VISITING TEACHING UP THE CANYON

Today was the last day to do visiting teaching for the month and so I snagged Pam and took her to the canyon. I didn't give her much of a lesson but we had a good two hour talk, which was as important, I think.

She goes up into this mountain a lot with her hubby and says at Christmas time these barns have two big wreaths on them.( I obviously am a little tilted.) The amazing "rabbit" tree. (He's looking to the left.)

Someone is ambitious and harvests wild mountain honey.

This tiny cabin has an elopement ladder and a swing set--so to speak--out back.

Some children refuse to grow up and leave the comfort of Momma's milk.

Some do.

This is the "go away" compound. It was hard to see as it is surrounded by trees but there are several cabins there and it looks like a whole lot of fun.

See? Go away.

We should do our visiting teaching in the mountains more often.

A BLOG ABOUT NOTHING. AGAIN.

I have decided that in yesterday's post I should have written "melty tastiness," not "melty goodness"--as in "good for you." I don't want to deceive anyone about the nutritional value of candy bars. Just wanted to set the record straight.

Lasagna and salad and French bread--that is my all time favorite meal. Today, before leaving for church, I put together a lasagna and left a note for Phil to put it in the oven after he got home from his BYU ward. I walked into the house to the most heavenly smell.

A salad made with fresh cucumbers and fresh tomatoes from the garden can go from good to wonderful if you put a bunch of marinated artichoke hearts on it. If you live anywhere near BYU's Creamery on 9th and can get their ranch dressing it takes that salad from wonderful to fantastic. Just sayin' in case you live close. If you don't live close, forget I said that part.

It doesn't matter how old you get, you still want the best for your children and you still think of them as children, not as men or women. They were, and always will be, your precious little ones.

If we could be a nation of strong families, we would be a strong nation. We must do what we can to keep our families intact, to teach them correct principles, and to teach them to serve.

If you don't have anyone to sit by in church you are lonely no matter how full the chapel is. Luckily I had people to sit by today, except for Sunday School. I sat by a man I didn't even know--how does that happen? He promptly went to sleep. He did not snore.

It is good to sit in Relief Society and not be up front, conducting. It is nice to know someone else is in charge of Enrichment. I will go to Enrichment in September and have no responsibilities for the first time in seven years!

I told you this was a blog about nothing. I have things to say but am going to say them on my Starlight blog and on a different night as I'm going to bed now. I hope everyone is tucked in and hope you all remembered to floss your teeth and say your prayers.

Goodnight.

I SAW THE BAG LADY AND IT WAS ME

Today, I was in American Fork at 3:00 o'clock. I hadn't eaten any lunch--or any breakfast either--so I stopped at Wendy's and get a ninety-nine cent hamburger and fries.

After eating I rummaged in my purse to see if I could find a wet-wipe as I wanted to go to Trent and Michelle's and see the kids. One should always go tidy. By now I was driving. I know, rummaging in the purse while driving is a no-no.

Instead of a wet-wipe I found a melty-chocolate-mint-truffle bar. Now you know I couldn't let a melty-chocolate-mint-truffle bar sit there, melting, alone and lonely in it's goodness. So, with my teeth-as-tools I tore off a tiny corner and squished the melty goodness in my mouth. What I didn't know is that the other end of the bar had it's own tiny hole, squishing the melty goodness onto my shirt.

I turned the radio down with the hand that was holding the truffle bar, depositing melty goodness on the console and my WHITE, NEWLY IRONED pants. I noticed not, because I'm driving, giving 90% of my attention to the road and 10% to the melty goodness.

More tastes of melty goodness. More dripping on the shirt. More dripping everywhere.

I got to the turn for Trent and Michelle's and looked down. HOLY MOLEY. What is that? Melty goodness ALL OVER THE PLACE.

I found the wet-wipe and wiped the chocolate off. Translate: smeared the melty goodness all over the dang place. Still driving, yes, I know. Five wet-wipes later I looked like a woman who sleeps in a dumpster.

I didn't go to Trent and Michelle's. I didn't see the kids. How could I let them see they have a derelict grandmother? I did come home and washed my shirt and pants and then I read the calories on the back of the wrapper. 306. Well, at least I only ate 153 of them. The rest made the biggest mess I have ever seen.

Here is the evidence. See the tiny tear on the left hand side? See how neat it is? And look on the right hand side. See the goopy, melty goodness?That was it's sneaky exit point--all 153 calories. That's the one bright side to this story--calories not eaten. And I got a blog out of it. A boring blog, but hey, when you are boring, looking like a walking dumpster gets reported. I'm just sorry I forgot to take a picture of my clothes.

