OH, THE LAUGHTER

Tonight was "game night" at Relief Society. There were about sixteen women there. I haven't laughed that much in...well, years. I should have taken photos but how do you photograph laughter? This is as good a representation as I could find.

One friend I see every other month, waiting in line to give blood for the Red Cross. (This was much more pleasant and the treats were better, too.) Two friends I see every month at book club. Two different friends I see each week at Personal History. And the rest...well, it was good to be with them, laughing and loving each other.


Thanks Pammie, for organizing this. You're the best and it was the funnest. When is the next game night?


PS How did my "Die Hard" get to be "Bedtime for Bonzo" I wonder, and from "Bedtime for Bonzo" to "The Big Bad Wolf?" And you should have seen the illustrations!

THERE SHOULD BE MORE REJOICING OVER THE ANNOYANCES

I called someone tonight and they couldn't find the phone until it had gone into the "leave a message" mode. This someone said, in an annoyed voice, "My 'wife or husband' (I'm not telling which) had the phone in the bathroom for some crazy (or stupid or insane--I can't remember exactly what she/he said) reason."

Unfortunately, I think that may have been recorded for the wife/husband to hear later.

Why didn't she/he say, "My wife/husband left the phone in the bathroom again because she/he loves to commune with Mother Nature," and then laughed about it. Or she/he could have said something way more witty than that. (It wouldn't be hard to be more witty than that.)

Why don't we joke with our spouses more? Why is everything serious? Why are we annoyed? Why aren't we charmed that the phone was in the bathroom? Why didn't she/he realize it was in the bathroom because it was the only place for some privacy?

Why isn't there more laughter? Why aren't we fun?

I want to be fun. I like fun. I think I'll sign up for fun lessons. Does anyone know how to do that?

So I googled "fun" and this is what I got. I guess it'll do. For now.

GOOD FRIENDS, LOTSA LAUGHTER

This is one of my dearest friends.* We both moved into the subdivision umpteen years ago within a couple of months. Even though she moved later we have always stayed close.

Her daughter--Ms. Business Woman** and Gilmore Girl were two or three years apart in school and were friends.

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.

We laughed so much there was wiping of eyes.I thought we should have at least taken pictures of the food so here it is. Too late. We ate at Thai Drift in north Orem. The food is very good. There is nothing so pleasurable as good food and good friends. Tonight was some of the best.

* 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.

LAUGHING IN THE CARD SHOP

Years and years and years ago Mom and I stood at the card display at ZCMI. We laughed so hard we had to lean on each other to keep from falling over. People coming down the escalator from the second floor didn't know what to make of us. Some smiled and some looked away, maybe they were embarrassed to see two grown women being so silly. I secretly think they might have been a teeny bit jealous that we were such good friends and were having such a good time with each other.

I have looked back on that day time and time again, feeling happy I had that funny time with my mom and then sad that I would never have another one.

Today was a tender mercy day for me. Pam and I had gone to the mall to buy a gift for a friend's birthday. Then we needed a card. We found beautiful, sentimental ones. I bawled, and told her about my difficult week. She sympathized and said, "There, there."

I wiped my tears and we found the "other" section. Soon we smiled. The smiles turned into grins and then into laughter and then...well, it was like time had backtracked. I felt like Mom was there, leaning over our shoulders, laughing with us. We read card after card, some so silly they made no sense and yet were hilarious.

I thought I would remember the caption on this one but can't. Isn't he something? The fun must never stop for him.

This is a perfect visual of my life. I should have bought it and framed it. It's funny, isn't it? You have to laugh when your life's like this. Pam, laughing at yet another funny card. A friend who is willing to be there for me in good and bad times. What would I do without her?And Mom? I know she was there, I just know it. I'm so glad she got to see that the laughter in the card section is alive and well.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Are you ready for this bright New Year? Are you finished with the old one?

Did you accomplish what you wanted to? No? Me neither, but I survived. I laughed and cried. I had bouts of despair when God's angels stepped into my space and loved me and lent me their strength. I had times of hilarity when those same angels were with me, leaning on me, laughing until they were weak. They were my husband, my family and my friends. Unseen angels were with me too, I was mostly unaware of them, but in my heart I know they were there.

Did I change the world? Probably. For the better? I think so. For the worst? I honestly don't think so. If these two things are true then I should be content, but I'm not because I want things better. I want things easier. But ease does not bring growth. Do I want to grow? It doesn't seem so. But, really, I do. After the trial comes the strength. And the blessings.

So, I hope this year will give me just enough hard times for growth and enough ease for me to recharge and enough resources to help those I love and maybe those I don't even know. We're all in this together. I need you and you need me.

