We dashed to the mall this morning for a last minute item because I didn't want to get caught in what we got caught in yesterday--twenty minutes to drive two miles OR LESS. It may have been six blocks but I don't want to say six blocks in case you'd say to yourself, "That exaggerator!" But, really, I think it was six blocks. It may have been four.
Phil waited in the car, I dashed into Bath and Body and bought what I needed and then had buyer's remorse. "They can exchange it if they don't like it," the sales girl said.
I got to the car and Phil got out to open my door. "Smell this, I said. I gave him my left sleeve. "Now smell this." My right sleeve. "And this." My right wrist. "Which one do you like best?"
"The left sleeve."
"Aaugh, I knew it. I have to go back!"
"Could we conduct this conversation somewhere other than in a blizzard?" he asked in a somewhat patient voice. "And if they don't like it they can exchange it."
I got in the car. "And you know what else?" I said. "A man paid full price for ONE lotion--that's $10.50. For $15 more he could have four more items just like it because they are on sale five for $25. The sales girl told him but he said, 'no, I just need this one item for my wife' and then HE BOUGHT A GIFT CERTIFICATE FOR HER AND SHE WILL PAY FULL PRICE. Men are obviously not bargain hunters."
Phil's eyes glazed over. I could almost hear his internal talk, "She talks too much, just like those TV talk shows."
We drove home and I said, "I just need to dash into Day's Thriftway to pick up two items. You can stay in the car if you want, I'll be right back." He knew better. He came in. I bought 23 items. It took 22 minutes.
"We need to go to Costco," I said. "I forgot something."
"WHAT?"
His eyes had lost all glaze. Costco is right next to the mall. His eyes would have glazed over again but he needed them to drive. We dashed into Costco to buy a See's Candy certificate and then back to the mall to pick up the candy. No wonder the roads are congested. They are full of woman who forget to buy See's Candy certificates.
"If this keeps up we're going to have to buy more gas," Phil said. I remembered the price of gas. I didn't tell him I forgot something at Day's Thriftway. I'll pick it up Monday when he's in the shower.
At a stop light the back window of a car in front of us rolled down. A dog stuck his head out the window and barked twice. He pulled his head back in the car and then back out. One more bark. Back in the car. The window rolled up. The light turned green and the car drove off, perhaps to roll it's window down to let the dog bark again, at stop lights down the road.
Phil delivered our neighborhood gifts this afternoon while I drove the car. He got inside when he got too cold to function. "It's nice in here," he said. "It's warm. There is Christmas music on the radio." He sighed and held his hands up to the heater. I rolled my eyes. I sympathized, I really did but sometimes a good eye-roll is satisfying .
At Janna's house she came out to thank me. "How is your hand," she asked. (This is an injury I have from wrapping caramels. I know you are scoffing but really, it is. My last marathon wrapping session was 500 caramels and when I was finished my thumb joint was throbbing.)
"It hurts, not all the time but right now it does."
She asked me to show her where, and then she took my hand and kissed it, right on the hurt. Her unexpected kindness made my eyes fill with tears.
"No one has kissed a boo-boo since my mom died," I said.
"How long has she been gone?"
"Twenty years, Elizabeth wasn't even born yet. Mom didn't know she was coming. Neither did I."
She got a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Aha," she said. "You thought Phil got you pregnant but it was really your Mom's doing."
We laughed and talked some more and then Phil was at the end of the street, turning blue so I went to pick him up.
When we got home I started to make Catalina Dressing. I got exactly two ingredients mixed and then the house gremlins took the recipe and, four hours later, I still haven't found it. Phil was on the computer, getting his lesson for his Sunday School class and I knew not to ask to use the computer to go to my cookbook file and make a copy--when he's in his getting-a-lesson-mode he is V-E-R-Y focused. I improvised and it was good but as I look at the recipe it needed more vinegar and more spices.
Then I fixed dinner with canned spaghetti sauce, not half as good as my homemade sauce--which I see I haven't posted yet on my cookbook blog--or half as good as Cindy's sauce either. We were starving and in the confusion I put a spoonful of Catalina dressing on my spaghetti along with two scoops of sauce. And you know what? It improved the sauce. So, Phil followed suit and we ate spaghetti with salad dressing.
As I am sitting here I am thinking about my conversation with Janna. Maybe Mom did bring Elizabeth here to me, after all.
And that was a nice thought to end the day with. That and warm pumpkin bread--just delivered by Tammie--and a cup of hot chocolate, in the new Christmas mug brought to me by Maisel.
The day was odd but I have friends who love me and a very patient husband and what more could a girl ask for?
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
CHRISTMAS DISHES AND THE COMIC
Usually I get our Christmas dishes out after Thanksgiving. They are still in the hutch, well, some of them are. Some are in the kitchen, waiting to be washed and some of our regular dishes are in the living room, waiting to take their places.
Phil was in the living room with me, I was taking the dishes out while we were discussing the rest of the Christmas preparations.
"Sit down," he said, "so we can talk."
"I can talk while I work," I said.
"Well, in that case there must not be much talking done around here."
He thinks he's funny.
Phil was in the living room with me, I was taking the dishes out while we were discussing the rest of the Christmas preparations.
"Sit down," he said, "so we can talk."
"I can talk while I work," I said.
"Well, in that case there must not be much talking done around here."
He thinks he's funny.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
PHIL'S TAKE ON TALK SHOWS
Today I had Studio 5 on TV while I wrapped caramels. (Studio 5 is a local talk show, on Channel 5--KSL.)
I HAVE to figure out something ELSE to give the neighbors. This caramel wrapping is getting out of control. I can hardly look a caramel in the face.
A cute woman was making some kind of Christmas gifts/crafts. She and the hostess were discussing the "how-to's." They were perky. The women guests are usually perky--unless they are there to promote some kind of cause. Then they are serious and controlled. I've never seen a perky, controlled guest. There must be a rule.
"They sure talk a lot," Phil said.
"Well, she's explaining how to make things," I said.
That segment was over and someone came on talking about perfume and HER VERY FAVORITE ONE THAT SHE COULDN'T LIVE WITHOUT and Phil talked right over her saying something like, "Do these people ever take a breath? They simply talk and talk and talk."
If I had been downstairs watching TV with the DVR--that I could back up, or even better, back up and then hit the record button--I wouldn't be peeved but I was in the kitchen with the no-frills DVR. That particular perfume will never enhance my pulse points. And how she loved it.
Another segment came on, more talking. A recipe for soup. I love recipes. They are one of my hobbies, collecting recipes--which I rarely use but this one I might have. It was for roasted red pepper soup.
"Good grief!" Phil said, drowning out her list of ingredients. "Those people are probably pearl divers. They never take a breath. They can go two, three minutes, maybe five. They could set records for non-breath taking. They just talk and talk and talk."
"Phil," I said, "this is a talk show."
He looked at me as if I failed Kindergarten. "They never stop," he said with a little voice.
I hit the mute button.
"Whew," he said. He hung his head as if in prayer. "This is so peaceful. So...." Words failed him. "Whoever invented the mute button deserves a reward. he was as smart as Einstein."
Notice how he assumed the mute button inventor was a man.
Right, I thought, the mute button inventor--right up there with Einstein.
As far as Phil is concerned, talk shows should be wordless, maybe they could be closed captioned. He'd be so happy.
Remind me to tell you how he thinks baby showers and wedding showers should be conducted. Interesting. Very interesting.
I HAVE to figure out something ELSE to give the neighbors. This caramel wrapping is getting out of control. I can hardly look a caramel in the face.
A cute woman was making some kind of Christmas gifts/crafts. She and the hostess were discussing the "how-to's." They were perky. The women guests are usually perky--unless they are there to promote some kind of cause. Then they are serious and controlled. I've never seen a perky, controlled guest. There must be a rule.
"They sure talk a lot," Phil said.
"Well, she's explaining how to make things," I said.
That segment was over and someone came on talking about perfume and HER VERY FAVORITE ONE THAT SHE COULDN'T LIVE WITHOUT and Phil talked right over her saying something like, "Do these people ever take a breath? They simply talk and talk and talk."
If I had been downstairs watching TV with the DVR--that I could back up, or even better, back up and then hit the record button--I wouldn't be peeved but I was in the kitchen with the no-frills DVR. That particular perfume will never enhance my pulse points. And how she loved it.
Another segment came on, more talking. A recipe for soup. I love recipes. They are one of my hobbies, collecting recipes--which I rarely use but this one I might have. It was for roasted red pepper soup.
"Good grief!" Phil said, drowning out her list of ingredients. "Those people are probably pearl divers. They never take a breath. They can go two, three minutes, maybe five. They could set records for non-breath taking. They just talk and talk and talk."
"Phil," I said, "this is a talk show."
He looked at me as if I failed Kindergarten. "They never stop," he said with a little voice.
I hit the mute button.
"Whew," he said. He hung his head as if in prayer. "This is so peaceful. So...." Words failed him. "Whoever invented the mute button deserves a reward. he was as smart as Einstein."
Notice how he assumed the mute button inventor was a man.
Right, I thought, the mute button inventor--right up there with Einstein.
As far as Phil is concerned, talk shows should be wordless, maybe they could be closed captioned. He'd be so happy.
Remind me to tell you how he thinks baby showers and wedding showers should be conducted. Interesting. Very interesting.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
FORGIVENESS
I had lost some money. A tidy sum. I didn't dare tell Phil. I felt awful about it. I was careless. I'm like that sometimes. Careless and casual and irresponsible--laa-te-dawing through life.
Yesterday Phil took the stack of newspapers out to the recycle can. I was going to go through them first to see if I had dropped the envelope on top and it had gotten mixed in, but he took them out a day early. Tomorrow the recycle truck comes and I HAD to fess up and tell Phil why I was going to trudge inside with an armful of papers and make a mess in the tidy (because the home teachers came) living room.
I unburdened. I waited for the sighing and the reminder that I'm careless. I waited.
"That money is not in the newspapers. You'll find it," he said. This is the same thing Pam had said--I had told her because I knew she wouldn't sigh and remind me that I'm careless and I simply had to tell someone.
I waited for the other shoe to drop. Waited...waited...waited...nothing.
"Phil," I said, "I've looked everywhere--FOR A WEEK. It's gone."
"It's okay," he said. "It's just money."
My eyes bugged out of my head. Just money? Honestly, he's lost his mind, I thought.
Our water heater has decided to breathe it's last, flooding parts of the laundry room and flooding the bathroom. The water should have gone down the laundry room drain, but things being what they are, the floor slopes the wrong way. Thank you, builder-who-cut-every-corner-possible. So, obviously we need a new water heater, if not a new floor. Which costs money, like the money I'd lost. Not enough to pay for a new water heater but enough to pay for part of it.
"Have you prayed about it," Phil asked in a mild mannered Clark Kent voice.
"No."
"Well, do that and you'll find it. If not, it's okay."
Now, how can you not adore a man who treats you like that?
I said a silent prayer, went into the kitchen, set the timer for seven minutes and thought, Maybe I can get the table cleaned off in seven minutes. At least this will take my mind off the lost money.
Seven minutes? Ha. I am still wrapping and bagging caramels and all the other fru-fra of Christmas is there on the table. Seven minutes wouldn't be enough time to even start but guess what? In less than seven minutes I found the money.
"I found the money," I yelled downstairs to Phil, who was talking to a plumber who was supposed to install a new water heater for a prearranged price.
"I knew you would," Phil said.
The plumber was also happy to hear I found the money so he quoted almost $400 extra dollars to re-rout the gas line--or some such thing--the mechanics of this kind of thing escape me--and install the water heater.
I forgave him his greediness because Phil forgave me and it felt so good--to be forgiven. I forgave him and gave him a bag of caramels when he left.
