My Stupid Criminal Story (The Long, Tedious Version)

Now that I am pretty sure I'm not going to be hauled off to the big house, I can share my whole, traumatic story.

It all started at Ikea. (Who would have thought?)

About a month ago, Morgan and I went to a baby shower for my niece and somehow ended up at Ikea. I've already chronicled most of those details so I'll just jump in with the problem.

We bought Morgan a new bedside lamp base and shade. When we got home, we discovered that there was a piece missing from the lamp, because when I went to twist the light bulb in, it was threaded on the outside, except for one little tiny part down in that is too skinny for a light bulb. After being sidetracked for about two weeks, I finally got around to contacting Ikea to see if I should have bought another part or what the problem was.

I first sent an e-mail. They wrote back and said to call the Draper Ikea and talk directly to them. It took another week or so to get around to that. I lined up everything I thought I would need, lamp base, plastic packaging, complete with all numbers that would possibly be needed and receipt. I called and the man was nice and it sounded like no problem at all, they would just find the part that was missing from the lamp and send it out in about six business days. He kept apologizing that I would have to wait that long to get the part. I told him it wasn't a problem at all, I was just thrilled that they would send it to me and the problem would be solved.

We were almost finished when he asked me to read off the transaction number on my receipt. I read it to him and he asked for another number. Then he paused for a long time and asked if I had another receipt. As he was quiet I started looking on the receipt to see how much I'd paid for the lamp base. I realized pretty quickly what the new problem was. The lamp base wasn't on my receipt. I started to panic when I remembered that we had used the self-checkout! Let me just reiterate here, I hate the self-checkout for this very reason. Whenever we are at Macey's, Ally wants to use the self-checkout and I usually tell her no because of the potential for error. I didn't even want to use the self-checkout that day but we were running so late that I agreed to let Morgan do it. If you go back to my original post I think I even mentioned that I didn't want to use the self-checkout.

So the guy was very nice and he said it would probably be fine. I asked him if I could pay for the lamp base right then with a credit card but he couldn't do it because he wasn't set up to take payments. He again said it would probably be fine and he could probably send the part anyway. I told him I didn't want the part until I had paid for the lamp. Then he gave me a case number and hung up.

I realized that if they thought I'd taken the lamp on purpose then they would probably also think I'm a very stupid criminal to steal something and then call and request a part for it. Honestly I felt sick about it for days.

And then I forgot all about it until I got home from somewhere and Hal told me a lady had called from Ikea and asked specifically if we'd used the self-checkout.

"What else did she say?" I asked.

"That's about it." he said.

"Did she leave a number so I could call her back?"

"Nope."

Hal also reassured me that it was probably fine and not to worry about it but I now had visions of two cops showing up at my door and cuffing me and throwing me into the paddy wagon. It haunted me again for days. I was actually starting to feel physically ill whenever I thought about it.

There was one faint glimmer of hope when I started thinking that just maybe they would have a video camera set up at the checkout and they could go back to the tape to see that we weren't trying to steal anything. I'm pretty sure I even said, "Make sure you get everything." I promise, I am so paranoid about a situation like this happening that I don't even hardly dare open my purse in a store to get out a shopping list so they don't think I'm putting anything I shouldn't in my purse. I always put my shopping lists in my pants pocket. I was also hoping they would look me up and see that I had no criminal record (so far anyway).

About another week later I got home from somewhere else and Morgan told me the lady from Ikea had called back.

Great, now they probably think I'm totally avoiding them. How guilty does that make me look?

Luckily, she did get a phone number but it was Saturday night and the lady had already gone home. I had to wait for Monday to call back.

Monday came and after about 4 calls back and forth, missing each other, I finally got her on the phone at around 2:00. She was very nice and started off asking me what the problem was with the lamp. I breathed a sigh of relief and told her there were two problems. First of all, I needed to pay for it and second, it was missing a part. So far, so good.

