LITTLE BIRDY IN A TREE--TRADITION, SUNG AND NOW VISUAL.

Little birdie in a tree,
In a tree,
In a tree.
Little birdie in a tree,
Sing a song to me.

Sing about the birdies,
In the tree top tall,
Sing about the flowers,
Growing on the wall.

Little birdie in a tree,
In a tree,
In a tree.
Little birdie in a tree,
Sing a song to me.

Not a very imaginative nursery song, is it? But, being what life is, this is one of the songs Mom sang to me as an infant. It is one of the songs she sang to her grandchildren, sixteen of them, Her Excellency of Mousehole was not born when my darling mother died. The only grandchild, number seventeen, who never knew Grandma Rasmussen, who never heard this song from her Grandma's lips. This is one of the songs I sang to my five children, Her Excellency of Mousehole being the last.

Last Christmas this is one of the things Her Excellency of Mousehole gave me. A tribute to tradition, started how many generations back, I don't know. But I do know one thing. It will be carried forward, partially because of this beautiful painting.

And here is the little birdie, in a tree, who sings a song to me--and to past generations of children, who grew up to sing to their children, who will sing to their children, and on and on.

Thank you, Her Excellency of Mousehole. I love you.

I know you love me too.

Mom

THE BABYSITTER

My sister was my baby sitter. She tucked me into bed, in a halfhearted way. I turned on my side, turned on my light and picked up my book.

“Turn that off.” her “I-must-be-obeyed” voice barked. All the friendly little crickets, chirping outside my bedroom window stopped in mid chirp. “It’s too late to read. You need to go to sleep.” Her voice could have cut stale bread.

“I’m only going to read one chapter.”

“No you are not!" Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You are going to turn that light off and go to sleep.”

If the crickets could have seen the face that went with my barking sister's voice they would have migrated to a different country.

My tiny fluttering heart nearly stopped. I always read before going to bed. It was tradition. Mom said tradition was all we have after our belief in God and our commitment to family.

I tried to plead but my mouth had been open in disbelief and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.

She walked to my nightstand and turned the lamp off with a click. “And don’t you even think of turning it back on,” she said. “I'm going to check on you!”

My tongue came unstuck with a tisking noise. “Buthh…,” I said with a thick tongue.

“No but’s. I mean it.”

I started to cry. My heartless sister raised one eyebrow. This was a skill I practiced in front of the bathroom mirror but could not master; both of my eyebrows went up together. She left the room and just before she closed the door she pointed a nail bitten finger at me and gave me “the look,” just like Mom when Mom meant business. I wondered if she had practiced “the look” in front of the same bathroom mirror or if it was a talent that was handed down through the generations.

I cried longer than the time it would take to read five chapters. I listened for a repentant sister to come and say she was sorry and that she was wrong, as wrong as wearing her shoes backwards. I didn’t hear anything so I cried some more.

I cried until I got a headache. Still no sorry sister showed up with loves and kisses.

I cried until my eyes hurt. I wanted to cry until Mother got home so she could see that she hadn’t left her child with a babysitting sister, but a troll.


I had to turn my wet pillow over. I finally cried myself to sleep. My heartless sister did not come to say she was sorry. She was probably gloating and eating chocolates she had stolen from the cabinet over the bar in the kitchen. I would get blamed for her gluttony. She was a chocolate eating gloater who had broken the heart of a little person who now had a headache and a wet pillow.

Sometime in the night the crickets got over their fright and started chirping again, the world continued to turn and mother woke me up in the morning with a cheery voice and breakfast of a fried egg, toast and a big glass of raw milk we bought from Uncle Tom. I hated that milk. I hated my sister and since my mother usually salted my egg too much I was pretty sure I hated it too. When Mom’s back was turned my heartless sister looked across the table at me with “the look,” and she raised both eyebrows and narrowed her eyes in warning. I wouldn’t be telling about her despicable behavior or I’d pay. I’d pay for sure. She might even call me a Pooka.

I slunk down in my chair until just my eyeballs showed above the table. It was going to be another day when I had no power. I sighed and folded my arms in front of my face for the blessing on the food. Mom prayed.

