Why You Should Pay Attention to Your Parent's Boring Stories... or "Lima, It's More than Just a Bean."

My mom always told us stories of her family and her life "way back when."  Some of them I paid attention to, some not so much.  Anyway her family was from Lima, Ohio, originally; then they moved to Condee, S.D., to farm.  She was born there.  Her dad was Edgar Cyrus Holmes and her mom was Zitella "Stella" Holmes, nee Jacobs.  Stella and her younger brother were orphaned and taken in by a family that Stella was working for, so Mom didn't know if Jacobs was her original name or if she took the name of the adoptive family.

So Mom told this story about Stella's grandfather....I think. (this is where should realize where my title comes from!)  Or it might have been a great-uncle.  I can't remember.  Anyway as the story goes, this man murdered his wife and was hung for it in Lima, Ohio.  According to Mom, he was the first man hung in Lima and the rope used to hang him is in a museum there.

Lo and behold, I had a judging assignment last spring in Wapakoneta, OH, and stayed in Lima.  Talk about fate.  Well, I had some time to check out the town a little, and there is no rope hanging in a museum.  I drove through the town and it is a lovely little Midwestern town, with lots of trees and sweet houses.  But no sign of a rope used to hang my great-grandfather.  But back at the hotel, I found a travel guide talking about the first public execution in all of Ohio, and it was in Allen County; in fact, it was in Lima!

Follow up to the last post.

Jess went to Trader Joes yesterday, came home and made stuffed portabellas with mango/avocado salad for dinner (vegan).  Larry's quite a good cook as well.  Apparently my dislike of cooking has encouraged my children to actually grow up and cook on their own.  Huh.  Did I do something right?

Random Thoughts and/or Moments that Make You Go Huh. #1

So I was driving home from Dorian's last night and when the traffic report came on, I changed the channel.  Unbelievable.  After years of commuting and living by the radio' s report, I suddenly realized that it doesn't matter anymore.  There is nowhere I go routinely that is impacted by the hideous SoCal traffic.  Ahhh, bliss....

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A couple of years' ago, Liz and I went to the tradeshow in Denver.  When we got to the hotel that night and Liz called home to check in, Jimmy asked: "Why'd you take my toothbrush, Liz?"  Ewww, just ewww.

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Dad never, ever cursed.  He used to say, "For crying n a bucket," or "Hell's Bells."  One of his favorite sayings, however, is "Stop when you hear glass breaking and smell sh***t."  I don't really get that one.

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I had an epiphany the other day.  It seems like every time I try to buy glasses, they're always a little tweaked.  So I was in Kohl's and trying on sunglasses, when I finally realized:  maybe the problem isn't the glasses at all -- maybe my ears are crooked.

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I might actually be the laziest person on earth when it comes to food.  Truly.  I'll dump milk on oatmeal and eat it cold before I'd microwave it.  When Allan's out of town, I drink the same pot of coffee all week, 'cuz I'm too lazy to make new.  When Allan is in town, I walk down to the kitchen, pour enough milk in my coffee so I can stand at the sink and chug it.  I don't want to have to remember to bring the mug back down to the kitchen.  Hmm, I wonder if there is something deficient in my mental health.

Happy Anniversary, Generalissimo!

In our typical fashion, we Frasers don't like to jump the gun.  We -- at least, me -- tend to leave things to the last minute. We have, in fact, been accused of procrastinating. (Check out my previous post for clarification, if necessary.)

So without further ado...five years after the fact...even though I meant to...but just never got around to it,
Congratulations, Larry!

what is it with me and birthdays?

Well, in my latest string of assaults on my loved ones, I missed Matt's birthday.  I didn't forget it, but I missed calling him on the right day.  I thought of it two days before, but thought I'd wait til that day.  Then I thought of it three days after.  Matt is one of my closest friends and confidantes and his birthday the last day of June.  Is it really that hard to remember?  Am I really that much of an airhead?

I never forget Allan's, Larry's, or Jess's birthdays; but I can't remember my anniversary.  I have to pull out the wedding license to look.  Two years ago, I actually convinced Allan that he had the date wrong and we celebrated a day early...

For the last three years in a row, I've called Robert O. the day after his birthday to wish him happy day.  Last year, I was in NJ in August when we celebrated Tab's birthday.  I asked why we were celebrating a day early...and, apparently, we weren't.

I've never gotten Diane's kids' b-days right, and usually call them the day before or the day after to start singing. Sheesh.