Phil is going to install the water heater. He can do anything. Include forgive people who are careless and irresponsible.
Yesterday Phil took the stack of newspapers out to the recycle can. I was going to go through them first to see if I had dropped the envelope on top and it had gotten mixed in, but he took them out a day early. Tomorrow the recycle truck comes and I HAD to fess up and tell Phil why I was going to trudge inside with an armful of papers and make a mess in the tidy (because the home teachers came) living room.
I unburdened. I waited for the sighing and the reminder that I'm careless. I waited.
"That money is not in the newspapers. You'll find it," he said. This is the same thing Pam had said--I had told her because I knew she wouldn't sigh and remind me that I'm careless and I simply had to tell someone.
I waited for the other shoe to drop. Waited...waited...waited...nothing.
"Phil," I said, "I've looked everywhere--FOR A WEEK. It's gone."
"It's okay," he said. "It's just money."
My eyes bugged out of my head. Just money? Honestly, he's lost his mind, I thought.
Our water heater has decided to breathe it's last, flooding parts of the laundry room and flooding the bathroom. The water should have gone down the laundry room drain, but things being what they are, the floor slopes the wrong way. Thank you, builder-who-cut-every-corner-possible. So, obviously we need a new water heater, if not a new floor. Which costs money, like the money I'd lost. Not enough to pay for a new water heater but enough to pay for part of it.
"Have you prayed about it," Phil asked in a mild mannered Clark Kent voice.
"No."
"Well, do that and you'll find it. If not, it's okay."
Now, how can you not adore a man who treats you like that?
I said a silent prayer, went into the kitchen, set the timer for seven minutes and thought, Maybe I can get the table cleaned off in seven minutes. At least this will take my mind off the lost money.
Seven minutes? Ha. I am still wrapping and bagging caramels and all the other fru-fra of Christmas is there on the table. Seven minutes wouldn't be enough time to even start but guess what? In less than seven minutes I found the money.
"I found the money," I yelled downstairs to Phil, who was talking to a plumber who was supposed to install a new water heater for a prearranged price.
"I knew you would," Phil said.
The plumber was also happy to hear I found the money so he quoted almost $400 extra dollars to re-rout the gas line--or some such thing--the mechanics of this kind of thing escape me--and install the water heater.
I forgave him his greediness because Phil forgave me and it felt so good--to be forgiven. I forgave him and gave him a bag of caramels when he left.
Phil is going to install the water heater. He can do anything. Include forgive people who are careless and irresponsible.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
THE NAME GAME
Tonight, while I was pondering about today's blog I came across this photo: Bond . . . James Bond. Here's the text that went with the photo:
"Have you ever thought about how your personality would be different if you had a different name? Does Bond . . James Bond ever feel so much stress that he just wants to go back to bed? If that was your name would you suddenly feel bolder? More daring?
"Or maybe you are having a little trouble threading a needle and you were suddenly called Harry Potter would it make a difference?
"Or is Shakespeare correct?
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet.
"Would you still want to crawl into bed if you were Bond . . . James Bond?"
Today, two of my granddaughters were here. Kate--age four, and Ruby--age two. I was talking to my daughter-in-law about Kate's name. I told her it was a good strong name. Not wimpy, like Lynne. I told her that I wondered if I had a different name, a stronger name if I would be stronger.
We talked about Katherine Hepburn, who was called Kate by her friends and was such a strong willed person. Then I told her my favorite Katherine Hepburn movie is BRINGING UP BABY. Katherine Hepburn actually pulled a leopard around by a rope around its neck in that movie and I remember reading that the leopard wasn't a trained leopard--or maybe there were two leopards and the one she was jerking around was the one that wasn't trained--in fact it was darn cantankerous--and how she said later that she could have been killed but she just pulled it around, like she had good sense.
She was a strong woman, that Kate and our Kate is strong too.
Ruby, is an individual, just like her name. She didn't like me for the first year of her life. It didn't matter what I did. I could have stood on my head with candy bars for ears and she wouldn't have been impressed. She adored Phil--still does. She is past the hating stage and past the tolerating stage with me now and likes me but not like she likes Phil. I probably will never be able to charm her like he does. Maybe if I changed my name to Shaharazade. Or
No, maybe not. That would be infringing. I can't find a name I couldn't live without. Once I called myself Lyndy-Lou Dorthea Mae and there were a couple of other names tacked on but time has befuddled my memory.
I gave my girls perfect names. Hillary means happy and she is, in every way, and brings happiness to everyone she knows. Elizabeth means gift from God and she is, even though it might be a few years before she realizes it.
So, I should give myself a new name. Perhaps Gabrielle, which means strong woman of God--I like that, in fact it's my goal, to be a strong woman of God. You could call me Gabby for short, which means something altogether different and fits me often, like the other night when I had A Vacant Mind and said I had nothing to say and then proceeded to say nothing for a good long time.
So Gabrielle it is. Gabby, for short.
"Have you ever thought about how your personality would be different if you had a different name? Does Bond . . James Bond ever feel so much stress that he just wants to go back to bed? If that was your name would you suddenly feel bolder? More daring?
"Or maybe you are having a little trouble threading a needle and you were suddenly called Harry Potter would it make a difference?
"Or is Shakespeare correct?
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet.
"Would you still want to crawl into bed if you were Bond . . . James Bond?"
Today, two of my granddaughters were here. Kate--age four, and Ruby--age two. I was talking to my daughter-in-law about Kate's name. I told her it was a good strong name. Not wimpy, like Lynne. I told her that I wondered if I had a different name, a stronger name if I would be stronger.
We talked about Katherine Hepburn, who was called Kate by her friends and was such a strong willed person. Then I told her my favorite Katherine Hepburn movie is BRINGING UP BABY. Katherine Hepburn actually pulled a leopard around by a rope around its neck in that movie and I remember reading that the leopard wasn't a trained leopard--or maybe there were two leopards and the one she was jerking around was the one that wasn't trained--in fact it was darn cantankerous--and how she said later that she could have been killed but she just pulled it around, like she had good sense.
She was a strong woman, that Kate and our Kate is strong too.
Ruby, is an individual, just like her name. She didn't like me for the first year of her life. It didn't matter what I did. I could have stood on my head with candy bars for ears and she wouldn't have been impressed. She adored Phil--still does. She is past the hating stage and past the tolerating stage with me now and likes me but not like she likes Phil. I probably will never be able to charm her like he does. Maybe if I changed my name to Shaharazade. Or
No, maybe not. That would be infringing. I can't find a name I couldn't live without. Once I called myself Lyndy-Lou Dorthea Mae and there were a couple of other names tacked on but time has befuddled my memory.
I gave my girls perfect names. Hillary means happy and she is, in every way, and brings happiness to everyone she knows. Elizabeth means gift from God and she is, even though it might be a few years before she realizes it.
So, I should give myself a new name. Perhaps Gabrielle, which means strong woman of God--I like that, in fact it's my goal, to be a strong woman of God. You could call me Gabby for short, which means something altogether different and fits me often, like the other night when I had A Vacant Mind and said I had nothing to say and then proceeded to say nothing for a good long time.
So Gabrielle it is. Gabby, for short.
Monday, December 17, 2007
THE LIST FOR MY ORGANIZED, WONDERFUL DAY...AND WHAT REALLY HAPPENED
Last night I decided to make a list for today so I would be organized and productive.
8:00 AM--wake up and do all the morning routine and then...
1. Clean the kitchen. Completely.
2. Finish funny, charming story for Personal History group
3. Buy one of the books Elizabeth wants at Borders
4. Browse Borders for 15 minutes only, don't buy anything else
5. Come home--to a clean kitchen. Yay! Make Russian Teacakes
6. Make fudge and Muddy Buddies
7. Pack teacakes, fudge and Muddy Buddies in tins and box everything for mailing to Aunt Dorothy
8. Go to Personal History group, read funny, charming story
9. Come home to a clean kitchen, Yay! Mop kitchen floor
10. Wrap ten presents
11. Fix a delicious dinner for Phil. The table will be cleaned off because I have cleaned the kitchen and I can put the holiday candles down the middle. Light the candles and pretend we are young and romantic.
12. Do dishes and since the kitchen is clean it will take five minutes
13. Deliver 32 bags of caramels with Phil. Sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," at each door. Make the last batch of caramels, wrap them in the morning and deliver the extra 10 gift bags tomorrow night.
14. Sit in the living room with Phil, listen to Christmas music. Drink hot chocolate. Eat two Russian Teacakes. Savor the romance.
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED:
1. At 8:30 Phil woke me up--I slept in. I had a worrying night and was awake a lot--he said my neighbor had called and she would pick me up in 25 minutes so we could go to the church and put labels on the Relief Society manuals for next year. I had forgotten we were going to the church to put labels on the manuals for next year.
2. Scrambled madly, called my neighbor and told her I'd drive myself because I was going to be late. Drove to church and put labels on the manuals.
3. Went to Borders but because I couldn't find the list of the books that Elizabeth said she wanted I bought a totally unknown book that she DIDN'T tell me about. The guy at the register said it was a great book and since he is an art student—going to a University in Portland in January—he's majoring in animation—he looked twelve-years-old so I figured he would be perfect for the job--I took his word for it.
4. Paid for three other items I wasn't planning on buying but because I had a 40% off coupon my bill was only twice as much as if I had paid full price for the book in the first place. So good of me to have a coupon and pay twice as much. Went to Color Me Mine to look at what I could make with the $20.00 in coupons I received FIVE STINKING YEARS AGO as a Christmas present. Prices have doubled in five years. My coupons are now worth about $10 at the 2002 prices. Grumbled and said I'd be back. Someday. (Not soon.)
5. Forgot to go to my personal history group. Also forgot to finish my story. This is the first time in over a year I have been unprepared. I went an hour late and listened to every one else's story--they were all funny and wonderful. I was not having a funny or wonderful day but I laughed because everyone else was having a funny and wonderful day and I loved their stories. Ate a delicious lunch that Sarah had prepared for us and felt guilty because I dashed out of the house without fixing anything for Phil.
6. Forgot to buy marshmallows while I was out so I can't make the fudge. Mutter and grumble.
7. Came home to a horrible kitchen and made the dough for Russian Teacakes in about twelve square inches of space because that’s all the space that was clean. Put the dough in the fridge to firm. Turned the oven to 400 degrees so it would be ready when the teacakes were firm.
8. Read blogs while waiting for the dough to firm and the oven to heat.
9. Stopped reading blogs when the smoke alarm went off. Removed the pan of flaming chicken grease—that was in the oven from last night after I broiled the chicken. Ran outside and threw the pan in the snow. Opened all the windows, brought the fan in out of the garage and turned it on full force to get rid of the smoke. Picked up two thousand papers off the floor that were on the un-cleaned counter in the un-cleaned kitchen when the fan hit them. Sprayed the kitchen with Oust and heard Phil call from the family room, "Something smells good, are you cooking dinner?"
10. Told him “NO!” and then I turned the oven off and told him now was as good a time as any to go and buy a new water heater because the old one is dying and it flooded the laundry room and bathroom on Saturday. There goes my Christmas present and his too. I have decided I want hot water for Christmas.
11. Stopped on the way home to buy marshmallows for the fudge. They were not on sale. Why didn’t I buy more than one package when they were 99 cents?
12. Bought TV dinners. Came home, heated them in the oven that smelled like broiled chicken. The oven probably shouldn’t be used to bake Russian Teacakes anytime in this century. Pushed 32 gift bags filled with caramels out of the way, pushed six empty tins waiting for Russian Teacakes and fudge and maybe Muddy Buddies out of the way. Pushed last weeks grocery ads and my positive affirmation cards out of the way, plus the box containing the Christmas candles and garland that is supposed to go down the middle of the table to encourage romance. Knocked the Christmas cards on the floor and kicked them under the table. Christmas cards unsent at this date are better off under the table.