She was halfway through when she said something that made me sit up straight. “…and bless us that we will be able to get everything ready for our trip to California without any squabbling…” That sentence wasn’t so much for Heavenly Father’s benefit as it was as a warning to us.

I opened my eyes wide and saw my sister smiling at me and nodding her head. She closed her eyes again and I did too but forgot to listen to the rest of the prayer.

Going to California meant getting up early and eating squashed tuna fish sandwiches as soon as Mom could be persuaded that we were starving, which would be five miles down the road.

It meant staying in motels with swimming pools where we could swim in the dark and then roll our wet swimsuits in towels to get the water out so the swimsuits could be packed in the suitcase the next morning. Then we would call the motel office for more dry towels for our showers and baths, just as if we were rich and important.

It meant eating breakfast in restaurants and I could eat pigs in a blanket if I wanted to and I was going to want to eat pigs in a blanket every single morning, for sure. There would be no salty fried eggs for two weeks.

Going to California was good enough to forget my sister was a troll. At least until the next time that she was going to stop her helpless little sister from doing something reasonable, like letting her read a chapter in a book at bedtime.

All these thoughts went through my head before Mom said Amen and when I looked up everyone was smiling. It was a going to be a good day for sure.

SUMMER IS COMING

This was last summer's redneck kiddie pool at our house. Curly Sue, mugging for the camera.

Here's how she looks now, more grown up. The flower crown was made at her other Grandma's house, yesterday. The other grandma is the one who does all things wonderful with these two little girls. I fill a plastic tub with water and call it good. I'm so glad they have a grandma who fusses and does fun things with them.

This is Tuesday one year ago. The weather forecast calls for one day in the 80's this week. Of course it also calls for one night in the high 20's. Maybe on that "80" day it will be warm enough to fill a tub with water and hope some children show up.

This is Tuesday now. Notice the macaroni necklace which was made at the other grandma's house. I tell you that woman is a marvel. Aunt Megan is a wonder too, she teaches Curly Sue all manner of astonishing things. I am always amazed.

Curly Sue with a Turkey Lip.

And without. I can hardly wait to see what interests these two little people will find outside this summer. Do you think they will still be interested in a plastic tub filled with water? I hope so.

IT WAS A DAY FOR HUGS.

Nurse Giggleswitch's Daddy's funeral was today. I have never cried as much or laughed as much in a funeral.

Nurse Giggleswitch and her three siblings all spoke, they are all just like their dad in many ways. Quick witted for sure, and they told stories about their funny dad. He will be missed.


It was a time for hugs. Lots of hugs.


When we got home we watched them pack and get ready to leave. Then there were more hugs all around. They even hugged each other. I told them to so I could take this shot. I'm such a smart mom.

The doggies did not get hugs. Dog breath, you know.

Try not to notice the socks with the shorts on my boy, Lord Bumhampton.

I watched until their car turned the corner and was gone. Just like Mom used to do when we left after being home for a vacation or just for a week-end. She watched until we drove out of sight, wiping her eyes and waving. She did the same for my sister and her family. We were so loved and we knew it.

These kids are loved.


I even loved rubbing my boy's feet, which smell somewhat like Parmesan cheese. That's what parents do, love their kids. No matter what.

Nurse Giggleswitch's daddy loved her very much. He loved all his children. I know it was hard for him to leave them--he died of leukemia--, even though they are all grown up and don't rely on him to take care of them. They do rely on him to be their daddy, the man who they will always talk about and laugh about and sometimes cry over. He is their dad, and like all dad's everywhere he is one of the most important people in their lives. He always will be.

Every kind of dad is important. We come to planet earth with "family" stamped all over us. It's a big responsibility being a dad. But if you are a dad you know it's worth it.

WRITING AND ILLUSTRATING FOR YOUNG READERS CONFERENCE

I had a meeting yesterday about the BYU Writing and Illustrating for Young Readers Workshop/Conference, June 16th--21st, here in Provo. Information here for those who want to come and learn from some fantastic writers and a great illustrator. I will be Sally Warner's conference assistant.

The conference is well run, the author's and illustrator are excellent. An agent and a couple of editors attend, top notch ones. The morning is spent with the author, learning and being critiqued on your novel or picture book or whatever you are working on--I guess I better get some serious work done soon. The afternoons are spent in breakout sessions with the authors, illustrator, editors or agent. Those afternoon sessions are unbelievably good. Some people just come for the afternoon.

