Despite a growing sense of loss of wit and erudition
Comes now the guilt to keep up with our holiday tradition.
And not dependent for a jolt from steroids or the juice
Creative sparks aren’t flying from our once-resourceful muse.
We sit before the keyboard, with fingers poised to type
And call up news and memories that now seem over-ripe.
We pause here in the present, to conjure up the past
And capture with a few choice words some memories to last.
The Terrys, Ben and Rachel, have moved their 5 man crew
To Broomfield, Colorado while Ben studies at CU.
Becca, Spence and Eva do their chores as children should
And haven’t been caught vandalizing in their neighborhood.
Rachel’s blog: http://mys-terry.blogspot.com/
In a Kansas City suburb, where Jon & Becky dwell,
A lot of half an acre and a home are priced to sell.
Within six weeks, the little house will make room for another.
Lucy and big sister Sam will NOT get a new brother.
Jon’s blog: http://tolmanitude/blogspot.com/
The Benefields in Austin, where the summer sun is hotter
Keep up a very hectic pace with Revolution Water.
And Clara, Emma, Hyrum and little Annabelle
Obey their parents faithfully, but sometimes they raise hell.
Ali’s good-faith effort at blogging: http://4benemonkeys.blogspot.com/
Emily lives in Provo and was working at DI
And learning better how to work and help herself get by.
Her schedule leaves her with free time and not too much to do
To keep her from her on-line buds and friends at BYU
Emily’s e-mail address: ctrnoel@aol.com
Deanna’s life’s been frantic. She leaves a scattered trail
Of loving Christian deeds despite her frequent trips to jail. 1
She thrives despite a schedule that is frightfully forbidding
And helping her throughout it all are books-on-tape and knitting.
During football season, his butt stuck to the couch,
We find guilt-ridden Wendell, that channel-changing slouch,
Making many knitted hats or grumbling, and I quote,
“Honey, where's that needle; have you seen the d#%@ remote?”
Our pathetic attempt at blogging: http://minkpoop.blogspot.com/
Our Christmas wish for you and yours is strength and robust health
And humor and perspective as we view declining wealth.
May your days be full of happiness and free from foul oppression
And may your hard-earned treasure last throughout this “slight” recession.
1 – temporary job doing physical exams at the Denver County Jail.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Memories of Past High Adventure
BASS FISHING
After three hot days of baking in the scorching Utah sun,
The prospect of a river trip appealed to everyone.
We broke camp at Entrada and headed into town.
A bus would take us way upstream so we could float back down.
Two kayaks and three rubber rafts were pushed out on the water.
Most wanted to get wetter, ‘ere the temperature got hotter.
Each raft had two large buckets. Each raftsman had a paddle.
The paddles were for paddling. The buckets were for battle.
Two rafts were manned by heroes clad in shirts of tasteful gray.
The other by some Oremites, of whom there’s more to say.
In between the rapids, where the rolling waters roared,
We tried to make amusement so we wouldn’t get too bored.
So if an unsuspecting crew was slow at looking back
Their rivals in the other raft would mount a sneak attack.
At a time of inattention, while not picking any fights,
The raft where rode Nick Goddard was assailed by Oremites.
Brother Goddard was a soldier, just returned home from the war,
And wasn’t really in the mood for fighting any more.
Water flew from buckets; the paddling was intense.
We tried hard to repel the force of those aggressive gents.
Our ineffectual paddling didn’t move us from the fray.
The Oremites came up onside and we became their prey.
A coward leaped upon our raft, took hold of Brother Goddard.
Both victim and assailant fell beneath the murky water.
Emerging from the muddy stream, Nick sucked a gulp of air
And grabbed his hat and sun-glasses and shot the jerk a glare.
As he stared down his attacker (who he didn’t feel like kissing),
His sight was out of focus for one sunglass lens was missing.
From the depths of his frustration, Nick roared a mighty yell
That shook the rocky canyon walls and echoed down the dell.
He’d recognized his favorite hole for catching large mouth bass
And pointed out to everyone just what had come to pass.