13. Ate. I had Mexican and Phil had turkey. We pretended it was beautifully cooked and nutritious. I told him he should admire the clean kitchen, wonderfully decorated table and the fourteen candles, encouraging romance. He snorted. I wiped his cranberry sauce off the decorative tins, waiting to be filled. I threw the disposable dishes in the recycle bin. Phil went downstairs. I looked at the chaos in the kitchen and decided to make the caramels in the morning and put them in the garage so they will be firm enough to wrap in the afternoon. Will do the same with the fudge and the Russian teacakes. I have decided Muddy Buddies are overrated.
14. Asked Phil if he wanted to sit in the living room and have hot chocolate or deliver 32 gift bags of caramels and sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," or if he just wanted to watch the news in the family room. He didn’t answer. I think he was asleep in the recliner. I ate the fudge that someone else brought to us for Christmas and decided to read blogs. I'll make tomorrow's list after tomorrow is finished. That way I can cross off everything on the list and be happy about it.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
A VACANT MIND
My mind is a blank. Nothing to say. Tired. Worried. A touch of sadness. Overwhelmed by the preparation that still is undone.
But...the living room is finally decorated, clean, beautiful. And you know why? Because our home teachers were coming today so we worked like mad to finish. They were impressed. If they had looked in the kitchen they would have seen all the huge Rubbermaid containers filled with tissue paper that wrapped the ornaments, etc. If they had looked downstairs they would have seen the stacks of magazines and books that I don't know what to do with. Why am I a packrat?
Tonight's dishes are still in the sink, if they had looked they would have seen them.
The spare room is filled with gifts still in bags. The goodies are mostly made but I have more caramels and another batch of fudge and those pesky Russian Teacakes to make more of so I guess the goodies are NOT almost made. All these goodies are not mailed to Aunt Dorothy yet. I better hurry.
We have 42 bags of caramels to deliver. I don't have all of the caramels made yet. I better hurry. I am going to tell people to put them in the freezer until March when there will be a caramel shortage.
A man in our ward is sick and in the hospital. I am worried about him.
My friend is in a care center and it looks like it's just not her physical health that is in trouble. She said some odd things to me while I was there the other day. I'm worried about her.
My daughter's sister-in-law, who is pregnant with twins may loose one. Or both. We fasted an prayed for her today. Please take just a moment and say a prayer for her. Heavenly Father knows who she is, you won't need her name. I am praying for a miracle. I am NOT worrying, I am holding positive, healthy thoughts for those babies that she and her husband want so very much. I want to see them born, healthy and normal. I want to hold them and coo over them and tell her they are the most beautiful babies I have ever seen. I am holding that picture in my mind.
Oh, my. So many heavy things on my mind tonight. I need to let them go, give them to the Savior. He said he will take them. The worries. The sadness. The hurts. The anxiety. He will take them all. I just need to let them go.
But...the living room is finally decorated, clean, beautiful. And you know why? Because our home teachers were coming today so we worked like mad to finish. They were impressed. If they had looked in the kitchen they would have seen all the huge Rubbermaid containers filled with tissue paper that wrapped the ornaments, etc. If they had looked downstairs they would have seen the stacks of magazines and books that I don't know what to do with. Why am I a packrat?
Tonight's dishes are still in the sink, if they had looked they would have seen them.
The spare room is filled with gifts still in bags. The goodies are mostly made but I have more caramels and another batch of fudge and those pesky Russian Teacakes to make more of so I guess the goodies are NOT almost made. All these goodies are not mailed to Aunt Dorothy yet. I better hurry.
We have 42 bags of caramels to deliver. I don't have all of the caramels made yet. I better hurry. I am going to tell people to put them in the freezer until March when there will be a caramel shortage.
A man in our ward is sick and in the hospital. I am worried about him.
My friend is in a care center and it looks like it's just not her physical health that is in trouble. She said some odd things to me while I was there the other day. I'm worried about her.
My daughter's sister-in-law, who is pregnant with twins may loose one. Or both. We fasted an prayed for her today. Please take just a moment and say a prayer for her. Heavenly Father knows who she is, you won't need her name. I am praying for a miracle. I am NOT worrying, I am holding positive, healthy thoughts for those babies that she and her husband want so very much. I want to see them born, healthy and normal. I want to hold them and coo over them and tell her they are the most beautiful babies I have ever seen. I am holding that picture in my mind.
Oh, my. So many heavy things on my mind tonight. I need to let them go, give them to the Savior. He said he will take them. The worries. The sadness. The hurts. The anxiety. He will take them all. I just need to let them go.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
RUBY WAS HERE
Yesterday Ruby was here. She's two. She went potty. That's a big thing. I told her I was proud--as proud as a grandmother can be to see a poo-poo in the toilet. I was tending because her mom, my darling daughter and Phil went shopping for a new computer. They looked many places and found prices that were high. On her way home Hillary stopped at Office Max and bought a computer all by herself. With no advice from her computer geek brothers or her husband or her dad or nuthin'. Brave she is, my girl. I don't think I could have done it all by myself.
After they left I looked at the nativity I keep for the grandchildren--it's made of plastic and is pretty much indestructible. All the people, all the animals, were lying down. Even the chickens and the cat. Everyone needed a nap. Everyone but Ruby. Grandma, for instance needed a nap more than the camel or the donkey or the wise men or anyone else.
After they left I looked at the nativity I keep for the grandchildren--it's made of plastic and is pretty much indestructible. All the people, all the animals, were lying down. Even the chickens and the cat. Everyone needed a nap. Everyone but Ruby. Grandma, for instance needed a nap more than the camel or the donkey or the wise men or anyone else.
Friday, December 14, 2007
CHRISTMAS PROGRAMS TONIGHT
Tonight we went to our granddaughter, Kate's preschool Christmas program. There were eleven little girls, dressed up in their Sunday best. They filed in and sat on big-people chairs with little legs sticking straight out. They wore black tights, white tights, one wore red tights covered in white snowflakes and one little miss had on legwarmers that matched her patterned sweater.
They each had a "part" to say at the microphone, our Kate welcomed us. They sang songs from Sweden, Germany, Hawaii, Mexico, and the United States of America. They had simple costume changes, and once had lighted candles--battery operated. The lights in the room were turned off. As soon as that happened one little girl got the giggles. Kate led the group and walked into the microphone. BONK! Then they all followed her in a line around the audience with their candles, they were singing all the way.
The songs were sweet. One little girl didn't as much sing as yell. One started off the evening with the sulks and slumped in her chair, her head pulled into her sweater like a turtle. Some were distracted and looked around as if they had never seen a room with walls and a ceiling before. One decided she had an itch and proceeded to scratch all over her tummy, which she bared so she could attend to it better. They told us their names and ages, most were four with one six-year-old and one announced she was "free."
We mainly watched Kate, who did an interesting interpretation of the hula to one of the Hawaiian songs. She didn't so much as use her hands in expressive movements as pat her body from side to side. When one of the songs had the line, "you better not pout," she had an expressive, "and if you do pout you are going to be in big trouble" face. She was practicing to be a mom, I'm pretty sure. She has beautiful large eyes, an engaging smile and confidence that the rest of us would do well to have at any age.
As soon as the program was over we hugged everyone--well, the family members anyway, and dashed to our church house as we were late for our Ward Christmas party. We shouldn't have worried. Our Ward was operating on Mormon Standard Time, which is "always a few minutes late." We missed the caroling but were in time for dinner. I took a salad, a variation of my Poppy Seed one (I'll post it on my cookbook site). I guess it turned out okay as I got a request for the recipe from yet another one of the beautiful women in our ward. I tell you, our neighborhood is full of beautiful woman. This one looks like a Russian princess and she might be. Her ancestors are indeed Russian.
The Primary children were all dressed up as members of the nativity. They sat in rows on the stage and sang song after song about the birth of the Savior. There were boys with towels draped over their heads, tied with cord or twine . One boy had a turban on his head that was unbelievable in its magnificence, one had a crown. There were angels, at least two Mary's (one whose real name is Mary) with baby Jesus dolls wrapped in baby blankets. The Primary presidency had supplied halo's made of tinsel to all who wanted them. The girls held their heads high so not to disturb the perfection. The boys took their halos off and twirled them on fingers.
After the Primary kids the Young Men and Young Women did several numbers with bells. It was reverent and beautiful.
After the youth, a couple, who sing like professionals--actually they almost are professionals, sang some carols that I had not heard before. They are happy and in love and made us feel like they were in love with us too.
They each had a "part" to say at the microphone, our Kate welcomed us. They sang songs from Sweden, Germany, Hawaii, Mexico, and the United States of America. They had simple costume changes, and once had lighted candles--battery operated. The lights in the room were turned off. As soon as that happened one little girl got the giggles. Kate led the group and walked into the microphone. BONK! Then they all followed her in a line around the audience with their candles, they were singing all the way.
The songs were sweet. One little girl didn't as much sing as yell. One started off the evening with the sulks and slumped in her chair, her head pulled into her sweater like a turtle. Some were distracted and looked around as if they had never seen a room with walls and a ceiling before. One decided she had an itch and proceeded to scratch all over her tummy, which she bared so she could attend to it better. They told us their names and ages, most were four with one six-year-old and one announced she was "free."
We mainly watched Kate, who did an interesting interpretation of the hula to one of the Hawaiian songs. She didn't so much as use her hands in expressive movements as pat her body from side to side. When one of the songs had the line, "you better not pout," she had an expressive, "and if you do pout you are going to be in big trouble" face. She was practicing to be a mom, I'm pretty sure. She has beautiful large eyes, an engaging smile and confidence that the rest of us would do well to have at any age.
As soon as the program was over we hugged everyone--well, the family members anyway, and dashed to our church house as we were late for our Ward Christmas party. We shouldn't have worried. Our Ward was operating on Mormon Standard Time, which is "always a few minutes late." We missed the caroling but were in time for dinner. I took a salad, a variation of my Poppy Seed one (I'll post it on my cookbook site). I guess it turned out okay as I got a request for the recipe from yet another one of the beautiful women in our ward. I tell you, our neighborhood is full of beautiful woman. This one looks like a Russian princess and she might be. Her ancestors are indeed Russian.
The Primary children were all dressed up as members of the nativity. They sat in rows on the stage and sang song after song about the birth of the Savior. There were boys with towels draped over their heads, tied with cord or twine . One boy had a turban on his head that was unbelievable in its magnificence, one had a crown. There were angels, at least two Mary's (one whose real name is Mary) with baby Jesus dolls wrapped in baby blankets. The Primary presidency had supplied halo's made of tinsel to all who wanted them. The girls held their heads high so not to disturb the perfection. The boys took their halos off and twirled them on fingers.
After the Primary kids the Young Men and Young Women did several numbers with bells. It was reverent and beautiful.
After the youth, a couple, who sing like professionals--actually they almost are professionals, sang some carols that I had not heard before. They are happy and in love and made us feel like they were in love with us too.
He played the accordion, which I think was my Dad's. It belongs to my son but he Lent it to Eric--my son is Eric's wife's niece's husband. How's that for confusing? We're all just one happy family here. One day I will tell you how Trent got to become Eric's wife's niece's husband. A real love story and I was the matchmaker. The best success I ever had and the luckiest day of Trent's life.
The whole evening was delightful. Family, all watching the littlest member sing and walk into a microphone and conduct herself with regal confidence. Good food with friends all around. Wonderful innocent children and the youth, so clean and happy and anxious to read the music and ring their bells at the right time. Beautiful carols, sung about Mary and Joseph and the baby, born in the stable.
