MORMON FAMILY KEEPS IT CLEAN WITH PIONEER SOAP

This is Michelle, our daughter-in-law, married to our oldest child, Trent. She is an amazing woman. She does everything, and I mean everything. She sews, she cooks, she cleans, she belongs to a book club, she belongs to a card making group--usually meetings are held at her house. She keeps track of which child has which assignment and who needs money for school lunch. She was the Primary President for about five years. She is currently the Relief Society President. For those who are not Mormon, those are church callings and are HUGE. She makes jewelry--beautiful and unique items. And...she makes soap--liquid and bar soap. She makes wonderful lotions and bath bombs.

She has one customer who drives miles and miles, dashes in, grabs an armload of soap, practically throws the money at you and dashes out. All this dashing is because she is so busy and she drives miles and miles because Michelle's soap is the only soap that doesn't make her skin break out. And the throwing money thing? Really she does, I was there, tending the kids when this customer dashed, grabbed and threw. Then she opened the door again and whispered, "Thanks." then she dashed some more and drove off in a cloud of exhaust.Michelle has been featured in two newspapers. The Daily Herald, article here. And the Dessert News, article here. That is where the title for this post came from: Mormon Family Keeps It Clean With Pioneer Soap.

Phil's favorite is Rosemary Mint--it's a manly scent and I'm quite in love with it too. I love anything with citrus. She has several--Fruit Slices, Grapefruit, Citrus and Sage, Red Current and Grapefruit, Bitter Orange Orchid and she has a tangerine something--maybe with mango--that I love but I can't find it on her website.All of her children help. This is Levi, her four year old.

She sells at boutiques--the Holy Cow Boutique was this weekend and is again on November 17-20 in Pleasant Grove, Utah. She sells at Farmer's Markets type things and just today she was a guest at Young Living Essential Oils where she taught a class on soap making using $130 worth of Young Living essential oils. Later in the day she had to "break down" her booth at the Holy Cow Boutique, clean everything up and put it away. Then she came to a family dinner that Taylor and Sharee hosted for Phil--yesterday was Phil's birthday! She brought me some of her lavender lotion--I call it Sleepytime lotion because the lavender scent is so putting-me-to-sleep-ish. I've been out for a long time and can't wait to have it on my face, etc. (never mind) and go to bed and have wonderful dreams.

Here is her Vanilla Lace soap. I haven't tried it yet. Oh, and most important of all, Michelle is a mother. A mother of seven. I told you she was amazing! She has given us half of our grandchildren .

When they were engaged, Trent asked her if she would like to teach for a year or two--she graduated from Brigham Young University with a teaching degree--before they had kids, she said, "Why would I want to do that? I'll teach my own children."

And her first was born eleven months later. They are: Meghan, Mark, Willow, Noah, Joseph, Levi and Enoch. They have been taught well. They are all wonderful. As is Michelle. Long live the Queen--the Soap Queen.

PS Hillary said today in an email that went to both Michelle and me, "PS MICHELLE I read your articles in BOTH papers. You are amazing and for sure I need your autograph."

PPS Which leads me to this thought. We are all amazing. Some have talents that we envy. Some have beautiful bodies that we envy. Some are smart and clever and fill in the blank. But, I think we are all special. The ugly, the uninformed, the not-so-clever, the fill in the blank. All of us. Special.

I remember the story of the Russian child, who was lost. People rallied around, wanting to help. "What does your mother look like," they said.

"She is the most beautiful woman in the world," the child said.

The people scoured the streets for a beautiful woman. "Is this your child?" they asked several beautiful women. "No" each one answered.

Finally the child yelled out, "There she is," pointing to a dowdy woman who was running to pick up her child and twirl her around and around.

When she sat the child back on the ground the child said, "I told you so, I told you she was the most beautiful woman in the world." And hand in hand the lucky child and the beautiful mother went on their way, leaving everyone with a new appreciation of what real beauty is.

Michelle has real beauty. She knows what is the most important, her husband and her children. But first she loves God. Then everything else just seems to fall into place--after all her hard work, that is. This woman is not afraid to roll up her sleeves and get to work. Whatever she does, she does well.

A DOG STORY--PART 3

This is not a picture of Coco but picture this

dog with a coat gone wild and you will get a

pretty accurate picture of Coco and his finest.

Coco was a chocolate brown poodle that my sister, Pat, gave to Dad. She gave a dog to Larry’s dad too. Neither dog had their distemper shots and Bob’s dog got sick and died. He mourned like he had lost a child.

Coco was an annoyance. He barked at night. We would go out and whack him with a rolled up newspaper, which didn’t hurt anything but his dignity. But, even with the whackings he just couldn’t help himself. He was a barker. In a town as small as Annabella, a barking dog annoyed half of it. If someone on the other end of town had a barker, the whole town suffered.

Coco's coat got long and longer and for some reason—I’m thinking thrift—we didn’t get him shaved. He looked like he was wearing a ratty blanket.

But, even with his annoying barking and his ratty appearance, he knew something we didn’t. He knew Bob needed a friend. He chose the house across the street with the gentle man who loved dogs over our house and the rolled-up newspaper. Who can blame him?