PS Blogger does not think "Melty" is a word. Eleven times it didn't recognize it. I may have overkilled the "melty goodness." (Twelve.)

ADDENDUM TO YESTERDAY'S POST

Roofers work on Saturday.

ARE THE ROOFERS TAKING THE WEEKEND OFF?

Really, when you can't sleep and you don't want to get up and read. because then you think you won't be able to sleep if you do, and so you lie there--or is it "lay"--and then, just about the time you have finally gone to sleep and are having a really good dream--translate: totally insane but makes you say to yourself, "Whoa, I have a really intense, interesting subconscious mind,"--the roofers across the street start their banging. "BANG." Pause. "BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG." Pause, pause, pause, pause, pause. "BANG." Pause. "BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG." And then they repeat until you stumble out of bed and walk into the wall and eventually make it to the bathroom and after standing in the shower for five minutes you wake up when you realize you are still in your nightclothes.

Do roofers take the weekend off? I don't know if I want them to, or if I want them to get done on Saturday and hope they won't ruin Monday too. But the lawnmowers will ruin Saturday so the roofers might as well keep them company. What people mow their lawns at 7:00 a.m. anyway? And then they use their leaf blowers, that are made from recycled jet airplane parts. Those people are the ones who probably wake up when my kitchen light goes on at 1:30 as I'm getting a drink before going to bed. The early morning mowing and jet-leaf-blowing is retribution.

And why do some people live such ordered lives, go to bed at 10:30, get up at 6:30 and never live in chaos? I was programed at BIRTH to have sleep problems--translate: not go to bed before 1:00 a.m. and I HATE it. I want to be one of those people with ordered lives. I really do. Like roofers and people who mow their lawns with the dew still on it so they can replace their mowers in five years when it rusts out from all the moisture that collects under the grass gunk that collects under neath. It would be a small price to pay.

PS In the winter the neighbor in question shovels the snow off his patio at 6:30 a.m. Yes he does. His snow shovel is made of cheap metal and grates on the cement in a satisfying way--translate: annoying and loud. It sounds like a thousand metal garbage cans are being crushed by a gravel crusher. Perhaps snow free patios are essential to the sanity and well being of this particular homeowner.

Or, it's retribution.

HAVE YOU EVER...?

Have you ever meditated something that you were embarrassed about?

Me too.

And no, I'm not telling you.

I'm just wondering if you had.

WHICH ONE WOULD BE YOUR BEST FRIEND

The woman who says she only does one thing well, and that's fold grocery store bags properly for later use and then she meticulously demo's how? Or the woman who says she doesn't do anything well at all and she swoops all the air out of the bags, folds them in half, folds them in half again and stuffs them in the drawer?

The woman who teaches high school kids to appreciate art and then teaches them to make art? Or the woman who rolls up her pant legs and wades in the irrigation ditch?

The woman who laughs at everything and nothing? Or the woman whose life didn't go as planned and laughs while telling you what's wrong with your children?

The woman who can't think of anything to blog about so she makes something up? Or the woman who can't think of anything to blog about so she spares the world and doesn't blog?

The woman who buys a Harley at age 60, buys a sailboat and plans to live on it? Or the woman who meditates and rides an imaginary Harley, goes imaginary sky diving, and learns to imaginary sail? (The poor sap)

The woman who says, "Isn't that fun?" about EVERYTHING? Or the woman who says, "Show me the fun in that!" and then laughs anyway because she doesn't know what else to do?

The woman who was a player in high school and is now remorseful, regretful, afraid of everyone and everything? Or the woman who writes about the player, gives her power, and makes her the hero?

The woman whose family isn't perfect and she loves them to bits anyway? Or the woman whose family isn't perfect and so she tells you about the successful ones?

The woman who reads other people's blogs and thinks to herself Whoa, those women are amazing? Or the woman who says, "What's a blog?"

The woman who says she's one of your best friends and then stabs you in the back or the poor sap who can't get over it?

The woman who says hot dogs have nitrates and are bad for you and will kill you dead and will probably make your complexion look bad in your coffin? Or the woman who says, "J-Dawgs? Did you say J-Dawgs?" and she fumbles in her purse for three dollars.

The woman who goes to bed at 4:00 a.m. because she's rewriting a chapter for a dumb book? Or the one who goes to bed at a reasonable hour and is perfect. (And besides that, the chapter failed on SO many levels.)

