we DESTROYED all of cabin 6's decorations. See below.

I love this kid. This is Kat getting ready to spike the paper lantern.

I pretty much street fightered the giant lantern so me and Gina wanted to make sure everyone knew not to mess with us.

Me n' Bev just cheesing it up. I pretty much had a blast because of this beauty right here. Our goal was to get the most laughs award. And then our other goal was to freak our cabin girls out. And then the last goal was to count how many times I laid cable in the bathroom. The answer is 10 times. I love me some camp! And Arby's in Payson! And Walmart Bingo! And the macarena....wait....No....It's horrible!!

My Dah

 A couple things.  Many blogs I have been avisiting have some sort of wedding picture mingled in.  I realized today I have never put any wedding pictures in.  Not that I condone the blog wedding picture post, it is just something I have never done.....until now.  I have been pondering about my Dah (that is Irish for dad) today and I love this picture of us as seen below.

I think I look a little confused because my dad never really kisses me on the cheek and we were on our second hour of pictures.  Plus the fog was starting to roll in and my arms and face were numb.  

I guess at the beginning of the post I said a couple things.  And then I only put one thing....the whole wedding picture beef....so I better put another thing so you don't think I am a liar.  Here it is.  What is the deal with sore throats in the summer?  Just ponder that.  If any of you out there know my dad, you know he is a character and a half.  I love talking to him and hearing about all of his crazy and funny stories.  He is such a good dad and takes good care of us kids.

I have so many fond memories of my dad and things we have done....or things he has done and then shared them with us.  Some highlights from my life with my dad thus far: tetherball, riding on the lawn mower together, planting corn, after game talks, throwing the dirty dish rag at each other, golfing together, listening to his high school/college stories (especially any story with Dean in it), and the last one I will list is a segway to a little story.....and that is fire stories. 

Now there are many a fire story involving my dad and a warning to all-it is much better when he tells it-so if you can get him to tell it, stop reading right now.  To begin my dad has a reputation with fire so when the flame thrower showed up on our door step one day my mom threw a fit.  It was a crisp fall morning, the kind that needs the air to be filled with that smell of burning leaves or brush.  At least that is what my dad thought.  He busts out his flame thrower and heads to one of the ponds in front of our house.  Now he has gotten smart over the years of burning and this time got a bucket of water and placed it on the west side of the pond.  Now the pond is not huge-probably the size of a large swimming pool-but it is surrounded by fitzer bushes which are highly flammable (my dad burnt down 14 of our neighbors with the flame thrower on a separate occasion).  So he begins by turning on the propane tank and attaching the flame thrower.  As he prepares to tackle his honey do list he hears something.  As he slowly turns around to look at the propane tank that he had on a small hand cart (which in turn was attached to the flame thrower) a giant flame was shooting out of the top of the propane tank.  

So this is when it gets interesting.  First thought my dad has was "fire...well there is a giant pond of water"  His immediate reaction was he picked up the propane tank and chucked it into the pond.  Little did he realize that his hand was looped into the flame thrower which was attached to the propane tank.  So when he chucked in the propane tank, he in turn followed the dang thing into the pond head first.  So now he is in the water face to face with this propane tank.  The tank is bobbing on the surface of the water STILL shooting a giant flame out of the nozzle.  So he grabs the thing like he is wrestling with a gator and shoves the entire tank under the water.  You can imagine his surprise when the entire tank is submerged and the thing is still shooting a giant flame out of the top......under water.  Then to make things more interesting, the top of the water has tiny bubbles popping up and the top of the water is now on fire.  That's right....the water is on fire.  My dad's thoughts were that this thing was going to explode and he could possible be in major trouble.  Well, his thoughts realign and he thinks "I just need to turn the propane tank off!"  So he reaches down into the water and twists the nozzle shut.  Miraculously the fire stops shooting out of the nozzle and the top of the water no longer consists of fire bubbles.  I forgot to mention that my dad had his waders on (which are giant boots that go to your nether regions) and upon his tumble into the water, the suckers were now full of water and weighed according to him "fifty pounds each"--although the number does keep getting bigger every time I hear the story. 