Soon Coco was riding in the back of Bob's battered blue truck. We didn't care, we were glad that someone loved him. But Bob worried. He didn’t want to steal our dog. He came over to apologize. Mom was happy that Coco had found someone who loved him so much. Dad was too. I was glad I would be off the rolled up newspaper detail. Mom and Dad told Bob to keep him.

Coco was always with Bob. Whenever he was riding in the back of Bob’s pick-up his tongue was lolling out of his mouth, strings of dog-spit flying in the wind. He was in dog heaven. And Bob was in heaven too. And so were we. For now the barking wasn't our problem. In fact, Coco may have given up the barking all together.

SOME SWEET TOMATO

My dear friend, Pam, found this poem for me. It goes with the Sunday's post, where Princess Sweet Pea found the woman trying to sweep up her friend's ashes from the pharmacy floor.

"Post Humus”

By Patti Tana

“Scatter my ashes in my garden

so I can be near my loves.
Say a few honest words, sing a gentle song,

join hands in a circle of flesh.

Please tell some stories about me

making you laugh. I love to make you laugh.

When I've had time to settle, and green

gathers into buds, remember I love blossoms

bursting in spring. As the season ripens

remember my persistent passion.

And if you come into my garden

on an August afternoon

pluck a bright red globe,

let juice run down your chin and the seeds

stick to your cheek. When I'm dead

want folks to smile and say:

“That Patti,

She sure is some Tomato!”

- Patti Tana

Patti Tana reads “Post Humus” and eight other poems on her website: pattitana.com “Post Humus” is included in Patti’s book "Make Your Way Across This Bridge" (Whittier Publications, Inc, Island Park, NY, 2003).

PRINCESS SWEET PEA'S ADVENTURES WITH THE DEARLY DEPARTED

Princess Sweet Pea is Mrs. Bird and Guy Smiley's daughter. She has always been a favorite of mine.

She was working in the pharmacy the other day when she heard a woman give a faint little scream. The Princess looked the woman's way and watched as the woman dropped to the floor.

Curious, The Princess walked around the isles to find the woman frantically making sweeping motions on the floor. Thinking maybe she had lost a contact lense or maybe her jewelry had broken and the woman was trying to round up lost pearls, she offered to help.

"It's my best friend. My very best friend," the woman wailed. "I had her ashes in my locket, and it just opened, and now she's strewn all over the pharmacy floor."

And the Princess? She brought the woman a broom and a dust pan. "Uum...good luck with that," she said in her most reverent voice. Then she retreated behind the Phillips Milk of Magnesia and Hemorrhoid Cream.

I hope Princess Sweet Pea made a mental note to be careful when sweeping up that night. Maybe the floor dust would be more than just ordinarry dust. I hope she scattered it under a lovely rose bush in the local park and thought to say a few words, and to have a moment of silence, just in case.

And now you know that interesting things happen to Mrs. Bird and Guy Smiley's offspring, too. Stay tuned.

THE PERFECT SNACK

First you have to make some of this--Plum Raspberry Jam--the more raspberries--or the frozen mixed berries from Costco work too, you can use, the better. The original recipe calls for 1 3/4 cups raspberries. I try to use more, if I can afford it, and cut back that much on the plums.
Then you smear the cracker of your choice with cream cheese, top it with jam and you are in Heaven.

When the kids were little and we got home from church, everyone was starving--or so they said--we ate this and Ramen Soup. So help me, we did. And everyone was satisfied and happy.

This is also fantastic with Red Pepper Jam. I canned this in tiny jars because it is such a decadent treat and no one, NO ONE, in my family appreciates it. These tiny jars are like jewels that are a secret from everyone but me.

Freezer jam would be good. Even store bought jam would be good. This is an instant satisfaction.

PS If anyone has a recipe for jalapeno jam or jelly that doesn't use liquid pectin, but uses the regular kind, would you send it to me? I have a friend who says it's divine but we can't produce the recipe (the owner of the recipe is no more).

I HAVE A BRILLIANT NIECE

My brilliant niece with her granddaughter--who has Oreo-teeth--at a party thrown for Lezlie's parents (my sister and brother-in-law) celebrating fifty years of marriage.

My niece, Lezlie, took her boy to BYU Idaho to start school this last week. They were standing in line for him to get his ID photo taken. When it was finally his turn the woman in charge said something like, "His hair is too long. It touches his ears. You will have to take him to a barber and come back."

(BYU rules are very strict. The kids have to sign a moral code and there are dress and grooming standards. If the kids want to go to school there they live by the rules.)

~~Now, if you ever get a chance to meet Lezlie you are in for a great experience. She is quick. Quick witted. Quick to do everything--she graduated from college and had her first baby when she was twenty--or maybe she was nineteen and turning twenty that year, I can't remember for sure. She graduated in Journalism but raised a family of six instead of going to the TV studio every day. She has written ten books (and more under contract) for children. She is a love--I am enchanted by her. She sparkles, she grins, she teases, she is a deep thinker and works hard at everything she does. She has taught each one of her children to hold to the standards of their religion and they are all smart and savvy. They will all make major contributions to the world.~~

So, when that woman said the words "barber" and "come back," and Lezlie and Daniel had already stood in that line FOR EVER Lezlie wasn't buying it.

"Do you have a pair of scissors?" she asked the woman. I'm sure she used her innocent-I-need-help face. When you see that face you would do anything for her.

