The Brigham City Project

This morning, we were able to assemble with members from the Stake to work on the restoration of Brigham City. I was more than excited to get in on this because I love anything historical. Restoring a pioneer community? Sign me up!

While I was cleaning out excess mud from between the sandstone walls we had made, I had a chance to talk to President Gene Hancock about his interest in the Brigham City Restoration.  He said it started about 20 years ago.  They’d tried to get the project off the ground by funding it through bake sales and the like.  It didn’t get them far, and soon President Hancock got discouraged.  A few years ago, the project resurfaced on account of his acquiring the lease to the land from the city (water right included -huzzah!), and things are really moving forward.  Want to meet him?

He’s a busy man. And though I could have snapped a picture while we were mucking mud out of the walls, I didn’t exactly feel like getting mud all over my cell phone. I also just wanted to finish mucking. I gotta say: it’s a little addicting.

About a year ago, I took my little flock of Beehives to a museum in downtown Winslow, AZ. I snapped a few pictures of the inside and then went home and googled around. Whilst googling, I stumbled onto THIS SITE about the Brigham City Restoration.
If you’ll click on that link, you can read more about the project and see a few more (and better) pictures.  Here’s a small excerpt taken from the website about the history:

“In January, 1876, Brigham Young summoned to Salt Lake City four brethren to lead missionary parties into the Little Colorado River area which had been explored by Mormon scout Jacob Hamblin during the the 1850’s and 1860’s where he frequently visited the Hopi and Navajo Indians as a Church missionary. Brigham Young instructed his four captains to assemble a new generation of pioneers to settle in Arizona Territory (A.T.). This group of missionaries, 300 souls divided into four companies, was perhaps the last of the self-sufficient American pioneers to seek new homes in an unsettled territory of this nation.

These hardy missionaries left Utah for the Sunset Crossing of the Little Colorado River to plant their faith in a new land. Jessie O. Ballinger and his initial company of 35 men, some with their families, together with the other three companies captained by Lot Smith, George Lake, and William Allen, set out in February of 1876 and arrived at their new home sites the following spring. This became the first LDS Church Stake in Arizona and was called the “Little Colorado Stake” which was the 21st Stake of the Church.

Although Brigham City (Ballinger’s Camp) is the principal subject of this restoration, the stories of Obed (Lake’s Camp), Sunset (Smith’s Camp), and Joseph City (Allen’s Camp) are mentioned because the histories of the four settlements are inseparable.

Brigham City, a fortified Mormon settlement on the Little Colorado River near the City of Winslow, Navajo County, Arizona was established iln 1876 as a United Order community and abandoned by the Church in 1881. In June of 1878, the site was placed on the National Register of Historic Places. The site is culturally, historically, and architecturally significant and has great potential for interpretation an public visitation.”

There was a crew of people building:

And a crew of people building:

And a crew of people building:
(my son was trying to take my phone away from me while I was taking pictures. That’s why these pictures aren’t the best. As my son would say, “I’m leally sowwy.”)

There was also a crew of people burning, but I forgot to take a picture of them.  Again, leally sowwy.

This one belongs to me:

So do these ones:
My son spent about 30 minutes crying because I wouldn’t hold him. In my defense, I DID hold him. But after awhile, I just couldn’t anymore. When he wouldn’t stop crying, we finally put him in the beautiful lookout point of the fort and let him cry away.
That part of the fort was built 20 years ago -it was meticulously done. There was perfectly crafted small windows that were replicas of what used to be there 130 years ago.
Here’s a wall that the pioneer built over 130 years ago. It’s still standing! Can you believe that? They made it using sandstone and mud. As in: mud from the ground they walked on.
This is all amazing unto me.
Their lives were so completely different from ours.
It’s surreal to walk where they walked. It’s even more surreal to watch big tractors haul rocks, dirt, and logs around. I bet the pioneers would have killed their fattest calf for a tractor.
Their three fattest calves, actually.
That port-a-john has nothing to do with history. Disregard.
They sent us on our way after lunch:
We feasted on hot dogs and Robert Pugh’s Potatoes. Anyone who understands the beauty of Robert Pugh’s Potatoes also needs to know that on JULY 23rd, we’re going at this again. And even if you’re only in it for the potatoes, it will be well worth it.

