BRING OUT YER DEAD*

Last week we had a serious windstorm here. The only birdhouse we haven't moved, blew apart and look what was inside. A gigantic wasps nest.I dropped a couple of mothballs inside months ago and they vacated.

But look who they left behind. (Maybe it's too hard to see.) Dead wasps. Lots of them. Could you live in a house with your dead family hanging around?

And that is why the animal kingdom is hard to understand.

*Name that movie.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY--SUCCESS. AND PAIN.

"Behind every successful man is an untold pain in his heart." Bill Jacobs

Is this true, do you think?

TRUST

We trust it, but one day we end up on the ground. We trust people too. Will they disappoint? Yes. Will they break our hearts? Yes.

Will we disappoint and leave other's stranded or lonely or dissatisfied? We will. It's almost a certainty. We won't mean to, it will just happen. We may even break their hearts.

That's why forgiveness works. And it must work for everyone to work for anyone. If not, it's the unforgiving one who hurts and hurts.

MRS. BIRD DOESN'T RECOGNIZE THE BANK MANAGER WITH CLOTHES ON

Years and years and years ago, when Mrs. Bird's children were little they went to Lake Powell with six or seven other couples. All the kiddies stayed home. They were at Lake Powell for five days. Five full days of water skiing and good food and sun and sand with just the adults. It was Heaven.

They spent every day in swimming suits and only got in clothes to sleep and then it was usually just underwear. A wind storm came up one night and all the men exited the tents, battening down coolers and tent flaps. Mrs. Bird said it looked like a bunch of headless ghosts, running around in their underwear, but that's a post for another day.

Anyway, after Mrs. Bird and all the others wound up their week of fun they had to come back to earth and "do" real life. One of the first things Mrs. Bird had to do was go to the bank on Monday morning. Jim (not his real name)--I'm going to call him Mr. Swimming Trunks--was the bank manager.

She saw Mr. Swimming Trunks across room and called out to him. "Jim! I didn't recognise you with your clothes on!"

There was a great silence. Not even the counting of a coin could be heard. All the tellers, loan officers, bank president and vice president and customers took a collective breath and held it. Every head turned to the man who was unrecognizable in clothes.

Mrs. Bird, unaware of the stir she had caused smiled and waited for a response.

For a long, l-o-n-g time.

THE GARAGE SALE PURCHASE

Yesterday Gilmore Girl and I went to Costco. Well, we started for Costco. We saw a garage sale sign and thought a little detour wouldn't hurt. And then we saw another sign, this time advertising furniture. That won't hurt either, we thought. An hour and a half later (or maybe it was two hours) we left the second one.

I didn't take one stinkin' photo. What is the matter with me? (Don't answer, I don't want to know.)

The people who run the garage sale buy things at other garage sales and refurbish them. They paint most things black, white, red or teal. Really, darling stuff. They hold a garage sale three times a year. The next one will be in October. Watch for it at 56 something something Canyon Road in Provo, Utah. It's almost to the end of Canyon Road, before the Peay Ranch.

I saw a chair I wanted. I sat in it after I tired of waiting for Gilmore Girl. It was comfy. I left it there because I didn't want a divorce have enough chairs in the garage already.


I did make one purchase. Two purchases. Ten cents each.

I am the last of the big time spenders.

We never did make it to Costco. And Gilmore Girl had to do some creative things with a bungee cord to get her sticking-out-of-the-trunk purchases home. Really cute things. Except there was no darlingest-ever chair.

YOU CAN COME TO ME FOR ANSWERS

What direction do beans twine? Counter clockwise in the northern hemisphere.

You're welcome.

ANTICS ON THE LAWN SWINGS

Tonight, on the lawn swings, Phil and I were reading. He was reading a church book and I was reading the latest First magazine. That's about how it goes around here--he gets spiritual, I learn how to avoid swimmers ear. You never know when someone might have swimmers ear. I like to be prepared.

First I learned how to unblock my chi--or energy flow: I placed my palms together with fingertips pointing at the ground and rubbed my hands together briskly for one minute. I visualized the negativity leaving my body through my fingertips. Then I swung my arms, letting the "bad energy" go with a flip at the end. I was very energetic.

Second I learned how to say goodbye to the double chin. (Ha! The woman who demo'ed the Japanese secret was 22 years old and didn't have a double chin. But, just in case, I did it anyway.) It involves lymph massage under the chin. So, I ran my thumbs under my chin and all the way to my ear, then massaged the hollow behind my ear and pressed down, sliding my hand down my neck. I did this many times, just in case I could vaguely look like the model they hired to show us how to avoid a double chin. The model that doesn't have a double chin, to begin with.

Then I did my exercises for the neck that I got off the Internet. Holding my face to the sky and chewing. It looks odd but the Internet article said it helps. Then doing the same thing, kissing the air. Phil stopped being spiritual long enough to look at me--one eyebrow raised--but he didn't stop being spiritual long enough to say I was making a fool of myself--for which I am grateful.

