Horsing Around

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

So my niece Libby is turning into one of those girls who loves horses. And, given her reaction during Kaysville Equus Romp(us) 2008--the name I've bestowed upon the following event--I don't think her fascination is going away.

'Cause, you know, a lot of little girls go through a stage when they want to be marine biologists (a trip to the Living Planet Aquarium in Sandy did away with that phase, courtesy of the satanic moray eels) and animal vets, but they grow out of it. No, I think Libby's the real deal.

My aunt, Laurie, has a horse named Junior. He's a fine Arabian steed with a wacky sense of humor (he loves, for instance, to flash his green-encrusted horse smile at passers-by). She was nice enough to let us take the girls to see him, brush him, and--yes, I'm serious--give him his vaccination. Yes, Libby loved the vaccination part.

Here are the pictures:

Random Thoughts; Or, My, It's Been a While

I received an invitation this week from a couple of my old friends from California. (Well, they're not exactly old, but I've known them for a long...well, you know...) They're having a reunion of sorts for all of us from the Orange Stake--those who grew up in the Orange Stake from the, oh, early '90s until the turn of the millenium--at the Holiday Skating Rink.

It's an interesting venue choice. I loved the Holiday Skating Rink when I was in the 6th grade, but my interest really tapered off after that; I think it was something about all those partner-skating sessions, where you were supposed to find true love and skate with it around and around and around while listening to "Eternal Flame" by The Bangles, all accompanied by the smell of ancient nacho cheese ground into the industrial carpet. Yeah--not my cup of herbal tea. As memory serves, random girls would come up to me, ask me to skate, and I'd mumble something about not dating until I was sixteen and roll away to play another round of Terminator: The Invasion. Joy?

Anyway, so I got the invitation, and it's too bad, because it looks like I won't be able to attend, and I really would like to see everyone. The real thrill, then, became seeing everyone's email addresses and, in the case of one person, a blog address, which led me to the blogs of many of my friends (and their spouses, which, in most cases, are also my friends, since Steve Bitter and I were, like, the only two guys from the stake who didn't marry girls from the stake; Kelli Salter nee Harris is the only girl that comes to mind that married outside the stake...). My, my friends are doing well. It's amazing, really, that such a cluster of talent existed in one stake. There's Riles, who's on his way to becoming CEO of Cisco; and Toddie, who's pushing the limits of modern technology at MIT; and the aforementioned Kelli, who will soon unseat Anne Geddes as the most famous female photographer (and thank goodness for that, since I'm sick of the Geddes-produced nudity that confronts customers upon entering Barnes & Noble), and the list goes on and on. The mere fact that Steve can survive summers in Arizona is enough to qualify him as superhuman, in my humble opinion.

It also saddens me, of course, because I've lost contact with most of these good people. Perhaps, in a way, that's for the best. In high school, I could be slightly odd; now, given my absence of a few years, I can emerge at some reunion and act properly and people might forget about all the times that I stuck my fingers into their birthday cakes.

Sorry about that, Dan. But it was delicious.

(NOTE: When I began writing the preceding paragraphs, I misspelled "Holiday Skating Rink," saying, instead, "Holiday Staking Rink." Now THAT would be interesting--instead of a couples' skate, they would have...never mind.)

Okay, well, here are some other random thoughts, since it's been a while since I blogged:

1. All of my PhD applications are in. Pray. Pray hard.
2. I really need to change my "About Me" picture, since I don't have hair anymore.
3. Speaking of that, I promised Melanie not to wash my cut hair down the bathtub drain anymore, since we had to have maintainence come out and plumb the thing out. Whoops.
4. Melanie's sick right now, but she still went to give a conference presentation in Mesquite. Wow. That librarian should get a medal.
5. Holy cow, this winter has been harsh. It's sunny today, thank goodness, but man. Lots of snow, though, which is nice; if it's going to be cold, it might as well snow.

Okay, well, that's it for now.

Ashley's College Graduation

My sister, Ashley's, graduation from Utah State University with her degree in Elementary Education. Way to go, Ash!

Winter Blows In

Dear all,

Behold: Winter in Murray.

First visit with our cousin, M. Jo

Eli in Bonneville High School's The Music Man

Updated Canada Trip Slideshow

Petersen FHE

Fun times with Drew & Jess (Fixing Jeff's car)

Adventures of the Snake Librarian

I see some very interesting behavior working with the public at the library. Allow me to share an example.

