Thursday, October 25, 2007


How can anyone remember all the passwords we are supposed to remember to navigate the Internet? I just tried to leave a comment on my son's blog--it was about his son's Pine Wood Derby car. The blog sign-in-spot said I had the wrong password. So I found the email that was sent to me when I first left a comment and copied and pasted the password. Nope, wrong password, it said. So I requested a new one. It came. I copied and pasted it. Nope, wrong password. So, not only can I not remember my password but neither can the site that sent it to me.

I have a password for e-bay, one for PayPal, one for Amazon, a bunch for banking, and when I set the bank ones up I did it in such a frenzy that I'll never remember them again. I won't check my balance online anyway, it scares me that some hacker will do his/her thing and then my account will be zero. I have a password for this blog and I usually can remember it but my user name is a stickler. I try one or two and finally stumble on the right one.

How do people remember all this stuff?

And why do sites that you aren't going to spend money on require a password? I went to a recipe site once that wanted me to sign in with a password. No thanks. I don't need to know how to cook/bake/saute/chop/slice/etc. that bad. I'll go somewhere else to look up recipes that I'm never going to use anyway. It's a hobby, not a life skill I'm going to actually learn. Except for Pioneer Woman's blog. I might actually try something she makes some day. Her photos are pretty amazing.

And just in case Trent checks my blog some day here's what I wanted to say: I can't wait to see the non-winning Pine Wood Derby car. I'll bet it looks great and your number-one-son is a winner, no matter when his car crossed the finish line. I'll see it Saturday when your cute little wife goes to play with us ALL DAY. Happy tending!


PS Elizabeth says the flower holder you bought for me at Swiss Days is an insense burner. Who knew? I love it anyway. And you.

Monday, October 8, 2007


My life is crazy for a person who does nothing. Perhaps I'm so busy doing nothing that I can't figure out how to do something because there is no time--because I'm doing nothing.

There are about three or four books I'm trying to read. I already have about ten scattered around, in various stages of beginning, hardly any are in the middle and none toward the end. I have a couple of friends who want to start reading The Artist's Way and report how we're doing via email. Now I have a copy of this book somewhere--I just can't find it. So, I guess I'll have to order a new copy. And try to find time to do the assignments.

I try to read the Book of Mormon every day and want to start reading Don't Sweat the Small Stuff in Love with Phil a couple of times a week. There are some good ideas in there for marriage. I'm seriously thinking that the book would be a good wedding gift.

I also ordered magazine subscriptions when Amazon had $10 off of two. Why I didn't order at least one for my husband I don't know. So now I will have two magazines a month to read too.

Plus all my church work--including getting our Christmas Enrichment program figured out. It is going to be on December 4th. It's already October 8th--that seems like a lot of time doesn't it? Not so. And I have to give a lesson in Relief Society on November 4th. What on earth am I going to give it on?

In the meantime I write one personal history story each week and something for my writer's group every two weeks, go to a Book of Mormon class every week and there is always a free class I want to go to now and then.

I'd like to clean house and cook dinner every day but honestly, there is no time.

And, suprise, suprise, I really like to go to lunch at least once a week.

Shopping is nice too. It's better to go with a friend. They can find good stuff you miss and that's fun. Expensive if you decide it's something you can't live without, but fun. And then we go out to lunch after--again, so that's lunch out a couple of times a week. Hopefully.

I have decided that the married girls--my daughter, my daughters-in-law and one of their sisters want to do a Girls Day Out once a month. Now that is something really worthwhile. I've got to schedule that in.

So, what's the answer. Simplify. I'm sure that's it. And that would mean decluttering my house which means housework, which I don't have time to do because I'm too busy. Probably doing nothing.

Saturday, October 6, 2007


Today was the first day of the two day LDS General Conference—my favorite weekend of the year. Well, since we have General Conference twice a year I have two favorite weekends.

When Elder Worthland got up to talk it took a long time for him to come to the podium. He is about ninety years old, I think. He’s a small man with generous ears and has a generous spirit too. Today his body decided to do something weird while he spoke. I’ll bet it was because of feeble knees. His body looked like he was doing mini-bounces on a mini-trampoline. He never stopped giving his talk. I’ll have to wait until the Ensign (Church magazine) comes out with the talks in it because I was so concerned that he was going to fall over I forgot to listen. He made it through, all right. Never even paused. Now that’s courage and determination. What a great example.

Which brings me to some inner dialogue:

“Well, what would you have done?” says I.

“I would have apologized and said something like, ‘oh, excuse me, my old knees have decided they need to sit down, so I think I will. Read my talk in the Ensign,’” says me.

“That would be the coward’s way out,” says I.

