MAD ABOUT TOWN

Yesterday,Pam and I ran to the Creamery on 9th to pick up a bottle of ranch dressing--made by the BYU Creamery--the BEST ranch dressing I have ever tasted. Well worth the drive, unless you're in California or Outer Mongolia, like Gilmore Girl.

While we were there we found this wee lad, abandoned in the pumpkin patch. A very sad lad.

Because he had been replaced in his mother's heart by this orange fellow. Of course that isn't true. She had forgotten her camera and I told her I would post these on my blog but I doubt she remembers my blog name of it so if you recognize them let her know so she can pick up her photos.Then we dashed to J-Dawg for our weekly fix. While there we saw these wasp traps but no wasps are inside. Bees! Bees? Why?Because the bees have found the Mountain Dew and the Pepsi. They seem to prefer the Mountain Dew best. How perplexing for J and his Dawgs. Today, I went on a clandestine drug buy. We cruised by this car. Gilmore Girl rolled down the window and said, "Are you Wendy?" or maybe it was "Kathy." I've blocked it out of my mind. No, it wasn't Wendy-Kathy, it was someone else, waiting for a different clandestine encounter. When Wendy-Kathy DID show up she and Gilmore Girl exchanged merchandise--right out of the trunk--for money.
Okay, it was a yellow swing-thingie for a toddler. But it made a good story for a minute.

Then we went to Cafe Rio. For some reason the thrill is gone. Not as good as it used to be or maybe I'm just a J-Dawg girl now. We did eat outside and that part was nice, kind of. We wiped the table after we ate and our napkin became black. Glad that happened after we ate. Well, maybe not.
Tuesday said, twice or three times, "I want to see Aunt Julie." Aunt Julie is her great aunt--my sister.

After we got home to swing a bit, because the lawn swings were calling and who knows how much longer we are going to have such divine weather--who should drop by? Aunt Julie. Who gave Tuesday some good cuddles.

And then tonight, after Phil and I slept through my newest Netflix movie--I really should be banned--Robin Hood, Men in Tights--don't tell me--you love it--our good friend Shannon dropped by to tell us of her exciting life. We lapped it up because we are boring and she is not. Isn't she cute? And she's available, if anyone knows a forty-ish-fifty-isn dishy man.

And now Phil is watching Good Neighbors and I'm blogging and just getting ready to go blog watching.

See you in the funny papers. Or on your blog, whichever comes first.

SILKEN THREADS

I walked around the neighborhood tonight. I took a thank-you note to my across-the-street neighbor, Cindy, who brought us some Cincinnati chili for our dinner. I'm not failing, Phil is not laid up, she just is a sharer.

Cincinnati chili is a hot meat sauce--no beans--served over spaghetti noodles. Then it can be topped with shredded cheese--that's Cincinnati chili, 3-way. 4-way is topped with cheese and chopped onions. 5-way has hot kidney beans on top of the spaghetti, topped by chili, cheese and onions. Oyster crackers are served with it. We had just the spaghetti and chili--I guess that was the naked version--2-way, and it was fantastic. I can't find her exact recipe on the Internet but will put it on my cookbook site when I do. It's different. Spicy. It even has chocolate and cinnamon in it. I think hot dogs topped with Cincinnati chili would be a serious competitor for J-Dawg.

Okay, back to the "thread" of this post. I was walking around the neighborhood and went to two other houses after Cindy's. At both houses I ran into silken spider threads. At one house I ran into three. Not webs, just single threads. What goes? Were the spiders just taking a late night stroll and it was easier to swing from lamppost to bush or from porch pillar to porch pillar instead of walking? Were they out visiting relatives or were they shopping for dinner?

And--perish the thought--was a spider still attached to one of the threads that I ran into? Did I pick him up as a passenger? Is he crawling up my back this very minute?

I'm closing this post now. I'm going to stand up and slap myself all over until I'm red and sweaty. It will be preferable to feeling eight hairy legs, crawling.

SIX WORDS FOR RESCUED

Rescued at J-Dawg by forgiving husband.

STRANDED AT J-DAWG

My J-Dawg partner in crime, Pam, and I sneaked away today to grab a quick lunch. The problem began when, Dawgs in hand, we were locked out of my car. The keys were in plain sight. What we needed was an octopus-lending business to deliver an octopus to us as the windows were down an inch but there was no way either of us could slither through.

