MY FRIENDS TAKE CARE OF ME

Before I get to today's blog I want to remind you about Summer Pasta. It was cold today--I think summer is over--and I finally decided to have Summer Pasta. It is divine. Why haven't I served it ten times already? If you haven't tried it you might want to before the basil is frozen. (I hope our basil won't freeze tonight, but it might.) Recipe here.I love it when my friends take care of me. Take today, for instance.

Several weeks ago Annette posted--on her blog--some info. about a class she was taking. I was interested. Yesterday she brought a handout from the class and put it in my door. I wasn't home so she called me and told me the class was today. It's being taught by Life Coach, Stace Christianson.

I went. The class is being taught at the home of a woman I admire no end. I'll give you an example of why: One day, without her permission, I used her as an example in a church class I was teaching. When I was leaving the church house I ran into Elizabeth and said, "I used you as an example in my class today." You know what I would have done? I would have wanted to know what was being said about me. You know what she said? "Lynne, you can use me as an example any time you want." And that was it. No panic. No wondering. No worrying. Just permission.

The class at Elizabeth's house was exactly what I needed today. I may blog about it on my Starlight blog but every time I say that I run out of time and don't do it. But I might.

Tonight I was reading some of the notes from the class to Pam. I was telling her that when other people start accusing you, calling you names (such as "you're crazy"), telling you how you are (in a negative way), that we can take all those labels and just hand them back to the people who said them to us, because that is what they think of themselves.

Pam said that because I usually think the best of people that speaks well of me. Wasn't that kind of her? Of course I immediately thought of the one person I can't handle--don't go to see her--even though she is needy and has had surgery after surgery--because I can't handle all the negative talk. So, I don't think the best of everyone and maybe I'll change my mind as I don't want to be what I think of her: which just might be negative and crabby, and I don't want to have surgery, either.

So, today three friends. Annette, Elizabeth who opens up her home for these classes and willingly let me come, and Pam. Thank you, my friends.

And then, as we walked out to, Dianne told me something one of her kids did that made me laugh and made me feel better about my child's choices. She put things into perspective for me. We're all in this together, aren't we, this interesting life?

I'm glad I have wonderful friends to go through it together with.

Here is Stace's blog, which she has neglected, she admits, but I think she is going to blog more often. She is a fantastically insightful woman with so much to teach the world. I hope you will learn wonderful things from her too.

PS Remember that old saying, "What you say is what you are?" I'm going to be more careful with my opinions.

SHOPPING WITH THE DIVAS

Today I went shopping with the Divas.One of the divas loved these shoes. Too bad the mother said no.And no again.Another of the divas loved these shoes and since she's the mother she said yes. She said, "I bought this for you for Christmas." Oh joy. Luckily it will go with my fur lamps.

Then the divas found the sunglasses.

It didn't matter to them that they weren't real sunglasses.Or even on right side up.

"You can have that outfit but you must save it for school."

"SCHOOL? It's only June twenty-fifth!" It was a fun day with the Divas. Call me anytime, girls. I'll meet you for more adventures.

And...in case you are hungry, this salad is on my cookbook blog, here. It doesn't look great, but it is. I promise.

BASIL

My first batch of basil died, kaput, just like that. Dead.
The second batch looks like this. It's been in the ground forever. It has had plenty of water, plenty of fertilizer, plenty of sunshine and plenty of love. Phil provides that. I am a non-garden worker, mostly.
The rest of the garden looks good.

This is a volunteer lettuce, it's done so well it's starting to bolt.

But THIS is from the basil I planted in pots. It's from the same batch that the garden lettuce was planted from. Every body knows that plants in pots don't do well, or not as well as those planted in the ground. Don't they?

Anyway, this is how we've been eating the basil. Tomato sandwiches. Toast, mayo or ranch dressing, tomatoes, salt and pepper and basil. No lunch can top this one.

This is summer pasta. Again, a heavenly meal. The very first time we ate this we ate it eight times in a month.

Hope you planted some basil. If not, I'll share.

THE CHEAP DATE

Tonight Phil got home late. We had home teacher's coming in 20 minutes. I was sitting on the lawn swings, reading Sally Warner's book Totally Confidential, which is out of print but you can buy it, used from Amazon. Sally gave me my copy. I'm so lucky--it's a good read. Everything she writes is good.

I had not fixed dinner. Don't ask me why. The brain refused to function about the subject of dinner today. Besides that I ate lunch out with friends and when I do that dinner is often non-existent.

The home teachers were delightful, gave us part of the talk by Elder Faust in June's Ensign: .

"Every time in my life when I have chosen to delay following inspired counsel or decided that I was an exception, I came to know that I had put myself in harm’s way. Every time that I have listened to the counsel of prophets, felt it confirmed in prayer, and then followed it, I have found that I moved toward safety. Along the path, I have found that the way had been prepared for me and the rough places made smooth. God led me to safety along a path that was prepared with loving care, sometimes prepared long before."