I looked around the cultural hall, filled with tables full of people, most of which I know pretty well. I had an overwhelming feeling that I was good friends with each of them in Heaven. Good friends with the children who I don't know very well since I don't work in the Primary any more. I felt like we laughed and learned and shared our lives and we should love each other here. It was a tender gift, given to me for just a few moments. An exquisite feeling of joy. I am content.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
BUILD-A-BEAR STORE--AKA EMPTY-YOUR-WALLET-HERE STORE!
Today we met our beautiful granddaughter, Mary Poppins and her mom and the other three beautiful grandkids at the mall. It's Mary Poppins' birthday tomorrow. She is turning eight. Next month she will be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. Eight is a wondrous age and Mary Poppins is a wonderful little girl. Very loving, smart, sensitive and has the most beautiful eyes you will ever see on a child. She has a good heart which is the best of all her qualities.
Anyway, we were going to buy her a build-a-whatever-she-wanted at the Build-a-Bear store. I had a $5.00 off coupon, which I couldn't find when it was time to go to the store. Coupons have a way of doing that to me. I have them until I need them and then I have-them-not. Until they expire, then I have them again.
Mary Poppins picked a pink spotted leopard, it's name is Pawfect Pink Leopard, it is very cute. Then the lady starts adding things. A Build-a-Sound? A Heart Beat? She doesn't ask the one paying the bill, just asks the child. Our sensible Mary Poppins didn't want those things. Whew.
"Okay," the Super-Sonic-Build-a-Bear-Sales-Person (her father was a carny-barker) said, "Go give her a bath and then go pick out her clothes." Not, "Would you care to look at clothes?" Just, "Go pick them out!" An order. An animal couldn't walk out naked? Like nature intended?
I looked at Phil. The whites of his eyes were showing all around his pupils. "Clothes?" he mouthed. I shrugged.
"I'm paying for the clothes," Mary Poppins's darling mother said. She has been there before. She recognized a shell shocked grandfather when she saw one.
Mary Poppins picked out a khaki, pleated skirt, a shirt and shoes. Shoes? Yes, shoes. Obviously a well dressed panther wears shoes on his feet but not his other feet which seem to be hands.
"I don't know why these animals need clothes," Mary Poppins's mother said. "They never stay dressed anyway."
Mary Poppins grinned. She was already planning to strip the Pawfect Pink Panther's clothes off as soon as she got home. I could tell. She will mean to re-dress her but the chances of it happening are slim. Especially when it comes time to take Pawfect to bed. Who wants to sleep with a panther with scratchy clothes and clunky shoes?
Then Mary Poppins and her mother registered the well dressed animal, Mary Poppins gave it a name. JoJo. A birth certificate was printed out and we went to pay. The clothes cost as much as the bear! Oh my stars! I looked at Mary Poppins's Mother. The whites of my eyes were now showing all around the pupils.
"I've been here before," Mary Poppins's mother said dryly. "I looked like that the first time."
I gave Mary Poppins a hug as we left the store. "Thank you," I mouthed over the top of her head at her mom.
"You're welcome," she said. "Those clothes won't stay on ten minutes," she said with half closed eyes as she slowly shook her head.
She sighed. We sighed. Mary Poppins sighed. We all sighed for different reasons and then we all departed, leaving the Build a Bear store almost $50.00 richer.
I logged onto the Build a Bear website when I got home. They have stores in every state and nineteen countries. Nineteen! Including India. I thought India had poverty unlimited. Maybe that's why. All the little stuffed animals are running around with expensive clothes made in China for pennies and the savvy woman who invented this Build-a-Bear empire is vacationing in Nassau, sipping ice cold drinks on the beach and laughing every time she hears a cash register ring another sale. She is laughing almost non-stop.
I'm sure she deserves it. Her stores are darling, they really are and Mary Poppins had a wonderful time. She got a giant sticker on her sweater, saying it was her birthday. She got to ring a big school bell and everyone in the store yelled "Happy Birthday," but I have to ask one question? Can't animals be happy being naked?
Obviously not, or the genius behind this empire would only be sipping ice water in Miami instead of whatever she pleases in Nassau or St. Maarten or whatever is the vacationing mecca this year.
Happy birthday, darling Mary Poppins and happy birthday JoJo, the Pawfect Pink Leopard. May you and Mary Poppins have great times together. We love you, Mary Poppins, forever and ever. Grandma and Grandpa
Anyway, we were going to buy her a build-a-whatever-she-wanted at the Build-a-Bear store. I had a $5.00 off coupon, which I couldn't find when it was time to go to the store. Coupons have a way of doing that to me. I have them until I need them and then I have-them-not. Until they expire, then I have them again.
Mary Poppins picked a pink spotted leopard, it's name is Pawfect Pink Leopard, it is very cute. Then the lady starts adding things. A Build-a-Sound? A Heart Beat? She doesn't ask the one paying the bill, just asks the child. Our sensible Mary Poppins didn't want those things. Whew.
"Okay," the Super-Sonic-Build-a-Bear-Sales-Person (her father was a carny-barker) said, "Go give her a bath and then go pick out her clothes." Not, "Would you care to look at clothes?" Just, "Go pick them out!" An order. An animal couldn't walk out naked? Like nature intended?
I looked at Phil. The whites of his eyes were showing all around his pupils. "Clothes?" he mouthed. I shrugged.
"I'm paying for the clothes," Mary Poppins's darling mother said. She has been there before. She recognized a shell shocked grandfather when she saw one.
Mary Poppins picked out a khaki, pleated skirt, a shirt and shoes. Shoes? Yes, shoes. Obviously a well dressed panther wears shoes on his feet but not his other feet which seem to be hands.
"I don't know why these animals need clothes," Mary Poppins's mother said. "They never stay dressed anyway."
Mary Poppins grinned. She was already planning to strip the Pawfect Pink Panther's clothes off as soon as she got home. I could tell. She will mean to re-dress her but the chances of it happening are slim. Especially when it comes time to take Pawfect to bed. Who wants to sleep with a panther with scratchy clothes and clunky shoes?
Then Mary Poppins and her mother registered the well dressed animal, Mary Poppins gave it a name. JoJo. A birth certificate was printed out and we went to pay. The clothes cost as much as the bear! Oh my stars! I looked at Mary Poppins's Mother. The whites of my eyes were now showing all around the pupils.
"I've been here before," Mary Poppins's mother said dryly. "I looked like that the first time."
I gave Mary Poppins a hug as we left the store. "Thank you," I mouthed over the top of her head at her mom.
"You're welcome," she said. "Those clothes won't stay on ten minutes," she said with half closed eyes as she slowly shook her head.
She sighed. We sighed. Mary Poppins sighed. We all sighed for different reasons and then we all departed, leaving the Build a Bear store almost $50.00 richer.
I logged onto the Build a Bear website when I got home. They have stores in every state and nineteen countries. Nineteen! Including India. I thought India had poverty unlimited. Maybe that's why. All the little stuffed animals are running around with expensive clothes made in China for pennies and the savvy woman who invented this Build-a-Bear empire is vacationing in Nassau, sipping ice cold drinks on the beach and laughing every time she hears a cash register ring another sale. She is laughing almost non-stop.
I'm sure she deserves it. Her stores are darling, they really are and Mary Poppins had a wonderful time. She got a giant sticker on her sweater, saying it was her birthday. She got to ring a big school bell and everyone in the store yelled "Happy Birthday," but I have to ask one question? Can't animals be happy being naked?
Obviously not, or the genius behind this empire would only be sipping ice water in Miami instead of whatever she pleases in Nassau or St. Maarten or whatever is the vacationing mecca this year.
Happy birthday, darling Mary Poppins and happy birthday JoJo, the Pawfect Pink Leopard. May you and Mary Poppins have great times together. We love you, Mary Poppins, forever and ever. Grandma and Grandpa
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
IT'S WEDNESDAY AND I RECEIVED A WEDNESDAY GIFT
Years ago, I started a tradition of giving my girls Wednesday gifts. Things that weren't big, just something fun or cute or useful, maybe even something as little as a heat resistant spatula for the kitchen or a lip gloss. I called them Wednesday gifts because for some reason the first few happened to be purchased or given on a Wednesday. They didn't get a gift every Wednesday or even one Wednesday a month, just whenever.
My girls have even given me Wednesday gifts. What fun for me. And today, my neighbor, Cindy, gave me a Wednesday gift. The cutest Santa you ever saw. (I MUST learn how to post pictures.) Plus a book. How lucky am I? Not that getting gifts is lucky but having Cindy for a friend, who know exactly what would surprise and please me and then making sure it came on a Wednesday--that's lucky. I have such a good friend, within spitting distance, (that is if I spit or if she did. I don't. Well, not when anyone is looking and I'm pretty sure she doesn't spit, even if nobody ever looked. She's that kind of non-spitting girl.)
Anyway, I have lots of Wednesday friends, people who give to me just because. They send me emails. How I love emails. They call me on the phone. They stop by. That has got to be my favorite kind of a friend, the stopping-by ones. People that know they are welcome at any hour of the day or night. They stop by just because. Last Christmas two friends stopped by, one because I had said in an email that I was in a major meltdown and the other one just knew something was wrong. I'm sure it was the whispering of the Holy Ghost that told her I needed her. They both held my hands and told me everything would be all right. They were both here at the same time and I will never forget that day and my two good friends if I live to be one hundred.
Come to think of it, as I read other people's blogs, look at their photographs, glimpse into their lives, laugh or are awed by the tough things they go through, the loneliness, the illness, the worry over children or other family members and all those things are a gift to me, on a Wednesday or any other day. I see strength that I want in my own life, I see compassion and I see humor. There are some incredible funny people out there. Some can make me laugh with one line, others have me laughing paragraph after paragraph.
Many gifts for me today. This Wednesday. Thank you, my dear friend, Cindy and my other friends. Seen and unseen. Those of you within spitting distance and those from the nether parts. I wish I had a Wednesday gift for each of you but since I don't please know that I appreciate you and wish you well, this Wednesday.
My girls have even given me Wednesday gifts. What fun for me. And today, my neighbor, Cindy, gave me a Wednesday gift. The cutest Santa you ever saw. (I MUST learn how to post pictures.) Plus a book. How lucky am I? Not that getting gifts is lucky but having Cindy for a friend, who know exactly what would surprise and please me and then making sure it came on a Wednesday--that's lucky. I have such a good friend, within spitting distance, (that is if I spit or if she did. I don't. Well, not when anyone is looking and I'm pretty sure she doesn't spit, even if nobody ever looked. She's that kind of non-spitting girl.)
Anyway, I have lots of Wednesday friends, people who give to me just because. They send me emails. How I love emails. They call me on the phone. They stop by. That has got to be my favorite kind of a friend, the stopping-by ones. People that know they are welcome at any hour of the day or night. They stop by just because. Last Christmas two friends stopped by, one because I had said in an email that I was in a major meltdown and the other one just knew something was wrong. I'm sure it was the whispering of the Holy Ghost that told her I needed her. They both held my hands and told me everything would be all right. They were both here at the same time and I will never forget that day and my two good friends if I live to be one hundred.
Come to think of it, as I read other people's blogs, look at their photographs, glimpse into their lives, laugh or are awed by the tough things they go through, the loneliness, the illness, the worry over children or other family members and all those things are a gift to me, on a Wednesday or any other day. I see strength that I want in my own life, I see compassion and I see humor. There are some incredible funny people out there. Some can make me laugh with one line, others have me laughing paragraph after paragraph.
Many gifts for me today. This Wednesday. Thank you, my dear friend, Cindy and my other friends. Seen and unseen. Those of you within spitting distance and those from the nether parts. I wish I had a Wednesday gift for each of you but since I don't please know that I appreciate you and wish you well, this Wednesday.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, December 10, 2007
SUNDAY WITH FRIENDS
Last night we were invited to two friend's homes to do the same thing--light an advent candle and sing Christmas songs. The second invitation came from our neighbors, The C's who went to the house the first invitation came from (the P's) last year. If this keeps up--each family that is invited to the P's house will be starting new traditions--there won't be anyone left to invite.