May God bless each of you to stand firm and strong when you need to and to lean upon each other with laughter as often as possible.

And may you have a great big dose of the peace and joy that we are promised in the scriptures. May this year be a good one for you and for me and for those we love.

Happy 2009!
Lynne

PERSONAL HISTORY, HOMEMADE COOKIES, A MOVIE AND PHIL'S COMMENT--I LAUGHED OUT LOUD

I have been feeling down, ever since that phone call last week. I just can't shake it even though I've gone back and re-read the helpful comments people left me half a dozen times. One of them even made me laugh out loud. (I don't use the acronym "LOL." I love words and acronyms annoy me. Except for the acronym: B.O. I think it's hysterical, for some immature reason.)

Anyway, because I have been blue I wrote a melancholy piece for my personal history group today--I'll include it at the end. Tonight, darling Sarah brought me a bag of homemade cookies and a sweet note. Part of it said, "...I know we don't get together much outside of writing group, I don't get out much it seems. Yet, I think of you as one of my dearest friends. Have a wonderful evening, Sarah B."

How sweet is that? I am so lucky to be included in the list of Sarah's friends. She is an amazing woman in more ways than I will ever be. I treasure her friendship.

Later, Phil and I watched "The Last Holiday." Truly a grade B movie but I am known for loving grade B movies and I did.

"You what?" Phil asked. "You loved that movie? That's why you are depressed!"

Another laugh out louder.

Here's today's personal history piece. Maybe now I can let the blues have a rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE CHURCH KEY—written August 25, 2008--I was about seventeen when this occurred.

I put the tiny diary key in the old lock and gently turned it. When I heard a click, I pushed. The door opened a half-inch, looking over my shoulder I slipped inside and leaned against the door as it closed. I felt the tiny key with wonder. How had it worked?

The moonlight didn’t reach our side of the chapel. I slid into the pew we usually sat in. I came with questions but didn’t know what to ask. I could hear the dark. It was a different sound than any other darkness-sound I had ever heard.

In the summer the dark had a cricket sound, a dog-barking-far-off sound. In the fall the dark often had a dried-leaves-rustling sound from the Virginia Creeper that covered the side of our house. In the winter, when it was snowing, there was a depth-of-stillness sound. I had knelt on my bed dozens of times and watched the snow sifting down, sometimes drifting sideways under the street lamp. Sounds were muffled when it snowed. The dark had dozens of sounds but this was a new one for me—a dark-empty-chapel sound.

I sat. Alone. More alone than I ever had been before, except for maybe a time or two on the mountain, but then it was just a without-people-around type of alone. This time it was complete aloneness. The only sound I heard was the ticking of the pendulum clock.

I knew that the painting of Jesus was at the far end of the chapel. He was sitting on the edge of a well, with robust children gathered around. It didn’t matter where you were in the chapel; his happy eyes seemed to be looking at you. I knew his eyes were watching me, even in the dark. I knew He loved me but my loneliness overrode the comfort.

I wanted someone right there, someone who believed in me, even though I didn’t believe in myself. Someone who could have told me I was all right, that my life would be fine. I wanted someone to sit with me and listen to my fears and insecurities and hold my hand as I sat in the chapel, filled with the silence of the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perhaps everyone who wades through this long post has felt like this. Alone. Troubled. Sad. I hope tonight isn't one of those times, but if it is, I want you to know you are important and that you are loved.

And may you watch a grade B movie and laugh out loud.

SIX WORDS FOR ALONE AT MOVIES

In darkened theatre, laughing all alone.

SIX WORD MONDAY 6-30-08

Loving, laughing, sharing, swinging with friends.

MOM'S DETERMINATION, PART II

Yesterday I wrote the beginning of this story. My sister called earlier today and I asked her what she remembered about the story. It wasn't the finishing of the house that Mom got the loan for; it was making the house into two apartments. Mom and the girls would live in one side and rent the other side out and then Mom would sell the apartments and pay Mr. Porter back. Also, it wasn't Pocatello, Idaho but Milford, Utah. So much for the facts as I knew them.

I will go back in a few days and correct the first part of this story. I also realize I've changed tenses in the two stories. I may correct that; I may not. In the meantime, here's the rest of the story. Remember, this is my attempt to write it in my mother's words. That's what writer's do; put words in people's mouths. Much of this I remember word for word from my darling mother but so many of the details are coming right out of my imagination--this is one of those times when it really is "Lynne's somewhat invented life," but it's my Mom's life I've invented. I somehow feel it's okay. Maybe she's here tonight, reading over my shoulder.

