SICK OF BEING SICK AND HOPING TO HAVE MORE FAITH, BELIEF AND HOPE

Tonight, as Phil was closing his prayer--for family prayer--he asked that our hope, belief and faith would be increased. I thought this was exactly what I needed to hear and hoped I would be able to have those blessings. I had to stay home today, sick and worrying, worrying way too much and wondering if I had more faith would things be all right or would I just be able to handle them better? I believe, but I need to believe Christ when he tells me to lay my burden's at his feet. And if I had more faith I would know that no matter what, it will be all right.

I just listened to a Devotional speech by Deborah Dean, who teaches English at BYU. It's here. I have printed her talk and will take it upstairs to read. it's called "Strategic Writing, Strategic Living."

So, I am going upstairs to take yet another Oregano capsule, drink more water and go to bed where I will ponder these things.

SIX WORDS FOR THE CORN BANDAGE

I threw the Pilgrim's buckle away.

OKAY, WHO'S TOOTSIE'S ARE HURTING? CORNS, ANYONE?

Last night, after everyone had left we saw a funny thing on the floor in the living room.

"It's one of those bandages for corns, like on people's feet," Phil said.

"There's no padding," I said.

"Well, that's what it is anyway, maybe the padding is still on their foot."

"Who has a corn?"

"Don't know," he said.

So, I took the corn bandage and THREW IT AWAY. After all, who saves such a thing. And then today, I looked at the little Thanksgiving quilt that Soap Queen made for me years ago. Something didn't look quite right.
I took a closer look.
And then a closer one and there was the missing "corn bandage." It wasn't a bandage at all but a Pilgrim buckle.

I'm so glad no one is limping, except for my Pilgrim, whose shoe may fall off, because of the unbuckling, and then he will be limping for sure.

PS Thank you, Soap Queen, I love this quilt and the Christmas one, too.

BABY AZZY AND US TOO

Will be whatever she wants to!

AND THE LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM BY THE HAND AND ENCHANT ONE AND ALL

This is my friend and Gilmore Girl's sister-in-law and Fearless Hunter's sister, California Girl. She is an amazing woman. She is the mother of twins, this one is here and her sister is in Heaven, watching over her family. The story of their birth was told here. This is Baby Azzy. She is seven months old. She is bright, gregarious--wasn't afraid to come and sit on my lap and tell me things. I couldn't understand her language but she was telling me, all the same. I love Baby Azzy. I love her Momma more. Don't tell.

When it was time to leave Baby Azzy was all decked out in her bunny coat. She has a spell cast over her Momma and her Daddy and now me, too.

When she grows up she will be whatever she decides to be. Her momma is a fabulous writer with unique language twists, just what children will love to read. Her daddy is a rocket scientist, really he is. Works on all things that go to, and return from, outer space.

And this wee person, well, she can grow up to be whomever she wants. And I know she will.

We can all do this. We can be whomever we decide to be. Even if we are old and moldy or if we are brand fresh. It's amazing, the power of intention we have.

THE THREE PUPS ON THANKSGIVING DAY

Gordon, Arnold and eency little Kramer, playing on Thanksgiving Day.

THANKSGIVING PHOTO GALLERY

The blogging Gremlins have been active tonight and so I've lost some of the photos. Sorry family. Some photos I loaded twice, they were there and when I posted they were gone. Twice. And the most important one of all--Phil's, isn't to be found. Also, we look like a somber group. There was much laughter, I promise. I just never caught it. I'm blaming it on the camera.

It was a grand day, we are full of lovely food and the warmth of each family member that we love so dearly. And when they drove off I couldn't speak because my throat was full of tears. They probably thought I was just speechless--for the first time in my life.

We'll do it again at Christmas, dear family.

We love you.

SIX WORDS FOR THANKSGIVING

Not enough words for my gratitude.

ARE YOU READY FOR THANKSGIVING? AND WHAT TIME DO YOU HAVE TO GET UP?

May your stuffing be tasty,
Your turkey be plump,
Your 'taters and gravy
Have never a lump.