Should I call Phil, who didn't know we were J-Dawging without him? We tried other people first--friends who would only be mildly annoyed we didn't pile them in the car and take them with us. Sadly, no one was home so the faithful--and Dawgless--husband came and rescued us.

I brought him a carton of ice cream from the Health Food store. I presented it to him with hat in hand. Well, if I wore a hat I would have held it in my hand.

I don't know about Phil but I'd rather have had a Dawg.

PS Sadly, a J-Dawg eaten when you have done a stupid thing does not have the immense enjoyment that a J-Dawg on an un-stupid day.

Pam, we will have to do a Dawg rerun.

SIX WORD VISITING TEACHING

Give lesson on way to J-Dawg.

HOW TO DO YOUR VISITING TEACHING

Today Sarah and I did our visiting teaching. We took one of our sisters with her sister and I gave them the lesson on the way. Our destination? J-Dawg. Neither one had been to J-Dawg before and they pronounced it excellent.

Maisel, her sister Kay and the ever vivacious Sarah, whose hair color always surprises me. These girls are the gurus of the shoe fashion world. They are also shopping champions but never buy anything that's not on sale and usually a bargain--sometimes such a bargain that the stores practically pay them to haul away good stuff. The deals these three find is amazing!And the man who makes J-Dawg possible? Here he is. He looks seventeen but he's all of twenty-eight. Says, "I have a family and a mortgage." We are so happy to be supporting him in paying it off.

FOUR TIMES FOUR ANSWERS

This came via email today. If anyone wants to do it on their blog...well, it would be a post and you'd be done for the day. I'm done for the day and it's not even three-thirity in the afternoon. Practically a record for me.

Four, Four, Four, Four...

A) Four places that I go to over and over:

1. Church --The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints--The Mormons

2. Grocery store, Costco, the most, probably or maybe Days Thriftway

3. J-Dawg, for those incredible Polish dogs, or Heaps, for the great salad bar, or Smart Cookie for the yummy lemon cookies with crunchy lemon bits baked right in, or Chuck-A-Rama on Thursday for their Mexican salad, or Dairy Queen, late at night, for those frosty's—do you see a pattern here? Not so good. But, hey, call me and I'll pick you up, and away we'll go. It will be fun. We will visit and eat stuff.

4. My writing/critique groups.

B) Four people who e-mail me (regularly):

1. Pam --who always seems to know exactly what to say to life my spirits.

2. Cheryl--who should blog. She has the most incredibly funny things happen to her or maybe she just looks at life with joy.

3. Terri--who also should blog for the same reason.

4. Gilmore Girl--who doesn't email me so much so she really should blog.

Everyone who thinks all these people should blog raise your hand. The voting appears to be unanimous.

C) Four places I would rather be right now:

1. In the Swiss Alps or maybe Paris. If "right now," then the Alps because Paris would be hot and with all the dog doo problem, that Paris has going on, it wouldn't be pleasant.

2. Back in time to when the kids were little and everything was hectic but not as stressful as now, how I'd love to gather them up on my lap and read to them or sit with them on the lawn swings, eating popcorn and rhubarb and just letting them be silly, entertaining Phil and me.

My favorite lawn swing memory is when Lord Bumhampton was about two or three-years-old and Mom was here. It was time to put him to bed but we were on the lawnswings--the lawnswings were out back, that year. We didn't want to go in so we bathed Lord Bumhampton in a bucket on the patio. He was all blond and slippery-wet and delighted to be bathing in a bucket.

Then we "jammied" him and cuddled him down and stayed out there until way past dark, just talking. The crickets turned on and so did the stars and Mom and I sat in friendly mother-daughterness for a long time while Lord Bumhampton went to sleep in my arms. So if I could go back in time maybe that would be two of my choices, once with the kids and once with my Mom and a sleeping toddler.

3. In New York City for a week with a purse full of money and tickets to everything

4. San Francisco, ditto with that full-purse thing. Or maybe Carmel.

D) Four people I wish I were more like:

1. Jeanne Inouye, for about fifty different reasons, some of which are her grace, her love for everyone, her dignity under difficult situations, her wish to be happy and to share her happiness with others, her work ethic, etc. She is one of those people who you cannot believe is real because she is so perfect and yet she makes you feel like you are just who you should be, even if you're not.