She said to describe the part I needed, but I said I wanted to pay first. She said she could e-mail me a credit card transaction form but then I would need to finish the transaction over the phone. Would I like to do this tomorrow, or when was it convenient?

"Right now is great for me." I said. I really needed to get this over with. I had literally felt sick to my stomach for days now.

So, she said she'd e-mail the form and keep the transaction open for 10 minutes.

I sat at my computer to wait.

It showed up as a fax form. I don't have a fax machine. I seriously have the worst luck ever!

So, I started to edit the form, rather sloppily, to just fill in my information and erase most of the underscores. It worked sort of okay until I got to the part where it needed my signature. By now eight of my ten minutes were up. I finally just changed the font to Vivaldi. My signature never looked better.

I mentally patted myself on the back as I remembered to save the new form with a new name. Then it was time to send it back with just a minute or so to spare. I hurriedly dashed off an e-mail and went to attach the document. Then I couldn't find the document anywhere. It wasn't in my docs and it wasn't on my desktop. It wasn't anywhere that it should be. This took about five more frantic minutes. I finally went back to the original e-mail to find the original document to start over. There in a random temporary internet file I found my file. I sent it and I was only about seven and a half minutes late.

Now I had to wait for Marzela (we were on a first name basis by this time) to call me back to get the rest of my credit card info. Ten excruciating minutes later she called. The transaction was now complete.

Next I explained to her what the problem was. I had looked at the lamp base online to see what it was supposed to look like. I noticed that it was not available online any more. I wondered if that was because they were all missing parts.

She said she would pull one and send me the part the next day because the mail had already gone out that day. She also said we wouldn't need to talk again unless she needed to ask me a question and then we hung up.

Whew, finally the problem was solved.

And then I got looking a little more closely at the lamp. There was a sticker on it that I hadn't noticed before. It said to use a type G bulb. What is a type G bulb? Is it a Swedish light bulb? Finally something sort of clicked in my very slow brain and I went and got the very tiny bulb out of the night light. Um yes, it fit. I had stolen (but now bought) a lamp that used a puny little night light bulb. After looking at it with the shade on, Morgan and I both agreed that this would never put out enough light for a good reading lamp. So, I had to call my new best friend, Marzela, back and explain why I now didn't want the lamp. She kindly informed me I had 90 days to return the lamp for a refund and that she would mail me the receipt the next day.

Honestly, crime truly doesn't pay, especially stupid accidental crimes.


Now here's my stupid honest person story that happened the very next day:

So last night I had to go to Macey's to get some food for Activity Days and some groceries for us. It was the really busy dinner hour (I was waiting for Ally to get out of karate) and people (myself included) were tired and cranky. As I was quickly flinging my groceries onto the conveyor belt, I noticed Austin was slipping something under his shirt.

"Oh great! Now I have to deal with this." I thought to myself. So, I physically dragged him to the cashier and explained what happened, hoping she'd give him a stern talking to that would scare him from ever doing it again. Instead she happily told him it was fine.

"No it's not." I said. "I want you to tell him it's wrong and he shouldn't ever do it again."

"No really, it's okay." she repeated. (She was a teenager after all. I don't think they get the whole concept of trying to teach little kids lessons.)

Ughhhhhhhhhh.

He had smashed the candy, so I insisted on paying for it and it wasn't even a kind I like. And it was expensive. I'm not even sure if I ended up with it because I didn't see it when I unloaded the groceries. With my luck, Austin probably found it and ate it while we were in the car.

Next I hefted Austin into the cart to keep him out of further trouble and kept emptying the groceries onto the belt. By this time the guy behind me had given up and went to another line.

As I was swiping my card, I chatted a little with the guy who was bagging my groceries. I think he has Cerebral Palsy or something similar and he's really friendly. He handed Austin a roll of Smarties. I tried to tell the guy that he couldn't have them because he was naughty but I don't think he got what I was trying to say. Austin smugly took the candy and started eating it. I couldn't wait to get out of there!

