UNBELIEVALBE WHAT SOME PEOPLE WILL DO

You won't believe what we saw today. We hardly believe it ourselves.

Phil and I have been sitting in front of a "Beam Ray," on and off for several weeks. (Originally developed by Royal Rife--as in the "Rife machine.") The Beam Ray helps the body fight off bacteria, viruses, even cancer. We took two weeks off for Christmas and at the end of the two weeks I got sick.

Today when we got there the room was full of interesting people. One woman had on white stretchy pants that were really form fitting. I tried not to look at her and was kind of embarrassed. She had to drive her husband somewhere and before she left she put her pants on! She came back in about a half hour and, as can be expected, took her pants right off. The white stretchy pants were her thermal underwear. I guess we should be glad she left the rest of her clothes on.
Is it just us or is this totally weird? And inappropriate? And embarrassing? And, like I said before, plain and simple, weird.

DO YOU EVER THINK TOTALLY WEIRD THINGS THAT AREN'T EVEN REALISTIC?

Me to.

For instance: I take my photo card out of my real camera and put it in my old camera because my old camera has a program on the computer to read the card. (My computer has no more room to do anything and so I can't load the new program EVEN IF I KNEW HOW.)

So, every single time I pop the card out of either camera I see myself, doing this, in a gondola in Venice, Italy and the card popping right into the water. Every single time.

How totally unrealistic is that? I'd say stupid but I don't want to admit to stupid, unrealistic is bad enough.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, YOU WEIRDO

On Saturday, Gilmore Girl and I were shopping in two consignment shops. Home Again and Home Again 2, in Salt Lake City.

Home Again is on 1019 East 2100 South. Home Again 2 is found at 7490 Holden Street--on the way to Gardner Village. They have some very cute things in both stores. If you live in the area you should put them on your "to check out" list.


In Home Again Gilmore Girl found these delightful things. "I bought those for you for Christmas," she said.


I'm beyond thrilled.

OTHER PEOPLE'S DREAMS BORE ME

As soon as someone says the words, "I had the weirdest dream last night," my eyes glaze over and my brain function resembles that of a heart monitor of a cadaver--flat-lined. I would rather clean the toilets, go to the dentist, anything but listen to their dream. So, when I woke up today I wondered if I should tell my friend I dreamed about her husband.

Her husband took his leg off, about three inches above the knee. Then he put on a steel pipe leg with a working knee and ankle. "Joan," he said as he walked around, "I think this will work."

Should I tell Joan? Do you think she would be bored? Do you think my dream was an invasion of her husband's privacy or of his leg?

PS If you have an interesting/weird dream that you feel compelled to tell me just remember that I am a fanatic about clean toilets and will probably have to go home and scrub one.

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.

THE NAP

Last night at 7:00 pm I was exhausted. I knew if I went to bed I'd wake up at 11:00 or 12:00 and be wide awake so I told Phil I was just going to take a nap. "Come upstairs and lie down with me and we'll visit for a little while," I said.

He wasn't interested. One of my friends called. "Come over," I said. "We'll lie on the bed and visit."

She didn't say she thought that was a little strange. She didn't say I was fully weird but I'm pretty sure she rolled her eyes. She declined.

I was in the bathroom--yes, we have a phone in the bathroom. Best gift I ever gave Phil, my phone loving husband. I looked in the mirror at a bleary Lynne. I really needed a nap although I looked pretty good, bleary. Better than normal. Perhaps the world should dawn smudgy glasses so I could look better than normal on a daily basis.

I stumbled into the dark bedroom and threw back the covers. They didn't throw back very far but I crawled in anyway. My head hit something hard. It was big...and warm. I started to scream when my husband chuckled. He was lying on top of the covers, that's why they wouldn't move. Then he moved as I attempted to beat him to death.

After my adrenaline was absorbed I did manage a nap and was up in time to go to bed.

NATURE DOESN'T MAKE THAT COLOR

Tonight, as I was throwing leftovers in pans in an effort to not have to cook dinner I ran across half a red cabbage and thought I would steam it. I love cooked cabbage with a bit of butter and a whole lot of splashes of apple cider vinegar. Which seems odd because when I was a kid I refused to eat cabbage. In fact I wouldn't even eat in the kitchen when mom served cabbage. The smell made me gag. My sisters pitched a royal fit because mom, who is/was an angel, (or maybe she was/is an angel) set a little table up on the back porch and let me eat there. (Thank you Mom, my own personal angel.)