I should get serious. Quit fiddling around, trying to decide if I want to write from an adults point of view, looking back, a kids first person POV or a third person POV. What to do, what to do. I should also realize that I'm really not a great writer but what else would I do with my life at this point? Knit? Cook? Phil would like that and I've been doing a fair amount.

Actually I do spend an insane amount of time on the lawn swings, visiting with friends and with Phil, and with my family but I'm going to laughingly call it research and quit feeling guilty about it. Research is good, right? So what if it's never productive research? Never research that would lead to a book? It's good to have a hobby. I just don't know if writing is my hobby or if visiting with my friends and family is. Or am I totally committed to be a time waster and the lawn swings are my vehicle to participate in the wasting of it?

CAFE RIO SALAD-TYPE-TACOS THAT YOU SHOULDN'T EAT THIS LATE!

It's 11:40 and we finished dinner about a half hour ago. Lord Bumhampton and Nurse Giggleswich were in Salt Lake City all day, planning the funeral for her father, and didn't get home until late.

Such a sad time, she is handling it well. Thank you to all who sent your sympathies to her in my comments section and in emails to me. She appreciates it so much.

I made chicken for Cafe Rio salads--the chicken recipe I kept finding on the Internet. But, Her Excellency of Mousehole got involved in the tasting and decided it needed her expert spice-shaking-touch and by the time she was finished it was outrageously delicious. Her cooking skills have passed my own--as you might guess, she is hanging over my shoulder, telling me what to type. Now she sighed and called me an idiot and then said, "Bless your heart." We understand each other, my last-born-favorite-child. Her words again, but I guess she is my favorite last born child.

I fried some raw tortillas--from Costco--put a bit of chicken on top--so much for a vegan meal today--I wonder if it would work with tofu?--added some S&W Caribbean Beans, rice, chopped romaine, Cafe Rio Salad dressing, and Red Hot pepper sauce on it, rolled it into a taco shape and ate it. Three times. It was fantastic! Now I am one and a half tacos too full. I must figure out what our combined efforts for the chicken were so I can post it on my cookbook blog. I forgot to take a picture to post with it. So much for late dinners and starving participants, gobbling everything down with no chance for a photo.

Don't eat this late. You'll be miserable, like me who is too full by one and a half tacos. But if you do eat this late be sure it is something worth the misery.

IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT

We belong to Net Flix and if we are really on the ball, watching movies quick enough and getting them back in the mail the next morning, we get two movies a week.

This week it was my choice and I had ordered IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT, with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. It's an old black and white--filmed in 1934, and I loved it--so romantic, so clean and funny and gave the most interesting look into life way back when, before we were born.

After it was over I said, "That was really cute, wasn't it?"

"All except for Clark Gable," Phil said. "I don't like Clark Gable."

"You don't? Why ever not?"

"His upper lip curls."

"What?" I couldn't believe he really said that.

"His upper lip curls."

And so, there you have it. Movie reviews based on the curling or not-curling of the upper lip. Be sure and watch out for it when you are renting movies.

This Movie Renting Tip brought to you by Phil, Mr. Sensitive who rates movies by people's facial peculiarities.

THAT'S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR.

Last night I sent an email to a friend of mine, saying I wished I had a Hershey bar. In less than five minutes someone rang the doorbell. It was my friend that I had just emailed, with guess what? Dove's dark chocolate to soothe my chocolate deprived life. I don't know how she had time to read my email, grab a bag of chocolate, put on her coat and drive here. Her speed was amazing! That's the kind of friend she is. She sees a need and fills it.

After we visited and I inhaled the chocolate she went home and sent me an email. The subject line was, "I wish I could sing." The body of the email said:

"I want to be happy

But I won't be happy

'Til I make you happy too.

"Life's really worth living

When we are mirth giving

Why can't I give some to you?

"When skies are gray

And you say you are blue

I'll send the sun smiling through

"I want to be happy

But I won't be happy

'Til I make you happy too."

And then she wrote:

"And I might even dance when I sang it. That would surely be good for a few chuckles."