It was a wonderful evening. There were fourteen of us, three were children and so they wandered in and out. We sat around the table and choose a song to sing--twice. We sang everything from "Up On the Housetop" to songs from the 40's to sacred religious and children's religious hymns. The P's newlywed boy and his bride were there with young love's glow. He sang beautifully and set the pitch. Another couple have been married only eight months and I noticed they sang to each other a lot--there was a lot of young love nestling in.
After singing we had a plethora of savory and sweet treats and all kinds of flavors of hot chocolate. It was a wonderful way to end a Sunday evening. Good friends, good food and songs about the Savior's birth.
It was a wonderful evening. There were fourteen of us, three were children and so they wandered in and out. We sat around the table and choose a song to sing--twice. We sang everything from "Up On the Housetop" to songs from the 40's to sacred religious and children's religious hymns. The P's newlywed boy and his bride were there with young love's glow. He sang beautifully and set the pitch. Another couple have been married only eight months and I noticed they sang to each other a lot--there was a lot of young love nestling in.
After singing we had a plethora of savory and sweet treats and all kinds of flavors of hot chocolate. It was a wonderful way to end a Sunday evening. Good friends, good food and songs about the Savior's birth.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
BIG SNOW--LITTLE SNOW. LITTLE SNOW--BIG SNOW.
Derrel--one of the world's most delightful people--grew up hearing this saying: "Big snow, little snow. Little snow, big snow. " This wisdom came from the Indians. Perhaps the Piutes, who lived in and around Kanab, Utah where Derrel grew up. There were Navajos Indians living there too. Derrel doesn't know exactly which tribe had the saying. Perhaps both. Perhaps all the Indian tribes who live in parts of the country where snow is prevalent have this saying.
I just visited with Derrel on the phone and he says he can hear the Indians say it still. Slowly, with dignity. "Big snow." (Pause) "Little snow." (Pause, pause.) Little snow." (Pause.) "Big snow."
When the snowflakes are big the accumulated snowfall will be small. When the snowflakes are little the accumulated snowfall will be big. Derrel says that through the years he has seen this proven to be true almost 100% of the time. Since Derrel told Phil this about ten years ago I have observed the same.
Today was a little snow, big snow day. The snow sifted down, as if the angels, dusting Christmas cookies with powdered sugar were making a mess in the Heavenly kitchen. I was driving with my daughter, Elizabeth, in the powdered sugar snow. At first it was fine, the windshield wipers took the sifting off with no problems.
We went to Borders. We browsed for a l-o-n-g time. When we came out the car was covered. The side mirrors, which I didn't notice, looked like oblong snowballs. We got back on the road, the v-e-r-y slippery road, and when I needed to change lanes I looked in the side-oblong-snowballs and realized I had a problem. We rolled the windows down, scrapped the snow off but it was frozen in diamonds underneath. With our fingernails we scraped. It didn't make much difference.
I drove to a store--that shall be un-named--to see if they had any good toys I might need to buy for the grandkids. I am not mentioning the name because this store gives my daughter the shivers--she might be somewhat of a store-snob--and she spent most of my in-store-shopping-time in the car, freezing to death and fogging the windows.
The savvy store had printed a $5.00 off coupon and it was like a free five-dollar bill, pulling me in. I did find what I was hoping to, which I won't mention here because there is a slight, very slight chance the parents of those grandkids might read this blog and say to the grandkids, "I know what Grandma and Grandpa are getting you for Christmas." There is nothing more annoying than someone who knows a secret, a secret about you, and taunts you with it. My children take every opportunity to taunt. They have the annoying gene. It comes from my husband's side, I'm pretty sure. Okay, there is a slight chance it comes from mine. Slight.
I stashed my wonderful purchases in the back of the car and got in the driver's seat. I looked at my blue-tinged daughter and said, "Where to now?"
"Barnes and Noble," she said. (She has a hard time getting her fill of bookstores. She writes like a dream, and absolute dream--I am so jealous--and one day her books will be on the shelves. Bookstore air is an elixir to her.)
Backing up was an act of faith, due to Elizabeth's breath coating the windows, and both of us hung out the windows to make sure we weren't running over Rudolph, .
Then I proceeded to slide all over the road. I tried to put 4-wheel drive on but since I have the technological-non-functioning-gene it wouldn't work. Cars, with all their technological innards, enjoy taunting me. There's a lot of taunting going on in this world.
"Are you sure you want to go to Barnes and Noble?" I asked.
No answer. I looked over at her white face and clinched knuckles. "You better just take me home," she said in a weak voice.
"I was going to buy you lunch at Cafe Rio and you were going to come home and download my pictures and show me how to put pictures on my blog."
"Not today," she said, color starting to come back into her face. "Just take me home." Obviously starvation was preferable to what she perceived my driving might lead to.
I drove the car, slipping and sliding but because I grew up driving in snow I knew what to do to come out of a slide. If I didn't we would have done 360's. Lots of 360's. As the car slipped and slid and as I pulled it out of the slides the color left her face permanently. She may have to use tanning cream until she's ninety.
We drove down University Avenue and I pointed out a stand of trees, frosted with snow and a wire fence, wrapped in whiteness.
"Isn't that beautiful?" I asked, trying to ignore the fear we both felt because of the road conditions.
No comment. She had no interest in beauty. She wanted to go to her apartment, where it was safe. Were things didn't slide into each other.
So I took her home and sure enough, the car slipped into the gutter. Because it could and because of the taunting it so enjoys. I couldn't drive out of this one. I could back up but could not go forward. I didn't want to back home in the sifting, powdered sugar snow so I had her enlist the help of her friends and they pushed me out. I drove in first gear for two blocks and then, miraculously, the 4-wheel drive kicked in. It waited until my bloodless-faced child was gone. It so loved to give her a good scare, my taunting car.
I drove twenty miles an hour--or less--the five miles home. I passed every policeman in the city, helping people out of smashed cars. One three car pileup had the middle car tipped in the air like a stink bug. I wonder how the end car felt as it watched the rear end of the middle car plow into it's windshield.
So, today was a little snow, big snow day. I don't know if the Indians have any wisdom about the slipperiness of the snow but if they do, I'd like to know what it is. The next time those conditions are right I'm staying home. Bookstore or no bookstore--bargains or no bargains. I'm staying home.
I just visited with Derrel on the phone and he says he can hear the Indians say it still. Slowly, with dignity. "Big snow." (Pause) "Little snow." (Pause, pause.) Little snow." (Pause.) "Big snow."
When the snowflakes are big the accumulated snowfall will be small. When the snowflakes are little the accumulated snowfall will be big. Derrel says that through the years he has seen this proven to be true almost 100% of the time. Since Derrel told Phil this about ten years ago I have observed the same.
Today was a little snow, big snow day. The snow sifted down, as if the angels, dusting Christmas cookies with powdered sugar were making a mess in the Heavenly kitchen. I was driving with my daughter, Elizabeth, in the powdered sugar snow. At first it was fine, the windshield wipers took the sifting off with no problems.
We went to Borders. We browsed for a l-o-n-g time. When we came out the car was covered. The side mirrors, which I didn't notice, looked like oblong snowballs. We got back on the road, the v-e-r-y slippery road, and when I needed to change lanes I looked in the side-oblong-snowballs and realized I had a problem. We rolled the windows down, scrapped the snow off but it was frozen in diamonds underneath. With our fingernails we scraped. It didn't make much difference.
I drove to a store--that shall be un-named--to see if they had any good toys I might need to buy for the grandkids. I am not mentioning the name because this store gives my daughter the shivers--she might be somewhat of a store-snob--and she spent most of my in-store-shopping-time in the car, freezing to death and fogging the windows.
The savvy store had printed a $5.00 off coupon and it was like a free five-dollar bill, pulling me in. I did find what I was hoping to, which I won't mention here because there is a slight, very slight chance the parents of those grandkids might read this blog and say to the grandkids, "I know what Grandma and Grandpa are getting you for Christmas." There is nothing more annoying than someone who knows a secret, a secret about you, and taunts you with it. My children take every opportunity to taunt. They have the annoying gene. It comes from my husband's side, I'm pretty sure. Okay, there is a slight chance it comes from mine. Slight.
I stashed my wonderful purchases in the back of the car and got in the driver's seat. I looked at my blue-tinged daughter and said, "Where to now?"
"Barnes and Noble," she said. (She has a hard time getting her fill of bookstores. She writes like a dream, and absolute dream--I am so jealous--and one day her books will be on the shelves. Bookstore air is an elixir to her.)
Backing up was an act of faith, due to Elizabeth's breath coating the windows, and both of us hung out the windows to make sure we weren't running over Rudolph, .
Then I proceeded to slide all over the road. I tried to put 4-wheel drive on but since I have the technological-non-functioning-gene it wouldn't work. Cars, with all their technological innards, enjoy taunting me. There's a lot of taunting going on in this world.
"Are you sure you want to go to Barnes and Noble?" I asked.
No answer. I looked over at her white face and clinched knuckles. "You better just take me home," she said in a weak voice.
"I was going to buy you lunch at Cafe Rio and you were going to come home and download my pictures and show me how to put pictures on my blog."
"Not today," she said, color starting to come back into her face. "Just take me home." Obviously starvation was preferable to what she perceived my driving might lead to.
I drove the car, slipping and sliding but because I grew up driving in snow I knew what to do to come out of a slide. If I didn't we would have done 360's. Lots of 360's. As the car slipped and slid and as I pulled it out of the slides the color left her face permanently. She may have to use tanning cream until she's ninety.
We drove down University Avenue and I pointed out a stand of trees, frosted with snow and a wire fence, wrapped in whiteness.
"Isn't that beautiful?" I asked, trying to ignore the fear we both felt because of the road conditions.
No comment. She had no interest in beauty. She wanted to go to her apartment, where it was safe. Were things didn't slide into each other.
So I took her home and sure enough, the car slipped into the gutter. Because it could and because of the taunting it so enjoys. I couldn't drive out of this one. I could back up but could not go forward. I didn't want to back home in the sifting, powdered sugar snow so I had her enlist the help of her friends and they pushed me out. I drove in first gear for two blocks and then, miraculously, the 4-wheel drive kicked in. It waited until my bloodless-faced child was gone. It so loved to give her a good scare, my taunting car.
I drove twenty miles an hour--or less--the five miles home. I passed every policeman in the city, helping people out of smashed cars. One three car pileup had the middle car tipped in the air like a stink bug. I wonder how the end car felt as it watched the rear end of the middle car plow into it's windshield.
So, today was a little snow, big snow day. I don't know if the Indians have any wisdom about the slipperiness of the snow but if they do, I'd like to know what it is. The next time those conditions are right I'm staying home. Bookstore or no bookstore--bargains or no bargains. I'm staying home.
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.
"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.
Friday, December 7, 2007
MORE HOT ROMANCE
Tonight we watched Even Almighty for date night--we neither one wanted to go out. Cute movie--TV Guardian did bleep out a few words but not much. I told Phil I wanted to sit on the couch with him while we watched. I forgot.
I made popcorn with browned butter--mine with nutritional yeast--his with just salt--see my cookbook for the popcorn info. We ate and watched and laughed. Then I remembered I wanted to sit close to him, not in our recliners--which I am sure belong in "the home"--when did we succumb to recliners, I wonder. I put my hand on his arm rest. He put his hand over mine, squeezed a bit and we settled in to watch the rest of the movie. This is nice, I thought.
Soon the top of my hand got sweaty. Then it started to itch. What to do? What to do?