May your yams be delicious,
Your pies take the prize,
And your Thanksgiving dinner
Stay off of your thighs! *

The turkey is in the fridge. This year I am cooking a fresh one, usually I buy the frozen ones and cook them frozen. I know, strange. You don't have to get up early, you put it in the oven the night before on a lower temperature and by the time the rest of the dinner is ready it's done. Only problem is it's done w-a-y before all the charts I've seen. This year I am trying a new method. I'll let you know how it turns out. I have to get up at 4:00 AM. Yawn. Me. The night owl. And I won't dare go back to bed for fear I'll forget something.

Most of the family will be here, fork in hand, hopefully under my feet, saying, "I better taste that to make sure it's okay." Sounds nutty but I love it. I love them underfoot, snitching bits of stuffing or wandering by with a plate full of teeny-beenie-weenies, clam dip and chips, artichoke dip w/ French baguettes, sliced thin, etc. I simply love them underfoot. There is nothing like family.

And there is nothing like Thanksgiving. I think it may be my favorite holiday.

Happy Thanksgiving to one and all in the USA. And to my Canadian friends, I'm over a month late with the Thanksgiving wishes. How truly plebeian of me. (That doesn't exactly make sense but I've always wanted to use the word "plebeian" in a blog.) Forgive me. And for my Canadian friends and all else, may this day be stuffed full of possibilities of the wondrous and fun kind, for you and those you love.

*This poem came in an email from my funny friend, Terri. Terri does not blog even though she is a nurse and has a plethora of funny stories to relate. Even though she has a gaggle of kids who have a gaggle of kids and those grandkids do and say funny things. Terri should take pity on Lynne who is often bored. Terri should blog.

SIX WORDS FOR AN EMPTY EMAIL BOX

Gone. Not far. Still in "deleted."

MY EMAIL INBOX IS EMPTY

Earlier today my inbox had over twenty thousand emails. It's now empty. I deleted them.

My deleted file now has 22,092 emails. I can't delete them permanently. Yet. I'm thinking about it, really I am but it's such a big step. It's like tossing out all the real mail you've saved, all the Happy Birthday cards, the thank you notes. There are kind words from dear friends in the delete file. I wonder if I will miss those emails. I'm going to give it a day or two to decide for sure.

So, if you feel so inclined, you could send me an email so my inbox won't be so darn naked.

If you feel so inclined.

I've written the "naked" word above. That is to give you a little excitement in case your life is boring or you are forlorn. Naked. There, don't you feel a little bit excited?

Me too. Excited to hide behind the door or the shower curtain or even the very large, very leafy potted plant--if I had one.

I should delete this post too but I never do. I'm sorry later but that's the way life is. You live it and it's out there for all to see. Nakedly.

SIX WORDS FOR VISITING TEACHING LUNCHEON

Food and friends and beautiful handiwork.

LUNCH AT THE QUILTLER'S

Today, the dear ladies, who are my Visiting Teachers, hosted a luncheon for the women they visit each month. It was at LouAnn's house. LouAnn is a quilter--besides being such a darling woman. Her house is decked out with all her handiwork.

This was the quilt she made for the luncheon. She apologized that it wasn't quilted yet.
Our visiting teachers are the "Book-ends."
This is the quilt she is making for Christmas.
Everywhere you look there are handmade items, antique furniture and of course, quilts.
The quilt on the left has tiny squares of fabric that mean something special to LouAnn.
This little doll is in honor of her mother, who was a wonderful gardener.

This little cupboard is filled with her miniature quilts. And I will close with the sentiment on this sampler, "All is well." These three words have saved me from despair on more than a dozen days/nights. I have a whole file of "all is well" messages from emails from friends and family, which I open often and read. Most are from one friend, who I love as much as is possible. I am very lucky to have such wonderful friends.
All is well.

SIX WORDS FOR SACRILEGIOUS

Saint Peter recommends banishment for me.

THIS MAY HAVE BEEN SACRILEGIOUS AND I MAY BE IN TROUBLE

I shouldn't admit things to you like I do. Today a woman at church said, "You just tell it all in your blog, don't you?" And I admitted I did. And then I walked right into the chapel and did something that I shouldn't have done. And while I was doing it I knew I'd tell you all about it on my blog.

