TONIGHT'S MINI CLASS

Tonight was a mini class on Topiaries. True to being the very brain dead person I seem to be, I didn't take pictures of the beautiful things that were made. Amazingly beautiful topiaries. This is the one I made, very plain, and all the tree's have misshapen heads. If I get un-tired tomorrow or next year I might fiddle with them and make them look better. Or not.

I cut the "trunks" from our old, trying-to-be-still-alive apple tree two minutes before I left for class and the sap was already in the branches. I may have blooming trunks tomorrow.

That almost sound obscene, doesn't it? Do pardon me.

NIGHTMARES SOMETIMES FLY OUT OF THE ATTIC ON VELVET WINGS

Some of this is somewhat invented--certainly the dialogue is. Kraut says he doesn't remember this incident at all, which makes me wonder if it happened when the boys were older and he was on his mission. Anyway, Hot Sauce--who still wants to be called The Brown Dot--remembers it with frantic clearity. Except he remembers the bat as huge--which of course it wasn't. It was a tiny little velvet thing that scared the daylights out of all of us.

~

Phil and the kids and I were at Mom and Dad’s house for the weekend. The kids were finally in bed and the rest of us were sprawled on couches and chairs talking and watching TV.

I heard a noise I did not want to hear. It was children, not being asleep. Then I heard a louder noise. It was Hot Sauce and Kraut thundering downstairs like five legged antelopes.

This was supposed to be my mini-vacation, a respite from motherhood duties. If I were lucky Mom would cook all weekend and I would assign the kids to do the dishes. They might even do them willingly.

The boys were supposed to be asleep. I knew they probably weren’t because there was a stack of books and Reader's Digests upstairs and they both loved to read. What I did know is I didn’t want to see them anymore that night. They jumped the last few steps and spewed into the living room.

“What on earth is the matter?” I asked.

“There’s a bat! It came out of the attic and it’s gonna get us. It’ll suck our blood and we’ll die.”

“Or maybe we’ll turn into bats and fly away and never be boys again.” Trent had obviously watched a vampire movie without my knowledge.

My children were dramatic and had good imaginations but I was not thrilled to hear their imaginative drama.

“There’s no bat. There has never been a bat in all the years I lived here.”

If you say the words out loud they will be true. I was sure that was the rule—it’s a flawed rule but I pretty much still believed it in those days.

“You probably heard a moth, batting its wings against the window,” I said.

“Nuh uh, there’s a bat, we saw it.”

“It’s big, it’s flying all over the place.”

“It’s going to bite us.”

“Bats have diseases. I’m not sleeping up there.”

“Me neither. I’m never going upstairs again.”

“Me neither. Can we sleep down here, in the sunroom? Can we, huh?”

“Yah, can we sleep down here?”

Their words tumbled over each other like marbles rolling down a drainpipe.

“Now boys, there is no bat, you know that, don’t you?” I used my best mother-knows-everything voice.

“Yes there is,” they chorused together.

“Nope, no bat. Just your imagination. Mom," I looked at Mom for help. "There aren’t any bats upstairs are there?”

“Heavenly days,” she said, “there have never been bats in this house. Not since it was built in 1904.”

“Grandma, there’s a bat, we promise.” They both crossed their hearts. If they had known how to spit they would have.

“Now boys…” Grandma said as a bat came swooping down the steps and sailed into the sunroom. There were screams all around.

“Reed!” Mom yelled as soon as her own personal scream died down. “There’s a bat in here!”

The boys jumped around like five legged grasshoppers. “We told you so,” they chorused, running for cover.

I don’t remember who finally cornered the bat. Who finally scooped the frightened thing up in a blanket and set it free outside. It was probably Daddy, but I do know I had more respect for the attic.

After the bat frenzy died down I rolled up a towel and put it against the bottom of the attic door where there was a teensy little bat-scrunching space. I made sure the door was shut tight and locked—just in case bats could figure out how to open doors.

The boys didn’t care what precautions I made. They were not going to sleep upstairs and that was that. I did what every mother who has authority over small children would have done; I made a bed for them on the sunroom couch.

When we went to bed that night I made sure our bedroom door was closed tight and that the bedroom door to the bat-bedroom was closed tight too. And I slept with one eye open and a fly swatter on the nightstand. Honest I did. Well, almost, I would have if I had thought of it. It would have been a good idea.

Daddy was a better planner than I was. Years and years later, when the bat’s grandchildren returned, Daddy used a tennis racket instead of a flimsy little fly swatter. He was eighty-five years old at the time and he hung out the bedroom window and swatted bats as they came close to the eves where they could scurry into the attic. He hung out the window and swatted bats. At age eighty-five!