Wasn't that a nice email to send? That's what friends are for. For loving you, even in your unreasonable chocolate cravings and for bringing you goodies. For being there with advice, friendship, listening ears, laughter, tears, and myriad other reasons. For being happy if you are happy and for being sad if you are sad.

I have had so many lovely comments, offering love and support for my daughter-in-law and for me, on my blog in the last few days. So many emails too.

I've had lunch with friends. I've received my first email from someone I treasure but have never met. Another friend took me to lunch and then we went back to her house to talk--she gave me Dove's dark chocolate too--maybe it's a hostile takeover by the Dove's people, infiltrating our lives with sweet goodness. This friend sends me e-cards for every occasion and for no reason at all. She brings me gifts, again for no reason. She asks for prayers for her loved ones and prays for mine. All my friends do that.

Another friend called today to tell me her daughter was asked to Prom. How sweet is that, to want to share such fun news with me?

Another friend I see seldom but when we are together it's like time has stood still. Years ago we met one evening because we had news to share. Shocking news that was going to change each of our lives. We both sat there with open mouths, disbelieving. We've been through a lot together.

I love all my friends, the ones who come in and out of my life, being close and then not so close and then being close again. Filling my needs, giving to me in all kinds of ways. I think they listen when the Spirit speaks and they act. I am filled with their love and friendship and kindness. Thank you, to all my friends, my old and new ones, everywhere.

And for the Dove's dark chocolate.

SWEDISH PANCAKES POSTED ON MY COOKBOOK SITE

Of course, this isn't a real Swedish pancake but I forgot to take a final photo of the real thing and this photographs better anyway.

Recipe here.

FAMOUS WORDS--DOES YOUR FAMILY SAY THINGS LIKE THIS?

We're going to cancel Christmas.

This was said when the house was a mess and nobody would clean it up. Or when the kids fought. Or when they wouldn't mind. We always had Christmas.


"Maybe" always means "yes."

All I had to say was, "Maybe," and that shut them up because "maybe" really did mean "yes. " My mom's "maybe" meant "maybe." My brother-in-laws dad's "maybe" meant "no," but then he relented and it meant "yes" but by that time the damage was done.


I'm going to leave your brothers at the mall.

This was the day before cell phones. We had gone to the mall and everyone went in different directions with instructions to meet back at a certain place at a certain time. Of course Kraut and The Brown Dot did not show up on time. Or later. Or really later. Phil was fuming and told Gilmore Girl he was going home and leave her brothers at the mall. I think she cried, pleading for them. Of course Phil wasn't going to leave them but Gilmore Girl didn't know that and she has never forgotten the threat. I think she may be permanently traumatized.


If you kids don't start behaving I'm going to turn this car around.

Phil tells me I actually stopped the car and made The Brown Dot get out and walk home. I have conveniently forgotten such cruelty. It must have been two miles, tops. It contributed to his physical and my mental health. It was a good thing, I'm sure of it.


If you kids don't straighten up I'm going to leave home.

And I did. I got in the car and drove away. Once I was out of sight of the house I didn't know where to go so I went to the library. What a sissy way to rebel. They had their chores done when I got home so maybe my tantrum was worth it.


Vacuum the other half of the piano.

As a mom I was so tired of trying to get the kids to do their jobs that I was driven right to the edge and all my words meant nothing but nonsense. Kraut still remembers this one because he was the one I told to vacuum the piano.

That's it. No more "what if" questions!

My kids "What if'd" me to the edge of sanity. My sister's kids did too. The most ridiculous "what if" they ever asked my brother-in-law--he was driving the car at the time-- was: "Dad, what if there were a fire in your ear?"

It seems like all my famous last words were threats. That's what happens to parents sometimes. The good times out number the bad ones, ten fold, twenty fold, a hundred fold but it's the bad times that the kids remember. When I get to Heaven and the instant replay of my life is played it will be boring because I was a pretty mild mannered Mom. But when the maniac scenes come on my kids will clap and cheer and say things like, "Yes! That's what she did all right!" When they do that I'm going to say, "If I have to come over there...."