I can't decide. I've lost track of most of the women who do or don't do these things and I am the other one. Will you be my best friend even if I'm flawed, childish, wade in ditches, love my family to bits, and most of the time, have no life?

And would you forgive the woman who had nothing to say and blogged anyway?

ALL IN FAVOR OF "SPOILING DINNER" RAISE YOUR HANDS

One of my sisters had eight kids. I know. Insane. But she was a saint and could handle eight. One day they were at Mom's and were hungry. They were wolfing down soda crackers. (That's what we called "saltines" in the dark ages.) Anyway, Mom (their Grandma) said, "Don't eat those crackers, it will spoil your dinner!"

My sister looked at the eight kids and said, "Go ahead. Eat the crackers. We should be so lucky they would spoil your dinner."

Now, my question is: Is there a magic food product--like soda crackers...okay, saltines--that would spoil people's dinner? And if so, why isn't the diet industry marketing it? And why don't I have some of it in my kitchen/purse/desk drawer? And do you think it would be a chocolate repelant?

If anyone knows of such a product, then why haven't you told me about it already?!

GOING TO GO LIVE IN A CAVE NOW

Tonight, sitting at the computer, doing what I ALWAYS do--it's my hobby, actually--I was plucking randomly with tweezers--I found a chin hair stray eyebrow, fully one third of an inch long!

Actual photo of me, taken an hour ago.Now I ask you, what is wrong with my friends that they didn't say something about it? What was wrong with my husband's eyesight? What was wrong with my mirror--my MAGNIFYING mirror--that I didn't even know it was there?

I am going to go live in a cave now as obviously a chin hair stray eyebrow THAT long has been seen by everyone on the planet. It was probably visible from space. ET is probably laughing his little bald head off about it right now. I hope he chokes on his Reeces Pieces. Bitter, you think I'm bitter? Okay, maybe just a little.

Send future mail to the mountain. I'll write back with charcoal on a piece of bark.

PS And send moustache wax.

THE FACE WASH

When the three oldest children were little--the oldest about ten or eleven--the youngest about five--I noticed one of them was getting some blackheads on the nose area. I didn't want to make them self-conscious nor did I want to make them feel they weren't doing a good job taking care of themselves, so I instituted the "Face Wash."

I took a clean washcloth and got it wet with the hottest water I could run. I rung it out and called the kids. I said something like, "Come for your free face wash."

They came, just out of curiosity, I think. I may have demo'd it on myself, sighing at the wondrous hot cloth, soothing my tiredness away. I can't remember for sure but I do know I got their attention and one volunteered to be first. After that child was done I gave the next one the "face wash." When the last child was done I looked and the first and second one were lined up behind, waiting for another turn. The continued to line up until my hands couldn't wring another drop of water. They learned that a Face Wash was a wonderful thing.

Every night, when I get ready for bed and I've cleaned my face I give myself three "Face Washes." It's a great way to end the day.

Yesterday, Hillary and her two kiddies and Hillary's friend, Shan (who is also now my friend) were here. (Technically, Shan didn't come until later--just to set the record straight. For some reason that is important to Shan, setting the record straight.) We had talked and sat on the lawn swings--even in the 99 degree heat--for hours. It was a lazy day.

We finally decided to go to dinner at 7:00. The girls were so good, never complaining but almost fall asleep in their food.

When we got home Hillary had them change into jammies and then, low and behold, she gave them each "Face Washes!" Who knew?
You can see how tired the littlest one was. Phil wasn't much more lively. He looks like he has "become one" with the chair. He didn't get a face wash.
Hillary has taken the experience to a whole new level. They also got "Foot Washes." I hate it when someone takes my traditions and makes them better. I really only hate it because I don't live at her house and will have to do my own foot washes. Bah.
One of the good things in life: Face Washes and now Foot Washes, too.

PS Hillary did give me a foot rub so I guess I'll forgive her for one upping me. She probably should give me a foot rub about a hundred more times, just to make sure .

I WAS IN THE DEATH-SEAT

From my personal history:

I was home, visiting my dad. He was in his late 80's and still driving. He drove up until two weeks of his death at age 93.

"Let's go to Richfield and get dinner," he said. "I'll buy. We'll go to JB's."

"Okay," I said. "Shall I drive?"

"Nah. I'll drive."

I shuddered just a bit, and reluctantly got in the car. I'd driven with Daddy before, recently. He drove at a reasonable speed. His eyesight was good. His reflexes seemed to be good, too. There was just something--I can't put my finger on it, but I was a bit uneasy when he drove.