Just for good measure I grimaced, while holding my neck tight. I did this for a good long time. I'm a good grimacer.

No one joined us on the lawn swings. Not one neighbor! Isn't that strange? Usually we are awash in neighbors. We sometimes have all four lawnswings filled. But tonight? Not even one.

They must have been busy. All of them. Busy.

AND I'M STILL DOING THE WRONG THINGS or/and NOT DOING THE RIGHT ONES

Today, at my critique group, I read that my protagonist--I still don't have a name for her-give me some suggestions--was unsure of herself, felt that she was always doing the wrong things, or perhaps not doing the right things. Two of my fellow writers said, "I feel just like that, that I never know what to do."

I didn't tell them that when I got to Carol's house--where the critique group was held--that I realized my shirt was on BACKWARDS and that I had to stand in the living room and take my arms out of my shirt and turn it around, before going into the kitchen, where everybody was.

Yes, my protagonist and I are one and the same. Maybe I should just call us Klutz and be done with it.

THE SLIVER STREAM

This water in this little gutter stream came up from a drain and filled the gutter and than ran down to another drain and disappeared. I guess it just came up for a look around.

Sometimes I'm like that too. I hibernate in the house and only come out for a breath of fresh air and then go back into hibernation. I can see how people can become housebound. It takes work to be sane, doesn't it?

GOOD FRIENDS, LOTSA LAUGHTER

This is one of my dearest friends.* We both moved into the subdivision umpteen years ago within a couple of months. Even though she moved later we have always stayed close.

Her daughter--Ms. Business Woman** and Gilmore Girl were two or three years apart in school and were friends.

Tonight Gilmore Girl said, "Do you remember the Christmas I called you to see if you got a Pound Puppy and YOU WERE STILL IN BED?" They go way back and have lots of good memories.

We laughed and took pictures of each other.

We laughed so much there was wiping of eyes.I thought we should have at least taken pictures of the food so here it is. Too late. We ate at Thai Drift in north Orem. The food is very good. There is nothing so pleasurable as good food and good friends. Tonight was some of the best.

* This woman and I have been through some tough times together. She is always laughing. When she calls and I don't tell Phil who is on the phone he always knows. How does he know? Because I laugh almost the whole time I am on the phone.

**She manages a "Massage Envy" in California--with about 45 massage therapists--and only gets home to Utah about once a year. It's been years since we've seen her. Her mom keeps us posted on her comings and goings and always there are fond memories of the two of them growing up together.

MRS. BIRD AND THE POT PIPE

Mrs. Bird is a Mormon--a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Some of the things we don't do is drink, smoke, or drink coffee. We don't do drugs. This story is about the "don't do drugs" part.

This incident happened when her husband was our Bishop. The Bishop watches over the whole ward. They council the members, they "run" the ward, and they take a very active role in the lives of the youth. He had been called to one of the members homes--they had a rebellious teenager and the Bishop took something to get it out of the house. That sets up the story.

Mrs. Bird got in the car to run some errands. On the passenger seat of the car was a paper bag with the top folded down several times. Mrs. Bird didn't think anything about it until someone ran a red light. She hit the brakes and the paper bag went flying onto the floor. After she gathered her wits and got in the parking lot of the grocery she picked up the bag and opened it. Inside was a recipe book. "How to make Hashish brownies," she read. Hum, she thought. I wonder if that's a health food? And I wonder whose recipe book this is? Maybe my husband wants me to start baking and he bought me this book as a surprise. She put the recipe book back when she noticed something glittery in the bottom of the bag.

She pulled out a necklace with a little pipe-looking thing on it. Hum, she thought again, this is kind of cute. So, like a true blond she put it around her neck and went into the grocery store. She went back to the meat counter to order something and the butcher looked at her like she had a wart on her face.

"What on earth do you have around your neck," he asked.

"Oh, isn't that cute. It's a little necklace of some kind." She picked it off her chest and played with it.

"Do you KNOW what it's for?"

"What do you mean, 'what it's for?'."she asked. " It's just a cute little necklace. I found it in a bag in my husband's car. There was a recipe book in there too, one of the recipes was for Hashish Brownies. I wonder if they sell Hashish here."

The butcher shook his head. He knew Mrs. Bird and he knew her husband was a bishop and he had already put two and two together and got four.

"You're wearing a 'pot pipe,' and no, Albertson's doesn't sell hashish," he said, laughing behind his hand. "Oh...ha ha ha. No Albertson's doesn't sell...ha ha ha...oh, dear," he said. "You're wearing...ha ha ha...a pot pipe."

"A pot pipe? What's a pot pipe?"

Now this happened in the early 80's. You'd think Mrs. Bird would recognize the words, "pot" or "hashish." But, no, not Mrs. Bird.

So, the very amused butcher explained to Mrs. Bird all about pot--and hashish--and making brownies and he probably explained other things to her as well. When he was finished she was mad. Mad as a wet hen. She got into the car and drove to her husband's office.

"Hi, honey," he said when he saw her.