I very slyly pulled my hand away, scratched the top of it, pulled the sleeve of my sweater down over it and put my hand back. Phil's hand settled over mine.
"What's this?" he said, picking up the sleeve of my sweater.
"My hand got sweaty. Then it itched."
He sighed, put his hand back over my seater'd one and that was that. So much for romance in the family room.
Which reminds me of earlier today. We had gone to run errands. I went into the craft store. He sat in the car. He hates craft stores. He hates fabric stores. I hate hardware stores. I think we're even.
When I came out I stowed my purchases in the back seat and when I got in front he leaned over and said, "Give me a kiss." He had a little smile on his face. I was immediately suspicious.
"Why?"
"Just do it. Give me a kiss."
I kissed him on the cheek.
"Give me a real kiss, on the lips."
I couldn't' bring myself to do it. I thought he was "up to something."
I badgered him and finally he sighed and said, "I've been watching all the people coming out of the craft store. They didn't look very good. They looked sad. Then you came out and I was so happy that you were my wife and now you won't even give me a kiss."
I missed my chance for a tender moment. So much for romance in the parking lot.
I made popcorn with browned butter--mine with nutritional yeast--his with just salt--see my cookbook for the popcorn info. We ate and watched and laughed. Then I remembered I wanted to sit close to him, not in our recliners--which I am sure belong in "the home"--when did we succumb to recliners, I wonder. I put my hand on his arm rest. He put his hand over mine, squeezed a bit and we settled in to watch the rest of the movie. This is nice, I thought.
Soon the top of my hand got sweaty. Then it started to itch. What to do? What to do?
I very slyly pulled my hand away, scratched the top of it, pulled the sleeve of my sweater down over it and put my hand back. Phil's hand settled over mine.
"What's this?" he said, picking up the sleeve of my sweater.
"My hand got sweaty. Then it itched."
He sighed, put his hand back over my seater'd one and that was that. So much for romance in the family room.
Which reminds me of earlier today. We had gone to run errands. I went into the craft store. He sat in the car. He hates craft stores. He hates fabric stores. I hate hardware stores. I think we're even.
When I came out I stowed my purchases in the back seat and when I got in front he leaned over and said, "Give me a kiss." He had a little smile on his face. I was immediately suspicious.
"Why?"
"Just do it. Give me a kiss."
I kissed him on the cheek.
"Give me a real kiss, on the lips."
I couldn't' bring myself to do it. I thought he was "up to something."
I badgered him and finally he sighed and said, "I've been watching all the people coming out of the craft store. They didn't look very good. They looked sad. Then you came out and I was so happy that you were my wife and now you won't even give me a kiss."
I missed my chance for a tender moment. So much for romance in the parking lot.
THE WAR IN SAN DIEGO
Here is the promised dart gun story from the past.
In 1985 we took the kids to San Diego for a long anticipated vacation. We had rented a condo that overlooked a sailboat filled marina. It was beautifully decorated, the view was spectacular, everything was perfect. When we had unlocked the door, pushed it open and started to come in and Hillary actually backed up. “We don’t belong here,” she said.
“What? This is the right place. They key works. It’s paid for. What’s the matter?”
“This is too nice for us,” she said.
Right then I knew something was wrong in the Universe. My precious child, this eleven-year-old-Utah girl who was bright and happy and well adjusted, who always saw the good in life, did not think she belonged in a nice place. She was a daughter of God. He wants to give her all the good things in life but she had forgotten. She had forgotten and was not feeling worthy.
Some of the kids bustled past her and she got pushed in. When we got all the luggage in we tried to explain about why we belonged here. She wasn’t buying it.
I went into the bedroom and unpacked one of the suitcases because it contained a secret and as much as I wanted everyone to get unpacked—as much as I wanted them to unpack and not have to do it myself, I knew this was more important.
“Here,” I said to everyone, tossing them a package. “Let’s play.”
“Wow! Do you mean it?” they asked as they each grabbed and tore the wrappers off.
“Get ready,” I said. “Get set. Go!”
Darts flew everywhere. Guns were re-loaded and more darts flew. They ran to hide behind walls, peeking out to take aim and dodge darts. They ran behind couches and chairs and crouched down, loading and shooting.
Finally everyone’s dart guns were empty. They emerged like hungry locusts, running and snatching darts from all over the room. Phil was as busy gathering darts as the kids.
Another furious round of dart-gun-war began. Everyone laughed. Everyone scurried. Occasionally someone said, “Oh, you got me!” Sometimes they fell on the floor, holding their chests.
The only rule was: don’t aim for the face. Someone--you know who you are, my wicked children--didn’t listen and Phil took a dart exactly in the middle of his forehead. Play was halted long enough for me to take a picture and for the kids to scream with laughter and then the furious darts resumed, like wasps from a threatened nest.
The war lasted four hours. Four hours! Honest it did. I quit after about fifteen minutes and unloaded suitcases, put clothes away and fixed dinner. I would peek into the living room/dining room occasionally and a dart would whiz past my head.
“I’m not playing,” I’d yell.
It didn’t matter, three our four more darts would be launched in my direction. Phil was so tired by this time that he sat at the dining room table and only got up to replenish his dart supply. His shirt was wet with sweat. The kid’s hair was wet around the hairline. They will sleep good tonight, I thought.
By the time dinner was ready there was no more “I’m not worthy” thoughts. We had taken the condo by the throat and made it ours. A sack full of dart guns, a savvy mother and a good war will do that every time.
In 1985 we took the kids to San Diego for a long anticipated vacation. We had rented a condo that overlooked a sailboat filled marina. It was beautifully decorated, the view was spectacular, everything was perfect. When we had unlocked the door, pushed it open and started to come in and Hillary actually backed up. “We don’t belong here,” she said.
“What? This is the right place. They key works. It’s paid for. What’s the matter?”
“This is too nice for us,” she said.
Right then I knew something was wrong in the Universe. My precious child, this eleven-year-old-Utah girl who was bright and happy and well adjusted, who always saw the good in life, did not think she belonged in a nice place. She was a daughter of God. He wants to give her all the good things in life but she had forgotten. She had forgotten and was not feeling worthy.
Some of the kids bustled past her and she got pushed in. When we got all the luggage in we tried to explain about why we belonged here. She wasn’t buying it.
I went into the bedroom and unpacked one of the suitcases because it contained a secret and as much as I wanted everyone to get unpacked—as much as I wanted them to unpack and not have to do it myself, I knew this was more important.
“Here,” I said to everyone, tossing them a package. “Let’s play.”
“Wow! Do you mean it?” they asked as they each grabbed and tore the wrappers off.
“Get ready,” I said. “Get set. Go!”
Darts flew everywhere. Guns were re-loaded and more darts flew. They ran to hide behind walls, peeking out to take aim and dodge darts. They ran behind couches and chairs and crouched down, loading and shooting.
Finally everyone’s dart guns were empty. They emerged like hungry locusts, running and snatching darts from all over the room. Phil was as busy gathering darts as the kids.
Another furious round of dart-gun-war began. Everyone laughed. Everyone scurried. Occasionally someone said, “Oh, you got me!” Sometimes they fell on the floor, holding their chests.
The only rule was: don’t aim for the face. Someone--you know who you are, my wicked children--didn’t listen and Phil took a dart exactly in the middle of his forehead. Play was halted long enough for me to take a picture and for the kids to scream with laughter and then the furious darts resumed, like wasps from a threatened nest.
The war lasted four hours. Four hours! Honest it did. I quit after about fifteen minutes and unloaded suitcases, put clothes away and fixed dinner. I would peek into the living room/dining room occasionally and a dart would whiz past my head.
“I’m not playing,” I’d yell.
It didn’t matter, three our four more darts would be launched in my direction. Phil was so tired by this time that he sat at the dining room table and only got up to replenish his dart supply. His shirt was wet with sweat. The kid’s hair was wet around the hairline. They will sleep good tonight, I thought.
By the time dinner was ready there was no more “I’m not worthy” thoughts. We had taken the condo by the throat and made it ours. A sack full of dart guns, a savvy mother and a good war will do that every time.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
EATING CARROTS BRINGS LOWER RISK FOR STROKE
The other night I was reading blogs, my newest hobby. Phil was sleeping in front of the TV, his newest hobby. I knew he was sleeping, even though his back is to me, because a PBS pledge drive was on and the subject was menopause or women's health or some such thing and he wasn't changing the channel. Since I was reading blogs I wasn't paying a lot of attention until the woman speaking said something like, "Women who eat nine carrots a week have a mumble-mumble % (I didn't exactly get the numbers but it was big, at least 65%, maybe as big as 85%) lower risk for stroke."
I perked up, turned my chair and watched. She mentioned that we should be eating other fruits and vegetables too.
Since I have a noise in the left side of my head at night that I somewhat-laughingly call my "stroke vein"--I can hear my heartbeat--I decided nine carrots were feasible for me. I started right away with two carrots. Not those little convenient "manufactured" baby carrots but the real deal, peeled and cut into "sticks."
Did you know those baby carrots are made from normal sized carrots, cut and trimmed? The ency ones are from the carrot tip. (Just a bit of trivia the produce man gave us one day.) Besides that the manufactured carrots get slimy if they are in the fridge for very long. They give me the shivers.
Carrots have always given me hiccups and now it seems they make me sneeze, too. But if they calm the stroke vein--and it seems to, after only three days the noise is diminished--it's worth it. Hic. Her information differed a bit from the info. I've copied below. The Harvard study quoted said five carrots. Hic. The woman on TV--whomever she was--said nine. Hic. I am going to eat nine. For life. Hic, hic, hic. Sneeze. I may be annoying but hopefully I won't die of a stroke. I'll be around to annoy for a l-o-n-g time. Hic.
Men benefit too. Heart disease is lowered by adding carrots and oranges to their diet.
From another article I found: "Beta-carotene is a powerful antioxidant, protecting the cells of the body from damage caused by free radicals. It is also one of the carotenoids believed to enhance the function of the immune system. Beta carotene also appears to stimulate cell to cell communication." This was from a blog called: Diet Cures Change Your Diet - Save Your Life, in a post entitled Beta Carotene and Strokes. They quoted the same study, below but recommended one and a half carrots a day which makes ten and a half a week. I guess I can do that. This blog has lots of interesting articles.
I perked up, turned my chair and watched. She mentioned that we should be eating other fruits and vegetables too.
Since I have a noise in the left side of my head at night that I somewhat-laughingly call my "stroke vein"--I can hear my heartbeat--I decided nine carrots were feasible for me. I started right away with two carrots. Not those little convenient "manufactured" baby carrots but the real deal, peeled and cut into "sticks."
Did you know those baby carrots are made from normal sized carrots, cut and trimmed? The ency ones are from the carrot tip. (Just a bit of trivia the produce man gave us one day.) Besides that the manufactured carrots get slimy if they are in the fridge for very long. They give me the shivers.
Carrots have always given me hiccups and now it seems they make me sneeze, too. But if they calm the stroke vein--and it seems to, after only three days the noise is diminished--it's worth it. Hic. Her information differed a bit from the info. I've copied below. The Harvard study quoted said five carrots. Hic. The woman on TV--whomever she was--said nine. Hic. I am going to eat nine. For life. Hic, hic, hic. Sneeze. I may be annoying but hopefully I won't die of a stroke. I'll be around to annoy for a l-o-n-g time. Hic.
Men benefit too. Heart disease is lowered by adding carrots and oranges to their diet.
From another article I found: "Beta-carotene is a powerful antioxidant, protecting the cells of the body from damage caused by free radicals. It is also one of the carotenoids believed to enhance the function of the immune system. Beta carotene also appears to stimulate cell to cell communication." This was from a blog called: Diet Cures Change Your Diet - Save Your Life, in a post entitled Beta Carotene and Strokes. They quoted the same study, below but recommended one and a half carrots a day which makes ten and a half a week. I guess I can do that. This blog has lots of interesting articles.