A few days ago our circulation supervisor came to me to report that a woman was parked along the curb near our crosswalk (a dangerous situation with all of our foot traffic). Apparently both the supervisor and another employee (on two separate occassions) had politely asked the woman to move her car. She ignored both of them. Could I try talking to her? Sure. I walked outside thinking, "How hard can this be?"

The woman had several windows cracked in her car, so I went around to the driver's side window and said, "Excuse me ma'am. I'm afraid you can't park here. It's a safety hazard because your car blocks other drivers' view of the crosswalk. You're also blocking library traffic. This is a two-way thoroughfare. Would you mind moving your car?" Nothing. She sat, head and eyes down, apparently engrossed in a book. I knocked on the back window and repeated myself, trying to vary my speech so that it would be more interesting and elicit a positive response from her. Nothing. "Ma'am, please don't ignore me." Nothing. After a few minutes I thought to myself, "Is it possible that this woman is deaf or blind? No, that can't be right. Why would she be driving?"

Since I was standing quite close to the car and since it appeared I now had some time on my hands (after all, I was already on my lunch break), my eyes caught sight of the title of her book. I can't tell you the exact title, but it had something to do with being a good Christian (I'm serious about this one). Okay. I decided to move to another position. I trampled through the bushes along the curb so that I was in her direct line of sight--along the front passenger side of her car. I waved my hand frantically back and forth in an attempt to get her attention. "Ma'am? Ma'am! Ma'am!!!" Finally I approached the unrolled passenger side window. At this point I was a bit exasperated. "Ma'am, if you don't move your car, I'll have to call the police." Her head snapped to attention, and she replied tersely, "I can park here. This curb isn't painted red. I know the law, and it's not against the law to park along a none-red curb. Go ahead and call the police." Well, to be truthful, I wasn't actually sure what the police could do (I'm a bit fuzzy on parking laws), but my words were intended to get her attention and to ultimately ensure the safety of our other patrons (we've had some close calls in the past). I furrowed my brow, hesitated a few seconds, and then decided to leave. What else could I say at this point?

I walked inside, went to my office, and began to write an email to our facilities department to request that the curb be painted red. A few minutes later, I spoke with the supervisor who had initially reported the car to me. "Well, I couldn't get her to respond either. I told her I'd call the police, but even that didn't work." She repied, "Well, it must have worked. She moved her car." Big sigh. All in a day's work. And now I can say that I've been completely ignored by a grown woman.

Kind of recent pictures

My family with our friend, Ricardo, from Argentina.

Our butter sculpture creation of "Petersen Memories" at the Petersen Family Reunion at East Canyon. This sculpture was in remembrance of the girls' cruise to Mexico. Though the butter shavings resemble ice chunks, the trip did not turn out as ill-fated as the Titanic (though we did get off to a very rough start by missing the boat).

Conflagration via scheduling, amongst other ramblings

Holy pennyloafers, we're busy. I really can't believe how busy Melanie and I are. The last time I was this busy, I was a student at El Modena High School (School Motto: "Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Herein"), and we all know what THAT did to my sanity--or, I should say, to my guitar amplifier, which took the brunt of my catharsis.

I've been thinking a bit about high school lately; I read an article in my Salt Lake Community College classes this morning about abolishing high school, and all my students seemed to agree that the author was full of horsepuckey. (They said as much.) I've also been trying to disabuse all my students--BYU, SLCC, Westminster--of the False Traditions of the Fathers taught to them in high school English classes, like the idea that "I" shouldn't appear in an essay. (Now that's horsepuckey.)

Perhaps because of this, or simply perhaps El Modena High School (School Mascot: Whatever costume got stolen this week from McDonald's) was a trying (HA!) experience, I confess to supporting--at least in small measure--the notion presented in the article of abolishing high school.

I also support the idea of abolishing junior high school. No--I support the idea of burning junior high school to the ground. Goodness knows the students are always setting fires on campus anyway--just don't put 'em out.

In his immortal "Allegory of the Cave," Plato argues that everything we see in this life is but a mere imitation, a representation of a higher form of that particular thing. We want to see the truth--the "real" thing--but, due to our human nature, our mortal circumstances, we can't. This is why he was largely against art; it was another layer of representation, another step away from the "real" world.