So, here's the deal. Yesterday I was on my feet several hours, helping with a funeral luncheon. When I got home and took off my shoes my toes screamed bad words. I examined them and realized my toenails needed to be cut as they had been jammed against my shoes. I need new toenail polish too--maybe something cute like, Gilmore Girl's--but that's another subject.

Our church doesn't start until 1:00 and so I had oodles of time to cut the toenails. I even had time to polish them. Did I? No. I puttered around the house doing everything else until I realized my friend was picking me up pretty soon. I flew to the shower and then barely finished making my face less "small-children-run-away-in-horror-ugly" and making my hair less witchy when she drove up. I grabbed my church bag and threw in something I shouldn't have.

The reason she takes me to church is because Phil is serving at a BYU ward and is gone before I'm even awake on Sunday morning. He usually picks me up after church but today was going to be late and so I knew I would probably be walking home with the jammed-against-the-shoes-long-toenails. My friend would drive me home, too but it was such a lovely day that I wanted to walk.

So...when I got into the chapel I was the only one there besides the organist. I slunk into my favorite pew and scooted all the way to the wall and took out the offending tool, the one that will keep me out of Heaven. And then I used it. Here is how the dialogue will go when I die:

Saint Peter: "Well, Lynne, you were a pretty good person."

Me: "Thank you, Saint Peter, I tried."

Saint Peter: "humm. I see by the record here that on a black day in November you cut your toenails RIGHT IN THE CHAPEL!"

Me: Clearing my throat and swallowing a few times. "Well, to be honest. I was very discrete. I was the only person in the chapel. I ducked out of sight. I picked up all the toenail clippings and took them out into the hall and dumped them in the garbage can." I will probably pause in my dialogue here and then I will say "I washed my hands."

Saint Peter: "Washed your hands?"

Me: "Well, okay, I forgot to wash my hands but I thought about it later, when I was blogging, and thought it would have been a really good idea."

Saint Peter: "I'll say. You shook people's hands, didn't you?"

Me: "I forget."

Saint Peter: "Right." He says in a sarcastic way. Who knew Saint Peter could be sarcastic? "Lying about washing the hands, and lying about being the only one in the chapel, and lying about forgetting if she shook people's hands, WHICH SHE DID," he says to himself as he marks something down in a his Big Official Book.

Me: "I'm really sorry. Does deathbed repentance count?"

Saint Peter: "It's too late, your deathbed was a few minutes ago."

Me: "Well, I knew it was probably not a good idea at the time."

Saint Peter: "But you did it anyway."

Me: "Well, yes, because I didn't want to walk home with painful toes."

Saint Peter: "You could have avoided that by cutting your toenails at home LIKE A SENSIBLE PERSON. And by polishing them too. Jeez!" Maybe Saint Peter doesn't say, "Jeez."

Me: "But the Alzheimer's!"

Saint Peter: "You never had Alzheimer's." He marks something else down in his big book which I am starting to think is called, The Big Book of Bad Ideas. "Lied about having Alzheimer's," he says to himself.

Me: "What are my chances of getting into Heaven?"

Saint Peter: "Well, not only did you cut your toenails IN THE CHAPEL and lied about washing your hands and lied about having Alzheimer's but you didn't wear pantyhose to church."

Me: "It was a warm day. My last days of pantyhose freedom. For crying out loud! What are you, the fashion police?"

Saint Peter: "Tisk, tisk, tisk," he says, shaking his head. "Disrespectful to the man who is in charge of the gates of Heaven." He writes in that Dang Big Book.

And then I'm sure I will disgrace myself by talking when I should be humble and I will end up in a not-so-wonderful spot for eternity.

So, don't try this at church. Try it at home, where normal people have the good sense to do it. And wear pantyhose. Unless you're a man and then I'm sorry for talking about pantyhose and toenails and embarrassing you.

Well, I'm not really sorry.

DO YOU HEAR THAT, SAINT PETER? I told the truth. I'm not really sorry so get out your BIG FAT ERASER and erase "Lied about being sorry," in your BIG FAT BOOK OF BAD BEHAVIOR.