In November of '09, I was up NorCal to judge a goat show and spent a couple of extra days visiting Dad and Diane.  I had Diane's birthday gift ready and told her wanted to bake her a cake and celebrate the night I left, since her birthday was the next day.  She gave me a really odd look: Mom's birthday was November 20th; Diane's is the 25th.

I guess I take after my dad.  Long ago when he took me down for a military ID, he put down the wrong day.  When he took for my driver's license, he actually had the year wrong...

Matt, I love you.  I'm sorry I did it again!

JCA does PR

Jess is in Puerto Rico.  She and Kelsey, her friend from the equestrian team at Rutgers, flew down to spend 10 days hanging out with a family friend.  I think Jess may be the luckiest little turd on earth.  This was her email to Allan and me this morning.....


"Hola mami y papi,



Puerto Rico is wonderful. I'll write you a long email since I haven't gotten to talk much in detail about things here.


For starters, we landed in Aguadilla at 12:45 on Tuesday morning and met Pablo the Puerto Rican and were picked up by Francis. It was only a 40 minute drive or so to Fran's house is Cabo Rojo. We stayed at his house that night, woke up the next morning and ate breakfast made by his mom (fritadas and home-made tortillas) and then loaded the car up to go to his camper at the beach.


Let me tell you a few things about this camper. It's a one bedroom, although I would just call it a one-room, with a bathroom (with shower) that is about the size of our closet in the foyer. I'm not exaggerating. Outside, there's a patio/sitting area that's divided in half by folding doors that opens to a semi-outdoor kitchen. The camper is also in Cabo Rojo (five minutes from Francis' house) on Buye Beach (Playa Buye). It has three beds, one of which is a bunk bed, and yes the three of us sleep in there. I know he has cooties, but I haven't gotten itchy yet.


Last night Francis had three of his friends over, Pedro, Phillip y Laura. (It's not Laura, it's LOWra -- naturally.) I taught them how to play the card games golf and spoons, which they loved, and they taught us some Spanish. Pedro is thinking about going to Rutgers for a baseball scholarship, so atleast now he knows us.


This morning we slept until 10, woke up to find out we had no water for some reason, so we went kayaking to a cayo (small island). We figure salt water is better than no water for a shower. Tomorrow we're going to Old San Juan, doing some really tourist-y things, and on Friday we're going to a river that's in the middle of the island to jump off cliffs and swim! I'm so excited! After that, we're going to check out caves around the island and on Sunday or Monday we're going ziplining somewhere. It's allegedly the longest one in the world, but I guess we'll see.


Phillip is supposed to take us out on his boat one of these days, and we're also supposed to go to a discotec one of these nights. And Pedro taught me how to do the merengue, because Kelsey was too embarrassed to dance, but you know me. I don't mind making a fool of myself much.


Funny story: when I practice my Spanish with Francis and his friends, they tell me I sound like a Mexican and have a Mexican accent. Gee, I wonder why? Turns out I apparently know a lot of Mexican slang, and they just laugh at me.






Anywho, that's about all I have to tell as of now. Seems like a lot since it's only my third day here! I'll email you when we have a signal. I'm having a ton of fun, but I miss home! I love you guys!






- su hija


p.s. Mom, Francis says there are no lifeguards here... I wore a vest when we kayaked though, just to make you feel better."

God, I love my kids!  They are awesome!  They crack me up.

(ps "Pablo the Puerto Rican" is a Border Patrol agent that Allan knows who's stationed in PR.  Allan called in a favor and had Pablo meet the girls and check everything out.  Pablo will be on high alert for the rest of the week. Sometimes it pays to sleep with a drug cop!)

I've certainly kidded my fair share of goats over the years, and I've certainly had my share of problems. Yesterday "City Lights Anna Molly" went into labor. Molly has two grand-champion awards; she needs one more to retire as a Permanent Grand Champion. Before Molly can compete again, she needs to produce a live kid and have it registered with the NPGA.

Molly was was spot-on from the time she was born, and I just really liked her.  Molly has a lot of structure and character that I'm looking for in a goat.  She's won nearly every time I've shown her and has been my "great white hope;" with one more win, she will be my first PGCH in my herdname.

All day yesterday, Molly labored and appeared to be going along normally. She didn't appear to be laboring hard and never really laid down and pushed.  I kept expecting her to get down to work, but nothing really seemed amiss. I watched all day and all evening. Dorian was over, as was Marty and some other friends of Allan's.