We floated ‘round the basshole, tight-lipped and reverently,
Knowing that we didn’t spell it with that silent B.
No further skirmishes ensued against the Oremites.
No unkind words were tossed about. There would be no more fights.
We floated rather peacefully, there were no further clashes.
But if we see those guys again, we’re gonna kick their butts.
- May 13, 2005
After three hot days of baking in the scorching Utah sun,
The prospect of a river trip appealed to everyone.
We broke camp at Entrada and headed into town.
A bus would take us way upstream so we could float back down.
Two kayaks and three rubber rafts were pushed out on the water.
Most wanted to get wetter, ‘ere the temperature got hotter.
Each raft had two large buckets. Each raftsman had a paddle.
The paddles were for paddling. The buckets were for battle.
Two rafts were manned by heroes clad in shirts of tasteful gray.
The other by some Oremites, of whom there’s more to say.
In between the rapids, where the rolling waters roared,
We tried to make amusement so we wouldn’t get too bored.
So if an unsuspecting crew was slow at looking back
Their rivals in the other raft would mount a sneak attack.
At a time of inattention, while not picking any fights,
The raft where rode Nick Goddard was assailed by Oremites.
Brother Goddard was a soldier, just returned home from the war,
And wasn’t really in the mood for fighting any more.
Water flew from buckets; the paddling was intense.
We tried hard to repel the force of those aggressive gents.
Our ineffectual paddling didn’t move us from the fray.
The Oremites came up onside and we became their prey.
A coward leaped upon our raft, took hold of Brother Goddard.
Both victim and assailant fell beneath the murky water.
Emerging from the muddy stream, Nick sucked a gulp of air
And grabbed his hat and sun-glasses and shot the jerk a glare.
As he stared down his attacker (who he didn’t feel like kissing),
His sight was out of focus for one sunglass lens was missing.
From the depths of his frustration, Nick roared a mighty yell
That shook the rocky canyon walls and echoed down the dell.
He’d recognized his favorite hole for catching large mouth bass
And pointed out to everyone just what had come to pass.
We floated ‘round the basshole, tight-lipped and reverently,
Knowing that we didn’t spell it with that silent B.
No further skirmishes ensued against the Oremites.
No unkind words were tossed about. There would be no more fights.
We floated rather peacefully, there were no further clashes.
But if we see those guys again, we’re gonna kick their butts.
- May 13, 2005
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Don't forget the sunblock
From Tulum, looking back toward Cancun. Tulum is a huge archealogical site about an hour south of Playa del Carmen. It was hot, but fascinating. 
I'm finally getting around to posting pictures from our trip to Mexico in June. I've forgotten that the first items posted get pushed ahead. In this case, the photos appear in reverse order as they were taken during the trip. This is the Mayaland Hotel, a hacienda built in the 1930's, within the national park of Chichen Itza. We had 1/2 of this nifty little stick/stucco/palm leaves cabin very close to the main building.
Wendell and Emily in front of our cabana.
The great pyramid at Chichen Itza.
Our tour guide, Esteban Mejia from Puebla speaks. Deanna listens intently.
At a pyramid at Ek Balam. The Carvings look fresh and new because this pyramid was covered with vegetation until just recently. A shade of posts and palm branches has been erected over this entrance with its beautiful carvings to protect them from the elements, now that the protective vegetation has been removed.
Esteban, our Mexican certified national tour guide, explaining something fascinating.
Wendell @ Ek Balam, standing at the top of 90 steps on a pyramid that is 1500 years old, overlooking other recently uncovered structures. Our guides told us the current estimate is that there are 63,000 pyramids in Mexico, most of them still covered with vegetation. Any hill seen rising above the canopy is an ancient structure, since the Yucatan is essentially a large, completely flat limestone rock, no mountains, as it rose from the sea about 1500 years ago, raising a land bridge to the rest of Mexico.
It was a long way up... and a long way down.
Along a path to the bathrooms at Ek-Balam.