They still had quite a few bags to finish putting in my cart so they called another girl over to help. As I was waiting, I noticed the four gallons of milk on the bottom. I couldn't remember putting them on the conveyor belt so now I would be stealing the milk if I walked out. I was already a would-be lamp stealer, I didn't want to start becoming a milk stealer. I felt like crying from sheer exhaustion from the events of the last couple days.

I said, to no one in particular, "I think I didn't pay for that milk."

Nobody really paid any attention to me. I repeated myself. Finally I enlisted the help of the new bagger and told her I needed to pay for the milk. (Now, note here that there is one small but very important detail that I forgot to pay attention to. Do you know what it is?) She said I could run to the self-checkout and take care of it. I gave her such a look of horror that I think she felt like she had no choice, other than open up a special express lane just for me.

I paid my $7.00 and went on my merry little way, feeling rather proud of myself for going the extra mile to be honest when it was clearly inconvenient. I still had the problem of Sticky Fingers Austin to deal with.


We picked Ally up and Austin just sobbed in the back seat, afraid I'd tell her his dirty little secret. I told him I wouldn't tell her, but we would need to talk to dad about it when we got home. Austin was just hysterical and kept telling me he didn't want to be in my family any more and that he wouldn't be my little boyfriend ever again.

When we got home Austin hid in the basement, still sobbing and wouldn't talk to Hal. I was hoping that by then he was sufficiently scared. (He had already done this once before, about six months ago so I really wanted him to learn his lesson this time.) We talked to him and hopefully that is going to be the end of that. He must not have been too traumatized though because he said our family prayer and he said it was "the best day ever". I think he really did find that piece of candy and eat it.

So, here's the final straw. After Hal and Morgan left for a meeting at the church I got looking at my original receipt to check the price of something. Right there in black and white were four gallons of milk, paid for the first time. Why didn't I just take two seconds and double check it before I paid for them the second time? (I'll tell you why, because I'm stupid!)

Do you think it's worth the humiliation for me to try and get my $7.00 back?

(And really, how much more can I take? I have got to quit being so side-tracked all the time. I should get that $7.00 and put it toward the purchase price of that Focus Factor vitamin that they sell. Does anyone know if it works? Really, I'm serious.)

A Big Pet Peeve of Mine

I really, really hate it when I am eating a nice little snack and I have one or two bites left and then I leave the room, only to come back to this:

(And it was the last cookie of this kind in the house.)

Blond Peasant Soup

Are you like us?

If so, then you name your food too.

We don't name everything. Just things that are extra memorable.

Like the marshmallow brownies my cousin, Janet, and I made when she was sleeping over and we watched Pee Wee's Big Adventure. I will never eat marshmallow brownies again without thinking of Pee Wee. (Or watch Pee Wee without thinking I should be eating those brownies. Of course, I think I should be eating brownies when I watch EVERY movie, don't you?)

Anyway, back to the soup.

This is a new recipe that I'd pulled out of a magazine. It has polish sausage, red potato, onion and collard greens and it is really tasty! In fact it is a lot better than I had expected it to be.

So where did the name come from? You'd never guess in a million years.

The first time I made this soup, Morgan and I were watching Anna and the King. I can still picture myself chopping the onion and potato while watching the beautiful cinematography in that movie. While we were watching the movie, Morgan figured out that Anna's little boy was played by the kid who is now Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter films. It was sort of funny, but also kind of distracting once I knew. Hal always called Malfoy the "blond tur-". I can't stand it when anyone uses potty language like that so I won't let him or the kids say it in front of me. (I know, pretty ironic for me to get after someone else for their foul language when I'm the only one with the minor swearing problem around here.)

We ate the soup for dinner and it was as close to a winner as we get. Four out of the five of us like it. I think it's a little too much on the creamy side for Hal's taste. I said that it reminded me of a good hearty peasant-type soup, one that you'd picture them eating in "the old country". (Which old country? I have no idea, just one with a nice thick forest and big, handsome woodsmen and chilly weather and sturdy little peasant children running around in hand-knit sweaters with chubby little rosy cheeks.)