A SADNESS IN OUR FAMILY TODAY

Our darling daughter-in-law, Nurse Giggleswich, married to our son, Lord Bumhampton lost her father today. He had leukemia and was waiting to see if the chemo was successful so he could have a bone marrow transplant. A bacteria, or perhaps it was a virus, invaded his compromised immune system and antibiotics couldn't save him. He was only sixty-three. As you can imagine, she is devastated. We all are.

Her father wanted to live. He has grandchildren that needed to have more of his generous love. He has three other children, our daughter-in-law is his youngest child and she has no children, yet.

She was his baby--the baby is the favorite in many ways and our son says that she was her dad's favorite. He's sure of it. I can write that here because her siblings don't know about my blog and so will never read it. I don't know why kids want to be the favorite. They are all the favorite anyway for so many reasons and just because.

When she does have children they won't get to sit on her dad's lap and listen to him read the picture book he wrote, illustrated and self published. They won't get to have the treats he might sneak to them when Momma's back is turned, they won't get to giggle together about it. They are going to miss out on his laugh and his jokes and his hugs. They won't get to hear all the hilarious things he said, right out of the blue. They won't get to listen to his history, stories his kids didn't even know until today. One was about how he earned a purple heart in Vietnam and then threw it in San Francisco Bay when he got home because he was unhappy with the government .

There is more tragedy in our sweet girl's life. She lost her mom to cancer ten years ago. She was only eighteen at the time. A teenager who perhaps had to grow up faster than she might have.

Our girl is putting herself through school, has her LPN and will get her RN in a year, maybe a bit longer. She will graduate from the university this fall in Family, Human and Consumer Development. She has been supporting herself long before she and our son got married. She has worked her way through all her schooling.

She works full time in a care center, taking care of people who outlived her parents by twenty, thirty, or more, years. She has a generous and loving heart, giving care to those who cannot care for themselves. For instance, last year she took boiled eggs and Easter egg dye into work because one little old woman didn't get to color eggs when the rest of the little ladies did, a few days before. That's the kind of person our girl is, going beyond what is expected, working harder than she has to, being better just because she thinks it's the right thing to do.

So, we are sad tonight. Sad for our daughter-in-law and son, sorry for her siblings and the grandkids. We are sorry that the children our daughter-in-law will have will only have one Grandma and Grandpa to love them. We will try to do an extra special job to make up for all they will miss from their other grandparents. We won't be able to do it good enough, but I hope we can help.

I will encourage her to remember and tell her children everything she knows about her parents so her children will feel close to them. I wish I knew more about our girl's parents so I could help with the memory keeping. I am going to ask her things and remember so I can tell the future grandkids about the rest of their heritage, all about her parents because they were wonderful people and because their heritage is a good one.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

What would you do if you woke up in the morning and were in someone else's body? Someone who was richer and better looking than you. Someone who had a great life, someone who was rich, someone with great relationships. What would you do?

Would you seek yourself out--the you that was you yesterday--to see if that person was in your body? Or would you just take over the new life?

What if, in the unfamiliar body, you could do fantastic things that would benefit the world? Then what?

This is stupid, I know. In fact I'm sure that there has been a grade B movie using this premise but it's late and I think odd thoughts when it's late. You should hear some of my 3:00 AM ones. Bizarre.

I have no idea what to put for a label on this post so I guess I won't. In fact I'm glad it's a week-end so no one will even read this.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO? TODAY'S LIST.

If I had unlimited money here is what I would do:

1. I would hire a dentist to take care of all the people I sent to him. I would hand out notices to people with missing or bad teeth--I have seen some doozies in the past week.

The notice would say something like: "You are invited to participate in some new dental procedures. Your teeth will be taken car of, free of charge for one year." And then I'd throw in, just for fun, "But there's a catch, you have to tell the dentist how many people comment on your beautiful smile." Or something like that.

Obviously I would work on wording but you know how blogs are? You write it. You post it. No time for editing. Later, when I re-read my blog I often think, I can't believe I posted that, but it's too late. A bunch of people already read it and then there is no doubt in their intelligent minds that I have a pea-brain.

2. I'd go to Europe--for a long time--a month, two months. I would go to the ends of Paris and walk back. Until I were tired and then I would take the Metro.