When Two Isn’t So Terrible

Between all the stubborn screaming and the tantrum throwing, I get glimpses of my REAL son.  I imagine the teenage years will be something like this -a shroud of hormones cloaking my REAL child.  I’ll burst through that shroud now and then, I know.  That’s what will keep me holding on.  Of course, I could be wrong.  The teenage years could be a breeze.  Of course, I could be right.  Only time will tell.

For now, I’m going to soak up every gosh darn minute of his “real” self.  Even if it crawls out of bed and onto me around midnight while I make roses out of pages from a dictionary.Photobucket

Moments like that energize me -recharge me. Today will be better because of it. It’s given me the push I needed to step out of my Overwrought Mommy Cloak and let my kids see the real me.
Here’s to a day of eating hot dogs, playing on the floor, and singing the chorus to Banana Phone over and over because we can’t always remember all the lyrics.

My Would-Be Easter Report

Due to a missing camera cord, you’re getting a few unrelated smatterings from my life instead of a cutesty Easter post.
HOWEVER, my picture-taking, gardening, jewelry-making aunt wrote a post I highly suggest you check out.
I’ll put a link to it right after I post a couple stolen pictures from it.

We had our Easter Egg hunt in her backyard, which used to be my great-grandma’s backyard. She was never able to do much of anything with it, but Aunt Cat has transformed that piece of property into a SLICE of Heaven.

That’s my boy in the blue. He goes after candy like a blood hound.

There’s Lacy with her Grandpa. I’ve seen this somewhere before. Where was it? Where was it?

Oh yeah. It was 2009.
Check out the way this plays out. Grandpa starts out in the lead, then Lacy takes it.

By the end of the hunt, Grandpa was carrying her basket and she was barking out orders.

But back to 2011:

And back to 2009:

I love that picture. I love that boy.  Can I have another?  Please?  And will he let me drag him through irrigation water like that one did?

Alright, you’ve earned the link to cat’s blog.


And yes, that is my husband worm-hunting.  I didn’t steal that picture… I’ll let you seek it out.


yesterday I found my son sitting on the counter eating out of the sugar bowl with a giant spoon.  Turns out he took well-meaning advice from Mary Poppins too literally (buh dum dum).

I ate a cookie for breakfast and then died after only 15 minutes of yoga.  They call me “Idiot” down at the office.

I’m ridiculously excited about making a list and menu today.  Food planning has become a sort of tiny thrill for me.  Is that sad?  Or is it  capital?  Does it mean I’m losing the luster of life?  Or does it mean I’m getting better at managing a household?  Am I reading too much into my own emotions?  And is over-analyzing always bad?

Do you know where my camera cord, Elmer’s glue, and stamina went?

Did I mention that there was frosting on the cookie I ate for breakfast?  There was.  Fail.

I feel really strange smiling and laughing and going on with life while storms are ripping through the South.  I somehow wish the world would stop for those who’s hearts are aching.

I watched a witty chicky movie last night.  And I must say: there’s nothing better than witty dialogue.  The movie wasn’t all that great overall, but the dialogue was so satisfying that I went to bed completely content with life and slept like a baby.  Sometimes (usually when I turn the radio on) I get down and blue listening to the downfall of wit.  I start to believe that wit is losing it’s place of honor among the children of men.  At times like that, I go home and watch something old -usually The Philadelphia Story -and drink a hot beverage to comfort my sad soul.  HOWEVER, I’ve gone so long watching old movies and not watching modern-ish movies that I was shocked when there was makings out and… stuff… between the couples.  In those old movies, the couples rarely kissed unless they were ENGAGED.  Which brings me to my next point: I’d like to launch a full-fledged return to that idea.  My daughter is much too pretty, and I see no other way to handle life than to make sure she has no kissing or contact with boys until she’s engaged to one.  Okay, fine.  I guess I could try the whole “trusting her” thing.  But maybe … could I make that the fall back plan?  No, no.  Forget I asked.  Forget it.

Has anyone else in town decided that our post master is the best post master in the world, yea perhaps the universe?

Looking for Mother’s Day ideas?  You’re going to want to check this link:


My mother’s day gifts are in the works as we speak.  I can’t wait to share them with you… but my mom reads my blog.  But I still can’t wait.