The next night Morgan and I ate the rest of the leftovers while we finished watching Anna and the King. As we were eating, I said I was going to call it "Peasant Soup" from now on whenever I made it.

Morgan countered and said that it reminded her of watching Anna and the King, so we should call it "Blond Tur-" Soup in honor of the little boy. This kind of threw me for a loop. There is no way I was ever going to cook a soup called that. So, once I threatened her with never being able to eat her beloved soup again, she relented to a compromise.

And so, "Blond Peasant Soup" was born. (I told you you'd never figure it out on your own.)

Morgan and Ally have only slipped and called it the other name once or twice. And then I threaten them that I will eat it all myself and not give them any if they don't knock it off.

Either way I'm happy.

Is There Anything Cuter Than This?

Seriously, I just love it when little kids stare up at you from where they are standing, almost underneath the kitchen countertop. Austin, at age 4, is now getting almost too big to do this any more. I'm starting to miss some of the cute little baby things.

But big boy things are fun too. Like being potty trained. And going to preschool so mommy can have some time alone. (Oh, and did I mention being potty trained?)

First Days of Spring 2009

Spring came into Cache Valley with some really nice weather. It was unseasonably warm.

Friday we decided to have a campfire in our back yard to celebrate. That's my idea of "roughing it". I'm not into camping, partly because of the lack of showers, but especially because it takes hours to pack up everything you might possibly need, food, utensils, bedding, etc. (clean clothes, optional) and go somewhere for one or two nights, realize which things you forgot that you really needed, try to sleep on the hard ground because in the confusion, you forgot the mattress pad thing and then go home tired and grumpy in a day or two, only to now have to unpack almost everything you own. Not my idea of fun. So, we like to have campfires in the comfort of our own back yard.

Anyway, this was a fine campfire, complete with hot dogs and marshmallows. Morgan wasn't there because she went with her friend, Angela Rigby, to the Mr. MC contest, which is kind of like a beauty pageant for freshman boys.

The rest of us sat, ate our hot dogs and enjoyed ourselves until I looked over and saw Alley (the cat) running in circles around the yard chasing something. On closer examination, I realized it was a big, fat mouse. I've never seen such a big one. It was enough to make one lose one's appetite for hot dogs, which was not that great to begin with.

We all ended up running over to the cat, who had now released the mouse, much to my dismay. Hal cornered it under the slide of Austin's castle but we couldn't get the cat to go under and finish off the task. (She is scared of Hal and doesn't like to go near him too much.) The kids, of course, were totally on the mouse's side.

So, that pretty much broke up our little party. We didn't even get to the marshmallows.

Morgan called a little later for me to pick them up at the school. I was heading out the door when Austin called out from the bathroom that he wanted to go too. I called Morgan back and told her it would be a few minutes before I got there.

Once Austin finished we headed over to Mountain Crest. I was so surprised that I could only see about two cars there. I realized that I must really be late in picking them up. It didn't seem like Austin was in the bathroom THAT long. So, I sat in front of the school in the car for a while, probably about ten minutes. I then got a little annoyed that they weren't watching for me. I drove over to the pool side of Mountain Crest because there were more cars over there. I realized that maybe the program was in the new gym.

It didn't really look too promising over there either. I drove back over to the main part of the building. There were some gnarly looking skater dudes outside, honing their skills. I finally decided I'd have to go in and find the girls. As I walked to the building, I made eye contact with one of the boys there. He looked harmless enough so I asked him if he knew anything about the Mr. MC contest.

"It's over." he answered.

"I know that." I said, a little annoyed, "I'm just here to pick up my daughter. Do you know how long ago it ended? I can't find my daughter."

"Do you know where South Cache is?" he asked.

