Friday, July 31, 2009
I was writing at the kitchen table tonight and my pen kept skipping so I went to the "pen drawer" and got a new one. The original pen fell on the floor. Someone-who-shall-not-be-named picked it up and saw the other one and said, "You always do this. You get a pen out and then another and another and you have then all over the house."
I smiled and said, "It's nothing to be annoyed about. It's quirky."
Someone-who-shall-not-be-named wants me to be pen-responsible, not quirky.
We are all quirky. I think we should laugh at other's quirkiness. Let's say, "You know how they are," and go on with life. I want someone-who-shall-not-be-named to do that for me. I want that person to laugh and say, "She's done it again," because, let's face it; I'm going to leave pens all over the house.
And that comes back to something I think, and occasionally say out loud: "We can forgive people of almost anything, but not of boring us." That really doesn't fit this blog post perfectly but if I were not quirky I might bore someone-who-shall-not-be-named right to death and that would be tragic.
So I'll quit before, well you know, I bore you more than I already have.
Because, let's face it. You're quirky, like that.
And then I realized that no one in a naked condition should agree to babysit a Rottweiler. Or be in someone else's house. Or even look down. Especially the looking down part. In fact, they should just wrap up on one of Omar's tents and go home. I don't know why I didn't do that, in my dream last night, instead of hanging around, at an embarrassing level to a Rottweiler's cold nose with a Packard convertible limousine, with leather seats. Have you ever sat on a leather seat? Naked? With a Rottweiler right there, all attentive and slobbery?
Some nights it doesn't pay to go to bed.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
This person in space number three is the one you love: I had written Phil.
The song you put in number eight matches the person in number three: Come Share My Life
Number eleven tells you how you feel about life: I couldn't think of any more songs, my mind went totally blank--you can see I'm defending myself before telling you what I put--The Hokey Pokey.
So, there you have it. My personal creed. Charming.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
When she got to their door it was locked. She'd just gone out that door. How'd it get locked? She pounded on the door, calling to her husband to hurry and come and have some delicious breakfast.
Nothing, Not even a whisper of a sound from inside.
More pounding on the door. "Hurry Clark Kent," (not his real name but it fits), "hurry and come to breakfast."
Then she noticed the drapes weren't closed all the way. She cupped her face with her hands and peered into the room. She saw a naked man with a tattoo of a cross on his back. He started tiptoeing to the very door she stood on the other side of.
The Scottish Dreamer was probably an Olympic athlete in her early years as she made it back to the table in one point four seconds--wearing four inch heels, yet. She picked up her fork, looked at the ceiling--as if it were fascinating--and pretended she never left the table. In fact, if she could, she would have grown roots.
I don't know if her husband and son ever made it to breakfast. I don't know if naked-tiptoeing-tattooed man did either.
I could hardly draw a breath for laughter when the Scottish Dreamer looked at me and--with the face of an angel, an innocent angel--said, "This kind of thing happens to me all the time. I don't know why."
I don't know why, either. Maybe it's Karma. Maybe she and Mrs. Bird really are long lost sisters. I'm just grateful for the laughter that saves me from insanity.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
My sister Patricia sang alto. Beautifully. I think she attended church with me today. It must have been her because I could find the alto notes and then, for the last song, they were gone. Naughty sister, didn't even stay around for the closing prayer.
When I get to Heaven I will ask to sing with her. I'll sing the soprano part and I'll bet I will be able to hit the high "E" again, effortlessly. I think we'll sound good together.
I miss her. I hope I can sing alto again.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
I paced the floor and worried. I took my pants off, even the waistband was too much pressure on my back. Then I got cold and huddled under a blanket in the recliner and when Minkey came to sit on my lap I didn't shoo him away. I was nearly incoherent with the pain and the cold and the fear and a cat didn't even register on my annoyance monitor.
- They know that the pot stickers and the sesame chicken and the
noodles are the best food at the Asian Buffet. They know that even without tasting everything.
- They correct you when you tell them the Jell-O is orange and red. They say, "it's orange and dark red," and then you remember that they are the son of your son who would have said the same exact thing at age five.
- Their fortunes already come true. "Express yourself. Don't hold
back!" They talk and talk and talk.
4. They know that Grandma wants to sit by them so they save her a seat.
5. They know what they like.
6. They know "it's just a movie," and they don't want to sit on Grandma's
lap when she's scared and they aren't.
7. They feel safe at home.
8. They know they belong to someone and those someone's can be
trusted. Brothers and sisters can be trusted.
9. When asked what they are going to be when they are grown up they say, "Six." And then they say "seven," and then they say, "eight" and then they say, "nine" and when they get to "twenty three," they say, "I can count to one hundred. And a thousand." And you are glad they just said they know how, and didn't demonstrate.
10. When you say, "So, when you get to be twenty-four and you are grown up what do you want to do? And then they say, "work like my Dad," because they trust their dad and like him.