When we got to Richfield I said, "Dad, go up a block where there is a stop light and then you can turn left and come back down to JB's."

"Nah, I always go this way."

So, we sat at a stop sign, waiting to cross Main Street. We sat a long time.

"Just turn right, Dad, and go up to the light."

"I always go this way," he said.

We waited some more. The traffic on Main Street was pretty heavy.

"Go up to the light, Dad. I don't see a break in the traffic, we could sit here all night."

Just then he floored the gas pedal and we took off. My head made an imprint in the head rest. I could see a car, coming right at us. I was in the "death seat." I saw the whites of the driver's eyes and a panicked look as he put on the brakes." Luckily, his reflexes were good too.

We crossed the street, unharmed.

"Daddy," I said, when I could speak again. "There was a car coming. We could have been hit."

"I was tired of waiting," he said.

HE WAS TIRED OF WAITING!? Oh, my.

People came to know God that day. Me, for sure, and probably the driver of the oncoming car. Maybe that was Daddy's purpose all along. Maybe dinner was just a bonus.

MY YOUNG ADULT NOVEL SEEM TO BE TAKING A TURN--MAYBE FOR THE WORSE

I've been writing this book for a while. I decided it needed more depth than just a girl wishing that her father hadn't died, even though she had a perfectly nice step-father, that she loved. I decided to add an element of sexuality into it. Her not being comfortable with her changing body, not wanting to even think about sex and almost seeing someone else have it. That led to a buying bra's chapter. This has been such fun that I seem to be loosing the anger over her father's death. I wonder if this is two different books?

Which would you rather read? Or do you think I can do both in one book? Really, she has some serious anger over her father's death and the sexuality part is pretty light.

Questions I contemplate late at night while pretending that I can really write.

LIFE IS LIKE A GRINDSTONE...

This quote: "Life is like a grindstone. Whether it grinds you down or polishes you up, that's up to you," came from Gary Ceran's dad.

We know Gary. He taught Her Excellency of Mousehole in a private school a few years ago.

On Christmas Eve, 2006, a drunken driver hit their car and his wife and two of his children were killed.

He forgave. He's a survivor. He's being polished.

He doesn't have a great career. He doesn't vacation in Paradise but he's happy. In fact he was one of the happiest people I've ever met. He loved the kids he taught--loved my child and her cohorts. Really loved them.

He is one of my hero's.

Read his story here.

A STORY FROM THE PROFESSOR--A QUARTER INCH FROM A BRAIN DRAIN

We have a lot of college professors in our neighborhood--some active, some retired. I count 17 in 44 houses. One of them lives next door, one lives directly across the street and one lives next door to the across-the-street professor. This is a story of one of the three.

This fellow was on a mission in German a long time ago. Missionaries in our church serve for two years, but when he went out, foreign missionaries served for two and a half years. While he was on his mission he got a horrible sinus infection. He couldn't breathe through his nose and finally decided to get help. He and his companion drove to a large city--instead of going to a local doctor--to go to a university medical school. He thought he would get better service from a professor.

He had an appointment and went in to see the doctor. He laid out his symptoms, it was obvious, he couldn't breathe. The doctor was sitting at his desk, he stood up and said, "Come over here."

The young missionary went to stand by the doctor. The doctor reached in a desk drawer and removed an ice pick and before the missionary could react the doctor grabbed the missionary's head and drove the ice pick up his nostril, all the way to the bone. No operating room. No sterilized instruments. Probably no sane doctor.

"There," said the doctor. "It'll drain now."

So help me the missionary said he was afraid the ice pick was going to go straight to his brain. "There is only about a quarter inch of bone between my brain and my sinus cavity," he said.

Then he took a deep breath and said, "I've never had a sinus problem since." (I don't think I would either--out of pure fear.) "And my bill was two dollars."

I tell you, I am surrounded by interesting people with interesting stories. You should come and sit on the lawn swings some night. You would be entertained, no end.

MISSING MOM

Tonight Phil and I watched the movie The Peaceful Warrior--I highly recommend it. Because of that, it's late and I'm not up to much cleverness--as usual, actually--I don't have any of Mrs. Bird's or The Scottish Dreamer's stories--Mrs. Bird was here on the lawn swings last night but I didn't get any good stories--it was so darn cold we could hardly talk--and I'm out of nonsense to blather about. So, I'm posting a thought I wrote the other day about my mom when I was missing her. The "missing her" seems to be coming more often now. Anyway, here it is:


First and Last

A daughter first, and at the end.
She'll gather me like a child,
with skinned knees.
"I've been misssing you," she'll say.
"Me too," I'll say and over her shoulder I'll see my two dads,
my sister, and the children I never knew.

