Rex the Gardener: Yahoo Answers

I recently found this answer Dad wrote for a question someone asked on Yahoo Answers about saving tomato seeds to plant for the next season. I found it interesting.

Written in 2008

Question: Is it possible to save tomato seeds for later planting?

Answer by McBrex:

Yes, I've done this. Saved some seeds from tomatoes I've especially enjoyed the flavor, texture, or size of. I've done this even from restaurants. I'll simply wrap some seeds up in a paper napkin, writing basic info on the who, what, where, when characteristics of the fruit and put it in a zip lock bag. Then keep it with my other seeds and garden supplies. If the tomato is an old standard variety, sometimes known as an "heirloom" you should have success. If the tomato is of a hybrid variety, you will be disappointed. The plant will grow... it may bloom... and even bear fruit but chances are the tomato will be different from what you remember the dining experience being. You will have invested a lot of time, energy and garden space for not much of a payoff. Whole cherry or plum sized, salad bar varieties have worked for me. One variety I loved would grow as a volunteer every year in my garden. It would just be in a different spot, where ever the seeds had ended up during fall clean up. I'd have to keep an eye out for the little plants while prepping the soil each spring.

At my craziest, I had 30 tomato plants growing, several varieties. After a while my neighbors didn't even want to answer their door because I was giving away bags full. You may be bordering on being a nut... like me about gardening.

Information Source(s):

Sites? Well, my garden sites at my various homes over the last 54 years. Credit or blame goes to my mom who, in her mid 70s still needs to "garden" every year. She made me help in the garden as a kid. Guess I caught the bug from her. I still have to help her which is fun. Then there's my own garden if there's time and also help my grown oldest daughter who is a gardening nut when not caring for her one year old twin daughters. Her husband doesn't speak 'garden' like some of us.

Letter From Dad: Favorite Movies and Haircuts (January 2003)

Hey. I saw an ad on TV at the Wandviks last night. TNT channel... whatever that is. Ted Turner? A new (made for TV) movie spread over 3 nights...

"from the makers of LONESOME DOVE"

Starring...

Tom Selleck, Isabella Rossilini......... then one of the Wandvik kids screamed and I took my eyes off the screen. Never did see or hear the name of it. But the Cowboy Western flavor of the ad was intriguing. Check out if you can find it.

Your Mom always liked Tom Selleck in Magnum P.I. ........Hence, that is why when I was asked 'how I wanted my hair?' by whomever was cutting my hair, my response was to make it look like Tom Selleck. It never worked.
Why is it that when a female went in and asked for a Princess Di, or a Jennifer Aniston cut or whoever is the current trend of the week ... THAT is what they get. By the way, just what IS the current trend?

Back in the day, during the married years, I'd ask for a "Tom" and all I get is a stare. Even now, younger hairstylists just ask "Who?" Explaining 'who' Magnum P.I. was, becomes a problem for most hairbabes mid 20s or younger. Don't these gum chewing, tattooed, over-coiffed, over-pierced, and sometimes over fed 'professional' mallrat hairstylists ever watch daytime TV? I know Magnum is still on somewhere. I know he is more "OUT" than Hootie and the Blowfish but just who is "in" these days? Enrique Iglesias? Is he in? Ricky Martin? Him? Tom Cruise? I don't even get a "Tom" Cruise haircut offered to me.

Would I get a better cut if I asked for a BRAD PITT? Then, would my guy friends come up to me at the construction site and say "Oh, you got a Brad cut. It looks dreamy." ....I DON'T THINK SO.

I guess I should be just glad that my hair is shorter when they are done with me, and that I'm not bleeding anywhere.

whoa..... sorry Rachel... I almost went off on a tangent. It's good that I caught myself before doing any real harm.
Better close and say I love you. (and your sisters too)

dAd

To Dadio, Love #3

Dear Dadio,

I’ve been meaning to call. I miss you. It’s been too long since I heard your laugh. I think I forget how it sounds. I miss making you laugh.