Well, ol' Plato was wrong, because art occasionally works; every so often, it shows us the real state of things. To what do I refer? The Lord of the Flies. That's junior high; that's high school, the real deal Holyfield. Think of poor Piggy and his asthma, and then ask yourself: Did I really like high school that much?

Some people would answer yes, and I want to believe that. I'd love nothing more than to believe that the system works, that I was an anomaly. All I can say is that I was sure glad to get to college.

Of course, in order to function in American society, it's a given that someone's been to high school. Such is my critique of home-schooling: it doesn't prepare kids socially. Sure, they're well-versed in the required curricula; however, that's not everything. Thus, perhaps we should abolish high school and mandate, instead, military service--the climate would be remarkably similar! The kids could safely vent their destructive urges on the rocket-launcher range, and the end result would be of infinitely greater worth than AP credit. And kids would learn, like in high school, to survive socially. Maybe, instead of beating up on each other, the teenagers would focus all their aggression on the drill instructor, thus forming a comraderie not usually encountered in high school.

Perhaps. And, yes, I know I'm rambling, and this is largely composed of the aforementioned horsepuckey, but it's at least something to think about.

It's been ages, I know...

Well, I know that I haven't posed since the close of the Bronze Age, which is sad, made even more sad by the fact that this won't be a very substantive entry.

We've been busy lately--amazingly busy, which is a good thing, don't get me wrong. Nevertheless, it leaves very little time for blogging or recreation or whatever.

Thus, here's a nifty little shot of Melanie playing with our youngest niece, Kaitlin, AKA Kalli. Enjoy.

Carroll Reunion

We had lots of fun at the Carroll reunion on Saturday in Heber City. So much fun, in fact, that we came home exhausted and slept for three hours. Check out these cute pictures of my hubby and some of our family participating in the festivities.

Jeff & Emi having fun at the cemetery

Great-great grandmother Charlotte Moulton Carroll, part of the famous Moulton family who survived the ordeal of the Willie Handcart Company.


Susan? (I know she's related), Carrie, Dad, Mom, and Grandma Petersen

Cousins Eloise, Emilia, & Elijah pose in front of the Moulton plot in the Heber Cemetery

Thoughts Occasioned by the Reading of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

*WARNING: No one under, oh, twelve years of age is to read this. Seriously.*
*WARNING: Spoilers galore."

So I finished it early Sunday morning (like 4:00am early):

1. Violent.
2. Violent.
3. There is literature, and then there is literature, and then there are books that make me feel like Santa Claus is alive again.
4. The Helaman Halls cluster in 1999-2000 was an awful lot like Hogwarts, bless it.
5. England--Great Britain, really--is a dreary, damp, beer-soaked, luddite-filled place that, in many respects, makes me shudder and take excessive Advil. Why do I constantly think about going back?
6. It's a good thing that I wasn't younger when the series emerged, because I wouldn't have gotten anything done. And all the brooms in the house would've gone missing.
7. I really, really like the music of 10,000 Maniacs. Go figure. ("These Days," anyone?)
8. I'm glad the editors included more anglocentric phrases.
9. I'm glad J.K.L. used "ruddy" instead of the stronger alternative.
10. Snape is the Pepsi, man.
11. Shouldn't have read it.
12. It's over, man, totally over.
13. This could be the next Star Wars, with novels coming out using the Potterverse as setting.
14. My wand would be ebony.
15. And long.
16. And reinforced with goblin-forged, Ollivander-enchanted metal of some unpronounceable varietal. I'd kick the pureblood out of Slytheryns by the baker's dozen, that stick in my hand.
17. But I wouldn't necessarily be a member of Gryffindor.
18. I would probably be Ravenclaw, actually. Nice commons room, to boot.
19. But, even if that were the case, I'd hang out with Gryffindors. They throw the best parties.
20. It bugs the crap out of me that he left the stone in the forest. I mean, sure, don't use it or anything, but don't just leave it in the forest. The way things go at Hogwarts, some berk'll probably use it for slingshot ammo and simultaneously kill and resurrect someone.
21. J.K.L. didn't live up to her word completely--where is the information about future occupations? Who learned magic later in life?
22. J.K.L. has a habit of rushing things--going to the headmaster's office should've happened much, much later in the book's sequence of events. There were dead bodies rotting downstairs, for crying out loud.
23. J.K.L.'s writing style has improved--she no longer leans on her Britishness to make up for poor prose. (Although there were still a lot of "it was a beautiful day"-esque phrases, which nearly stopped me.)
24. Violent. What rating will this get as a movie?
25. The deus ex machinas weren't as bad as in previous books, but they were still enough to make me uncomfortable.
26. So was Dumbledore always pretending to be asleep in his portrait before this?
27. The names got a little heavy-handed, and often strangely self-contradictory--"Amycus" and "Xenophilius" for bad guys?
28. What'll Snape be doing in his portrait?
29. Was it Snape or Dumbledore who corrected the person who said "Mudblood?"
30. I've got to stop thinking about this so much. I'm twenty-six.
31. How much is airfare to Gatwick?