Our guides.. Esteban Mejia & Jerry Ainsworth. You can see Jerry's work on Book of Mormon sites at http://mormonsites.org/.
New friends Lura & Tracy (grandmother & granddaughter)
The swimming pool at the resort, the Wyndham Viva Mayan.
The amazing buffet at the resort. It was really hard not to gain weight. Well, actually, we did gain weight.Sunblock is your friend. I forgot to do my front, arms and legs.
Emily enjoyed dancing with staff members at the evening shows at the Wyndham Viva resort. Handsome, young people, often very well-educated, speaking multiple languages, very courteous and kind, who thought of this as a working vacation (15-hour days, cranky tourists).
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Random Drug Screening
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
When I arrived back at the office after a quick trip to Home Depot and McDonald's, clutching a bag containing a filet-o-fish sandwich and a double cheeseburger from the dollar menu, I was met at the door of my office by Heidi Barkdull and Dave Williams. Dave apologetically handed me two pieces of paper and informed me that I had thirty minutes to get to a nearby medical office to submit to a random drug screening test. I had to sign and date a form acknowledging that I had received such notice and would submit to such testing procedures. I signed the form at 12:48 pm. I asked Heidi if she thought I had time to eat my lunch first. She suggested I could eat on the way to the collection site.
I ate the cheeseburger on the way to Concentra Medical Center on Dry Creek Circle. I assumed by the time I checked in, made my requisite deposit and checked out, the filet-o-fish would still be warm and I’d be back at the office by 1:30. I signed in at Concentra at 1:03. After waiting for about 5 minutes, I was handed a clipboard with three forms. I signed the forms and handed over my driver’s license so they could make a copy to verify my identity.
At approximately 1:18, I was summoned to follow Josh Ramirez back to the specimen area. He told me to empty my pockets, put all the items from my pockets into a lock box. Lock the box. Keep the key with me. Wash my hands. Then he handed me a plastic cup with instructions to fill it up to a particular line. If I exceeded the line, I could switch the flow from the specimen cup to the toilet, but I was not to flush the toilet. I opened the door and entered the rather bare room. Holding the cup in one hand, I unzipped with the other, held the specimen cup under the spigot, anxiously awaiting the onset of the evidentiary flow. And waited… and waited. After about three minutes, Josh tapped on the door. “Mr. Tolman, are you okay?” I put the cup down, repositioned the non-compliant spigot and zipped my pants back up. I opened the door, handed the empty cup to the smiling Mr. Ramirez and apologized. “That happens”, he said. He had me sign and date another form to acknowledge that I had been unable to furnish an “adequate specimen”. I duly certified that I had been unable to pee at 1:25 pm. He then informed me that I had three hours to produce an “adequate specimen”. I could not leave the building. He said I could return to the waiting room and drink up to 4 cups of water to promote the production of the desired evidence. After retrieving my personal effects from the lock box and washing my hands again, I returned to the waiting room, picked up a styrofoam cup which would contain 10 ounces of liquid and in a dignified, nonchalant manner, so as not to arouse the curiosity or suspicion of others in the waiting room, slammed down 4 full cups of water. And waited for a tingling feeling from Mr. Bladder to tell me it was time to retest.
While I was waiting for such feeling, a fellow Halliburton employee, Jeff Segor presented himself at the front desk, filled out the requisite paperwork, disappeared with Mr. Ramirez for a few brief moments before sauntering back through the waiting room and out the door to freedom.
I called Deanna, explained my location and predicament. I asked her if she had any suggestions or strategies to help bring my problem to a successful conclusion. Her laughter did not lift my spirits. I picked up a copy of USA Today and browsed through 3 of the 4 sections. At 2:20, I caught Mr. Ramirez’s attention, thinking after almost an hour a quart of water certainliy ought to have gone far enough through the system to generate a few tablespoons of evidence.
