Archive for ‘old fashioned’

October 29, 2013

A Moving Snapshot of My Memories

I was raised in Wilton, California.  Seven acres of Heaven reside in this place with my heart on it.  A lot of people think California is all about San Francisco or Los Angeles.  It isn’t.

Thanks to my brother, Jesse Myrick for making a moving snapshot of my memories.  –Angela Rockwood, Editor, Cranberry Juice News

October 29, 2013

Fishing With Grandpa

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Fishing with Grandpa

Feature Article: by Lily Adeline Rockwood

My Grandpa and I love to go fishing.  Every year around Thanksgiving my grandpa takes all the cousins fishing.  The first year I went fishing, we caught seven or eight fish.  I think they were trout.  We ate most of them that night, they were so good!

We always wake up really early in the morning like five or six o’clock to get ready, because grandpa says we have to be there when the fish want their breakfast. We have to dress really warmly because it gets really cold out on the boat. We also have to pack a lot of food because if we don’t, there isn’t any food for us, just the fish.  Fish are good, but we don’t want to have to wait all day to eat.

Most of the time when we go, our grandpa takes his friend, Jack Hale.  Jack is a great fisher. He has two boats. I have only been on one of them though. One is really big, and the other one is a little smaller. Grandpa is a great fisher too, but his boat is called the “S.S. Fish Repellant”, and sometimes the fish know how to read.

One thing that always helps us catch fish is that my grandpa made up fish calls. For the big fish you say “HERE FISHY FISHY FISHY!” loudly. For the medium sized ones you say it in your normal voice, and for the small ones you say it very quietly, *here fishyfishyfishy*!

We always say it loudly because we like to catch the big ones. The call actually works.  It may sound silly but it works!  You just have to do it the right way.

After we go fishing, we go back to Grandpa’s house to clean and gut the fish.  That part is fun.  First you have to cut of the head, then you cut open the stomach, and then you clean out all of the insides.  It’s a pretty fishy job.

After you are all done with that, you cook them– that’s where Grandma comes in!  Those fish are so good to eat, especially with pepper and lemon.  I’m really excited to go fishing with my grandpa next month. This time we might bring his brother!  Until then, I have to practice my fish call.

HERE FISHY FISHY FISHY!!!

September 8, 2013

Music in My Life

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Editorial: By Angela Rockwood

This is my Grandma Dixie and her beautiful violin.  I thought of her today as I was singing, joyously, out loud, in the car on the way home from church.

Grandma Dixie is the kind of grandma who loves the potential in you just as much as your kisses and smiles.  She sees us not just as who we are, now, but also as who and what we will become.  There are many conversations I had with her as a child that I know she meant for my older ears, in my future years.  Those lessons are precious to me. Grandma is one of the main people who taught me my family history, who made sure I knew who I was, where I came from, and what was important in life.  Isn’t that the ultimate role of grandma?  She helped give me my identity.  Part of that identity comes through music.

Grandma gave all of us the gift of music.  She made sure that her eight children had music lessons, and art lessons, even though it might have also meant hand-me-down clothes and home-made wheat bread to compensate in other areas of their family budget.  Music, art and family are that important.

When her children were nearly grown, her youngest son came to her in a fit over his music lessons. He told her he couldn’t figure out why he had to practice so much.  She told him he had a gift, and that he’d be able to use it all his life, perhaps even playing in the orchestra.  He continued the conversation in his flippant way, if she thought it was such a great gift, why she wasn’t she in an orchestra?  She went right out and joined the American River College Orchestra, and has been playing in the college orchestra every since.  She gained such a solid talent and skill, that she plays in a beautiful quartet, often accompanying weddings and other special occasions, as well as playing for her grandchildren.

For her birthday, grandma always tells us she doesn’t want presents.  She wants music.  For years we had Grandma Dixie’s Birthday Recital the day after Thanksgiving every year, in honor of her.  My uncle, who complained about expressing his music, is an illustration artist and works in advertising, using music and form to communicate ideas.  My other various aunts and uncles are all creative still as well.  One sews beautiful quilts and has painted with oils, another plays beautiful piano and organ.  My aunt Diane plays violin and fiddle, and is quite good. My mother studied piano in college and loves music theory.  She gives her own children and grandchildren piano lessons.  That’s how I learned, because not only was the gift of music passed from grandma Dixie to her children, but also her grandchildren, and great grandchildren.

Last year, we had to move Grandma Dixie’s Birthday Recital to another day just to accommodate all the posterity that wished to play in it.  Grandma has 8 children, innumerable grandchildren, and many more great grandchildren.

Those that don’t play instruments, sing.  We all sing.  We don’t just sing popular stuff either, we sing our history.  We sing our heritage.  Songs my grandmothers have sung for a hundred years, perhaps more.  We sing around campfires, and around dinner tables, in living rooms, and reunions and while we drive in the car.  The skill is valuable, the tones and harmonies are beautiful, the heritage is rich treasure.

Grandma sang because her mother sang.  Her mother sang because her mother before her, also sang. This music is in us, given to us by our generations.  It is a beautiful thing.  Do I sing? For me the music comes out in paint, lace, poetry, and art as much as music.  It is all the same song.

The world has changed somewhat in the years since my grandmothers first taught their children the beauty of song.  There is something that was lost when recorded music came on the scene. Music played by the most skilled, most talented people of the day with state of the art equipment and percussion can hardly compare to a ragtag family chorus around the campfire, but there is something about music that has soul in it.

Music isn’t about perfection, it’s about expression.  We ought to sing.  We need to sing.  We need to sing together.