I miss my friends. This week, I’ve had a hankering to sit and talk with ALL of my close out-of-town friends.  Enter: letter writing.  I’ll be mailing some off tomorrow.

I want a housedress.

I love the length.

I also secretly want perfect 40’s hair.


As long as I’m hoping for the impossible, I’d also like my kids to stop fighting. If you’ll excuse me: they’re running with scissors.


Technically, I got nine hours of sleep last night. Nine hours. NINE. If you don’t count the fact that I was awakened 5 times by the same girl for the same thing.
A drink of water.
I had given her a drink before she went to bed, so I didn’t see what the deal was. I tried ignoring her so she’d go back to sleep (I’m such a good mom), but I started having dreams about an animal whimpering in pain. I’d open my eyes to realize it was my daughter, whimpering for attention.

The fourth time I got up, I made sure she knew that I WAS NOT getting up again.
So she hopped in bed with me. She brought her pillow and blanket with her, and had a hard time getting comfortable. She adjusted.


So I threw her out. I didn’t literally throw her out. I just ordered her out of my bed and out of my room. I mean, at that point it was 2 AM! I had been in bed for four hours and had been woken up 5 times!

Last night: I had just put the kids to bed and my husband and I were watching some comedy TV before turning in. We kept the volume turned down, but my son still wanted to join in the fun. He wandered into the living room.
“I waked up,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Go back to bed,” I cooed.
“I alweady did,” he shrugged. The “technically” was implied.
Bedtime? Check. Don’t need to do that again.

So I did sleep last night, but it doesn’t feel like it. I need something to jump start my day -something to make me feel awake. Because at this point, all I really want is for someone to tell me to go back to my own bed.
I might as well soak in the tub while I can.
The childrens are still sleeping -the lucky ducks.

Walkin’ ‘Round in a Haze

I’m feeling better today, thanks for asking.
This is run-down of yesterday.

Stream old movie.

Get up, blow nose, pick up Easter grass and foil wrapper, eat Easter candy, collapse onto couch.
Stream old movie.

Spoiler alert: those two don’t end up together. Bloody maddening. They should put warnings on the movie labels about these kinds of things! Warning: couple does not end up together. Watch at your own risk of severe disappointment.

Get up, blow nose, throw away mountain of Kleenex, wash couch cushion where Trent has smashed the insides of his Cadburry Cream egg into the fabric and make a mental note NOT to tell my husband about it on account of his having cleaned the entire couch with upholstery cleaner Sunday morning because Trent dumped a cup of bubble solutions on it (did I lose you there?), look for my husband’s wallet, found husband’s wallet, pick up toys, pull the children out of the bathroom, eat Easter candy, collapse on the couch.

Stream old movie.

Old movies have a way of inspiring my style. In the middle of that movie, I got up, blew my nose, and then went to get ready for the day. At 4 pm. Really, the movie didn’t have me riveted to the couch. I had folded all of our clean laundry while I watched it and I thought I probably should get up and try to look somewhat decent before my husband got home.

I went into my room, pulled out a pair of jeans and then chopped the bottoms of them off. There was a huge hole in the left knee and the bottoms were all but completely mangled. So I made them into cut-off knee length shorts. Then I put my hair in a high pony tail and slapped some make-up on. I also threw a pink cardigan on to sort of detract from the unhemmedness (not a word) of my pants. Then I put some real flowers in my hair. The Easter bunny brought me a bouquet of beautiful spring flowers, and I popped a few in my hair.
Then I thought the least I could do was put some kind of dinner together.
So, naturally, I collapsed on the couch again.

An hour later, after the movie finished I got up and started frying bacon. I had decided BLTs would be easy enough to make for dinner. We had a few leftover boiled Easter eggs, and I knew we had some potatoes so I googled “best ever potato salad recipe” and came up with


A couple hours later, I put the spread on the table. I was actually pretty proud of myself. After a sick day -and I still didn’t feel well -I had put together a pretty good dinner. There was a bowl full of homemade potato salad, there was a plate spread with cut-up honey dew melon on one side and sliced cucumbers on the other with a small pile of cut-up strawberries in the middle, and then there was a plate full of sandwich squares.
I called everyone into dinner and a few MINUTES later I took this picture:

It felt like a warm hug.
(That was sarcasm.)

