The Mighty Snake

We've made our way back to the Wasatch Front to our little nook of a town edged in the side of Mount Timpanogos. We enjoyed another fine year of Spudman, the best triathlon race in the world. My two younger brothers took first and second overall, and you can read more about it here.

B.J. has been chasing the dream of winning the Spudman since he was in high school. As every year, I passed Ed on my way toward the run. By the time I start the run, they're usually finished. So I asked Ed the usual question, "How'd you do?" Ed answered enthusiastically, "I got second and B.J. got first!" I let out a loud holler. I was so proud of B.J.'s dogged accomplishment, and of Ed's fine performance as well. Ed is 11 years younger to B.J., so if he can keep improving, he can match or even beat B.J.'s triathlon prowess.

They insisted in racing in only Speedos, much to the complaint of my mom and dad. It must have worked, though.

Kulani bested his previous best time by about seven minutes. His master's swim class has really paid off. He'll likely be writing a hilarious post on his blog about the various spellings of "triathlon" he saw around town this weekend. But he's currently sleeping, as it's early on Sunday morning, and though we've been encouraged by the bishop to "get back to basics" and make it to church on time and not late, the Fishers will probably still be rushing due to my sleeping beauties and my long-winded blog posts.

I also had a good race. I passed my oldest brother Doug, age 40, at mile three on the run. He was suffering mightily. He started about 10 minutes ahead of me. As I passed him, he says, "I'm just going to take a quick break and look at some of these rocks here. Don't tell anyone you passed me!" He's the funniest person I've ever known.


After the race, I was talking to a competitor who parked his bike next to ours. I asked him how he liked the race. Most people are pretty happy after the race, but this guy was rather sullen. He didn't look especially happy, despite his team taking first place overall. During the awards ceremony, I found out this guy was part of the team of the Don Moorhouse Memorial. I assumed he was somehow related, perhaps a son, to Don Moorhouse, who died last year during the swim of the Spudman. It made me reflect on how the Spudman, and specifically the Snake River, must hold a sad part in this family's life.

The Snake River is a glorious thrill for those of us who grew up in the Mini-Cassia area. In other parts of the state, the Snake is shallow and rocky, but as it winds through Rupert, Burley, and Heyburn, the river is wide and perfect for water skiing and water-associated sports.

I took the girls down to the boat docks to drape their feet in the cool water. Nohea, the daredevil of all the girls, quickly wanted to get her feet wet and squirmed to try to get me to take my arms off her. Lilia timidly scooted to the edge to feel the water. And Melissa was content to sit on Dad's lap far from the water's edge.

Kulani is a great daddy bear, and kept warning me to keep a hold of Nohea. He reminded me of the river's heavy current and the murkiness of the water. If she went under, we may never find her again. The thought chilled me, and I didn't loosen my grip.

When I think about it, it's amazing there aren't more reports of drowning in the Snake River. I fell into the river once when I was 5 or 6 years old. I fell between the gap between the sidewalk lining the park and the boat docks. A stranger fished me out almost immediately. Stories of near death on the Snake are rampant.

My grandma would tell us to stay far from the river, because there were "mysterious undercurrents" that would pull us down to our deaths. When my grandma would talk about it, I imagined this great pull on my legs that would drag me to the bottom and not let go. Now that I'm older, I realize the undercurrent wasn't mysterious at all; it was just the big, huge current of the Snake. But the "mysterious undercurrents" did strike fear into our hearts, and we stayed far away from the Snake River unless we were boating as a family.

In my high school graduating class of about 300, three people have died from drowning accidents. One died in one of the canals connected off the Snake and used to water farmers' crops. Another died cliff jumping in an area of the Snake we've all been known to frequent. And a third died in a lake near Logan.

Thank goodness the Spudman didn't take any lives this year. We live for the next Spudman, which for me is just an excuse to be with the best people in the world: my family.

All the Christensons (and spouses) who competed this year. Left to right: B.J., me, Kulani, Hetty Gower, Jeff Gower, Doug, Ed, and Wayne. Hetty, Wayne, and Jeff took first place in their team division.

Left Out

Question: Who would you consider to be the middle child in a family of 10? Would it be child #4, #5, or #6?

In the family I grew up, the middle-child-syndrome crown landed squarely on the head of my older sister Kathy--child #4. I believe I was ACTUALLY the middle child (#5), but she definitely took the title from me in attitude.

Our friend Ben's mother did her graduate work on the affects of birth order on people's personalities. As you can imagine, the middle child is comfortable in a victim's roll: perceiving that she never gets as much attention as the oldest child nor the youngest child. Ben's mom told me that in big families, you see the oldest-, middle-, youngest-child scenerio repeating itself, often many times. In popular culture, Miss Jan Brady exemplified this phenomenon best with the following phrase: "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!"