"I think so," the woman said, digging through her stuff. You know about women's "stuff." There could be anything inside the depths of a woman's purse. She produced a pair of scissors, which Lezlie borrowed and in a minute or two Daniel was up to the grooming standards, got his photo ID taken and hopefully will have realized that he has a pretty smart mom.

Now, if that had been me I would have drug my child to the barber, got back in the l-o-n-g line and missed my plane. And that is why I am a mother of old children who know how to handle their lives and sometimes mine too. Bless all of our little cotton socks.

Long live young mothers who know what to do and how to do it.

PS If Lezlie couldn't have found scissors she would probably have gnawed his hair off because, after all, she's clever and WAS NOT GOING TO THE END OF THE LINE. You should buy her books for your wee ones. I tell you, she's brilliant.

TIGGYWINKLES AND HEDGEHOGS AND GIRAFFE'S

Did you know that Tiggywinkles is the world's busiest wildlife hospital? Did you know that you can take a visual tour--in the round--of their facilities at Tiggywinkles and you can go so fast--round and round--that you throw up?

Did you know that if you Google "How much is a hedgehog?" (They treat lots of injured hedgehogs at Tiggywinkles) that you will find out that they are expensive here in the States? Maybe even a hundred dollars. And that in Britain they are free--obviously you just go into the hedges and there they are.


And that someone said...on a site Google brought up...I'm not making this up..."What? I just want a hedgehog, not a purebred dog or a giraffe, though I do want a giraffe. Please, $100 is too much." Wouldn't you love to know someone who, ever so casually, wants a hedgehog AND a giraffe?

And did you know that it is possible to lead a cow upstairs, but not downstairs? Maybe that was why Uncle Maurice had that funny look on his face that day the cow looked out his bedroom window.


And did you know that there are more chickens than people in the world? And if all those chickens are resurrected--like I think they will be--that we will be up to our arm pits in chickens. You will have Costco and their great rotisseries to blame for 28 million a year of them. Year in year out, 28 million. And that's just in the US and Canada.


And those are some of the things that Google finds the answers for. Except for Uncle Maurice, who we really called Uncle Tom.

PS I made the "throwing up" part up. But maybe someone would if they moved their mouse to the left or the right enough--the rooms fairly zoom by.

Ha! Mouse! How appropriate for Tiggywinkles. I wonder if they fix broken mice and then let them go (and then they will be called vermin instead of sweet little injured mice) that spread horrible diseases and eat farmer's produce and generally wreck havoc when they chew through electric wires and stuff. Would they have a moral dilemma, help the mouse or help stop disease and destruction. Maybe they flip a coin or whatever they do in Britain.

And if you read all the way through this post then bless your little cotton socks. My English friend says that. She is an elbow of a woman. And she is funny, on the scale of Mrs. Bird. I must start posting her stories in case you need a good laugh.

THE "POOP" CONVERSATION

"Oh, no," I said. "Kramer pooped on the floor."

"Where," Phil said.

"By the computer."

"Wow, I could have stepped in it."

I wrapped the poop in tissues--it was fairly fresh--you get all the nitty-gritty details here, folks. Then I took it upstairs because Phil was going to bed and wanted to have family prayer. But I continued on up the second set of stairs.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To put the poop in the toilet. You think I was going to hold it while you prayed?"

"I didn't know you had it."

"You didn't think I'd leave it there did you?" Honestly, sometimes men can be so dense.

So I dumped and flushed and washed my hands and when I got to the living room Phil was deep in a conversation with Kramer--the Pooper. Maybe he was the Poopee, some grammar Nazi should let me know.

"Kramer, you must not poop in the house. If you have to 'go' while we are gone you must just be a big boy and hold it. Okay?"

Phil is sitting in the chair and Kramer is standing on his hind legs, with his front legs resting on Phil's leg. I swear, Kramer was smiling and nodding and saying, "Yes, yes, I'll do that. I'll hold it like a big dog." But then I can hear Kramer saying to himself, The carpet is as good a place as anywhere. The cats poop in the house. I think I should have equal rights.

But Phil has a believing heart and thinks that Kramer will obey.

I am a realist. Kramer will poop on the floor.

He poops outside if one of us says, "Do you want to go outside?" But, actually he really thinks we say, "Do you want to go outside so you can pounce on bugs and bark at that German Shepard." (That dog, which could eat Kramer in one gulp, by the way, is staying in the house behind us). Please, Powers-that-be, let that dog be a visitor or we will hear, "barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark," all winter. And then he will bark some more, in case that wasn't enough.

And then he will think his outside work is done.

And then he will come in the house and poop on the floor. I just know it.

LYNNE SNYDER'S FRIENDSHIP APPRECIATION DAY

Don't you just adore your friends? Could you do without them? Me neither. Yesterday, I emailed my darling friend in California: "I ate a half gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream in three days." I had to confess to someone, and now I've confessed big time.

She wrote back, "I ate three gallons of mint chocolate chip ice cream in one day." I laughed right out loud and then I read: "Not really, but practically."

That's how friends are. They want their misdeeds to be bigger than your misdeeds so you will feel better. (And I think she knew it would make me laugh.)