11. When you say, "What does your dad do?" they haven't a clue but they know that's what they want to do anyway. Be careful, you dad's out there 'cause your son's want to be just like you. Whatever you are. Whatever you do.
12. When you say, "Do you know who you are going to marry? Do you have some cute girl picked out?" They say, "My mom. And she'll have two babies and they will be twins." And then they grin because they know Mom is spoken for and already had eight babies, which might be a lot, even for a Mormon.
Here is Mom, selling handmade soap at the Farmer's Market today.
13. They know who they trust.
14. They know they are loved by Grandma and Grandpa.
15. They know they are smart and have a great future.This is our grandchild. He is five. He has freckles. He has one dimple and he can put his finger right on it, even without a mirror. He is smart and funny and a good boy. We love him. We had a great time with him today.
Happy Birthday, five year old!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
So, this morning, when I opened my message from Tut--you really should subscribe--it's nice to get a positive email every morning--it was soothing. Do you need some soothing this morning? Listen to Tut.
Relax. Breathe in deep. Hold it. Let it out. Loosen your shoulders. Smile. Close your eyes. And Lynne, you'll be surprised at how many voices you'll hear, whispering sweet encouragement into your ear.
Kissey, kissey, you can do it - The Universe
Monday, July 20, 2009
The time will come when you'll see that pretty much everything was better than you thought. That life was more beautiful, people were kinder, greens were greener, and the water was cleaner. But most of all, Lynne, you'll see... that you were simply stunning, every day of your life.
Happily, I've always known the truth - The Universe
This fits. You see, I have been remembering things from my past. People who treated me a bit unkindly and I have been giving them the benefit of the doubt and even realizing that they were occupying a place of hurt--maybe--and so the hurt might have been passed on, maybe even unintentionally.
In fact, those people, who I have had a bit of a hurt from, well, I'm seeing them differently. Kinder. Nicer. Even prettier. Now isn't that nice? Maybe someone will do that for me someday, for all the stupid things I do/did, the unkindness, the uglies.
Here's to selective memory.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
His Mom is so happy. I adore her, she is in one of my critique groups and I am happy to have her in my life on more than one level.
I am somber tonight. Weepy for what is and what isn't. I guess I'll have prayer and go to bed and hope tomorrow the sun will be shining.
And it will. Temperature is supposed to be 104. Yikes.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
And that is why the animal kingdom is hard to understand.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Will we disappoint and leave other's stranded or lonely or dissatisfied? We will. It's almost a certainty. We won't mean to, it will just happen. We may even break their hearts.
That's why forgiveness works. And it must work for everyone to work for anyone. If not, it's the unforgiving one who hurts and hurts.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
I didn't take one stinkin' photo. What is the matter with me? (Don't answer, I don't want to know.)
The people who run the garage sale buy things at other garage sales and refurbish them. They paint most things black, white, red or teal. Really, darling stuff. They hold a garage sale three times a year. The next one will be in October. Watch for it at 56 something something Canyon Road in Provo, Utah. It's almost to the end of Canyon Road, before the Peay Ranch.
I saw a chair I wanted. I sat in it after I tired of waiting for Gilmore Girl. It was comfy. I left it there because I
I did make one purchase. Two purchases. Ten cents each.
I am the last of the big time spenders.
We never did make it to Costco. And Gilmore Girl had to do some creative things with a bungee cord to get her sticking-out-of-the-trunk purchases home. Really cute things. Except there was no darlingest-ever chair.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
First I learned how to unblock my chi--or energy flow: I placed my palms together with fingertips pointing at the ground and rubbed my hands together briskly for one minute. I visualized the negativity leaving my body through my fingertips. Then I swung my arms, letting the "bad energy" go with a flip at the end. I was very energetic.
Second I learned how to say goodbye to the double chin. (Ha! The woman who demo'ed the Japanese secret was 22 years old and didn't have a double chin. But, just in case, I did it anyway.) It involves lymph massage under the chin. So, I ran my thumbs under my chin and all the way to my ear, then massaged the hollow behind my ear and pressed down, sliding my hand down my neck. I did this many times, just in case I could vaguely look like the model they hired to show us how to avoid a double chin. The model that doesn't have a double chin, to begin with.
Then I did my exercises for the neck that I got off the Internet. Holding my face to the sky and chewing. It looks odd but the Internet article said it helps. Then doing the same thing, kissing the air. Phil stopped being spiritual long enough to look at me--one eyebrow raised--but he didn't stop being spiritual long enough to say I was making a fool of myself--for which I am grateful.
Just for good measure I grimaced, while holding my neck tight. I did this for a good long time. I'm a good grimacer.
No one joined us on the lawn swings. Not one neighbor! Isn't that strange? Usually we are awash in neighbors. We sometimes have all four lawnswings filled. But tonight? Not even one.
They must have been busy. All of them. Busy.
I didn't tell them that when I got to Carol's house--where the critique group was held--that I realized my shirt was on BACKWARDS and that I had to stand in the living room and take my arms out of my shirt and turn it around, before going into the kitchen, where everybody was.