Here we go, part II.

I had the loan from Mr. Porter. I nearly danced home and when I got closer I ran. My hair came undone, I know I looked like a wild woman but I didn't care. I yelled and the girls came running. I swept them up in my arms and we twirled and twirled. They laughed and squealed. I tipped my head to the sky and whispered, "Thank you, Father. Thank you."

I put the girls down, we held hands and ran the rest of the way home, my purse dug into my side with every other step but I didn't care. My neighbor smiled and waved and then gave me the thumbs-up sign. She didn't have to ask. She knew I got the loan.

The girls and I walked through the house. "Here is where the wall will go, right down the middle. That side will belong to the other apartment and this side will be ours." They didn't understand, but they knew one thing: they had a Mom who wasn't walking the floor, worrying and fretting and being too distracted to read bedtime stories or play dolls with them or make Mickey Mouse pancakes with big ears. They had their old Mom back.

I got on the phone the very next day. I called contractors and lumber yards and appliance stores. I found a contractor who would let me help with the work so it wouldn't cost me as much. I learned how to knock out walls and hammer and screw things together.

I learned why you couldn't tear down some walls because they were bearing walls. I learned how to insulate so you couldn't hear conversation from one apartment to another. I learned how to tell if a wire was "hot" and why you had to hire an electrician and not do the wiring yourself. I learned that it was cheaper to put kitchen sinks together, one on one side of the new wall, the other on the other side. The same with the bathroom sinks and bathtubs. I learned why you didn't put water pipes against outside walls in this cold winter country.

I found that I had to tie my hair up with a dishcloth or it would be glued together with plaster by the end of the day. Plaster wasn't so good for the complexion either but I didn't care. Who was I trying to look good for anyway?

The girls were curious and got in everyone's way. I hired the neighbor to watch them. She didn't want to take money but she watched them for so many hours everyday I insisted. I knew I wouldn't be around to be her friend after the apartments were done. I hadn't told her. I couldn't. She had been so good to us.

I worked without rest. If the contractor didn't show up I called his wife.

"I have other jobs I have to do too, Mrs. Paschal. If I leave them without showing up I'll loose the job and I've got to keep everyone happy."

'Then let me know you won't be here and tell me what to do while you're at another job. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"I guess so. Gads, woman, you've got my wife on my tail. 'You get over to that woman's house and help her out, Earl. You can't leave her hanging.'"

We laughed as he talked in a high-pitched voice. From then on he told me every time he wasn't coming the next day. He showed me what to do and I did it. Occasionally he had to re-do something, but not often.

I did all the painting. I learned it didn't pay to buy cheap paint. I leaned that about a lot of things. Buy the best and don't waste. Measure twice and cut once. The contractor was full of advice, which I tucked away in case I would ever need it again.

DeLynn came to help put the finishing touches on things. I was so happy to see her. She spoiled the kids, they needed spoiling, they deserved spoiling. We sat up late at night. Me, listening to all the things she hadn't put into letters. We held hands as we sat on the bed. I cried when she told me hard things she and my other siblings had gone through. Both of us laughed over the funny things her little girl had said, the mischief she got into.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

I didn't have an answer. I was going to go home--home to family and then I would decide. But first we had to finish the kitchen in the other apartment. The appliances were being delivered the next day and then we were done.

We turned out the lights and laid in the dark. We wondered out loud why our lives hadn't turned out like we thought they would.

"I love you, sis. Thanks for coming."

I love you too. I hope this is hardest thing you'll have to ever face."

It wasn't. I'm glad I didn't know it then. There is wisdom in not knowing the future because in some instances there would be no future. Half of us would walk off a bridge somewhere, thinking we couldn't handle a troubling future when in real life we can handle it, one little bit at a time.

We were up early the next morning, making French toast and flinging bits of eggshells and bread crusts at each other. The kids watched, wide eyed. They'd never seen their mother like this, irresponsible, wasting food, deliberately making a mess. But it was a day for celebrating. By noon the project would be done. I could put a for sale sign up and hope for the best. Mr. Porter would be paid, I'd have cash in the bank and could get on with my life.

The appliance truck came at 9:00 AM on the dot, just like he'd promised. It was a small town and the contractor had the word out: If you didn't do as promised, Mrs. Paschal would call the wives. Everyone showed up on time.

The stove in the new apartment was beautiful, clean, not like the used one on our side. I put, "scrub the stove," on my mental list of things to do. The sink and cabinets and counters were already in. The fridge was unboxed and on the porch, ready to go in when the man said some frightening words.