I get so mad sometimes, people bringing you up in conversation and reminding me that you’re gone. The pain of remembering you died is unbearable, so I prefer to think, man, it’s been too long since I’ve called Dad. I should call him, pick his brain about something, ask him about that one thing, listen to his stories I’ve heard 1,000 times and still laugh just as hard as I would if it were the first time.

I feel like I’m rambling. I don’t know what else to do. My thoughts aren’t as organized as they would be if this were a paper for school. Emotions flood my heart, knot my stomach and tighten my throat. There is no way to process them.

I miss you every day, every moment. You are always in the back of my mind. I hate when people talk to me about random things or complain to me. I have no patience for it. Oh, I’m sorry you only got a 10% tip off that table…? Poor thing! Well, My Dad died…so shut the Hell up.

It’s hard to concentrate. Everything I do, no matter what I do, my mind is drowned with my memories of your face, your words.

How do you get to the point of acceptance? When will my chest stop feeling like it’s caving in?

Remember the time you painted my toenails? I couldn’t stop giggling. We picked out a couple different colors because you said you were going to make a design. We laughed so hard when it turned out to be sloppy big blobs of color. I sported my Dad pedicure, I was proud of the ugly blobs. They were beautiful to me, and they made me smile.

Remember Van Sushi night? We couldn’t just get the small platter of sushi from Costco. You always went big. We had enough to feed five. We laid the massive tray in the middle of the front seats in the van on that wooden center console thing you painted white. The tray barely fit. I ran into the In n Out and got us a couple sodas. We sat in that parking lot, listening to the AM radio talking, laughing, eating sushi with our hands. When we were both full of VanSushi we looked down and saw that we had barely made a dent in the tray. We drove to Grandma’s that night. You kept falling asleep, I took my eyes off the road a few times to make sure you were still breathing. Remember how we forgot to tell Grandma there was a huge tray of leftover Vansushi in her fridge? She went to open the fridge door the next morning and the oversized tray crashed to the ground. You know how toast always lands butter side down? Well, apparently the same rule applies to Vansushi. Grandma was so mad. Hehehe.

Remember the AM vs FM radio battle? You listened to AM constantly. I was the one that was driving you everywhere, so I finally said to you, “Dad, if I have to listen to Rush, or Savage Nation for one more minute, I’m probably going to drive us off a cliff!” I cracked a smile, so did you, we laughed. After that we alternated days AM, FM, AM, FM. Any time is was my turn, you made fun of the lyrics or asked me if this was REALLY music. I’d tease back telling you that you were just old and didn’t understand. Anytime it was your turn I’d softly sing a song about how I was going to drive off a cliff. It would make us bust up laughing.

I can never find the right words to express my sorrow, anger, sadness.

I used to tell you all the time…I’m 24, you’re 54, that’s too young! Way too young! I told you it wasn’t fair. You agreed. I caught you in a very lucid mood one day, we made Banana splits together, I asked you, “What will I ever do with out you?” You folded your arms, leaned back on the kitchen counter and thought for a moment. You said, “We’re gonna do what Dads and Daughters have always done. You’re going to face it, and hope for a better day.”

I can’t face it Dad, it’s too hard without you. The aching never stops, It doesn’t let me breathe even for a second, but I’m doing my best.

I will love you forever,

Your favorite 3^rd Daughter

Your Punky Princess

Your Deeders

Your World Traveler

Yours.

Unposted Blog by Rex - Written October 2008

I've been trying to "hack" Dad's accounts, and by knowing one password, I've been able to change all the other passwords that I didn't know. I thought I'd share some of the "Blog Drafts" that Dad wrote but never posted...




"In my dream, I'm in public and not wearing pants..."



Well, it's not that bad a situation I find myself in...
but if the next time you see me...
...and I'm not wearing any pants...
...but AM wearing a nice white long sleeve shirt and tie...
It'll mean I didn't get this problem resolved yet.

I hope, when you see me it's not in public, or where considered rude, weird, or indecent.

I promise... I can explain.

And...

Please... don't be shy, ask ...if something seems amiss.

I'd be grateful for the warning.

I am in a bit of a jam.