"Don't you 'hi honey' me," she said. "What are you doing with a pot pipe," she picked it up and waggled it in his face, "and a cookbook telling how to make brownies with...with..." by now she was so upset she could hardly talk. "And I wore this into Albertson's, thinking it was cute, and the butcher had to tell me it was a...a....pot pipe!'

He started to laugh. With Mrs. Bird for a wife he spends a great deal of time laughing. He laughed so hard he could hardly breathe. He bent forward, putting his hands on his knees. "You wore it into Albertson's?" he wheezed. He wiped his eyes. The harder he laughed the madder she got.

"Honey," he said, when he could finally breather. "It doesn't belong to me. It belongs to a teenage boy in our ward. He's having some problems. I can't tell you who it is but I've had a good talk with him and with his parents and, well...." He took the necklace with the pot pipe off of her neck. "Let's just throw this away, shall we?"

Then he kissed her on the cheek and walked her to the car. He said he had some work to do.

Then she said things like, "Oh how silly of me, I should have known you wouldn't have a pot pipe. I have errands to run so I'll see you at home, later. There won't be any warm brownies waiting for you, though." She smiled and handed him the bag with the recipe book and he threw it in the garbage can at the side of the office.

She started the car and he leaned in the window and gave her a kiss. She put the car into gear and as she drove away she looked in the rear window and saw her husband, laughing his head off.

They say laughter is the best medicine. Mrs. Bird does what she can to keep her husband healthy. He should live to be a hundred.

THE BALLOON COMPETITION AT PROVO'S FREEDOM FESTIVAL

The beginning of a balloon. Flat as roadkill. Then the fan is turned on and when the balloon is half full they turn on the burners. In about fifteen minutes it can be airborne.

This is in honor of my Canadian friends. The maple leaf is the wrong color, but still.

Sailing off into the sunrise. There were about nineteen balloons in the competition. They took off to the south, climbed in altitude and then the air currents took them north. They then went lower and the air currents brought them back over the field, They dropped a weighted marker to see who could come closest to the target.

This was my favorite part. Maybe because it was chilly this morning and if you stood close to the balloon you were warmed. The power of the burn and then the lift off were exciting.

This competition has been a Provo event for 25 years and this is the first time we have gone. Shame on us. It was well worth getting up at 5:30 for.

Next year I want the grandchildren to go.

And all my friends.

And the neighbors.

And you.

Happy 4th of July to the country I love.

BEING PATRIOTIC

This is my house, being patriotic.A close up.Pika, wanting to be patriotic, too.

I'm a good cat. Please admire me.

The bell by the front door.

Not my house. They have the "Don't Tread on Me," flag.

A neighbor of the above house.Down the street and around the corner. Down another street and around another corner.

This has no patriotic value but it's one of my neighbor's little pocket gardens and I wanted you to see it.

It's almost the fourth of July. Have a good one, where ever you are.

DINNER WITH THE CHARACTERS

The other night Mrs. Bird and The Scottish Dreamer wandered by and sat on the lawn swings and we had a rip roaring, laughing time. The Scottish Dreamer said we should go to dinner and hang out. So we did, but the Scottish Dreamer who now weighs 103 pounds, did not feel well, so Mrs. Bird, my friend who the angels help write her personal histroy so beautifully, and I went anyway, because we don't want to miss a good time, even though we did miss the Scottish Dreamer.

This is a terrible photo of Mrs. Bird but I know people want to see her. She'd die on the spot if she saw this but she's not an Internet girl and so she won't see this.

Mrs. Bird--outside of Mimi's--said, "Oh, look, here's some lavender. If you ever need to make lavender bags just come here."

I said, "you can't do that, Mrs. Bird--but I used her real name--that lavender belongs to Mimi's"

"Oh, I do it all the time," she said. And since you never know if she did or didn't we just laughed and went inside for dinner.

She told hilarious stories, I can't recall the one I could tell--the other one is, well, a little racy. I'll tell it another day because tonight, I'm tired. And because House is almost over and now I have to rewind and see why the alien hand was acting out, because I missed it. I did see the part about the squawking man, so I won't have to rewind everything. And House is finally going in for treatment. And the hunky Dr. Chase got married. And that was the season's finale.

Lisa, who blogs here--but not very often--and here--more often with a bunch of other sassy women--, says I should order all the House DVD's from Netflix and get this whole show figured out. Do you KNOW what would happen if I ordered House from Netflix? I already order 99% of our choices and 95% of them are weird, foreign films, grade B movies or Chic Flicks and Phil is not amused. Well, maybe he is a little bit amused as he holds his head in his hands, smiles faintly and says, "Not another one." And then he laughs, in a feeble sort of way.

And that is why I watch House late at night, after he is in bed.

There's an explanation for everything.

Well, maybe not for Mrs. Bird. Some things just cannot be explained.

Ooh, and I think I just heard someone at the front door and it's 1:10 a.m. and now I'm spooked so I'm taking the baseball bat and going to bed. Quietly. In the dark. If I never blog again you'll know why. Send flowers.