"Oh my gosh," I said, "I am such an idiot." and then I left after thanking him profusely, restraining myself from giving the peace out sign.

Austin and I headed immediately to South Cache. Morgan and Angela were sitting happily on a bench, making videos with my cell phone, which I didn't know you could do.

I apologized over and over and they were nice about it. I think Morgan was more worried I'd be mad about all the photos and videos they had made on my phone, so she was relieved that I wasn't mad and I was relieved that they weren't mad that I went to the wrong place.

I never used to do things like that, ever. It's very frustrating to me that I've started doing dumb little things and not paying full attention when I should. I used to pride myself on being on top of all the little important details. I hope this is not an example of things to come. Between you and me, I'm terrified that either Hal or I will end up with Alzheimer's disease. That would not be a fun one to deal with.

Saturday morning I helped Austin learn how to ride his new, bigger bike. One of the things I've had to learn with our new car is that it swings a lot wider than our Blazer when I'm backing out of the driveway. This was bad news for Austin's old bike. Luckily he had pretty much outgrown that one and the neighbor, Chandler Lund had given us his old one, which is almost the perfect size for Austin this year. Now we just need to get rid of those training wheels.

That afternoon we did some yard work and I learned how to prune an apple tree. Hal asked me to come out and help him with a ten minute job. I wonder if he realized how grossly he was misrepresenting the time it would take to prune the tree. Last summer I had shoulder surgery so I was pretty much worthless in the yard work department. Our trees and garden were pretty neglected so it will take some doing this year to make up for it. We finished up the one tree quite nicely. Unfortunately, from the pruning standpoint anyway, we have many more fruit trees to go.

After that, it was time to clean up and go into town. We saw our neighbor, Vickie Barnard, who had had a knee replacement. She seems to be doing well and looked good for someone who has been in the hospital for almost a week now.

When we got home from the hospital we all went for a bike ride until it got dark. Our first bike ride this year and nobody got a flat tire. That is definitely worth writing about. We actually have a spare bike now so if someone gets a flat we can just use the spare bike to go on our rides until we have time to fix it.

Church today was almost uneventful except for one small incident in Relief Society. I was sitting off to one side by myself. Before the meeting started, my friends motioned me over to sit with them. They said I looked lonely over there by myself. As I walked over to them a girl in the same row blocked my way and said "Stop!". I wondered if she had a problem with me personally. Actually, somehow the bottom of my skirt on one side had gotten attached to the top, so it was hiked all up and showing a little too much. Too much of what, I'm not really sure. I didn't dare look, I just yanked my skirt down to where it belonged. (And no, I had not just come from the bathroom.)

Luckily I was just in a room full of women so I didn't have to go home humiliated. I actually even had nylons on today. I'm just really trying not to wonder if it was like that when I walked down the hallway a few minutes earlier. All in all, in the grand scheme of my life it was a pretty minor incident.

So anyway, everything so far this spring has turned out fine, except for the mouse situation. As far as I know, he is still at large.

Why I am Writing this Blog

Many people write blogs for many different reasons. Here is why I am writing mine:

I've never been one to keep a journal. I've never wanted people to know what I REALLY think about a lot of things. With five brothers, four of them younger, the odds were pretty high that whatever I wrote in my journal would probably be used against me at some point in time.

I also have this other little problem. It's the fact that once you write something down, it's there, pretty much, permanently. My handwriting is not always the best (it's gotten progressively worse over the years) and if I misspelled a word or decided to change something, it looked bad. I hated having things written in ink scribbled out in my journals. (Seriously, I am NOT a perfectionist. That would be way too hard on my poor self-esteem.) With the computer has come the ability to change and fix things as necessary and nobody can tell the difference. Here, I can edit to my heart's content. Rarely do I ever leave a post alone once I hit "publish".