Phil will be with me as he is most helpful on trips. Actually, he is most helpful at all times. As my daughter, Gilmore Girl would say, "He is a pleasure." He would be my Paris pleasure. Actually he is my life's pleasure but that's something to think about later.

Or I would go to New York City and go to a bunch of Broadway shows.

I would do all the touristy things like go to Chinatown and Soho and the museums. I would do all the things that real New Yorkers never do.

I would stay up late and eat out in all the little places that cab drivers recommend and really see the city--for as long as I wanted.

Or I would go to California, northern California, and meander down little roads leading to wineries--even though I don't drink. I think wineries are magical, beautiful sorts of places.

If I could find an olive grove I would buy into it and be the proud owner of a private label olive oil. I would say thing like, "Our olive oil has a subtle buttery taste." (Are you impressed with my "subtle, buttery" words? I stole them off a web site.)

Then I would dip a crusty piece of San Fransisco sourdough bread in it and hand it to you and simply say, "Taste." You would be enchanted with my subtle, buttery olive oil--and with San Francisco sourdough bread.

I'd go to a beach, even though the northern ones would be cold, but I would just sit there and watch the waves and think. One of the things I would think about was why I was not young. And thin. And beautiful, like this woman.

Or I would go to my home town and see what my cousin has done with the house I grew up in. Wonderful things, I hear. When I do that I'll post pictures. Or I'd just go somewhere. Anywhere. I would go soon.

3. I'd buy several tons of malaria nets for the African people. And pay for wells so they could have fresh water.

I have a friend who has gone as a volunteer with the Mother's Without Borders group to Africa twice--or it may be three times--to help where ever she could. She loved it. It is a wonderful work they are doing. This picture is from their website.

4. I would find single mothers and pay for their rent and food and necessities while they got an education so they could support their families. I would drop off a box of surprises--things they needed and luxuries that they didn't need--once a month until they were fully ready to take care of their families.

5. I would take classes. Classes in writing. Classes in art. Classes in photography. Classes in what ever I wanted. Who am I kidding? I'd have to take classes in how to have 48 hours in a day first.

First of all though, I would pay all my bills and debts and take everyone I loved to dinner. It would be a month long party. There would be much celebrating in the land. And toasting--with 7-up or sprite or some such thing. And eating of sourdough bread, dipped in olive oil, with a subtle buttery flavor.

So, that's what I'd do if I had unlimited money.

What would you do?

A DAY IN THE SUN

It's warm here today. Hooray! We spent the day on the lawn swings. Friends stopped by. We visited. More friends stopped by. We visited more. It was a great afternoon.



Tuesday found the LAST OF THE SHOW! She made a Snow Man.

Kind of.

Here she is with a Turkey Lip. Do you have Turkey Lips in your family? My mom always said, "Your lip is so big a turkey could roost on it." Her theory was that then I would laugh and the pouting would be over. I'm not sure it worked. I was a serious pouter. Tuesday demonstrates a Turkey Lip.

Then she gets over it.

Her mother couldn't convince her to put her shoes on the right feet.

And finally, all is right with the world. The lawn swings are out, the sun was shining and the rhubarb is up. In a week--if we have good weather--we'll be peeling, salting and eating our first pieces. Mmmm. Come on over, I'll peel and salt a piece for you. Or two. Or ten.

GENERAL TAO'S TOFU IS ON MY COOKBOOK SITE

This recipe is on my cookbook site, here. It is very delicious.

BOOKWORM BIRTHDAY AT BUILD A BEAR

It's Bookworm's birthday and, true to tradition, it's off to Build a Bear.

I remember when I was this young and had skin that looked that beautiful. Sigh.

She had her mind made up about what "bear" she wanted long before her birthday came. She went right to the triceratops.

Getting innards put in 'er.


Bath time.


Bottom's up.

Registering and giving her a name. April.

Isn't she cute? Bookworm, not April. Okay, April is cute too, for a Triceratops but not one tenth as cute as Bookworm.

A hug for Grandpa.

We love you Bookworm. Happy, happy Birthday.

WHAT FLOWER ARE YOU?

I am a Sunflower What Flower Are You?