One I don't fully understand yet.

It's not Alzheimer's.

It's a skin condition on my hands.

I am sitting here at my laptop typing this stupid thing out.

A couple of my fingers can still work, just not for what I need them to do...

...which is....

Unbuttoning the top button on my white shirt (which is a bit tight)

...and the two little ones which give "a button-down collar" it's name is a real challenge.

This is my evening...

These tiny buttons are always a bit tough.

My dexterity is really hampered... today.

Well... everyday.

But, more so today.

There are small cuts and cracks on my fingers that are extremely tender.

I think it was caused by a chemical cleaning agent I used to shampoo some auto upholstery.

If I were a housewife, I'd blame it on doing too many dishes.

I'm not a housewife... and use paper plates like all self respecting divorced guys.

I'm surprised though, that I got the buttons fastened this morning.

Very little trouble.

This evening I sit here at a computer, shirt and tie on, ...no pants...

...well, correction...

I'm wearing "jogging pants" or "warm ups"... an activity which the said garments have yet to experience.

Like a poodle awaiting it's first bear hunt. Not ever gonna happen.

I don't jog. I don't warm up.

I'm a bit worried that there's little chance this shirt and tie will come off until my fingers heal.

Sure, I could grab a steak knife, look in the mirror,

and start sawing at buttons.

But since I'm still wearing the shirt...

sawing near my neck with a sharp edge,

keeping in mind ...the need to reverse-translate the exact opposite...

...or is it backwards view in the mirror?

...from what my eyes see?

This might prove deadly. Or, at least ruin my best white shirt.

I could slip and there'd be a nasty stain to remove.

I forget... does tomato juice get bloodstains out or is that just for skunk smells?

I'll Google it later, but well before I get woozy from blood loss.

A steak knive at my throat?

I am pretty darn good with tools.

Unless you start counting my fingers.

Or start counting the scars on the remaining fingers.

It just so happens I have fewer fingers than most people.

It's not a genetic thing... because when my daughters were born, I counted.

My beautiful daughters all have ten fingers. (but I just now thought that maybe it skips a generation. If so, I apologize to all my future grandkids.)

My right hand is visual evidence that in 1981 there was a brief moment when I lost my focus...

...and three fingers. One of which was re-attached.

That finger, I nearly broke off on a gate latch before the stitches were even out.

It's still crooked.

The hand is quite entertaining to young children.

My carelessness is their delight.

I make up stories about how and why it happened.

****** obedience to adults.

We won't go into the locations on my body...

where I've shot nails out of nailguns,

driven screws with screwguns,

Blackened countless fingernails,

ruined perfectly good pairs of pants with skilsaws.

Twice.

Got stitched up from a chisel stuck in my thigh.

Broke my thumb with a 3 pound sledgehammer.

You know... the run of the mill stuff.

More stitched lacerations than I can count on one and a half hands full of fingers.

This is not some sicko fetish or hobby.

It is a tradesman who loves his work but isn't very careful with tools.

You know, now that you mention it, that does sound a bit sicko...

Maybe I can try Krisco shortening or softened butter to slide out of the shirt collar. I'd apply it liberally with something dull or a rubber spatula.

Or, maybe just wait it out.

If I lost some weight I could probably have less tension on the buttons.

But by that time, my fingers could heal and ...problem solved.

This could take days.

I'd be the best dressed carpenter in the shop complex.

But soon I'd also be the most fragrant.

Doing laundry while still wearing it has never caught on much, although Tarzan became quite well known for such things.

I feel like a chimp with it's hand stuck in a jar of goodies.

Greedily hanging onto the food inside,

Unwilling to give up the treat.

Unwilling to let go in order to free itself.

I'm sure you can see my dilemma. I'll let you know when I've solved this problem.

Seafood and Fudgsicles

Dad loved buffets.



He didn't really care what kind of buffet it was, but he was quite fond of Chinese food all-you-can-eat places. He'd even go alone if needed. We've been a buffet family from the very beginning in Modesto: Kings Table, Hometown Buffet, The Golden Dragon. Our family loved the variety.