He invited me back again. I emptied my pockets, locked them into the lock box, washed my hands, this time with warmer water for a longer time, bending to one of Deanna’s suggestions that the warmer water might promote a better result. Josh handed me a new specimen cup. With renewed enthusiasm, I entered the bathroom, unzipped Mr. Spigot and… waited again. I flicked, shook, rubbed (only slightly) the now-offending body part. Not a stream. Not a trickle. Not a drop. Nothing. After perhaps two minutes total time, Josh tapped at the door. “Wendell? It’s okay.” I put myself back together and sheepishly opened the door with the sad, empty container. I retrieved my personal items again from the lock box, and washed my hands for the fourth time. His instructions were different this time.
“We only have until 4:30. You can drink as much water as you’d like.”
“But I thought you said I could only have 4 cups of water”, I protested.
“That’s because we worry about diluting the urine. In your case, there’s nothing to dilute”, he reasoned. I couldn’t argue with his logic.
I was delighted to find the waiting room had almost emptied out. I went right to the water cooler and started chugging. I lost count after 12 cups of water. When I could drink no more, I started pacing back and forth across the waiting room, hoping that physical movement would hasten the movement of the liquid through my apparently deficient excretory system. The young ladies at the front desk seemed to sympathize with my situation. At 3:00, when I told Mr. Ramirez I thought I might be ready to try it again, they cheered me on.
I placed my wallet, car keys, cell phone and 27 cents in coin carefully into the lock box. I was preoccupied with the task at hand. Josh reminded me to lock the box and take the key. I turned the faucet and waited for the water to reach a comfortable warm temperature before thoroughly washing my hands. I turned, and for the third time, accepted an empty specimen cup from Josh. He nodded, made a small fist and said, “You can do this”.
I opened the door, stepped in and locked the door. This time, I loosened my belt, dropped my trousers, moved the specimen collection device into position and uttered a silent, but very sincere prayer. And waited. After several anxious seconds, feeling led to a drop, then a trickle, but not more. The trickle was enough to reach the minimum line. I was very careful to not spill or drop the long awaited specimen. Josh had me sign a document verifying that the specimen had indeed come out of my body. I initialed the specimen container. The form verified that the specimen was "presented" by the donor at 3:05 pm.
The receptionist, having witnessed my intake in the waiting room offered to provide a list of potential restrooms I might need on the way home. I thanked her for her concern.
I returned to the office. I warmed my filet-o-fish in the microwave at the office. It was palatable.
I don’t think I’ll write anymore. I have to pee.
When I arrived back at the office after a quick trip to Home Depot and McDonald's, clutching a bag containing a filet-o-fish sandwich and a double cheeseburger from the dollar menu, I was met at the door of my office by Heidi Barkdull and Dave Williams. Dave apologetically handed me two pieces of paper and informed me that I had thirty minutes to get to a nearby medical office to submit to a random drug screening test. I had to sign and date a form acknowledging that I had received such notice and would submit to such testing procedures. I signed the form at 12:48 pm. I asked Heidi if she thought I had time to eat my lunch first. She suggested I could eat on the way to the collection site.
I ate the cheeseburger on the way to Concentra Medical Center on Dry Creek Circle. I assumed by the time I checked in, made my requisite deposit and checked out, the filet-o-fish would still be warm and I’d be back at the office by 1:30. I signed in at Concentra at 1:03. After waiting for about 5 minutes, I was handed a clipboard with three forms. I signed the forms and handed over my driver’s license so they could make a copy to verify my identity.