Sunday I felt much the same. Don’t get me wrong: I love my life. I love my jobs. I love cooking! I love sewing! I love homemaking! I don’t love cleaning! But you already knew that…

Anyway, I sat across from my mother at my grandmother’s Easter dinner. I was exhausted. The past few nights, I’d only gotten a few hours sleep and mothering had kept me on my toes all day Sunday. Because I know my mother is kind and won’t judge and won’t give me a sermon if my faith in mothering slips a little now and then… I asked her, “Was Sunday ever really a day of rest for you?”
“No,” she chuckled, “Not at all.”
I was glad to know I wasn’t alone.
“Do you want to know the secret?” She continued.
“There’s a secret?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued.
“Excedrin PM,” she winked.

Needlepoint worthy!
Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a miniature mountain range made out of sugar on my breakfast table.
I love my job. s.

(Thanks, Great JuJu for the pictures!)

So Many Choices

What do I blog about today?  Easter morning?  Easter luncheon at Grandma’s?  Grandma’s Grand Traditional Easter Egg Hunt?  The unplanned nightcrawlers hunt that happened afterward?  Grandpa’s 80th birthday?

Truth be told, Grandpa doesn’t care much about birthdays (maybe he doesn’t care much FOR birthdays).  My ten year old cousin, Leigh, made him a beautiful bundt cake (! can you believe it?!  She’s 10!) and we all ate most of it before he even got home from the prison where he helps out with Sunday Services.

When he finally did come home, he quickly changed into his work coveralls because he had irrigation water that needed checking.  When he walked into the Easter Egg Hunt, we all sang “Happy Birthday” to him and then grandma asked him if he’d gotten anything to eat.

“I stole a slice of ham and a biscuit, and I drank some juice,” he said.

“Did you get enough? Do you want some candy?” Grandma held out a small bag full of mini Hershey bars that kids had turned into her for $1 a piece.  Grandma pulled a handful out and gave them to Grandpa, “They’re the good kind,” she finished.  He thanked her with a smile on his face.

I stood by the side and soaked it all in -grateful for both of them and the love they’ve always shown for each other. They never show it by way of physical touch (I’ve seen them kiss once though!  Grandpa surprised Grandma while she was washing dishes and laid one on her and it made her blush) -they’ve always shown it by the way they treat each other.  They make sure the other is always taken care of.  I’m grateful they’ve worked hard together.  I’m grateful that they’ve stayed together.  I’m grateful that Grandpa will give me organ lessons.  I’m grateful that he watches Lawrence Welk.  I’m grateful that grandma watches basketball games and my husband can join her.  I’m grateful that grandma always buys my husband’s favorite flavor of ice cream for him.  I’m grateful for the examples they are to me and for absolutely everything they’ve taught me.  They are -both of them -bottomless wells of information.

This picture isn’t the best, but only because I snuck it in yesterday.  Grandma’s holding a bag full of chocolate and Grandpa has some in his hands.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa.  We all love you and grandma more than you know.


(Easter report to come. I woke up with a nasty head cold, so my brain is only sorta functioning.)

Lacyisms and Her Easter Dress(es)

“Mom, can I PLEASE make dinner?!  I’ll be REALLY careful with the oven!”


“Here Trent… you hold to the iron rod and I’ll say the opening prayer.”

“I’m so lucky because I love my mom SO much!”

(That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear after hearing the toilet flush, and sure enough she had caused a small flood in the bathroom, but she was forgiven the minute I stepped on the scene.)

“Would you mind?” She asked, handing me “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” because she wanted me to read Chapter Three.
(This still kills me. No four year old talks like that! No 40 year old, even! Maybe an 85 year old…)

“Mom, I’m going to get fat like that,” she said, pointing to a picture taken of me when I was big and pregnant with her.
“You are?” I asked.
“Yep! I’m just going to eat and eat and eat until there’s a baby in my belly and then… POP! My belly will just pop out.”
(So THAT’S where babies come from!)

I should also note that as she prayed a few nights ago, she thanked Heavenly Father for the ABC’s -one letter at a time. I’ve got to admit, I’ve never once thought to do that! But I am extremely thankful for the alphabet.

