Westmoreland Asays

After some 40 years of a near continuous presence in Salem/Keizer, mom and dad have left the valley. I thought coming home from Japan to a new house and neighborhood was going to be difficult. But this trumps everyting ; there's now nothing to come home to. It's pointless and self-centered to say that I'm the biggest loser with this move, but I feel abandoned. I'd wager that all of us siblings are upset and or disappointed, but maybe I'm just a poor whiner. No more plucking fresh raspberries and blueberries straight from the vine, no more fancy_friday meals, no more Duck bowl games on big screen tvs, no more McNary ball games, no more Los Arcos (although that's probably a good thing) no more grandma and grandpa for Aaron and Edward, no more refuge in Keizer. Our house is always open for those who still want to visit Oregon. We currently have a spare bedroom with futon, an extra bed in Aaron's room, a big backyard to pitch a tent, and a Sienna in the ga

For the past ten years, I have been searching for one of my baseball gloves. It was a nearly brand new Rawlings infielders gold glove (top-of-the-line for its time)I bought it used from a friend before my senior baseball season had ended, and I was still working it in by the time I left for the Provo MTC. But that was the last I ever saw of it. After returning home from Japan, it took a while to gather all my personal belongings, and the glove was the only major thing I couldn't find. I searched the attic for hours at a time during my school breaks, discovering little things here and there, but always missing the prize. And so it became a long-standing joke that whenever mom and dad were in the attic, I would ask if they found my glove or not. I increased the frequency of my questioning as they drew nearer to moving, because they spent a lot of time up there. But still no luck. I still had my original Rawlings glove, but years of Oregon rain and the countless turning of doub

Megan 's baby brother, Paul , has been called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission (the same Ghana that eliminated the lackluster Americans from the World Cup--double drat). Meg's sister, Sara, conferenced us in while Paul held his press conference from Sherwood; I recorded the call (without anyones permission--please, no one sue me; perhaps the best part of the call is the side-banter between Michael and Meg), so we can all relive the excitement over and over again. Technically, Meg won the guessing game of where Paul would be sent, although Aaron provided the inspiration and Michael provided the names of countries in Africa where the church sends missionaries (remember, I won a national geography award in 7th grade--thanks Witt and Painter). I think it surprised most of us, because the previous three Booren siblings had all served in the US, so we figured Paul would, too. This of course reminded me of my experience opening the big letter from the Office of the First Presi

I spent most of Saturday playing best ball with the Pringle ward at Oak Knoll Golf Course . We all know that I play once a year, but I never let that embarrass me. My long game is usually a lot better than my short game, but I nailed a number of mid-range puts when no one else on our four-man team could, and a couple of my better drives turned out to be the best. It always amazes me how long it takes to play golf; at least six hours had passed before we finished 18 holes (I've always played nine). I feel silly for being tired after playing, but I did the math, and I walked around five miles for the day--so somewhat similar to going on an easy hike in the woods. I still think golf is a game, not a sport . . . I got to stay in bed until 9:00 a.m. on Sunday (although Aaron was crying my name at 4:00 a.m., and I had to spend a few minutes to ease him back to sleep). It's probably been years since I haven't been up before 7:00 a.m., so I greatly appreciated the chance to b

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a craigslist junkie--for buying and selling stuff only, of course. Which might be surprising, because we all grew up buying "new" things (granted, there were far fewer markets for buying used things back then). I've found great deals (none of which was stolen goods, I believe) for good used stuff--my Dell Axim, my DSL wireless router, and my N64 system and sundry games. And I'm guessing this is where I will find a Toyota pickup to buy, should that day ever arise. But anyway, we have never sold anything via craigslist before until yesterday. Meg wanted to sell some of the extra controllers and games we've accumulated from buying used stuff in packaged deals, and she found a want ad for exactly what we had. So she made arrangements for me to meet the person at the 7-11 across the street from my office. Everything in the email correspondances id'd the person as a women. And when I walked into the parking lot, I s

Short but decent article on Schreiner's . It's hard to believe how old these guys look; but I know that I look the same to them. Although Steve always comments that I look exactly the same, before going in to tell all kinds of stories that I have alas forgotten. I watched Ray's son, Ben, pitch against South Salem a couple of months ago. He was fun to watch, had a lot of talent.

The original Megan Asay graduated from McNary High School on Friday, nearly 40 years since our mother did the same. It's sad to think that mom and dad will be gone in three weeks, after so many decades of consistency--we always knew where to find home. Making a trip to Utah just won't feel the same . . . We all met up at Los Arcos in South Salem for celebration dinner and mariachi music. That's their favorite hangout, so I guess it was appropriate. Megan and I prefer to find new places to try, although we do have our own favorite in the Spaghetti Warehouse. Saturday Megan and I met up with some friends who now live in Aumsville. They lived just around the corner from us when we first moved to Salem six years ago. They consider themselves recovering mormons--or pagans, as they like to say. But all things aside, they are nice, fun people. After dinner at the Original Roadhouse, we hit the Firebird Lanes bowling alley for some intense boys vs. girls competiti

I suppose now that a week has passed, it is the fair time to rate our Memorial Day weekend. Meg's Departure Meg and the boys picked me up at the office in Portland on Wednesday, and we spent a couple hours hanging around the old office (technically, I worked in Old Town, but in a few years they will sell that building and all move to the airport). As soon as we left Meg at security, we three boys began our 5+ day adventure without female influence. It all went downhill from there. I lost my ticket to get out of the parking garage; luckily I found my receipt--along with some 19-year old girl's drivers license (don't ask me where that came from), and the lone gate worker took pity on me and let me out. Aaron somehow found solace and sleep in the ride home, but Edward sensed the loss and cried the whole way home. Thanks for the foreshadow, second-born. California Dreamin' Meanwhile, Meg met up with her Sherwood-era friends Shannon (now based in Utah) and Susa