Spinach seems to be important too. Hum. I love the salad in my cookbook blog that uses spinach. Maybe I better eat it at least once a week and go heavy on the spinach, light on the lettuce. Shannon's salad is tasty too and has spinach too. I love canned spinach--I know, most of you are gagging--but it probably doesn't count as it's been processed to death.
Here's the link to the article, which was a Harvard study. I've copied some of the info below.
"...studies suggest that eating lots of fruits and vegetables containing Vitamin C and beta carotene are associated with a lowered risk of heart disease and stroke...
"...Eating spinach, carrots and oranges appears to be especially beneficial. In a study of the diets of 87,245 female nurses, Harvard medical School's Joann Manson found that women who ate at least five servings of carrots a week had a 68% lower stroke risk than women who ate carrots once a month or less. ...In another study, Dr. Dilip Pandey at the University of Texas in Houston found that men who ate plenty of foods containing vitamin C and beta carotene were 30% less likely to die of heart disease. The amount of vitamin C in one or two oranges and the beta carotene in one or two carrots was enough to have a protective effect, said Pandey."
Hic.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
I CAN HARDLY WALK AND IT'S MY OWN FAULT
Last night was our Christmas Enrichment. It was wonderful. We always have pot luck for the Christmas Enrichment and everyone brings their best holiday food--except me, my contribution was a dismal failure--an untried recipe, I should have known. It will never be mentioned again.
The Enrichment Leader (a beautiful blond--click here to see the story about another beautiful blond--our ward is full of beautiful people, it seems), the Relief Society President and I went up to the church at 12:30 and started. We decorated tables--two long ones with red cloths, fresh greenery, gold ribbon winding among the greenery, and my Nativity--from Costco--too bad I didn't' bring food from Costco too--artificial candles (that light) and a golden "boingy" Christmas tree with a gold star for the center, standing over Baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It was beautiful. That was our savory table. As it turned out we should have had three savory tables instead of two.
Our "sweet" tables were in white, with a fabric Christmas runner, fresh greenery, artificial candles, a "boingy" Christmas tree and red ribbon decorated with gold poinsettia's winding through the greenery--again, from Costco. It was beautiful too.
The Enrichment leader practically brings her whole house full of decorations and had penguins the size of Shetland Ponies, eight Christmas stocking, hanging from large silver stocking hangers--each one different--and an army of nutcrackers--the tallest was four feet--along with all her mother's poinsettia's, about a dozen. She is an outstanding woman--besides being beautiful.
We had 12 round tables--we didn't' need that many but we panicked and had the high priests set up extras at the last minute. The tables had white cloths, most had a green topper or other Christmas topper and then twelve sisters brought their nativities for centerpieces. They were varied in style and all were lovely.
I went back to the church almost 2 hours early to finish setting up, Judy--my faithful side-kick, came and we got water ready for all the tables, the Enrichment leader and the Relief Society President came, and soon the women started to come. We didn't start on time--we never start on time. There is a running joke about Mormon Standard Time which is five to ten minutes late. After the opening prayer I looked down and realized I had forgotten napkins. I mentioned it to the other seven women at my table and they came with me, took handfuls of napkins and had the tables napkin'd in no time. That is what I smacked myself in the forehead and thought, Why didn't I remember to get a "set-up" committee and a "clean-up" committee? That's why I can't walk today--I spent almost seven hours on my feet because I'm stupid. And because I took an un-tired, not-good, never-to-be-mentioned-again dish and the humiliation makes me weak in my aching knees.
The night was absolutely filled with wonderful friends, good food, a program put on by two women in our ward and one from our stake--beautiful music and good feelings. I wish I could carry the feeling of love and goodwill with me all year. Until then, next year's Enrichment will be lovely and I will bring good food and will have lots and lots of help. Lots and lots and lots of help.
May all your Christmas--or Hanukkah--or whatever seasonal celebrations you have--be filled with beauty and good will, good food, loving family and friends and lots of help.
PS I must mention that many women stayed to help clean up or I wouldn't be walking today at all. Bless their hearts. And bless yours for wading through this post which was kind of whiny.
PPS Please send your best Christmas recipes to me so I won't have to repeat last night's food fiasco. Which I'm not going to mention again.
The Enrichment Leader (a beautiful blond--click here to see the story about another beautiful blond--our ward is full of beautiful people, it seems), the Relief Society President and I went up to the church at 12:30 and started. We decorated tables--two long ones with red cloths, fresh greenery, gold ribbon winding among the greenery, and my Nativity--from Costco--too bad I didn't' bring food from Costco too--artificial candles (that light) and a golden "boingy" Christmas tree with a gold star for the center, standing over Baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It was beautiful. That was our savory table. As it turned out we should have had three savory tables instead of two.
Our "sweet" tables were in white, with a fabric Christmas runner, fresh greenery, artificial candles, a "boingy" Christmas tree and red ribbon decorated with gold poinsettia's winding through the greenery--again, from Costco. It was beautiful too.
The Enrichment leader practically brings her whole house full of decorations and had penguins the size of Shetland Ponies, eight Christmas stocking, hanging from large silver stocking hangers--each one different--and an army of nutcrackers--the tallest was four feet--along with all her mother's poinsettia's, about a dozen. She is an outstanding woman--besides being beautiful.
We had 12 round tables--we didn't' need that many but we panicked and had the high priests set up extras at the last minute. The tables had white cloths, most had a green topper or other Christmas topper and then twelve sisters brought their nativities for centerpieces. They were varied in style and all were lovely.
I went back to the church almost 2 hours early to finish setting up, Judy--my faithful side-kick, came and we got water ready for all the tables, the Enrichment leader and the Relief Society President came, and soon the women started to come. We didn't start on time--we never start on time. There is a running joke about Mormon Standard Time which is five to ten minutes late. After the opening prayer I looked down and realized I had forgotten napkins. I mentioned it to the other seven women at my table and they came with me, took handfuls of napkins and had the tables napkin'd in no time. That is what I smacked myself in the forehead and thought, Why didn't I remember to get a "set-up" committee and a "clean-up" committee? That's why I can't walk today--I spent almost seven hours on my feet because I'm stupid. And because I took an un-tired, not-good, never-to-be-mentioned-again dish and the humiliation makes me weak in my aching knees.
The night was absolutely filled with wonderful friends, good food, a program put on by two women in our ward and one from our stake--beautiful music and good feelings. I wish I could carry the feeling of love and goodwill with me all year. Until then, next year's Enrichment will be lovely and I will bring good food and will have lots and lots of help. Lots and lots and lots of help.
May all your Christmas--or Hanukkah--or whatever seasonal celebrations you have--be filled with beauty and good will, good food, loving family and friends and lots of help.
PS I must mention that many women stayed to help clean up or I wouldn't be walking today at all. Bless their hearts. And bless yours for wading through this post which was kind of whiny.
PPS Please send your best Christmas recipes to me so I won't have to repeat last night's food fiasco. Which I'm not going to mention again.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
HEADS UP FOR CHRISTMAS--ACTUALLY NEW YEARS!
When I was growing up we had something called Mother Goose. Mother Goose came on New Year's Eve. She hid presents somewhere in the house. Maybe under the desk or behind the drapes in the living room. No more wrapping, Mom was sick of wrapping, so whatever we got was just put out.
Mother Goose came because Mom would start finding things she had bought for Christmas that she had forgotten about--she was one of the original bargain shoppers and started shopping for next year's Christmas on December 26th.
We never had the let down that you sometimes hear about after Christmas. We knew something good was coming on New Year's day. Now, you may think, what greedy children. I hope you won't. We had a joyful life, enough of the basics and some extras. One year Mom and Uncle Tom stood at the window and shook their heads in dismay. The toys were discarded on the living room floor while Jim--my cousin--and I were having a marvelous time, playing in the snow with two metal coat hangers we had bent into the shape of clumsy airplanes.
"We might as well have saved a lot of time and money," Mom said. "We could have given them some cardboard boxes, coat hangers, a roll of tape and called it good."
I continued the tradition of Mother Goose for my children. One year they got nothing but dart guns but we had dart gun wars all New Year's day and it started a tradition I will post maybe later this week.
Mother Goose is a good thing. A tradition worth keeping.
PS If you ever do buy dart guns for the kids but a few extras. Some always break and then there's a sad player on the sidelines.
Mother Goose came because Mom would start finding things she had bought for Christmas that she had forgotten about--she was one of the original bargain shoppers and started shopping for next year's Christmas on December 26th.
We never had the let down that you sometimes hear about after Christmas. We knew something good was coming on New Year's day. Now, you may think, what greedy children. I hope you won't. We had a joyful life, enough of the basics and some extras. One year Mom and Uncle Tom stood at the window and shook their heads in dismay. The toys were discarded on the living room floor while Jim--my cousin--and I were having a marvelous time, playing in the snow with two metal coat hangers we had bent into the shape of clumsy airplanes.
"We might as well have saved a lot of time and money," Mom said. "We could have given them some cardboard boxes, coat hangers, a roll of tape and called it good."
I continued the tradition of Mother Goose for my children. One year they got nothing but dart guns but we had dart gun wars all New Year's day and it started a tradition I will post maybe later this week.
Mother Goose is a good thing. A tradition worth keeping.
PS If you ever do buy dart guns for the kids but a few extras. Some always break and then there's a sad player on the sidelines.
Monday, December 3, 2007
PS FOR YESTERDAY'S FLEETING HAPPINESS POST
Don't feel sorry for me. I'm not sad or depressed. The "happy" I was talking about was/is pure joy. I have felt it a few times in my life. I think this is how we felt when we lived with our Heavenly parents before coming here, to earth life. I think this was the state we lived in, pure joy.
I have felt that joy a few times in my life. The most memorable one was after I lost a baby. I was five month pregnant and the baby died. He was perfect. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong. I could not heal. I grieved. There is nothing more powerful to say than to say I grieved. If you have ever lost a child you will understand.
In prayer I finally asked Heavenly Father if I could just see my child. That night, in a dream, my oldest child, Trent, brought the baby, Stephen, to me. The baby was dressed in a blue, footed sleeper. He had dark hair, like my other children had had--this was before my blond haired, blue eyed Bentley was born. Trent gave Stephen to me and my whole being was flooded with joy. It is my most precious memory.
That's the joy I'm talking about. That's the joy that comes so rarely. That's the joy we lived with, I think, when we lived with our Heavenly parents. That's the joy I miss. Maybe you miss it too.
I have felt that joy a few times in my life. The most memorable one was after I lost a baby. I was five month pregnant and the baby died. He was perfect. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong. I could not heal. I grieved. There is nothing more powerful to say than to say I grieved. If you have ever lost a child you will understand.
In prayer I finally asked Heavenly Father if I could just see my child. That night, in a dream, my oldest child, Trent, brought the baby, Stephen, to me. The baby was dressed in a blue, footed sleeper. He had dark hair, like my other children had had--this was before my blond haired, blue eyed Bentley was born. Trent gave Stephen to me and my whole being was flooded with joy. It is my most precious memory.
That's the joy I'm talking about. That's the joy that comes so rarely. That's the joy we lived with, I think, when we lived with our Heavenly parents. That's the joy I miss. Maybe you miss it too.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
WHERE DOES THE HAPPY GO?
Tonight, while watching the Tabernacle Choir on TV I all of a sudden got a warm burst of happiness. It felt so good, so normal, like that is how I should feel every minute of every day. I think that is how we felt when we lived with Heavenly Father before coming to earth. Not all people believe that but I do and I think we were perfectly joyful.
