I FEEL SO LOVED

Yesterday, after my part time job, I went to the Personal History luncheon, which we hold once a month. I took the ugly salad on my cookbook site and Sarah had made candied yams and everyone else brought desserts, which is just about right.

After taking my 96 year old friend, Mona, home, I hightailed it to Smith's because it was the last day of their case lot sale. (See yesterday's post.) After I was finished shopping I started the car...almost. It was doing it's Clown Car antics. Tried again, nothing. So I did what I always do in any bad situation. I call Phil. He is my "voice of reason." I knew he couldn't help but I called him anyway. He told me it was probably flooded and to just let it sit for a while and then try again.

So, I went to Sally's Beauty Supply and looked at all the fingernail stuff for 20 minutes and then I went to Tuesday Morning and looked at all the stuff that is supposed to be terrific bargains but just seems like a bunch of junk, with some good stuff mixed in. All of it was higher priced than I think it should be, but I spent a good half hour or so and then I left and thought I'd try to start the Clown Car again.

Just outside of Tuesday Morning I met Taylor, my son. "Oh, Mom," he said, "you're all right." And then he gave me the biggest hug. It was worth an hour of inconvenience to get a hug like that.

"We've called and called you."

"You have?"

And so I looked at my phone and there were 17 missed phone calls, from him and Phil. (I had the phone on vibrate at work and hadn't changed it.) I also had a bunch of texts that said things like, "Are you okay?" "Where are you?" "WHERE ARE YOU?!?"

Both Phil and Taylor had come to my rescue.

The car started right up.

Taylor rode home with me to make sure I was all right.

Phil followed us to make sure the car wouldn't quit on me.

I must be loved.

HOW I AM "CREEPED OUT" VERY LATE AT NIGHT

1. Get a phone call from our daughter, Her Excellency of Mousehole. I am sure someone is dead. "Hello," I say in a breathless, Ican'tstandtohearthebadnews kind of voice.

"I'm bored," she says. At which point I want to put my hand through the phone and strangle her.

"Do you know what time it is?" I say, in a voice faint with relief.

"You're up," she says. "You're always up."

"Well, yes, I'm up," I said, ignoring the reference to my always being up, "but I'm going to bed in a minute, I might NOT have been up."

"But you are, so what's the big deal?"

At which point I seriously contemplate getting in the car, driving to her apartment FORTY MILES AWAY and strangling her.

2. I have a little ceramic bird that I got from Aunt Dorothy, It chirps when it is touched or picked up. The batteries were dead and I thought the grandkids would be amused with it, so I had Phil put new ones in it.

That was several days ago and all the grandkids that have been here were amused.

Last night I was up alone--very late. Did I mention I was alone? Phil had long gone to bed. The house is quiet and did I mention the bird only chirps WHEN IT IS TOUCHED OR PICKED UP? The bird chirps. Both cats are in plain sight, snoozing. So, who was upstairs, touching or picking up the bird?

It took me forever to get enough courage to go upstairs. the bird was alone. Sitting there as if nothing unusual had happened. I fled upstairs to the bedroom and locked the door. It's funny, isn't it, how an inanimate object can spook you like that. It is funny. Isn't it? And it did chirp all by it's self. Didn't it? All by itself?

PHONE CALLS FROM THE KIDS

I "Googled" "phone images" and got page after page after page of cell phones. This was the ONLY non-cell phone I got until page seven. Phone calls from the kids:

Today one of my boys called from the grocery store, asking what went in lasagna. Then he and his wife bought everything for lasagna except lasagna noodles.

Later he called with good news about his and his wife's education. I was so pleased for them. Three miracles--or tender mercies--for them. They will both graduate earlier and don't have to take some of the classes they thought they had to--money and time saved.

My daughter called to ask us to dinner but I didn't have time to talk to her because I was busy taking the "old-woman" out of my hair by making it brown again. The color is called, "Brandy." I don't drink it but, obviously, I wear it.

When I called her back to ask if I could bring something to dinner Phil said, "They've gone to the movie." Just then the "beep" beeped and I left a message, not to them but a discussion with Phil about how I would have gone to the movie with them.

"Only one problem, " Phil said. "They didn't ask you,"

I pouted with words and whined a bit and then, when I had made my point, I hung up. Then, after we had been to Costco--WITH AT LEAST SEVENTY-FIVE PERCENT OF THE PEOPLE IN UTAH--I called again and she said she had made everyone listen to my message and that her husband said I was crazy. And then I heard him correct her. "Crazier!" he said.

So today was a fun phone-calls-with-the-kids day.

That's all. Such a little thing but it means so much to a mom that I can have fun with my kids on the phone, and that they call when they have good news, and that they call for cooking advice, and that we can laugh at and with each other. Little things like that mean so much to me and probably every other mom on the planet. We're funny like that.

So, call your mom and ask a cooking question or tell her some good news or just breathe into the phone. It will give her a thrill.

PHONE CALLS

A friend was over tonight and the phone kept ringing. Both daughters and a woman who talked a mile a minute and then signed off without a goodbye. I said, "Are you still there?" She wasn't.

She's a lovely woman who has a plethera of problems and I adore her but not as much as I love my dear daughters. How I wish I could make everything better for my family. I would foul things up royally. They wouldn't have any growth because I'd solve everything. They wouldn't get any stronger because Mommy would sweep in and make everything easy and pretty and even smelling nice.

And the woman on the phone and the dear friend? I'd solve their problems too and then where would they be?

I'd foul things up royally. I really would.