Tonight my hard-working-gardening-friend delivered to me--DELIVERED, I didn't even have to go get them--well, I couldn't because my adorable clown car delivered it's headlight's switch right into my hand the other day so its a day-time only car at the moment. Anyway, my friend, who was exhausted from all her gardening work, brought me a HUGE bag of the prettiest tomatoes you've ever seen. (Our garden this year is having a tantrum and it is Pitiful, with a capital "P." It's a good thing I canned tomatoes last year because there won't be any of that done this year.)

She gave me a huge bag of crookneck squash just a few days ago. That's how friends are. Thinking of my needs above her own--I KNOW she wanted to soak in a nice bubble bath or zone out in front of the TV instead of getting in her car and coming to my house.

Friends stop by my blog and leave nice compliments, even though I was in a bloggy-snit and didn't post--or read anyone else's posts--for weeks. Once I did post, they commented.

Another friend knows I am having an attitude adjustment--or I need an attitude adjustment--over something I really, truly should do. No, I'm not going to tell you what it is--I'm embarrassed. Anyway, she said, "Let's go do it tomorrow. I'll go with you. It will be good. I promise." And I will, and it will be, and then one of my fears will be lain to rest and it will be because she saw my need and she filled it. She's even willing to wait until I drag out of bed at 11:00 (because I have insomnia and the great-sleeping-sickness all at the same time).

Another friend dropped everything today to go run errands with me. We ended up at Chili's having queso dip--but she was willing to do the errands with me first. At a moment's notice she will drop what she's doing and go with me. I love that about her.

Only Mormon's will understand this one--yesterday, which was September first, I finally got around to doing my August Visiting Teaching. Two of the women gave me big hugs and told me they loved me. Me--the slacker. Me--the one who is supposed to be watching over them. I had to leave a letter and the message on the third woman's door because the third woman is Mrs. Bird and Mrs. Bird is simply never home, she is out doing interesting things so I will have something to blog about.

So, today, September second, I am declaring Lynne Snyder's Friendship Appreciation Day--and most of them did not get mentioned here because there's only so much a tired insomniac can do. Here's to you, all my dear friends: Live long and prosper.

That's quite a catchy phrase, isn't it? Maybe I should write for movies. What do you think?

A DOG STORY--PART 2

One morning, when I was about eight, I was awakened to a furry ball of energy licking my face all over. It was a brown and white Springer Spaniel.

“We bought you a dog,” Mom said. What she really meant was, “We bought a hunting dog for Dad but if we say it’s for you maybe you will take care of him.” I’m sure I didn’t. Knowing children like I do now, after raising five, I'm sure I promised lots of things but following through? Not so much. But I got to name him and since he was spotted I called him Freckles.

What he really was, was a socialite in a dog suit. He made the “rounds” every morning from one end of the town to another. You could almost set your clock by him. My best friend, Pam Robinson’s house at 8:15, the Barney’s house at 8:18, across the canal bridge at 8: 22, and so it went until he had noised into everyone’s business.

He was the worst hunting dog on the planet. Dad would shoot a pheasant and send Freckles to retrieve. When he came back he had a mouth full of feathers and a mangled bird that looked like a mud-wad with a beak and pitiful bird feet sticking out. There was no way to salvage any bit of a bird that Freckles retrieved. So Dad gave up on him and let him do what he did best, ramble all over town in his tongue hanging out and a sloppy look of contentment.

One day someone came to the house and told us they had found Freckles dead by the side of the road to Richfield . We retrieved him and buried him and then we cried.

He had been shot.

A long time later a farmer came to confess. Dogs had been into his sheep and when he saw Freckles, ambling along with his loose-jointed way, he got so mad that he shot him. He said he knew all along that Freckles wasn’t one of the dogs that had been killing his sheep but he saw a dog and lost all reason. He said he was sorry. I think he cried.

I can’t imagine how much courage that man had, to come and confess. A man like that you have to forgive, and you would stand up and testify of his goodness before the judgment bar.

I think Freckles forgave him too. He was like that. He loved everyone.

I'm sure Daddy and Freckles are having some good times. I can almost see him, leaning against Daddy, waiting to be scratched behind the ears. And Mom is saving the very best table scraps as a treat for my furry friend. I'm sure he is well taken care of.

A DOG STORY--PART 1

The first dog I ever remember owning was a Pomeranian. My sister, Pat, gave him to me for my birthday. He looked like a red fox that had put his paw in a light socket and had his tail in a giant curler.

photo courtesy google search

I thought he was a noble dog. How I knew anything about nobility as a six or seven-year-old, I don't know. Maybe someone explained pedigrees to me. So I started looking for an appropriate name and there it was, on a box of crackers. Crackers. Ritz crackers. I must have heard the word Ritzy somewhere so I named him Fritzy.

And there my memories of Fritzy ends. I asked my older sister. Julie, what she remembered about Fritzy. Surely she had a better memory than me, she would have been about fifteen or sixteen.

"Wasn't he a yapper?" she said.

All little dogs seem to be yappers, it's perhaps the "short man" syndrome.

And that, my friends, is all my sister and I remember about Fritzy, the noble yapper, my first dog.

YOU SHOULD READ THESE BLOGS, REALLY YOU SHOULD

I have been a bad blogger. I think of things I want to share during the day and by nightfall...poof!...the ideas are gone. They must not have been great to start with.

So for this post I am going to tell you about two blogs you should read today.

"Throwing Up Words," and the post on "Mormon Times" by Jason Wright--The Power of Praise.