When Dad would come to visit us once we moved to St. George, and if it was a Friday night, we'd all drive down to Mesquite, Nevada and hit the Friday Night Seafood Buffet at either the Casa Blanca or the Virgin River.

Dad's idea of a great evening was loading up his plate with as many peel-and-eat shrimp and crack-and-eat crab legs as he could balance while walking to the table to sit down. Then doing that a few more times. We'd all get tired of sitting and waiting for Dad to finish eating, so he'd finally give up and we'd all waddle our crab-filled bellies out to the parking lot for the ride home.

As we'd walk out, Dad would always mention: "If you add up all the crabs that we just ate, what would they look like all running across the parking lot?"

I always got a kick out of that.


-------------


I remember as a kid, Mom worked for Doctors Medical Center in Modesto. Every summer, they'd have a big picnic for all the employees. We each got a bracelet which entitled us to "free food" and all the games they had there for kids. It was quite a fun time.

Dad decided that the free fudgsicles offer was too good to pass up.

Dad sat at our table and made us girls run and get him fudgsicles. After all three of us running up multiple times, the tally was NINETEEN fudgsicles. I'm not sure if Dad fizzled out at 19, or if we were just too scared to ask the popsicle guy for more. But that story has come up multiple times throughout the years as a source of pride and embarasment for Dad.

Letter From Dad: To Aubrey, For Valentine's Day

From Aubrey: I was going through some boxes of my memorabilia recently and found this Valentine letter from Dad. It has no date on it, but was probably written in February 2006. It was written in true Rex McBride style- in all caps and on yellow legal paper! :)

It reads:

HI BOOB-

CONSIDER THIS NOTE YOUR VALENTINE'S DAY CARD AND BOX... OF CHOCOLATES, HANDFUL OF FLOWERS... NO... A DOZEN ROSES... NO MAKE THAT 2 DOZEN ROSES AND A 5 lb BOX OF SEE'S CANDY....AND DINNER AT A FANCY RESTAURANT. SINCE WE'RE PRETENDING... 2 TICKETS TO THE OPERA AND A WEEK IN HAWAII. SEE HOW MUCH FUN I AM? I'LL BE JUST AS GENEROUS WITH YOUR SISTERS.

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH...AND WANT TO WISH YOU THE BEST IN LIFE. I LOOK FORWARD TO EACH AND EVERY CONTACT I HAVE WITH YOU.

YOU ARE MENTIONED IN ALL MY PRAYERS AND I'M PROUD OF YOU. DO YOUR BEST AT WHATEVER YOU ATTEMPT. YOU MAY ARRIVE AT THE CONCLUSION THAT YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH AND MOVE ON. BUT YOU KNOW YOU'VE RUN THINGS TO THE END AND DECIDED ON A COURSE CORRECTION.

YOU GIVE ME MORE OF A REASON TO FIGHT AND DEAL WITH MY OWN CHALLENGES AND SEE THEM THRU. I'M FAR FROM PERFECT BUT YOU MAKE MY LIFE MORE SO.

LOVE ALWAYS,
DAD.

Best Vacation Ever

I think it was about 1999. I had my own apartment and Dad brought a brown van and trailer load of furniture that he had saved from our Knoles Court House days. We filled my new place with old furniture, but had a doozie of a time getting the hide-a-bed sofa in the stairwell and into the second floor apartment.

We watched the movie Tombstone with Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer. Dad wasn't one to watch the same movie over and over: if he was going to spend his time with a second viewing of a great movie, he'd rather wait a good five or ten years in between showings. But we watched Tombstone a few times that week he stayed at my new apartment. We hit Hollywood Video and rented an old movie My Darling Clementine about the gunfight at the OK Corral. It was full of errors in history, even Doc Holliday who was a dentist in real life, performed abdominal surgery in this flick. We watched it and laughed hysterically.

And we started planning...

We planned a McBride vacation to top all the Disneyland trips of our youth. We would take the brown van from St George and drive down to Tombstone, Arizona and see the OK Corral, the Bird Cage Theater, and any other sites a good Wyatt Earp fan cared to see.