The Easter Bunny used to give me a dress every year, and it was the highlight of the Holiday for me. I looked forward to that more than anything, and I never wanted to take my new dress off. Well, the past few years our funds have run a little low but I always manage to scrape up something in the way of an Easter dress. Her first Easter, we were able to buy an absolutely gorgeous dress. Her second year, I ordered the sweetest dress off  of Ebay.

Her third Easter, we started running out of money for things like Easter dresses, so I haphazardly MADE one from the apron scraps.  I’d been teaching myself how to sew.  The dress worked for Easter day and THAT WAS IT, but it was cute enough and she liked it.

Her fourth Easter, she was able to wear a dress she had worn a few weeks earlier when she played flower girl at my cousin Kimmy’s wedding.

This year, I was a little despondent about the dress situation. Our paycheck, for some reason (*cough* GAS *cough*) wasn’t stretching at all. I found some adorable dresses at Sam’s club, but after we did our shopping (only getting what we needed) there wasn’t any spare money left. I knew she had an adorable dress in her closet that she had outgrown a little. All it needed was a new top made, and I thought I’d refashion it. THEN I remembered that I had three yards of unused pink poly/cotton in my closet. I was going to use them to make a costume for the Founder’s Day parade, and I ended up not being in it. Three yards would easily make a dress for a 4 year old! The only sad part about it was that the color of the fabric wasn’t the prettiest.
Also, I don’t have a pattern of any kind.

But once I get an idea…

VERY homespun. And the rick rack on the front is crooked (very) but only because the waist band is crooked. Also, it barely fits her. Like, it will work for tomorrow and maybe a few Sundays in May. After that, I’m going to have to learn how to put zippers in clothes and modify the dress AGAIN. That dress, by the way, has been altered and altered and altered… but it’s (pretty much) done!
Now if I can only stop tinkering with it… I started it around lunch time and finished it around 11 PM.

Thank goodness for having things on hand! I just wish I was a pro seamstress so she could have a proper froofy spring dress with tulle and ribbon.  But it’s done, and it’s new, and she likes it.

Today I’m going to crochet a small shawl that buttons in the front to go over the top.

Oh, and I’m also finally doing the Easter shopping.  Heaven help me navigate Wal-Mart today!

And No, I’ve Never Eaten Lifebuoy

I paid a visit to my eye doc yesterday.  The reason?  I’ve been having trouble seeing.  Truth be told: I’ve been having trouble seeing since I was nine, and my vision has progressively become worse.  My current prescription is -8 in both eyes.

Yep, I’m THAT blind.

I got glasses in third grade -contacts in 9th.  I haven’t been able to see without help in years.  YEARS.

Two nights ago, I fell asleep at the foot of my bed.  I was laying on my stomach, reading “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” and I crashed.  Next thing I knew, I woke up and my glasses and book had been moved to a safe location (NOT the foot of the bed) and I was asleep where I should be (NOT the foot of the bed).  When my husband woke up, I thanked him for putting my glasses and book in a safe place.  He told me he didn’t know what I was talking about.


It seems like I’m instinctively protective of my sight enablers.  Even if I’m not aware of it, I’m taking care of them.  And I should.  Because they look like normal glasses and NOT like

Thank you, modern technology. THANK YOU!

Anyway, anyway this is all going somewhere.
My vision is as good as I can hope for (thank you modern technology), but I keep seeing weird … almost REFLECTIONS of lights right above the real lights.
For example: when I’m driving through a green light, I see the real green light, and then just above the real green like is a sort of reflections of it. This happens with all kinds of lights! Headlights, marquees, closed captions on television sets… so I finally went to the doctor.
He was stumped. The only explanation he could offer was really sort of complicated. Basically, I’m so blind that the light has to travel through all sorts of CRAP -ahem, my outrageously high prescription lenses, be they glasses or contacts -before it actually hits my natural eye. Somewhere between the natural light and my natural eye, the colors are reflecting, causing me to see (perceive) two.
I don’t understand.
I mean, I DO understand what’s going on, but I don’t understand WHY. WHY would this happen to a good little 25 year old girl who never once used the F dashdashdash word OR had her mouth washed out with Lifebuoy?

Though maybe I should give it a try:

I’m all about daintiness.

Anyway, I’m blind. But at least I can still sort-of see. Mostly.

