HISTORY
A Little History:
Our story begins in Pocatello, Idaho, circa 1972, when the lovely Debby Christensen agreed to a first, though fateful date with admirer, David Croshaw. Long story-short, he bade her follow him, and they went arm-in-arm to the Logan, Utah temple for establishment of an eternal family unit, Generation 1, on May 23 1973.
From their first blissful summer in Salt Lake City, educational pursuits took them to Provo/Orem, Utah, birthplace of Leslie and Rebecca, and to San Francisco/Oakland California, birthplace of Colin and Matt. Then, for establishment of livelihood, expansion of the tribe with Abby and Dana, and for raising/unifying of Generation 2, it was back to the roots in Pocatello for a rewarding sojourn.
In time, driven by a raging, but commonly shared sense of adventure and independence, one-by-one, Generation 2 escaped the homeland to distant regions of the country and the world, each ultimately developing their own tribal expansions by pairing with worthy mates and initiating Generation 3.
Now sensing fulfillment of their purpose in Pocatello, Generation 1 has also left those roots and transplanted to Cascade Idaho, from which base, they anticipate more abundant contact with The Posterity, Generations 2 and 3, in the future. That contact however, awaits fulfillment of a call to LDS missionary service in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, wherein they hope to help the state of the world by sharing the love of Jesus Christ.
So now, including Generation 0 (Grandma and Grandpa Christensen) home base includes Yuma, Arizona, Pocatello, Idaho, Cascade, Idaho, Vancouver, BC, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Spokane, Washington, Boise, Idaho, Los Angeles, California, back to Boise, Idaho, and on and on (Generation 3+) to infinity.
Our Mission Statement:
This is the blog of our eternal family unit. Initiated years ago, it served well as a journal, but even more so, as an archive of our personal interaction. It was a gathering place, a confabulation instrument, a unifying force for four generations of widely dispersed and progressively prolific posterity, and their valued associates. Though it served these purposes well for many years, it eventually took a back seat to new-kids-on-the-block, Facebook, and Instagram, and was sadly forgotten.
We now move to resurrect this blog with an added functional purpose of archiving the missionary experiences of Generation 1, of their movements and activities as they participate with The Gathering of Israel in the land northward. In so doing, we hope that via their own comments and posts, this blog will again serve to gather and unify the posterity and their friends.
As in the past, that the young and vibrant may know the old and tired, that enduring bonds may be fostered and maintained, that experience and encouragement may be openly shared, that posterity may embrace truth, and that hearts may be knit together, we must resist detachment despite our geographic divergence. We shall do so here.
_____________________________________________________________
13 comments:
Hahahaha, Quin would absolutely agree with that. We have to make sure she never gets into the garage or she heads straight for the litter box.
That totally looks like him!! It is so wierd, Max started eating diapers a few months ago. He has never done that before...maybe he is going senile in his old age:)
That makes me miss my Bailey... though I do not miss him sneaking to the litter box... I keep reminding myself what an awesome life he has with rich people now, but I definitely miss him so much. One time he rolled around in something so foul even the thought sickens me. I do not know what that was, but it was gross... eating it may have been slightly better.
Mia was pretty shocked when we told her that dogs eat their own poop.
I once had a dog -Dottie- for whom pigeon poop was a particular delicacy. I still find it hard to believe. They seem to do it instinctively. I wonder what the biological purpose of that is. -- Crystal?
I also once saw a 4 year old Becky try to eat dog poop. Fotunately, I stopped her before she got very far with it.
Anyway, based on what I saw of Max when we were visiting Spokane a few months ago, I'm pretty sure he is suffering from senile dementia. Either that or he's become bipolar. But, I love him, and he loves me.
Dad
Not many dogs will eat their own stuff- they much more prefer others' and other species. It can be a sign of dietary unbalance, sickness, or... well mental health issues (Pica). Speaking of, I had pica with my last pregnancy. I definitely was not going after poo, but my mouth would WATER when I got gasoline. If someone had offered me a cold glassful, I would have totally drank it. Isn't that odd?! My doctor told me that is VERY common in pregnant women who do not eat meat. Fun, eh? So maybe max needs a steak!? Or he be clazy.
That does not look like Max and he does not eat his own poop. He leaves that up to Quinn. I am offended. Ray
Ray, Poop eater or not, you have to admit, Max's behavior has tilted toward bizarre. If you would just bring him here more often so he could frolic with me in the yard and chase the magic rock, I'll be his dimentia would clear in a flash.
David
chasing the magic rock? That sounds like something those with "happy hair" (see above) would do. Matt could happily provide a soundtrack for such festivities. My dog would to a "bootie dance" when he was excited. I will have to upload that from my retired Mac. It is quite humorous.
Perhaps it was the "magic rock" that has caused my dog to go retarded. It has happened to other animals that have resided at that address if I am not mistaken.
we do have a history of canine mental illness, and actually feline mental illness, perhaps related to a car incident--no names mentioned to protect the innocent, but we all know....
OK, sound like we have a little rock identity problem here. The magic rock you are referring to Becky was the chunk of radioactive slag at the Rainier residence that caused Quincy to have siezures. Remember, he would grab it in his mouth and throw it in the air, and then bark at it for hours. He must have gotten a little radioactive buzz from it.
The magic rock at our current place is the one that Max brought to me one day while I was working in the yard, and wanted to play fetch. So I threw it down the hill into the weeds, and he retrieved it. As you know the hillside is covered with rocks, so I memorized the size and shape to see if it was the same rock and threw it again. Sure enough, he brought the same rock back, so I threw it again. This went on for hours, into the darkness, and regardless of where and how far I threw it into the thicket, and regardless of whether or not he saw where it landed, dark or not, he would be gone for a while, but would always bring back the same rock. He would have gone on all night if I had the time. Ray says the scent from my hand was what would lead him to it. Incredible sense of smell he's got there. So although he did demonstrate a little neurotic obcession there, the rock was not the cause. I just call it the magic rock because it made him so crazy about the game.
And that, dad, is why you are probably Max's favorite person in the world...
Post a Comment