For a long time, I had few sympathies for this sister. If she thought she was lost in the shadow of our oldest sister Amy, I was completely hidden by the redwoods of Kathy and Amy together (and don't even get me started about poor B.J., child #6,--who was once left at a water park because we simply forgot about him; a half hour later someone remembered). It personally thrilled me, actually, when people would stop me in the halls and ask if I was Amy or Kathy's sister, or when a teacher would accidently call me "Amy." I didn't have the brains of Amy or the brawn of Kathy, but I liked who I was, and I liked being associated with them.

Kathy, on the other hand, seemed to be annoyed to be my sister. I would pass her in the halls at school and instead of "hi" or "hey, little sis," I would get a look of scorn and avoidance. I really can't blame her, though. I could barely be my own friend back then. I was the type of girl that went around talking in a British accent and wearing too much make-up and really loud clothes. A total misfit.

And Kathy was NOT the picked-on one, from my point-of-view. My dad was sucker punched by her big eyes and pouty attitude at every turn. He once got a used, black Porsche on his carlot, and he let Kathy drive it to school for a whole semester ... during the winter months. Have you seen my sister drive? Worst ... driver ... ever--even worse than my mom. And Grandpa McEuen dubbed her his favorite and took her to the Estee Lauder counter at the University Mall and ordered her a facial, telling the esthetician "I'll buy everything you put on her face."

However, recently dealing with my own three girls, I've had a small change of heart towards my sister. Nohea, my youngest, is 2 years old going on whatever age the older two are. She wants to do everything like them. She likes to say that she "goes to kindergarten." And she thinks she should be able to go to friends' houses like the other girls.

Yesterday I dropped the girls off at Tiana's house, and Nohea wailed and wailed about also wanting to go. It brought me back to a memory I have of Kathy.

It was the summer the first Batman movie (the one starring Michael Keaton) came out. My three oldest brothers and sister made big plans to go to the opening showing of Batman. They all bought Batman shirts and spoke non-stop about the plan. Kathy, who was just two years younger than the youngest of the oldest siblings, felt she should be included in the plans. My mom put her foot down and told her she couldn't go with them: this was their activity.

My sister Kathy was heartbroken, and I think in a lot of ways, it was the last straw. She always wanted to be included in the going-ons of the older siblings, but she was excluded often with the excuse of "she's too young." After that, I think Kathy just stopped trying. She started cruising Overland in Burley and found her own clique.

Years later she famously had a break-down at Amy's wedding. After a lifetime of wanting to be able to be old enough to hang out with the "older kids," she thought she'd finally get an opportunity when Amy got off her mission and would be finishing up her last two years at BYU. Kathy hoped they could be roommates or live in the same area, and they could finally hang out. Her dreams were once again shattered when Amy decided to get married instead. Kathy was pretty sullen and uncomforted during the whole wedding. My cheerful words of "you can be roommates with me" didn't help.

Watching and listening to Nohea cry made me more sympathetic towards my sister. It's hard to be left out. I've always been of the opinion that if a group didn't want me in it, than I'd find new friends and make a new group. But then, I'm not the "middle child," and playing the victim roll is not where I'm most comfortable.

And now Kathy has her own posse of three girls, soon to be four. I'm sure she'll be more sensitive to her middle child. I smell a Porsche in the future of one of those girls.

Cleaning Adventures

Growing up in a family of 10, you can imagine that most summer days were filled with ... cleaning the house, cooking, and cleaning the house some more. My best friend Keri, who was over at our house like Eddie Haskel was to the Cleavers, says that our house would stay clean for all of 10 minutes, and then it would be back to its original chaotic mess. You know, take the cushions off the couch, build a high tower, and play "king of the hill," sprinkled in with popcorn and a smattering of shoes, books, and puzzle pieces all over the floor.

We'd always try to make games of cleaning. Sometimes it was "clean during commercials." Other times we'd put on music and try to clean to the beat of the songs. (I've always loved cleaning to the Bee Gee's Saturday Night Fever album.) We'd try dividing and conquering: sister would clean living room while I cleaned the kitchen. We'd try the team effort: we all clean one room then advance to the next room. I don't remember my brothers helping much, nor do I remember where they'd be. I know they were in charge of the lawn, so I'm not complaining (too much). I mostly remember it being just Mary and me. My older sisters had "real" jobs. We'd try to make Hetty work, but she was under the age of 6 and not the best help.