Pioneer Trek

A little break from the Wyoming sun

The kids pushing and pulling the handcart

Lindsy Nelson, Kenna Salisberry, Heidi Prowse, Ma Tucker (aka Melanie), and Meagan Braby

Jeff as our fearless flagbearer. The "T" stands for Team Tucker.

Further clarification

Dear all,

In answer to a question posed previously:

Yes, El Pollo Loco is quite good for you; true, it's got a lot of sodium in it (probably because of the beans, which taste horribly bland without tonnes of salt), but--aside from that--it's not bad at all. I love it dearly. In fact, back in my cross-country racing days, I'd eat two BRCs before every race. I'd love to get a franchise going in Utah, but I haven't the time.

Of course, this may be one of those "I-was-raised-on-the-stuff-and-I-love-it-when-it-really-isn't-anything-to-crow-about" things (like fry sauce) (which I don't care for, except for a couple varieties I've found), but I don't think so.

-Z

Mariachis, El Pollo Loco, and the Millenium Falcon

Dear all,

The auto-format that Blogger apparently has built into it is giving me fits; please excuse this (and other) posts if the spacing is weird.

Well, we're back from another weekend in Orange County. This time, we were down there for the wedding of our good friend, Elena Rhoads, who is now Elena Baeza. Melanie met her in Illinois when she (both of them) were attending grad school at the University of Illinois-Urbana/Champaigne(sp?). Elena actually got baptized on Melanie's birthday, thus making November 10th Mel's birtday and, simultaneously, Elena's rebirthday.

The wedding was quite a hoot--her husband, Jose Baeza, is Mexican, and they had a full-on mariachi band blasting away throughout the reception. I mean, three-and-a-half hours into the reception and they still hadn't even cut the cake--they were in it for the long haul. I don't know Jose very well, but the guy can throw a party.

Anyway, here are the pictures:

Here is the happy couple at the reception--along with a very zealous mariachi sawing away at that fiddle.

There was champagne and sparkling cider available for every guest--the groom's family spent a pretty penny on that shindig, here you me. Sorry about the blurry picture, but this was about the time when the reception started heating up...

Again, sorry about the blurry picture. These were the mariachis, a real talented bunch. I want one of those bass guitars--I'd just sit out on the balcony on sweltering summer afternoons and pluck the hours away.

Here we all are. Both Jose and Elena are studying to be doctors (indeed, Elena's earning a joint MD-PhD, which earns her infinite respect in my book), so, once they pay off their student debt, they'll probably be high-earning specialists.

All in all, a good trip, especially when we got to eat lunch at El Pollo Loco and drive around in my dad's new Lexus, which I have christened the Millenium Falcon, since it goes so fast that Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity gets tested. (During one period of intense acceleration, I felt myself not aging; indeed, Mel and I arrived at our destination a few seconds before we left.)

As always, more will come.

-Z

When the Tuckers Come Back to Capistra-ah-ah-no

Dear all,

Last week, my sister, Courtney, graduated from El Modena High School (School Motto: "Due to budget constraints, we have abandoned the school motto"), so Melanie and I went down to witness her graduation. It was great--I'm one proud brother.

I confess that my opinion of high school isn't, well, high. I generally feel that high school is something that we trudge through so that we can go to college and receive an education in things we actually care about. Nevertheless, this doesn't diminish the fact that graduating from high school--especially El Modena High School (School Alma Mater: "Welcome to the Jungle," Appetite for Destruction, Guns 'n' Roses)--is an enormous accomplishment, especially when you've been president of the National Honor Society, taken boatloads of AP credit, etc., like my sister has.