We gallivanted through Southern Arizona, down to Tombstone, over to Nogales, Mexico and then headed back north towards Las Vegas. On the way home, we stopped at the Hoover Dam, but didn't have time to do the tour.

That trip taught me so much:

*It taught me that even when on vacation, you can always find someone who knows someone who knows where the nearest LDS chapel is to attend church. We went to Young Womens at some Ward in Benson, Arizona and they found it strange that we made the effort to go to church when we didn't know a soul in the area and were on vacation just passing through. It was that important to Dad to attend church as a family, broken as we were.

*It taught me that you don't really need air conditioning if you have pillow cases, an ice chest, and a little bleach-water. We also stopped at K-Mart and got some cool battery operated personal misting fans that Dad thought were must have purchases for $1 or so.

*It taught me that car trouble can be a learning experience - we all learned how to unpack a van full of junk, change a blown tire on the side of the road, repack all the junk, and limp in to the next town. I was most surprised that Dad didn't lose his temper or yell or curse at any time during that little fiasco.

*It taught me to give. We were at a gas station outside of Lake Havasu City. We had just seen the London Bridge and we stopped at a gas station. A middle aged woman, maybe 40 or 50 years old (she seemed older) was outside asking for money. Dad, always the boy scout, handed her a few cans of food that he had packed along and an extra can opener. The woman looked up almost in tears and thanked him. He handed her a few dollars too. She asked him how she could repay him. Dad gave his usual answer: "Some day, two young men in white shirts and name tags will cross your path. They have a message. Listen to that message."

*It taught me to think of others. We took a little day trip down to Mexico. None of us had been - Dad went sometime right after high school with some friends but wanted to take us. We parked at a McDonald's restaurant just inside the border. (Thank goodness Dad thought to bring several gallons of drinking water with us.) The whole time in Nogales, Dad kept urging us to let him buy us each one thing to remember the trip. We visited several shops and had young "Vato" salesmen yelling at us "We are cheaper than Walmart!" Aubrey got some genuine gold jewelry that turned her finger green within a few hours. (Heidi, what did you get? I don't remember.) I never saw anything that I just couldn't live without. Dad was also looking, but he was looking at things that he would hate. I didn't see him needing a flower pot, or a terra cotta rooster. I finally realized that he was looking to get something for Grandma. She still has the rooster he brought hundreds of miles back to Saint George, then hundreds of more miles to Sonora.

We made it back home, a little sunburned, and a lot closer as a family unit. It was much less expensive than a trip to Disneyland. We went to grocery stores and bought loaves of bread and canned goods to eat. We didn't hit every drive through. We stayed in a motel a few nights, but mostly drove through the night in "the little brown van that could."

I really enjoyed that trip. I still enjoy the memories we made with Dad. That was my best vacation ever.

Dear Dad,

Dear Dad,

We've all been missing you like crazy.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm in denial or haven't grasped enough yet that you died. I'm not sad, mostly because you're still such a big part of my life. I feel like you're still always around - I'm sure Ryan feels it too since I've still got so much junk of yours around the house and yard.

Every day I think of something that reminds me of you, or something that I'd like to tell you that would make you smile. I want to call you or text you so bad and let you know what's up, or ask you a gardening question. The girls are growing up so fast and doing and saying funny things. They still love princesses and dancing. They love the Barbie House you made. Thanks for saving all those dolls and clothes in there. It was so cool to see all that stuff again after 20 years. I sometimes send Floyd and Rick pictures or videos of the twins which I'm sure you'd be sending on to them anyway.

I'm not really sure how Aubrey is handling things, but Heidi seems to be hit really hard. I wish I could help her get through it easier. We talk a lot about you and things you'd say or do. We laugh and remember the good times. I talked to Grandma a few days ago and she misses you so much. She doesn't want to get out much anymore.

We've been taking the girls to church just about every Sunday. They love going to Nursery and "All the kids, Mama!" They love to learn about Jesus and they love to pray. After every prayer, they say, "AMEN! That's it!" They do that with every prayer in Sacrament Meeting too. It's nice and quiet after a prayer and you can hear them saying "That's it!" Too funny!