Okay, there is one other reason I never kept a journal when I was younger. I am way too lazy. The journal I had all through my growing up years consisted of the same basic entry, "I am cleaning my room today and I found this journal under my bed so I thought I'd better write something." accompanied by a little face doodled in the margin. Once I ran out of different silly faces to draw I lost any motivation to write again. I really honestly never thought I had anything worth writing about until I was in my 30s.

So, with the invention of computers I tried, once again, to start a journal. I wrote a little bit when I was about 34. I entitled my journal "My Life So Far - A Comedy of Errors". I had about 10 general information entries in it and was slowly adding to it when one of the kids (who shall remain nameless, but - for the record - she is the oldest) found it and made fun of my title. So I let it sit, once again, for a few more years. I've taken one post out of the old entries so far, but one of these days I might put them all in here. It takes me a while to get around to things.

Now I'm at the point in my life where stuff is starting to happen. And not always good stuff. I'm getting older and now I realize that there are stories of my kids that aren't recorded anywhere else. Things that their kids might like to know about someday. If something happens to me, there will be no other way for anyone else to know about these particular little people and their quirks and personalities. I like having a blog because I can also throw in a photo here and there and be done. I used to be big into scrapbooking until Austin was born. There are pages and pages of the girls, but not one scrapbook page at all with Austin in it. I was the kind of scrapbooker that would take hours just to do one page and that amount of time just isn't realistic any more with the way our lives are.

I like having the blog because I can post in little (or long) entries as I think of them. I can finish a story and be done. I can also go back and add to it if I want and also add photos once we get a new scanner. (It will be soon, I almost have enough money saved up. Once I add the photos in, I'll delete this sentence. That's the beauty of blogging!) I can also share this information with family who may live far away from us and want updates. Again, the laziness factor. I can type a story once and all the relatives can read it. Also, there will soon be a way to make a little book of your blog posts, so that's one less step for me. I can edit what I have, cut out some of the nonsense and then print out a copy for posterity.

I have recently become aware of some "blogging etiquette" that I am not observing. Apparently it is bad form to post more than once a day. Well, unfortunately, I have always been somewhat of a non-conformist. I blog when it is convenient or when a story hits me that I want to remember. Sundays are particularly conducive to blogging because I'm not trying to do laundry or other household chores. Also, Hal is gone pretty much all Sunday so I have some uninterrupted time to sit down and chronicle our adventures. Some people think it is breaking the sabbath, but I totally disagree. This is pretty much the only form of family history work I'm going to be doing until Austin gets into school.

And so, there you have it. I do think that pretty soon I'll run out of funny stories of the kids to blog about and I will slow down in my posting. But for now, it is a relief to get some of these stories out of my cranium to make room for new, important information. Like why Pi is called Pi. And memorizing the names of all the presidents in order. I haven't mastered that one yet.

The Dumbest Thing My Parents Used To Say That I Now Repeat On A Regular Basis

"If I buy that, you'll just eat it."

(This is usually said when my kids ask for expensive, sugar-bomb type cereal.)

The reply I usually get back from my kids:

"Duh!"

So Much To Say, So Little Time

Oh, there are so many things I need to catch up on from the last week or so. I'm writing this to remind myself, mainly.

Ally went to the Young Writers and Artists Fest at USU, we had our Fronk family adult Christmas party (yes we know, it was late, we all had "stuff" at Christmas time), St. Patrick's Day (and why we had to celebrate it a day early with green enchiladas)....

And now last, but certainly not least (especially because it is weighing heavily on my psyche right now), you may find Morgan and me on an upcoming episode of "Stupid Criminals" on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. The problem is, we were so stupid we didn't even realize we were exhibiting criminal behavior. More on that later, if I dare tell the story. (And I still need to chronicle my medical disaster from December.)

I'd write more, but I've had enough fun for one day, including unclogging the toilet with a stick (I don't enjoy using the plunger). I may or may not go into detail on that one. Just know that I am publicly announcing that I have had enough of kids today, mine and the neighbors'.

Now somebody please write in and tell me something happy for goodness sake!

It's Almost Scone Weather!