I wonder if bats go to Heaven because that’s where my daddy is. If bats are there I hope they are not grudge holders because Daddy swatted the life right out of a whole bunch of them.


This is a not very good photo--of a not very good watercolor I painted years ago--of the house I grew up in. The window Daddy hung out of, swatting bats, is the upstairs one on the right.

MORE COOL PHOTOS

This morning I had to take Phil to BYU--he is the ward clerk of one of the student wards--because we only have one car at the moment and I did not want to walk to Stake Conference. We can go to Stake Conference at our ward house and watch it on a big screen but I still didn't want to walk. I'm lazy that way.

So, since we had a light dusting of snow last night I decided to try for a few more pictures of the horse barn. Some of them are really blurry, they were taken from the car--I know, you'd think I could at least get out but it was COLD and it was early and I had been dragged out of bed.

Okay, I hadn't really been dragged out of bed but I had gone back to sleep after Phil woke me up and so when he was ready to leave and I wasn't downstairs with my keys jangling he came upstairs to see why. He woke me up out of a sound sleep and it felt like I was dragged out of bed. It was so warm and comfy in my bed and I was so wonderully asleep. You know how it is.

Anyway, after I jumped straight in the air and stayed suspended for a full second and then bounced off the bed, threw on some clothes and took him to BYU I decided to look for some fascinating details at the barn. Look at how the fence is held together. The man who has horses here is an interesting fellow. If it can be held together with no cost he will make it work.

And this corner shot. An engineering marvel.

I love the image of the old pipes, or maybe they are new pipes, waiting for the subdivision to begin. Note the bailing twine, holding the fence together.

A horse came out of the barn to have a look around.

He announced to the world that it was time to be up and around.

But it was even too early for him so he shuffled back into the barn for a snooze.

And that was the extent of my early morning, blurry picture taking trek. I did not go back to bed when I got home either. How naughty of you to think that of me. I made spaghetti sauce and put it in a crockpot and then I got on the Internet to check out a few blogs. When I looked at the clock...well, you know how it is when you are reading blogs! Time just gets away from you. I had to really scramble to get showered and at the church house on time. When I passed the horse barn the horse was still inside, having his nap. Sensible horse.

And the spaghetti sauce was delicious. As was the chocolate cake. Mmm. Sunday dinner is not always this planned out but today's was nice. And I had time for a nap. What more could you ask of a Sunday? Good messages at church, a good dinner with people you love--even if there were just three of us--and a few blurry pictures.

SATURDAY'S LIST--THAT I'M NOT GOING TO DO--or--SLACKER SATURDAY

I think I will occasionally have a list feature. For this I need your help, all five of you who read my blog, bless your sweet little hearts.

It will be only five items.

It will be from the depth of your soul. And mine.

Sometimes it will be from the un-depths of your soul. And mine.

Sometimes it will be funny and irreverent--not too irreverent, mind you. You can be funny and irreverent--only not too irreverent, can't you? I knew it.

Okay, let's go.

Today's list: WHAT SHOULD YOU DO TODAY THAT YOU REALLY HAVE NO INTENTION OF DOING?

Here's mine:

1. Clean up the pile of clothes at the bottom of my bed. Gilmore Girl has itchy fingers, wanting to get to that pile. She's a cleaner-upper. She should start a business. She could call it "If You Won't Clean It Out I Will," or perhaps something more clever. She's more clever than I. I keep telling her to write a children's book but does she listen? No. I'd hire her to clean up my pile, even though she doesn't listen to her mother, if she didn't have this rule: "You can't be here while I clean." What kind of a rule is that? How would she know what was precious? So, that piece of clothing hasn't fit in 35 years? It was the shirt I wore with Phil to the carnival. It holds memories. If I can stand to let go of the memories I will let her have full rein. She would be in Heaven. I should do it just for her pleasure. And she should write a childen's book, for mine.

2. Clean the cobweb strings that I can see from my computer chair but that I can't reach. Okay, Maybe I will try to reach them as they really are driving me crazy. And where is the spider who made those pesky cobweb strings. I'm on the lookout.

3. Plan menus. I am trying to incorporate more vegan meals into our diet as my stroke vein is loud and I'm worried. When I eat what I call "clean" for a few days the noise in my head--the stroke vein--calms down. If I eat clean long enough the noise goes away completely. My theory is that with no animal products in my blood my body cleans the plaque out of my veins and arteries. So, I will think about planning menus. This is my favorite site for vegan recipes. She--Bryanna Grogan--is a masterful cook. Years ago, when we first went vegan I couldn't find any recipes so I started a newsletter that I published every three months. I knew how to do it once, and did it well, I might add. I just need to do it again. Maybe with Bryanna's help I can do it.