2. Terri, Pam, Cheryl and Gilmore Girl for their insaneness. They laugh--and I laugh more when I am with them--than can be imagined.

3. Eleanor Roosevelt, but prettier.

4. Sarah Barlow. She has the most giving heart. She wants to help others all the time--and does. And Boyd Helquist, who is such a social person and he makes everyone feel they are important in his life. He always walks down to talk to us if he sees we are outside, even if he just has a minute to spend. He's that way with everyone.

E) Four TV shows I watch all the time:

1. "Lost," when it's on--and that's what, 12 to 14 times a year? Big whoop.

2. Cooking shows, I don't know why, it doesn't inspire me to cook. I used to cook. Poor Phil, having a wife who used to cook.

3. That's about it--oh, maybe a movie we get from Net Flix—I order never-heard-of-before-movies, the feel-good kind and Phil thinks are lame--the latest one was DEAR FRANKIE, which I loved and he slept through. He has put EVERY SINGLE EPISODE OF 24 on our Queue so I won't be watching TV anymore at all! He thinks Jack Bower is real. Don't tell anyone, it's embarrassing.

4. Oh, wait, "Everybody Loves Raymond," I watch over Phil’s shoulder after he watches the news. I, of course, am on the computer. Blogging, probably, or perhaps waiting for the Muse.

PRICES GOING UP ALL OVER AMERICA--EVEN AT J-DAWG!

The price of gasoline is forcing the prices up all over America. Our favorite quick-lunch place raised prices today. Phil and I bought J-Dawg's yesterday--cost $2.75. Pam and I bought J-Dawg's today--cost $3.00.





Now I know it sounds unreasonable but today's J-Dawg tasted better. Maybe because it was made by the owner so it was worth the extra quarter.





Now look at this young man. Doesn't he look all of 14 years old? And yet he is the owner of J-Dawg. I hope he earns a million dollars a year, three bucks at a time.






I don't want to make you hungry or anything but here is what goes on a J-Dawg. I ask for extra sauce--because I am so saucy.


And extra banana peppers. Because I am so hot. Well, once I was hot. In the summer I am still hot==but it looks like we are not going to get summer here anytime soon so there will be no hotness in the land.

We are a spoiled nation, we want to drive up and order things through a speaker that distorts sound so we don't know if the guy on the other end thinks we want "fries with that" or "flies with fat."--I always like fat flies, don't you?--This doesn't happen at J-Dawg.



You have to speak with a real person and you have to walk up to do it.

Even if you are the UTA bus driver has to walk up. But he goes to the back door to pick up his pre-called in order.

He was out of there in less than a minute.

J-Dawg isn't the only one feeling the crunch of trucking prices. Look at this ad:

Three cans of tomato sauce for a dollar? A couple of years ago you could get 8/$1.00 and recently 6/$1.00. Not only is this sale ridiculous but look at this!

You can only buy two dollars worth! Hold on folks, if this is a hint of how things are going to be in the future I suggest you plow up the back lawn and put in a garden. Pronto.

Get the children to help. It will be good for them to learn to plant and weed and then eat the lovely produce and you will grow closer as a family.

Then you can all go to J-Dawg and take the 14 year old owner a fresh garden tomato and a tidy little pile of green beans and everyone will be happy. There will be much rejoicing in the land. And licking of the fingers so you can get every last bit of special sauce.

PS And why--you are asking yourself--did I feel the need to eat a J-Dawg two days in a row? Have you tasted a J-Dawg? As my friend Michael says: "Judge Not," until you have walked a mile in my moccasins and eaten a J-Dawg for yourself. I added that last bit because Michael lives in the land way north, where bears snack on photographers and he hasn't had a J-Dawg for himself. Yet.

WHAT KIND OF VISITING TEACHERS ARE WE, ANYWAY?

Today was another little snow-big snow day and we had scheduled visiting teaching appointments because two of the women we visit are off on high adventures, one is going to Hawaii--for three bloomin' weeks--the lucky duck--and the other is off to Florida--for one bloomin' week--she is obviously only one third as much of a lucky duck but a lucky duck, just the same. Maybe she is only the beak and the feet of a lucky duck.