So, Courtney, you deserve a Tucker Boo-Yah: Boo-Yah!

We also got the chance to maraud around Orange County for a couple of days, since Courtney had parties and such to attend.

Here're some of the pictures we took. Enjoy!

Behold: Courtney and her best friend, Elisse Ota. They're both geniuses.

Here's the whole group that attended graduation (please pardon the cheesy smiles--it was hot). My grandpa and uncle, Biron, are also pictured.















My mom's cousin, Patty Smith, was there, along with Patty's family (George, her husband, pictured here, and her daugher, Carrie, not pictured). They really got a kick out of my orange tree--apparently, those don't grow in Tennessee.
















Here's Mission San Juan Capistrano, one of the first Catholic missions built in the late 1700s in southern California. It's still a functioning church--well, part of it, at least--and the grounds are really quite striking.















Here's my lovely wife sitting by one of the mission's fountains:

The next day, we went to the Richard Nixon Birthplace and Library. Did you know that Nixon was from Orange County? It's yet another reason to like the place, right?

They've got Nixon's presidential helicopter there:

That morning, we went to breakfast with our good friends, Chelsea and Michael Christensen (notice the Danish spelling, Petersens?). We went to Ruby's, one of those places that's as much a part of my youth as El Modena High School (School Disclaimer: "El Modena High School may or may not be an actual high school").

The baby is Talon Christensen, their little babe. He's a fun kid:

Isn't Orange County a great place? Now I just have to strike oil, pioneer a successful technology IPO, become a plastic surgeon, and sell arms to rogue nations, and Melanie and I can afford to live there. (The budget would still be tight, though.)

More pictures will, as always, follow.

-Z

Shoshone Falls, et al. (Part two of "Idaho: The Reckoning")

Well, I still haven't been able to collect all the pictures I want from family members; thus, my plan to present our Idaho trip photos in chronological order seems, presently, difficult. However, reality doesn't preclude my posting several additional nifty photos (and, right now, I'm having a hard time remembering what day we did this, so I guess the chronological thing is a moot point) (I'm pretty sure we did Shoshone Falls on Saturday, though).


So here is a picture of us at Shoshone Falls, billed as the "Niagara of the West" by the park's promoters. It was very nice, don't get me wrong--and this was on a day when the water level was deemed "low" by park officials. It's kinda hard to tell, but the falls wrap around a little on the cliffs, so the camera doesn't capture everything.



Melanie makes genealogical breakthroughs all the time, so I don't want to say that one breakthrough is any better than another--I mean, a breakthrough is a breakthough, and I recognize them as full-blown miracles, all of them. I'm very grateful. However, every once in a while, Melanie finds something that's just a little more interesting to me, and this was one of them--see, apparently my mother's side of the family DID have a member of the church in it back in the pioneer days. He would've been my, what, great-great-great-uncle? Turns out that James (I think that's his name) is buried in Filer, Idaho, just outside of Twin Falls, so we visited the cemetery, which was, for many years, operated by the International Order of the Odd Fellows.

On Sunday, we made it up to Sun Valley, the famous resort north of Twin Falls. (My dad used to go there quite a bit when he lived in Utah, so I've heard stories my whole life--I wanted to see it.) It was nifty (read: posh). The Petersens were very nice to accomodate my wish to visit Ernest Hemingway's grave, who is buried just outside of Sun Valley in Ketchum (well, it's really just a marker, since his ashes were scattered on the hillside behind the cemetery).

Now, bear in mind that I'm no Hemingway devotee; on the contrary, I really don't care for his writing all that much. I like even less what the man stood for, a philosophy that was largely anti-religious and anti-deistic, and which, I feel, ultimately did him in, along with his depression. There was, though, something noble in his quest for meaning in life; he had a determination--albeit misguided, from the Latter-day Saint viewpoint, but a strong determination, nonetheless--to find purpose in his mortal existence, a desire which I wish more people shared. Perhaps because of all this, I wanted to see his grave. Here it is, with Ryan in the foreground:

I've been told the coins are for wishes. There's also supposed to be a bottle of Jack Daniels on the grave (according to Erika's mom), but someone must have been thirsty.

Well, as always, more will follow.