And it will begin.

THE EINSTEIN AWARD

Story one:

A man in our ward was talking to a client the other day. "I have a new cell phone and a new number," he said. "Let me find my the phone and I'll give you the number. Hold on." He then proceeded to try and find the new phone. It wasn't in his office/studio, which is next door to his house. Maybe it was in the house. He kept the man on the line while he searched. Not in the bedroom. Not in the kitchen. Not in the house office. He tried the car. It wasn't in the car. He was frustrated. He looked by the pool. He looked everywhere he could think of. "I'll have to call you back when I find it," he said and went to hang up and found he was talking on the new cell phone.

Story two:

A friend of mine had misplaced her cell phone. She looked everywhere. She had a deadline and needed to leave the house soon. Then she had a brilliant idea, I'll call my cell phone from the home phone, and when it rings I'll be able to find it. So, she called her cell phone. All of a sudden, from across the room her cell phone rang. This irritated her. Now just who could that be! she thought. I don't give my cell phone number to ANYONE.

Story three:

My mom had a friend who went upstairs for something. When she got up there she couldn't remember what it was. She wandered in and out of all the bedrooms, hoping something would jog her memory. Finally she thought, I guess I'll have to go downstairs and see if I can remember. So she went all the way back downstairs and into the kitchen where she was before she went upstairs. And then she remembered. She had gone upstairs to have a nap.

This same friend was taking care of her elderly dad. She kept track of his medications. One pill was for his memory loss, another for arthritis, another for some other condition. There were about six pills in all. She went into the kitchen, got all of the pills he was supposed to take, ran a glass of water and took them herself.

CLAM CHOWDER AND A FLOWER

We went to our son's house for dinner tonight--the best clam chowder. Thank you, Taylor.

After dinner we checked out the garden and a poor sunflower had fallen over so I took one of the blooms home. What could be better for a summer evening: good food, a beautiful bloom and then home to sit on the lawn swings with a neighbor.

But it's freezing here tonight. Not real freezing, not the ice-forming kind, but really cold for August 15th. The low tonight is going to be about 50 degrees. That's 10 Celsius. I'm going to go put a hot brick in my bed now.

Not much of a post, is this? Not funny or even very interesting. So, imagine you open your door and find a sunflower like this greeting you. Mother Nature saying, "Here, I made this just for you. You are loved. Really, really loved." And you are.

Feel better, now?

HOMEMADE BREAD FOR THE NEW NEIGHBORS. OR MAYBE NOT.

Today I decided to make bread because good bread--from Great Harvest--is now over four dollars a loaf. Plus we have new neighbors and I wanted to take them a hot loaf of welcome-to-the-neighborhood bread. Plus Phil says my bread is "the best." (His direct, unsolicited quote.)

First--I had to clean the wheat grinder because--after last year's two failures in a row--it's been a year since I made bread.

Second--I had to grind the wheat.

Third--I had to make the darn bread but because someone called me on the phone while I was making bread--don't you love it when people call and DON'T say, "Is this a good time?"--I forgot to add the oil, lemon juice, sugar and salt. So I had to add it later and hope it mixed in properly.

Fourth--I didn't add enough flour

Fifth--I forgot to turn off the oven--after preheating for one minute--so the bread could rise in the nice warm, but not hot oven--and so the oven heated to the full 350 degrees and because of that I had to leave the oven door open--thank-you air conditioning for cooling my 350 degree kitchen--until the oven returned to barely warm.

Sixth--I let it rise to the top of the pans before I turned the oven on to 350 degrees.

Seventh--I had a nagging feeling of failure--add more flour my nagging feeling said--before I baked the bread but I was NOT taking the risen dough out and adding more flour because I was sick of bread dough at this point. I still had bread making utensils to wash in hot soapy water in a 350 degree kitchen and the wheat grinder to clean so I squelched my nagging feelings and they limped away but just before they turned the corner I think I heard them say, "You'll be so-rry."

Eighth--The bread was too wet--not enough flour--and it fell and is now 2 1/2 inches tall. I can't take squatty-Pygmy bread to a new neighbor because I don't want her to look at me with squinty eyes the rest of my life.