Anyway, tonight as I was steaming the cabbage the water became and almost fluorescent aquamarine blue. No kidding, it really did. I have never seen that color in nature. Not even in documentaries of the waters off the Bahamas. Later it turned into more of a purplish cabbage color but for a minute there I thought we would be eating something that was going to change our genetics and tomorrow at church we would be trying to hide our third arms behind our backs and wondering what to do about the Cyclops eye in the middle of our foreheads. Where does Mother Nature come up with those colors?

7 WEIRD OR RANDOM FACTS ABOUT ME.

My friend Pam tagged me with this:

1. Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Okay, Pam, first of all I don't know seven people with blogs to tag. So, I'm afraid that part will have to go unanswered. I keep telling my friends to start a blog (you are the only one who has minded) but they just look at me like I'm an adolescent, trapped in a grown-up's body and say, "What's a blog?" Then they say, "What's the purpose of a blog?" And then they say, "I don't get it." All the time they are giving me that look. I do visit a lot of blogs, almost daily, of people I've stumbled on but they are popular and probably wouldn't even read my comments. So, I'll do the weird or random facts.

By the way, what does it mean to tag 7 random people? Who are these random people? Am I a random person? What makes a person random? maybe that's a weird fact.

7 weird facts about me:

1. I slept on the front porch as a kid. It was dripping with Virginia Creeper (the vine, not a weird--or random--person from Virginia). The porch looked like an grotto. I slept in a real double, brass bed with a down comforter. I had a night stand with a lamp, a box of comics--later a stack of books, and a portable radio. Mom said I could sleep there until the first frost. I prayed for a late frost. I would have slept there all winter if she had let me. As you can probably tell I lived in a very safe, small town. Mom left the front door open (screen door closed) and her bedroom was ten feet away so don't think she was negligent. She was the best. I sleep in a bedroom now--I wish I could sleep outside--but the window is wide open, summer and winter.

2. I think I am thin. When I pass a mirror I am always startled--and disgusted.

3. I think I am young. When I see my face I am always startled--and disgusted. So I smile. Then I look better but I do not, under any circumstance look at my profile. I have considered wearing a chin strap to bed to firm up the profile but it sounds too much like a jock strap.

4. I used to be a good cook. I had dinner on the table at 6:00 pm sharp and it was tasty. Now I don't love to cook but still love to gather recipes, as if I'm going to go right to the kitchen and pull out pans and measuring spoons. I watch the food network--except for Emeril--I copy recipes off the Internet and put them in files. It's my hobby. Reading people's blog is my other hobby. I read people's food blogs, especially the vegetarian food blogs. I found a recipe on A Veggie Venture called SPICY THAI NOODLE SALAD that I did make and it was very good. I had to make a whole extra recipe of sauce though. So, out of perhaps 100 recipes that I have saved I have made one. One percent. Not a very good track record, is it?

5. I love to sleep but never get to bed early enough to do enough of it. Maybe that's not weird. Maybe it's just poor planning.

6. I love to give gifts. I used to take a little gift (a loaf of sweet bread, etc.) to the people I visit teach each month (visiting teaching is an LDS thing) and then one day two of them said it made them feel guilty so I quit. I have never understood that. Why would they feel guilty. I wanted them to feel loved. I also used to buy Wednesday gifts for my girls--the ones I gave birth to and the ones who married my boys. Not every Wednesday, not even one Wednesday a month. But if I found something and I couldn't wait until Christmas or their birthday's to give it to them I gave it early. Then my fortunes took a nosedive and I couldn't buy Wednesday gifts anymore. When my fortunes reverse I am going to buy Wednesday gifts again. I can hardly wait.

7. I know sugar is a poison. I know it in the depths of my being. So, why am I always making caramels, I wonder? I just finished making 500 caramels for one order--that's over sixteen pounds of the stuff, and twelve Thanksgiving bags with name tags for my sister for her Thanksgiving table. I am slowly contributing to people's ill health. Someone should shake me. But not before I get my chin strap on because I don't want that wonky chin flopping around because I think I'm really young and fit and I don't want anything flapping all over the place, giving hints that I'm not.

There, maybe those aren't weird. Maybe they're just random.

And this post is too long. I really must learn to condense.