Good grief. This pretty much clinches it, doesn't it? I'm not getting into Heaven.

FUNERALS, SANDWICHES AND OLD AND MOLDY

Today we went to a funeral of a nice man in our ward. He raised nine children. All his children spoke. His last said something like, "I am glad my dad had faith during trying times, because here I am, number nine." Other people would have stopped at three or five or surely eight. She is a girl any father or mother would love to have. She was the treasure at the end. I think we all have treasures at the end, but some of us decide when the end is and not let God do it.

~~~~~

Because I was so tired from being on my feet for so long today I made grilled ham and cheese sandwiches for dinner. One I made with mayo--Phil's. One with Miracle Whip--mine. But I forgot which was which.

"You'll have to taste each of these," I told Phil. "And then tell me which one is mine."

He sniffed them.

"You can't tell that way, just have a bite of each."

"This is yours," he said, handing me the sandwich at his plate.

I looked at it. It didn't have a bite out of it. I furrowed my brow.

"Aum," he said, with a sheepish grin, "I licked your bread."

~~~~~

And now, because I actually feel Old and Moldy I am going to sit in the old-folks-recliner with the new afghan my friend Judy gave me and have a snooze so I can read blogs way into the night and avoid writing my book.

But, DeAnn, you better be WRITING YOURS! And I hear Her Excellency of Mousehole is doing some writing, too. Yes!

MY EXCITING FRIDAY EVENING

I know you will be jealous of my Friday evening activity. I ironed napkins. Not just any napkins, either. Paper napkins.

Why? you ask. Because I'm thrifty. A saver. Cost conscious. Cheap. Like I said, thrifty.

And the napkins weren't mine. They belonged to the Relief Society. They were napkins that we had rolled up, with silverware inside for Enrichment dinners and didn't use them. So, I took them apart tonight and ironed them and viola! Almost new napkins that a non-cheap non-thrifty person would have thrown away. Money saved? Twenty cents--maybe. Money used for electricity and my time? Priceless. Ha ha. I know, corny.

But...in about a half hour my spontaneous friend, Pam, is picking me up and we are going to Mamma Mia. Again. So, my ironing thrift will pay off as we go to the cheap inexpensive dollar movie, which I think actually costs a dollar-fifty. They charge the big bucks for evenings.

But in all fairness we paid regular price when it first came out. We didn't even ask for the senior discount, which, of course, we aren't eligible for anyway, being born in the seventies. We made the record books, giving birth to children before our own birth like we did. We should be in some kind of record book. Right next to the man who has foot long fingernails or someone who only eats chocolate. Now there's an idea.

I hope your Friday evening is at least as exciting as mine.

PHONE CALLS

A friend was over tonight and the phone kept ringing. Both daughters and a woman who talked a mile a minute and then signed off without a goodbye. I said, "Are you still there?" She wasn't.

She's a lovely woman who has a plethera of problems and I adore her but not as much as I love my dear daughters. How I wish I could make everything better for my family. I would foul things up royally. They wouldn't have any growth because I'd solve everything. They wouldn't get any stronger because Mommy would sweep in and make everything easy and pretty and even smelling nice.

And the woman on the phone and the dear friend? I'd solve their problems too and then where would they be?

I'd foul things up royally. I really would.

THIS AND THAT--VAMPIRE BEST SELLER, EMERGENCY PREPARDNESS, PIONEER WOMAN and PLANE CRASH SURVIVORS

NON-SIGNED VAMPIRE BOOK: My--coughtotallyinsanecough--nephew--who I adore--promised his Sunday School class full of teenagers that if they read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year he would give them a signed copy of Stephenie Meyer's book, the last book in the TWILIGHT series, BREAKING DAWN. He thought it would be easy to obtain--coughdidn'tdoanyresearchfirstcough. He didn't know she's only had three book signings and signed copies of her book are $200 EACH, on EBay. Does anyone know Stephanie? He could send her some bookplates to sign if he had her sympathy. He certainly has mine.

