The First.

So I've decided to start a blog. I know, how normal of me. It seems everyone these days has one. Though I probably won't be as faithful as most or even as insightful as some, but what I say is what I know and feel. To start this little venture off I have decided to do a challenge. Someone passed along a 25 day blog challenge to me, and it pretty interesting and good for a sort of "get to know you" thing.
A little quick background. Im working in Deadhorse and its roughly 25 days til I leave the state of AK to go back home to KS. I figure its a good way to keep occupied and kind of neat way to count down the days.
Well, here goes nothing.
Day 1: Five most memorable/important childhood memories. Yikes!

1. This is in homage to Fall. September in our house meant moose season. We got to stay home for about a week while Dad and his friends when hunting. We (me and my three brothers and mom) stayed up late, played all day and waited with baited breath for the Jerry Lewis MDS Telathon to start. It always seemed to conicide with Dad's departure. When Dad got home with the kill, it hung in the garage for a few days. We would run down the hill to peak at this massive hunk of meat suspended from the rafters. We would constantly ask if it was "ready". When it had finally aged enough we would either drive to Anderson to butcher it at Dad's friend's parent's house, or our front porch would become a killing ground. Saw horses with plywood slapped over them would be tables. The men would take stations outside and women inside. The men would cut and the women would wrap and lable. Us kids would run around between stations. Sometimes we would collect scraps for hamburger or we would go in and write on the newly wrapped white packages. Butchering had its own special magic and the tang of meat would mix with the cool crisp day outside. The day was long and would end with the grinding of the hamburger. By that time all the glory of the party had worn off and we kids were tired. But it was still always a time to celebrate.

2. There weren't a lot of kids living on the road our house was on. It wasn't until I was about ten that I really started hanging out with them. Our road was isolate and our driveway was a long way away from the nexus of houses that actually had kids. This memory actually has to do with a gift from some of those kids. There was a family on our road, the Urbans, and they had a daughter around my age. We hung out a lot and it was through her I learned how to ride a bike. I was terrible at it at first, of course. I fell a lot and their dog even tried to eat me while I was learning (but that's another story). But anyway, they gave me this old purple bike that they had. It was in AWFUL shape. It was a girls bike with this huge white banana seat,  flat tires, and a chain that almost always popped off when riding. I rode the heck out those rims. I would start at the top of our driveway and coast all the way to the end, and then stop and look for cars. Then I would coast down the hill, the dirt flying behind me. Jumping potholes, and splashing through puddles. I think I only probably rode that thing about a month before those poor rims gave out, but while I had it, I loved it. I have ridden a few bikes since, but nothing that cruised quite like that one did.

3. I was desperate for friends in school. I went to the same school from preschool til I graduated and it was a tough situation. A private school with more students who were members of the church than not, and more family than anything. So I was pretty much a social pariah. My family literally lived on the other side of the tracks, didn't go to that church, and wasn't part of the family. But whatever. I was a typical eith/ nine year old girl and in love with all things horse related. I read every horse book I could get my hands on and every christmas I asked for a new toy horse. One of the girls at my school actually rode horses and I just thought she was the coolest person ever. I remember that one time I struck up a conversation with her about horses, and somehow convinced her that I actually OWNED horses. Now, of course it was a total lie, but not super far fetched. There was a family that stabled horses behind my house, and if you walked into our backyard you could walk right up to the fence and see them. Anyway. I had a birthday that year and this girl and a few others actually came (I had a few parties where no one came) out to our house to see the "horses". I begged it off, by saying something to the effect that the horses were tired and couldnt see anyone or something like that. Needless to say, they didn't stay for the party, and no real friendships were born out of that. I guess lies don't pay, right?

4. My Dad is sort of like Superman. He can do a billion things and has done a billion more than most anyone. Most of my childhood he was an auto mechanic and we were always getting dragged to and from the shop or out to jobs because he would actually go to where the car was broke. Anyway, this particular trip I discovered my Dad was also part bloodhound. We were going to this lady's house out in the middle of proverbial nowhere. I mean literally. She had given Dad some rather sketchy directions, we drove forever and ended up in the middle of this huge dirt pit. There was heavy equipment everywhere and no signs. This was before cell phones and I don't know that she even had a phone, remember NOWHERE. Anyway. So what does Dad do? He gets out of the car and turns into an Indian Scout! He stares at the ground, gets real close to it, walks a little ways, bends down, looks again. Then walks back to the car and just starts driving. Miracle of miracles, he drives right into this long winding driveway that I personally thought we might get shot going down, and we end up at the gal's house. He had stood out there in that big flat area, completely overrun with CAT tracks and front end loader tracks, and picked out the little tire treads of a Subaru hatchback!!! Hat's off to the Chief!

5. On top of being a bloodhound my Dad is pilot. We have always had a plane. It has changed shape over the years, but its always been something that win or loose was around. My favorite of all the ones we've had was a Blue and White Stinson. It was beautiful. We would go out to the airport on Saturdays or Sundays and Dad would pop open a green can of Turtle wax. Then us kids would run around with rags and rub wax into the stretched canvas. We probably didn't accomplish much as much running around we did, but it was fun. Dad would do tinkering on the plane, pre-preflight checks. Double check the tie-downs, rummage around inside. It was always that clear sunny day that Fairbanks does so well. To this day, when I see green cans of Turtle wax or smell AV gas, I am transported to those days. So fun and carefree.

Well. Thats the first day. Check in tomorrow for day two.