The "Throwing Up Words" blog I adore. I adore the women whose blog this is. Except I don't know Kyra but I know from whence she comes, so she must be pretty fabulous. She writes all sassy and excited with life and knowing more than her tender years.

Today's post on Throwing Up Words is by Ann Dee Ellis--Author of THIS IS WHAT I DID and EVERYTHING IS FINE. Her post makes me want to get my life in gear and do what I always say I am going to do. She is a wonderful author.

Throwing Up Words Post: It’s the Final Countdown: Someone Please Do This With Me. Please.

The other woman on Throwing Up Words is Carol Lynch Williams. This woman is perhaps the kindest woman on the planet. She hands out good advice anytime anyone needs it. She is one of the driving forces behind Writers and Illustrators for Young Readers, which is a wonderful five day long symposium. She has helped launch many Utah writers. And you feel so good when you are with her. She makes you feel like you can do it--write. Even if you can't. And so then you go ahead and try and then she helps you get better.

She has dozens of books out, all of them good. Better than good. I love everything she writes. Her latest is THE CHOSEN ONE and it's oh so good and oh so "I can't believe things like this happen in real life-ish in this day and age." It's about polygamy.

Oh wait, her latest is GLIMPSE. How have I missed it? I must go buy it this week. I'll bet she had a book signing and I missed it. I feel all sorry for myself now.

You should read this blog every day. They give advice on writing, motivation by the basketful, and you will love their quirky writing styles. After you've read it for a couple of weeks you feel like they are your best friends.

The one on Mormon Times is about the value of praise. Don't you love it when someone says you are good at something. I can live a week on a good compliment. So, go read this and give some praise to someone who needs it. Or just do it anyway. It's a good thing. (Martha says that so it must be good because she's famous and everything.)

Mormon Times Post: The Power of Praise by Jason Wright

TRIALS

We hate them--trials--and yet they are necessary. We can't appreciate the good without the bad. I wanted to say "without the evil" but evil is such a...well, evil word.

I remember the night I was going to pray for every single family in our neighborhood. It was daunting. I got to exactly six houses when I realized that if I prayed for everyone I would be on my knees--or leaning on the bed, because of my bad knees--all night--perhaps even for days. Everyone had problems that seemed heartbreaking to me.

But there was one family that I couldn't find the trial for. I have often said to Phil, "They don't have a trial," and he would tell me "you just didn't know about it." Sadly, he was right. This week I found out and I was devastated. I love that family. Well, actually I love all of my neighbors and am devastated about their trials but this one kind of involved me too. It kind of involved everyone in our neighborhood. We are all hurting. Hurting and praying for this family but hurting for ourselves too.

And then, just tonight, I realized that every one of my neighbor's/friend's trials involve me because I know them. Because I love them. Because I recognize who they really are.

Now I ask a question...can my sharing the hurt, the humiliation, the fear--insert any number of hurtful words here--make a difference? Can my worrying, prayers, and well wishes, make a difference or not?

I remember in the beginning of one of my trials I wanted to run home to Momma, although she had died the year before. I wanted to mentally run home and thought of physically running home too, to Daddy. He wouldn't have known what to do with me but I was seriously thinking about it. And then I confessed this to one of my friends. Perhaps I was feeling her out, thinking she would give me words of confirmation. Instead she drew herself up to her full height, and in a "mind me!" sort of voice said, "Oh no you won't. You will stay right here where your support system is."

How can you deny that force? I stayed. And, indeed, my friends rallied around and made my life easier. And since we have been through that time together nothing will ever, EVER break that bond of friendship.

I don't know if my friends with the new, raw trial, will run home to "Momma"-wherever that might be--or if they will stay here where their support group is. I hope they will stay so we can heal together. I pray for it. I hope they are brave and have the common sense like I did--well, I didn't have the common sense but my friend did. Do you think if I said, "Oh no you won't!" that will sway their decision?

In the mean time, I will pray for them and for my hurting and everyone else's. Together we can heal, and in the healing we will be stronger. We will be one.

ACK AND HARKING A DOG

Ack #1

I've been a bad blogger. Almost non-existent. I also have been a bad blog follower so just a minute ago I signed in and went to my dashboard to see what everyone has been up to and when I scrolled down there was a message saying, "You are not currently following any blogs." Ack!

Now what do I do? I guess I follow the "comments" section on my posts to people's blogs. But so many blogs I follow don't follow me. Ack, does not fully tell how I feel about this.

Ack #2

I've been making jam all evening. (Normal people make jam in the morning, when it's cool. I seem to be sleeping then.) I had on a white-starched-and-ironed shirt. I put an apron on--the ever so cute one Annette made for me. Then I pitted four thousand marble-sized golden plums. Okay, they weren't actually marble size but they were shooter-sized. Bouncy-ball-sized would be an exaggeration. I added mixed berries to the plums and it made the most glorious, ruby-red jam--tasty too. I have made three batches so far...15 pints and one quart. Tomorrow I will continue but my son, the one with the marble-plum tree, will have to bring me some more. Are you reading this Taylor? More plums, please.

Phil was eating ice cream so I gave him a custard cup and asked him to give me some too. I put jam on top and with the very first spoonful I dropped wonderfully ruby-red jam in between the apron and the perfect white shirt. Which now wasn't.