My children are still young enough that they don’t fully appreciate piano lessons, looking at art techniques or their mother singing in the car perhaps, but they know the music.  I’m teaching them the heritage.  It’s all a process.

Today my 13 year old daughter played organ prelude in sacrament meeting.  Friday my son served as DJ for the ward activity.  Last week another daughter played piano for the Spanish speaking ward who doesn’t have anyone who knows piano in their ward boundaries. This afternoon, my youngest daughter sang her heart out over her lunch snack.  It’s in there.

There are many things I want for my children, but one of things I want most is to pass on this legacy– that my children know who they are, feel the music in them, and however it comes, sing.

September 8, 2013

A Man From Another Era

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Fashion Special: By Angela Rockwood

Troy loves to dress up.  It’s funny.  Everyone always thinks I’m the creative one, but he’s the one with all the big ideas when it comes to dressing up.   Maybe it’s just that he’s braver than I am.  Troy is a social skippy bunny.  He is unafraid of anyone or anything.  He isn’t afraid of what they think either.  He isn’t bold, he’s just oblivious to things like mortal danger and fashion faux pas.  I think that’s how he always comes off looking so perfect.  He makes me bold.

Last night he was Mr. 1973.  We went to a dance, dressed in the era we were born. Troy looked great.  He is timeless.  He can appear at home and comfortable in any era.

When we met, he was Mr. 1980-something, pegged pants, button shirt, closed to the neck.  Yep, even the top button– and don’t forget the high-top converse shoes.  Yikes. It took us years to get him to loosen that top button. He likes what he likes.

The funny thing is, we were looking through his closet and his costume isn’t actually a costume, these are his real clothes.  Red corduroys.  He wears them.  He passed up the turquoise skinny jean cut corduroys this time.  Dodged a bullet maybe on that one.  The glasses and hair are all the costume he needed.

The voyage into facial hair options has opened whole new vistas to his sense of time and style.  He spent several years experimenting on “The Quest For Every Beard Type”.  More than once, Mr. 1890 has gleefully stepped out of the master bathroom wanting a kiss.

The music he listens to?  All of it.  He loves all music.  Old, new, classic, pop, instrumental.

The tech he plays with? He is a computational physicist, working on cutting edge technology.   He worked for the company that designed the internet.  He had email when I was still faxing letters home to my parents.  I was listening to cassette tapes while he was on mp3 audio books– yet he still writes love notes on old IBM punch cards.

He is a Man from Another Era.  Any era.  It’s all there.  He fits.

If souls are eternal, that would explain it.  The rest is just dressing on the cake.

September 5, 2013

For the Things That Never End

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Editorial: By Angela Rockwood

We finally got our family pictures updated.  I figure it is about time.  I am one of the luckiest women alive.  My family is precious to me.  Is there anything else that brings such happiness?

I was talking to someone recently who had no desire to be a mother.  I look at my life and the changes that have come to me since becoming a mother, and I can’t imagine not being where I am.  I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Everyone makes their choices in life.  Through infertility, I was given the opportunity to not be a mother.  I am so thankful I chose otherwise.

“Many voices in the world today marginalize the importance of having children or suggest delaying or limiting children in a family. My daughters recently referred me to a blog written by a Christian mother (not of our faith) with five children. She commented: “[Growing] up in this culture, it is very hard to get a biblical perspective on motherhood. … Children rank way below college. Below world travel for sure. Below the ability to go out at night at your leisure. Below honing your body at the gym. Below any job you may have or hope to get.” She then adds: “Motherhood is not a hobby, it is a calling. You do not collect children because you find them cuter than stamps. It is not something to do if you can squeeze the time in. It is what God gave you time for.” –Neil L. Andersen

Family is everything.  It’s what we do, it’s who we are.  We’re interconnected. These are the ties that bind, the essence of things that never end.

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July 3, 2012

The Vanishing Oatmeal Cookie Project

The Vanishing Oatmeal Cookie Project

Feature Article by Angela Rockwood

Scout Camp funds are nearly always difficult to acquire, but in this economy, ingenuity requires drastic measures, so scout Daylin Rockwood did the unthinkable– he called in the sisters.

It’s well known that patrons of the yearly 4th of July Pancake Breakfast put on by the scout troops each year are suckers for their sweet tooth.  A bake sale full of delicious delights was just what the piggy bank ordered.  “I knew my sisters were always cooking things anyway, so I figured they wouldn’t mind making some extra.” says Daylin.  “I’m one of their favorite brothers after all.”

Four batches and 130 cookies later, Daylin looks pleased, and his prospects for going to Scout Camp have never been better.

“I didn’t know it was going to be such a big project.” says Daylin’s main cookie baker, Ava Rockwood.  “Well, it’s hard to admit, at first I was like, ‘Aw Man!  I want to eat them!’ but then, I thought, well, it IS service!  So then I felt better.”

But things didn’t always look so smooth.  “Half way through the cookie project, we discovered someone kept eating them!” confides insider Anna Rockwood.  “We had to make two more batches just to compensate!”

Wiping crumbs from his shirt, brother Ethan Rockwood admits, “It’s a lot of work guarding the cookie stash, they probably have enough already.”

Don’t forget to come to the Boy Scout Pancake Breakfast, and on your way out, indulge your sweet tooth!

If you have a scout who needs great fundraising ideas, pass it along~!

Vanishing Oatmeal Cookies

2 sticks butter

1 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup white sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 and 1/2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon  cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 cups oats

1 cup raisins or chocolate chips or both!

–contributed by investigative reporters Lily Adeline and Angela Rockwood