EMERGENCY PREPAREDNESS: Are you worried that if we loose power you will freeze to death right in your own home. Go here and see some things you can do to prepare for emergencies. The link for foam clothing is there.

Phil and Kraut went to Jim Phillips' class years ago. Jim is the inventor of this amazing clothing. Who knows where the handouts are--somewhere in the garage--with the chairs. You can buy the clothing or make your own. There is a link to a video you can watch that explains the "Thermal Johns" and how they work. The test was done in a freezer at minus 18 degrees and the woman wearing the Thermal Johns started the test wearing them soaking wet.

The video that follows is about a portable composting toilet. It is called "Nature's Head." Honest, it is. I know you are thrilled to know this stuff. If you keep watching the video's you will see Jim give lots of good preparedness information. I've been watching for a l-o-n-g time. He said, "May we have the courage to create joy in our lives." That goes for more than preparedness, doesn't it?

You can click from one video to another by clicking on the second single forward arrow. He gives you information on everything unimaginable from a camping shovel and axe, bug spray, to the best books to read on survival. One short video is about a product called the Whiz Freedom. Yes, it's what it sounds like. Girls, you too can have the "stand up" experience.

PIONEER WOMAN: I know everyone on the planet knows about Pioneer Woman but just in case you don't follow the link and go see what she's up to. She has a cookbook blog, which I call the Add-Butter-Directly-To-Your-Thighs blog. She runs contests. My favorite was the one where people sent their recipes. When I'm bored I go read some of these. There are over 5,000. I've read about 200. It really gives you an idea of what people in America really eat, even though they say they steam their vegetables and eat whole grain bread, without butter, which Pioneer Woman doesn't believe in.

PLANE CRASH RECOVERY: Probably everyone knows about this too. In August a private plane crashed and burned in Arizona. The pilot died of injuries, the two passengers, Stephanie and Christian were burned badly. They have been recovering in Arizona while their four children were being cared for by Stephanie's siblings, here in Utah.

c jane enjoy it is a blog by Stephanie's sister. She has been giving updates on their recovery. Their recovery, by the way, has been nothing less than a miracle.

Their brother, The Jolly Porter has a blog too and it is good for a good chuckle. Only one problem with this site. He doesn't update often enough and he doesn't allow comments so people can't nag him about it. But he's in my ward so I nag every Sunday but I'm a failure though.

C Jane has links to Stephanie's blog which was written before the crash. Her posts are being re-posted. Stephanie is a lovely young mother who loved her role as wife and mother more than anything else in the world, even shoes.

You can donate to Stephanie and Christian's recovery efforts or even have an auction of your own and donate the money to this cause.

I wasn't going to write a book tonight or stay up this late, either. Don't tell Phil. He thinks I'm a reasonable person. Well, okay, he doesn't really think that but lets not add fuel to his list of reasons that I might not be reasonable.

THE COMPLICATED LIFE

Today I did not have a personal history story written for group. This is almost the first time in two years that I have not been prepared.

The women in the group let me talk after everyone else had read and I talked about the book. The book. The book where I am exorcising my ghosts. One ghost. The loss of my birth dad.

I am beginning to realize this book cannot be about my loss alone. My sisters lost too, especially Julie--who will be referred to as the troll occasionally in the book. Poor Julie to be portrayed in such a way--she hardly resembles a troll at all. Anyway, I have a hot tempered scene in my head between me and the troll, who, I will have to call something nicer because she put up with "the brat" all those years and has never been properly thanked for it.

Mom had the biggest loss of all. Julie told me some of the details of what happened after my dad's death. Mom tried to hold the business together but the physical work was overwhelming.

I have another scene with her and Aunt Dee trying to make mattresses but their strength just wasn't enough. It will have to be a dialogue scene, painted by the speaker--haven't decided who that will be yet--who watched and participated more than I did. I just ate dirt, probably, and peed my pants.

So, the book is getting more complicated. Life is complicated. We don't know what someone else is going through while we merrily waltz Matilda--that is if we know how to waltz and we know Matilda and if she doesn't want to lead. We should always be on the lookout for subtle signs that someone else is in distress--that someone is suffering, is sad, is grieving or even is angry.