Another technique we used a lot was to pretend a certain drink was a "power" drink, and if we drinked it, we'd have the energy to clean the house. I've enlisted that idea with my girls as of late to get them to help me around the house.

Patrick works for Xango, and he dropped off a few bottles at our house. Kulani loves the stuff. The other day I poured some Xango in a special teacup and told the girls that drinking a swig of it would give them ultimate powers to clean. I demonstrated for them by taking a swallow, then proceeded to clean like a mad woman. The trick worked.

Then yesterday, Melissa swaggers into the kitchen with boots on and a red cowgirl hat saying, "How can I help ya, ma'am?" I almost died of laughter.

So I answered her: "Well aren't you the rootinest-tootinest little cowgirl I ever did lay eyes on. By golly, you'd better take you a swig of this here power juice and get ta cleaning up your room, you gun-slinging rascal."

Worked like a charm. After drinking her power juice, she goes off to clean her room. She comes back to tell me her room was clean and says, "I cleaned my rootinest tootinest room, ma'am."

So, yeah, I'm teaching the girls that "power juice" will help them with their performance. I'm sure Barry Bonds' mom did the same.

McEuen Family Reunion '09

For those that didn't make it: we missed you! For those who made it: it was great seeing you!

I give you a highlighted video of the McEuen Reunion of 2009. I'm sorry I didn't include every great moment of all of you. Thanks for the memories, and we'll see you in 2011 hosted by Aunt Karen!

Redemption Tour '09

For Fish:

Boise be cool! But keep in on the DL. True Dat!

Even though I am a born-and-bred Idahoan, I know relatively little about my capital town. I grew up in Heyburn, a small town about three hours to the east of Boise.

I think I can count on one hand the number of times my family visited Boise. The summer of my junior year in high school, I attended Girls' State, but we only had one day to spend in Boise at the capital. The rest of the time was spent in Nampa at Northwest Nazarene College's campus. Note: Nampa is not Boise.

There was another time when some friends and I decided to do our school shopping there, because we were going to be seniors, and we wanted to bring out all the trends. Stove-piped pants were a definite must. But I only made it to the mall, and granted, the Boise mall is pretty cool, but a mall does not make a town.

Probably the most memorable Boise visit was when my mom was attending BSU during the summers to get her master's degree. One summer she was there, Idaho was celebrating its Centennial. My mom took us to the lazer light show and fireworks in downtown. I was 14. I think I had to help cart around one of my younger siblings who would have been the baby at the time. (Kulani thinks my family tells time according to who the baby was during any given story. "Well, let's see. Hetty was the baby at the time so it had to be around 1984.") It was pretty cool, but it was dark and my feet were tired. My hips were probably tired too from holding a younger sibling. I didn't actually "see" much of Boise.

But I never had a hugely favorable opinion of Boise. My family was a Utah family. We watched KSL news. (Our community had three news stations: Idaho Falls, Twin Falls, and KSL. Trust me: KSL was by far the best produced.) All of our vacations were directed southernly instead of westernly. I always had the opinion that Boise was a town "butt" rockers would like. You know, the kind of person who isn't ashamed to wear a Budweiser T-shirt that has scantily clad women holding a cold Bud. And to be honest, they still don't have very good radio stations, with the big exception of classic rock. They have some great classic rock stations.

But my opinion has changed thanks to our most recent trip to Boise Town (as my friend Laura likes to call it). We traveled to Boise so Kulani could compete in the Boise 70.3 Ironman. If you have't been to Boise in say 10 years, it's changed a ton (or I never really got to know the town in the first place--probably the latter)!

Firstly, downtown Boise is no longer called "downtown Boise." It's called "BoDo." In the heart of BoDo is the Grove, where a big walking-level water feature is located. On Saturdays, the Grove is host to a Farmer's Market similar to what most major cities have nowadays. On Wednesday and Saturday nights the Grove usually hosts bands as well.

The girls on a bench in BoDo:

Much of my information comes from my dear friend Kara, who moved to Boise right after high school, and was the first of my friends to purchase a house--in Boise. Kara married her high school sweetheart Patt, and they have two kids: a feisty cutey girl and a toddler, snuggly boy. Kara and I played basketball together from 7th grade until juniors in high school, when we both got cut from the team. Ouch! We started out as the only girls even playing basketball, but in time, others caught up with our mad skills--or the coaches just didn't see our hidden potential.

Kara is also very kind and compassionate and just plain cool. I enjoyed visiting with her at her house. But I forgot to take a picture of her and Patt. Instead, because my yard has been fixated on my mind, I took a picture of her yard, because her husband is a landscaper extraordinaire and he has done a bang-up job fixing up their yard.