I told them I hope it snows here all the time they are gone so they will feel extra privilidged and pampered and other "p" words like pleasured and pandemonium. That last "p" word really doesn't fit but it's after midnight and it's all I can think of. I'd do that for my friends, put up with three weeks of snow so they could bask on the sunny beaches and feel privileged and of royal birth. I'm so nice sometimes that I think I should hurt myself.

Anyway, we needed to get our visiting done and it was a blizzard this morning but we went anyway. I took this picture--of what I laughingly call our Beaver Dam--in the back yard to show you the falling snow but the Internet Gremlin's have erased the falling snow. What's up with that? They didn't want you to know how hard working and noble we are, to trek out in the blizzarding snow.

So, we visit two of the women--we ALWAYS stay too long because they are such fun and we get into all kinds of interesting discussions which HAVE NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH THE LESSON WE WERE SUPPOSED TO GIVE.

And why not, you are asking yourself--that is if you are still here, reading this drivel. Because both Sarah and I got so involved watching LOST last night that neither one of us prepared the lesson--which is right here. So we discussed earth changing ideas and probably some drivel. That's my job, to supply the drivel.

In our defense, Sarah says she is going to prepare a written message and deliver it with a little Valentine treat. Personally, I think Sarah has an ulterior motive. "Honey," she will say. "I need to make a quick trip to Hawaii to deliver my Valentine treat and a little message. I'll be back in about a week." You go for it, Sarah.

At our last appointment--which we were late to--because we stay too long at the other homes--because I insist on putting my two cents of drivel in after all the interesting stuff is said--we were at Pam's house. Pam of Pam's Place--she always writes great, insightful things on her blog, as apposed to me who will post anything, including fortune cookie messages that tell me to leave home--in the dark of night. Anyway, we were at her house and she said, "Will you forgive me?"

Now, I ask you, what could this angel of a woman do that needs forgiving? Well, you don't know so I'll tell you. She went to J-Dawg without me. Yes, it's true. She did. But, the next sentence out of her mouth atoned for her grievous crime.

"So, do you want to go?"

"Right now?" both Sarah and I said.

"Yes, right now."

Well, we were all in the car so fast that her welcome mat was still spinning--because we had catapulted off the porch into the snow. Sarah had never been to J-Dawg before. She was a J-Dawg virgin.

Here it is. Yes, nothing but a shack. In the summer it in 900 degrees inside. I think in the winter it's just right. There are two workers. One takes orders, slashes the dawgs and puts them on some kind of a grill that chars them just right--not enough to give you cancer right away and just enough to make them taste heavenly.

Here is the extensive menu. Are you impressed? I am telling you; those food carts in downtown New York City are not one iota better than this.

Here's the condiment list. Someone earlier today was so excited to get their J-Dawg that their wagging fanny practically erased the words jalapenos and banana peppers--which every condiment guru knows are really pepperoncini but we will forgive the owners as they have to cater to the masses who do not know the proper name for condiments.


And masses there are. There is always a line, waiting to order. Sometimes the line snakes right into the street and grumpy motorists have to stop and roll down their windows and yell at the line-snakers. Then they pull over and stand in line and order their own dawgs. Sometimes they double park and the cops come to give them tickets and they get in line instead and, well, it's just one big happy, dawg eating crowd, there on 7th East.

So, the next person grilles the buns and then puts the condiments on.

If you want them expertly done you will watch closely and be high maintenance, like me. Extra sauce--it's a sweet barbeque sauce. Extra pepperoncini--but you can't call it that or the worker says, "Huh?" You might have to smile, winningly and say, "more" a couple of times until the pepperoncini is piled to a height that is "just right"--Goldilocks would have loved J-Dawgs.

If you are faint of heart--like me--then you say, "no jalapenos." Then you smile your best smile and say, "That is the best dang dawg that anyone has ever made for me," and then they forgive you for being so crabby and wanting things just the way you want them. But let's face it, you are paying a whole $2.75--unless you want a drink too--and you want your cheap money's worth.

We took our dawgs back to Pam's house, which is always clean, unlike mine, which is not, but has interesting clutter that the archeologists will be delighted to find in a thousand years when they uncover my house that was slowly covered with dirt. See my insightful blog about this very problem. Not that I'm dirty, mind you, just clutterly so I don't have a clue how houses of people who leave pot shards lying around get covered up.

Here are Pam and Sarah, the J-Dawg virgin, having their first bite. Mmmm. I tell you, Sarah is now a J-Dawg addict and she has made it a rule to go visiting teaching to Pam last from now on so we can take a little detour. And maybe we will even give Pam the lesson. If we haven't watched LOST the night before.