Ack #3

I love texting. You can ask a question and get an answer and not have to spend 20 minutes on the phone. I am not a fast texter. And one of the reasons is because things are in different places on the phone. The letters are the same but the question marks, dashes, parenthesise, even periods and commas are somewhere else. Now, when I type on the computer I have to look every stinking time to see where things are.

I tell you, it's enough to hark a dog.

READ THIS

I don't have permission to put this here so don't rat me out, okay?

The Law of Retaliation
by Dr. Napoleon Hill

Every person with whom you come in contact is a mental mirror in which you may see a perfect reflection of your own mental attitude. I recently had an experience with my two small boys, Blair and James, which illustrated this point.

We were on our way to the park to feed the birds and squirrels. Blair had bought a bag of peanuts and James had popcorn. James took a notion to sample the peanuts. Without asking permission, he reached over and made a grab for the bag. He missed and Blair retaliated with a left jab.

I said to James: “Now, see here, son, you didn’t go about getting those peanuts in the right manner. Let me show you how to get them.” When I spoke, I hadn’t the slightest idea what I was going to do, I only hoped that stalling would allow me time to analyze the occurrence and work out a better way than his.

Then I recalled the law of retaliation that says people will always respond in kind, even in greater measure that which is deliver to them, so I said to James: “Open you box of popcorn and offer your little brother some and see what happens.”

After considerable coaxing, I persuaded him to do this. Then a remarkable thing happened, out of which I learned my greatest lesson in salesmanship. Before Blair would touch the popcorn, he insisted on pouring some of his peanuts in James’s overcoat pocket. He retaliated in kind!

Out of this simple experiment with two small boys, I learned more about the art of managing than I could have learned in any other manner. None of us have advanced far beyond Blair and James as far as the operation and influence of the Law of Retaliation is concerned. We are all just grown-up children and easily influenced by this principle.

The habit of “retaliating in kind” is so universally practiced that we can properly call this habit the Law of Retaliation. If a person presents us with a gift, we never feel satisfied until we have “retaliated” with something as good or better than that which we received. If a person speaks well of us, we increase our admiration for that person, and we “retaliate” in return!

Through the principle of retaliation, we can actually convert our enemies into loyal friends. If you have an enemy whom you wish to convert into a friend, you can prove the truth of this statement if you will forget that dangerous millstone handing around your neck which we call pride.

Make a habit of speaking to this enemy with unusual cordiality. Go out of your way to favor him in every manner possible. He may seem immovable at first, but gradually he will give way to your influence and “retaliate in kind!”

The hottest coals of fire ever heaped upon the head of one who has wronged you are the coals of human kindness.


Source: Source: The following is adapted from the March 1919 issue of Napoleon Hill’s Golden Rule magazine. Printed in the above version March, 1994, Volume 6, Number 3, Page 4 in the Think and Grow Rich Newsletter.

THE ULTIMATE PRODUCTIVITY BLOG

I went to The Ultimate Productivity Blog tonight so I could start being productive. It had exactly one post, on September 17, 2009. It read: "You should be working. " Which I cannot do because it's 1:00 am and I'm going to bed. Pretty soon, I'm going to bed. So I guess I fail.

If the owners of the Ultimate Productivity Blog took their own advice that is why he/she hasn't blogged since. Their bony little fingers cannot type because they've been worked every minute since, and are either the ultimate of successes or they they just have bony fingers. How's you like a massage from bony fingered person? Me neither.

MRS BIRD WANTS TO KNOW WHO DAPHNE IS

This is Mrs. Bird and her husband, Guy Smiley, sitting on the lawn swings, telling us funny stories.
Mrs Bird and Guy Smiley are night owls. Perhaps Mrs. Bird is more of an owl than Guy Smiley because the other night, at 1:30 am, she had to wake him up so they could go to bed. (They watch TV late, catching up on the news and Dr. Oz and other things Mrs Bird records.) So, she woke him up and they got ready for bed. It was Guy Smile's turn to say the family prayer because it was an odd day. (I pray on the odd days too. It's not because I'm odd or anything, it's because my birthday is on an odd day.) Anyway, Guy Smiley prays for everyone (just like me--it must be an odd-day-phenomenon) so his prayers are long. Right in the middle of it he says, "Bless Mrs. Bird that she will come to accept Daphne."

Mrs Bird wanted to poke him right then and there and say, "Who's Daphne?" but since he was praying she waited. The second he said "Amen" she did poke him.

"Who's Daphne?" she said.

"Daphne who?" he said,

"That's what I'd like to know," she said.

"I don't know any Daphne's," he said.

"Yes you do. You prayed that I would accept her." she said. And now she was getting a little peeved. After all Daphne was in his prayer and she was supposed to accept her. Was this some kind of mind game he was playing?

Guy Smiley started to laugh. He's had conversations like this before with Mrs Bird.

"Stop laughing and tell me who Daphne is." Mrs Bird was now glaring at him.

"I don't know, honest I don't." he said throwing his hands in the air while trying to quit laughing. The more he tried the harder it was. There was a good snort building up and it was going to come out any minute.

"Guy Smiley!" she said, "You tell me this instant who Daphne is!"

"Okay," he said, "What exactly did I say?"

"You said, 'Bless Mrs. Bird to accept Daphne."

This sent Guy Smiley into a fit of laughter. "I said, 'Bless Mrs. Bird to accept her bad knee."