Earth life is hard because we don't remember Heaven and we aren't able to know that no matter what happens here we will be all right. That we will be united with our Heavenly parents and our earthly parents too. It's hard to remember that when it's cold and dark and you worry about so many things.
Phil always says faith and fear cannot coexist. He's right.
Today I taught part of the lesson in Relief Society. I told the sisters how much I miss my mother. I told them I think she is with me a lot of the time, that angels are with all of us. We can't see them but they are there. I wish I were in tune enough to see my angels. Tonight, right now, when it's so dark and cold outside and I am missing my mom and the happy has fled. It would be comforting.
Earth life is hard because we don't remember Heaven and we aren't able to know that no matter what happens here we will be all right. That we will be united with our Heavenly parents and our earthly parents too. It's hard to remember that when it's cold and dark and you worry about so many things.
Phil always says faith and fear cannot coexist. He's right.
Today I taught part of the lesson in Relief Society. I told the sisters how much I miss my mother. I told them I think she is with me a lot of the time, that angels are with all of us. We can't see them but they are there. I wish I were in tune enough to see my angels. Tonight, right now, when it's so dark and cold outside and I am missing my mom and the happy has fled. It would be comforting.
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.
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.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
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?
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?
MENTAL CAPACITY
I talked to my newly-a-year-older boy today.* We had a delightful visit; he is a fun person and had me laughing for an hour.
He had some startling statistics that had me saying, "So, that explains it!"
If you are dehydrated by just 5% your mental capacity will be diminished by as much as 25%. By the time your body says to you, "Hey, I'm thirsty," you are dehydrated by 10%.
This explains a lot about Utah drivers.
He had some startling statistics that had me saying, "So, that explains it!"
If you are dehydrated by just 5% your mental capacity will be diminished by as much as 25%. By the time your body says to you, "Hey, I'm thirsty," you are dehydrated by 10%.
This explains a lot about Utah drivers.
Friday, November 30, 2007
I SHOULDN'T POST THIS
I shouldn't post this because I don't have permission but I'm going to do it anyway. Probably the only people who read this are my friends and a few nice people who's blogs I've read and loved and you wouldn't turn me in. Would you?
I "Googled" Ian Frazier and found a recording of him. Click on the following "RA" (whatever it is) to hear LAMENTATIONS OF A FATHER. (RA) The recording is a bit different than the text. How I love it. Good for a laugh. Good for a whole bunch of laughs. Hahaha. Oh, how funny. You must listen to this and please pray that I'm not going to get into trouble.
Laws Concerning Food and Drink; Household Principles; Lamentations of the Father by Ian Frazier, The Atlantic Monthly; February 1997
Laws When at Table: And if you are seated in your high chair, or in a chair such as a greater person might use, keep your legs and feet below you as they were. Neither raise up your knees, nor place your feet upon the table, for that is an abomination to me. Yes, even when you have an interesting bandage to show, your feet upon the table are an abomination, and worthy of rebuke. Drink your milk as it is given you, neither use on it any utensils, nor fork, nor knife, nor spoon, for that is not what they are for; if you will dip your blocks in the milk, and lick it off, you will be sent away. When you have drunk, let the empty cup then remain upon the table, and do not bite it upon its edge and by your teeth hold it to your face in order to make noises in it sounding like a duck; for you will be sent away.
When you chew your food, keep your mouth closed until you have swallowed, and do not open it to show your brother or your sister what is within; I say to you, do not so, even if your brother or your sister has done the same to you. Eat your food only; do not eat that which is not food; neither seize the table between your jaws, nor use the raiment of the table to wipe your lips. I say again to you, do not touch it, but leave it as it is. And though your stick of carrot does indeed resemble a marker, draw not with it upon the table, even in pretend, for we do not do that, that is why. And though the pieces of broccoli are very like small trees, do not stand them upright to make a forest, because we do not do that, that is why. Sit just as I have told you, and do not lean to one side or the other, nor slide down until you are nearly slid away. Heed me; for if you sit like that, your hair will go into the syrup. And now behold, even as I have said, it has come to pass.
For we judge between the plate that is unclean and the plate that is clean, saying first, if the plate is clean, then you shall have dessert. But of the unclean plate, the laws are these: If you have eaten most of your meat, and two bites of your peas with each bite consisting of not less than three peas each, or in total six peas, eaten where I can see, and you have also eaten enough of your potatoes to fill two forks, both forkfuls eaten where I can see, then you shall have dessert. But if you eat a lesser number of peas, and yet you eat the potatoes, still you shall not have dessert; and if you eat the peas, yet leave the potatoes uneaten, you shall not have dessert, no, not even a small portion thereof. And if you try to deceive by moving the potatoes or peas around with a fork, that it may appear you have eaten what you have not, you will fall into iniquity. I will know, and you shall have no dessert.
On Screaming: Do not scream; for it is as if you scream all the time. If you are given a plate on which two foods you do not wish to touch each other are touching each other, your voice rises up even to the ceiling, while you point to the offense with the finger of your right hand; but I say to you, scream not, only remonstrate gently with the server, that the server may correct the fault. Likewise if you receive a portion of fish from which every piece of herbal seasoning has not been scraped off, and the herbal seasoning is loathsome to you, and steeped in vileness, again I say, refrain from screaming. Though the vileness overwhelm you, and cause you a faint unto death, make not that sound from within your throat, neither cover your face, nor press your fingers to your nose. For even now I have made the fish as it should be; behold, I eat of it myself, yet do not die.
Concerning Face and Hands: Cast your countenance upward to the light, and lift your eyes to the hills, that I may more easily wash you off. For the stains are upon you; even to the very back of your head, there is rice thereon. And in the breast pocket of your garment, and upon the tie of your shoe, rice and other fragments are distributed in a manner wonderful to see. Only hold yourself still; hold still, I say. Give each finger in its turn for my examination thereof, and also each thumb. Lo, how iniquitous they appear. What I do is as it must be; and you shall not go hence until I have done.
Various Other Laws, Statutes, and Ordinances: Bite not, lest you be cast into quiet time. Neither drink of your own bath water, nor of bath water of any kind; nor rub your feet on bread, even if it be in the package; nor rub yourself against cars, nor against any building; nor eat sand.
Leave the cat alone, for what has the cat done, that you should so afflict it with tape? And hum not that humming in your nose as I read, nor stand between the light and the book. Indeed, you will drive me to madness. Nor forget what I said about the tape.
Complaints and Lamentations: O my children, you are disobedient. For when I tell you what you must do, you argue and dispute hotly even to the littlest detail; and when I do not accede, you cry out, and hit and kick. Yes, and even sometimes do you spit, and shout "stupid-head" and other blasphemies, and hit and kick the wall and the molding thereof when you are sent to the corner. And though the law teaches that no one shall be sent to the corner for more minutes than he has years of age, yet I would leave you there all day, so mighty am I in anger. But upon being sent to the corner you ask straightaway, "Can I come out?" and I reply, "No, you may not come out." And again you ask, and again I give the same reply. But when you ask again a third time, then you may come out.
I "Googled" Ian Frazier and found a recording of him. Click on the following "RA" (whatever it is) to hear LAMENTATIONS OF A FATHER. (RA) The recording is a bit different than the text. How I love it. Good for a laugh. Good for a whole bunch of laughs. Hahaha. Oh, how funny. You must listen to this and please pray that I'm not going to get into trouble.
Laws Concerning Food and Drink; Household Principles; Lamentations of the Father by Ian Frazier, The Atlantic Monthly; February 1997
Laws When at Table: And if you are seated in your high chair, or in a chair such as a greater person might use, keep your legs and feet below you as they were. Neither raise up your knees, nor place your feet upon the table, for that is an abomination to me. Yes, even when you have an interesting bandage to show, your feet upon the table are an abomination, and worthy of rebuke. Drink your milk as it is given you, neither use on it any utensils, nor fork, nor knife, nor spoon, for that is not what they are for; if you will dip your blocks in the milk, and lick it off, you will be sent away. When you have drunk, let the empty cup then remain upon the table, and do not bite it upon its edge and by your teeth hold it to your face in order to make noises in it sounding like a duck; for you will be sent away.
When you chew your food, keep your mouth closed until you have swallowed, and do not open it to show your brother or your sister what is within; I say to you, do not so, even if your brother or your sister has done the same to you. Eat your food only; do not eat that which is not food; neither seize the table between your jaws, nor use the raiment of the table to wipe your lips. I say again to you, do not touch it, but leave it as it is. And though your stick of carrot does indeed resemble a marker, draw not with it upon the table, even in pretend, for we do not do that, that is why. And though the pieces of broccoli are very like small trees, do not stand them upright to make a forest, because we do not do that, that is why. Sit just as I have told you, and do not lean to one side or the other, nor slide down until you are nearly slid away. Heed me; for if you sit like that, your hair will go into the syrup. And now behold, even as I have said, it has come to pass.
For we judge between the plate that is unclean and the plate that is clean, saying first, if the plate is clean, then you shall have dessert. But of the unclean plate, the laws are these: If you have eaten most of your meat, and two bites of your peas with each bite consisting of not less than three peas each, or in total six peas, eaten where I can see, and you have also eaten enough of your potatoes to fill two forks, both forkfuls eaten where I can see, then you shall have dessert. But if you eat a lesser number of peas, and yet you eat the potatoes, still you shall not have dessert; and if you eat the peas, yet leave the potatoes uneaten, you shall not have dessert, no, not even a small portion thereof. And if you try to deceive by moving the potatoes or peas around with a fork, that it may appear you have eaten what you have not, you will fall into iniquity. I will know, and you shall have no dessert.
On Screaming: Do not scream; for it is as if you scream all the time. If you are given a plate on which two foods you do not wish to touch each other are touching each other, your voice rises up even to the ceiling, while you point to the offense with the finger of your right hand; but I say to you, scream not, only remonstrate gently with the server, that the server may correct the fault. Likewise if you receive a portion of fish from which every piece of herbal seasoning has not been scraped off, and the herbal seasoning is loathsome to you, and steeped in vileness, again I say, refrain from screaming. Though the vileness overwhelm you, and cause you a faint unto death, make not that sound from within your throat, neither cover your face, nor press your fingers to your nose. For even now I have made the fish as it should be; behold, I eat of it myself, yet do not die.
Concerning Face and Hands: Cast your countenance upward to the light, and lift your eyes to the hills, that I may more easily wash you off. For the stains are upon you; even to the very back of your head, there is rice thereon. And in the breast pocket of your garment, and upon the tie of your shoe, rice and other fragments are distributed in a manner wonderful to see. Only hold yourself still; hold still, I say. Give each finger in its turn for my examination thereof, and also each thumb. Lo, how iniquitous they appear. What I do is as it must be; and you shall not go hence until I have done.
Various Other Laws, Statutes, and Ordinances: Bite not, lest you be cast into quiet time. Neither drink of your own bath water, nor of bath water of any kind; nor rub your feet on bread, even if it be in the package; nor rub yourself against cars, nor against any building; nor eat sand.
Leave the cat alone, for what has the cat done, that you should so afflict it with tape? And hum not that humming in your nose as I read, nor stand between the light and the book. Indeed, you will drive me to madness. Nor forget what I said about the tape.
Complaints and Lamentations: O my children, you are disobedient. For when I tell you what you must do, you argue and dispute hotly even to the littlest detail; and when I do not accede, you cry out, and hit and kick. Yes, and even sometimes do you spit, and shout "stupid-head" and other blasphemies, and hit and kick the wall and the molding thereof when you are sent to the corner. And though the law teaches that no one shall be sent to the corner for more minutes than he has years of age, yet I would leave you there all day, so mighty am I in anger. But upon being sent to the corner you ask straightaway, "Can I come out?" and I reply, "No, you may not come out." And again you ask, and again I give the same reply. But when you ask again a third time, then you may come out.
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