I'd love to call you and chat about McBride genealogy. I've got a few people I've met online that are related from way back in the family line. We've been exchanging pictures and stories and information. It's been really great. The new Church genealogy site new.familysearch.org has also been really cool. It tells you whose work isn't done and you can get "dibs" to do it yourself. Like Grandma's parents aren't done, so that will be cool to get that done eventually. It makes me want to try harder to get to the temple.

We've got a great new ward, much like 9th Ward - it's so easy to go to church every Sunday with all that support. Mom's been a great help to come over before church and help get the girls ready so I can get ready.

I want you to know that I'm so proud of the life you lived, the friendships you forged and maintained, and the example you set for everyone. It was such an honor to be your daughter, even though you could be a pain in the butt sometimes. You said it best yourself, "When I'm in Utah, and I've got at least two daughters mad and not talking to me, I know it's time to go back home."

It's been on my mind fairly constantly that you're up in Heaven preparing another little soul to come to our family. I can't get it out of my mind. Ryan and I have talked about having more kids and I'm feeling like the time might be soon, so STOP WORRYING ABOUT IT!

I love you, Dad.

Empty Milk Glass

I remember being a little kid at the dinner table. We'd help Mom set the table and we'd all sit up to eat. Dad would sit down and Mom would ask what we wanted to drink for dinner.

"MILK!"

Mom would first pour Dad a nice, tall glass of milk. Then she'd turn her back and start pouring smaller glasses for us. As we sat at the table waiting for Mom to sit down, we'd watch Dad tank that glass of milk - gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp.

Mom would be done pouring for us and for herself and walking back to the fridge to put the jug away. Dad would then say, "HEY! I didn't get any!"

Dad's glass always had mysterious streaks of milk inside even though he "didn't get any."


-----

As an adult, I realized how much of a country boy Dad was. He would only ever drink whole milk, and to him that was barely acceptable. He'd be much happier in the mountains laying under a cow and squirting milk from the source. To his city-girl daughter, that seems so unsanitary!

Personal Memory by Mariann

I was just in the kitchen making dinner for my husband: Oven fried Chicken, dipping the chicken pieces in seasoned flour, then in an egg and milk bath, then back into the seasoned flour. I suddenly remembered one day when my Brother Rex had come over to our apartment in Sonora for dinner. He had arrived about 2 hours before dinner, the first time I think he was ever early for anything. We had talked and I started to prepare dinner. Rex was watching and asked if he could do something to help. I had a bunch of things going so I said he could help me with the oven fried chicken. I prepared the seasoned flour in a large bowl, while he sprayed sheet pans with non stick. I whipped the egg and milk mixture in another bowl and showed him how to dip from the flour , shake it off and then onto the sheet pan, telling him when he finished that I would show him the next step. This was the easiest way to do it and the cleanest way I knew.

When he finished, he actually thought he was done, ha. I then showed him step 2 take chicken from sheet pan into the egg and milk mixture with one hand and with the other into the flour again and back onto the sheet pan. I said "... like Karate Kid Movie... wax on, wax off. Egg on with one hand , flour on with the other." He was so serious and tried very hard. Known for His famous 8 finger biscuits, I thought he would have it down in no time. By the time he finished, he was so sticky and gummy, both hands, eight fingers, up all past his wrists, and just a mess. Then he tried to get it off. I was watching and a few moments went by when he said in his high pitched little boy voice, "Its S-T-I-C-K-Y!!!!!!"

He was so funny to watch. He had created a huge gummy mess between the egg milk and flour mixture, I laughed so hard - we both did. That was so fun and such a great memory of Rex!! Just us cooking together, and laughing so hard! Good Times!

Far Side: Boy Scouts

The boxes read "Big Boy Velcro Kit"

I found this Far Side newspaper clipping in a bunch of Dad's old pictures and keepsakes. I'm sure he got quite a chuckle out of this one!