4. Clean out the fridge. If I leave it long enough Phil gets disgusted and starts throwing things away. He says, "Do you want this?" and of course I never do, it's turned bad but I can't throw it away until I see evidence of it's badness. Mold. Sliminess. Smell. Thank goodness for Phil. If he weren't ever vigilant the fridge might have to be classified as a toxic waste dump. We would be condemmed and would never see the light of day again.

5. Exercise. I know that would help the old stroke vein as much as a clean diet but I'm just not going to do it today. Maybe I will walk over to the horse barn to take more pictures but that's as vigorous as it's going to get.

So, what's on your "To Do" list that you aren't going to do? It will make me feel better if I know that five of you, out there in Internet land are planning a Slacker Saturday too.

THE HORSE BARN

This falling down structure is less than a block from my home.

This old horse barn is being held together with bailing twine.

I think it's beautiful. Where else would you find a conglomeration of images like this? Colors like this? Weathered, old, hammered-together stuff?

It's been the home to many horses. All the neighborhood kids have stolen carrots and apples out of their Mom's fridge to feed to the horses who have lived here. All the mom's have bought extra carrots and apples so their kids could steal them to feed the horses.

The horses always whinnied and came to the fence to be fed. Sometimes you wondered how the fence would hold together as the horse strained to pluck the carrot out of a formerly brave child's hand, who had backed up out of reach.

But look in the background. That yellow beast is a sign of progress. Soon there will be lovely homes on this property, filled with families. It will be a good thing.

Today I am enjoying this one-of-a-kind horse barn. There will be time to grieve later.

ARE YOU AFRAID OF ANYTHING? LIKE KITTEN'S, PERHAPS?

This is three year old Lego® Boy, who likes ketchup and cheese sandwiches. You wouldn't think he would be afraid of sweet little kittens, would you?

Here is his two year old brother, Taz. Since he's younger maybe he would be afraid of something, like kittens.

Not so.

In fact we had to pry kittens out of his fingers many times. We taught him to be soft and just pet the kitten. This is his petting technique.

This is sweet baby Toves--from the poem, The Jabberwocky by Louis Carroll--we don't know how she can be considered slithy but perhaps there is something we don't know about slithyness. She is sweet, every one's favorite. She is also the runt. If you pick her up and love her she often purrs.

She climbs up Phil's pants and right up onto his chest to be loved. Sweet Toves. (Phil doesn't usually sit with his legs like this. He has been playing "roll the ball" with Lego® Boy and Taz. But Toves got bored watching the ball roll so he romped over and climbed up the "Phil tree.")

Aah, Toves and William. Sweet babies. Soft. Gentle.

But wait. William has mischief in his soul. He starts out by chewing on Gregory, the bawl baby of the bunch. "Mmm, tasty ear."

See his little ears? When they are back like that they are in the fighting position.

He and Gregory took their disagreement off the steps and onto the chair. Here they are, nose to nose, discussing things. "Watch it buddy."

"Who you calling buddy?"

"Nope, I don't like your attitude so I'll just chew on your toes while hoping you fall off on your head."

Gregory did fall off and he was fine. In fact he was so fine he ran and hid from William.

So William went back to the step and attacked Japhy. "Let me put my foot in yer face."


And look at this, sweet baby Toves, attacking Japhy too. Poor Japhy.

But all this fighting behavior bothers Taz not one bit. In fact he thinks aggressive, naughty kittens are made to be picked up and packed around.

But not Lego® Boy. he got up on the chair, and then up on the arm of the chair, as far away from kittens as he could get.

Later, we were going outside to play and Lego® Boy was only going to go if the kittens stayed inside.

So, what are you afraid of?

THE BIRTHDAY BIKE

It was my birthday, maybe I was eight, maybe I was ten. This isn't the actual picture, my bike was worse. It had more heavy metal on it. The chain guard was made to look like part of a rocket ship, so help me it did. It was supposed to look cool.

Mom and Daddy could hardly contain their excitement, They brought it in the house and put a big bow on it. It took two men to get it up the front steps--just kidding about that part, but not kidding a whole lot. That bike was a beast.

This one weighs 76 pounds and mine did too--at least. It cost a fortune, otherwise why would Mom and Daddy be so proud?

My cousin, Holly had a new bike too. Uncle Bliss and Aunt LaVern were thrifty. He taught Seminary for the entire South Sevier High School. He was also the Stake President for seventeen years--Stake President to at least six little towns. Yes, seventeen years so every person in the Stake who had a son or a daughter get married invited them to the wedding reception. That meant hundreds of gifts to buy. They had to be thrifty.