"I don't think it will fit through the door." He took out a measuring tape. He measured the fridge. He measured the door opening.

"Nope. Won't go through."

"We'll take the door off. That's easy to do," I said.

"Well, yes, easy, but the fridge is too big to go through the door at any rate. It won't fit. Do you want me to take it back and bring a smaller one?"

I didn't want a smaller fridge. This one was perfect. It had a dent on one side at the bottom, the side that would be covered up with a cabinet. It was a bargain and heavenly days; I loved a bargain. Besides that, a smaller fridge just wouldn't do. And a smaller fridge would actually cost me more.

"What do you think," I asked DeLynn.

"Well, I don't know," she said. "It looks like it will fit to me."

"Me too."

"Ladies, look at this." He pulled out his measuring tape. He measured the fridge. "See here?" We looked. Then he measured the door opening. "See here? One eighth inch. There's no way I can get that fridge in with one eighth inch leeway. I'll have to take it back."

I looked at DeLynn. "We can do it," she mouthed behind his back, nodding her head.

"No, leave it here. If I change my mind I'll call."

"There'll be an extra charge if I have to take it back later."

I nodded. He tossed the cardboard in the truck, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He loaded his dolly, got in his truck, slammed the door and left. We watched until he was out of sight. Then we looked at the fridge and then looked at each other. She grimaced and shrugged. I shrugged too.

"Okay, then. We'll just "walk" it in and be done with it. Right? It might take a little bit of time but we can do it."

We took the door off and leaned it against the wall in the kitchen and then DeLynn and I "walked" the fridge. We walked it until noon. She was trapped in the new apartment so I went to the other side and made sandwiches and pushed them over the top of the fridge.

"Good thing the bathroom is functional," she said. We laughed and joked and walked the fridge until dinnertime.

The kids had wandered around all afternoon, making me hold them up to the kitchen window so they could wave at their Aunt Dee. They played in the dirt and played with rocks, they rocked their baby dolls and were as good as gold while their insane mother and equally insane Aunt walked and walked and walked a fridge that didn't want to be walked.

"I've got to go feed the kids."

"I know it. I'll be right here." She snorted. I snorted too and then we laughed. "What have we got ourselves into?" she said from the other side of the fridge. I didn't have an answer.

I went home and got the kids some dinner and then took her a plate and pushed it across the top of the fridge. I went back and got the kids ready for bed. She sat on the kitchen floor and ate and then waited. When the kids were all settled I came back and we walked and walked and walked that doggone fridge. At 2:00 AM we were done.

"I knew it could be done," she said dancing around the kitchen, swinging her hips. "What does that appliance man know, anyway?"

We laughed and hung on each other with fatigue. We walked the fridge into place, it took about two minutes, we plugged it in and then we stood back and looked at it. We both sighed at the same time in the same way. We leaned the door against the opening and went next door to bed. We laid in the dark.

"I'm sorry I said I thought the fridge would fit through the door."

I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. I tried to be quiet so I wouldn't wake the kids but the more I tried the harder I laughed. DeLynn laughed too.

"What will happen when this fridge dies on day and the owners have to replace it?"

"They will have to tip it over on its side and turn it into a couch because there's no way it's going out that door."

"It will be a 'cool’ couch.”

"One with shelves for holding books and pop and boxes of Kleenex."

"It will have its own light, for reading by."

"Easy to clean, just wipe it down."

We could hardly talk for laughing. The light went on in the hall.

"Uh oh, Pat's up," I whispered.

She stood in the door, rubbing her eyes. "You woke me up."

"Come here, baby," I opened my arms and she climbed in bed and snuggled down. "This is what it's all about, isn't it?"

"Yes," DeLynn said. "This is what it's all about."

And now, all these years later--sixty-seven years later--it's still true. It's about family. It’s about determination that makes all things possible, even moving a fridge through a door that's too doggoned small.

PERSONAL HISTORY AND KIDS MAKING THEIR'S IN THE SNOW

Today was my Personal History Group. There were only three of us there and we laughed half the time. If that isn't good for mental health I don't know what is. Two of us have kids that are grown, the other one has little people at home, her youngest is a year old. This little one wanders around, jabbering her own language, climbing on her mom's lap, swiping the phone to punch in numbers for a phone call to China--I wonder what the charges for that will be--and then wandering off again, talking it all over to herself.

We talk and talk and finally get around to reading our work. We laugh if it's funny and cry if it's sad. Carolyn read poetry she had written for two granddaughters and a son who have February birthdays. I know her son and she captured his life perfectly. I was amazed at his perseverance with life and how much he has accomplished.