Ninth--Great Harvest's bread is pre-made. What a concept. And they only charge four dollars and something a loaf. And you are sane when you go there and buy it. And your kitchen remains cool. And there is nothing to wash.

I wonder if the neighbors like caramels because I think I have some in the freezer.

Why didn't I think of that earlier?

DINNER WITH THE SHOE-HOLICS

Tonight Shan and Gilmore Girl came in from Mongolia and Outer Mongolia to get a J-Dawg and hang out on the lawn swings for a while. But the weather had different ideas--rain by the buckets full. We ended up at Heaps, which certainly isn't any hardship.

My life won't be worth a plug nickle when they see this picture.

At one point they talked about shoes. Did you know there are eight minute shoes? Those are shoes you can wear for eight minutes without pain. Hour long shoes? Those you can give a Relief Society lesson in--Shan wears these on the 2nd Sunday of the month when it's her turn to give the lesson.. All day pumps. But, obviously, according to Shan, they are comfy but not up to much in the style department. Gilmore Girl had toe surgery just so she could wear a certain pair of shoes! They have bought shoes that they can't even wear because they love them so much.

That makes my Clark's hide in shame. Comfy, comfy shame. No photo of the Clark's as they are shy and the above are not. I don't want them to be intimidated.

I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY

I have nothing to say so I'm going to bed.

My bed, with the yummy topper.

And my four pillows. I tried sleeping with three but four is the right number because two of them end up on the floor. Why don't I sleep with just two then? Because four is the right number.

I've already brushed my teeth and cleaned my face and put on the lavender lotion that my daughter-in-law makes. It smells so clean and go-to-sleepish.

'll open the window to the cool night air. And turn the fan on, mostly for the "white noise." Maybe the garbage trucks won't wake me in the morning.

I'll say my prayers--like a good girl--and read my scriptures and write the short note I'm promised to write in a journal. It won't be very witty or wise because I have nothing to say.

I'll listen to the crickets. I hope that evil cricket-eating insect doesn't come back this year to clean the oak trees out. I know he needs dinner too, but I want him to dine somewhere else. Far away.

And then I'll snuggle down and go to sleep. Lovely, quiet sleep. How I love it.

So, until tomorrow, when brilliance visits me, I'll say good night.

And if brilliance doesn't visit me, I will have nothing to say.

Sweet dreams.

TODAY I SHOULD BE BURIED ALREADY SO I CHANGED MY ATTITUDE AND NOW I'LL NEVER DIE. ALMOST.

I checked the Death Clock website today and found that I should have died on my birthday this year. I had zero days to live, in fact, I should be mouldering in my grave.

So I changed my outlook from "pessimistic" to "optimistic" and found that I have loads of time left. I'm going to live to be 101, three months and ten days.* Who knew that happy, cheerful people live longer?

So, then I decided to loose a whole bunch of weight--theoretically--and I am supposed to die sooner. Ten years sooner.

If I am a pessimist and thin I should be dead already.

If I am a sadist and thin I should have been dead twenty-four years ago.

The conclusion: Optimistic, fat people live the longest.

I hope this makes your day.


*I have a feeling my first "optimistic" statistics are somehow skewed but I am not redoing them. Since I've decided to be an optimist, I'm believing it. Why not? It could happen. Yup, that's how us optimists think.

"An optimist is the human personification of spring." (Susan J. Bissonette)

DIDN'T COOK FOR THE KIDS

When the kids were here I should have cooked three meals. The first night they went to Heaps. I had a roaring--yes, roaring--toothache and didn't go with them.

Saturday night we ate dinner at our son's house. Tooth continued to roar but I had pain pills which kept it to a dull roar. Recipes soon.

Sunday night we ate dinner at our daughter's house. The yummiest chef salad and hot dogs--seems like an odd combination but it was divine. Watermelon and zucchini brownies, which I will be making soon--I won't be making watermelon, so calm down. Watch for the brownie recipe on my coookbook site, too. Soonish. Soonish is a term that could mean a few days to months. Toothache roared on and off. I popped pills on and off.

I took my camera this time and didn't take it out of my purse. Maybe whatever is wrong with me can be cured. With chocolate. I'm sure of it. And that may be a clue why I have a roaring toothache. I'll try to block it out of my mind.