Yes, my protagonist and I are one and the same. Maybe I should just call us Klutz and be done with it.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Sometimes I'm like that too. I hibernate in the house and only come out for a breath of fresh air and then go back into hibernation. I can see how people can become housebound. It takes work to be sane, doesn't it?
Monday, July 6, 2009
Tonight Gilmore Girl said, "Do you remember the Christmas I called you to see if you got a Pound Puppy and YOU WERE STILL IN BED?" They go way back and have lots of good memories.
We laughed and took pictures of each other.
* This woman and I have been through some tough times together. She is always laughing. When she calls and I don't tell Phil who is on the phone he always knows. How does he know? Because I laugh almost the whole time I am on the phone.
**She manages a "Massage Envy" in California--with about 45 massage therapists--and only gets home to Utah about once a year. It's been years since we've seen her. Her mom keeps us posted on her comings and goings and always there are fond memories of the two of them growing up together.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
This incident happened when her husband was our Bishop. The Bishop watches over the whole ward. They council the members, they "run" the ward, and they take a very active role in the lives of the youth. He had been called to one of the members homes--they had a rebellious teenager and the Bishop took something to get it out of the house. That sets up the story.
Mrs. Bird got in the car to run some errands. On the passenger seat of the car was a paper bag with the top folded down several times. Mrs. Bird didn't think anything about it until someone ran a red light. She hit the brakes and the paper bag went flying onto the floor. After she gathered her wits and got in the parking lot of the grocery she picked up the bag and opened it. Inside was a recipe book. "How to make Hashish brownies," she read. Hum, she thought. I wonder if that's a health food? And I wonder whose recipe book this is? Maybe my husband wants me to start baking and he bought me this book as a surprise. She put the recipe book back when she noticed something glittery in the bottom of the bag.
She pulled out a necklace with a little pipe-looking thing on it. Hum, she thought again, this is kind of cute. So, like a true blond she put it around her neck and went into the grocery store. She went back to the meat counter to order something and the butcher looked at her like she had a wart on her face.
"What on earth do you have around your neck," he asked.
"Oh, isn't that cute. It's a little necklace of some kind." She picked it off her chest and played with it.
"Do you KNOW what it's for?"
"What do you mean, 'what it's for?'."she asked. " It's just a cute little necklace. I found it in a bag in my husband's car. There was a recipe book in there too, one of the recipes was for Hashish Brownies. I wonder if they sell Hashish here."
The butcher shook his head. He knew Mrs. Bird and he knew her husband was a bishop and he had already put two and two together and got four.
"You're wearing a 'pot pipe,' and no, Albertson's doesn't sell hashish," he said, laughing behind his hand. "Oh...ha ha ha. No Albertson's doesn't sell...ha ha ha...oh, dear," he said. "You're wearing...ha ha ha...a pot pipe."
"A pot pipe? What's a pot pipe?"
Now this happened in the early 80's. You'd think Mrs. Bird would recognize the words, "pot" or "hashish." But, no, not Mrs. Bird.
So, the very amused butcher explained to Mrs. Bird all about pot--and hashish--and making brownies and he probably explained other things to her as well. When he was finished she was mad. Mad as a wet hen. She got into the car and drove to her husband's office.
"Hi, honey," he said when he saw her.
"Don't you 'hi honey' me," she said. "What are you doing with a pot pipe," she picked it up and waggled it in his face, "and a cookbook telling how to make brownies with...with..." by now she was so upset she could hardly talk. "And I wore this into Albertson's, thinking it was cute, and the butcher had to tell me it was a...a....pot pipe!'
He started to laugh. With Mrs. Bird for a wife he spends a great deal of time laughing. He laughed so hard he could hardly breathe. He bent forward, putting his hands on his knees. "You wore it into Albertson's?" he wheezed. He wiped his eyes. The harder he laughed the madder she got.
"Honey," he said, when he could finally breather. "It doesn't belong to me. It belongs to a teenage boy in our ward. He's having some problems. I can't tell you who it is but I've had a good talk with him and with his parents and, well...." He took the necklace with the pot pipe off of her neck. "Let's just throw this away, shall we?"
Then he kissed her on the cheek and walked her to the car. He said he had some work to do.
Then she said things like, "Oh how silly of me, I should have known you wouldn't have a pot pipe. I have errands to run so I'll see you at home, later. There won't be any warm brownies waiting for you, though." She smiled and handed him the bag with the recipe book and he threw it in the garbage can at the side of the office.
She started the car and he leaned in the window and gave her a kiss. She put the car into gear and as she drove away she looked in the rear window and saw her husband, laughing his head off.
They say laughter is the best medicine. Mrs. Bird does what she can to keep her husband healthy. He should live to be a hundred.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
This was my favorite part. Maybe because it was chilly this morning and if you stood close to the balloon you were warmed. The power of the burn and then the lift off were exciting.
Next year I want the grandchildren to go.
And all my friends.
And the neighbors.
Happy 4th of July to the country I love.