I told one of my son's once to, "Watch for the signs." (This was after he teased Gilmore Girl to the edge of insanity and she broke down and cried.) He said, "What signs?" He honestly didn't know. Some of us are more in tune that others but it's a skill that can be taught. Sadly, sufferers aren't likely to say, "Hey listen. I'm having a crappy life. Could you cut me a little slack here?" So we go on our merry way, not helping, not loving or being compassionate. Judging. Often judging.

Life is complicated. We don't know what someone else is dealing with. I wonder if we could be a little more careful. Watch for the subtleties. The sighs. The forced laughter. The silences. The countenance that is devoid of joy. The heavy hands that hang down.

I wonder if a word of kindness would help. A hand on the shoulder. An "I'm sorry." Hardly ever can we change things, but we can listen. We can let the other know, maybe even just by a look, that we might understand, maybe only 10% but that's better than nothing. Maybe even if they see us eat some dirt and pee our pants they could say to themselves, "Well, at least I'm not that bad." Maybe it would help.

I don't think it helped my Mom or my sisters. I was just one more detail that had to be taken care of but maybe it did help. Maybe it gave them something to take their mind off their loss. There is nothing so delightful as a two year old and maybe I was there, at that time for a reason, more than I know.

Anyway, life is complicated, isn't it? I wish we could have a visual image that shows how we are all connected and then a visual image that shows how we have helped one another. I'll bet we would even be connected to Kevin Bacon somehow. Maybe in as little as four steps.

GOOD GRIEF! EVERYONE'S A CRITIC.

Everyone's a critic. I've been called "old and moldy," and I've been "bless your heart'd." TWICE in as many days. (We all know what THAT means.) And I've been told to call some of my children and their excellent spouses excellent. "Excellent." There, how's that? And I've been told my word choices makes one of my children want to embalm something. What does that mean, and are my children demented?

So, I'm not blogging tonight because, one, I can't think of anything and, B., I obviously have a wee brain morsel. I'm taking the wee brain morsel to bed and without a "personal history" story ready for tomorrow, either.

That's what old and moldy people do. Nothing.

Oh, wait. They mold. In an old sort of way. Bless my heart.

JUST "GOOGLE" IT

I was talking to Her Excellency of Mousehole on the phone tonight and I said, "I wonder how old so-and-so is?"

"I don't know," she said.

"I'm going to "Google" her and find out.

"WHAT," she said. "You're going to "Google" her name?

"Yes."

"That is so lame. That's an invasion of privacy. That's...she's 47 years old," she said.

"What?" I said. "How do you know?"

"She's the second one down on Google."

I hadn't even brought a "Google" search box up yet and she...the one who criticized me for my curiosity...already had the information.

And so it goes. As human beings we might think what someone else has, wears, thinks, eats, etc. is stupid but pretty soon we want one, are wearing one, thinking about it, eating it, etc. It's just human nature.

But some of us aren't quite as quick about it, like my genius child is.

She takes after me. The genius part.

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY, HER EXCELLENCY OF MOUSEHOLE

We took our darling no-longer-a-teenager daughter's belated birthday present up to her today. We went to lunch and she showed us where she works. I insisted on photo's of the new birthday item and of course, being EXACTLY like her siblings she gave me her best sneer. I can't actually tell if the photo is good or not until I get it home. Thanks for the wonderful surprise, daughter dear. The sweater looks good though, don't'chathink? Jason's dog, Ruka, looked at her delightful sneer and decided that's what she was supposed to do when I bring out the camera. Sneer. An obedient dog, to be sure.

Kramer had no intention of sneering, He was right where he wanted to be. Right next to Her Excellency. Asleep.
But Your Excellency, I need

to be right next to you, too.
Oh, all right, you big baby. Let me just get
the tiny one out of the way first.

And so Ruka slunk up for a cuddle and
Kramer hopped off to welcome her.

And then there was more

snoozing. Two snoozers.

See what I have to put up with?

Yup, this is pretty much my life.
Happy late birthday, our beloved daughter. .
...and many more.

We love you,

Mom and Dad