Few!  He got the fire stopped, took one giant breath of relief and then gained his footing.  Some of you know my dad is deaf in one ear so I don't blame him for not hearing what he did sooner.  He began to gain his composure when he heard the crackle of a well fed fire. As he turned around, the entire east side of the ponds fitzer bushes were on fire.  See, when he threw the propane tank that was shooting fire into the pond, the fire in turn caught the fitzer bushes on fire on the way over.  Now he is jostled into more action.  But being the wise man he is-- he remembered to put a bucket of water close by just in case something was to happen.  The bucket was on the other side of the pond completely opposite of the fire.  So he trudges as fast as he can to the bucket--remember he has fifty pounds of water all up in his waders as he is sloshing to the other side to get the bucket.  After much deliberation and moving not much faster than the people that fix my ac do (meaning very slow), he finally gets to the bucket.  He grabs the bucket and trudges back through the pond to the other side and begins to shovel buckets of water on his fitzer bush fire.  After much battling, he is able to put out the fire before it spreads around the whole pond.  So he plops himself up on the grass to take of his water logged waders and goes inside to clean himself up.  When he enters our house my mom is sitting in the kitchen.  She looks at my dad who is drenched, cut, and has black soot all over him and says "What in the world happened to you?"  My dad answers "I was out at the pond with the flame thrower...." And my mom interrupted him and says "I don't even want to know."

Happy Father's Day Dah.  I love you lots!

Down Mingo

Zac and I have been very fortunate to be able to travel a little bit together.  Nothing too exotic or anything you need a passport for, meaning standard continental U.S.  Last week we got to go see the thriving metropolis that is Mingo Junction, Ohio.  I know you can't read sarcasm but I laid it on pretty thick in that last sentence.  We landed in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania which according to a laminated poster board is 'America's Most Livable City'.  I immediately say bull because according to the probably 15 stucco signs upon every entrance into Scottsdale it reads 'Most Livable City'.  I guess Scottsdale is the worlds most livable city rather than just Americas.  Take that Pittsburgh. Plus our signs won't get damaged in a wind storm.  Anyhoo, Mingo is about 40 minutes away from Pitt. so not too bad if I say so myself.  I was instantly claustrophobic because of all the shrubbery and I had forgotten what the color green looked like.

We went to Mingo Junction to visit Zac's grandma 'Baba' Mary D.  Our docket was full of things to do including the following:

BINGO-

We kicked everyones preverbal backsides at Bingo.  Take that gerrys.  Zac won three times and Baba and I won once.  We took pictures to document the experience.  The best thing is that Baba has good luck charms that she rubs numbers with in the hopes that the bingo caller would call it.  She even started to yell at them to pick certain numbers.  Baba also insisted on sitting in the middle of Zac and me so in case we didn't know what a bingo was she would help us.  Half way through she put the small pig you see above on my card and told me to move it around if I wasn't getting numbers picked.  Quite the experience and I would suggest it to anyone who wants a rockin' good time.  Plus we got cookies and cake.

This is the steel mill.  The reason Mingo Junction exists.  The sad thing about the mill is that it has completely shut down.  I have never been to a town that is dying but this is one.  They took the high school out completely and demolished the football/baseball field.  The closest larger town to Mingo (Stubenville) has even taken out stop lights because there isn't enough traffic and it costs too much to run.  It's pretty sad to see.  The only things in town are bars and two pizza places.  The bars are full.

We had a garage sale on Saturday.  Baba made 6 bucks off of it. 

It took Baba three times but we finally got a good picture of Zac and me in front of the ice cream shop.

Some of the best pizza.  SO good!  The two times we did have pizza it was done a bit different there in the eastern states.  They serve them by slices and they are square pieces.  They then put them in square boxes they refer to as 'trays'.  Also some of the oldies would say the word yuns.  Let me explain.  "Yun's make sure to enjoy this pizza!"  Zac is going to try and bring 'yuns' to the west side.

This is the Serbian Orthodox church in Stubenville.  We went to the Sunday service with Baba.  That is all I will say about that.

This man on the poster is the reason Zac is a Bears fan.  When Zac's dad was a little boy (seven years old or so) Joe Fortunato was at a carnival in town and asked Zac's dad to take his little girl on the carousel.  Ever since that day, Emil was a bears fan which in return converted Zac.

This is a picture of the bridge connecting West Virginia to Ohio over the Ohio River.  Saweet.

Thus ends yet another adventure in our life.  I was glad we were able to do it because, you know, now I can say I went down Mingo.