Alright everyone, let's hear about some memories as a family. Maybe some funny experiences, Spiritual moments, profound words, practical jokes or anything really! I'm always up for a trip down memory lane!
8 comments:
Anonymous
said...
A loooong time ago, when we lived in New Zealand and I was about 11 or 12, I was in the bathroom trying to cut off a piece of plastic from a small toy, with a razor blade (probably Dad's). Janet, about 8 or 9, was standing next to me, telling me to be careful, a completely foreign concept to me at the time. Sure enough, the razor blade slipped and put a nasty gash in the first two fingers of my left hand.
Janet immediately went into hyperdrive, found a band-aid and put it over one of the cuts. It was practically useless (you have to stop the bleeding first before a band-aid will work) but it was still a caring and compassionate gesture and very typical of Janet's concern for others, even when they're bleeding to death.
PS: They are very faint, but I still have the scars!
This one happened when we were in Island Park as a family a few years ago. It was the day we had all been on the water, either in Rick & Tammy's boat and other toys or in Karen & Randy's canoes. Brent and I had taken a canoe ride with Tammy and one of her boys--was it Lexon? At the end of the ride, Brent discovered he had lost his keys in the river, and we couldn't go home without them, for many reasons. One of the reasons was that the key for the lock on our trailer was on the key ring, and so we wouldn't be able to load up and go home. When Randy heard about it, very simply, he told Brent that they would have a prayer and that they would find the keys. The rest of the family went on to Yellowstone for evening entertainment (a play). At the conclusion of the play, the whole family was excited to see Brent and Randy outside, and THEY HAD FOUND THE KEYS! They had started retracing the route, and Brent admits to being overwhelmed, really not believing that they had a chance in ... the river ... that they would find the keys. They were not too far downstream when they mentioned to some other canoeists what they were looking for, and those people found the keys in shallow water. What a testimony of prayer was exhibited that night!
You know, I know we've told poor Doug on more than one occasion that he wasn't the cutest infant there could be, but he really was a very cute little kid. His blond hair and blue eyes were so different from the rest of us, and they sure attracted a lot of attention. He was very sweet (we're talking very young here folks), and just really cute. (As a teenager he was gorgeous.....) He was very mellow; of course, anyone next to Trace would be considered mellow; and really, really funny.
Trace was a hyper kid, but really a lot of fun too. He made us laugh a lot and his energy was amazing. I always was so impressed with his artwork. It was so detailed and expressive. Maybe he should be a "Where's Waldo" artist.
Yes, these two were a handful, but I'm SO SO SO glad you're my brothers. I love you lots. Keni was telling me the other day he really wishes he had a little brother. Sorry, he gets no agreement from me, but I am so glad I have two "little" brothers.
And Connie, Steve and Karen, I love you lots too! Steve, thanks for the sweet story re your finger cuts. I have absolutely no recollection of that and have never heard you tell it before. Thanks for choosing a story that puts me in a good light. I'm sure not every story would do the same! :-)
I just have a few memories that I always think of when it comes to the Baldridge Bunch.
- grandpa's electronic horse, as well as the real ones - grandma's icing flower drying in the kitchen before putting together a beautiful cake - the cousins come to visit us in Hawaii and me begging my parents to ditch school - admiring all my older girl cousins how beautiful and talented they were/are - getting annoyed with Jared (LOL, love ya cuz) - of course my infamous new year's scheme while everyone was together at the cabin (sorry!) - loving to wear my Baldridge Bunch T-shirt from the Lake Powell reunion - singing songs with grandpa playing the guitar, they were silly songs I'll NEVER forget!
those are all I can think of off hand right now, thanks for the great memories, and I hope we have many more to come!
First off, I'd like to read the expanded version of Tina's "of course my infamous new year's scheme while everyone was together at the cabin (sorry!)" story from the post above. I've never heard it.
Anyway, I remember going with grandpa, and his dog Honey to feed the horses behind the temple in Laie. We'd always fill up the big black barrel with water and bring some bags of feed.
Recently a friend of mine reminded me of the time when grandpa brought one of his horses to our kindergarten class. I remember being the coolest kid that day, and I guess it stuck with me ever since. LOL.