This sent Mrs. Bird into a fit of laughter and she couldn't stop. Guy Smiley decided to sleep downstairs because her giggling showed no sign of stopping.

She laughed and laughed and finally at 2:30 she took a sleeping pill and could hardly wake up the next morning.

The moral of this story is: Don't pray for your partner's body parts if they sound like a woman's name. You will have to sleep downstairs and your wife will be so groggy in the morning that you will have to fix breakfast.

MOMACAT LETS ME GET FRIENDLY

Here are photos to go with yesterday's post.

MomaCat, under the loveseat.

MomaCat letting me get close.

She lets me scratch her under the chin.

Purr, purr, purr. A little to the left, that's it, right there! Purr, purr, purr.

Buttermilk Rhubarb Pie. Recipe on The Snyder Family Cookbook in a day or two.

TALKING TO MOMACAT

One of my friends is out of town and I am tending her kitties for a week. Two are outside cats and one is a three legged tortoise shell cat--she lost her leg after being hit by a car--and is now an inside cat. I have only seen her a few times as she is very shy and afraid of strangers. (Not that I'm strange, mind you.)

Today I found her under the love seat in the family room. I lay on the floor and reached as far as I could. I could just barely touch her. I scratched her under her chin and behind her ears. Pretty soon she began to purr and we were there for a long time--me scratching, her purring. I tried to coax her out. "Come out, MomaCat," I said and every time she said, "purr-meow--purr." We had a fifteen minute conversation but she wouldn't budge.

Tonight I can't get her out of my mind. She had fifteen minutes of human contact today. What would I be like if I only had fifteen minutes of human contact?

I recently read a Young Adult book called Skin Hunger by Kathleen Duey. It made me realize that touch is so important. That having someone to talk to is important, having someone listen to you is improtant.

Tonight we sat on the lawn swings with neighbors. I had made an impossible rhubarb pie--it's a very old Bisquick recipe--no crust--and I served it with ice cream. When the neighbors went home one of them shook my hand, and told me thank you. I thought that was sweet.

Some of my friends are huggers. Some are not. Some are good with words of love. Some love me just as much but don't express it. I have one friend who says it all, "Lynne Snyder, I love you." It makes me feel good. If I were feeling like the worst crumb-bum in the world I could find Faye and she'd soon have me feeling pretty good--maybe even terrific.

How often do we hesitate before saying loving words? How often do we give a hug and how often do we hold back? I think we need a certain amount of strokes. I'm not sure I would want to scratch you behind the ears but I can say something nice and tell you how wonderful you are. Maybe I could hold your hand for five seconds and you'd know I loved you.

I am on the last few cards of a one hundred card box. It's taken me quite a while to get through it. There are a bunch of cards that never got written. It would have taken me fifteen minutes to tell someone they were appreciated, to tell them I loved them or that I think they are terrific.

Skin hunger and compliment hunger and tell-me-I-make-a-difference-in-your-life hunger are real.

Let's put an end to all these hungers. You could even bake an impossible rhubarb pie and share it with the neighbors. One of them might even shake your hand.

SILENCE AND BOOKS AND ENERGY AND SKINNY PEOPLE

Men, Money,
and
Chocolate

A tale about pursuing love, success,

and pleasure, and how to be happy

before you have it all . . .

Menna Van Praag

Published by Hay House

***

Go to that place of silence within'

You'll feel the vastness of the world

And it's limitless possibilities.

You'll know you can do anything,

and have everything.

You will see that right now

You are perfect, exactly as you are.

***

I have not read this book. I'm reading a selected bit online here. As I was reading I was also listening to a bit of a video from Dr. Bradley Nelson here. They were saying almost the same thing about silence. Then I was looking for an image for this post, for we all know a post naked of photos is dull and crunchy, like carrots* and I came upon an author I am reading at the moment, although a different book--Stillness Speaks by Eckhart Tolle (I am reading The Power of Now.)

Maybe all this coincidence this means something.

A neighbor did some energy work on me today from Dr. Nelson's book, THE EMOTION CODE, releasing trapped emotions.

I guess I'll investigate further, the books and stillness, too. Want to join me?

*I have/had this book somewhere/at one time--Skinny People are Dull and Crunchy Like Carrots. So funny. I must look for it/mourn because I no longer have it.

JUST BECAUSE

Do one brave thing today.

HOW NOT TO LOOSE WEIGHT

I lost a pound today. I gave blood. I usually do that at the Red Cross blood drive and every time I do the technician says my hemocrit numbers are high. I knew that wasn't a good thing because I "Googled" it. So I asked my doctor if I could have a letter to give to the Red Cross so I could donate blood every month, instead of every other month. Instead of a letter he ran blood tests and then he made an appointment for me with another doctor--an ONCOLOGY doctor. Only he didn't say "Oncology." He said "hematologist." If he had said Oncology I would have freaked right out. Everybody knows that means cancer, right? I don't "do" cancer.

So I went to that Hematologist/Oncologist today and was told I have a blood disease called Polycythemia Vera. It seems my bone marrow produces way to many red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets. In other words, my blood is thick with the stuff. Thick. Viscous. Meaning a possibility of stroke. Or, Central Retinal Artery Occlusion, which I have had and now am blind in my left eye because of. (Don't end the sentence with a preposition, Lynne.) So, now we probably know why that occurred. Blood thick as Aunt Jemima's syrup. Maybe even as thick as molasses. Or mud. No, probably not mud. Everyone knows mud is for pies.