We called one of our grandson's today and sang "Happy Birthday" to him. Following the singing--and I use the word "singing" loosly here--was much silence on the line. Phil thinks we are torturing the kids with our singing and it may be true. Our grandson wants to go to lunch and a movie but I'm not sure I can sit through Ice Age 3 again, my being scared and all, when we took the six year old. It's humiliating as he wasn't. Scared, that is. So, I hope the eight-year-old picks Harry Potter although Harry scares me too. I'll need chocolate to get through it. Maybe even a pain pill.

I seem to be scared of a lot of things but not my dentist, who cured the roaring toothache. He walks on water, I'm pretty sure of it. Dr. Prince, in Orem, if anyone has a toothache, locally. Well, of course your toothache is going to be locally--locally, right in your mouth. But if you live near Orem/Provo then...you know what I mean.

I should not blog late at night.

I'VE BEEN RELEASED

Whew. I've been in charge of a monthly dinner/program/activity for the sisters in my ward for what seems like a lifetime. Seven years ago I was made the Enrichment Leader. (The real title is Home, Family and Personal Enrichment.) That is when we had Enrichment every month. When I would get home at night I could hardly walk. I would call Phil from the driveway and he would come and help me bring "stuff" in. Things like all the tablecloths that needed to be washed, decorations, food preparations items, whatever else I had drug to the church to make things nice.

I was the Enrichment Leader for three years and then was made Enrichment Counselor. I served three months shy of four years in that calling. Today our presidency was released. I can turn the keys to the church along with keys to umpteen closets over to the new counselor.

It was a good time and I worked with wonderful sisters who always willingly did their part. We did great things, had fun, learned things, served delicious meals and drew closer together as friends.

I enjoyed it.

And, I have to admit, I'm exhausted.

WAY TO GO, EINSTEIN,

When someone does a stupid thing or an absentminded one, people say, "Way to go, Einstein!" I keep having these Einstein moments.

We went to dinner tonight at my son and daughter-in-laws house. Wonderful food. Kung Pao chicken with rice, salad with Caesar dressing, a wonderful bean salad, and carrot cake, that only had like a million calories. I will post the recipes on my cookbook site when he sends them. But there will be no accompanying pictures, because I left my camera home.

While we were there our daughter-in-law--who went on that hundred and eleven mile bike ride today--did some yoga to work out the stiffness. She's like a rubber doll, so help me she is. It was beautiful to watch her stretch and amazing how flexible she is. Pictures? No, because I left my camera home.

While we were there my other son and daughter-in-law--who also rode the hundred and eleven mile bike ride--came. Tired but exhilarated. Did I get a picture? No, because...you know the rest.

Way to go, Einstein. It seems I never learn.

Are there things you never learn? Please tell me what so I won't feel so alone, like Einstein, on a wobbly bike while the rest of the world whizzes by on Titanium.

ENOUGH SAID

Nurse Giggleswich and Lord Bumhampton are here. Tomorrow they are going on the U.L.C.E.R (Utah Lake Century Epic Ride) bike ride. It's one hundred and eleven miles. Oh my.

Our living room is full of bikes, bike equipment and dogs.

L.B. said, "Oh, you know what we forgot? Under the saddle bike bags."

N.G. said, "No we didn't. I brought them." And then she paused and in a quiet voice she said, "Because I'm a woman."

That just about says it all.

TAI CHI IN OUR HEALTHY LIVING CLASS

In our Healthy Living class tonight, Sarah--a woman I adore--taught us Tai Chi. Women, past the cute stage, doing Tai Chi? A comedy. Comedy or not, I feel better.

You should try it. You really should. You'll feel better and get a whole bunch of good laughs, all at the same time.

PS We didn't even have to wear pajamas!

WHAT'S YOUR PASSION?

This week I'm working on a chapter--for my YA novel--that I have simply titled "Passion."

Did you know what you were passionate about when you were twelve? Are they the same things that they are now?

My obvious passions are my religion and my family. Here are some minor ones:

THE STORY. It's always about the story and has always been so. Even commercials on TV have a story. My favorite is the Arby's "last day of school" one where the faculty is just as happy to be out of school as the kids and they all end up at Arby's. I have it recorded and watch it several times in a row. It cheers me up.

PLUCKING MY WHISKERS STRAY EYEBROWS: They shall not live.

FINGERNAIL POLISH: On September 1st I will have worn it every day for a year.

THE COMPUTER: I can read the story, compose the story, and keep in touch with my friends. Not Facebook. Not Twitter. Just email, which I love.

SLEEP: I just need to get some earlier.

LUNCH OUT WITH FRIENDS: Where I hear their stories and tell them mine.

MOVIES: Again, the story. And the popcorn.