Four Motorcycle Generations

Dad was always proud of the motorcycle pictures and usually had them displayed in our house. I thought I should share.

Rex Howell McBride

1979 - Spencer Avenue

Modesto, California

Gerald Lee McBride

Unknown Year / Location - Auntie Mariann, can you help with that??

Russel Ray McBride

1915 - Near the corn fields, Ohio

I've turned into Rex...

I don't know how many of you are familiar with Dad's habits and the way he did even little things. Dad had so many pill bottles, that he started putting labels on the tops of the containers as shown below. When he came to visit, he'd sometimes ask me to get in his backpack and get him a "C" pill and two "H" pills. It was quite easy to do.

It's funny to me how much I'm realizing that I'm EXACTLY like him. Because this container of medicines is MINE, not Dad's. I found it so much easier to label my prescriptions, vitamins and supplements than looking at the name of each one. Dad was certainly onto something there. I now find myself sometimes asking Ryan to get me an "F" pill or an "M" pill for my headache or back, etc. Quite handy.

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Dad had many uses for bleach.

I remember him telling that sometimes when he couldn't get a shower, he'd take a washcloth and splash a little diluted bleach on it and call that a shower.

Another time, we were driving down to Tombstone Arizona in the brown van which had no air conditioning. It was summertime and quite hot. Dad stopped at a KMart in Lake Havasu AZ to buy some bleach cleaner and a block of ice. We emptied out our ice chest as instructed by Dad. He put the block of ice in the ice chest and poured a little bleach and water in there. He then asked us to give him all the pillow cases. We were confused to say the least. I thought he was starting a load of laundry right there in the van. Fifteen minutes later, we were all wearing our damp bleachy pillow cases around the back of our necks to cool us off. The bleach was to keep everything fairly sanitary since we were all sweating.

So, I've recently had a bout of stubborn Athlete's Foot. I remember Dad had it alot and would always splash a little bleach in the shower after he was done using it. He said it was mostly so he didn't give it to anyone who showered after him. Considerate and strange I guess. But I found myself in my shower, splashing bleach on the shower floor to try to control things a bit. It seemed completely normal to me to have a bleach product in the shower, but Ryan thought it was strange. I had some "Rex-isms" to explain to him.

Dad was certainly adaptable to almost any situation. I find myself in odd situations trying to adapt and I think I'm a better person because of the example he was to me.

More LDS Misson Pics

Rex & His "5" Girls

Grandma told me that Dad always liked this picture. I was quite pregnant with the twins and we knew they were girls. We didn't know their names at the time. Grandma was the one to take this picture. We were on our way to hit a buffet dinner (of course) at Golden Corral and I think it was in honor of Dad's birthday.

Grump-Pa would be ashamed!!

Today for lunch, the girls had macaroni and cheese. Towards the end of the meal, Ady asked for Peas.

"You really want peas??"

"UH-HUH!"

I warmed some up and both girls ate a steaming heap of peas to their little hearts' content.

Their Grump-Pa Rex would be ashamed!!

Mission Photos: Elder Probst

Dad always talked about Jerry Probst. "Elder Probst and I were serving together and ..." "Jerry Probst said to me..." I never new they called him Chip Probst. Interesting. We even went as a family in the early 90's to the Probst home in Utah and hung out with their little family for a day or so. Going through some of Dad's things, I came across some wedding announcements, one from my Uncle Bert, one from Charlie Gay, and one for Jerry Probst and Juliette Evans. Dad told stories of riding his motorcycle from CA to UT for their wedding.

I wish I knew whatever happened to Jerry Probst. I have sent a message to Brecken Probst on Facebook hoping that she might be Jerry's daughter. We'll see.

Letter From a Friend

I journeyed across the California and Nevada deserts today. I thought of my friend and his many trips along the same route, all the different vehicles, his many traveling companions, and the text up dates on his trips. I miss being able to talk with him, his constant texting. Then I think of the great things he’s probably doing, his freedom from pain, I know I don’t need to be sad for him.
Take care my friend, you are missed.