Because Sarah's printer is gasping it's last, running out of ink, as she read I had to circle my favorite parts in the void of no-words and hope she knew what I loved. For someone so young she has great insights and is figuring out how to help her children grow up whole and strong. She and her husband are working together to make an incredible family. I am amazed that someone so young is so generous with her time and so willing to help others. She never suggests we ought to go home because we've stayed too long, we could probably stay for dinner if we wanted. If anyone in the neighborhood needs help Sarah offers her time or whatever resources she has.

On the way home I saw a snow fort. The daddy who lives there donated some of his indoor plants that weren't doing well and so they died a frozen life outside, giving stability to his children's creation. A red shirt and hat are one flag, there is a box, stuck on a stick--who knows what that represents--the green flag, waved at me as I passed. (These pictures are horrible, sorry. I should have taken them from a different angle.)

The untidiness of this fort is amazing. I think the neighbors are being patient because they know the parents and the kids who built the monstrosity--and because they know the sun will take care of it eventually. I saw beauty in the melting creation. On one side a plastic chair is built into the wall. Cardboard boxes originally were covered in snow rolled balls but now the snow is melting and the cardboard is bare.

I hope the children who made this fort will remember all it's details and one day write their own personal history story of how it was built. I doubt the written word will show a picture such as this. It will have turrets and majestic flags--perhaps the red one for the damsels and the green one for the knights.

There will be a lookout chair for people to watch for marauding tribes sneaking into their territory. The cardboard walls will be made of sturdy mortar with secret windows to check for danger. And inside? All will be remembered as cozy--a safe place for planning adventures, sharing snacks, bundling against the cold and enjoying the incredible gift of friendship.

Just like I found today at our tiny personal history group of three. Two women I love and shared a couple of hours with. Two women with whom I shared a story of my life and they shared stories of theirs. And laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.

It doesn't get better than this.

DENTURE FUDGE

While we were at church a blizzard waltzed through town. Just before church ended the Bishop said, "The parking lot is really fun right now." Our bishop is young and slick roads are not a challenge but a fun ride at the amusement park. It doesn't hurt that he works in construction and drives a truck that could climb cliffs while whistling "Climb Every Mountain," in a monster-truck-whistling sort of way.

We worried that Bentley and Tricia wouldn't come back down but they scoff at slick roads and came anyway. Optimistic youth was everywhere today.

The rest of the kids that weren't here for Christmas came for leftovers and Cindy's Fabulous Spaghetti. We ate and unwrapped gifts, laughed and watched the kids play with their new toys and then we went back into the kitchen around the table. I brought the fudge, caramels and muddy buddies out.

Bentley and Sharee were deep into a discussion about which bike pedals are best, which shoes have the best gripping ability or some such thing. When you get those two biking people going its hard to keep up. Especially since I'm not a biking person and the thought of riding down the street on tires the size of linguine noodles makes me nauseous.

I was washing pans and loading the dishwasher when Tricia and Taylor--who were grouped, along with every single child, around the candy--erupted into laughter,"

Denture fudge," one of them snorted. "It's denture fudge."

"Denture fudge?" one of the kids asked.

"Absolutely! Look at this?"

I had made caramels with almonds at one point of the holiday preparations but they were too large so I dipped them in chocolate and cut them in half. The almonds, sliced in the middle looked just like teeth. Teeth embedded in caramel with chocolate lips. They held the offending candy up for everyone to see. The kids thought it was pretty funny too and their laughter added to the merriment in the kitchen.

Bentley and Sharee talked on, about spokes and camelbaks and bike gears, never noticing the silliness going on at the other end of the table.

Tricia and Taylor got more wound up, deciding how to market the denture fudge and what to add to next year's product line. Each suggestion burst forth with a new round of laughter. How I wish I had recorded all their nonsense. I could have sold it to hospitals with depression clinics. People would be cured after one session of listening to denture fudge laughter. I could market the CD with tins full of chocolate covered caramels with almonds. Two for one. Laughter-therapy and treats. It would be a hit, I'm sure of it. I could be rich. The world would be better off, sad people would be cured and back in the work force. The economy would boom.

It's my fault that we won't have a booming economy next year. If I had just recorded that denture fudge laughter...

PS FOR ONE OF YESTERDAY'S POSTS

I was finished with the computer and said to Phil, "Do you want me to log off or leave my blog up for you to read?"

"You can leave it up," he said.

"Yesterday's blog is about our hot romance," I said.

"Did I miss it?" he said.

And so it goes. If not hot romance we have laughter.