First Timer

We don’t drink much soda around here. It’s not that we’re trying to take a stance, we just don’t really care for it all that much. Last week we did splurge on a 2-liter of Root Beer because we felt like Root Beer floats, but before that I can’t remember the last time we had soda in the house. We hardly ever have caffeinated sodas.

My son, Trenton, has never had a notable amount of caffeine … until yesterday. He’s been TWO lately. And I’ve done whatever I can to simply keep my head up the past few days. When I was asked to help drive some youth to the next town over, I left my son with someone else. They were holding a fountain drink, which they told me was vanilla pepsi. Trenton asked for some.
“Can he have some?” the sitter asked.
“At this point, just do whatever it takes to keep him happy,” I said, and rushed on my way.
When I came back, I found that he had thrown back most of that soda.
Last night, my son was bursting with energy the likes of which have never been seen coming from him.
I caught him on camera. cutting paper. and laughing. eeeeevily.
“STUPID!” He would say. Then clip. Then laugh.

Note to self: he doesn’t hold his sodas well.

The Wonderful

Through a series of fortunate events yesterday, I now own:


This is very important. Very important. First of all, it was printed in 1962 and used all of the original illustrations from the first edition (which was printed in 1900). Second, it was written by L. Frank Baum who I respect for his tenacity to follow his day dreams. Third, it smells like an old book.

Have you ever seen L. Frank Baum?

I don’t think I could have married him. First of all, we would have day dreamed ourselves into bankruptcy (which he almost managed to do on his own several times -even after The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was published). Second of all, he hopped from place to place and job to job. It would have driven me stack-raving mad.
He probably would have used my insanity as fodder for a best-seller, but that’s beside the point.

The point is that I admire the man. He always kept going despite monster-sized road blocks. He even went so far as to publish The Wonderful Wizard of Oz himself. Can you believe that? No one would publish his book, so he published it himself.

I also can’t help but admire him for his unwavering loyalty and devotion to his wife, evidenced here:
He dedicated his book to her.
It’s also rumored that after the book succeeded in sales, he bought her an Emerald Ring. I chose to believe -beyond a shadow of a doubt -that rumor is true.

Her name was Maud. Maud Gage. Maud Gage Baum.
Four letters in every name -how wonderful! They also had four sons.

L. Frank Baum (Lyman Frank Baum, but he hated the name Lyman) wrote in introduction to his book. He called it a Wonder Story, something of a modern fairy tale. But unlike the Fairy Tales of Grimm, it was devoid of all nightmarishness. That, by the way, isn’t a word.

Read what he says here:

“It aspires to be a modernized fairy tale in which the wonderment and joy are retained and the heartache and nightmares are left out.”

That one sentence completely sums up my feelings about my online web-log (my blog).  Except there’s something antiquated about the notion of a fairy-tale in the world we live in today.  You have to live above the muck, you know, to actually believe it can happen.  For myself, I reside comfortably in the clouds.  As I read back on my blog (which I do quite often) I never remember the tears I’ve had, the sleepless nights of worry, fear, or lost hopes.  I don’t remember the pain, the sorrow, the heartaches.  That is to say: I don’t remember them AS WELL.  With every passing reading, I forget the heartaches more and more.  If everything goes as planned, my children won’t recall them at all.

I do remember the joys, the laughter, the happiness, and the hilarity of my children.

And so we live, day-by-day, in our own little Wonder Story, full of joy and happiness without nightmares.

We have nothing to fear here in the clouds.
(scripture time on Daddy’s iPod. Scripturing has never been so cool. Esther on a touch screen!)

A quote:
“As they passed the rows of houses they saw through the open doors that men were sweeping and dusting and washing dishes, while the women sat around in groups, gossiping and laughing.

What has happened?’ the Scarecrow asked a sad-looking man with a bushy beard, who wore an apron and was wheeling a baby carriage along the sidewalk.

Why, we’ve had a revolution, your Majesty — as you ought to know very well,’ replied the man; ‘and since you went away the women have been running things to suit themselves. I’m glad you have decided to come back and restore order, for doing housework and minding the children is wearing out the strength of every man in the Emerald City.’

Hm!’ said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. ‘If it is such hard work as you say, how did the women manage it so easily?’

I really do not know,’ replied the man, with a deep sigh. ‘Perhaps the women are made of cast-iron.”
— L. Frank Baum (The Marvelous Land of Oz)