MESSAGES FROM MICHIGAN

I have a friend who is vacationing in Michigan. She and her husband are at a campground with her sister and her brother-in-law, and other extended family members. I have had three phone calls from this friend. The last two did not begin with "Hello," but went something like this.

"Hello," I said.

"Tell her there was nine caramels in her bag," said my breathless friend. (I sent a bag of a dozen caramels to my friend's sister, who they are camping with.)

'Give me that phone," I heard the sister say as she wrestles the phone from my friend. "Hello, Lynne?"

"Hi, Kathie" I said.

"Lynne, how many caramels were in my bag THAT HAD BEEN OPENED!? Oh, by the way, thanks so much for the caramels," she said, exuding charm. "Now, Lynne," she said, getting right back to her subject. "Just how many caramels were in my bag?"

"Twelve," I said.

"TWELVE? I KNEW IT! THREE ARE MISSING. I saw one in Wendy's sweatshirt. Okay, fess up, who have my other two caramels?" I hear hysterical laughter in the background. "Oh, sorry, Lynne," she said, coming back on the line, "but SOMEONE HAS STOLEN SOME OF MY CARAMELS. By the way, did I say thanks?"

My friend came back on the phone and we talked all the while I could hear her sister giving the laughing members of her family the third degree.

That was Saturday. I got another phone call today.

"Hello," I said.

"Lynne," my friend said, "They have STOLEN MY caramels!"

I can hear more hysterical laughter in the background.

My friend continues, without hardly taking a breath. "I went in the trailer to get my caramels TO SHARE, I WAS GOING TO SHARE THEM," I hear her shout to the hooting crowd, "and they were not on the table, where I had left them, so I look in the fridge but they are not in the fridge, so I go outside and I say, 'who stole my caramels?' and I look at my sister and her face is bright red and I say, 'You did it, Kathie,' and she says, 'Gayle made me do it.'" By now my friend doesn't have enough breath left to make a squeak and I hear waves of laughter coming from everyone else.

Well, we talked a few minutes more, all the time she is shouting accusations at the laughing crowd and finally she says, "Well, I better go. Thanks for providing us with something to laugh about around the campfire."

I'm glad to oblige. I just wish I had sent caramels to someone else. I'm beginning to look forward to these phone calls where no one says "Hello," but just starts right in, telling me about thievery among family. I'm glad I could be the catalyst for interesting phone calls. We all do what we can in life and if I can't contribute life-changing-events I'm glad to have proviced laughter. I'm nice, like that.

CALLING HOME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY.

Last week at church, in our marriage and family relations class, our teacher said something like, "I try to always remember to call my wife in the middle of the day and tell her I love her."

Good grief, man. Don't you know you wife is busy in the middle of the day? Here are some of the things she is doing"

Changing the diaper--Oh, no, I have to stop in the middle of this and hope I can reach the phone without the baby flipping onto the floor or peeing on the wall .

Food preparation--Oh, no. I have to wash my hands but if I do that I'll miss that call so I'll swipe them with a paper towel and then wipe them on my pants. And then, for the rest of the day, bits of pant-debris will peel off her pants like tiny food cigars.

Watching Oprah or Rachael Ray or other important TV shows for a FEW, VERY FEW MINUTES and the phone rings during some time other than commercials--Oh, no. just when I was going to find out how to achieve world peace or how to make a great dinner in 20 minutes.

Lying in a heap somewhere for ten minutes while the children are miraculously napping or otherwise engaged when the phone rings--Oh, no. I was almost asleep for eleven seconds.

She then drags herself off the couch and answers the phone and fakes a cheerful voice and says some lie like, "Oh, honey, how nice of you to call."

As soon as she hangs up the baby cries or one of the kids flushes a toy or the last bit of her perfume down the toilet and her hope for more than eleven seconds of rest for the day are GONE.

In the middle of some household task the phone rings: Oh, no. Who could that be. She never gets back to the task and when hubby gets home and the laundry is still in a messy pile on the couch he looks at her like she is a slacker and vows never to call with loving words again.

Do yourself a favor, men. Before you leave the house give her a hug and tell her you love her and then tell her to think of somewhere she'd like to go for date night on Friday and call it good. Then, when you get home put an apron on and say, "What can I do to help?"

She will adore you until all the days of your life and a whole lot longer.

Now that will lead to a great marriage and a great relationship.

Trust me.

LOST

"Hello," I wave my hand frantically in the air and Phil pushes the pause button. Listen, listen, talk, talk, listen. "Good-bye." Un-pause.

"Hello," and we do the whole pause-listen-talk-good-bye routine two more times.

So, because of the pausing during LOST I did not have to watch any commercials. And because Phil had the remote, I did not get to watch the commercials that looked interesting. Zip, right through them all. All the upcoming movie trailers--didn't see those. The brand new commercials that looked halfway decent--didn't see those.

But...because we had also pushed the magic button. The little red magic "record" button I can go back and watch it all. And look for hidden meanings and clues and try to figure out what is going to happen in seven weeks, when the writer's strike is still on and we are left hanging...again.

I wonder how many babies have played the part of Claire's baby? And how many will? And are expectant parents in the LA area hoping for bald headed twins with blue eyes?

I wonder if it's in Hurley's contract that he can't diet until the series is over?

I wonder if this addiction is better or worse than a being addicted to chocolate.

And hey! What the heck ever happened to that plane-shaking, pilot-snatching, smoky monster? How many plot lines are possible in one series? This one looks like an eighteen-legged octopus. And if we remember all the people who have died--that had an interesting semi-plot going--it looks like a whole aquarium full of octopi, and a handful of worms thrown in, just for good measure.