Rick Fairbanks
November 21, 2009

Letter From a Friend

12-22-09

Dear Rachel,

My name is Jim Petersen and I had the opportunity to serve with your Dad in what was then the LDS Hawaii Mission from June 1973 to July 1, 1975. Your Dad started his mission a few months later and I think came with a large group of Elders about August and went out to what was then the LTM in Laie to learn the “new discussions”. Scott Clawson was in that group as was Fred Richards and myself, being seasoned missionaries and knowing about the real world. I was not a companion of your Father, but knew him, probably the best by the love and admiration that Jerry Probst had for him.

Jerry Probst and I served our entire missions together. We met in the mission home in Salt Lake and flew home together on July 1, 1976. I was one of the witnesses in the Salt Lake Temple when Jerry married Julie Evans in August 1976 and your Dad rode his motorcycle to the wedding. Jerry and I were companions for several months and he always spoke with upmost respect for your Father. It was through Jerry that I learned that your Dad was a convert to the Church and the struggle to make a decision to serve a mission. Of how difficult it was for him when a Priesthood Leader who he respected had a spirtual manifestation on the way to General Conference, left the Church and formed his own I think polygamous group. I know, at times, he didn’t receive much support from home and yet remember him bear his Testimony to the truthfulness of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and his love for his family.

I have not spoken with Jerry for several years, but would be glad to share with you and your family everything I know and remember of a time that I deeply cherish. I believe it was around at the fall conference of 2002 that Scott Clawson and I drove to a mission reunion at President Crandall’s home on 852 Legrande in Salt Lake. That evening we went into the basement and watched old slides (that was before videos and power points) and there was a wonderful spirit of a time when we were much younger and were able to spend all our efforts teaching and trying to live the Gospel. Your dad attended and it was the first time I had seen him in close to 20 years. At the end of the evening he said to me and a few others, “this was good for me and something I needed. It reminded of a good time in my life and what is true!” He shared his love for his children and the life he had, even with the challenges.

Last nite a fellow Hawaii missionary, Fred Richards shared your email dated November 5, 2009. I have thought about your Dad, of his love for his family and yours for him. I thought of the Prophet Joseph Smith being taught by the Prophet Moroni of the correct quote from Malachi of turning the hearts of the children to their fathers and know there is a reason you are seeking to know and understand about his life. I thought of the first Christmas after my Father passed away was December 2004 and I appreciated the love and support of your Father and our fellow missionaries. A week before Christmas we had a wonderful mission conference in Laie and all the missionaries from the outside Islands, except for Guam attended. If you see a picture of a large group of missionaries in front of the fountain at the Hawaii Temple, it was at taken early one morning at that conference. I remember it was rather cold (at least for Hawaii) and had just rained. Elder Jerry Probst was one of the Assistants to President Crandall and helped plan Mission Conference. I remember it was a great time and helped me through that first Christmas alone.

It is my hope and prayer that you can know of our love for your Father and the good man he is. It is all of our prayers that you may feel of the Love of both your Heavenly Father, and your Father who as busy using his talents to bless others as he was in this life. May our feelings for Rex McBride, and the good man he is be felt beyond our feeble attempts to describe a wonderful time we served in a wonderful place. Please feel free to contact me at your convenience and have a wonderful Christmas.

Sincerely,

James D. Petersen

"When I Finally Make It Home" by MercyMe

Aubrey suggested this song be added to Dad's blog. I like that it has a double meaning for us 3 daughters. Here are the lyrics and the link for audio here.

Finally Home by MercyMe

i'm gonna wrap my arms around my daddy's neck
and tell him that i've missed him
and tell him all about the man that i became
and hope that it pleased him
there's so much i want to say
there's so much i want you to know.

when i finally make it home,
when i finally make it home.

then i'll gaze upon the throne of the King
frozen in my steps
and all the questions that i swore i would ask
words just won't come yet
so amazed at what i've seen
so much more than this old mind can hold.

when i finally make it home,
when i finally make it home.

and the sweetest sound my ears have yet to hear
voices of angels.

when i finally make it home,
when i finally make it home.