At approximately 1:18, I was summoned to follow Josh Ramirez back to the specimen area. He told me to empty my pockets, put all the items from my pockets into a lock box. Lock the box. Keep the key with me. Wash my hands. Then he handed me a plastic cup with instructions to fill it up to a particular line. If I exceeded the line, I could switch the flow from the specimen cup to the toilet, but I was not to flush the toilet. I opened the door and entered the rather bare room. Holding the cup in one hand, I unzipped with the other, held the specimen cup under the spigot, anxiously awaiting the onset of the evidentiary flow. And waited… and waited. After about three minutes, Josh tapped on the door. “Mr. Tolman, are you okay?” I put the cup down, repositioned the non-compliant spigot and zipped my pants back up. I opened the door, handed the empty cup to the smiling Mr. Ramirez and apologized. “That happens”, he said. He had me sign and date another form to acknowledge that I had been unable to furnish an “adequate specimen”. I duly certified that I had been unable to pee at 1:25 pm. He then informed me that I had three hours to produce an “adequate specimen”. I could not leave the building. He said I could return to the waiting room and drink up to 4 cups of water to promote the production of the desired evidence. After retrieving my personal effects from the lock box and washing my hands again, I returned to the waiting room, picked up a styrofoam cup which would contain 10 ounces of liquid and in a dignified, nonchalant manner, so as not to arouse the curiosity or suspicion of others in the waiting room, slammed down 4 full cups of water. And waited for a tingling feeling from Mr. Bladder to tell me it was time to retest.
While I was waiting for such feeling, a fellow Halliburton employee, Jeff Segor presented himself at the front desk, filled out the requisite paperwork, disappeared with Mr. Ramirez for a few brief moments before sauntering back through the waiting room and out the door to freedom.
I called Deanna, explained my location and predicament. I asked her if she had any suggestions or strategies to help bring my problem to a successful conclusion. Her laughter did not lift my spirits. I picked up a copy of USA Today and browsed through 3 of the 4 sections. At 2:20, I caught Mr. Ramirez’s attention, thinking after almost an hour a quart of water certainliy ought to have gone far enough through the system to generate a few tablespoons of evidence.
He invited me back again. I emptied my pockets, locked them into the lock box, washed my hands, this time with warmer water for a longer time, bending to one of Deanna’s suggestions that the warmer water might promote a better result. Josh handed me a new specimen cup. With renewed enthusiasm, I entered the bathroom, unzipped Mr. Spigot and… waited again. I flicked, shook, rubbed (only slightly) the now-offending body part. Not a stream. Not a trickle. Not a drop. Nothing. After perhaps two minutes total time, Josh tapped at the door. “Wendell? It’s okay.” I put myself back together and sheepishly opened the door with the sad, empty container. I retrieved my personal items again from the lock box, and washed my hands for the fourth time. His instructions were different this time.
“We only have until 4:30. You can drink as much water as you’d like.”
“But I thought you said I could only have 4 cups of water”, I protested.
“That’s because we worry about diluting the urine. In your case, there’s nothing to dilute”, he reasoned. I couldn’t argue with his logic.
I was delighted to find the waiting room had almost emptied out. I went right to the water cooler and started chugging. I lost count after 12 cups of water. When I could drink no more, I started pacing back and forth across the waiting room, hoping that physical movement would hasten the movement of the liquid through my apparently deficient excretory system. The young ladies at the front desk seemed to sympathize with my situation. At 3:00, when I told Mr. Ramirez I thought I might be ready to try it again, they cheered me on.
I placed my wallet, car keys, cell phone and 27 cents in coin carefully into the lock box. I was preoccupied with the task at hand. Josh reminded me to lock the box and take the key. I turned the faucet and waited for the water to reach a comfortable warm temperature before thoroughly washing my hands. I turned, and for the third time, accepted an empty specimen cup from Josh. He nodded, made a small fist and said, “You can do this”.
I opened the door, stepped in and locked the door. This time, I loosened my belt, dropped my trousers, moved the specimen collection device into position and uttered a silent, but very sincere prayer. And waited. After several anxious seconds, feeling led to a drop, then a trickle, but not more. The trickle was enough to reach the minimum line. I was very careful to not spill or drop the long awaited specimen. Josh had me sign a document verifying that the specimen had indeed come out of my body. I initialed the specimen container. The form verified that the specimen was "presented" by the donor at 3:05 pm.
The receptionist, having witnessed my intake in the waiting room offered to provide a list of potential restrooms I might need on the way home. I thanked her for her concern.
I returned to the office. I warmed my filet-o-fish in the microwave at the office. It was palatable.
I don’t think I’ll write anymore. I have to pee.
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