When I was about 15 we were living in Provo (motto: No good Mormon goes unpunished), in a little house on the wrong side of the tracks that has long since been torn down. A Taco Bell sits there now. One day, while walking home from school, I found an almost-full pack of cigarettes on the ground and brought them home with me. I wanted to see what this smoking was all about, so some Saturday afternoon I took the pack out to our ramshackle garage, where I could be alone....
I lit one of the cigarettes and placed it on a ledge to watch it burn. It started out OK, but I could see that it was slowly going out, and I thought, "If I don't take a puff on this thing, it'll go out." But I couldn't bring myself to do it, and eventually it died. That was the last time I was ever tempted to take a puff on a cig. I threw the pack away and moved on to more addictive habits, like stamp collecting and trivia.
When I was about 16 years old, my friends wanted to go to a local fair in Waialua or someplace and I wanted to go with them. The only problem was it was on a Sunday and I knew that mom and dad wouldn't let me go. But I decided to ask them anyway, even though I knew it wasn't an appropriate thing to do on Sunday and if they said yes, then it was okay. However, my wise and insightful parents told me that I had to make the decision myself. They knew that I knew that it was an inappropriate activity for Sunday and they were smart enough (parents-smart...isn't that an oxymoron to a teenager) to know that I would feel the guilt from making a poor decision. I am proud to say that I did not join my friends that day and even though I have made some dumb choices in my life, I was glad I stayed home, having learned a powerful lesson.
One of my very earliest memories occurred when I was perhaps 3 or 4 years old--certainly the recollection may be hazy, but it went something like this. Dad took me to some place that may have been a greenhouse, to look at some plants, and we wandered through the aisles between the display boxes. Somehow we got separated, but after being alone for a short while I spotted a familiar pair of pants (I was pretty short, believe it or not) and took hold of the hand hanging down. We walked along for a little while, and then I heard a soft voice calling "Steve." I turned around, and there was Dad! I looked up to see that I was holding hands with a complete stranger, an old man who didn't seem to mind that a small child had taken his hand. I immediately let go and retreated back to Dad, and realized that seeing a familiar pair of pants would not be enough to know that I'd found the right person.
8 comments:
A loooong time ago, when we lived in New Zealand and I was about 11 or 12, I was in the bathroom trying to cut off a piece of plastic from a small toy, with a razor blade (probably Dad's). Janet, about 8 or 9, was standing next to me, telling me to be careful, a completely foreign concept to me at the time. Sure enough, the razor blade slipped and put a nasty gash in the first two fingers of my left hand.
Janet immediately went into hyperdrive, found a band-aid and put it over one of the cuts. It was practically useless (you have to stop the bleeding first before a band-aid will work) but it was still a caring and compassionate gesture and very typical of Janet's concern for others, even when they're bleeding to death.
PS: They are very faint, but I still have the scars!
This one happened when we were in Island Park as a family a few years ago. It was the day we had all been on the water, either in Rick & Tammy's boat and other toys or in Karen & Randy's canoes. Brent and I had taken a canoe ride with Tammy and one of her boys--was it Lexon? At the end of the ride, Brent discovered he had lost his keys in the river, and we couldn't go home without them, for many reasons. One of the reasons was that the key for the lock on our trailer was on the key ring, and so we wouldn't be able to load up and go home. When Randy heard about it, very simply, he told Brent that they would have a prayer and that they would find the keys. The rest of the family went on to Yellowstone for evening entertainment (a play). At the conclusion of the play, the whole family was excited to see Brent and Randy outside, and THEY HAD FOUND THE KEYS! They had started retracing the route, and Brent admits to being overwhelmed, really not believing that they had a chance in ... the river ... that they would find the keys. They were not too far downstream when they mentioned to some other canoeists what they were looking for, and those people found the keys in shallow water. What a testimony of prayer was exhibited that night!
You know, I know we've told poor Doug on more than one occasion that he wasn't the cutest infant there could be, but he really was a very cute little kid. His blond hair and blue eyes were so different from the rest of us, and they sure attracted a lot of attention. He was very sweet (we're talking very young here folks), and just really cute. (As a teenager he was gorgeous.....) He was very mellow; of course, anyone next to Trace would be considered mellow; and really, really funny.