By 9p.m., I'd gone down for a nap, because I figured I'd be up doing midwifery duties later on.  Dorian stayed over in the guest room (because she's an awesome friend!).  Dorian checked at 11 pm.  I got up at midnight, checked Molly, and lay back down on the couch.  ***in retrospect, this is where I should have intervened ***

Between 1:30 and 2, I went back down and sat with her.  It wasn't until then I could feel a "bubble."  From here on out, only people who know goat-speak will be able to follow along.

Up til then, I'd been checking Molly; although she was dilated, I could feel nothing.  I was sort of thinking that those babies were just really deep into the horns, and she was slowly working them up.   Remember, she still wasn't pushing or straining.  She'd, sort of, squat and urinate and push a little.  And even now that I could feel the bubble, I still couldn't feel anything behind it.  By 2:30 or 3, I knew we were in trouble; but I also knew that whatever was going on, a few more hours weren't going to change anything.

 By 5a.m. she had the bubble out, unbroken.  Then I could feel a baby behind that -- tail first.  At 5:30, I called Donna (another incredible friend!) and Dorian drove Molly out there.  Donna pulled the kids -- FOUR OF THEM; all dead.  What happened?

From 3 a.m. on, I had had plenty of time to contemplate life with goats.  It wasn't until then I remembered that Spot, Molly's mom, had not been a good kidder.  She did (deja vu here a little too late, here) what Molly had done -- never really pushed or strained at all.  Her first kidding had a buckling born dead, then I literally went in and pulled Molly out.  Spot passed the placenta; I thought we were done; and twelve hours later, Molly started pushing again and out came another dead baby.  Her second kidding, the same thing.  Spot kidded a doe, passed her placenta, and twelve hours later -- another dead baby.  Spot died in her third kidding.

I am very saddened to lose all of Molly's babies; but as time has passed, I've become more pragmatic.  It's impossible not to lose them sometimes.  It's nature; it's what happens.  But is this something I want to continue to do?  I hate losing them.  I hate seeing the doe cry and look for their babies.  I hate selling animals and not knowing where they will go and how they will be treated.  As much as I love the babies and playing with them and showing, they really are my pets.   So do I want to continue on breeding just so I can show?

Should I rebreed Molly so I can get a live kid to register?  I know of people who have taken pictures of dying or dead kids, just so they could register it and continue competing with the doe.  Where do you draw the line? What if there is something genetic that Spot passed to Molly?  Do I want to perpetuate that?  Maybe it's just a fluke, a coincidence.  Do I want a ribbon that badly?  Sometimes, no matter how old we are, we still don't know have all the answers.

4th of July means dinner and a zip line!

Tere's kids were at Seaworld with the G-parents yesterday and Jonathon is out of town. Much to our surprise, Tere showed up at our house around 7 just as I was contemplating dinner.  She'd made soup and invited us down.  As we all know, I'm the first to try to get out of cooking, so I was all for it!

The soup was an Italian sausage soup, and chock full of tons of veggies.  Tere just came back from a trip to a spa in Tecate was feeling very virtuous and healthy.  The soup was very, very good and even better once I'd dumped some cheese on it. Yum!

And even better, the Beckers have a zip line!!! How awesome is that?  And how did I not know about it? It's 20 feet up onto a tree platform and then you can zip probably 50 feet down to the yard.  Very cool.  I'm going back tonight to do it again, while Tere snaps pics for the blog... check back!

It's a small world after all; it's a small, small world

I was on Facebook yesterday  (a common occurrence for me and a constant source of annoyance for Allan), and I had a message from one of my "friends" in South Africa.  I "met" Willem Pretorious, a farmer in SA,  a number of months back.  Somehow Willem and I found each other through a mutual goat friend and have been friends ever since.  We chat on line -- he tells me I need to learn Afrikaans and I tell him someday I will.   (I have learned about three words, and I do send messages to Willem in his language -- thank God for Google Translator!)

Anyway, yesterday I had this message from Willem's account:  "Hello, My name is Steven and I'm sitting here with Willem after a nice BBQ. I was born and raised in San Diego myself. I'm now living here in South Africa and loving it. Willem said he had a friend from San Diego so I wanted to say hi and that we have a very nice friend here. Willem and his family are super cool and really know how to enjoy life. Willem wanted me to say hello and see your profile. Small world, Facebook helps too! Take care, Steven."

Well, Willem was online, so I immediately messaged him.   Steven and I had quite a chat.  Here was a man I've never met, sitting on a huge farm in SA thousands of miles away, and we discovered that not only did Steven and I come from the same town  -- we actually WENT TO THE SAME GRADE SCHOOL!!!!  (Go Sacred Heart, Coronado!)

..........it's a world of laughter, a world of tears..........it's a small, small world......