I love to make scones. (The British, baked kind, not the fried kind.) Actually, I really just love eating them. I'd be happy to skip the baking segment if I could get someone else to bake them for me.

Every spring I get in a scone-baking mood. I even make a nice lemon curd to go with the scones. Yum!

Last week I went to Sam's Club to buy a big container of craisins but I couldn't find them. I wonder if they were out.

They did, however, have every other kind of dried fruit under the sun, including dried cherries, blueberries, apricots, pineapple, etc. I ended up buying a package of every kind, including a big bag of pitted prunes. I have no idea why I bought the prunes. (I just ate one because I thought it might be a good idea and it was disgusting!)

Anyway, when a nice spring day comes along I will be ready! (As long as I can keep the kids out of the dried fruit. I'll have to put the bag of prunes in front of the others and hope that will keep them from investigating any further.)

The Day I Met President Benson in the Pig Barn at the State Fair

Today in Relief Society, something in the lesson reminded me of this story and that I have never written it down anywhere else.

So, here goes:

When I was a kid, I was in 4-H. I've done quite a few different things with the 4-H program including cooking, sewing, leather work, public speaking (I gave a talk on cuts of meat, of all things) and showing livestock. I showed steers when I was really little - starting at age 7, and still lived in Nebraska, but once we moved to Utah (around 1977) I mainly stuck to lambs and pigs.

Showing pigs was actually my favorite because there is less grooming involved. Also, you can't really train a pig so you don't have to take a lot of time working with them (this all is starting to make me sound pretty lazy, isn't it?) and back then you made a lot more money selling pigs.

When I got older, we started showing pigs at other fairs around the state. I didn't really enjoy this because my dad was too cheap to pay for a hotel so it pretty much involved staying in our horse trailer and sleeping in straw (the same straw that we used to haul the pigs down in the first place). Since I was the only girl (I had five brothers) this was not my idea of fun. I think the State Fair is the one I went to the most. It seems like somewhere there we were able to take showers.

Anyway, the first year I was in college (and actually the last year I could show in 4-H) I was showing a pig at the State Fair. I was right in the middle of the Fitting and Showmanship class. My dad came over to the side of the ring and motioned me over. This was not a good thing in Fitting and Showing because you are judged on what you are doing, not the pig's attributes. It is not good showmanship to be talking to people outside the ring and my dad, of all people, knew this. (My dad is actually usually in charge of all the pig stuff at the State Fairs these days.)

My dad said, "Holly, come here."

I said, "Dad, I'm in the middle of something here." (or something to that effect.)

Then my dad pointed over to a golf cart at the entrance of the barn. I still had no idea what was going on.

Then he said, "There's President Benson over there. Go shake his hand."

Well, the last thing you are supposed to do is leave the ring when you are being judged on your showmanship, so I was somewhat reluctant to do this but I realized that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I handed my pig cane over to my dad, hopped over the fence and walked over to President Benson in the golf cart. He was flanked on each side by a young man that was maybe missionary-age or a little older. All three were in dark suits. (President Benson was the Agricultural Secretary for the U.S. under President Eisenhower, I think. I'll have to look that one up.)

I can't really remember what I said as I approached President Benson, but I do remember so well that as I shook his hand it felt as if a jolt of electricity surged from down his hand up into my hand and up along my whole arm. I will never forget that feeling.

It was a great thing for me personally, because I really loved President Kimball so much that I had a hard time accepting President Benson. I remember that I didn't really like the sound of President Benson's voice. I did hear him and his wife speak at Utah State University a while before this experience. I liked his talk and his wife, Flora, was so cute, so I did start to kind of like him at that point.

The whole thing lasted under a minute, I'm sure, because as soon as we shook hands I headed back into the ring and grabbed my pig cane from my dad. I don't even know if the judge noticed that I was gone. I wish I could remember how I did in the contest but I must not have placed too high or I probably would have remembered.

And so, that's the story of how I met President Benson.