“Well, since when have you ever seen the word, ‘Courageous,’ blazed on my forehead?” says me.

“You don’t think you have courage?” says I.

“No, do you?” says me.

“Well, since you and me (or me and I) are the same person, I’d have to say yes,” says I.

“Really,” says me.

“Really,” says I.

“Give me just one example,” says me.

“Okay, in heaven, before you came to earth, you said you’d love to be the mother of five children. That’s pretty courageous,” says I.

“Most everybody volunteers for that,” says me.

“Yes, and you don’t think that is courageous?” says I.

I think about this for a while. I think about the fear of childbirth. I remember saying to the nurse during one birth, “I’m going to die,” and believing it. I remember the nights I walked the floor with a child with a fever, croup, and teething babies, children who wet the bed or were afraid of the dark or insisted on “just one more story.” The countless meals I’ve cooked, the clothes I’ve washed. The figure that gained more pounds with each pregnancy and having to buy clothes in the “fat store.” Nothing takes more courage than having to walk in there and admit you can’t shop in normal stores. The teenage angst I’ve lived through. The watching out the window for the car lights that came home way too late that sometimes didn’t come home at all. The babies that came too soon and having some cretin doctor call them a fetus instead of a baby. The tears I shed for that life I wouldn’t get to share—three times I grieved over lost babies. The worry that children will do something incredibly stupid and will have to live with the consequences of it all their lives.

“I guess that’s courageous—to have children,” says me.

“Yes it is. So is standing at the podium, at age ninety and speaking to millions of Latter Day Saints. We all are courageous. Some of us are courageous by just getting out of bed instead of staying there, where it’s safe. We all have different things to deal with. Your friend is in the hospital tonight, her future uncertain--she is courageous. A lovely courageous woman. Another friend, who seemingly has it all, will have her time to be courageous. It comes to everyone. Don’t discount anyone. Don’t discount yourself.”

“It’s easy to discount yourself,” says me.

“Well, it doesn’t make God happy,” says I. “Give yourself a break and give God some credit. He made Elder Worthland, courageous man that he is, and he made you too. Do the best you can and go on to the next thing,” says I.

“What will the next thing be?” asks me.

“Aah, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? It’s a surprise,” says I.

“Not all surprises are good,” says me.

“And they’re not all bad, either,” says I. “In fact you will think some of them are bad but they are really good. Wait and see what those bad surprises make of you. Something good,” says I.

“I’d rather not have the bad surprises and just be mediocre,” says me.

“Then you wouldn’t be able to stand next to Father Abraham without feeling like you didn’t earn the privilege,” Says I.

“I do want to be able to stand next to Father Abraham, someday,” says me.

“So, there you have it. Be courageous and look to the future with anticipation,” says I.

“Do I have to?” asks me.

“No, but the future is coming all the same so you might as well be positive about it,” says I.

“Well, I can’t promise anything but I’ll think about it,” says me.

“That’s all I ask,” says I.

And then I’m done with the inner dialogue. I’m going to bed now so I can get up in time to shower and do my hair before the last day of General Conference (until April). It will be good and I will see more courage and hear about courage and hope I will resolve to have courage too.

Thursday, October 4, 2007


I woke up at in the middle of the night last night because someone rang the doorbell. For about thirty seconds I was really frightened. Was it one of my kids, standing on the doorstep, bleeding, with bones sticking out all over, needing me? Was it the police, asking me to take in flood victims because the dam broke and the river bottoms were now under seventeen feet of water? Could it be some weird person, recently escaped from a mental institution, carrying a machete down his pant leg?

It was none of those things. It was the train whistle on the other side of town. In fact, last night the train started giving its warning whistles miles and miles away from town. It was so far away that when it woke me up I had to strain to hear it again. I dare say that no one else on this side of town could hear it at all.

In the summer I can hear people’s air conditioner go on and off way up the street. I can hear the first cricket of the season when his leg muscles are so brand new and feeble he doesn't "crick" yet but just makes "fooshing" noises

So, why is it that when someone whispers to me in church I can’t hear? I have to put my ear so close to their mouth they probably get earwax on their nose. Is it because I don’t want to participate in rudeness while someone else is giving a lesson or speaking in Sacrament meeting by talking? Or do I have selective hearing, attuned to odd stuff, like weed-eaters, in the rain, two blocks over?

Whatever it is, it’s annoying. It’s a handicap. I am both hearing impaired and a hearing genius, but at the wrong time. I want to be able to hear whispers and not hear faint train whistles, especially at 2:00 AM. Of course if I heard someone whisper at 2:00 AM I would really be freaked out so maybe I'll be happy with how things are. If you're up at 2:00 AM, when the train goes by, come on over. I'll be up answering the door anyway.