I am now being bled--not kidding--they removed the first pint today and will do it again Thursday and then several more times. It seems besides having all those extra blood cells in the blood I am making extra pints of the stuff.

I have a mutated gene (JAK2) that thinks production should be ramped up, maybe like chocolates on the assembly line in that "I Love Lucy" episode that I love so much.
It's not hereditary, so don't panic, my children. That gene is a mutant fellow with a mission. I am taking medication to retard the production of all of these renegade blood partners.

Blood is made in the bone marrow and in the Word of Wisdom it says, "Health in the navel and marrow to their bones." We have studied the Word of Wisdom (Doctrine and Covenants 89) and we were vegan for almost seven years because of our interpretation to the teachings there. Too bad we didn't stay vegan but maybe mutant genes don't read the D&C.

It's funny, I have always told Hillary that--in the last days--I will be on the porch, rocking the babies and reading to their little ones while they (my children) were out fighting the mutants . Now I have a mutant, living inside. It's enough to hark a dog.

So, if ever you give blood and the technician says, "Hummm, these numbers are a little high," go to the doctor and get a test so you won't loose vision like I did. You might even lose a few pounds--"a pint's a pound, the world around." (Every Weight Watcher steps on the scale hungry and thirsty.) Today, it was a pretty tough way to lose weight. I recommend diet and exercise.

"There is only one way to happiness and that is to cease worrying about things which are beyond the power of our will."-- Epictetus

WE HAVE A NEW BISHOPRIC

Last week our Bishop and his two counselors were released and our neighbor was made the new Bishop and two new counselors were called. In the Mormon church every position is staffed by ward members. No one is paid. Our missionaries serve for two years--eighteen months for girls--at their own expense.

Anyway, I loved our last Bishopric. They served for five years, which is pretty much standard for a Bishopric. This week, as our new bishop was conducting, I realized that I already loved all of them. I have always heard that you love those you serve, and I know that is true. But, it seems, you also love those who serve you.

Unless it's a crabby waiter, then all the love can be cancelled. Unless he brings you a free dessert or a complimentary spinach artichoke dip, and then you might reconsider.

Or, if one member of the bishopric doesn't blog--he knows who he is--then I might have to threaten and threatening one of the Lord's anointed is never a good idea. So, I might be in trouble. If you never hear from me again my name will be listed in the obituaries. Cause of death: struck by lightening.

MY SISTER HAS BEEN MARRIED 50 YEARS

My sister and her husband have been married for fifty years. Last night her kids and grandkids threw them a surprise party. They have flown in from Virginia to Hawaii and everywhere in between. It was very nice. I took a few photos and now it has been confirmed. My photography skills are ZERO. There isn't one photo that I am proud of. I'm sorry to post all these lousy ones but it's all I have.

Coming in the door at the church

cultural center. Surprise! Their oldest

son, Jordan, ushered them in,

telling them that the grandkids were

playing indoorsoccer in the cultural hall.

The daughter-in-law who didn't go to dinner

with everyone so she could co-ordinate all

the decorations and food. How the whole

group kept this party a secret is beyond

my understanding.They will kill me when they see this.

None of them look like this. They are

pleasant looking in real life.

I promise they are. Aubrey, a granddaughter.

I didn't have the red-eye flash on.

The newest granddaughter.

Obviously the next set of photo are of

nothing. Real photographers don't take

pictures of nothing. And not that any

of these people are nothing--

the pictures are just bad.

Gordon and Julie looking at the book the

kids/grandkids made. Photos of their life

together. It was wonderful.

Son, Chris with his daughter. She has been

eating all kinds of things dipped in chocolate.Lizzie, Julie and Gordon's great-grandchild

with her Grandma, Lezlie their daughter.This is Lezlie's daughter-in-law. There

are three generations here. You'd think

I'd have added Julie and Gordon and made

it four, wouldn't you? Not so. Why? Because

I only think of the right thing to do a day late.

Today I thought of it. A day late.

This is one of Julie's best friends, JoAnne.

They met when they were all going to college

and lived in the same married housing.

Again, obviously. I think I can take photos

in the dark. Sorry, JoAnne.This was my favorite part of the whole

evening. Lezlie and Brennan did a skit of

their parents, going out to eat. It was

hilarious! Really nailed those two, from Julie

bringing her own water to finding a bargain

meal to taking bunches ofvitamins and quoting

how wonderful they were.

I didn't even get a photo of all the grown

children. I feel bad about that but I know

other people were taking photos too,

surely they were better than I at this.

Mormon's all over the world will recognize

this photo of the basketball floor. It is a

multi purpose room used for playing basketball,

wedding reception, overflow for Sacrament Meeting,

activities for the Scouts, Young

Men's and Young Women's organizations,

Relief Society, Primary, luncheons

after funerals, etc.

They had a slide show of photos of the time

they met and were dating to marriage,

children,the three missions they

served for the church, trips, pictures

of all the grandkids, etc.

Happy Anniversary to my sis and her hubby. What a great life you have had together and what a fine posterity you have. You have both enriched our lives and the lives of our children by the way you live, the commitments you keep and your great faith in the Savior.

We love you.