CLEAN HANDS, CLEAN FACE: Repentance for the soul, soap for the face. And my daughter-in-law's lavender lotion, which I put it on my face and then put my hands to my nose and breathe deep for a full minute. Then I go to sleep happy.

That's enough for tonight.

What are your passions?

THERE SHOULD BE MORE REJOICING OVER THE ANNOYANCES

I called someone tonight and they couldn't find the phone until it had gone into the "leave a message" mode. This someone said, in an annoyed voice, "My 'wife or husband' (I'm not telling which) had the phone in the bathroom for some crazy (or stupid or insane--I can't remember exactly what she/he said) reason."

Unfortunately, I think that may have been recorded for the wife/husband to hear later.

Why didn't she/he say, "My wife/husband left the phone in the bathroom again because she/he loves to commune with Mother Nature," and then laughed about it. Or she/he could have said something way more witty than that. (It wouldn't be hard to be more witty than that.)

Why don't we joke with our spouses more? Why is everything serious? Why are we annoyed? Why aren't we charmed that the phone was in the bathroom? Why didn't she/he realize it was in the bathroom because it was the only place for some privacy?

Why isn't there more laughter? Why aren't we fun?

I want to be fun. I like fun. I think I'll sign up for fun lessons. Does anyone know how to do that?

So I googled "fun" and this is what I got. I guess it'll do. For now.

CAKE AND COOKIES

Tonight I whipped up a cake, we called a couple of neighbors, and we had Family Home Evening on the lawn swings. Toward the end a bunch of teenagers--in two cars and a motorcycle--roared up and delivered these cookies. They were from the BYU ward Phil serves in. Yesterday in one of their meeting they talked about the kids serving others. So, today we got cookies! I have a feeling the Bishop and his two counselors got cookies too. I made a cake that I got off Muum's Musings and served it after our lawn swings lesson. It was delicious. Recipe here.

It was so pleasant to have neighbors over. I love them all.

We had a couple of youth here, one eighteen years old and one a returned missionary and they both refused cake and ice cream! Amazing. Then our newest returned missionary--he served in South Africa--, came by to tell his mom he was going for a run. He refused cake too. "That would defeat the purpose of the run," he said.

So the youth are healthy and the rest of us...let's not even think about it.

BLOOMING, EVEN WHEN YOU ARE PLANTED UNDER A ROCK

Actually, this is a pretty good analogy. Lots of people are in situations they hate don't like. Bad marriages. Poverty. Having disabled children or needing to care for elderly parents. Needing to loose weight and not being able to--I understand that one. Depression. Allergies. Poor health with all it's accompanying horrors. Migraines. The list is endless. (I'd say baldness but I think Phil looks wonderful so I think baldness is a good thing.)

Do we complain? Wish for other situations? Envy other people who we perceive have it better? Or do we get down to work and do what has to be done? I wish I could say I do the latter. But sometimes I do the first. (I've learned not to envy others because I've learned they are dealing with "stuff" that I have no idea about.)

Here's my visual aid for dealing with "whatever":


This is the front of our house. Our flowers did well this year. Our best year yet.
On the far right I had pots of flowers but as the oak trees leaves got bigger and bigger the flowers had to be moved into the sunlight.

This little handmade planter was not even planted as I knew the chances of anything blooming were slim. But, the planter had it's own idea. It sprouted a little petunia and the petunia is growing bigger every week.

But the real miracle is the two naked lady bulbs you see growing, one right next to the planter and the other, behind. I dug every single bulb earlier this year. These two bulbs are under this planter. They found their way out and are going to bloom. If that's not a positive attitude I'll eat my hat.

May we all bloom, wherever we are, whatever we are dealing with. The bloom doesn't have to be spactular. Just a little sign that life is okay. Even though it's not.

An eight year old girl I'll call Mary--because that's her name--summed it up nicely today as she bore her testimony. She said her daddy told her, "Jesus will make everything all right in the end."

And he will. He's promised.

SHOULDN'T THERE BE RETRIBUTION?

This afternoon I was home alone. I was making some Asian salad dressing and had the blender running. All of a sudden I heard a horribly loud noise and the floor shook. I screamed and turned around to flee when I see Phil standing there, stomping and grinning.

"I didn't want to scare you," he said, "by saying 'hi.' You know how you are, you get scared when I talk to you."

Yes, I do, when I think I'm home alone and all of a sudden someone is talking to me. But a loud-noise-floor-shaking experience? That's not scary?

There should be retribution.