Kara has witnessed the changes in Boise and knows what a great town it is, but like all good Idahoans, she told me to keep it a secret: don't want outsiders overrunning the place. So I'm posting it on this blog where the five of you will also be sworn to secrecy.

What I also found surprising was what a hopping nightlife exists in BoDo. I haven't seen the likes of it in Salt Lake City or Portland. Because Boise is made up of short blocks, walking to various locations is quite easy. Many bars and clubs had lines of people waiting to get in.

And it's a super friendly biking town, as they had plaques that said the city was awarded as a "super friendly biking town." But some of the people on bikes were a bit surly and pushy, as if they had more rights to the sidewalks than people on foot. But I saw a bike that would have been welcome on the Pioneer Trail. A big basket sat in front of the bike, and in the big basket was a sleeping baby in a car seat. Western ho!

One of the very first things most Boiseans I know like to brag about in their town is the green belt trail that runs along the Boise River (which runs through the middle of Boise), and rightfully so. The trail is paved and runs for a good 10 miles on either side of the river. Many iron bridges run across the river, and unique parks are dotted all along it. One such park was the Anne Frank Human Rights Memorial, that had quotes engraved on a cement wall from leaders around the world. They even included a quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley.



The girls at the Anne Frank Memorial:

The girls at one of the walking bridges over the Boise River:

Much of the run during the 70.3 race took place along the river trail, with a long finish shoot up 8th Street. People lined the entire finish shoot, which made the race quite magical. It was probably one of the best triathlon races I've ever seen.

We stayed in the Owyhee Plaza on Main and 11th Street. The girls were great troopers, as the race was rained on from start to almost finish. And it wasn't a little Northwestern sprinkle: it was desert rain that comes down in buckets. We came equipped with rain panchos, towels, and blankets. And making a quick stop into Coldstone also helped brighten their mood.

Another thing I loved about Boise, and most Idahoans I think can relate, is that the street leading to the capital is lined with little plaques from all the different counties. Idahoans KNOW their counties. A little county mark is on each license plate, and in 4th grade, all Idahoans are taught a little rap to help them memorize each of the county names. "Ada is the first with our capital town. Adam's seven devils go straight up and down. Then 10 counties that start with B: Bannock, Barelake, Bennewah, three. Bingham, Blaine, Boise, Bonner, Bountiful, Boundary, Butte make 10..." Sorry for any spelling mistakes; my mind just remembers the rhyme not how to spell. Also unique to Boise is that many of the streets are named after other cities and famous Idahoans. My friend Kara lives close to Malad street. It's like a big welcome mat for Idahoans. I'm sorry if this all sounds boastful: Idahoans are terribly proud of their state. Perhaps you can't possibly understand why, but believe me, those who know, know.

It reminds me of a sister-in-law who was very nervous about moving to Idaho after her husband finished his residency. She'd say to me, "I'm sure it will be fine, but it's ... Idaho, you know?" Uh, I don't know. I think she was trying to say that being from Idaho is like being from Hicktown U.S.A. Kara would have me encourage you to keep believing that notion. My sister-in-law later changed her tune after living there for five years. Like a Smiths tune: you learn to love it, and then you can't get it out of your system.

Lilia proudly holding up her "Beef" sign she made for Dad. The race was sponsored by the Beef Council, and they had Beef girls passing around signs to make and samples of beef jerky.


Kulani and the girls before the race waiting for the bus to take him up to Lucky Peak Resorvoir:

Girls exhausted in the van:

Judge not, lest ye be judged by a preteen

Earlier today I made a quick stop at the local Wal-Mart for some cereal and other sundries. I gathered my purchases and proceeded to the checkout line.

A girl between the ages of 10 and 12 stood in front of me in line. She had on a dancing outfit, her hair was pulled back into a bun, and her skin sparkled with glittery make-up. My imperfect mind instantly made a judgment about the girl: probably a spoiled little dancer girl who's never had to do a day of work in her life. Of course, I never said it out loud. I'm one who believes that you can think whatever you want, but acting on those thoughts is another story.

The girl turned around, looked me in the eyes, and said to me, "You have really pretty hair."

My self-absorbed judgmental thoughts immediately fled from my mind.

I blushed, and answered, "Thank you so much! That's very sweet of you to say."

I kid you not, it was probably the best, most sincere compliment I've had in a long time. I teared up while reaching into my cart and putting my items on the register treadmill.

Next time, my thoughts will be fixed on returning the compliment to sparkling girls and not-so-sparkling girls. Heaven knows a little less judgment and more compliments is what girls and women of today need. Thank you, spoiled little rich girl, for your example.