Holly got a cheap blue bike that weighed five pounds. It did have fenders but that's all the extras it had. I think they were made of aluminum foil, painted blue.

In those days bigger was better and poor Holly had the inferior bike--for about five minutes. Whenever we went anywhere she sailed, I pumped. She lifted her feet up on the handlebars and coasted. I stood up and pumped hard. I hated that bike but Mom and Daddy were so proud, what could I say? I pumped and sweat and lagged behind.

After I grew up that old bike--probably because Mom and Daddy had paid so much for it--never got thrown away. It was in Daddy's shop and every time my nieces and nephews came down they had to ride that bike. They gave it the name: The Clunker.

I probably have inferiority complexes by the dozens from that horrible bike. I'm so happy to finally be able to give a name to the cause. I'm a product of The Clunker. I feel much better now.

OUR LUCKY 13TH GRANDBABY WAS BORN TODAY

We went to Kraut and Soap Queen's this morning, early. Anything before eight is early for me in my declining years. I feel old today. We watched their two little ones while the other four went to school. I conked out on their bed for at least an hour and Phil watched the kids. Then he left because we are on a tend-schedule for a few weeks to watch some of the other grandchildren on Tuesday afternoons.

Kraut called at about three to tell us we had a new grandson. We all "knew" it was a boy. I don't know how, as they don't find out until the baby is born but we all just felt this one was a boy. They have five boys now and two girls. They lost a little girl when The Soap Queen was 7-8 months pregnant, a perfect little girl and the doctors never could figure out why she died. So, technically they have eight but seven living.

Here are pictures of this new little miracle and some pictures of the other kids.

Here he is, as yet unnamed with his beautiful mother.

The other children were as happy to see their mom as to see the new baby.

This is the entire group, from oldest to youngest, Kraut, my dear son, the Soap Queen, his wonderful wife, Book Worm, The Gamer, Butterfly, Entomologist, Lego® Boy, Taz and of course the newest, unnamed wee one.

The Entomologist having his turn to hold the new baby.

Taz doesn't realize it yet but he is no longer the baby of the family. Let's just remove that binky, shall we?

See? he is right where he thinks it is his 100%-of-the-time-right-to-be, right on his mom's lap.

Butterfly, who fits her name, holding new baby.

The Book Worm found my magazines, that I foolishly thought I'd have time to read while tending today, and she opened them with an almost hunger. She is also a very responsible oldest sibling. She is not yet eleven! Seven kids under the age of eleven. Amazing.

This is the oldest boy, The Gamer. He is such a nice boy. We were at the house the other day and he came in from playing with his friends just to say hello and give us a hug and then he was out the door to play again. When we left he stopped playing, made sure we saw him and then waved and waved. You sure feel loved with a grandson like that.

This is so out of focus.

(Michael, where are you, with my photography lessons?)

The soap Queen is the Primary President in her ward (Mormon Church--Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints). She is a serious "soaper." Her soap is in the Holy Cow Boutique which is in Pleasant Grove, Utah this weekend. She has marvelous friends and family who set her booth up and will keep it stocked. We LOVE her soap.

How does this marvelous woman do it all? I don't know. I spent the day with their wonderfully good children--who ask permission to go play, who help when I asked and I am almost too tired to breathe and I didn't do laundry or any of the normal daily things The Soap Queen does.

More power to the two of you. Thanks for the gaggle of wonderful grandchildren. We adore them all. The new one is certainly beautiful.

MY PERSONAL HISTORY GROUP

Today was my personal history group. Six of us today. Six wonderful women--yes, I'm including myself in the wonderfulness, if I don't believe it how can I be it? How can I be better if I don't think I'm worth being better for?

Here are the stories we heard today. I will not divulge much of their stories, not enough to compromise their privacy. I am giving them new names too. Here we go:

Meg didn't get married soon. She didn't get married later. She got married late. Too late to have babies. Today we heard the first bit of the romance story. Funny. Sweet. Tender. I want Meg to write this into a novel. She could do it. She's educated and I see authorship in her but don't know if she does. Who am I to say, anyway? She is writing it for her husband's grandchildren--her husband died about four years ago--she had him such a little bit of time--but I want the world to hear her life. It would be a wonderful read. Because she was single for so long she has done a lot of fascinating things the rest of us haven't had a chance to do.

Deedee read poetry, free verse, I guess it's called, beautiful poems for her grandchildren on their birthdays, telling of their lives, their passions, their disappointments and their faithfulness to their religion. She told them that she and her husband loved them. There is nothing like the love of a grandparent. She loves those children and told it wonderfully well and gave such a great summation of their lives. I know the children will treasure this poetry written by their grandma.

