REASONABLE ADULT, CONTINUED

A continuation from yesterday's post, kind of.

When we came home from North Carolina--where Trent learned that "pajamas" were "jammies"--to Utah for visits and eventually to live closer to family I realized my sister, Pat, was the Queen of slang. They didn’t have “roast beef” for Sunday dinner, they had “roast beast.” If you were sick, you had the “dreaded gomboo.” She sailed through life, putting her language stamp on everything. She was delightful. Life was a lark to her and meant to be enjoyed.

Years later, when our last child, Elizabeth was little, Pat gave her a fairy princess outfit. It came with a magic wand that played music when you pushed a button. Pat could hardly wait to have Elizabeth push the button. I thought it might play the Cinderella theme, but no. It played the music to “Hang down your head, Tom Dooley.” I was horrified but before I could say anything Pat said, “Isn’t that a scream? I love it. Don’t ever get rid of that magic wand.” She laughed. “Can you imagine, some Japanese committee, picking songs for the magic wands? ‘This one sounds nice,’ they probably said. ‘Has a nice tune.’”

I never did really see the humor in it, I’ve tried but I’m still uncomfortable with giving a song about death and murder to a four year old. We still have the magic wand somewhere. It probably doesn’t work but I couldn’t get rid of it because my sister, who died not too long after this incident, had thought it was a “hoot” and if nothing else, I loved my very original-talking sister and I kept her wishes.

I will never measure up to this sister, who had ideas no one else had, but never wrote them down. (This is one of the tragedies of life.) She loved the Lord with a pure and deep love. She took Institute classes as often as she could, even though she had to have dialysis three times a week and it prevented her from doing a lot of the things she loved. She loved my children like no one else did and I think she probably watches over them from time to time.

She lived in St. George so she could have her dialysis treatments and Larry went to St. George every weekend. When she died her funeral was held in Annabella, two and a half hours from St. George or two hours, depending on who’s driving. The chapel and cultural hall were filled to capacity and carloads of her St. George friends made the trip to attend her funeral. All the florist shops in Richfield sold out of flowers for her funeral and people brought every plant and artificial arrangement available.

When she died, a light went out of the world and Heaven was brightened. I am sure the language in Heaven has changed a bit. The angels are using new words for things and they smile and laugh a lot too. They probably change into jammies when they go to bed and have roast beast for Sunday dinner—although the “beast” is probably made of some vegetable concoction.

Well, this story didn’t start out to be what it ended up like. I just wanted to remember Trent’s language degeneration but--from his comment on yesterday's post--it didn't degenerate at all. But he is clever with words. After all, he is the one who called my little desk in the living room a “clerk.” “Because it’s not big enough to be a secretary.” And it will always be the clerk until the end of time. Maybe a tiny bit of Aunt Pat lives on in my children, her children, and my sister Julie’s children too. I certainly hope so. Hillary's language qualifies. And Taylor's. And the other three are as clever as can be. I'm proud of them.

PS Yesterday, Trent commented on my post. It seems he doesn't use slang so something must have sunk in from so many years ago. And my favorite part of his comment was that he said he kneels down to have nighttime prayers with his two-year old. What a great dad my boy is.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR GILMORE GIRL

I am so behind on blogs and even behind on birthday's. I owe Bookworm a blog about her day out with Grandma and instead of worrying that I'm not going to get all the photos in I should just shoot for five and get it done.

And I missed The Baby's birthday all together. I'm so far behind with him that I haven't even given him a nick mane. It's a possibility that I'm a grandma-failure.

I thought I could at least have a nice birthday dinner for my girl today. I started off last night by putting a tablecloth on the table and a cute print tablecloth of Aunt Dorothy's on top, it looked so fresh--like something out of a magazine.

This morning, when I came into the kitchen I KNEW that Pika had been on the table because she had HAWKED UP A FUR BALL ALL OVER BOTH TABLECLOTHS! I'm telling you, I'm beginning to believe Phil when he says cats need their own planet.

I didn't make Gilmore Girl's cake last night and there is a reason to try and keep the Sabbath Day holy and not NOT MAKE CAKES ON SUNDAY. When I put the pans in the oven I thought there wasn't much batter in them. Odd. The reason is some brain-child forgot to put the eggs in. Four ingredients and I leave one out? The cakes were partially baked when I snatched the pans out of the oven and dumped the batter back in the mixing bowl with the eggs. They tasted a bit odd, dense-ish. Weird. Happy Birthday to you, dear daughter. Here, have a lousy cake.

I made frosting from scratch...with not enough milk, because I DIDN'T HAVE ANY LEFT after Her Excellency of Mousehole and the Boarder--who were visiting--drank it for breakfast. I only bought a quart--we don't drink milk--and asked them to leave me a cup and a half. Her Excellency only eyeballed it--and her eyeballs do not know what a cup and a half look like.

Then I was fixing Pioneer Woman's Spicy Shrimp and it was not, "yummy and fun, fun, fun," like she says. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH SHRIMP COSTS, PIONEER WOMAN? She doesn't know. She has a plethora of cows and she just grabs one as she drives by in one of her farm vehicles and makes the poor cow trot all the way to town. He's delighted to go, he thinks he's going to have an adventure but she gives the poor cow to the grocer and then she fills up several grocery carts with whatever she wants and then goes home and takes forty-'leven photos of her kitchen adventures.

"Dear Pioneer Woman,

Shrimp is expensive. Just thought you'd want to know.

Sincerely,

Anonymous shrimp-failure-cooking-person in Utah

PS Your photos are beautiful but maybe three of them showing us the pepper is two too many."

Gilmore Girl has a recipe for shrimp that IS yummy and maybe even three fun's and I will put it in my recipe book as soon as I tear PW's recipe in tiny bits.

So, no tablecloths, an odd cake, stiff frosting and the shrimp with marginal "yummy's" and not so much "fun's."

But the company was fine. The hat that Curly Sue made for her mom was darling. (Note the creative spelling. She gets her "creative spelling" gene from me. I am nothing if not a creative speller. It's my one accomplishment.)

And she liked her gift. If you can't read it it says, "It's not where you go or what you do, it's who is beside you that counts." I tried to find a photo of the Savior with the two of them but I was fresh out.

Here's the photo is color, I don't know how to make it black and white. So, even though I had a few minor disasters, it was a good day with my girl, celebrating the day of her birth, which was one of the best days of my life. Even though she was TWO WEEKS LATE, and I gave birth in THE LABOR ROOM with NO ANESTHESIA, and Phil kept saying, "How interesting," and I vowed that if I lived, which I thought I wasn't going to do--I was going to KILL HIM WITH MY BARE HANDS and, that sweet baby was OVER ELEVEN POUNDS! Did I mention no anesthesia?

Yes, a great day, once all the pain and fear were over and I held that beautiful baby in my arms. She has been a joy ever since.

Well, ALMOST ever since. Teenagers, being what they are, but we're not going to think about that today, are we. (Twitch, twitch.) But then again, maybe we will, for just a minute, as The Mighty Hunter found that Gilmore Girl had scratched her name into the Clerk--when she was a teenager.

The Clerk is my favorite piece of furniture and, until tonight, I thought it had escaped the markings of children with a sharp instruments. Practically everyone in the family has scratched their name in the piano. Do you KNOW how much it costs to refinish a piano? Don't even ask.

"So," she said, after the name was revealed for one and all, "I guess that means I get the Clerk after you die. After all, my name is on it."

Over my dead body. Oh, wait. It will be over my dead body.

Happy Birthday! I love you anyway. And always will. And so does Dad.

PS Here's a photo of how I decorate the clerk--that you aren't getting--over my dead body--for spring.