Don't tell Sarah's husband. He thinks she was giving sincere and insightful visiting teaching lessons and not out gallivanting all over tarnation, eating food products that the Polish, bless their culinary hearts, have perfected to deliciousness.

I'M TOO TIRED TO POST

I'm too tired to post tonight. It would just be nonsense. I wrapped caramels all day. Okay, so that part is exaggerated but it seems like all day. I didn't get the ornaments on the Christmas tree, that's for sure but my Dolly Parton candle display is beautiful. Phil calls it Dolly Parton because it's glittery and glitzy and my granddaughter, Miss Dolly Parton incognito--masquerading as a seven year old, will love it. I made him turn all the house light out, including the several hundred lights on the Christmas tree so I could light the candles and bask in the glittery display. He just chuckles. I do love a man with a good chuckle.

I must learn how to put pictures on this blog soon. Pam will come to my rescue, she rescues me at all times, for all kinds of reasons. She calls at a moment's notice and we speed off for unmentionable pleasures. Not that kind of unmentionables. Okay, I'll tell you. We sneak off regularly and get J-Dawgs. Evil, horrible, probably nitrate filled hot dogs from Heaven. (The Polish are best--they only offer Polish and beef dawgs--this is enough to make your mouth water. "Slurp.") They are evil and horrible because they are an addictive substance and should be registered with the narcotics division. Once you've had a J-Dawg you can go about a week and then you are finding reasons why you have to drive on 7th east, where it dead-ends into lower BYU (Brigham Young University) campus, and just happen to pass this tiny little kiosk type building that used to sell flowers, of all things. "Hey," you say, "Look at that! We're driving right by J-Dawg's. Might as well stop--as long as we're here."

There is no sign. The owner doesn't advertise and he looks like he's all of nineteen years old, for Pete's sake and he is making a bundle of money, a good deal of it mine. J-Dawg's are sold out of a little shack and there is pretty much always a bunch of people standing in a line that sometimes snake into the street. Do the line-snakers care that they might get run over. You bet, if it is before they get their J-Dawg. If after they would just lie in the road and chew. One day I will do a blog about this phenomenon and maybe post a picture, after Pam teaches me how.

So, Pam, who rescues me will surely help me soon to figure out how to screech into the photo blogging business and you will see my Dolly Parton candle display and I will take a picture of a J-Dawg and you will have to come on a vacation to Provo so you too can have a new addiction to add to your whatever-you-are-already-addicted-to list.

What is on your list anyway? I am working on carrots. I am trying to drown all the sugar, from my Christmas-goodies-addictions with beta carotene. It's not working so well but I'm determined. Never underestimate a determined woman, especially one with carrot breath.

And when I'm not to tired to write maybe we can have a decent conversation about something meaningful. Like my son's belly button lint collection. Bless his weird little heart.

Or we can talk about my other boy's dreadlocks that he had his sister, the talented hair stylist who is cheerful beyond my level of understanding, cut off years ago, and that he has saved the dreaded things in an Altoid's tin. How this blond haired boy got his hair to make dreads is beyond my level of understanding. It is also beyond my level of understanding why my youngest, beautiful daughter--I have two beautiful daughters--anyway, the youngest has the hair of the God's and is also dreading her hair, at this moment. There are many things beyond the level of my understanding.

Or we can talk about my other son's addiction to radios. Not the kind that play music and news but the kind you hear a whole bunch of static and then he says, "Did you hear that? That was someone in Japan!" And you say to yourself, sure it was, all the time rolling your eyes. But he gets so excited and after all, he is the son who introduced me to the computer and built the one I'm typing on--even though it is old and has an attitude--and so whatever he says is all right with me. Japan? "You bet," I say, "he sounded like he was speaking Japanese." With a static accent.

What were we talking about? Oh, that's right. Nothing. Because I'm to tired. I'll write something tomorrow maybe, if I get the ornaments on the tree and soon, when Pam is unbusy, I will learn how to put pictures on my blog and then watch out! I may get interesting.

Right now I'm going to eat more carrots and go to bed. Right after I check out my favorite blogs. Or not. Because I really am too tired. So if I usually comment on your blog and I didn't tonight you'll have to make allowances.