Julie--my favorite name, my sister got it first--told of when she was a kid and had surgery. She had a photo to show the cast, from chin to hips, her head turned permanently--for six weeks--to the right. When the cast was off her neck muscles were so weak she couldn't hold her head up. It was like a new baby's. This woman has to be reminded we need her and I am the designated nag. She is independent so I have to nag a lot to get here with us, where she belongs. And yet she is the first to tell those of us who struggle to be independent that we shouldn't be, that we are all connected, we are all one. We have to remind her to listen to herself.

Me, I'm calling myself Gabrielle from an earlier post--I read my Grandpa and the Chocolates story and then the first few paragraphs of putting it in a six year old girls voice for a book I'm thinking about writing. The group was nice about it, told me to remove the last part of the last line and it does read better. So it ends, "We sat there together for a long time."

Dani read a funny story about getting up with her baby at 1:00 (AM), 3:00 (AM), and 5:00 (AM) EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. She said she does well on not enough sleep until one night the baby decided to only get up once. The next day Dani was cranky because she said, "I got too much sleep." She told--in dialogue--all the unreasonable things she told her Kindergarten boy to do because she was too cranky to be nice. It was so funny. I would love to see it in a magazine. Young mothers would howl with laughter.

Ella Enchanted read about a blessing she wanted so very badly simply never happened. She retreated to her bedroom to grieve and told in detail the steps. We grieved with her. Finally, and for the first time, she accepted whatever God had in store for her. Truly accepted his will. It was a breakthrough for her, to accept with complete faith. I won't tell the end of the story as it is her story to tell. It gave us all something to think about.

So, there you have today's Personal History group's readings. I wish I could have a personal history group with each of you. Wish I could know you and learn from you and learn to love you as I do my friends here.

May God bless each of you this night and always.

GLORIA'S LITTLE ITALY--MY NEW FAVORITE RESTAURANT

This is my new favorite restaurant, Gloria's Little Italy. My other favorites are Brick Oven--I call it that in case there are newcomers in the Provo/Orem/Happy Valley area and don't know it is really called "Heaps." Ottavio's, Carrabbas--they have the best dish I have ever tasted, honest it is, J-Dawg--can't really call this a restaurant but the hot dogs, and the price, can't be beat. Chuck-A-Rama is on the list because you can eat whatever you want and the food is always good. I know there are folks who say, "What? Chuck-A-Rama?" But they go there themselves so I better not hear from them.

But today's new favorite is Gloria's Little Italy on 279 East 300 South in Provo, Utah. Phone number 801-805-4913. I will be calling to see what the daily special is . When we went it was eggplant Parmesan, my all time favorite choice at Italian restaurants.


Here are the owners, Mauro Bonfanti and Gloria. They met in Italy at the beach when Gloria was only 13 years old and Mauro was 21. She lived in Piza and he lived in Pistoia. He was finished with his military service and knew a good thing when he saw it. I think her friend was dating his cousin so he got to know her through them and after a while he asked if she would be his girl. "My mother wouldn't like it," she said. But he was patient and when she was old enough she did become his girl and when she was 18 they were married in the Mormon Temple. They are both converts to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

They had friends in Utah and came for a visit a few years ago. They loved it here and applied for green cards. After three years they were successful.

Mouro is a jeweler and works for a highly respected jewelry store in the area. Maybe his experience with jewels has helped make this restaurant the little jewel that it is.


This is Gloria with her daughter, Letizia who is 21 and available, in case any Mommas have a young man who needs a date for Friday night. Letizia was delightful, cheerful, her English was perfect and she is smart--she will graduate from BYU next April. She was our waitress. Gloria and Mauro have two other children, a boy, Samuele, 25 and a girl, Katy, 13. They all work at the restaurant when they are not in school. Now I ask you, does Gloria look old enough to have a 25 year old boy? No, she doesn't.

Here are the things you see as you walk in the door.

Then you walk down these steps to the first dining room.

Here is Phil, checking out the lunch menu. I know what I want--the daily special.

Phil ordered a panini. I didn't get a photo before her hungrily took some bites.

I chose wisely. Mmm. Eggplant Parmesan. I was not disappointed. It was delicious and affordable--$7.99.

This is the romantic room upstairs. There are skylights and at night you can see the moon.

I will leave you with this beautiful shot of the fruit tart. Just like a jewel, perhaps like some that Mauro sets into silver or gold.

If you live in the area you owe it to yourself to check out Gloria's Little Italy. The food was good and Letizia and her parents were simply delightful.