Trace was a hyper kid, but really a lot of fun too. He made us laugh a lot and his energy was amazing. I always was so impressed with his artwork. It was so detailed and expressive. Maybe he should be a "Where's Waldo" artist.
Yes, these two were a handful, but I'm SO SO SO glad you're my brothers. I love you lots. Keni was telling me the other day he really wishes he had a little brother. Sorry, he gets no agreement from me, but I am so glad I have two "little" brothers.
And Connie, Steve and Karen, I love you lots too! Steve, thanks for the sweet story re your finger cuts. I have absolutely no recollection of that and have never heard you tell it before. Thanks for choosing a story that puts me in a good light. I'm sure not every story would do the same! :-)
I just have a few memories that I always think of when it comes to the Baldridge Bunch.
- grandpa's electronic horse, as well as the real ones
- grandma's icing flower drying in the kitchen before putting together a beautiful cake
- the cousins come to visit us in Hawaii and me begging my parents to ditch school
- admiring all my older girl cousins how beautiful and talented they were/are
- getting annoyed with Jared (LOL, love ya cuz)
- of course my infamous new year's scheme while everyone was together at the cabin (sorry!)
- loving to wear my Baldridge Bunch T-shirt from the Lake Powell reunion
- singing songs with grandpa playing the guitar, they were silly songs I'll NEVER forget!
those are all I can think of off hand right now, thanks for the great memories, and I hope we have many more to come!
First off, I'd like to read the expanded version of Tina's "of course my infamous new year's scheme while everyone was together at the cabin (sorry!)" story from the post above. I've never heard it.
Anyway, I remember going with grandpa, and his dog Honey to feed the horses behind the temple in Laie. We'd always fill up the big black barrel with water and bring some bags of feed.
Recently a friend of mine reminded me of the time when grandpa brought one of his horses to our kindergarten class. I remember being the coolest kid that day, and I guess it stuck with me ever since. LOL.
When I was about 15 we were living in Provo (motto: No good Mormon goes unpunished), in a little house on the wrong side of the tracks that has long since been torn down. A Taco Bell sits there now. One day, while walking home from school, I found an almost-full pack of cigarettes on the ground and brought them home with me. I wanted to see what this smoking was all about, so some Saturday afternoon I took the pack out to our ramshackle garage, where I could be alone....
I lit one of the cigarettes and placed it on a ledge to watch it burn. It started out OK, but I could see that it was slowly going out, and I thought, "If I don't take a puff on this thing, it'll go out." But I couldn't bring myself to do it, and eventually it died. That was the last time I was ever tempted to take a puff on a cig. I threw the pack away and moved on to more addictive habits, like stamp collecting and trivia.
When I was about 16 years old, my friends wanted to go to a local fair in Waialua or someplace and I wanted to go with them. The only problem was it was on a Sunday and I knew that mom and dad wouldn't let me go. But I decided to ask them anyway, even though I knew it wasn't an appropriate thing to do on Sunday and if they said yes, then it was okay.
However, my wise and insightful parents told me that I had to make the decision myself. They knew that I knew that it was an inappropriate activity for Sunday and they were smart enough (parents-smart...isn't that an oxymoron to a teenager) to know that I would feel the guilt from making a poor decision.
I am proud to say that I did not join my friends that day and even though I have made some dumb choices in my life, I was glad I stayed home, having learned a powerful lesson.
One of my very earliest memories occurred when I was perhaps 3 or 4 years old--certainly the recollection may be hazy, but it went something like this. Dad took me to some place that may have been a greenhouse, to look at some plants, and we wandered through the aisles between the display boxes. Somehow we got separated, but after being alone for a short while I spotted a familiar pair of pants (I was pretty short, believe it or not) and took hold of the hand hanging down. We walked along for a little while, and then I heard a soft voice calling "Steve." I turned around, and there was Dad! I looked up to see that I was holding hands with a complete stranger, an old man who didn't seem to mind that a small child had taken his hand. I immediately let go and retreated back to Dad, and realized that seeing a familiar pair of pants would not be enough to know that I'd found the right person.
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