Justin said he has been hearing about being prepared in the area of food storage all his life. I have too. Mother used to have a fruit room FILLED to the rafters with food for us and for "The Californians." "They will come in droves one day and they'll be hungry," she used to say. I never found out exactly why they would be coming in droves but we were prepared in case they did.

My contribution to the lesson was to tell Justin that since we don't have the room in our basement, and they do, that we will store our extra water there. Every time I empty a good bottle I wash it, fill it with water and put it by the steps. Phil has to try and find a place to put it. He's running out of room. We may have water that tastes faintly like salsa but I think if we are thirsty we won't care. Or if we are dirty and want to wash, salsa water would be delightful. Or Justin and his family will be delighted.

I also told him pasta will store for eight years.

So much for my vast knowledge.

After they had prayer with us--yes, on the lawn swings--Phil and I went to Dairy Queen and ordered a hot dog and ice cream. Our bill was $3.49. We drove to the BYU LaVell Edward's Stadium parking lot and ate. He said I was a cheap date.

Now I ask you, should I be offended?

IT'S TOO LATE TO BLOG SO HERE IS WHAT I PUT ON MY COOKBOOK BLOG TONGHT.

This is the middle of Mushroom-Asparagus lasagna. It is so good, honest it is. Here it is. The link is green and brown and golden to represent asparagus and mushrooms and the noodles. Aren't I so clever at 12:30 in the morning? Don't answer. I can't take the sadness to know I am not clever. At any hour.

Have a great week-end and make this lasagna. Your taste buds will be so happy.

PS Aren't you impressed with my 30 year old cheap measuring cup? I'm such a sucker for a bargain and sometimes the bargains just never die and go a way. You should see my potato masher...is that what they are called? My brain is not working well tonight because last night I was still up at 1:30--reading blogs.

Don't tell Phil.

THE SPAGHETTI WAR

Elizabeth and Jason were here for lasagna tonight. She and Phil reminisced about the pasta dinners of years gone by.

"Remember the spaghetti war?" one of them said. Then they went on to revel in the glories of a bunch of family members disobeying--the father of the group the biggest disobeyer of them all.

I think I remember how it started. Dinner was over. We were sitting at the table talking and one of the kids was playing in the leftover spaghetti with a fork. I never could figure out how much spaghetti to cook--still can't--and so there was half a serving bowl left. One of the kids asked how you tell if spaghetti noodles were cooked long enough.

"Well, supposedly, if you throw a strand of spaghetti on the ceiling, and it sticks, it's done."

Oh, oh, I thought. I hope no one picks up on that.

It was too late. Strands of spaghetti whanged toward the ceiling like lava steams, escaping from violently erupting volcanoes.

"All right, all right," I said. "Enough of that. Calm down."

Phil looked at me and I could see all his intelligence leaking out his ears. A primeval man hunkered down, his gnarly hand posed over the bowl holding the pasta. Two hoary fingers reached in, plucked a strand of spaghetti and before my very eyes the beast flung a noodle in my direction. I ducked and tried once again.

"All right, now...."

That's as far as I got. Spaghetti flew in my direction from the hunkered beast's offspring. Whap. Whap. Whap-whap-whap.

I fled. A lone woman with common sense and dignity. I looked around the corner to see total anarchy reigning. A Dad with spaghetti hanging from his ears. Children with spaghetti in their hair. Spaghetti hanging from the light fixture. Spaghetti on the paintings, on the wall, on the clock. Spaghetti everywhere. Laughter, insane laughter filled the air.

"There she is," someone said. Spaghetti whinged in my direction from all directions. Whap, whap, whap. I fled to the bathroom to pick spaghetti off my face. I sat on the step, out of sight and out of range. Occasionally I'd offer advice:

"Okay, play time is over."

I was answered with nothing but maniacal laughter.

"You are going to have to clean all that up!"

"We will," they all chorused, including Phil.

The war went on for a long, long time. When the bowl was empty they plucked used pasta off each other and threw it again. When the used pasta started to disintegrate they rolled it into pasta balls and threw those. They only quit because everyone was too tired to throw another strand. I poked my head around the door again. They somehow revived and magically found more spaghetti and it all came whining my way. I ducked back out of sight.

Finally the Neanderthal haze cleared from Phil's eyes and he became a dad.

"Okay, kids. Let's clean up."

"Aaw, Dad."

"No, I mean it. Let's clean up. Put all the pasta in the bowl."

When about half of the mess was cleaned up the beast clutched the bowl to his chest. "Suckers," he said. He grabbed a handful of ragged pasta and threw it in every direction.

Screams of delight sounded in the kitchen, drowning out the groans of the sensible person sitting on the steps.

"They are insane," I said to myself. "It comes from Phil's side. It will take generations to breed the insanity out."

When they finally called it quits the kitchen looked like a mad elf had decorated for Christmas. And to give everyone credit, they did clean up. Kind of. We plucked petrified spaghetti off various parts of the kitchen for what seemed like years.

Which, one day was the catalyst for the, "Let's see what else will stick to the ceiling" science project that my GROWN UP BOYS participated in, but that's a story for another day.