Here's what a sunflower person is like--supposedly:
"When your friends think smile, they think of you. There is not a day that goes by that you can't find something good about the world and your fellow human."

Okay, I am going to pick the first five friends/family that I hear from, either by phone, a visit or email and I will tell you something good about them. Because, supposidely, that's what sunflowers do.

Friend. She called. She is my friend with good advice and she will go to J-Dawg at any time, rain or shine: I have a document called, "All Is Well." I open this when I am blue, in the dumps or hanging off a cliff over the great depression pit . Nineteen of the thirty-five items in there are from this friend, usually sent to me via email. Today she told me about something her daughter said when she was about nine years old. She had a teacher who really was "one of those teachers,"--not in a good way. This wise nine year old said, "Why can't she see that she has to love us the way we are before we can get better?" Isn't that unusually wise for a nine year old? This friend said, "That's what the Savior does. He loves us in our imperfect state so we can get better." This friend is wise, funny, happy, willing to give and serve and do whatever is needed to be of help. She also loves cats. And me.

Child o'mine: Received two emails from this child who calls herself "yfc" (your favorite child). She is cheerful, giving, loving, organized--she'd love to tackle my bedroom,--,she thinks that a good deal of the summer is meant to be spent on the lawn swings, talking. When I die there will be no secrets left, she'll know them all. She has friends by the dozen and gets them all caught up in whatever it is she loves at the moment. When Gilmore Girls was on TV she'd get phone calls during the commercials from friends who'd say, "Can you believe what Rory did?" Then when the commercial was over everyone would hurry and hang up until the next commercial. She should write children's books because she thinks and says such funny things but she won't do it. Her one fault, I cannot MAKE her do things my way.

Friend--she called: This one took Toves, the kitten. She called to report in about what a good kitty Toves is. If this friend is sitting down Toves in under her chin or draped around her neck, purring. Toves got her up this morning, climbed on her bed and wouldn't let her alone until she got up and give Toves some kitty loves.

This friend is cheerful, friendly, helpful, loving, always laughing, has great insight, is willing to put herself forward to help someone, even people she doesn't know. She is one of my visiting teachers and I know Toves has the best home possible. This friend has a wonderful, musical laugh.


Friend--email: This friend is one of my favorite wacky ones. She gave me this last week for no reason but that she knows I love kitchen things and they were called French Bull Salad Servers.


She knows I love France or maybe she thinks I love Bulls. She found them here. She also bought some paper cups there that have noses and teeth printed on them so when you drink you see this funny nose--some with moustaches. Anyway, this friend sticks with you through thick and thin. I don't see her often enough as she has moved from the neighborhood but when we get together it's as if we never parted. We go to lunch and she pays. I have money in my hand, giving it to the waitress and she pays anyway. She loves to laugh and have fun and is always planning another outing. She is fiercely loyal to her family and would fight to the death for any of them. She is independent and yet very tender. Life is meant to be fun even though the trials, that's what she thinks. She brings fun to others every day.


Internet friend--email: He's funny, introspective, thinks I'm funny even when I have 5th grade humor--forgives me when I write stupid stuff on his blog. He even forgives me when I pose as someone from another country and post in another language--I've been myself, Jo from Paris. Walter from Madrid, Koda from Dakota Sioux, The Silent Storm of Undeveloped Thought--see, I told you--5th grade humor, Albert from Uruguay, Bucky--as in Bucky the Beaver, Jin from Japan, Den from the Netherlands, Miltiadis from Greece, Petr from Kyrgyzstan, Giovani from Italy, Gina from Cayman Islands, Baa from Falkland Islands--aren't there sheep on the Falklands?, Kate for the TV show LOST--because Sawyer calls Kate "Freckles" and his post that day showed a freckled horse, Nathaan Hatfield from United States, Joe Tuckett from United Kingdom, Marc Ratsiranka from Madagascar and Sim Ching from Hong Kong. Oh my, I didn't know I had been so many goofy people. I'll tell you, this guy is one very patient person. That's probably a good definition of a friend, don't you think? Patient with you when you don't deserve it. Another Internet friend--whom I will also never meet--calls him her "wise friend who knows all." And she's right.


So there you have it. My attempt to be a sunflower personality. And aren't I lucky, to have such great friends?